Arman and I moved to Washington State two years ago from Kentucky, but this had been our first excursion out of Seattle. I was the one with MS (Multiple Sclerosis), but Arman was the one that had fallen down the stairs in our townhouse and fractured his foot. It had kept us home the first summer we were residents in the Evergreen State.
As we parked in front of the red brick Visitor Center in Hoh Rain Forest, I sent a little prayer out into the infinite unknown: Please let me be able to do this. I don’t want us to miss out on something else because of me. Over the past ten years, we had greatly altered our vacation itineraries due to my increased physical limitations, but I hoped I wouldn’t have to add this stop to that list.
The first thing Arman did was go see if there was a trail that was manageable while I took stock of my surroundings. We had arrived early, so the parking lot was less than a fourth full. I watched small groups of vacationers in shorts and hiking boots disappear down the dirt paths into groves of remarkably striking gigantic trees. When he had told me where we were headed, I truly hadn’t known what to expect, but this looked magnificent.
When he returned, Arman said we had two options. The first, simpler track was a short-paved trail that we could use the wheelchair on with no problems. A more challenging possibility offered a lot more to see but was a non-paved route, fairly smooth with only a few bumps, but wheelchairs weren’t allowed. He was told that it was a little over half a mile and called the Hall of Mosses. Arman was worried I couldn’t walk that much, but left the decision solely up to me.
It was obvious to me how much he wanted to see this. I didn’t want him to miss out because I had to stay on the kiddie trail. Just a few months ago, I had walked a half mile over a variable terrain in the MS walk pushing my wheelchair. Surely, I would be able to accomplish this scenic stroll with the help of my one-of-a-kind personal walking device beside me. Anyway, I genuinely wanted to behold the Pacific Northwest foliage and prove to myself that I could keep up with the big kids.
I cinched my ankle brace up, covered myself in bug spray/SPF 30, and filled a backpack with water bottles and dark chocolate-cherry-nut granola bars. Leaving the car and my wheelchair in our rearview, we headed for the trailhead. Left was for four wheels, but right was for two feet. We veered to the right, and I set my feet on the dirt-packed track to begin my trial through the kingdom of trees.
The first five minutes gave me the false illusion that this was going to be a long, but not too difficult, meander through nature's wonderland. It didn’t appear to be a difficult terrain, and Arman could help me if I got tired. Then the shaky wooden bridge appeared followed by ten steep, unequal steps situated along a jagged rock face that led up to the real pathway. For someone with unsure footing and difficulty picking up their feet, this was akin to a big piece of green kryptonite. Ok, one step at a time. I can do this. No hurry.
Crossing the short bridge and tackling the first few steps was no problem. However. the stupid things had to go and get taller forcing me to lift my weak legs even more. I had to step up with the robust leg and use it to muscle the wimpy one up beside it. Slowing down considerably so I could carefully navigate each one meant I caused a traffic jam on the narrow walkway. Multiple times, we had to press against the sharp uneven wall and let the other travelers pass. This gave me a chance to rest my legs, but it also introduced me to the phrase of the day- ‘Are you ok?’ or thinking I was mute as well as lame ‘Is she ok?’ By the time we had completed our jaunt, this would become a joke of ours and a despised phrase of mine.
Reaching the top of the grueling wood steps, I saw a park bench in front of us and set my trajectory for it. I thought a short rest now would save my strength for later. What I hadn’t anticipated was the bench being a mirage on the horizon that I couldn’t quite reach. It seemed the forest nymphs kept moving it backwards. When I finally caught up to it and was able to rest for a minute or five, Arman and I got to finally appreciate our environment.
We were encircled by various shades of green-leaved ferns sprouting from the soil. A light avocado spray lording over a ground-hugging lime grouping. The leaves were feather-shaped fans that were composed of smaller and smaller versions of the feather form. They filled in the space between the mammoth reddish-brown barked trees. Just the wonder of this colossal creation of nature and the years it took to cultivate it were awe-inspiring on their own, but the sheer beauty and strength it harnessed were spirit-stirring.
A choir of voices made up the fragrance of the forest. The light soft Soprano of the small, almost hidden flowers under the ferns. This was accompanied by the fresh rain smell that carried a calming Alto. Musty scents from fallen leaves joined with the Tenor, and the bold tree bark added the Bass. Together they formed a signature botanical arrangement.
When we started out again, things went exceptionally well for the next stretch of our venture. I was tremendously proud of myself and had no earthly idea why I had ever questioned my ability to conquer this. With rest stops and remembering to drink, I should have no problems. I should not doubt myself, and people needed to stop questioning my faculties as well. They just worried too much.
Pride goeth before the fall…literally. All along the trail were bumpy, uneven bulges of roots sprouting up, and they had just enough ground clearance to fit the toe of a New Balance sneaker in nicely. I found this out when the first one I tried to step over sent me plunging forward. When I climbed the stairs earlier I could use my strong leg to force the other up. Conversely, stepping over the knobby tubers not only required both legs to be raised independently, but also advancing over the hump. Each one I approached looked like a track and field hurdle bar. I had to get close enough to make the first vault shorter, but not too close and risk feeding my shoe to the tree. It was a pass/fail test that I failed most times.
Traveling deeper into the rainforest, I found my head was swiveling continuously like a barn owl at dusk. On one side were spruce trees covered with fuzzy emerald green lichen while on the other side there was a pond occupied by numerous fallen wooden soldiers of the forest. Ground between the lofty shooting timbers was covered with a mix of old leaves and lush foliage. Topping it off was a high-ceilinged crown of intertwined branches sprinkled with hints of aqua blue sky.
Focusing my eyes on the road ahead, there were shorter maples standing in the shadow of their cousins. The stooped over smaller trees had bent, crooked limbs reminiscent of arms and branches of distorted, broken fingers. There was green and brown moss resembling long tangled hair hanging from the trunk of the tree and its pointy, twisted appendages. It reminded me of something small children might see in their nightmares or in a Disney movie with apples and a princess.
Arman and I stopped for a photo-op with one of the stately Sitka spruce whose width was wider than my arm span. Leaning my neck all the way back to see the point where the towering king tickled the sky, I started to get woozy. I have never felt so diminutive as I did pressed against that rough dun-colored, centuries-old bark. If I stood there long enough, maybe I could absorb just a fraction of its longevity or power? Then I could reset my broken clock and place the gears back in order.
Besides the huge granddaddy trees, there were also those standing on groups of twisted, woven stilts. Almost as if the dirt around the roots eroded leaving them fully exposed. The supports made meandering patterns forming crevices and caves between them. These trees were smaller in width, but they had been in line when the height gene was passed out. I would guess their lumber just hadn’t seen many summers yet.
I rested every chance I got, and the forest nymphs were kind enough to leave permanent benches for me along the way. By this point, I had sweat enough that my bug repellent had melted away like a citronella candle. Every time I sat or paused for a moment of recuperation, the lookout notified the others and I soon became a chew toy for mosquitos and gnats. That was a great incentive to keep moving.
Another reason to keep going was brought forth right before we reached the ‘Halfway Point’ sign. Arman asked how I was doing and then very seriously and earnestly offered to turn around if I needed to return to the car. I gave him a confused, unblinking stare wondering if he was joking. Geometry 101: if you’re halfway around a circle, it’s the same distance in either direction back to the starting point. His rationale: we knew what’s behind us, not in front. My rationale: can it be worse?
Beginning the back half of the green, I was weary but determined. We weren’t in a hurry, and those stuck behind us could slow to enjoy the scenery or could powerwalk on past missing the diverse surroundings. As surprising as this may seem to some people, the rainforest was a huge ever-changing portrait gallery with no two sections the same. The artist of these paintings was a virtuoso with his paintbrush.
Farther down the path, there were large stumps with fallen decaying logs lying beside them still partially attached. It was obvious the timbers were not purposefully cut down and this was part of natural regeneration. The tops of the pedestals were shaped like stalagmites and the tumbled tree bases were jagged like fallen, horizontal stalactites. Small seedlings had begun their two hundred year-long battle against the elements to live up to their ancestor’s legacies. Even then, they would only be teenagers.
When we turned a corner, we came across the most original collapsed giant of our outing. This behemoth had decided to lie down for its final nap right across the footpath. One limb had tried to break the fall on the other side forming an arc and a new area for the tree to keep growing. Branches were shooting up off the back of their bent brother’s arm, and it resulted in a wooden spiny arch.
After multiple selfies with and stand-alone shots of this picturesque wonder, Arman wanted his photo taken underneath the botanical rainbow. Knowing I was only able to stand for an extremely brief time unaided, he made a mad dash to pose after leaving me wobbling in the middle of the road. A quick sprint back to check on the shot and support me for a few minutes before deciding to make another frenzied run for one more snap. He was ultimately satisfied with it, so we pushed on.
I noticed there were quite a few places off this half of the trail that were roped off areas; some with pools of stagnant green water others with denser woods. In one such place, I sorta bent the posted rules and left the assigned dirt pathway to venture into a small alcove. I was tiring out quicker, and that was intensified by increased thermal temperature, despite the shade. There was a bulky grey stone that looked so comfortable and inviting just off the trail but still inside the velvet rope and in my book bending a little is not officially breaking a rule.
We pulled over so I could rest and quench my thirst. As I sat there, for the umpteenth time since the halfway point, the thought ‘What if I can’t make it?’ crossed my mind. Did they send a golf cart to pick people up when they got hurt or gave up or was there a hidden helipad in the roped off area? My bravado from when we set out had slowly seeped out of me along with my strength and energy. It seemed as if we had been hiking for hours, so the finish line should be close. Giving up now would negate all of the struggle up to this point. I had to finish.
Starting out again, Arman had his arm around me to support some of my weight and kept reminding me to ‘pick your feet up’. My weak left limb had a tendency to not fully detach the sole of my foot from the ground when it grew tired causing me to stumble over the smallest of pebbles. My legs were becoming fluid while my feet were solidifying into cement blocks. All of my concentration had to be focused on moving forward and not down. I was glad I had seen the landscape earlier since the densely packed dirt path covered in dropped dried leaves and twigs was all I saw now.
The arduous trudge was a slow tedious process, but as long as I kept advancing, I told myself, it would be ok. It may take me a few hours, and it may only be a hundred feet at a time, but I would not let MS win. This time I would not let it stop me. I scheduled my stops more frequently and rested longer, but I kept trekking.
By now my deodorant had died from exhaustion, and my delightful aroma was inviting guests from all parts. It was hard to slap a blood sucker or swat at buzzing swarms when I was doing my best to balance. I unwillingly added to the health and nutrition of the pest community that day.
At one stop, when I was splayed out on a bench trying to recoup, a hiker stopped and inquired if I needed help. The sarcastic me thought: ‘Yeah, do you know the secret recipe for myelin or how to make nerves work again?’ The polite me thanked her and said I only needed to catch my breath.
A short time later, I didn’t make it to a bench and had to sit on a compacted earth pile underneath a hemlock. I took out the half-melted granola bar I had forgotten hoping it would infuse me with enough stamina to complete the course. Everyone that walked by assumed there had to be something seriously wrong with me. No one would be silly enough to come out here that couldn’t handle it, so something must have happened if I was on the ground.
As considerate as it was for everyone to stop and query, I wished they would avert their eyes and move along. I was already frustrated and embarrassed enough, and each conscientious stranger simply added to my heap of failure feelings. It was childish, I knew, but I had always been extremely independent and self-reliant. Even after sixteen years, I didn’t want to show weakness or ask for help because of my MS.
When we finally completed the loop back to the dreaded staircase, I had to undertake the horrible task of going down the stairs. This was so much worse for me. If I fell going up, I hit the next step, but if I fell going down, I became a human slinky. It was an extremely slow process. One gentleman even offered to carry me down. This sparked a t-shirt idea for my next adventure- yellow shirt with the back reading ‘CAUTION: MS (Moves Slow)’. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to incessantly regurgitate the same explanation.
By methodically lowering one foot at a time, I made it to the bottom. As we started across the last portion back to the Visitor Center, Arman made the mistake of trying to embolden me when he stopped to point out our car and told me we were almost there. As the last word floated off his lips, it triggered the remaining milliliter of adrenaline coursing through my veins to evaporate. My strength dissipated instantly, and my legs crumpled underneath me. The only things keeping me from becoming a dirt hole cover were Arman’s arms wrapped tightly around me.
Every inch forward after that was a hard-fought battle to stay upright. I had one arm draped around Arman’s neck with a vice grip on his shoulder and the other hand bracing on his chest for balance. His arms were still around my waist, and he began slightly lifting me on each step to assist my weakened thigh muscles in raising my sapped limbs. Those seeing us emerge from the darkened woods would think that I had partaken of a little too much forest nymph wine.
Arman deposited me on a bench to rest while he took his own respite. Out of curiosity, I looked up Hall of Mosses while I was resting and found out the trail I had barely survived was closer to a mile long, not ‘just over half a mile’ as Arman was told. Part of me was glad I hadn’t known, or I might have been too scared to try. As it was, I persevered and got to behold a splendor of nature. I knew I wouldn’t be able to accomplish something this strenuous again, but for today MS didn’t win.
Author: Katie Yusuf
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