At two forty, I passed the 6.5-mile marker and arrived at the Edward Beecher Campground just after three. I filled up with water for the night from the spring. With four liters in hand, I backtracked a couple of hundred yards down the trail to a low ridge to the east of the trail I’d noticed on the way in.

It looked like a good spot, and I found some trees that would let me set up camp with my hammock across the wind. While I was making camp I heard an ATV stop at the spring and then continue up the forest road that passes through the abandoned campground. I was glad I’d decided to camp well away from the road and spring.

The “Bad Decisions make Good Stories” patch on my backpack was silently mocking me

Camp sorted, I ran an ECG, which informed me I was in AFIB. It must have been very mild bout, as I could hardly feel it, but it confirmed my suspicions. I immediately took one of my pills, and then the extent of my potential problem dawned on me. I usually pack a couple of extra pills to cope with a bout of AFIB. But this was Day One, if I had AFIB every day, I didn’t have enough pills with me to keep it in check — assuming it responded. Also, I’d somehow managed not to pack enough of the coated Aspirin tabs I take each day to reduce the risk of a stroke from AFIB (I don’t take more aggressive anticoagulants because of the amount of scratches and gouges I get backpacking).

This was a dilemma. Should I turn around and go home in the morning? Carrying on would take me further from the trailhead.

The “Bad Decisions make Good Stories” patch on my backpack was silently mocking me. I decided to sleep on it and see how my heart was behaving in the morning. If I was to carry on, I would have to come up with a way of mitigating the risks.

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