After two days rest at home, I was hiking strong, catching up to friends, and starting to put in longer, high mileage days. It wasn’t a matter of hiking fast, but hiking long.
Unfortunately, there was a “war” going on in Erwin, TN, between the two hostels. Some hikers wisely resupplied and headed back out the same day, others stayed at the Holiday Inn. Those staying at one place or another became the pawns in a “turf war”. It seemed odd to have so many trail services that we can be fought over, and involved in petty issues of everyday life. I again fought the disappointment with this trail that seemed too easy.
In late April it was still amazingly cold. I had sent home my 20-degree bag, and was using my “summer system”, which consisted of a fleece bag with a taffeta outer bag cover. I was very glad I kept my fleece pants. One night I used my tent as a blanket, probably making all the difference in sleeping warm.
By early morning, I could feel the built-up condensation (from the silnylon fabric top layer) seeping through my fleece pants. I woke with the dawn and was on trail at 6:30. The shelter was full of sleeping hikers, so I packed quickly and quietly. After a couple of miles, I began to fear I’d left stuff at the shelter. Nothing was where it was supposed to be in my pack. My data book, tent stakes, and bandana were all “missing”. It was a very lousy start and I chided myself a hundred times for being so hasty. I left without breakfast, just throwing stuff in the pack so I wouldn’t wake anyone and could warm up while hiking. I found my stakes, and later when I went to my food bag, there was my data book! Then I found my bandana! All was well again. As an ultralighter, these things are dearly missed, and I promised myself that the next time, I would take more care.
In Damascus I stayed at “The Place”, a large house with bunks and showers for hikers, sponsored by the local Methodist Church. They accept donations, but it is rumored that few were given. That is how hostels finally go under. I bought an 800-fill goose down bag, rated for 30 degrees from the outfitter in town. It was a full sized, 6-foot long sleeping bag. Not a single sleeping bag sized for women was to be found. It weighed just 24 ounces, and stuffed very neatly. It became a favorite piece of gear, well worth the $260 I spent.
At times, I just need to hike gently and alone. I pondered the meaning of a thru-hike and kept thinking “I must slow down to receive what this trail experience will teach. So far it’s escaping me.” In retrospect, I had been hiking a reactionary hike. Hiking to catch up to people whose names I recognized in the registers, hiking to escape certain people, hiking to claim a spot in the shelter when it was raining hard or bad weather threatened. This was a busy trail, and I fought disappointment constantly. It was too easy, too many people, too many hostels, too many roads, too many places to bail out and go home. I had to accept this trail for itself. It was my good fortune to hike the PCT, but now my estimation of the AT suffered. Until I quit comparing them, there would be no appreciation for this journey.
The Appalachian Trail is renowned for its constant PUDs, the pointless ups and downs. It is not as though the climb takes you to any views. If there is one, signs will point them out. This trail was completed in 1948 before erosion was a major concern, and subsequent switchbacks were used to deal with it. Some rebuilding and rerouting has been done in the intervening years, but there still remains a need for hill climbing strategies. Here are mine:
Hill Climbing Strategies For Mega Hills
(
Over 1,500 ft. elevation gain)
1. Empty bladder before climbing; never haul those extra 8 – 12 ounces up the hill.
2. Take breaks in the shade or on an upgrade, as needed.
3. Do not chew gum. It hinders breathing.
4. Stop and rest if your leg is about to fall off.
5. Think erotic thoughts for distraction.
6. Before passing another hiker, give adequate notice. If they don’t acknowledge, be sure that they are still alive.
Charlie and Lost-and-Found met me in Pearisburg around noon, and we shared a tiny room at the Rendezvous Motel. Charlie and I went to the library, then for salad at Pizza Hut. We met a couple, Vagabond and Blueberry, who were thru-hiking with their dog. On their hike into town, they saw the same two goats we had seen. Their dog, Alice, decided it would make a great chase. As Vagabond called repeatedly for her to return, one goat took measures of its own. Over the cliff of Angel’s Rest and into the air it sailed. The dog followed, into the fog and over the cliff. The goat knew of a ledge out of sight, just below the leap off. The dog didn’t. She fell 30 feet, trashing her pack, and injuring her hip. Her owner found a tree wedged into the rocks, and used it to climb down to Alice and lifted her back to the trail. With that done, they finished hiking into town. She was limping when we met them, but otherwise appeared subdued, and okay.
Virginia is a beautiful state, though some say it is too long. Climbing over many stiles, we crossed pastoral lands. Grazing cattle and horses were shooed off the actual treadway so that we could remain purists. The attitude of extreme purism and righteousness was found early on, while we were still naive enough to think we could actually walk every step of a four-foot wide trail that was under, or on top of, white blazes. These white rectangles were so neatly painted (2 x 6 inches), and regularly placed on trees and rocks, though not necessarily in regard to the life or limbs of the hikers.
Whenever I get close to town type facilities, within 25 miles, the same compulsion to hike into civilization overtakes me. And, why not just do it? I needed to talk to Rainmaker, and I felt strong. Near Troutville, just off Interstate 81, there are motels and plenty of phones. That morning we crossed Tinker Cliffs, as the sky darkened and then the thunder and lightning rolled in. The rocks were exposed and slippery, making the hike across Tinker Ridge exhausting. The rain abated, and then resumed just as I got into town. After reserving a room with another thru-hiker, we ate the Chinese AYCE buffet dinner in Troutville. It was fantastic. “Nothing in the world is accomplished without passion,” read my fortune cookie. Seemed appropriate. A small sticker left on shelter register page said, “It is good to journey towards an end, but in the end it is the journey that matters.”
The pattern of waking early, getting on trail at daybreak, and consequently deciding to do big days was my hiking style of choice. Perhaps that induced the so-called Virginia blues. On the other hand, seeing the data change, and feeling some sort of accomplishment, kept me going. They say it’s not the state being so big; it’s the 6-8 weeks away from home taking its toll, with the longing for loved ones. I felt discouraged at this stage, and had serious doubts about continuing. It seemed I didn’t have any more hills left in me.
We had heard about the dreaded ascent to The Priest, the knee-jolting descent to the Tye River, and then making the 3,000 ascent to Hanging Rock Overlook. It was 30 degrees, and the grass was frosted. Times like this it's just best to dig in, and get started.
The climb wasn’t nearly as bad as I had heard; it was graded and beautiful. Once again I reminded myself not to give into the “Fear-Brokers” who sometimes hike the trails. By pelting us with their fears, they justify their own. Maybe they just want to see some dread on our faces.
All the stone “fences” we passed reminded me of the movie “Gettysburg”, and the lives that were wasted during the Civil War. There were two head stones marking the burial place of union soldiers, and small confederate flags tacked to a tree. At times, it seemed that the spirits of slain soldiers still lingered in the mountains.
Just twenty miles out of Waynesboro, I read Lightingbolt’s entry in the register “Where’s Brawny?” This dear friend from the PCT had unknowingly passed me one evening while I sat huddled in a cold shelter. As I crossed the bridge at Rockfish Gap, Lightingbolt called my name. He was returning to the trail from an overnight town stop, and I was heading in to resupply. We ran to greet each other, and exchanged a big hug. He is a fellow ultralighter, and this chance meeting boosted my moral. We took each other's photos and checked out our custom gear. Emotionally, this section had been hard, and I often searched my soul for the reason. Not everything can or deserves to be identified, so simply just celebrating the fact that I had made it this far, I looked forward to the upcoming Shenandoahs and Harper’s Ferry. The wet and unexpected cold had taken a toll, and I was ready to get my winter gear back! We hiked north with spring, and occasionally with winter. It looked like we had beaten the summer heat.
After taking a zero day in Waynesboro, I was bored with inactivity and ready to move. Shenandoah National Park is just a mile north of Rockfish Gap. Reputedly, it is very beautiful, with well-maintained trail, plenty of wild animals, many easily accessible camp stores and grills. The enthusiasm for this journey returned; I was nearly half way.
One enters the park, and there is a self-registration box. I filled out the forms, read the rules and tied the white tag to my pack. All food must be hung on the tall metal poles installed near the shelters, by lifting the food sack with a heavy metal rod provided and snagging the hook above with the bag's loop. This was easier said than done.
The trail and weather were indeed lovely during the four and a half days it took to hike through the park. Deer were so tame; they followed hikers, looking for handouts. Everyone was hoping to see a bear. I certainly saw mine.
The first of five bears I saw the next day suddenly crashed across the trail early in the morning. Then she stopped in the brush a few yards to the right. Wondering why she hadn't run further, I called “You’re going to have to go farther than that!” while clicking my hiking sticks together. Minutes passed. No sounds. I called again, and then she ran off, her cub scampering behind her.
While hiking that same afternoon I looked to my left, and was startled to see a bear standing on a grassy hill about thirty feet away, regarding me. I called " Hello! Hey, I need to come by here.” The bear ran uphill and stopped, sizing me up. To the right, another bear crashed downhill. The stand off resumed until I realized the bear on the left side wanted to cross the trail and join the bear on the right side. I backed up several feet. He turned and trotted north, dropped onto the trail, and halted, watching me again. “Hey, I need to come through here. What do you want me to do?” I demanded, stomping my feet, and hitting my poles together again. Finally after a few minutes, he ran off.
I saw two more bears that were grazing that evening. That day, I hiked 33 miles to Bear Fence Shelter. Seriously, that’s the name of it. People expressed amazement at such miles. When someone asked thru-hiker Radio Flyer how one manages to do 28-miles, he replied in his Tennessee accent,
“
You get up early and haul ass all day.
”
The food was good at Big Meadows Camp Store & Restaurant. Everyone missed the unmarked intersection, and ended up hiking a one-mile “nature” trail from the Lodge turn off. Contrary to rumor, the store accepted credit cards. At Thornton Gap, the restaurant that is within sight of the trail was closed, but candy bars and chips were available in the gift shop. The Elk Wallow wayside was easy to find, and the best stop in the park. With some creativity, we were able to buy enough food from that store to make it to Harper’s Ferry. We left the Shennandoahs to the tourists, and headed north.
The toe box on my 704 New Balance shoes had excess leather on top, preventing them from flexing when I stepped. This caused a raw area on the top of a few toes. Using my razor knife, I cut some leather away from the shoe, and used hydrogen peroxide to keep the injury clean until it could heal. In retrospect, all the top leather should have been cut off at that time; eventually both my feet suffered the same injuries.
The infamous Roller Coaster section of the AT is thirteen miles of undulation built so the trail can avoid private property. It really was not that bad, since I had an ultralight pack and only one day of food.
The next day, one reaches the Appalachian Trail Conference Headquarters in Harpers Ferry West Virginia, where the ATC folks take your picture, put it in a photo album and assign you a color-coded number. I was northbound thru-hiker number 148 in the year 2002. Every year has its own book. I found the 1992 collection, and began looking for Rainmaker’s photo. I found the correct date, and his thru-hiking friend's photos. It was impossible to recognize his picture until I finally started reading the names. He looked like a long lanky kid in a yellow t-shirt. Up to that point, he had remained clean-shaven.
I hiked out of town alone the next day; my companions for the last 100 miles wanted a zero day in town. That is the beauty and the loneliness of a soloist. I hike my own hike, and have become accustomed to meeting new people. I camped just one night in Maryland. Several thru-hikers, one section hiker from Australia, and three girls who were hiking only Maryland shared the site. We had a campfire and evening of chatter.
I saw my first AT rattlesnake while climbing over boulders early one morning. A bunch of boys and their leader forewarned me, but the snake apparently had moved from where they had seen it sunning itself. Just as I was descending a large boulder, suddenly to my left the snake slithered out over the rock, its flicking tongue only 10 inches from my eye. Immediately I jumped down and forward, then turned to regard it and started laughing. He was really a marvelous creature, and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings with such a quick departure.