So, there I was. The footbridge at the Spence Ridge crossing was out.

I’d seen the signs, back at the Table Rock picnic area as I’d strolled through on the Mountains to the Sea trail. I’d also heard that it was out before, from the Forest Service staff at the Linville Gorge Information Cabin when I’d visited last June. Mrs. Gent came along for that trip, and we didn’t even bother to check on how “out” the bridge was. So this time around, I was determined to investigate. I figured that the bridge was probably just a little rickety and that the Forest Service merely wanted to avoid a lawsuit by some amateur that needed a hand railing, so I turned down the Spence Ridge trail. And the bridge was out.

The Spence Ridge Trail is 1.75 miles long, and it’s all downhill. It’s a nice little walk, at least in one direction. The direction I came in. It would also be 1.75 miles of all uphill.

It was not something I was interested in doing. I came here, on my first solo backpacking trip, because I wanted to complete a 23 mile loop that has been described as a “super-sampler” or “only recommended for very experienced outdoorsmen.”

After evaluating the bridge and the rocks, I decided that an easy scramble would take me out to the center rock in the middle of the river. “Who knows,” I thought, “perhaps I can just jump from the middle rock to the far rock on the edge of the river.”

And so I went. As I expected, it was an easy scramble out to the middle of the river. And also not close enough to jump safely. I might have been out shouldering some risk (anything in the outdoors involves risk), but I wasn't about to try to long jump nearly 15 feet with a 10 foot vertical drop with my pack on. I also wasn't about to turn around, at least not just yet.

First I would search upstream. It looked the most promising. The rocks were larger, more closely spaced and perhaps I could get across up there.

Alas, it was not to be. Having scrambled up and over and around for nearly 30 minutes I couldn't find a suitable crossing point. The rocks, while close, were not close enough, and the backside of the large slab jutting in from the right was covered in slimy moss and much steeper than the front side shown in the picture. But I’m nothing if not persistent. Perhaps downstream would prove more hospitable.

Heading downstream was less of a scramble and more of a gingerly-placing-my-feet-to-not-slip-on-the-moss. The rocks here were flatter, smaller, and not as promising for a dry crossing. And so, there I ended up, up against a rock wall that prevented me from going any farther downstream. An old tree lay derelict in the water, straddling some small falls.

“You and me both, brother,” I said to the tree as I sat down on the rock next to it. It was time to make a decision. The temperatures were in the 40s, and I wasn't feeling very cold, though I had thrown my Patagonia Houdini on during lunch and left it on for the downhill trail.

“I've been wetter, and colder, and wetter and colder at the same time, than it is right now.”

“Yeah, but this is supposed to be fun. Being cold and wet isn't fun.”

“Well, would turning around and just doing a little 16 mile out and back over three days be fun.”

“Noooo…but I’m out here alone. I don’t have cell phone service down here and I didn't even bother to leave a note with the wife about which radio frequency I’d be monitoring in the event of an emergency. And it’s December. I know the forecast called for moderate weather, but it could change.”

“Fine, I’m done. Cross or don’t. Either way, stop sitting here on a rock on the side of the river burning daylight.”

And with that, stung by that last little insult from one side of my brain to the other, off came the Houdini and across the river I went.

I started with a jump from near the tree to another flat piece of rock. So far, so good. Nice and dry. Stepping across another few stones, I came an angled rock, daring me to try and make the jump and stay dry. Well, challenge accepted. And the rock won. Slippery moss covered the lower half where the high water mark was and I hit, banged my knee and slid straight into the water.

Brr, that was cold. But not as cold as I've ever been. Too late now, and off I went wading across in the shallowest parts I could find. And before you know it, I was across.

What a feeling of joy and elation. I was on top of the world (or more specifically, dry rock again). I’d built it up way too much in my head, and also killed over an hour of daylight messing around trying to stay dry, but screw it, I was across, I’d overcome the challenge I’d set for myself and I would be completing my Linville Gorge Loop as planned.

“HEY YOU! You've still got another 6–8 miles to go if you want to get back to the car at a reasonable time tomorrow, and these aren't the types of trails you want to navigate at night,” the wet and unhappy part of my brain decided to bring me back down to earth.

“Well alright then, off we go. But at least I get to test out how fast my prAna pants and the Salomon X Ultra Mid’s will dry,” we answered, with a last parting shot at the party pooper.

And with that I thanked myself that it was only me that I was arguing with and that it wasn’t Mrs. Gent stocking up on ammunition to use against me for the rest of my life. It wouldn’t be the last time on this trip that I would think that. But that’s a story for another time…

Have you had your own adventures while out backpacking? Let’s compare notes. Hit me up on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram.