Seasons change. Memories fade. Headlines sell.
On January 1, 2008, Meredith Emerson began the year with a hike in the North Georgia mountains. But Meredith Emerson’s first hike of the year was the last hike of her life. A mentally unstable, homeless, out-of-work drifter kidnapped Meredith, a young, vibrant, avid hiker, held her hostage for three days, beat her to death with a police baton, savagely cut off her head, and dumped her body in the North Georgia foothills. The headlines and talking heads could not get enough of this story. At least for a few days. Then the primaries began. The memory of Meredith faded.
I could not think of a better way to begin a day, a week, a month, or a year than with a hike on the Appalachian Trail. In fact, my home in the North Georgia mountains rests equidistant between two AT trailheads: Woody Gap and Neel's Gap. On New Year’s Day, the same day as Meredith's last hike, my wife and I and Brin the Wonderdog decided that our first hike of the year would be an hours-long trek on the AT, starting at Neel's Gap, the same trailhead on which Meredith Emerson began her hike.
We were to start at noon, the same time, it is believed, that Meredith began her fateful hike with her dog . . . and a stranger. By habit, I turn left out of my driveway to hike Woody Gap, an AT starting point I’ve used for twenty five years, but Neel’s Gap is to the right. I made a wrong turn. I didn’t want to turn around. It looked like snow. The trail was waiting. I continued on to Woody Gap; the vistas never get old and the hike is always as hard. I made a wrong turn. I never made it to Neel’s Gap that day. I could have been there when Meredith encountered her murderer. I could have been there to recognize the odd drifter I had seen on the trail before. I could have been there to sense the threat. I could have been there to hear her screams for help. I could have been there.
Who knows what might have been had I been less of a creature of habit and turned right instead of left. I know I have a bit of Walter Mitty in me, and I would like to think I could have somehow protected a fellow hiker, guarded the trail and made safe the trailhead on that cold January day that seems, now, like years ago an not months. But I made a wrong turn.
Perhaps, had I made it to Neel’s Gap and parked at the trailhead with the only two vehicles in the parking area, Meredith’s and her murderer’s, Meredith’s butcher would have lost the opportunity to stalk, and pounce and kill. Perhaps, had I been there, the drifter would have heard my voice, my dog, my car and lost the will to kill. Perhaps, had I been there, Meredith would have heard my voice, my car, my dog and lost the fear she undoubtedly felt in the presence of evil. Perhaps the savage would have targeted me, my wife and my dog. Perhaps he would have drifted on to kill again, and again, and again.
Perhaps fate has a way that will allow us only to wonder and not to know. Perhaps.
In the weeks after Meredith’s death, I feared that the trail, which is as much a part of my life as the air I breathe, the food I eat, and the love I share with my wife, would be desolate. Abandoned. I feared that hikers would fear the hike because the trail, a symbol of solitude and solace, attracted dangerous drifters like the savage that murdered Meredith. I feared the spirit and sanctuary the trail offers would be tainted by the murder of an innocent woman who did everything right.
But it was not to be the case. Much to the contrary, the trail, because of Meredith’s death, has been packed with day trippers and backpackers like I have never seen before. Backpackers, hikers, walkers, meanderers have returned to the trail in droves to share the solitude, to reclaim the hike, and to remember Meredith.
Meredith’s murderer is off the streets and off the trail and in jail. Forever. Meredith Emerson’s death saved lives because a monster is no longer on the prowl. Meredith Emerson saved the trail. Though I never knew her, Meredith Emerson saved my life.
While the trail might be safe again, we must remain vigilant, we must remain observant, we must look out for each other on the trail and off, we must remain protected, and we must remain . . . connected.
Perhaps cell towers in the mountains are not so bad after all.
