Chapter 12
twelve
BéBHINN
Snowdonia Way Mountain Route
Daily Journal
Day 7 (Journal went missing on the fourth night and turned up this morning)
Pen-y-Pass to Capel Curig
Distance: 9.8 miles (15.9 km)
Total Ascent: 966 m (3,169 ft)
7:44 pm
Dad! You can’t even believe what’s happened! I would swear you’re haunting me, but you would never do anything that would put me through hell, so… I don’t know. The weirdest things have been happening on this hike.
I haven’t wanted to bring it up, just in case you can talk to Mom in her dreams and rat me out, but when I say weird, I mean weird.
Here is some of the crap I haven’t told you about.
Flower bouquets on or in my pack—tied with grass.
Definitely not an animal thing to do. Sometimes, I swear I see large shadows in the trees with my peripheral vision following me.
(Okay, that could be my imagination. Still, it feels eerie, especially when we both know Wales doesn’t have big predators like you grew up with in Oklahoma.)
Missing panties. Dirty Panties!!! Now that I would put down to small animals, but I don’t leave my pack lying open. Never (or at least I think it’s never).
You may have noticed that this journal entry is for Day 7, and the last entry I wrote to you was at the end of Day 4. Yeah…my journal was missing from my room when I woke up the next morning. Like gone. Gone, gone.
I left a message for the B&B owners about the missing journal, begging them to please mail it to me if it turns up.
I cried most of Day 5. I know you weren’t going to really read my letters, but…
No but. In my mind, or my dreams, or whatever, you would read them.
You would live this adventure through my words and read some of my feelings that I was too chicken to tell you… before.
So, how am I writing in the lost journal now? I found it in my pack this morning when I was checking supplies. That’s right. It was in my pack.
I get goosebumps just thinking about finding the damn thing snuggled up all perfect, untarnished brown leather and gold embossing in my pack’s pocket.
I mean, I’m not crazy, right? No seeing person could possibly miss a damn book in a backpack, no matter how thin. So what do you think? I mean, I’m half Irish and have lived in Ireland my whole life.
I know all about Irish folklore. Nan told Daniel, Jonathan, and me all about the “lore.” I’m going to come out with my theory. Don’t laugh. I think I could be plagued with a mischievous púca.
I said not to laugh, Dad! I know it’s ridiculous, but they love creating mischief. They’re shapeshifters, and when they change into animals, their fur is black—hello, shifting dark shadows on the trail.
Okay, here’s a less make-believe theory.
I’ve got some local kids screwing with me.
Today had only a few ascents, just an easy hike full of gorgeous views that allowed me to hit the village of Capel Curig early enough to enjoy a lovely dinner with the owners and three other hikers at the B&B I booked.
I was able to ask the local family if they’d ever heard of hikers getting pranked, and guess what, the answer was yes. The owners grimaced before chuckling and said they had heard a few stories over the years.
Mostly, ornery teens who take turns slipping stones into unaware travelers’ packs. There were a few other “amusing” stories. I have to tell you, Dad, the relief I felt at finding out my woes were probably caused by a group of bored Welsh teens on break had my body shaking in relief.
Teens, I could handle. Púcaí not so much. A creeper (which I’ve hated to even think about), not at all.
They probably realized the importance of the journal they poached and drove to another village to find me.
I haven’t worked out how they knew where I would be, but I suppose living here, most hikers follow the same trail, and last night I did eat dinner at a local restaurant.
My pack was at my feet, but I suppose someone could have sneaked it back in.
Whatever, I’m tired of thinking about it. I only have two and a half to three days left, and I want them to be epic where my only worries are not peeing on my feet.
Oh, I almost forgot. I took a selfie yesterday on top of Mount Snowdon—the tallest mountain in Wales! I would have framed it for my room if you had been in it with me. I think instead, I’ll tuck some of the pictures in the pages of this journal.
I really need to go to bed sooner rather than later. Do you remember what Day 8 will be throwing at me? What am I asking? Of course, you remember. According to blogs and your research, the day will see me through several scrambles and over several summits.
I’ll be just one more mountain goat. My stomach is cramping in excitement.
I feel better for the writing tonight. I was letting myself get weirded out over silly crap, but picturing you rolling your eyes over my dramatics straightened me out.
I love you.
Always. You are still taking care of me.
I’m less upset with you than I was yesterday.
Love, Bébhinn