An incessant buzzing followed me wherever I went. Waving my hands in front of my face to shoo away the “no-see-ums,” or the mosquitos, or whatever they were, was getting tiresome, and my sweat had started dripping into my eyes and mouth.
It was one of those North Carolina “85 but feels like 105” kind of days, and our water was running low.
“There’s a water stop on the map just up the trail a little bit, we should get to it any minute,” Jess kept saying.
After some time, we made it to the water stop, but where there should have been a drinking water source from which to fill our bottles, there was a small, dried up, muddy puddle.
Between the three of us, we had maybe 1/2 of one Nalgene-full of water, and it was starting to get dark (because of course it was). There wasn’t a water stop marked on the map for a while, so, miles from any form of civilization or cell service, we had to make a choice — keep hiking in the dark until we found water, or set up camp for the night and ration what we had until we (maybe?) found water the next day.
The young, reckless women we were, we decided to live life on the edge — rationing was our unanimous decision.
What ensued was a hilarious night, laughing in the face of uncertainty and the mess we had gotten ourselves into. Coming up with ways to distract ourselves from our thirst in the stale heat of the summer night, we argued over who would be the weakest link if we were stranded in a desert. Not me, I insisted.
That night, Jess planned our strategy for the following day; Katie gave in to her thirst, drinking almost all of her water because she just “couldn’t resist;” and I panicked and prepared to die of thirst on the mountain.
I didn’t die. The next day, we awoke in our tent to the sound of birds chirping, and decided to hit the trail early, before it got too hot. Would we find water? Probably not, but there was only one way to find out.
About half a mile down the trail, I started to hear the sound of trickling, no, rushing water. Was I imagining it? No, my friends confirmed. Was this some kind of sick joke? No, my friends confirmed. Of course, there was a beautiful, rushing water source not even one mile from our campsite. It was unmarked because the actual access point was a ways down the trail; but we were thirsty.
When we got to the heart of the sound, I dropped my pack and grabbed some bottles. I climbed down a steep drop, through thick thorn bushes and spider webs, nearly mud-sliding into the river. And then I made it: one of the most beautiful streams there ever was (okay, it wasn’t that beautiful, but it was very emotional for me).
I filled up my bottles with a ravenous, almost primal thirst and Jess and Katie threw their bottles down to me, strategically, so they didn’t get lost in the brush. Bottle after bottle, we replenished our stock until we were whole again. Then, we rejoiced.
Of course, in our excitement, we almost forgot to purify the water before drinking it… almost.
Lillian Grace Mercho 