Rethinking Life on the Appalachian Trail
The 2008 Thru-Hike of
“Rethinker”
Published by Gary Bond at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 Gary Bond
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Dedication
This book is dedicated to all partners of the trail – both the Appalachian Trail and the Larger Trail – and especially to Life-partner, Jill. Without their encouragement and support, this thru-hike would neither have been possible nor meaningful. It is also dedicated to the many trail angels along the way, strangers whose kindness never ceased to amaze.
Table
of Contents
Chapter 2 – The Dream Becomes a Plan
Chapter 3 – The Journey Begins: First Steps on Springer
Chapter 7 – Night of the Wildcat
Chapter 12 – Into the Land of Yankees
Chapter 13 – The Long Green Tunnel
Chapter 17 – A Dark Cloud… A Restoring Pond
Chapter 18 – A New Englander Reunion
Chapter 19 – Ode to the Whites
Chapter 20 – The Harbinger of Maine
Chapter 23 – The Stuff Dreams Are Made Of
Exhaustion from the day’s thirty-mile hike joined a natural lullaby of tumbling waters beyond the night’s homestead. Restful sleep soon followed. Now faint light filtering through my tent combined with the birds’ chorus announcing a new day. Time to be up and hiking once again.
With urgency I slid out of my sleeping bag, gathered assorted bags of gear, rolled up the one-man tent, and stuffed it all in my pack. No time was wasted eating breakfast, because no breakfast could be found in the limp food stuff bag – reason enough for the urgency.
For the second time since beginning the hike hundreds of miles south at Springer Mountain, Georgia, I had misjudged my food supply for the distance between resupplies. As a result of this error I’d hiked an extra-long distance the previous day in order to be within five miles of Rockfish Gap, Virginia, the southern gateway of the Shenandoah’s. From there I hoped to get a ride into the friendly trail town of Waynesboro.
After a liquid breakfast of purified water from nearby Mill Creek, I made a man-on-a-mission jaunt toward the Gap. Along the way I stepped over a hiker who I’d met late the afternoon before. He, too, had been scurrying to get into Waynesboro and resupply. But his body apparently rebelled before the mission was realized, and he lay asleep across the trail. His pack served as a pillow, and a wall of rocks surrounded his torso to prevent rolling down the hillside. It’s as though exhaustion had dropped him in his tracks.
The visitor info center at Rockfish Gap was scheduled to open at 9:00 AM. When I arrived several minutes early, the kind, older gentleman who manned the post that morning opened the door and let me inside. According to my trail guide, a list of local trail angels who would provide a free shuttle into Waynesboro was available, and the gentleman promptly showed me the list. I chose at random a man by the name of Roy and gave him a call. To my relief he answered immediately and gave assurance of a rescue within twenty or thirty minutes.
“What’s your trail name?” Roy asked.
“Rethinker,” I replied.
“OK, Rethinker. I’ll see you shortly.”
While I waited, my host at the info center and I chatted about the trail, and he asked how I was faring so far. He related a story of an extremely distraught female hiker who had arrived at the info center a few days earlier. She had “had it with the trail” and had to get off “right now” and go home. After the man tried gently to tell her that no airport existed in Waynesboro and that the closest airport was 100 miles away in Charlottesville, the girl began frantically calling in search of someone to shuttle her to Charlottesville. Finding no one, she called a taxi and surely paid an extreme fare to the airport.
I assured the man that such desperation was not my case. “Just a ride into town for food and a hot shower. That’ll suit my needs just fine.”
Roy arrived on schedule and helped load pack and poles in the rear of his Outback. Just as we were ready to leave, three other hikers arrived: Shuffles, Stomp, and Stomp’s brother. I’d met Shuffles and Stomp (Jessica and Jon at the time) a few miles north of Newfound Gap in the Smokies. Our hikes now joined again and would rejoin later for a memorable time in Duncannon, Pennsylvania. Loading their gear and bodies into Roy’s car produced the maximum shuttle efficiency.
After a few trail tales on the downward drive into Waynesboro, Roy interjected, “Since I’m a psychologist, I’ve got to ask you just one question:
“Why?”
To know what you prefer instead of humbly saying AMEN to what the
world tells you you ought to prefer, is to have kept your soul alive.
(Robert Louis Stevenson)
Before it was asked, I had already anticipated Roy’s question. Since he was a psychologist, his question focused on what malady of the mind possessed the thru-hiker. It was a question posed to me (and I’m sure to all thru-hikers) many times. When I told family and friends my intentions, many asked the same question. Those who knew me well and had heard my desires for a thru-hike for many years, however, were not so surprised.
As a man in his 50s, I don’t always feel the need to explain myself or my motivations to others. It seems more essential that I explain myself to myself. Further, I don’t think it’s fully possible to explain my own trails to someone not on the same trail. Already I had questioned myself: What was my motivation for a 2200-mile hike through the wilderness of the Appalachians? What was my internal answer to “Why”?
The roots of the answer wound their way back to my teen years. During high school I was introduced to Henry David Thoreau. He became a hero of mine, someone I wanted to emulate. There was a connection to the thoughts in his writings. There was somehow a mystical kinship of spirit with someone that I only knew through his words.
Thoreau’s thinking and adventures in simple living were chronicled in his book Walden Pond, published in 1842. Here was a man who shunned orthodoxy and sought to throw off the burden of possessions – a real rethinker of his time. His adventurous experiences and philosophical observations on Walden Pond fascinated me; at the same time, there was one statement that haunted me. Thoreau wrote: “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.”
Quiet desperation! Was that true? And if it were true, then why? It bothered me to think of that fate. I vowed as a teenager not to become one of those quietly desperate men.
Perhaps Thoreau had
also vowed not to become one of those men. When he headed to the
woods of Massachusetts to build a simple one-room cabin by Walden
Pond, no doubt he heard the question “Why?” He answered that
question in the chapter, “What I Lived For”:
I went to the woods
because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential
facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and
not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not
wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to
practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live
deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and
Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad
swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to
its lowest terms, and, if it proved mean, why then to get the whole
and genuine meanness of it, and publish to its meanness to the world;
or if it were sublime, to know it by experience…
A paraphrase of Thoreau’s explanation was the answer I gave to Dr. Roy on that ride into Waynesboro, VA. I wanted to “live deliberately,” to discover the “essential” elements of life, to learn what the trail had to teach, to “live deep,” ironically by reducing life to its “lowest terms,” to find out whether life was “mean” or “sublime,” and to discover all of this “by experience.”
Four decades after being introduced to Thoreau’s great adventure of the 1840s, I began my own journey of discovery. Most of the ‘whys’ of my quest I had asked before the first step on the AT. Many of the ‘whys’ of life that I sought to rethink along the way were wrapped inside a mystery. But I would discover something far more valuable than answers to the ‘whys’…
Chapter
2 – The Dream Becomes a Plan
Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons. It is to
grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth. (Walt
Whitman)
My first knowledge of the Appalachian Trail came when I was in my early 20s. My parents had told me about a high school friend who began a thru-hike along with a partner. After only two weeks the partner decided that he didn’t want to continue, so they both ended the hike. Even though I knew nothing about the AT at the time, I felt great disappointment in a friend’s lost adventure.
After some research I discovered that the AT stretched all the way from Georgia to Maine. What a long hike! Wouldn’t that be great to do! Should I do it someday? The thought remained in the back corner of my mind, occasionally resurfacing in late-night conversations about one’s dreams.
Through the years I discussed a thru-hike of the AT with many friends. While in the Air Force in the late 1970s, I would talk with my best friend, Bill, about a thru-hike after Uncle Sam was done with us. Years later with my son, Brett, I had expressed hopes that we could do the hike after he finished college. While on day-hikes or overnight camping trips, thoughts and discussions would frequently turn to an AT thru-hike adventure.
Meanwhile, life carried on, time marched ahead, days and months rushed into years; and after three decades, hopes dimmed for the dream becoming a reality. Silently I had resigned myself to the probability that a thru-hike of the AT was a dream I would never realize. Was the stilled yearning a silent resignation or “quiet desperation”?
In the mid ‘80s I discovered the book, As Far as the Eye Can See. With fascination I read the adventure of David Brill and his thru-hike of the AT in 1979. Reading his experience heightened my own desire to know that experience firsthand, not just from another’s book.
Living in northeast Georgia in the 80s and 90s, I was not far from the southern portion of the AT. Weekends would often find me hiking sections of the AT with son, Brett, and friend, Keith. Later after moving to northeast Tennessee in 2002, I explored sections of the AT in Tennessee and western North Carolina. Meeting thru-hikers was a real treat for me, and I plied them with questions about their experiences. What would it be like, I wondered, to keep on hiking…around the next bend…over the next mountain…day after day…as far as the eye can see?
Sometime in 2006 I confided to a hiking-fishing-camping friend: “I don’t think my dream of a thru-hike will ever happen…Realistically, it’s just not feasible…I don’t think my body would be able to take it…Sadly, it’s just not going to happen.” How thin the line between silent resignation and quiet desperation.
**********
The next year my life as a rethinker began. Around that pivotal time in 2007 I began to see life differently. Those inner stirrings that began as a teenager began to take on a new – or renewed – meaning. I would not resign to a life of quiet desperation! I would not let die the dream of 30 years!
Quiet morning moments in a coffee shop in Johnson City, Tennessee became a time of rethinking and writing those re-thoughts. One such morning as I wrote I revisited the dream of an AT thru-hike. Putting down my pen and looking out the window, I visualized the trail a few miles to the east and almost said aloud – I can do this! I will do this!
Arriving home later I approached my wife with the plan, not knowing what the response would be. “Before I turn 60,” I said, “I really want to thru-hike the AT.”…I waited…
“Well…,” she began… I waited…“I don’t see why you…maybe…maybe you might be able to do it next year.”
Jill somehow knew the depth of the yearning, or maybe she was tired of hearing about it. Either way, I knew the first step towards the planning had begun.
Later when asked by others on the trail how my wife felt about the thru-hike, I would answer: “One day my wife told me to ‘take a hike’…and I did.”
**********
Another often asked question: How do you prepare for a thru-hike? Of course, there are many aspects to this question: What kind of physical training do you do? What equipment do you choose? How do you plan how far you hike each day? Where do you get food and supplies along the way? What are the mental and emotional preparations involved?
As with any good plan, research on the subject is vital. Fortunately, a wealth of information on preparing for a thru-hike is readily available – thanks to the internet. I began reading trail journals of other thru-hikers, pouring over equipment lists, checking reviews of the equipment needed, studying trail guides and stat books of the AT, and ordering thru-hiker information from the Appalachian Trail Conservancy (ATC).
My own online record of the preparations and eventual journey was also begun on TrailJournals.com. This electronic journal would keep family and friends informed of the progress and experiences as I made my way northward. In the section about “Trail Name” I wrote:
As I’ve grown further into middle age, I’ve become aware of the necessity to avoid the “ruts” of life.
There is the need to have “rethink moments” when the accepted thinking of the past is questioned, and beliefs are either confirmed or altered.
Truth (Reality) need not fear questions.
As far as the physical aspects of preparing the body for the exertion of a 2200-mile hike while carrying a 30-35 pound pack on the back, well, that was more difficult to determine. While it’s true that there’s a regimen of training involved in preparing for a 26-mile marathon run, how does one prepare for a marathon hike which will take five or six months to complete? Most thru-hikers will agree that there is no way to fully plan and prepare except in the doing. From the time I mentally committed to the hike until the first step on the AT, I had seven months to plan my quest.
In truth, however, I had been preparing for this hike for over 50 years – all my life. Many times during the hike – and I will mention some of these during the course of the book – I was reminded of certain life experiences that enabled me to complete the journey. Often it was some obscure lesson I had learned or some job in my past or a character trait I had inherited…the culmination of a lifetime of doing and learning and making mistakes… all combined to help me realize the goal.
Nailing down the commitment with a few initial steps may be one of the most essential elements of early preparation. Not long after Jill told me to “take a hike,” I ordered a one-man Eureka tent and a 20-degree North Face sleeping bag, followed soon by a Granite Gear “Vapor Trail” pack and an alcohol stove. With the weight factor of all items being a primary concern in gear selection, I sought to achieve a pack weight of 30 pounds to begin the hike. By quickly ordering these initial items, I had placed a few stones on the path of commitment.
**********
Another common question: Did you hike alone?
Not long after taking the first few steps up the approach trail to Springer Mountain in Georgia and waving a misty-eyed bye to Jill, I heard a familiar sound to greet me at the beginning of the long journey. Somewhere among the pines a pileated woodpecker gave his distinctive call, and I took it as, Welcome to my world. (Almost 2000 miles later I would have another feathered friend lead me into Maine. That story later.)
Of course, when people ask whether I hiked alone, they are referring to hiking with another person, a partner. Although I started the hike by myself and hiked hundreds of miles without sight of another person and spent many nights tented beneath a canopy of trees and stars, I never felt alone.
It has been said that the word we use for the agony of being alone is ‘loneliness’; while the word we use for the glory of being alone is ‘solitude.’ For me, the many hours spent hiking alone or the many solitary moments relaxing by a stream or thinking beside a mesmerizing campfire or lying under night’s dark canvas – these were realizations of the glory of being alone.
From my earliest memories of childhood I’ve felt a kinship with Nature. When in the woods I’m in my element. Nature is my companion, and she was a constant companion on the AT. That’s not to say that Nature cannot be, at times, a disagreeable companion. Violent storms, wild animals, menacing insects, and irritating plants would all make their appearances during the hike.
And, yes, I did have hiking partners in the human form along the way. For the most part, they would be the subject of many great memories and experiences. Those very few who were trail butts…are better forgotten. Much of what I’ll relate in this book has everything to do with the partners I met on the trail.
Thru-hikers, I discovered, are as varied and diverse as the AT terrain itself. In fact, when I first conceived the idea of a book about my adventure, I had planned to focus on the thru-hikers I would meet along the way. The title was to be: Pilgrims of the Appalachian Trail: Why People Go to the Woods. This component is still much of the book’s emphasis, but I chose to broaden my writing to include what the trail itself has to teach…to those willing to learn.
Enough sitting around the trailhead! Snug up your hiking shoes, strap on your pack, and join me in Rethinking Life on the Appalachian Trail…
Chapter
3 – The Journey Begins: First Steps on Springer
Walking is the best possible exercise. Habituate yourself to walk
very far. (Thomas Jefferson)
March 17, 2008
It was finally The Day. The decision to begin my thru-hike on St. Patrick’s Day had nothing to do with superstition or hope of Irish Good Luck for the hike. The date was chosen after viewing the North Georgia weather forecast for that week.
Heavy rains were forecast for Saturday, the 15th, with clearing on Sunday, and rain again forecast for Wednesday, the 19th. My hope was to have at least a couple days on the trail before dealing with adverse weather. The best day to begin, therefore, seemed to be Monday, St. Patrick’s Day.
Jill and I packed the car on Sunday with gear and initial food supply – a new home for the coming months all ready to be thrown on my back – and pointed the car towards Dahlonega, Georgia. The afternoon was spent walking around the historic downtown square, visiting some of the shops (I needed nothing from them), and eating at one of the restaurants. There was an unspoken anxiety hanging over us as we both began to realize the distance that would separate us for the next few months.
Sleep would come in spurts that night – like Christmas Eve as a kid. Finally dawn came, clear and cool – just right for the beginning of a long journey.
We had never been to Amicalola Falls State Park before that day. I’d driven by the entrance a couple of times on my way to cast flies toward the wild trout of Noontootla Creek further to the west. Seeing the park sign on those fishing trips caused my mind to wander back to the AT thru-hike dream. This is where the lead trail begins to Springer Mountain. This is where thru-hikers begin their quest to Maine. What would that be like? Now I was about to enter the gate of my wonderings – and wanderings.
We found our way to the park office where prospective thru-hikers registered their hopes and dreams. While writing my given name and chosen trail name, I spoke with the park ranger about the number of hikers that had registered over the weekend. As I expected, many had come on Saturday to begin hiking, but heavy rains had delayed their start. Therefore, most had waited to start on Sunday.
A scale hung outside the office for weighing packs – mine pushed the needle to 38 pounds. Although heavier than I’d hoped, I knew the weight would decrease as real “necessities” were determined. Also, the packed winter gear would not remain for the duration.
Registration complete, we drove up the narrow winding road leading to the Hike Inn trailhead. This trail would split, one fork leading to the Inn and the other to the top of Springer Mountain. A wooden sign informed that 7.9 miles separated me from the beginning of the AT.
A few parting pictures were made, but the stalling would end and the tough moment of goodbyes would follow. We hugged and kissed and tried not to prolong the inevitable. We both knew the time apart would be difficult – unlike anything else we had known before. At 9:30 I took the first steps north, looking back one last time with a wave to my misty-eyed life-partner. During a quarter-century of marriage she had encouraged me through many less-than-brilliant ventures. I wonder where this one registers on the scale?
As I found my stride it dawned on me that I didn’t know how Springer Mountain got its name. But I did know that there was a spring in my steps on this glorious just-before-spring morning, and from Springer I would spring northward on the AT. (My first ramblings of the hike.)
After Mr. Pileated’s greeting to the trail, the trail itself seemed to welcome me. There was a peacefulness and quietness that enveloped me – and there was the occasional, WOW! I’m really doing this!
The first encounter with another hiker would come three or four miles up the approach trail. ‘Reverend’ sat by a small creek to resupply his water bottles. He appeared to be a few years older than I, and an easy conversation ensued while we rested our feet.
As I would learn many times on the trail during interactions with other hikers, much could be discovered about one another in a matter of a few minutes. ‘Reverend’ had been a Baptist minister for most of his life, but he had gotten “fed-up with the Southern Baptist politics and methods” and had retired as a pastor. Now he was concentrating on helping the down-and-out and the addicted with individual care and attention. From that ministry he expressed finding much greater satisfaction.
“I’m on the trail,” he said, “to get away from civilization for awhile.” Life’s drudgery had apparently gotten him down. His plan was to hike as far as Damascus, Virginia. “The wife doesn’t want me gone any longer than that.” As I bid him “Happy trails” I wondered if he would receive any enlightenment on his own road to Damascus.
**********
THE FIRST WHITE BLAZE – The 7.9 miles of approach trail were smooth and easy – just a gradual incline. About 1:00 I reached the summit of Springer Mountain. Less than 100 yards from the granite-covered summit, I was brought to a near stop by a would-be-thru-hiker, a woman about 40 moving at a snail’s pace. She would be the day’s first encounter with someone giving themselves the title “thru-hiker.” To be accurate, only those who complete the 2175 miles should be called “thru-hikers.” Before then we were all “thru-hiker-wanna-bes” (THWB’s).
Welcoming the northbound hikers (known on the trail as NOBO’s) to the AT’s first white blaze was an older gentleman with the trail name Many Sleeps. Later I was told that he was a “Legend of the Trail,” and his name was taken from the Native American designation for a long journey. After showing me the trail log to record the thru-hike’s start, he took a picture of me by the weathered bronze AT plaque and then pointed to the first white blaze – a 2” x 6” white rectangle painted on the solid granite crown of Springer Mountain. It would be the first white blaze among thousands painted on trees and boulders, fence posts and bridges, trail-town sidewalks and even the bottom of one canoe.
Many Sleeps had seen many more “thru-hiker-wanna-bes” than “thru-hiker-gonna-bes” during his tenure as the southern terminus gatekeeper. He related stories of hikers during the previous week that had turned back before getting out of Georgia. On the Appalachian Trail Conservancy’s website the statistics can be seen which illustrate attrition rates at various points on the trail. Below are statistics for recent years:
After the trail’s gatekeeper bid me “Good luck” I began the first of more than five million steps following white blazes northward. The plan for Day 1, however, was modest. I would only hike another 2.5 miles to Stover Creek Shelter and pitch my tent there. No other hikers would I encounter until I reached Stover Creek and stopped for the night’s water supply. There I met my first hiking partner, ‘Crabby,’ about my age, from eastern North Carolina, and a THWB like myself.
After walking another hundred yards from the creek to the shelter, we discovered a mass of people in various stages of setting up their evening homestead. Filling the shelter were about a dozen University of Alabama coeds who were hiking during spring break. They brought along one male student, and, needless to say, we all wanted to know his secret. One of the southern belles approached and presented me with my first trail magic: a glitter-green shamrock sticker – in honor of St. Patty – that she placed on my cheek. Later I would stick the shamrock on the back of my cell phone, and for months (it eventually wore off) the token would be a pleasant reminder of the trail’s first night.
After ‘Crabby’ and I pitched our tents we joined other hikers around a campfire and shared trail names and stories and dreams and some of the whys of our hiking the AT. Many were only out for a few days, but about ten or twelve of us were the designated THWB. As we sat around the fire, one of the wannabes made the observation: “You know, if you look at the statistics, only two or three of us will make it to Katahdin.” His comment served as a stark reminder of the odds for completing the journey.
Burrowing into my sleeping bag a short while later, I continued to wonder: how many of these new sojourners would be on the trail next week…next month…into New England. …? As for me, I could not even imagine quitting the trail. Being realistic, I realized the chances of injury or illness, and I would see occurrences of both among hikers along the way. On that first night in my new home, however, I entertained only pleasant thoughts and high hopes before a distant hoot owl lulled me to sleep.
**********
The prediction of beautiful weather proved accurate for the first two days of the trail. ‘Crabby’ and I joined another hiker we had met at Stover Creek, ‘Long-Long-Way,’ a woman from Pennsylvania who was also about our age. We pitched tents together at Justus Creek and continued getting to know one another.
A strange occurrence happened there that gave me one of the early “rethink moments” of the trail. After removing my pack I walked toward the creek for water. It seemed, however, as though the pack still remained on my back and its weight was pushing me forward. How many imagined or unnecessary burdens do we let weigh us down and push us around? One of the reasons for my being on the trail seemed to be a desire to shed unnecessary burdens from false authorities.
Another strange occurrence happened that evening to ‘Crabby.’ After setting up his tent he crawled inside to lay out the sleeping bag. An awful smell caused him to get out and lift up the tent to see if a dead animal lay underneath. Not finding any decaying wildlife, he came to the realization that the stink emanated from him – an early enlightenment of a thru-hiker’s persistent condition.
Day 3 brought the forecasted rain, an inevitable hiking condition I would learn to endure but never to enjoy. We hiked through fog and mist during the morning, but a steady rain driven by a cold wind began to pummel us during the afternoon. This would be the first test of rain gear and the Gore-Tex New Balance hiking shoes I trusted to keep feet comfy and dry.
After a soggy nine miles we reached Woody Gap. We searched for some kind of shelter, but the wind-driven rain was so dense that we could not even see across the road. Only an overhang around a small restroom provided limited relief. Six or eight other hikers quickly joined ‘Crabby’ and me around the privy. An English section hiker took a seat on the potty, and we rightly paid homage to his royal highness on the throne.
We were informed by one of the hikers that the nearby hostel was already full, so alternative plans had to be made. ‘Long-Long-Way’ decided to press on – “How much wetter can I get?” ‘Crabby’ and I searched for a flat spot near the parking area. Spotting a small patch of possible tent space carved out of the hillside above the parking area, we made a dash, ripped open our packs, and began pitching tents in the rain. This clumsy act would never be perfected during the course of the hike and would be avoided if at all possible.
After shedding wet clothing inside the tent, I took a self-portrait with my camera. A miserable creature appeared on the viewer! My eyes were bloodshot, my hair resembled a sewer rat’s, my face was lined and strained. If this is my appearance at the end of Day 3 on the AT, what will I look like later?
Strong winds blew away the rain, and skies cleared toward evening. ‘Crabby’ and I came out of our cocoons and celebrated the moment. Our stoves fired up and hot food and drink soothed weary bodies. Life was good again.
Dusk sent us back into our tents, and soon I would learn how quickly things could change on the trail. With nightfall came a cold, howling wind that blasted through the gap. My tent shuttered with each gust, and soon sleet began to pelt the walls like gunfire from a hidden enemy. The wind came in screaming waves, each approaching like a runaway locomotive slicing through the surrounding tall trees. Gusts must have exceeded 50 mph, and in my mind I could see giant oaks and poplars bending and swaying, and I imagined them falling across the fragile tent and spelling my doom. Sleep would not come that long and terrifying night.
Of all the nights spent on the trail, this third night of the journey at Woody Gap (changed to Windy Gap by those who tented there that night) would be remembered as one of the most frightening. I realized just how vulnerable we are in Nature’s hand – how thin the line of safety.
Morning brought welcomed clear skies, but the wind remained furious and freezing. Ice droplets dotted both the outside and inside of my tent. Water bottles were frozen. It was March 20th, the first day of spring.
It became apparent on this and many other cold mornings, getting up and moving was essential. Putting on several layers of clothing, I packed gear and frosty tent and hiked quickly away from the wind tunnel known as Woody Gap, leaving ‘Crabby’ behind with plans to reunite further up the trail. Little did I know that would be the last time I would see ‘Crabby.’
The miles between us would widen, and I would later learn that he had to quit the trail in North Carolina beyond the Smokies. He had expressed concern for his “bad knees” during our miles together, and that would be his undoing. Later he sent a congratulatory message on my Trail Journals web site. ‘Crabby’ was a great first partner on the trail.
No more than a quarter mile up the trail from the gap, I winded a bend and all changed. The wind ceased its wrath, the sun lent its warmth, birds shared their cheerful notes…the trail became friendly once again. An early lesson was being learned.
Many miles later in Tennessee I would hike briefly with a ’92 thru-hiker who was again seeking to experience the journey. He shared his “Great Lesson” from the previous thru-hike: “Just keep hiking long enough, and you’ll come to a shelter.” His lesson I carried with me and learned on my own. Usually the shelter would be one of my own making – my tent – but each day’s hike brought me to shelter.
**********
My first night off the trail was at Neel’s Gap. Although the hostel there was full, I learned that a cabin had been rented nearby by two well-known characters of the AT: Baltimore Jack and Bag-O-Trix. White Lightning and I filled the last two vacancies. Winton, the owner of the CCC era rock building that housed the outfitter store and hostel at Neel’s Gap, drove us to the cabin. He has certainly “seen it all” when it comes to hikers on the AT and can probably bet with confidence on whether a particular hiker passing through his store will complete the journey.
At the cabin I had a much appreciated hot shower and washed off several layers of scum, and I also washed out an additional ten pounds of crud from my clothes. Later that evening I watched the movie Braveheart with the other hikers taking refuge there. One of the quotes by William Wallace (played by Mel Gibson) in the movie struck me and caused a rethink moment: “All men will die…but not all men will live.”
The next morning Bag-O-Trix took us back to Neel’s Gap and offered a piece of advice in parting: “Don’t be afraid to ask questions as you go along. There are no dumb questions on the trail – you might hear some dumb answers, but there are no dumb questions.”
How much that advice related to my own rethinking journey during previous months. So many times we are told, “Don’t ask that question. Just believe and have faith. Accept it as truth.” Those had become dumb answers to me, and I could no longer stifle the questions. I would ask many questions along the way – those relating to the AT and those relating to the Larger Trail.
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The remaining white blazes of Georgia hold special memories. Panoramic views atop Blood Mountain were spectacular. And I still visualize a full moon silently rising above the eastern horizon while I stood in awe on the peak of Trey Mountain. Sheep Rock Top was an especially memorable camp spot where ‘Long-Long-Way’ and I were joined by another thru-hiker-wanna-be, Bilge Rat. His trail name resulted from a previous job as an engineer on an ocean charter boat, and stories from that experience led to a few outbursts of laughter.
Shortly after darkness settled over Sheep Rock Top we were also joined by a retired Army man and his son, a music major from a college in Tennessee. Bilge Rat had brought along a flute (actually called a recorder, I think), and this young gifted musician began to play melodies as we huddled around the campfire – truly an AT magical moment. (After completing the thru-hike I would receive a congratulatory message on my Trail Journals web page from this Army man. He had followed my journal postings along the way.)
Just before entering North Carolina I enjoyed another short respite and second night off the trail. My parents picked me up at Dick’s Gap and transported me to another hot shower and warm bed and good food in the nearby town of Toccoa. This also provided a chance to resupply for the next section in the next state.
Toccoa was my childhood home from ages 4-10, and the fondest memories of those times were treks in the woods and fishing with Dad. Though decades have passed and many things have changed, those simple pleasures have remained the same.
Perhaps it was during those days of youth that an urge to explore the woods began to take hold. Dad built a tree house where I could see things from a different perspective, but I would discover my own natural tree house as well. A tall pine with abundant climbing limbs allowed me to shimmy to the top where other limbs formed a natural bowl shape. This provided the perfect spot to recline and look into the sky and wonder what this world was all about. It’s a memory as close as yesterday.
Back at Dick’s Gap the following morning I chatted briefly with a group of Belmont University students out for a hike on their spring break. (Belmont was the same school attended by the magical flute player.) Then began the upward climb out of Georgia and into North Carolina. There were distant hues of blue from both sides of the ridge as I approached the battered sign that marked the state line. The Blue Ridge Mountains are aptly named, but I’ve never been given a satisfactory answer for why the mountains turn blue when viewed from a distance – or for that matter, the sky as well. I’m pretty sure that’s one of the things I thought about in the top of that pine tree.
As I looked down upon the distant town and lake of Hiawassee, my good-byes were said to Georgia. One state behind me…thirteen to go.
So long as you have food in your mouth, you have solved all
questions for the time being. (Franz Kafka)
Entering this second state on the northbound trail was special to me in many ways, partly because it’s the state of my birth.
They tell me that Concord, NC was my birthplace and that I lived in nearby Kannapolis for the first two years of my life. Between the ages of two and four my home was in Asheboro, NC. Now please understand: all this is hearsay, and I don’t remember any of it. And that seems one of life’s cruelest jokes. Why is it that the years supposedly having so much to do with what we become, those “formative” years, are totally lost from our memories? We’re told stories about the things we did, shown pictures of ourselves in diapers and sissy outfits; yet, none of this seems to remain in the storage units of our brains. This apparent injustice is another thing never sufficiently explained to me.
My thoughts this day were not about those first four years spent in North Carolina, however; the challenge of the climb had me consumed. The sign marking the border of GA – NC was the first indication that politicians don’t spend any money on welcoming AT hikers into their state. (Does it have to do with the look of poverty that we have as we enter?) This border sign was a small beaten-up piece of wood that I placed my head beside and snapped a picture. But that’s fine – don’t mess up the wilderness with welcome centers and pavement and politicians. This lack of official welcome is by no means a complaint, just an observation.
The first trail miles of North Carolina were very tranquil and quiet. Not a single other hiker did I meet all day after leaving Dicks Gap. Only after arriving at Muskrat Creek Shelter and pitching my tent did other hikers appear. Building a small campfire by the tent attracted a couple of hikers who came over to share stories. One was a middle-aged woman who was a medical-doctor-turned-hiker. We would soon be sharing shelters and more stories in the Smokies. Months later I would see her far up the trail in New Hampshire. Funny this linear community – hikers often reconnecting after thousands of miles in between.
Although very tired from the day’s steep trail (North Carolina didn’t seem to believe in switchbacks), I wrote in my journal that night:
Rethink Moment: Of course, the primary reason I’m on the trail is for my own benefit, to pursue my own dream. But there is another reason for the hike that deals with what I leave my children. I want them to be proud of me for pursuing the dream – really a deep desire – that has been with me for so long. If this can be a model for them, not to let die whatever deep desire they find within themselves, then the hike will be worth all the effort. They are such a joy and blessing to me.
Concluding words in the journal that night became my closing words in many shelter journals for the months to come – The sky is blue…the trail beckons…and the journey continues…
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Frozen water bottles. Even though the calendar spoke of spring several days earlier, the mountains of Southern Appalachia were still bound in winter. The cold seemed to have frozen my body as well. I awoke very stiff and tired, and joints and muscles never loosened as I made my way from Muskrat Creek to Carter Gap. It was a first test of willing the body to keep going – something that would become second nature before long.
Memories abounded as I crossed White Oak Stamp and Standing Indian Mountain. Years earlier I’d hiked this section with son, Brett, and friend, Keith. In our home was a framed picture of Brett leaning against a hiking stick on the peak of Standing Indian. I took a picture duplicating Brett’s pose and realized that I was doing what I remembered wanting to do on that earlier hike – keep going northward…as far as the eye could see.
Another memory of that previous hike involved the meeting of two THWB’s slowly plodding up the trail to Standing Indian. Their packs resembled those fiberglass car-top carriers that accompany families on beach vacations. Hiking past them I made the comment, “Those are some huge packs!”
One of the THWB’s replied, “It’s a long way to Maine!”
Although I don’t know the outcome of their hike, I’m thinking they didn’t make it to Maine. As I remembered that encounter I thought about the importance of a light pack. Each ounce is multiplied over many miles and requires an expenditure of energy to carry it. Even though my pack was not at the extreme ultra-light range of 15-20 pounds, it was usually a manageable 30 pounds. Many items are shed by thru-hikers as they go along, and it took a while for me to learn (or admit) what was necessary. But items inevitably began to leave the pack and find themselves in “hiker boxes” of shelters and hostels.
It was this shedding of the unnecessary – indeed, the determination of what was necessary – that stands out as a great lesson of the trail. A hiking friend I’d first meet in North Carolina would wrap this lesson in an eloquent statement that I’ll share later.
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MARCH 27TH – Somehow that’s a date that I’m supposed to remember. Yeah, my anniversary – our 26th to be exact.
There was a discussion before I left for the trail… “You know you’ll miss our anniversary!” So I did the famous two-step-husband-shuffle – “How ‘bout we celebrate when I get to Franklin.”
Getting cell phone reception and talking with Jill the morning of the 27th also helped smooth over the fact of my absence. A milestone of the trail was also posted on this special day: the 100-mile point was reached near Glassmine Gap. Someone had written “100” in stones across the trail, and I thought – only 2075 more miles to go. Just do what you’ve already done another 21 times.
Anniversary night was a peaceful one by a bubbling brook. A crackling fire kept me warm and mesmerized as Nature wrapped her arms around me. Sipping a cup of hot chocolate by the lapping flames, I waxed philosophic in my journal:
Man needs answers to all his questions. He has to ‘get it right,’ especially his religion. The TRUTH is not sought as much as an acceptable answer to coincide with a particular indoctrinated viewpoint. As I walk through this unspoiled-by-man landscape, I’m glad I don’t have to be burdened by ‘getting it right.’ Out here… it is right.
Maybe I was learning to shed some of the extra weight from my life as well.
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Jill was to meet me at Winding Stair Gap around noon on March 28 for the delayed anniversary celebration. When I arrived at the trailhead parking lot, I was treated to the first of many “trail magic” setups. This particular magic spread was provided by a local church group, and under a tent were snacks and the much-needed hot coffee and cocoa. The day had become breezy and misty, and the hot liquid proved soothing.
Hikers are always appreciative of the acts of kindness shown on the trail. I’m sure at times there might be ulterior motives for the kindness; but, overall, I think people really want to do something good for someone in need. This is especially true for those who have experienced a thru-hike in the past. Hikers can be a needy bunch for such luxuries as food and warmth and comfort and shelter from the elements.
Jill and I enjoyed our time in Franklin, known as one of the friendliest trail-towns. In fact, a couple of sponsored trail magic events were occurring on the weekend we were there. We decided to make our own magic instead.
While eating breakfast the following morning in the comfort of the motel, a strong thunderstorm passed through the area. Windows rattled with each rumble of thunder and rain came down in torrents, and I was thankful not to be breaking camp and hiking at that moment.
Twenty-four hours with Jill in Franklin was a short but needed reprieve. The rain had lessened as we kissed goodbye beneath our rain jackets at Winding Stair.
Fog and mist would dominate the next couple of days as I hiked further into North Carolina. The bald peaks of Wayah and Wesser would be shrouded in nature’s curtain. A rethink moment was recorded in my journal:
What fog keeps us from experiencing the larger view?
The first nocturnal visit of a coyote awakened me at a tent spot near Wine Spring. Wile E’s chilling howl-bark certainly got the heart racing and prevented sleep from returning for awhile. Several other uninvited nocturnal visitors would make their presence known before the journey was complete.
My next planned break and resupply point was the Nantahala Outdoor Center. The N.O.C. is a compound of several buildings and businesses nestled on the Nantahala River. Plans there included enjoying a large hiker lunch and adding to my food supply for the next few days.
At the Riverside Restaurant (actually “over the river” described the table by the window) I ordered the Big Wesser burger. It was indeed BIG and it settled like a brick in my stomach. Two other THWB’s, Gentleman Jack and Scout, joined me in the feast. Jack was about my age, and Scout was the oldest hiker I’d met at that point, probably in his upper 60s.
A small convenience store across from the restaurant seemed the only resupply location, and the selection was awful. My only purchases were a small block of cheese (only one left) and a tiny box of Ritz crackers. That set me back about eight bucks, so it’s good I didn’t stock up there.
The day’s destination was Sassafras Gap, only seven more miles beyond the N.O.C. After turning down an offer for a shower and rest break at a cabin that Jack had rented, I began the seven-mile trek. What a brutal seven miles it was – straight uphill with rarely a switchback! Just when I thought I was at a peak, the trail would start upward again to another “false peak.” The Big Wesser was not my friend during this climb and kept trying to come up and display itself on the trail. Another early lesson was learned – save the big lunches for zero days in trail towns.
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At this point I should mention another commonly asked question about a thru-hike: How did you plan your daily hike? In other words, how do you decide how far to hike and where to camp?
My own indispensible tool for this daily planning was one of the AT thru-hike guides: Appalachian Trail Thru-Hikers’ Companion. Planning techniques involved looking at the distances between camping sites – usually near a shelter – and water sources. (Almost all shelters have a water source nearby.) I would also determine distances to resupply points and plan four or five days of hiking in between.
This method of hike-planning worked very well for me from GA to ME. But it worked primarily because of important added ingredients: flexibility and expecting the unexpected.
An early lesson on these added ingredients was learned in North Carolina. The day’s plan for April 1st was to hike from Sassafras Gap to Cody Gap. According to the guide book, tent sites and water could be found at Cody Gap. Believing this, I drank all my water before reaching the planned destination. It turned out to be an April Fool’s Day trick. Cody Gap was bone dry – and no good place to tent either. Three more thirsty miles brought me to Cable Gap and water and a place to pitch my tent. This would be only one of many trail surprises – some pleasant, some like a kick in the gut.
Another rethink moment during the evening at Cable Gap:
Today’s hike was driven by the quest for water. It was the determining factor for my destination. Isn’t there always something for which people will continue seeking despite the odds? When the seeking stops, does life stop?
It is not so much for its beauty that the forest makes a claim
upon men’s hearts, as for that subtle something, that quality of
air that emanates from old trees, that so wonderfully changes and
renews a weary spirit. (Robert Louis Stevenson)