The Woman on the Ferry: Chapter 20
The Week of Reckoning
Dear Readers, Welcome to my draft of chapter 20 of The Woman on the Ferry: A Journey of 1,000 Miles to Redefine Success and Discover Joy. If you haven’t yet, you can read the Introduction for free here.
Week 20: The Week of Reckoning
Week 20 of my 1,000-mile quest, spanning September 29 to October 5, became a week of reckoning in more ways than one. As temperatures soared into triple digits and mechanical failures tested my resilience, I found myself navigating not just treacherous trails but life-altering moments. From a heart-stopping encounter with a rattlesnake at mile 933 to hours spent waiting for repairs in sweltering heat, each challenge seemed designed to test my resolve. Yet amidst the trials, nature offered its consolations - empty campgrounds filled with wildlife, stunning sunrises over Lake McClure, and unexpected opportunities to help others. As I inched closer to my ultimate goal, I discovered that sometimes our greatest reckonings come not from the challenges we face, but from the wisdom we gain in facing them.
Dancing with Danger at Mile 933
Sunday morning found me driving to the Preston Falls trailhead in Stanislaus National Forest, near Yosemite's west entrance. My GPS guided me along a winding road with stomach-dropping views, eventually leading to the Hetch Hetchy Reservoir - San Francisco Bay Area's lifeline, delivering water to millions some 167 miles away. Beyond this engineering marvel, I found the modest parking lot marking my trailhead.
I'd timed my start early, hoping to dodge the day's impending heat. The Tuolumne River provided a constant soundtrack to my trek, and I paused occasionally to capture its wild beauty. All these months of trail experience had taught me to stay alert for hazards - both visible ones like the reported poison oak, and those that might catch you unaware.
Then, at mile 933, my quest nearly met its dramatic end. Climbing a rocky hill, a sound that every hiker dreads pierced the morning air - the unmistakable rattle of a snake's warning. From my peripheral vision, I caught movement barely two feet away. Pure instinct took over; I didn't dare turn my head to look. Instead, I discovered what felt like rocket boosters in my hiking boots, my acceleration from casual walk to escape velocity nothing short of impressive. Heart pounding, adrenaline surging, I continued up the trail, my mind racing with the sobering thought - how close had I come to ending my quest, perhaps even my life, at mile 933?
Pressing on with heightened vigilance, I climbed around fallen trees and through tall grass, constantly scanning for more surprises. The trail eventually led to a large rock overlooking Preston Falls - a perfect spot to pause and process my close encounter. As I sat enjoying my trail snack of almonds, cranberries, and cheese under crystal blue skies, I couldn't help but ponder the precarious nature of life and dreams. One moment of bad luck, one misplaced step, could change everything.
The return journey loomed with a new weight of anticipation. Knowing I'd have to pass the snake's territory again, I employed every trick in my hiking arsenal. My trekking poles became impromptu percussion instruments as I banged them together, sending advance warning to any nearby creatures. I even broke into song, improvising lyrics: "In the forest, the lovely forest, the rattler sleeps tonight..." The combination of noise and nervous energy carried me through without further encounters, though my earlier adrenaline had long since faded.
It was an eventful start to the week, but with a punishing heat wave in the forecast, I suspected this might be my last substantial hike for a while. As I returned to my Jeep, I felt a mixture of gratitude and humility. The trail had reminded me once again that nature, while beautiful, commands respect - a lesson that hit particularly close to home at mile 933.
The experience served as a powerful reminder that even after hundreds of miles, countless trails, and weeks of hiking, the wilderness still holds surprises. Each step forward requires not just physical preparation but mental alertness, a balance between confidence and caution. Today's adventure had tested both, leaving me with another story to tell and a renewed appreciation for the unpredictable nature of this quest.
Finding Peace Amid Heat and Havoc
As September yielded to October, I discovered one of autumn's sweetest gifts - near-empty campgrounds. With just one or two other RVers sharing the space, I found myself immersed in nature's intimate moments. Coyotes serenaded the setting sun, while mornings brought spectacular sunrises that transformed Lake McClure into a shimmering mirror. A hawk kept watch from its power line perch as deer families wandered the woods below, and a solitary heron stood sentinel at the water's edge.
Each dawn brought new discoveries as I varied my walking routes. The lake's low water level revealed temporary "islands" - secrets of the landscape that would vanish once the reservoir filled. These morning explorations weren't just for pleasure; they were a necessity as temperatures soared to 102 degrees by Tuesday with no relief in sight. The brutal heat, combined with the campground's remote location and treacherous hairpin turns, effectively kept me tethered to my temporary home.
Wednesday afternoon brought a new challenge when the mercury hit 103 degrees and my rig's power suddenly failed. After checking circuits and the pedestal, I discovered the entire campground was quiet. A series of increasingly frustrated phone calls finally revealed a power company outage. I fired up my generator to keep the air conditioning running, grateful when power was eventually restored.
That night, as I drifted off to sleep, the familiar hum of electricity disappeared again. Too weary to investigate with flashlight in hand, I left the mystery for morning. Daylight brought a systematic check of the usual suspects - circuit breaker, surge protector, pedestal power. The surge protector showed incoming power but nothing reaching the rig. My Winnebago Aspect Facebook group provided guidance, leading me to discover a burned-out transfer switch fuse.
Pride in my diagnostic skills quickly gave way to the reality of my situation. The campground's remote location worked against me - one RV mechanic quoted $600 just for the trip! Finally, I found “Jake,” who promised a reasonable travel fee and 10 a.m. arrival. I spent the morning walking loops, logging 7.5 miles while awaiting rescue. As 10 a.m. became 11, then noon, I ran the engine to keep the cats cool. When the temperature inside hit 80 degrees and the gas gauge dipped ominously low, it was time for Plan B.
After an updated arrival time of 12:30 came and went, I relocated the cats to the covered pavilion. There we sat through the scorching afternoon - the cats sprawled on cool concrete, panting, while I wasn't faring much better. Jake finally arrived at 4:30, apologizing for truck troubles.
The next two hours brought not just a solution to my power problems - Jake successfully bypassed the transfer switch - but an unexpected human connection. As he worked, Jake shared his struggles with a competitor who was allegedly intercepting customers by gaining incoming phone numbers to his line. A mysterious morning call I'd received from a similarly named company seemed to confirm his suspicions. Our conversation evolved beyond repairs into life advice - financial, legal, and personal - leaving him with renewed hope and me with a reminder that sometimes our greatest purpose lies in unexpected moments of connection.
The day had brought discomfort and frustration, but also moments of grace: the early morning peace, the resilience of my feline companions, and the chance to offer guidance to a troubled soul. As the air conditioning finally hummed back to life, I reflected on how even our most challenging days can yield unexpected gifts when we remain open to them.