The Woman on the Ferry: Chapter 21
The Finish Line
Dear Readers, Welcome to my draft of chapter 21 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 21: The Finish Line
The first week of October brought little relief from California's scorching temperatures at Eastman Lake, where triple digits still ruled the afternoons. Yet my spirit soared - I stood on the threshold of my 1,000-mile goal. These final miles would test me in unexpected ways, from a dangerous dance with heat exhaustion to profound revelations about what lay ahead. This week would mark not just the end of my hiking quest, but the beginning of an entirely new adventure.
A Close Call
I could hardly believe it - my 1,000-mile quest was entering its final week. The forecast showed more triple-digit temperatures ahead, but the cool mornings gave me confidence I could dodge the worst of the heat. Sunday's sunrise found me pushing through tall grass near my campsite to reach the Eastman Lake trail. The path led behind the campground to the main road which, given the park's remote location in central California's golden hills, stood deserted.
After passing park headquarters and the observation area, my AllTrails map guided me beyond an "Authorized Vehicles Only" sign to an unexpected treat - Buchanan Dam. Crossing the massive structure, I followed a narrow trail bordered by oat grass, then some paved roads, finally wandering across an open field to an old windmill before turning back. I made it to the campground before the day's 100-degree heat could catch up with me, logging a satisfying 8.1 miles.
Monday's adventure began at dawn's first light, this time heading in the opposite direction with Raymond Bridge, 4.5 miles away, as my destination. Saturday's hike had shown me the rugged nature of this section, but I felt prepared. Resting at the bridge, I faced a pivotal decision: turn back for a 9-mile day, or complete the lake loop for what AllTrails promised would be 11.7 miles. The previous day's easy dam crossing boosted my confidence about the return trek, and knowing the ranger station lay along my route provided an extra sense of security - a potential water stop or even a ride if needed. Still energized from the shady side of the lake, I added electrolytes to my water and committed to the loop.
The decision seemed sound until I encountered an unexpected obstacle - a 'No Trespassing' sign, locked gate, and barbed wire fence marking a conservation area. My app showed no alternate route, and with less than five miles remaining, backtracking would add miles to my trek in the hot sun, making it potentially dangerous. After wrestling with the dilemma, I made what I felt to be the safest choice - carefully stepping over the fence to follow a trail through pastureland, navigating past a herd of cattle before climbing another fence back onto public land. Finally, the familiar windmill came into view, signaling my return to known territory.
As temperatures climbed, my pace slowed dramatically. A passing park ranger's wave gave me false confidence as I crossed the dam. The home stretch - a downhill road walk and trail turn to the campground - seemed deceptively manageable. Then, without warning, heat exhaustion struck. Nausea and a racing heart forced me to stop, seeking refuge in patches of shade. I found myself counting steps between shade spots, no longer caring about finding rocks or logs to sit on - the ground itself became my rest stop. This desperate shade-to-shade strategy repeated five or six times before I finally reached my air-conditioned RV.
The thermometer read 95 degrees, but the real surprise came when I checked my mileage - the AllTrails 11.7-mile route had actually been 12.6 miles. That final, unexpected mile had nearly been my undoing. As relief washed over me, water in hand on my sofa, I realized how quickly heat stroke had sneaked up on me. By the time I recognized the warning signs, I was already in trouble. My decision to hike the loop had almost cost me dearly on this, the final week of my quest.
The Final Mile
Tuesday brought a negligible respite from the heat - 98 degrees instead of triple digits. Still sobered by the previous day's close call, I opted for a gentle walk to the boat launch and back. Evening found me strolling through the nearly deserted campground, where I spotted a bobcat in the fading light, a sight that would become a cherished ritual over the next two evenings.
Wednesday dawned with electric anticipation - just 3.5 miles stood between me and the magical 1,000-mile mark. I set out across the dam, searching for the perfect backdrop to commemorate this momentous achievement. As I climbed a hill at mile 999, a roadrunner darted across my path, then leaped onto a boulder to study me, as if offering advance congratulations. Many Native American tribes view roadrunners as harbingers of good fortune, and the timing of this encounter felt deeply significant. A few small loops brought me to a scenic overlook, where I watched my app tick over to the milestone I'd dreamed of for months: Mile 1,000! The journey that began on May 19 had reached its culmination on October 9, 144 days of determination, discovery, and growth.
I'd spent weeks wondering how this moment would feel. Would it seem anticlimactic, or would I be overwhelmed with emotion? Standing there beneath the vast blue sky, gazing out over the tranquil lake, the answer crystallized. I had done it! This was no small feat, and a massive grin spread across my face as pride and accomplishment washed over me. Yet what filled me with even greater satisfaction was the profound personal growth I'd experienced since first lacing up my hiking boots all those months ago.
In this triumphant moment, I imagined sharing the news with Celeste, and her response seemed to float on the breeze:
Dear Brenda,
One thousand miles! Just imagine—every step, every ridge, every sunrise and storm, all woven together in a journey that you created. This is no ordinary feat; it’s a testament to your resilience, spirit, and commitment to your own growth. You’ve walked through so many terrains, both inside and out, each step bringing you closer to a version of yourself that shines brighter and bolder.
Completing these miles isn’t just a number; it’s a new chapter. You’ve set down markers not only on trails but in the depths of your heart and soul.
Congratulations, my friend. You've shown yourself what you’re capable of, and that radiance will light your path forward.
With so much pride,
Celeste
Her words lifted me higher, but they also sparked a deeper realization. When I'd embarked on this quest, I'd viewed this milestone as an ending - the final punctuation mark on a soul-searching journey. Now I recognized it for what it truly was: a beginning. While Celeste, the woman on the ferry, had served as my inspiration and mentor with her unique energy and spirit, the time had come to forge my own path. I needed to cultivate my own source of energy, one that honored my values and dreams while remaining true to my authentic self.
The journey had transformed me in ways I never anticipated. Each mile had stripped away layers of self-doubt, each challenge had built new reserves of strength, and each moment of solitude had brought me closer to understanding my own truth. Standing at this literal and metaphorical overlook, I felt not just pride in the distance covered, but excitement for the path ahead.
A gentle breeze stirred the golden grasses around me, and I took one last look at the surrounding landscape before beginning my return trek. This vista would forever mark the spot where one chapter ended and another began, where the woman who started this quest gave way to the one who completed it - stronger, wiser, and ready for whatever adventure called next.
Home
As the week unfolded, a subtle but profound shift occurred - being released from that rigid 6.5-mile daily hiking goal felt like stepping into a gentler way of being. Though I still covered an average of six miles each day, I walked at my own pace, letting my body, not my app, guide the way. But the road was calling me homeward. I shortened my stay by a day, heading to the RV resort in Bakersfield where I spent a peaceful day restoring order - washing away trail dust from clothes and giving my "Dream Big" rig the thorough cleaning it deserved. On October 14, I guided my RV through familiar gates and settled into my winter site. Perhaps the true test lies not in completing a quest, but in what grows from it. Would old patterns reassert themselves? Or would this newfound radiance continue to light the path ahead?
This journey has taught me countless lessons, which I'll share in detail in an upcoming "Trail Markers" section. But among the most profound discoveries was understanding the vital importance of community and the courage to follow your heart's deepest calling. As I settled into my site, it hit me - I had built something precious here, a web of friendships and mutual support that made this place feel like home.
Those friendships and connections are opening doors for me, so I am proud to share my exciting news. Next summer, I'll step into a new role as an ATV Guide, leading fellow adventurers through groves of ponderosa pines to the rim of Bryce Canyon National Park. I'll share stories about how time and elements sculpted the hoodoos - those mystical spires of red rock reaching toward the sky - and help eager eyes spot the graceful pronghorn that dance across these ancient lands. My home will be in the employee campground, where I'll become part of yet another community. I'll be surrounded by nature's masterpiece, with work that keeps my spirit soaring and actually pays me to share the wonders I've grown to love. It only seems fitting to close out this chapter with some final words from Celeste.
Dear Brenda,
Oh, what wonderful news! I’m absolutely thrilled for you! Imagine—next summer, trading in the glow of a laptop screen for the red cliffs and ponderosa pines of Bryce Canyon, sharing the marvel of hoodoos, pronghorns, and that unmistakable canyon light. How different it feels to be guiding others not just through landscapes, but through experiences that connect them to nature.
Isn’t it funny how, sometimes, it’s our own minds that need to wander off-trail? Education and experience are valuable, but they don’t always hold the map to fulfillment. You’ve let go of what “should be” and stepped into something rich with possibility, where each day will bring new discoveries—for your guests, yes, but for you as well.
And there’s a quiet wisdom in this path, too. By following your own compass, you’re living a message that doesn’t need any diplomas or titles: that freedom and joy come when we choose to embrace life with an open heart, to share what inspires us, and to step confidently into adventures that fill our souls.
Here's to a summer filled with laughter, sunlight, and the crisp air of the high desert. May it be everything your heart has been seeking, and may your own radiance light the way for others.
With all my love and pride,
Celeste
Final Numbers
The statistics tell one story: 1,003 miles traversed across 144 days, averaging 7 miles each day. My most ambitious trek stretched 12.6 miles - that fateful Eastman Lake loop where heat stroke stalked my final steps. At the other end of the spectrum lay a mere 6/10 of a mile in mid-July, when summer storms and bone-deep weariness kept me nestled in my rig. Through it all, I met or exceeded my 6.5-mile daily goal on 100 of those 144 days, each step a testament to perseverance.
Yet perhaps the most telling number is singular - just one fall throughout this entire quest. It came, with life's characteristic irony, on what should have been an easy amble alongside the Rogue River near Crater Lake, Oregon's jewel. And while transformation of the body was not my highest priority, the journey reshaped me nonetheless - 12 pounds and two pants sizes melted away like morning mist. But the real metamorphosis lay deeper: what I had lost in inches and pounds, I had gained tenfold in confidence and strength.
Now, as my 61st birthday approaches on the horizon, I find I've recaptured something precious - that boundless spirit of childhood where each day dawns as an experiment in living. We are all sculptors of our own futures, chiseling away at possibility with no guarantee of the final form. And perhaps therein lies the magnificent adventure of it all?