Seven Sisters at Seven Sisters

The Ritual

Have you seen this movie?

I have.

Because the sisters thought it would be a good idea on our hiking trip to watch a scary movie. About people getting picked off. One by one. While hiking.

And while I can’t ever get those two hours back, I did learn a little more about these women I spend so much precarious time with.

None of us. Not one. Is the sniveling little panicky dude that really should have gotten picked off first because he’s the reason the entire group is in danger and all he’s really contributing is nonsensical screaming and only mildly warranted judgement.

We wouldn’t just let the forest take any one of us.

Sure, if I’m held up in a liquor store, I should just give up the ring, but the chances of me ever getting a ring I actually want are infinitesimal. So I’m probably gonna fight to keep that shit, and y’all damn sure better step up if someone slashes a knife across my face.

But I’m pretty sure these chicks would. En mass. Each one bringing her own brand of vengeance to the mix. Her own odd somewhat unsettling brand of vengeance.

While simultaneously judging me for my willingness to die over a damn ring.

We arrived on scene on Friday. The 13th. Smack in the middle of a full moon.

Our organizer and supervisor had been taken out by a cat the day before. Because no matter how much we love them, cats just can’t not be shitheads. So she wasn’t able to go.

We were sent away without a supervisor.

To North Carolina.

Rogue and I. Together.

In North Carolina.

Without a supervisor…

This should explain much of what follows.

First of all, I’m 45. I’ve given birth to two very large babies. Naturally. Not even an epidural.

So, when Stone saw the massive speed bump on the way to the cabin, which she and her Durango took as a dare, bodies went flying through the air like a scene out of Fast & Furious XXXII. And I probably would’ve been ok if the vision of everyone ragdolling back and forth hadn’t been so hilarious. But, I mean, I can only be expected to brace one area of my body at a time. It was either brace my arms against the roof to avoid a concussion or brace my urethra. I couldn’t do both.

So, yeah.

I peed a little.

Maybe a little more than a little.

Stop it.

My kids were ginormous.

Luckily, we were close to the cabin, so I was able to finish peeing into an actual toilet and then change into clean clothes.

And when the rest of the Sisters got there, the two solid hours of laughter until tears did NOT result in more peeing.

It did result in a few epic bathtub pics. And only partial nudity.

The next morning, we took our sweet ass time getting dressed and heading to the trailhead.

The wrong trailhead.

Several miles from the actual trailhead we were supposed to be at.

Dammit Supervisor. We need you.

We stood there in front of the incorrect trail map. Looking confused. And very lost.

Thankfully there was a Georgia native there to direct us over to where we were supposed to be. Here in North Carolina.

When we said we were hiking 7 Sisters, she looked at us doubtfully.

“No no. We’re physically capable of it. It’s just our navigational skills that are lacking. Once you put us on an actual trail, we’ll probably be alright. Probably…”

I meant that to reassure her.

It didn’t.

She directed us anyway. Because she wanted our parking space.

Once at the appropriate trailhead, we again stood in front of the trail map. The correct trail map. Again looking confused. But a little less lost.

So we started pointing at shit. To act like we knew what we were talking about.

None of us pointed to the same spot.

“Seven Sisters? Are you sure you wanna do that?”

I’m not even gonna try to convince anyone anymore.

But we got directions and a phone number from a very capable-looking woman. Who agreed to let us call her if we needed rescuing.

And off we went.

And even though we all know that you’re never supposed to follow me, I always somehow end up in the lead.

No. Not “somehow.”

I know exactly how.

What happens is Rogue stands there. Refusing to move. Until I go first.

Every damn time.

So I did. I took the lead. I took the brunt of the spider webs.

And because I’m a lover of nature. And very respectful. I try to avoid just tromping straight through carefully constructed webs.

Instead choosing to low crawl and high step my way through the forest.

And Rogue just spends the whole time heckling.


I got us through the majority of the trail. Without much incident.

We did try to shove Tiny Brazilian into a tree that I know she could’ve fit in if she’d really tried.

But she whined about her foot twisting off and the others caved and pulled her back down.

We went right when we were supposed to go left

but on purpose.

For fear that we’d miss the only real view if we skipped past Greybeard.

And found this.

There’s a view in there somewhere.

I assume we mounted most of the 7 Sisters. Because we kept going up and down.

But only ever saw this.

And this.

Those were the “trails” I was traversing us through.


That’s like master level trail scouting right there.

At one point, I turned back and Rogue had a tissue stuffed into both nostrils.

And straight faced just looked back at me.

Which almost caused me to pee again. But I just laid on the ground and kegeled until the fits of laughter passed.

We did eventually find a view.

Of course it would be called this.

But we decided this was the cover photo spot anyway.

We briefly considered having the young group of college Presbyterian boys that stumbled up on us take our topless Molly pic. But they already looked a little uncomfortable about being surrounded by moms. So we settled for a perfectly respectable pose.

And shortly after this is the point I learned just how much of a vengeful bitch K-Rob-D can be.

Because as we were heading down the last few miles of trail, I felt someone stab me in the right butt cheek.

Now. I didn’t scream like GJB did on Christmas Mountain last weekend. And I didn’t take off down the trail. Initially.

I probably cussed a little. Even though I’ve been trying to practice a cuss alternative lifestyle.

It’s not going well.

Because fucking yellow jackets.

It wasn’t a knife that stabbed me in the ass cheek. It was a fucking bitch ass yellow jacket.

And when I pulled it out and threw it on the ground, K-Rob jumped on top of it. Attempting to avenge me.

Sadly, her temper is stronger than her understanding of bee physics. Because all she really managed to do was hold that little bastard in place until she lifted her foot.

At which point, he came after her.

She spent the next several hours complaining about her ankle swelling up.


But you’re not over here looking like half of a Kardashian.

“Just wait. Tomorrow it will start itching. Try explaining that to the people at school.”

We finished up the trail whiney and angry and hungry.

And went straight for our standard burgers at Black Mountain Ale House.

Because they accept our post-trail funk every time we’re in North Carolina.

And then went back to the cabin to gather around the Netflix and watch the worst hiking movie ever made.

And even though I’ll be fighting the urge to scratch my ass at school all day tomorrow, I look forward to our next adventure.

Because these bad bitches won’t just let the forest take me.

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