6/14/93 – Mon.

A day of firsts: first day back on the trail, first day hiking with Ron, first day with new boots. And how do I feel? A bit sluggish, actually. It felt kind of odd to get back to the trail today, as though I had been gone for a year rather than five days. The trail is like a river — the hikers move steadily along, and a break from the trail by one person does not still the current. Buck is somewhere beyond Damascus now, and Bearanoid is on his way back to New Hampshire. Even though Ron is with me, I feel strangely alone; this is not the same trail I was hiking just a week ago. Troll is still behind me, but close, as are the Children of the Trail, Parrothead and Station Break, and “Bones” (Shawn). I think I could develop a relationship with Troll similar to the one I had with Bearanoid, but I have not seen him since Wesser (which seems long ago), and he must catch up with me first. I would almost rather try to catch Buck instead. I have a new bit of respect for her. After two weeks off, she could expect to know nobody when she came back, which would be an awfully lonely prospect.

We’re staying tonight at Moreland Gap Shelter after a 13.6 mile day. Bones and Kid Creole just showed up. Shortcut is also here. He is from Akron, OH, but a lot like Bushwack, I’m afraid. Actually, he was the guy who caught a ride with Bushwack from Stecoah Gap to Fontana.

I hate leaving Julie. She cried some last night, and I just about did, too. If I do manage to finish this thru-hike, so help me I will never do anything where I have to be without her for so long again. Ron said today that he had been pressuring Andrea to move down to Dallas ASAP. He said he can’t help but worry that the first time they get to spend more than 72 hours together they’ll discover that they can’t stand each other; it’s a minor concern, but a concern nevertheless. I, on the other hand, have been able to spend so much time with Julie in the past year that this separation is threatening to drive me out of my skull.

The family reunion in Georgia was a blast, as expected. I really enjoy that half of the family — they seem to have discovered the secret to relaxing and unwinding. I really felt at times that no one there had a single care in the world other than milking as much enjoyment out of the reunion as possible. There is something to be said for that.

My pack felt heavy today, which may be due to the food I am carrying, but may also be due to the fact that I was not as rigorous in repacking my pack. My feet seem to be holding up well, but it looks like I’ll need to molefoam the sore spot on my left hip (my right hip is still a bit swollen but does not hurt). It is probably good that I am hiking with Ron, as he will keep me from pushing myself too hard right after the long break.

I’m back on the trail.
How long was I gone?
Forever it seems.
Is something wrong?
Different, I think,
Different.

This seems like a good time to cover the “…then what happened…?” with some of the characters to this point, who are also mentioned in this post:

• Troll — he ultimately had to leave the trail; I did not see him again, although we exchanged a piece of mail or two
• Bearanoid — for as much as we “clicked” on the trail, our post-trail exchanges got a bit odd; within a year, he had been born again and become a conspiracy theorist; he sent me a book as well as an audio tape that covered all of the ways the freemasons were plotting a New World Order; I let that relationship die rather abruptly
• Ron — I almost didn’t include the paragraph above…but he’s coming up on his 14th wedding anniversary with Andrea, so I suspect she’ll forgive him his concerns! She did move to Dallas, where they lived when they got married. They moved to Austin when Ron finished dental school, and they now live just west of Austin with their two kids
• Buck — well…we’re far from done with her in this journal, so we’ll just let her ride for a while…

5/20/93 – Thur.

Tonight, I am at Cold Spring Shelter. I got here about 2:30, but went ahead and stopped so I would not have to sit around Wesser all day tomorrow waiting for Julie (!). Cold Spring Shelter is supposedly the oldest shelter on the A.T. Bearanoid says he thinks it was moved here from somewhere else, but it is hard to imagine how. It is constructed of ten-inch American Chestnut logs, staked together in log cabin fashion. Apparently some imported fungus killed all of the American Chestnuts, so these are the best I will see of that species.

By the way, I read in The Thru-Hiker’s Handbook that Siler’s Bald has been designated a “bald” by the USFS, the ATC, and the NHC (Nantahala Hiking Club), which means that its top gets cleared periodically. That’s why I saw the cut-down trees last night. The book mentioned that people who feel the forests should be left alone oppose the designation. In spite of my experience there, I think I have to agree with this opposing group.

I stopped for about 1 1/2 hours at the Stone Observation Tower on Wayah Bald. Bearanoid, Justin, and Christy all arrived while I was there. Justin & christy are from Michigan (Christy just graduated from U. of M. — Justin is still attending). They caught us at Rainbow Springs, but today was the first that I met them. Christy’s brother (Max Ochoa) graduated Class of ’90 from MIT. He was a social chair at Baker.

Anyway, we could see a lot from Wayah Bald. We found Albert Mtn., Siler Bald, and and Cheoah (sp?) Bald. An older guy (60s?), who is a 2,000 miler and a member of the N.H.C. wandered up while we were there and pointed out a couple of other peaks and said that you could see Blood Mtn. if you knew where to look.

The gang’s all here tonight. Troll, Bearanoid, Bush-wack, Justin, Christy, and myself. The shelter will be crowded. Thankfully, Bush-wack is sleeping under the stars — his snoring is becoming legendary! Apparently he really shook the rafters at the Siler Bald Shelter last night.

I had no sunset & no sunrise on top of Siler Bald. When I got up this morning, my thermometer read between 35 degrees and 40 degrees, which, of course, has to be taken with a grain of salt, but Bush-wack said he heard that it got down below 40 degrees last night, so it may have been fairly accurate.

I asked Bush-wack about the “every day is Sunday out here” comment. He said that he meant it was peaceful and relaxed — more a sleeping late and reading the Sunday paper day than a Friday after work at the bars day. I guess there was more depth there than I had thought.

Tonight is shaping up to be of audio interest. Although Bush-wack is the Kind Snorer, Bearanoid is apparently in close second, and Troll is a somewhat distant third. Christy talks in her sleepd, soundling like a “female Chewebacca” (from Star Wars) according to Bush-wack, and Justin passes gas rather loudly. I slept through BUsh-wack’s snoring once before, but this will be a challenge.

There is a real sense of comradery out here, and it is nice. No tensions have developed as far as I can tell.

Bush-wack has given up on the the Sherpa rice, and he loaded up on “real” food at Rainbow Springs. He said it makes all of the difference in the world as to how he feels.

I really am looking forward to seeing Julie tomorrow. As much as I enjoy the company out here, I miss hers.

5/19/1993 – Wed.

Alone at last! I only covered about 7.2 miles today, but that is as I had planned, as I am taking an easy three days to Wesser and Julie (!). Dad and Dan left around 8:00 this morning to go to Asheville. I was up and about and had planned on waiting for the other guys to head back to the trail, but around 8:45 I caught myself reading menu suggestions for a final episode of Cheers party in the newspaper, so I went ahead and headed out. It was raining steadily, so I only took one break, and I made it to the Siler Bald Shelter by noon. I spread out my stuff, ate lunch, read a January, 1993, issue of Time that was in the shelter, and napped. Around 2:30 the rain stopped and the sky semi-cleared, so I got up and walked around a bit. Bearanoid (Mark) showed up around 3:00 PM, Bush-wack (Victor) showed up around 3:15, and Troll (Jay) showed up around 4:00. I decided that, rather than stay with three guys whose snoring had driven two people out of the bunkhouse the night before, I would hike the .7 miles to the top of Siler Bald, camp there, and hope to catch a good sunset.

It’s windy as all get out up here, but I feel like I am on top of the world. The sun has been drifting in and out from behind some ominous looking clouds, but it has not started raining (pardon me while I wander down the hill and knock on a tree).

The bald is covered with grass, and a granite stone declares that the elevation here is 5,216 ft. All of the descent[sic]-sized stones have been gathered up and arranged in two fire rings that are all of 20 feet apart (there’s got to be a story in that somewhere). Off the south side of the bald are a bunch of small, hardy-looking trees — some are leaning downhill and some are toppled over. I see several sawed down trunks, so the wind is not solely responsible for the downed trees. To both the east and west of the peak, groves of hardy-looking trees stand, although only the ones to the west are tall enough (or not far enough down the slope) to block the view. Only one tree stands near the summit (I wish I knew my trees, but all I can say is that it looks like a tree that would grow in the desert. It’s only about twenty-five feet tall, and one of its four major limbs has been broken partway up, and now hangs on, it’s “top” touching the ground, as though a giant child broke it off while playing and then leaned it up against the tree — hoping that his mother would not guess that he was responsible when she found it.

It is amazing what a difference the sun can make in comfort. When it is not blocked by a cloud, the fact that it is shining makes me feel warm despite the wind. When it is covered by clouds, I feel like I am in the domain of the Wicked Witch of the East. Looking out over nearby hills and valleys where the sun still shines can bring a certain amount of “warmth.”

One thing that makes this place special is that the view is in many different directions. Perched on my rock, I can face in several different directions and still be looking out over an attractive vista. At teh same time, there is always space at my back. This view I could not capture with a wide-angle lens, as it is a 360-degree view.

This is a good place to spend my first night alone, even if I do not get my sunset. This place is a place for one. Two fire rings is ironic.

Bush-wack said that out here, every day is Sunday. I have an intuitive feeling that he is right, but I am not at all sure what that means. Being Bush-wack, he probably meant that you can sleep late and you don’t have to go to work (Bush-wack is not a very profound kind of guy). I think there might be something deeper to his statement, but I have not yet figured out what. He made the statement last Sunday, and I have mulled it over periodically since then without reaching a definitive conclusion, but I thought I ought to record the statement in writing lest I forget it altogether.

My tent is staked down but quivering in the wind like a tightly restrained wild animal.

Tonight I will sleep in my wool cap. It is cold.

Clearly, I wrote longer entries when I knocked off earlier in the day! I actually have very distinct memories of camping on Siler Bald.  It was cold and windy, but pretty!

5/17/93 — Mon.

We made it to Rainbow Springs early this afternoon and rented a little cabin. Some surprising things have happened:

Troll twisted his right ankle, and then trussed up his boot laces so tight for support that he strained his left Achille’s tendon, so he made it here last night, stayed today, and is staying tomorrow. he is going ot meet his girlfriend in Wesser instead of Fontana Dam so he can really take it easy for a while. I talked to Julie (she’s in Sour Lake), and she is up for driving down to Wesser to meet me. My body is feeling the effects of ten days of tough hiking, so I am going to stick with Troll and take it easy for a bit.

We have finally decided that my boots are too small (nice move — I have an almost new $135 pair at home)… but Dad’s fit quite well. Potentially add the boots to the thinsulite jacket and Tilly Hat (things I have actively inherited).

Dad is probably going to go straight from here to Knoxville and buy a new ticket. Dan is probably going to go, too, and take a bus home. He really is a nice guy, so hopefully he and Dad will figure out some way to stay in touch.

Bushwack, who we had decided must be far behind us, took a shortcut on the Kimsey Creek Trail (7 miles vs. 25 miles) and got here yesterday. I have no idea what his plans are.

It does feel good to get off the trail for a bit, and I am excited at the prospect of seeing Julie so much sooner than I had planned. At the same time, I am sure that I want to continue hiking the A.t. Dan and Dad have had enough, but I am hooked. I have yet to see bears or rattlesnakes (Dan & Troll have both seen black bears — Dan has seen a rattlesnake, too), but hopefully that will change once I am on my own.

A stream flows over rocks nearby, making a sound not unlike radio static, yet very unlike it. It is a peaceful sound.

A light fog rolls in, brining with it the chill of the night.

Troll saw a good sunset. I have not…yet.

5/16/93 — Sun.

We made over 16 miles today, leaving just over 10 miles to get to the Rainbow Springs Campground. We went so far, I think, partly because it was relatively level, and partly because the campground (showers) is a pretty big carrot dangling in front of Dad’s and Dan’s noses. We are camped tonight at Betty Creek Gap.

Tomorrow, it’s Rainbow Springs, and then I will be on my own. Hopefully, I will be able to make Fontana Dam by Friday, and meet up with Dad there.

My thought/idea for today was to write a play about someone hiking the A.T. I didn’t get much farther than that, but it seems like all I need is a good idea for a main character, and I’d be off and running. I’ve got several months to get ideas from people I meet on the trail. We stayed last night in the shelter with a guy named Bush-Wack [sic] (real name: Victor). He had been hiking with Troll, but couldn’t quite keep up. He’s kind of a "free spirit," as Dad says with a certain amount of distaste. He was in the Army (stations in Panama for three years), has hiked a big chunk of the Pacific-Crest Trail, and most recently comes from working in a hotel in California. He doesn’t carry a stove — cooks his dinner on the fire every night. Every night he eats lentils, beans, rice, and barley (the same recipe Dad has) boiled for 30 minutes in water. For breakfast he eats oatmeal and hot chocolate mix mixed in cold water (yuch!). Sometimes he throws some Ramen noodles in with his dinner mix, for variety. He doesn’t eat lunch. It’s probably the cheapest way to go, but worse than any diet study I would ever do. When at a shelter, he still sleeps outside on clear nights (likes to sleep under the stars), his machete stuck in the ground near to his head (yes, his machete — almost 2 feet long). It’s probably a good thing that he sleeps outside — Dan says he’s one of the loudest snorers he’s ever heard, although it didn’t bother me. He’s an interesting character, all right.

There are also three guys who we have heard about but not seen: Turtle, Snail, and Slug. They started the day after we did, and they are loaded down with juggling equipment. Apparently, they’re quite good…at juggling. Rumor has it that their whole trip is planned out on the computer, but they are already down to one box of macaroni & cheese and are supplementing their diet with edible plants. They’re from Las Vegas, which just goes to build up my belief that that city produces some real wackos [sic]. Bets are that they haven’t made it out of Georgia yet and have little chance of finishing the trail. Bush-wack [sic] even said they were a strange bunch!

As it turned out, two of the three jugglers did indeed drop out fairly quickly. The third one continued on and actually flip-flopped. He’ll crop up some time in September, I think, as I spent the night with him in a shelter in New Hampshire or Maine. We’ll see if I manage to cross-link back to this post when we get there!

The play…never even got started. I’ve learned in the past fifteen years that, while I’m a decent writer, and I enjoy it…that’s only for certain types of work. I haven’t had a solid idea for a piece of fiction since I was in college, despite how much I enjoy reading it.

As for the diet study reference, while I was in college, a number of my fraternity brothers and I made some money on the side by participating in medical studies at Beth Israel Hospital in Boston. Most of the studies we did were ones where we were a control group for some sort of geriatric-oriented study. The exact format of the studies varied slightly from one to the other, but most of them meant we had to eat the same three meals — low sodium, and with portions measured out to the fraction of an ounce — every day for anywhere from 3 days to a couple of weeks. We had some input into what the meals were, but, let me tell you, nothing tastes good the fifth day in a row that you’ve had it for dinner! These studies were win-win, especially during MIT’s "Independent Activities Period" (IAP) every January — our house didn’t provide meals then, so this was a way to get paid several hundred dollars while also having our meals taken care of.

One downside was that, not only was there strict monitoring of our intake, but there was strict monitoring of our liquid output. For many of the studies, we spent every night in the hospital, but we were out during the day — lugging around a backpack with a gallon jug with a very good sealing lid.

We got to know the nurses in the Clinical Research Center (CRC) fairly well. Apparently, working in the CRC was a fairly sought-after gig, as the majority of the patients were actually…healthy. Occasionally, there would be overflow from the other beds in the hospital, but, for the most part, we had the run of the place and all enjoyed flirting with the nurses, who were very good sports.

One other aside about that whole experience. There were enough of us from the same fraternity cycling through on studies that were managed by the same doctor, that she noticed a pattern of anemia in her "healthy" test subjects. She actually put many of us on iron supplements and, if I recall correctly, called up our cook advising him to try to work some additional leafy vegetables and red meats into our menu! I don’t know that that did much good, as we payed poorly and wound up with a couple of real characters as cooks.

5/10/93 — Sat.

We only made a bit over ten miles today, but had little choice since there is nowhere else to stay for about five miles. We are sharing the Muskrat Creek shelter with a Dan and a guy from California who has sort of been traveling with Troll (Troll ate lunch here and then moved on).

I have yet to see a good sunset, which is a little disappointing, but I’m sure i will at some point. Anyway, I was thinking about it today and tryin gto figure out why exactly I am so fond of sunsets. Part of it is the color — to watch an orange orb slip slowly down over the horizon, distorting itself in the process as if someone were pressing a giant orange down into a thick, viscous surface. But part of it, too, is what a sunset signifies. It is the end of the day, when today turns into tonight. The next time the sun appears, today will be yesterday, a thing of the past — history. "Today" stops at the horizon. And a sunset — what a way to bid farewell to a day! Sometimes, there is not much to it, but, oh man when there is…! A beautiful sunset means something special has happened that day: fighting has stopped, a baby is born, two lovers have gazed into each other’s eyes. These things happen every day, in some shape or form, but a beautiful sunset makes one aware .

***

Backpacking. Let’s talk. it can be made to sound so much like a pasttime [sic], but it is really more than that. The facts: a person carries on his back everything he needs. This includes: his house (including bathroom, kitchen, and bedroom), a water treatment plant, a doctor’s office, and a grocery store (in a more literal sense than common usage). After getting up in the morning, a backpacker dismantles his entire house, and carries it for 8-10 hours. Then, he has to build his kitchen, make his bed, and cook himself dinner before he can sleep. Well, it was a different way of looking at things.

P.S. We crossed the N.C.-GA line today

One of the careers I was mulling over when I started hiking was to be a professional writer — essayist, actually. I’d tried to garner some interest among several publications in support of my doing some writing from the trail, with no luck. Clearly, this was one of the evenings when I was "trying out" some things (one of the definitions of "essay" being "try out").

Oh, well.

I don’t have much time to write this evening, as I have been puttering around camp and the sun is about to disappear.

We started out great this morning, refreshed from our weather-brought rest yesterday afternoon, and walked the 7.1 miles to the Deep Gap shelter with only one break. We stopped there for lunch (Troll had done the same and was still there when we got there), dried out some of our stuff, filled our water bottles, and resumed hiking at 2:15. We only made another 4.6 miles before stopping to camp about 1.1 miles past Dick’s Creek Gap. Dan was already here, and he and Dad are kicking around different ways to kill time once we get to the Rainbow Springs Campground (Dad as to when his flight leaves and Dan as to when his wife can get off work to come pick him up).

I remain frustrated at the slow pace, and it obviously shows. I know Dad cannot go any faster, but i am really itching to see how I will do on my own. Troll is going to spend the weekend in Fontana Village with his girlfriend next weekend, so hopefully that will give me time to catch up. I plan to spend a rest day there and get some postcards written.

I am beginning to think that I will tell Mike & Tomjay not to hike with me. I think I have gotten in "hiking shape," and they would slow me down, unleashing all the frustrations I am now feeling with Dad.

I had no memory that "Mike and Tomjay" were ever thinking about doing some hiking with me. They were my two closest friends in college. As a matter of fact, we’ll be staying with Mike when we head to our 15-year college reunion this summer. Needless to say, they did not come out and hike with me. Ron — my "best friend since 7th grade" did, and Julie did. I have positive memories of both, so maybe I just needed to get some solo experience under my belt before I became an obnoxiously mile-hungry hiker.

5/13/93 — Thu.

What a miserable day. It started out almost clear, then began to drizzle, then almost cleared, then began to rain. We made it to the Tray Mountain shelter by 3:00 PM, and have holed up for the evening after traveling a wopping 8.2 miles. So far, two other guys are here. Dan had crawled back into his tent when we left, so he might not have gone anywhere today.

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My hands were too cold to write. Another guy has now shown up. He is heading south — in his sixties and walked all the way from Plum Orchard Gap shelter today!

There was supposedly an excellent view from the top of Tray Mtn., but we missed it, as we could only see about 30 feet into the milky-white fog/rain. We didn’t stick around long to stare into the nothingness, because we were on one of the taller mountains in the area, its top was rocky and treeless, and lightning had been flashing within a mile of us for the last half hour. Dad was probably glad, for the first time ever, that I was a little taller than he was.

I really felt like it was a Man against Nature battle today, rather than a mere coexistence. We were caught in the woods, and the elements of nature — the wind, the rain, and the cold — were our enemies. Our goal was to make it to the shelter (man-made) and safety. Although the actual danger was not all that great, the absence of a shelter would have left us cold and miserable — and possibly brought on illness. This all seems a bit melodramatic now (dry, in my sleeping bag in the shelter, watching the sky clear), but those were the thoughts that ran through my head in all seriousness just a few hours ago.

Today I did ask myself why I am doing this, and, although I still do not have an answer that I can put into words, I came to a conclusion: I will keep going until I feel like there is no way I can go on for another week. This trail is the elephant, and it can only be eaten one bite at a time.

Dad has pretty much decided he is going to bail out at the next mail drop — Rainbow Springs Campground. his knees are still stiff, and he says he hates to slow me down so much. although this had not been the case for the first several days, it unfortunately has become so in the past couple. His pace on uphill sections is tediously slower than what mine would be alone, and I have to constantly remind myself not to tailgate. He has a tendency to stop suddenly and hitch up his pack, swinging his stick up behind him, and I have had several near misses. i don’t think he does it on purpose, but it does keep me on my toes.

My right hip seems to have some sort of deep bruise that has really started bothering me for the last couple of days. I think this short day will do it good. A combination of Advil and molefoam with a hole in it alleviated most of the pain, but I suspect it really just needs time to heal.

As much as I enjoy Dad’s company, I am looking forward to doing some hiking alone. I’ve read (and practiced), that hiking can be a lot more enjoyable if you are distracted — if you let your mind wander away from the task at hand. Dad is more of a silent plodder, and, although we have had some good discussions while walking, by and large we don’t do much talking. At the same time, it is difficult to get lost in oneself while staring at the back of someone else’s pack. The other young fellow in the shelter (another thru-hiker — "Troll") mentioned that he burst into song briefly today. i often sing aloud when driving long distances, and have a feeling I’ll try it out once I’m alone. The tent will also be much roomier with only one person. Finally, I feel like such the kid when I am camping with Dad. Even though he defers to me as much as I defer to him when it comes to decisions, I fell like there is no risk — Daddy won’t let me do anything really wrong.

A journal entry about my day would really not be complete without some mention of Julie. This is my journal, and I am entitled to write whatever I want no matter how mushy or sappy it might seem to others. I thought about Julie a lot today, probably because the warmth of one of her hugs was about the farthest thing from the discomfort of today’s weather. I do miss her. For the first time in a very long time, I do not know where she is or what she is probably doing. It is Thursday, and she had said she would probably leave Boston today. But did she? Is the going to drive to Texas with Mom? I hope she is enjoying herself wherever she is, because I am doing a good job of depressing myself.

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Wow! Talk about a mood-changer. I just got up and went and looked out to the south. The storm is clearing, and you can see for miles, but clouds are rolling in down lower, like someone turned on a great big smoke machine.

A Poem to End the Day

The day is ending.
I watch it from my haven.
Nestled in my bag
I am safe.

Darkness will come soon.
Not creeping in on feline’s paws,
But settling with a whisper.
I will sleep.

I will not venture out.
Tonight, the dark will cover all
And I will not complain.
Time to rest.

Goodbye, today.
You will live in my memory
Your time in the present gone.
Good-bye.

And…a career as a poet was clearly not in the cards!

I think this journal entry was long enough that further commentary is not warranted. Although, I do distinctly remember this day.