The Real Heroes

July 16, 2017

The AT has more than its share of mythical figures, inspiring stories, people seeking and finding redemption, peace, direction. Earl Schaffer, the first AT thru-hiker, laid to rest personal demons from the war. Grandma Gatewood, age 67, persevered to become a celebrity in the 1950s, after forest rangers told her, “Go home, Grandma.” Bill Erwin hiked the trail blind, depending upon his own wits and determination as well as his guide dog, Orient. Stacey Kozel conquered incredible difficulties as she thru-hiked with paralyzed legs. These are the stories that draw people to the AT, these are the stories that shine as a beacon when people grope through dark times.

However, the real heroes of the AT are a small group of dedicated volunteers, spread thinly across 2,196 miles of mountains. Trail maintenance crews make possible the dreams of thousands of hikers. Without the service of these incredible people, the trail would quickly cease to exist. For the love of the trail, these folks keep our path safer, more reliable, and navigable.

Today we were hiking through the trees, following a route of rocks and roots and mud as usual. Suddenly the sound of metal striking metal rang through the woods. We rounded a couple bends in the path and came upon three men laboring over a series of logs crossing a long morass of mud.

Peter Rodrick, head of the Maine Appalachian Trail Club (MATC), stopped to chat as we admired their work. “I’ve been wanting to get a boardwalk over this section for several years,” he gloated. “It’s good to see it happening!”

“Those logs look pretty heavy! How did you get them in here?” I asked.

“Well, we had a bunch of volunteers this morning, trucked the logs up to the nearest road, and they all carried them in. Then the three of us, Shamus LaPerriere, Scott Quint, and myself, have been working the rest of the day, laying out and securing this walkway. You know, the MATC is going more and more towards bridging these swampy places with rocks. But the boardwalks are a good deal faster to build. If made from cedar, they’ll last 20 years. I reckon the rocks might last 100 years though.”

We watched, fascinated, as Shamus and Scott used brace and bit to drill holes, then secured the last log with a couple of metal spikes, tamping them in with the back of an ax. “You two can be the first hikers to walk this,” they invited us.

It seemed to me that such a moment needed more than just two grubby hikers prosaically walking over the mud. I stepped up on the first log. “Ta-ta-ta! Ta-ra-ta-ta Ta-ta-ta!” I played on an imaginary trumpet. Then, spreading my arms for balance, I crossed, enjoying the level boards, dry feet, and ease of passage. “Wow, this is wonderful! Thank you, thank you! You are awesome!”

July 17, 2017

Today as we were hiking, once again we heard the sound of metal striking upon metal. There were five in the trail crew, bridging a long mucky stretch of trail, this time using large stones. Once again we stopped to proffer our thanks and get educated on the methods of trail building.

“How do you move such huge rocks?” Jay asked as he eyed the boulders, some easily the size of a Galapagos giant tortoise. “They must weigh 500 pounds or so!”

“We mostly roll them, using these steel pry bars,” the crew leader answered. “Yesterday we mined 72 stones from the forest. It was a good day!”

“I guess you always try to get the rocks from the uphill side of trail then,” Jay laughed.

“We met a trail crew yesterday. The leader told us that these walkways made with stones could last 100 years,” I remarked.

“Well, I haven’t been around long enough to know if that is true,” the crew leader smiled. “But hopefully they will last a long time. It’s slow going, getting the rocks put in.”

“I think it is amazing, the way you lay them so close together, and all level! It makes it really easy to walk upon. Thank you so much!” I told him.

“You can be the first hikers to walk these 15 stones that are already laid,” he invited us.

As we walked excitedly over the stone path, I thought, ‘Wow, 15 rocks out of 72. They’ve got a huge job today!’

We took their picture, thanked them again, and continued, marveling at the dedication and commitment of these volunteers. Yes, these are the real heroes on the AT.

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Southbound …

July 5, 2017

IMG_20170705_161032143 — The day after climbing Katahdin, the mountain already looks a little far away!

So here we are, heading south on the AT, hips a little creaky, legs a little rubbery, but ready for more adventure and beauty! Jay, with the wisdom of experience, has scheduled ten easy miles for us, from Katahdin Stream Campground to Abol Pines Campground, ending our recovery day with a lovely fish and chips dinner at the Abol Bridge Northern Restaurant!

We are both sore, and battling headaches from the exertion of climbing Katahdin. The miles slowly pass with much natural beauty attempting to distract us from the pain of our bodies. Little Niagara and Big Niagara Falls are awesome! Water pours over a series of ledges, throwing up mist and froth, swirling at the bottom into a classic pool. “If this were anywhere else in the lower 48 states,” I remark to Jay, “there would be a road to these falls, with crowds of people! Instead, we have it all to ourselves. This is incredible!”

July 6, 2017

Both Jay and I are still tired from Katahdin! This is very surprising to me. I really expected to feel better today, after taking an easy day yesterday and getting a delicious meal at the restaurant. I guess climbing that mountain is not something one does on a whim!

We begin to meet many other southbounders today. All are tired, yet a little giddy. After all, they just conquered a trail that had to be painted onto rocks! How tough could the next 2,180 miles be compared to that?

As I think of all the people hiking the AT, each with his or her own agenda, schedule, ideas, joys, fears, experiences, a young hiker named Homer puts it into words: “There is only one path, the path you take.”

July 7-9, 2017

We enter the 100 Mile Wilderness!

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During this three days, we gradually recover our energy. We also see many lakes and ponds, bogs, moss, trees, mountains. Beauty is all around, it is our job to notice it.

We continue to meet more southbounders, beginning to put names with faces as we leapfrog with several small groups of hikers.

We hike, swim, eat, sleep, and get up to do it again! The lakes and ponds are so shallow, that the water is actually warm, a real treat! One day we see loons, another day we see mergansers.

On July 9, as I’m walking down the trail, I look up to see a marten peering at me from behind a tree trunk! I stop, amazed and enthralled. “Jay, look!” I whisper. We watch as the marten runs up the tree trunk, peers at us again, makes a flying leap to another tree, then disappears into the green north woods. Wow!

July 10, 2017

White Cap Mountain begins our day, the first mountain since Katahdin that is above tree-line. My pack feels heavy, and I am very slow over rocks and roots. The top is cold, windy, a little rainy. We take a picture, then scurry down to the protection of tree-line!

This same day we also climb Hay Mountain, West Peak, and Gulf Hagas Mountain. Yes, this is the AT. Either the trail goes up, or it goes down. Yee-hah!

July 11-13, 2017

The trail continues to challenge us with bogs, boulders, roots, rocks, mud, granite, vertical scrambles and horizontal boardwalk balances! A hiker named Mike describes the roots as looking like someone spilled a bowl of spaghetti across the ground. When it rains, those roots are about as slippery as spaghetti also!

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The trail also continues to give beauty at every turn, with sunlit lakes, misty bogs, mountain peak views, and deep forest shade. My pace has slowed, from a 45 minute mile to a 75 minute mile. It takes all day just to go 10 miles. If I think of how slowly I am hiking, I get discouraged. But Jay says to keep enjoying this beauty, and he is right. We are lucky to have enough time, enjoying the warm summer months in these north woods.

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July 14, 2017

We made it to Monson, Maine! Hot showers! Clean clothes! Resupply! Restaurants!

IMG_20170714_162948930 — Incredible food at the Spring Creek Bar-B-Que!

July 15, 2017

Monson is having it’s Summerfest this weekend. What fun!

IMG_20170715_143504719 — This is the “Anything Floats” Race, with three entries! Homemade craft paddled across the Monson Pond. Fun!

The day ends with fireworks at the ball field while the Spring Creek Bar-b-que Restaurant pipes patriotic tunes, including, “Proud to Be an American” and “The 1812 Overture”. What a lovely end to our zero day!

For more pictures of our adventures, please see our photo pages on the Menu!

Katahdin!

July 4, 2017

Katahdin! The terminus of the AT for northbound hikers holds the beginning of adventure for southbounders! For Jay and me, as flip-floppers, the climb up Katahdin marked the midpoint of our journey.

From Millinocket, Maine, the Appalachian Trail Lodge shuttled us to Baxter State Park, depositing us at the ranger station. We parked our backpacks on the ranger’s front porch, stuffed a borrowed day pack with food and rain gear, and registered. Finally, it was time to go!

The first mile of our journey was quite easy, with a wide trail, gentle tread, and scenic vistas of trees, rock, and moss. Winding rock stairs meandered up the foot of the mountain, gaining elevation in four inch increments. The mile ended at a stream with a Boy Scout-built bridge and a privy! What a practical thing to put on this heavily used trail!

Continuing past the privy, the trail gave a little evil chuckle, and suddenly boulders began appearing as the gradient steepened. Tangled bushes and thickets of pines pressed around us, forcing us to stay on the narrow stony track, conveniently marked with white AT blazes. From knee-high to thigh-high, the boulders required climbing, scrambling, clambering, shinnying, and sometimes crawling. “This isn’t so bad,” I remarked breathlessly. “It’s a little steep, but I can do it.”

About the time I was thinking of lunch, we reached tree-line. Suddenly, instead of a narrow path, the painted white blazes traversed the tops of a whole field of boulders. These rocks were car-sized, and vertical. My eyes traveled out, and up, and more up. “Oh geeze,” I thought in sudden panic. “What have I got myself into? I don’t like climbing mountains!”

The clouds that had been hovering all morning suddenly descended to eye level, spitting a few raindrops, but mostly just obscuring the view with mist and fog. That was fine by me. What I couldn’t see, didn’t exist, which allowed me to focus energy and muscles on each individual boulder challenge, following Jay as he disappeared above me into the atmosphere. An occasional piece of re-bar hammered into a rock face helped me climb, but I often felt that I could have used a whole ladder on most of those boulders. Toes, fingertips, knees, thighs, even stomach and posterior came into use as I crept up the ridge.

Finally, after an eternity of granite, we reached what is known as the Tableland, a relatively flat mile on top of Katahdin. The trail continued to boulder hop, but with smaller stones and more horizontally. Fortunately for me, the clouds persisted, obscuring the view. I was able to lie to myself, “See, you’ve done the hard part. The top is probably just a few minutes of easy walking!” Although my intellect knew the Tableland was slightly over a mile long, my gut was happy to accept the lie as we kept walking and walking and walking…

Just as I was about to give up completely, Jay said, “I see it! We’re almost to the sign!” Hopefully, I stopped, looking up, peering through the swirling mist. No sign. No celebrating people. Just gray, blank cloud. My shoulders sagged. My eyes fell back down to the boulders, my feet relentlessly taking slow step by slow step. I was sure Jay was right, but I was too tired to believe.

We climbed over a tiny hump, indistinguishable from the hundreds of tiny humps I’d already ascended during this last mile. But there, through the mist, a shape loomed precipitously above us, dim blobs of color resolved to people taking pictures, and we were there! The top! Katahdin!!!

In honor of our nation’s birthday, we had brought patriotic wigs to wear for our picture by the famous sign. Many people laughed and cheered as we donned our 4th of July head gear and posed.

Ten minutes passed as we ate a quick snack, preparing for the five miles downhill still ahead of us. Just as we were finishing, the clouds abruptly rolled off the top of the mountain, revealing spectacular scenery below – lakes, mountains, trees, granite. Nature’s glory at our feet! The sign was mobbed as people rushed to get their picture with the view. We settled for a picture of the view a few feet away from the sign.

20170704_142932 — Nature’s glory below us!

And then it was time to descend. Five miles, retracing the route we had so laboriously just climbed. But now I could see our route! It was amazing, looking at what I had climbed in blind ignorance. The last piece of re-bar completely did me in. As my toes felt for a hold on the rock, my eyes were inexorably drawn to the empty air between my legs. I froze, shaking, as I clutched that piece of iron with a death grip. Jay soothingly talked me down, helping me to focus on the problem of where to place each part of my body, instead of all the uninhabited expanse around my body!

We reached the ranger station just as day succumbed to darkness, having spent 12 hours climbing up and plunging down this mountain. I couldn’t have completed Katahdin without Jay’s help. I was tired, sore, and so glad to be on real dirt, not bare granite! My sleeping bag had never felt so luxurious as we settled into our reserved campsite at Katahdin Stream Campground. Aaaaah!

Shaking the Mile Monkey

June 28, 2017

We have a mile monkey riding Jay’s shoulder. Dressed in jockey attire, this little guy constantly urges Jay forward, ready to ignore all distractions such as gorgeous views, side trips to ice cream, bird songs, beautiful flowers, or even intimidating thunderheads. A mile monkey has tunnel vision, choosing the straight and narrow of the trail over all diversions. At the end of the day, his only interest is the number of miles completed.

My job is to frustrate this mile monkey. I’m pretty good at this duty! I’ve had many tiny imaginary monkey expletives hurled at my head during the past four months, as we stopped to swing on a vine, climb a boulder, take in a view, or … go off trail to attend a family reunion!

From Pine Grove Furnace State Park, near the halfway point of the AT, Jay and I rented a car and drove to Tennessee for a yearly gathering of parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins. I’m afraid my motives for this trip were not purely based on family loyalty. After hiking 1,102 miles, the thought of clean sheets and daily showers for a week were nearly as big an attraction to me as seeing loved kinfolk!

“No!” the mile monkey howled. “How can you do this? What kind of a thru-hiker are you? Stop! Go back! Stay on the trail!”

The Appalachian Trail Conservancy defines a thru-hike as completion of the whole 2,190 miles of trail within one year. Traditionally, hikers head either northbound from Georgia or southbound from Maine. However, a hiker’s itinerary can begin anywhere along the trail. Whether one “flip-flops”, “leapfrogs”, or does a “wrap-around”, the thru-hike challenge is to finish within a year.

“That’s not good enough!” the mile monkey chittered as it jumped up and down upon Jay’s shoulder. “You started out northbound! You’ve got to keep going! You’ll never get to Mt. Katahdin at this rate!”

“Perhaps you’re right,” I addressed the mile monkey seriously. “I began this hike as a bit of a pilgrimage, walking through spring like Earl Schaffer (first AT thru-hiker). But with all our delays, most notably the month on and off trail, healing my broken collarbone, I’m not sure we can get to the end before Baxter State Park closes Mt. Katahdin on October 15.”

“Do you want to quit?” Jay entered the conversation.

“No way!” My response was immediate, from my gut. “We committed to a thru-hike! I want to complete it!”

“What if we do a flip-flop?” Jay mused. “We could use the family reunion as a natural break. Instead of getting back on the trail in Pennsylvania, we could drive to Maine, climb Katahdin, then hike south!”

“That’s it!” I hugged Jay ecstatically. “We hiked Georgia in winter, walked in awe through spring in North Carolina, Tennessee, and Virginia, now we can have summer in the north woods! There will be no time limit on our finish as we hike south through the fall!” I eyed the monkey triumphantly. “Oh boy, mile monkey, you’re gonna have a tough time, now!”

“Agh!” the mile monkey stomped in frustration. “You haven’t heard the last from me! I’ll find some way to keep nagging you!”

IMG_20170617_194723171 — This rock was found on a cairn near the Mason-Dixon Line on the Appalachian Trail.

The Half-gallon Challenge

June 20, 2017

Hikers enter Pine Grove Furnace State Park just a few miles past the halfway point on the Appalachian Trail. This beautiful setting is home to the Appalachian Trail Museum (a museum dedicated solely to hiking!), a self-guided historical trail (Pine Grove Iron Furnace built in 1764!), Fuller Lake (swimming and showers!), and incredible bird habitat (160 species of birds!).

But the one feature of the park that occupies the thoughts of many AT hikers is the Pine Grove Furnace General Store, home of the half-gallon challenge. Here, time honored tradition compels scores of hikers to gladly pay $10 for the privilege of making themselves half sick from eating a half-gallon of ice cream. If successful, the sugar-bloated hiker wins a tiny wooden spoon with the half-gallon challenge logo stamped upon it.

I must admit, Jay and I talked and dreamed of this indulgence for many miles. On those hot, humid days, I was convinced I could demolish a half-gallon of ice cream with ease. Fortunately for my blood sugar, the thunderstorm the previous day had broken the heat, and drowned my dreams of sweet indulgence. By the time we arrived at Pine Grove Furnace General Store, the hiker burger held more attraction than two quarts of frozen confection. (The hiker burger consists of a quarter pound beef topped with double cheese, egg, avocado, mushroom, grilled onion, tomato, and lettuce. Yum!)

Another hiker, Dundee, had dreams made of sterner fiber. Jay and I enjoyed watching him attack the half-gallon challenge.

Dundee chose vanilla for the first quart and a half. He told us it was easier to eat ice cream without extra fillers such as nuts or fruit. The first quart went down pretty fast, but his rate of consumption slowed during the next pint. “This is beginning to affect my brain,” he told us.

“Oh boy,” we teased. “The moment of truth has arrived. We could ask you anything, and you’d reply. You’re ready to reveal your deepest, darkest fear!”

“Ice cream,” Dundee mumbled. “I’m scared of ice cream. I can see it now, the torturer bringing me a pint. I’d be moaning, ‘No, no! I’ll tell all! Just don’t make me eat that!’ Anything but this stuff!” He dug out another reluctant spoonful and looked at it mournfully.

Dundee got to choose different flavors for the last pint. By now, thoroughly sick of vanilla, he choose chocolate, topped with a dollop of moose tracks. The first few spoonfuls were obviously delicious, then the tempo of ingestion slowed to a snail’s pace. “Oh man,” Dundee whimpered, “chocolate was a mistake.”

“What’s wrong?” we asked. “Don’t you like the taste?”

“Oh yeah, it’s good and all. Just rich. Way. Too. Rich.” Dundee grimly scooped another blob of the umber confection.

With a great deal of determination, the cup of chocolate was finally emptied. Dundee threw it away, then waddled off to claim his tiny wooden spoon. He returned to proudly show us his trophy, then collapsed into a chair as sugar took free rein over his body.

Another hiker, Blue Deer, arrived with ice cream on his mind. He paid his $10, and brought the first quart and a half outside on the front porch. “Hey, Dundee, I’ve got Neapolitan! I won’t get sick of the vanilla taste this way,” Blue Deer gloated.

“Take my recommendation. Eat the chocolate first,” Dundee groaned.

“I’ve hiked one thousand one hundred miles without your counsel. What makes you think I need your advice now?” Blue Deer teased.

“Experience,” Dundee sighed as his head went down to the table.

Ice cream challenge begins!

Sugar wins!

From beginning to end! Half-gallon challenge!!

A Series of Moments

A description of separate moments from the last ten days of hiking:

June 11, 2017

This morning we left Front Royal, VA, hiking into a green tunnel of beauty. A couple miles into the day, Jay and I came around a bend in the trail, to see a doe calmly grazing. A fawn looked out from under his mother’s belly, peering at us from between her back legs. The doe turned her head toward us, took a few steps away, then continued grazing. The fawn butted his mother’s side, and the doe walked a bit further down the trail. We followed slowly, wondering if we could get a picture. This continued for several minutes, the doe and fawn always several yards in front of us, but staying on the trail.

Finally, through the trees, we heard a noisy group of hikers approaching from the north. The doe decided she’d had enough, between our quiet stalking and the chatter of a larger group. She lifted her head, and took off eastbound through the trees. Only problem was, the fawn ran west! After a few moments, the doe appeared back on the trail, looked at us in indecision, then followed her fawn. A few seconds later, they made one last appearance, now both headed east together. Hurray!

20170611_111601 — Stalking an unconcerned doe and her fawn.

Later today we came across a hiker feast – mulberries, wild strawberries, and black raspberries – all ripe! We paused several times to pick handfuls. Yum!

June 12, 2017

A very hot and humid day. Yesterday Jay tried keeping cool by laying in a creek. Today we decided to take a two hour siesta at Rod Hollow Shelter. The shelter and privy were very clean, the grounds very shady. It was lovely to lay on flat boards, with no bugs biting, a small breeze occasionally cooling our skin. Yes, life is good on the AT!

We passed 1,000 miles today! Hard to believe I have hiked that far!

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June 13, 2017

Another hot, muggy day. We reached the David Lesser Memorial Shelter in the heat of the evening. Our skin felt covered in about four layers of sweat and insect repellent. We took our water bottles half mile downhill to a lovely cold spring, filled them up, then walked a good ways from the spring and took a shower using our water bottles. Aahh, what luxury!

June 16, 2017

Today the trail came to the Washington Monument. Not the monument in Washington D.C. This Washington Monument was built in 1827 by citizens of Boonsboro, MD. On July 4, over 500 people marched from the public square for two miles up the mountain to create the first stone monument to George Washington. What a way to celebrate our nation’s holiday! The forty foot tall observation deck is reached by a circular staircase through the center of the tower. I felt I was climbing inside a medieval castle as I ascended the wedge-shaped stairs!

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June 17, 2017

This evening Jay and I crossed the Mason-Dixon line! We’ve left the southern Appalachians behind, and are now officially in the mid-Atlantic states! We camped just a mile further, beside Falls Creek.

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June 18, 2017

The most notable event on this hot and humid day was our stop at Deer Lick Shelter. Inside the privy, Jay saw a HUGE spider! About the size of my palm, it lurked high on the privy wall, waiting for its prey. Yikes!

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June 19, 2017

At 12:45 p.m., the stifling humid heat finally broke with a roar and a bang! Lightning flashed, thunder boomed, rain poured in sheets! Within a matter of minutes, the trail transformed into a small creek. Though we didn’t mind walking through rain, or splashing along a trail posing as a creek, the lightning did make us nervous. It seemed rather dangerous to be ankle deep in water as lightning sparked all around. So we stopped at the first semi-flat clearing in the woods and set up our tent as the rain poured. Today’s two hour siesta happened inside our tent, listening to the splatter of raindrops and waiting for the thunderstorm to pass!

Once the storm was over, we emerged from our flimsy shelter, packed up, and kept on hiking. About dinner time, we came to the official half-way point of the AT! What a milestone!

IMG_20170619_182535660 — We’ve done it! 1,100 miles!

Protecting Food

June 7, 2017

“How do you keep your food safe from bears?” The day hiker has an intensely interested look as she asks me that oft-heard question.

Well, there are many answers…

First of all, I’m more afraid of marauding mice, squirrels, and raccoons. Bears are not encountered very often, and problem bears are reported quickly. It’s the little guys one has to watch for daily! A mouse once chewed a hole in my backpack in broad daylight, with about eight people standing around talking! Rodents know no fear.

However, if a hungry bear does come along, it is tough to completely protect a food bag. Bears are as smart as humans, and much stronger. The only thing we have going for us is a superior knowledge of technology.

So… four ways to protect a food bag.

Bear Vault

Some hikers carry a plastic canister designed to keep all wildlife out. This works very well, and can also double as a stool in camp. However, it is heavy and bulky. I’m sorry to say that Jay and I are too lazy to carry it often, and we have not carried it on this AT hike at all. (Yosemite requires the use of bear vaults, and we carry ours when we camp there.)

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Bear Resistant Food Storage Locker

A bear locker is a heavy steel box with a door latch that is physically impossible for bear claws to manipulate. Provided by the US Forest Service, the box is usually cemented to the ground. This is the only sure way to protect one’s food. It is also rodent proof, which, in my eyes, elevates it to a wonder box. Unfortunately, only a few shelters on the AT have this storage container available. I use it whenever I camp near one.

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Bear Pole

A bear pole consists of a tall metal pole with y-shaped arms supporting hooks at the top, and a long metal rod with a hook on the end. One puts one’s food bag on the hooked rod, lifts the bag high in the air, and loops it over a hook at the top of the pole. This keeps it safe from bears. It also keeps it safe from mice, short hikers, and hikers who don’t have much upper body strength. It is a challenge to lift a fully loaded food bag with a long metal rod and have any control over it!

However, a ridge runner told us that a particularly athletic raccoon at Rock Springs Hut in the Shenandoah National Park had learned to jump and climb the bear pole, thus earning itself a hiker-sized feast each evening! She recommended using the bear locker provided at that hut.

Last night, we camped at Rock Springs Hut. I duly repeated the ridge runner’s advice and warning to the other five hikers there. One other hiker used the bear locker with us. Three hikers chose to sleep with their food. (This is NOT EVER recommended, but hikers do it nevertheless.) One hiker hung his food on the bear pole.

At 4:30 a.m., we all heard the clank of an animal messing with the bear pole. At 6:00 a.m., the hapless hiker saw his shredded food bag and the remains of his food on the ground around the pole. Rocky the Raccoon had struck again!

When I asked the hiker why he had used the bear pole, he said, “Well, it worked for the last four days at other shelters. I figured nothing could actually climb it!”

I guess some people learn from their own mistakes, and some learn from other people’s mistakes.

IMG_20170603_064756146 — Bear pole with many hiker food bags at Calf Mountain Shelter.

Tree Branch and Rope

This method is the most easily accessible to all kinds of wildlife, and yet it is the method we still use 85% of the hike. When camping away from shelters, or even at shelters which have no food storage method available, a rope and a high tree branch are the next best options.

I have to admit, I enjoy tossing a half-filled water bottle connected to a rope over a tree branch, then hoisting our food bags aloft. Sometimes it is a challenge to find an appropriate tree branch, and sometimes it is a challenge to get the rope exactly where one wants it. But challenges can add excitement to a day, and after 900 miles of hiking, I’m not too bad at this skill. (Jay is better at it!)

The general rule of thumb is to hang the food bag at least 15 feet off the ground and 6 feet away from the trunk of the tree. Bears can still get it, if they are determined. Ditto for athletic rodents and raccoons. But so far (knock on wood), our food has stayed safe.

Eavesdropping

June 3, 2017

Tonight we camped atop Black Rock Summit in the Shenandoah National Park. We arrived about 7:00 p.m., set up our tent, hung our food bags, then climbed up the rocky peak to take in the view. Three small puffy white clouds accented an azure sky. Folds of green mountain ridges followed one another to the horizon. We were alone with this alluring vision of God’s world. There wasn’t much to say beyond, “Wow.” We sat, soaking in the beauty for a few moments, then prosaically climbed down and crawled into our sleeping bags, content to rest our tired bodies, our minds filled with wonder. I immediately drifted into sleep, and Jay lay in isolated tranquility, listening to the evening birdsong concert.

IMG_20170603_180241672_HDR — View from Black Rock Summit.

This solitary peace did not last long, however. Just before sunset, two young thru-hikers, Crusoe and Bat, arrived to watch the sunset. They seemed unaware of our tent, just a few yards away in the cover of the trees. Thus, Jay became an unintentional eavesdropper to their conversation.

Crusoe: Is this what Pennsylvania is like?

Bat: (very literal minded) Well, it has rocks, and this is rocks.

(My note: Pennsylvania is known for very sharp rocks.)

Crusoe: Yeah, but it would be easier without 50 pounds on my back.

Bat: (surprised) Your pack weighs 50 pounds?

Crusoe: Hyperbole, man!

During a short silence, Bat was possibly thinking, ‘I don’t know what a hyperbole is but it must be heavy.’

Crusoe: (happily) You know, after this, I’m gonna hike the PCT and the CDT and keep my same name!

Bat: What’s the CDT?

Crusoe: It’s this trail that goes all the way from Mexico to Alaska, except there’s no trail. You have to find your own way!

Bat: No wonder I’m not interested.

(My note: The CDT actually runs from Mexico to Canada, along the Rocky Mountains.)

Another short silence, then Bat began to talk about a game on his phone.

Crusoe: (virtuously) I have to keep some battery for when my parents call. (Then, with a burst of candor…) Sometimes my mom calls, and I have to be nice, even when I don’t want to talk with her!

At this point, the two hikers descended from the peak, and continued on their way.

June 4, 2017

We met Crusoe and Bat about 11:00 a.m. They had hiked six miles after sunset, then cowboy camped upon a rock ledge at 2:00 a.m. Full of wide-eyed adventure, they were sure they had seen a mountain lion during their night hike. Excitedly they described the pointy ears, the stance, and the short muzzle of their nocturnal sighting. What a great memory for the two of them!

I asked the boys how they got their names. Bat, literal minded as ever, replied, “Well, when I was practicing for this hike, I wore a Batman t-shirt, so people called me Bat.”

Crusoe had a different tale. “In 2015 I was gonna thru-hike the AT and live off the land. That didn’t work out. By the second day, I was looking at bugs. But they weren’t very big, and they didn’t have lettuce and tomato on them!

By this time I was laughing so hard, tears leaked down my cheeks. With hopes that we would “see y’all down the trail”, Jay and I left the two boys and continued on our way.

The night hike evidently whetted the boys’ appetite for more nocturnal adventures. A flashlight accompanied by radio music woke us about 10:30 p.m. We lay in our tent, wondering what was up. Then, as the light passed us on the trail, we heard Bat’s unmistakable voice, “Can we go slower on the uphills? I’m gonna vomit!”

It can happen in an instant…

May 26, 2017

I’m happily hiking along the trail. The sun is shining, the trail is level, birds are singing. Such a beautiful day to be outside! I feel I am the luckiest woman in the world, to be here.

Long grass overhangs the trail. My feet begin wading through the greenery. Suddenly, under the verdant growth, my toe hits an unmovable rock! Wham! My foot stops, but my body keeps going forward. Before I can even think, “Oh no!”, I am on the ground.

This time, there is no taking stock of damage. My right knee screams with every nerve cell. Another immovable rock has whacked it across the kneecap. After rolling around in agony for a few moments, I slowly stand. My knee is already swelling, and bleeding slightly. I try a few steps. The good news is, it still works!

Carefully I begin hiking again, concentrating with every step. My knee continues to hurt, but also continues to work. What can I do, but keep walking? I walk.

May 27-28, 2017

For two days I walk upon a swollen knee. Each morning, the knee is stiff, sore and very hot to the touch. After about three hours of hiking, it is still swollen, but working well, and not near as stiff as the morning.

However, the constant pain begins to take its toll. By Sunday afternoon, I just want to lay down with an ice bag. I talk Jay into a detour to a nearby town, and spend the night with an ice pack and a pillow. Ahh, the comforts of civilization!

May 29, 2017

Today the swelling is much reduced, thanks to the ice and pillow. We continue walking, and the knee continues to work. Hurray! I begin to feel cautiously hopeful that this will be one injury that heals while hiking.

This adventure is full of beauty and fun. I’ve tried to show that with my blog posts. But there is the constant danger of injury. Many people out here are dealing with a body part or two that doesn’t work as well as it should. Injuries can happen in an instant, turning a fun adventure into a feat of endurance. What to do? I continue to walk.

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Measuring the Days

May 18, 2017

Trying to understand and comprehend this extremely lengthy journey sometimes makes my brain hurt. I seek to find the familiar in numbers. Journey length – 2,200 miles. Time possibly taken – 6 to 7 months. Number of days – 200 (or more at the rate we’re going.) Fraction traveled so far – one third. And yet, these are just numbers. How to capture and measure the true breadth of this journey?

In many ways, every day is the same. We get up, pack up, walk, get water, walk, eat, walk, set up camp, only to repeat everything the next day. Jay summed it up when he told our friend, Alan, “We have a high tolerance for monotony.”

And yet, every day is different! I find that I don’t measure the days in increments, but rather in attributes. A hot, sunny day is measured by how many water sources we pass. A cold day is measured by the number of uphill climbs and lee sides of ridges, where I get warm. A rainy day should be measured by the number of times the sun appears. A Saturday or Sunday near a popular trail head can be measured in the number of interesting day hikers with which we chat. A day after a town stay might be measured by the number of privies available! A day after a tough trail, when I begin hiking already tired, might be measured by the number of flat sections I hike!

And then, every now and then, a perfect day happens. Sapphire blue sky smiles as a cool breeze ruffles my hair. Birds, mammals, flowers, and unusual plants populate a gentle trail. The miles roll by. Such a day is truly a gift and can not be quantified or measured. Such a day reaches the depths of happiness on this long journey.

Psalms 90:12 So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.

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