Looking Back

Every evening I washed soot from my legs. For over two weeks, I had been walking through blackened forests long after the flames were gone. Charred stumps and the smell of campfire remained where once towering green pines filled every frame. Somewhere along the way my enthusiasm had burned down with them. Fourteen hundred miles into the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT), I’d already proved to myself I could make it to Canada.

So why was I still going? 

I had made it through the extensive wildfire burn zones and into the patchwork forests between Mounts Lassen and Shasta. From a high vista, it looked like I was about to enter a checkerboard for giants. The dark squares were alive with 70-year-old replanted pine trees shading layers of ferns, honeysuckle, and wildflowers below. The clear-cut lighter squares were overgrown with waist-high manzanita scrub and sage brush. Walking from one square to the next felt fifteen degrees cooler. 

It was a lonely stretch of hiking that morning not far from where I had camped, when I heard someone approaching from behind and looked back to check. Wait, this was not a hiker. I stopped walking and looked again, to see not another person, but a young deer instead. The deer stopped immediately. No rack or nubs grew upon her head. She paused awkwardly, her legs wobbling under a growing body. She was all alone and her curious brown eyes lingered long enough to receive my beaming smile. She abruptly broke from my gaze and began nibbling on the nearby shrub lining the trail. 

I turned back and walked north. 

So did she. 

I exhaled deliberately, shaking my head and then shrugged my shoulders. I missed my trail family, the three other hikers with whom I had shared much of the first 800 miles of the PCT. They were strangers at the southern terminus, but dear friends 50 miles later. I had taken a week off trail and fallen behind. The hundred mile gap proved too long to close. Maybe I should have just skipped the burn zone. Why was I even still hiking? I should just go back to work. Footsteps scratching on the hard-packed trail behind me interrupted my thoughts. 

I stopped again. 

So did she. 

When I looked back, she immediately buried her head into the nearest bush chomping on the leaves as though she had been there all along. She wasn’t more than 15 feet behind me.

I laughed. 

Nothing to see here. 

She kept eating. I smiled, turned, and kept walking north.

So did she. 

This continued for more than four miles. Her pace and cadence followed mine. Whenever I slowed down and cast a glance at her, she took great interest in her snacking on leaves and flower buds lining the trail. We walked together in silence.

The narrow foot trail came to an intersection with a forest service logging road. I crossed the wide dirt road and paused on the far side, turning around hoping to capture a picture of her. I waited to see if the doe would emerge through the narrow passage of manzanita. She poked her head around the corner with her big ears perked up towards me. Her tan neck and chest caught the sunlight as her body followed. She slowly stepped onto the dirt road, scanning in every direction, settling on a patch of leaves to chew on the far side.

I hiked downhill along the dirt road about a quarter mile to a spring. 

So did she. 

I rested on a log, took off my pack, and filled up my bag to filter some water. She grazed just 50 feet away, chomping leaves. I filtered one liter of water. Then another. I had a snack and topped off my last liter. She never left. Occasionally, she would stop eating, perk up her ears, turn towards me and stare longingly. 

Are you done yet? 

Once I picked up my water, put my pack back on, and started hiking again, she led me towards the trail. It wasn’t long and we were back at the four-way intersection. She chose to walk north.

I followed her this time. 

She kept a slightly faster pace, stopping every so often to browse until I caught up. She glanced back over her shoulder.

Oh. You’re still here. 

Then she turned and continued north. After another mile, she stepped off the trail. I walked past. I was close enough to see the soft fuzz on her forehead. She stepped back on the trail. 

She walked north. 

Soon, I came upon my friend Wizard, who was sitting just off trail eating a snack. I went over and sat next to him, and he looked at me quizzically. "Are you aware that a deer is following you?" 

"Why yes! Yes, I am! She's been doing this since just after we left camp about six miles ago!" 

He laughed.  "I'm going to start calling you Bambi!" I told him that was a hard no. I was not changing my trail name to Bambi for so many reasons. 

She paused off trail awkwardly shifting her balance among her four legs. She did not get back on trail or make any attempts to pass us even though the path was clear. She lingered, pretending to be completely absorbed in another mouthful of soft leaves. 

Wizard had a huge grin on his bearded face. Once done eating, he picked up his pack, and started walking north. I walked behind him.

So did she. 

He could not stop chuckling, turning around every few minutes watching us together and taking pictures. He eventually resumed his normal faster pace and left the doe and I to our own hike. 

Later, we came upon another hiker. He had taken over the middle of the trail where he was sprawling his pack and taking off layers. Neither of us moved. I sighed. The guy stopped what he was doing and inquired. "Are you aware that there's a deer following you?" 

I shrugged and laughed, "Why yes, yes I am. She's been doing it for the last eight miles." 

He muttered, "Huh. Strange!" and resumed tending to his yard sale on the trail. She stopped short of him studying the obstacle in front of her. After I passed him, I hiked north alone.

I would later find out from this hiker that she refused to pass him on the trail. Instead, she headed into the brush, threading her way through the thick manzanita until she was beyond him. She stepped back onto the trail and took off running. 

Fifteen minutes passed. Then I heard footsteps behind me. As soon as she got close, she slowed down. 

I looked back. 

She buried her nose in another shrub. 

I smiled. I laughed. I shrugged. I kept walking.

So did she. 

How long would this continue? I hoped she wouldn’t follow me all the way to Interstate 5.

Twelve miles into the day, the 105-degree heat finally drove us beneath the pines. I could hear the flow of a creek rolling over small rocks.

Wizard stopped filtering his water. He turned to me.Threw up both hands. 

I shrugged.

I lowered my pack. I pulled out my Tyvek ground cloth, now soft from 120 days of camping, and spread it on the pine duff near the creek. 

She stopped walking north and wandered upstream, sipping the cool water. 

I stretched out on my back beneath towering pines for a nap. Sunlight filtered through the canopy with wisps of clouds dotting the blue sky between the trees. 

Somewhere upstream something moved through the brush. 

I never saw her again.