Adventure | Appalachian Trail Hiker

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Night 44: Pink Wine At The End Of The Whites

Friday, March 25th, 2011

Pink wine at Jeffers Brook Shelter

Sunday July 18, 2010

6.9 Miles, 1781.7 Miles to Springer, 397.4 Miles Hiked

Today’s hike would be my shortest in a while as my schedule was going to be dictated by the United States Postal service. My sister Caitlin had sent a package for me to the Glencliff post office which was just over seven miles away, unfortunately post offices aren’t open on Sundays so I would hike 6.9 miles to the shelter just before Glencliff and walk into Glencliff early tomorrow morning to get my package. Today would be a relaxed day and I was looking forward to it.

I woke up as the sun rose, not because of the mileage I had for the day, but because I wanted to get over Moosilauke before it stormed again, if it was going to storm and I planned on taking a long afternoon nap at Jeffers Brook Shelter as soon as I got there. As I got my things together I talked with some of the weekend hikers who had shared the shelter with me. There was a man who looked almost exactly like a long haired Paulie Shore, which made me happy because Paulie Shore reminds me of being a kid. I was so distracted by his striking resemblance to Paulie Shore that I didn’t hear a word he said.

The other hikers I talked to were two girls who had attended Brown and Harvard and that was all they had to talk about. I lost interest in them immediately, and I got a very lesbian vibe from both of them, not that there was anything wrong with that. Believe me, I didn’t like them because they were elitists who loved to talk about how special and smart they were for attending an Ivy League school.

I kept the conversation brief, packed up my things and said goodbye to the Ivy League Lesbians and the Paulie Shore look alike and the other day hikers who I had shared the shelter with the previous night.

Before I left the Beaver Brook campsite and shelter area I stopped at the privy. A sign attached to it informed me that it was being maintained by the DOC (Dartmouth Outdoors Club). When I opened the privy door and stepped inside the odor was extra offensive. The door slammed behind me and it was like I was trapped in a four foot by four foot shit covered crime scene. It was terrible. What used to be the back window of the privy was now the toilet seat lid and was it was smeared with shit stains and crusted with dried urine and splashes of what I can only imagine was some poor hiker’s diarrhea.

After grabbing a corner of the plexiglass window pain that covered the toilet I lifted it up as though I was holding explosive material. With the dirty plexiglass removed I saw what was inside.

The toilet seat sat upon approximately a six foot high by four by four foot wooden box. We’re talking about 150 cubic feet ( maybe those calculations are wrong, but hey, math was never my strong suit) for holding human waste.

Back to what was inside. The privy had been so heavily used and poorly maintained, cleaned, or composted that shit was literally beginning to overflow up and out of the toilet.

As I looked down at the rising, spiraling, tower of shit I knew it was decision time. I really had to poop and if I didn’t do it here I’d be squatting in the woods, potentially squatting above tree line trying to poop in the middle of an electrical storm. I decided to chance it as I couldn’t hold it any longer and I sat down knowing full well that the poop tower could end up pushing up against me just from sitting or that whatever came out of me would be pushed up against me with nowhere to go down below. Yes, I had become a disgusting person. The decisions of my every day life were not what I had envisioned for myself when I set out on this Mecca-esque quest.

The privy incident left me unsmeared. I didn’t dare reach under myself to wipe for fear that my hand would make direct contact with the poop tower. I stood up with pants around my ankles and wiped while standing up. This is probably far too much to be sharing with the entire world, but this was the way I had to think now, these were my serious life problems.

Since it was a weekend the tent site was filled with weekenders, who had tents the size of Howard Johnson hotels, absolutely ridiculous luxuries that I was secretly jealous about. Just as I left camp I ran into a crazed looking Chihuahua that ran at me and tried to bite me several times. The dogs owners offered me some doughnut holes as a peace offering for the crazed dog nipping at my legs and I took them and gladly scarfed them down and headed to the trail away from the crazed Chihuahua.

The sunlight that greeted me at the shelter that morning was pretty much completely gone by the time I was getting close to breaking the treeline. It appeared I might just make it through the Whites without a single good view from any of the major peaks. The thing is that I didn’t care at all. I was just so excited to be out of the damn White mountains, and excited that I would never have to come back. These mountains as amazing as they were scare the fucking shit out of me.

As I reached the summit of Mount Moosilauke the large cairns came into view as white and misty clouds rolled past me with 20 mile per hour winds that blew and blew.

MVI_2165

When I reached the top I saw a tiny slit of blue between two massive dark clouds. I saw a young couple enjoying lunch behind a pile of rocks, protected from the wind. I sat down next to them and we talked. I wasn’t exactly in a rush with less than six miles to go to the next shelter and with no sound of thunder.

“I’m Lola.” The girl said.

“And I’m Sunrise.” The man said. They both wore copper wedding bands, something I’d never seen before and something about them seemed more free and wild then anyone I’d met so far, these people were travelers.

I told them about the Whites , the hut system, the insane weather, and I ate lunch with them.

Since I was in no rush I just waited at the summit even as Lola and Sunrise moved on. I envied them the fact that they had each other to hike with.

I met another couple a half hour later, Moose and Tetherball. They too were so full of life and positive energy they made me wish I was headed North with them. They gave me the boost I needed to keep on keeping on. They were accompanied by another young man named Chewy.

“The only animals I’ve seen so far are deers and bears.” Chewy said. “You get to Virginia and deers will be trying to get into the shelter to spoon with you.” Chewy said.

Moose gave me some of her swedish fish and then departed North. I ate them and then I too left the and headed the just under five miles I had to hike to get to Jeffers Brook Shelter. I arrived around 2:00 P.M. with plenty of daylight left so I decided that after I finished what I had allotted for my lunch that I would take a well deserved nap. And I slept on the hard wooden shelter floor like it was a feather bed.

I woke up to a white trash looking couple named Tracy and Owen. They had two lab and pit bull mix puppies that were terribly disobedient.

They chatted with me and told me they had parked their car just a half mile away and were going to get their tent and food. Food that included hot dogs which they offered me, I was very excited.

When they headed back to their car to get their gear an older couple named Grace & Glory and Walking Man arrived. Both loved to complain and did plenty of it to anyone near enough that had functioning ears.

“As soon as I finish my hike I’m writing a letter to my senator about those huts.” Walking Man said.

Bishop arrived not too long after them and I was glad to see a familiar face who I knew I could talk to who I also knew was not crazy.

Turkey and Thrasher arrived shortly after Bishop and told me of the early troubles they faced in their hike. They said Thrasher got hurt early on and they had a 1000 medical bill to pay and no insurance.

Tracy, the woman in the white trash couple walked back into the campsite dragging a giant cooler on wheels while Owen, her boyfriend carried more than the average camel could hull. Good thing their car was so close. Tracey opened the cooler and pulled out two giant bottles of pink Sutter Home wine and poured us all very full glasses. One glass had me tipsy and the half bottle shared between Tracy and Owen had them talking about dropping everything and starting their own thru hike. They asked Bishop and I questions and said they were dead serious about hiking, I knew this was all bar talk and would amount to nothing, but bar talk with strangers is at least entertaining.

There was about two cups worth of wine left in one of the bottles as everyone headed to bed. Tracy and Owen offered it to Bishop and me to finish and we did. I poured half in my tin cup and Bishop drank the rest straight from the bottle.

Since Bishop was getting a new phone soon I gave him my number in case we got split up and so he could let me know how far ahead he was when we really got split up when I left Hanover and headed home for my two friends’ weddings.

I had pulled out the card Sarah had given me before I started my hike, the same card I read every night before I went to bed. The front had three pictures of her. In the first she was pointing to herself, the second making a heart with her hands, and in the third pointing at me and on the inside was a picture of her blowing a kiss with the words ‘I love you’ underneath the picture.

“What are you looking at?” Bishop asked.

“A card my girlfriend made me before I left for my hike that she asked me to take with me the whole way.” I said.

“Can I see it?” Bishop asked.

“Yeah, but you can’t read what’s inside, that’s just between her and me,” I said as I handed him the card.

“She’s really pretty.” He said.

“Yeah, she’s gorgeous.” I said.

“How long you been together?” He asked.

“Just about two and a half years.” I said.

“That’s a really long time.” He said.

“It hasn’t seemed that long to me.” I said.

“Every girl I’ve ever been with has told me I have commitment issues, or maybe it was intimacy issues, I can’t remember.” Bishop said as he handed the card back to me.

“Maybe it was the girls that had the issues, and they just blamed them on you.” I said with a laugh as I tucked the card back in my journal and put it in my pack.

We turned our headlamps off and I felt so ready to be back home, back in the real world, back in the life I once inhabited even if it just was for a week.

We went to bed and I really hoped I’d see Bishop again, but I wasn’t sure if I could make up 10 days hiking on someone who hiked just as fast as I did. I’d really have to move fast if I was going to ever see him again. But people had told me you’d be surprised at what can happen that will bring hikers back together on the trail.

Rose – Glass of Wine.

Bud – Getting closer to Hanover.

Thorn – Only getting 6.9 miles hiked.

Tags: adventure, Appalachian Trial, bishop, black lab pit bull, cloudy, first pasture land, foggy, Grace and Glory, Green Mountains to the west. remnants, hiking, hot dogs, Jeffers Brook, Jeffers Brook Shelter, Mount Moosilauke, muddy water, pink wine, Prospect House, puppies, ruffled potato chips, Thrasher, thru hike, thru hiking, trail magic, Turkey, Walking Man, white mountains to the northeast, wilderness, windy | Posted in Appalachian Trail | 3 Comments »

Night 42: Ink Smudges Lie and Hot Fudge Sundaes Can’t Fix Everything

Monday, March 14th, 2011

Fog on top of South Twin Mountain or North Twin Spur

Friday 7-16-2010
20 Miles Hiked, 1806.4 Miles To Springer

I woke when my watch alarm sounded at 4:45 A.M. Bishop woke too. It was still dark as we started reloading our packs. I grabbed some coffee and gobbled down the giant sugar cookie one of the crew members had given me last night and tossed two Advil down my gullet. I took out my good book and my permanent marker and wrote down the mile markers for the day on my forearm. With my pain meds down, my map on my arm, and food in my body I was ready to go. I was back on the trail just a bit ahead of Bishop and energized by another great hut breakfast.

The climb up my first 4,000 footer of the day, Zeacliff, wasn’t bad at all. The summit was what I had come to expect from any summit in the Whites. It was cloudy, misty, windy, cold and looked like it would storm any moment.

At the top of Zeacliff I noticed a man walking aimlessly through some pine trees next to the trail. He was a NOBO named Dwayne. That was both his trail name and his real name as he would explain to me. As we talked the sun came out and the clouds began to scatter. I realized I had heard about him from a few NOBO’s early on in my hike. They said he was a total oddball and that when he started his thru hike he was carrying a huge axe because he assumed there would be a lot of stuff that would need axing. Apparently there wasn’t enough stuff that needed axing because the axe was no longer on him. I was glad.

“You going to stop at Zealand Falls Hut for breakfast?” I asked.

“Yeah, if I can stay on the right trail. Damn near got lost a minute ago. Is that the A.T. you comin’ from?” He asked.

“Yeah, that’s the A.T. If you eat breakfast there don’t eat the oat meal. We had to pick bugs out of it for our work for stay last night.” I said.

“Hell, I’ll eat the shit outta sum bugs.” He said.

“Okay, then do eat the oat meal.” I said. “The trail is really smooth from hear down to the hut and a little further, enjoy your hike.”

I continued onward and upward over both South Twin Mountain and North Twin Spur. Both mountains were shrouded in thick clouds and at nearly 5,000 feet. The sunlight from earlier had gone back into hiding. The wind was ripping, and it was cold.

By the time I reached Galehead Hut the sun was out again and Bishop had caught up to me. The hut crew guy at Galehead, Mike, offered us the remaining pancakes which he said he’d have to add to the soup for the night if we didn’t finish them. I couldn’t imagine pancakes dissolving into a broth very, but I guess it was possible. We gladly devoured the pancakes like wild dogs. We drenched them with maple syrup, not real maple syrup, but some sort of imitation syrup and together we each ate seven pancakes and split one. We hit the trail again, this time stuffed to the brim and re energized .

I led the hike briefly, but then Bishop passed as I was messing with my tape recorder to try and take some notes.

The next summit I hit was Mount Garfield. I got to it just after I passed Garfield Ridge Shelter and campsite. Garfield offered a nice place for a lunch break. I sat in the insides of what remained of the base of an old fire tower and ate my fruit snacks, snickers, and crackers and watched as beautiful, non threatening, fluffy white clouds passed over the ranges before me. From where I sat I could see Mount Lafayette, Mount Lincoln, Little Haystack, and Liberty Mountain all of which made up the famous Franconia Ridge Range. I’d been hearing about it for days. Hearing about how the views from the ridge were the most spectacular views of the whole trail.

I wished only that I’d get to hike this section free of clouds and storms so that I could enjoy at least one section of the Whites.

I turned my phone on while I ate just to see if I’d get service. The bars came and went and came and went again, and then a text from Sarah came in that she’d sent that morning.

“ONE MORE WEEK!” It read. I was beaming, smiling so wide if someone had found me they’d think I was deranged. I felt on top of the world, and literally I was. I was laying down, basking in sunlight, protected from the wind by the ruins of the old fire tower eating fruit snacks and a snicker bar and fantasizing about being home and being with her again. I would be seeing her in less than a week and we’d be together, dancing, and laughing, and kissing and celebrating at our friends wedding. I couldn’t wait.

The text was what I needed and I knew in that instant that I could tough it out for one more week. I could hike through storms, I could be scared, I could be hungry, and smelly, and uncomfortable, because in a week I’d be home. I’d be with Sarah. I’d be with my family. I’d be safe.

After lunch was done around 12:30 P.M. I started my hike toward the ridge with a new energy in my step. The climb up wasn’t anything brutal just the steady uphills I’d grown accustomed to in the Whites and Maine.

They sky began to grow cloudy, and not the previous unscary type of clouds either. These ones were dark and threatening. The clouds now enveloped the entire ridge line. Each time I’d think I’d reached the peak of Lafayette the clouds would move just enough to reveal a bigger even higher peak. This happened to me about four times before I actually reached the peak of Lafayette.

I was dead tired by this point so I sat down on a boulder and ate the last of my snickers and gulped down my last remaining half liter of water. Three NOBO hikers walked past and said, “I’m glad I’m not over there anymore,” and pointed toward the mountain I was headed to next that had severe black clouds overhead.

I got my pack back on and began walking. I had seen Bishop on top of the next mountain about ten minutes before and figured if I really pushed it I could catch him and then at least I wouldn’t be caught on the top of another mountain in another storm by myself. I don’t know why, but just having someone there eased my fear and anxiety so much.

I had hiked about a half mile from Lafayette which put me halfway to the summit of Lincoln.

CRACK! A loud burst of thunder echoed through the air with deafening sharpness.

I wanted to be home. I wanted to be home. I wanted to be home.

A rush of adrenaline squirted through my body and fear spread with it. I looked at my arm where I wrote the different mile markers in permanent marker that morning, but all the moisture from the clouds at high elevation and my sweat had made it smudgy. I thought it looked like Lafayette was at mile 368.3 and the next stopping area, Liberty Springs tentsite was at 370.1, and if I turned around it would be a mile and a half back to the closest Hut. I figured I could run 1.8 miles to safety before things got really bad .

Unfortunately, my eyes and the smudges had deceived me. Lafayette was actually at 366.3, 3.8 miles to safety and I was in deep shit on the top of an exposed ridge line in the middle of an electrical storm. Oh, and my hiking poles were two metal lightning rods held in each hand, but they were the only thing helping me stay on my feet on the uneven terrain, so I decided they were worth the risk.

The violent cracks of thunder continued like a whip being snapped right by my ear every couple minutes. My mind reverted to primal instincts, it was flight or fright time. I was no doubt frightened out of my mind, but flight won out, and I started running.

I jumped from boulder to boulder, jumping down four foot drops with little care if I landed or fell down them as long as I kept moving forward. My balance was tossed side to side with my quick movements due to the forty pounds of extra weight strapped to my back. I was moving recklessly on these sharp rocks, but all that mattered was that I catch up to Bishop and not die up here alone. If I was going to die I’d have someone by my side, yes, that was all that mattered.

The thunder continued cracking and at closer intervals. Things couldn’t be worse.

Then the sheets of sideways rain came. The drops fell hard and were ice cold. The temperature must have plummeted twenty degrees in five minutes. The wind came roaring and was now blowing at a sustained thirty miles per hour easily. The rain cover for my pack became like a parachute and the wind filled it and dragged me to the left hard. I fell, stood back up and kept hiking this time being more careful with my balance.

I was wearing my glasses because my contacts had been bothering my eyes the last few days. Both lenses were covered in water and I couldn’t see through them. The thunder and rain raged and I kept running without the slightest idea what was more than three feet ahead.

I stopped for the first time since I’d started running. I took my glasses off and tried to wipe the lenses so I could see better.

Both lenses popped out and fell to the ground.

I picked up the lenses.

CRACK!

I shoved them in my pocket and kept running, now actually blind. My heart was racing. I was praying to see the tops of trees to let me know I could take cover below the treeline soon. *(Treeline is the line where trees no longer grow on the tops of mountains due to severe weather conditions that make it impossible for a tree to grow)

“God, please get me out of this, I promise I won’t put myself in any more stupid situations, just please let me live through this. My Mom is going to be so mad.” I kept saying over and over and over in my head.

I’d been full on sprinting across slippery, wet boulders in the middle of a thunderstorm for about 45 minutes when I saw something better than trees, I saw people. A family, a father, a mother, and two young boys. If I was going to die up here at least it wasn’t going to die with this family of strangers.

“How far to the treeline.” I shouted through the gusting wind with water dripping down my face.

“About two minutes that way.” The father shouted back.

“Turn back now and get under treeline with me!” I shouted to the whole family. “It only gets worse the higher up you get.”

“Okay, let’s go.” The mother said to her husband and the the two boys.

We got below the treeline and I felt safe for the first time in about an hour.

“Will I be below treeline until that next campsite?” I asked.

“You come back above for about five minutes, but that’s it.” The father said.

“Okay good. Where are you guys trying to get to?” I asked.

“Greenleaf Hut, about four miles away.” He said.

“There’s no way you’ll make it in this. It’s way too dangerous, just wait it out here below treeline or head back to your car until it clears up.” I said.

“Have you seen a young guy about my age recently?” I asked.

“No, you’re the first person we’ve seen out here.” They said.

“What had happened to Bishop?” I thought.

“Okay thanks. I’m getting out of here now, but whatever you do don’t go out above treeline in this, it’s terrifying.” I said as I quickly turned and started running again.

I made it to the shelter about a half hour later, refilled my water and sat down on the ground thanking God for getting me off that mountain alive.

By the time I reached the main road it was 5:05 P.M. So I headed to the visitor center, at the Flume or something, and was hoping to use the phone. My cell had no service and I wanted to call Chet, a guy in Lincoln who runs a free hiker hostel called One Step At A Time. I called to make sure I could stay there tonight and Chet gave me the go ahead. I called a local shuttle service, I was in no mood to hitch after my near death experience and I would have paid any amount to be taken somewhere safe. The Shuttle Connection van came to pick me up about fifteen minutes later.

The guy who picked me up in the white shuttle van was morbidly obese and told me he had never once climbed anything around here, even though he’d lived here his whole life.

“Why would I hike somewhere when I could just drive there.” He said as he drove me. He knew exactly where Chet’s house was, pulled into the driveway and let me out after I paid him.

Chet came out from his garage. Much to my surprise, in a wheel chair and rolled toward me with a smile and an outstretched hand.

“Thank you so much for taking me in tonight. You have non idea how glad I am to be out of the White Mountains for a night and somewhere safe.” I said with actual tears welling in my eyes. I was an emotional wreck. I don’t think Chet could tell though. Besides being in a wheel chair he was almost completely blind and had two service dogs, one of which was half wolf half German shepherd. It was the coolest and most massive dog I’d ever seen. Chet had the most bad ass guide dog in the world.

“No problem, right on, right on, glad I could help you.” He said.

After I got my things situated in a bunk in Chet’s converted garage, Chet gave me the name of a good pizza place, Elvio’s. I walked from Chet’s house toward down town. It was no more than a ten minute walk. The walk took me past this crazy house that was painted in all sorts of wild colors and had all sorts of crazy sculptures. When I asked about in town they told me the owners had experimented with drugs and liked the way the visual effect of everything the house offered. At Elvio’s I ordered three slices of pizza. Each was the size of my torso and a 24 ounce soda that I must have refilled eight times with every soda flavor they had.

I talked to some locals and they asked me where I was staying.

“Chet’s place.” I said.

“He’s a great guy isn’t he.” The local man said.

“Yeah he’s been great to me so far.” I said.

“You hear about how he ended up in that wheel chair?” He asked.

“No.” I said.

“He was preparing for his own thru hike years and years back. He was practicing using his stove. It was some gas stove or other that lit by being pumped and the thing exploded right in his face. Nearly killed him. Right as it exploded he lifted his hands to cover his face which is why he isn’t horribly disfigured, but he also inhaled right as the explosion occurred. His lungs were essentially incinerated. He only has thirty percent lung function or something crazy. He holds some record for being the only person to survive an accident so severe.” The local man said.

“That’s terrible.” I said.

“Yeah, the company that made the gas canister settled with him. No one knows what company it was, part of the settlement said the name can’t be released and he can’t talk about it, so no one know’s for sure what really happened. It turned out he wasn’t the only person this happened to though, just the only one to survive and file suit. Rough deal for him, but he’s set for life, that’s how come he can help you hikers out. He’s a hell of a guy.” He said.

“He sure is.” I said, thinking how amazing it was that this man was even alive. It was so cool that even though he would never get to do his hike, he was going to make the best of his circumstances and help as many people as he could achieve a dream he wouldn’t be able to. Chet had just become the most interesting person I’d met on the trail.

When I returned to Chet’s I asked him if I could borrow one of his bikes to go exploring through Lincoln.

“No problem.” He said.

Just before I left again I noticed that Abraham was sitting on one of the bunks.

“Abraham, where the hell did you disappear to on the ridge. I saw you in front of me, and I tried to catch you, and then you disappeared during the storm.” I said.

“When the storm hit I started climbing down the side of the mountain looking for somewhere to take cover. I found a little cave, crawled in there and waited out the storm while I rolled and smoked a cigarette. It was a really great hiding place, kept me dry and safe.” He said.

I wanted to kill him. Not sure why, but I had hoped he had been as scared and miserable as I had been. In fact I was angry that he hadn’t been fearing for his life the same way I had.

I had officially gone off the deep end. I was angry that someone else had been safer and in better circumstances then I was.

“I’m headed into to town and I’m stopping at McDonald’s, you want anything?” I asked, as if this would make up for my insane thoughts.

“Nah, I’m good, I’m going to head into town a little later, but thanks.” He said.

As I explored Lincoln I realized this town had everything I would need or want. A book store, a movie theater, a McDonald’s, a grocery store, a moose tour company, an ice cream shop and an outfitter. McDonald’s was the most important of these. I have come to crave fast food on the trail like nothing I’ve ever craved before and McDonald’s is usually the thing I think of most.

I stopped at the McDonald’s and got myself a hot fudge sundae and the world seemed right. I wasn’t so flustered anymore and I certainly wasn’t thinking I was going to die, not today at least. Today I was sitting in a McDonald’s eating a hot fudge sundae and I most certainly wasn’t on some high up mountain in the middle of a lightning storm.

On my bike ride home I bought some ice for my ankle and as I rode past the movie theater I contemplated going to see the new Twilight movie. I couldn’t bring myself to go see it alone, even if it would have been a great distraction from reality.

I ended up back at Chet’s a little after 7:00 P.M. I showered and put my clothes in the wash then talked to a flip flopper (Someone who starts in the middle and heads to one end, then goes back to the middle and heads to the other end) named Speaker, and a group of NOBO’s who were also staying there and who had dubbed themselves The Traveling Circus, with individual names of Lightening, Monkey, and Ringleader.

After talking to them I tried calling Sarah and walked around the yard trying to find a place with stronger service, but had terrible reception and we kept getting disconnected. I was really upset on the phone because today had been really rough and all I wanted was to talk to her about it. I could hear how upset it was making her that I was having such a bad day, and that we kept getting disconnected. I kept my phone on, but no calls came through, not that they could, my service would stay for a second and be gone for thirty minutes.

I walked down the cellar steps into Chet’s basement where the laundry machines were and I sat in an old rocking chair under the glow of a fluorescent tube light. A new text came in from Sarah. “I love you, I hope you’re ok.” It read. I sat in that rocking chair, in that musty basement, that smelled just like my grandparents house and my eyes welled with tears.

I cried because I was alive, because I was safe, because I had people out there who loved me, because I wasn’t sure I could do this anymore, and because I didn’t know how much more of this I could put my family through, put Sarah through, put my friends through and most of all I wasn’t sure how much more of this I could or wanted to put myself through. I cried for everything I hadn’t and should have been crying about for the last 42 days.

Monkey of the Traveling Circus came walking down the stairs. I wiped my eyes before he saw me and made small talk with him for the next fifteen minutes or so pretending everything was fine. Everything wasn’t fine.

Rose – McDonald’s hot fudge sundae.

Bud – Hiking in non thunderstorm weather.

Thorn – Being stuck in an electrical storm on an exposed mountain top and missing Sarah and home.

Tags: adventure, appalachian trail, appalachian trail thru hiker, blind, broken glasses, eclipse, Elvio's Pizza, falling, Franconia Ridge, Galehead Hut, Greanleaf Hut, guide dog, guide dogs, half wolf dog, half wolf half german shepherd, Haystack mountain, hiker, hiking, lightening, Lincoln, Moose tours, Mount Lafayette, Mount Lincoln, musty basement, new hampshire, poor service, text messages, the traveling circus, thru hiker, thru hiking, thunder, thunderstorm, twilight saga eclipse, washing machine, wheel chair, wind gusts | Posted in Appalachian Trail | 3 Comments »

Night 41: Four Priests Are Walking Through The Woods…..

Sunday, March 13th, 2011

The view of Mount Washington from Zealand Falls Hut.

Thursday 7-15-2010
18.8 Miles Hiked, 1826.4 Miles To Springer

I left the hut just after six this morning and watched the sunrise as I hiked my first mile of the day over Mt. Franklin and on through some of the most beautiful mountains I could recall. It was a clear morning and I felt alive, beyond alive, I was hiking with a vigor I hadn’t had since the first days when this whole venture seemed so worthy, so worthwhile, so important to who I would be for the rest of my life. I was finally glad to be hiking again. I hoped to catch up to or at least run into Abraham and Bishop as I had no idea where they had gone off to since I last saw them at Madison Hut.

When I reached Mitzbah hut the guests had eaten and left and the crew offered me the leftovers from breakfast with no strings attached, I wouldn’t have to clean dishes or anything, well there was one thing. One of the crew members was doing research for some sort of grad school paper on thru hikers and he asked if I wouldn’t mind filling out his survey. I was more than glad and got to it right after I checked the register and saw that Abraham and Bishop had stayed here last night. I knew they wouldn’t be far ahead and hoped to run into them by the days end.

One of the questions on the survey asked “In the average year how many days do you normally hike?”

My answer was zero. I hadn’t been hiking since 2005 when I was finishing up earning my Eagle Scout. I recalled that I hated the heavy pack, the smelling bad, the eating crappy food, and the being uncomfortable, I hated everything about hiking the last time I went and that was perhaps why I hadn’t gone since.

Another question asked “What was your longest overnight hike before your thru hike?”

I realized I had never done an overnight hike. I had hiked from my campsite somewhere and hiked back, but I’d never hiked somewhere and slept there. My answer was again frightening, especially to me. I was not at all prepared or qualified to be doing what I was doing.

You may be surprised that this was the first time it hit me, but it truly hadn’t hit me until this moment that I was an absolute and complete novice in the world of hiking. I had no business doing what I was doing, and doing it by myself was surely a death wish.

I left Mitzbah Hut thinking for the first time that maybe I shouldn’t be out here. Maybe I had hiked a lot of trail and realized that this was total insanity. Maybe I had so many great things back at home and it was time to go back home.

This whole thing WAS crazy after all. What was I doing out here? This shit was for mountain men, for people who liked bugs, and dirt, and scary animals, and smelling like a sweaty asshole. I didn’t like any of those things. Why was I out here?

I had no idea. I’m lying, I had some idea.

I was out here cause this sounded like the coolest thing one could do after college, and I was desperate to avoid getting a job right after graduation, desperate to not get sucked into the corporate world, and I was desperate to hold on to my youth, to stay young a little bit longer, and this hike served as a six month excuse to not grow up.

I realized that I was on the trail because I didn’t want to grow up, I wanted to be a kid still, to adventure, and search, and see things I’d never seen and probably never would see if I let myself become a grown up too soon.

This hike was about giving myself time to be me, to just be me, be a kid again, and find out if I was ready to grow up or not. I realized that was why I’d never questioned my total lack of experience, my hatred for so many aspects of hiking and the outdoors, because I knew deep down that this was what I needed for me, right now.

Mount Jackson and Mount Webster weren’t anything bad compared to my near death experiences on Madison and Washington. Nice weather can make such a difference. The descent down Webster toward the Saco River was frighteningly steep and slick from last nights rain. I took my time and found it a completely reasonable descent.

Just before I got to the river I ran into four young men all about my age, all wearing khakis and white colored shirt with the same embroidered logo on the breast. They were from Mexico, California, Nebraska, and Chile and all of them were studying at a local seminary school to become Roman Catholic priests.

“What’s your name?” The young man from Chile asked me after I told him I was Catholic.

“Justin.” I said giving him my Christian name as opposed to my trail name. I was named after St. Justin, whose saint day is three days before my birthday, but decided to leave that out of our conversation.

“Justin, we will pray for safe travels throughout your journey.” He said after I explained what I was doing out here.

“Thanks, my Grandma would appreciate that and I do too.” I said as I hiked.

“God bless.” He said.

I couldn’t have walked more than fifteen feet away when I my foot got snagged on a root sending me straight to the ground. I scrapped my hands, and knees, and cracked my sunglasses down the middle.

I evaluated my situation. I had just been blessed by a group of priests in training less than 15 seconds ago and here I lay in the dirt, scrapped and bleeding. I guess it had been a while since I’d been to confession or even church for that matter, but this seemed a bit much. What am I saying, I don’t believe in a spiteful God, I believe in a loving one.

“Well, nothing is broken and I can still walk and see straight, I guess those prayers must have worked after all,” I said to the priests as they looked at me on the ground with concern, and I brushed myself off and kept on keeping on.

I walked about a half mile further down the trail and ran into 9 more of these young men.

“Let me guess, Catholic priests in training?” I asked.

“How’d you know?” One of them asked.

“God told me.” I said with a laugh.

“What?” A different one asked, looking truly puzzled.

“I ran into your friends up ahead.” I said.

“Oh, oh, yes, we see. Well that makes sense” Said a different one in a very serious tone. These were clearly going to be the type of priests that lacked a sense of humor.

“There’s a lot of you out here, and I thought the church was having a hard time getting new priests.” I joked.

“It’s a hard struggle, but we’re fighting the good fight.” The same young man said in the same serious tone.

“Yeah, good for you, that’s an amazing commitment.” I said. “I’m headed to the river for a bath and lunch but it was great to meet you guys, good luck with everything.”

“Same to you.” They almost all said in unison, which was nice, but also slightly creepy.

I ate lunch while standing in the river, soaking my feet and splashing my chest and arms to cool down. The water felt amazing. Just past the river the trail crossed U.S. 302 at Crawford Notch and I walked across it toward the trail head. I filled my nalgene up underneath a railroad bridge and just sat and drank as a train passed overhead. I finished one whole nalgene and filled it again and then began my final 7.7 miles to Zealand Falls Hut where I hoped I would be spending the night.

Those 7.7 miles were the easiest miles I could remember doing in weeks. Most of the trail was almost completely level and in some sections it was perfectly flat for a mile or more, I’m talking you could have held a level on this ground and it would have been perfect. This had to have been a road or something. I found out that night that the trail leading to Zealand Falls Hut had once been an old railroad track and I had been hiking on what would have been the old tracks, now long gone.

I had walked those last miles so fast that I realized I was going to arrive at the hut well before 4:30 P.M. as it was only 3:30 P.M. at the moment. I stopped a mile before the hut and just waited. I ate some fruit snacks, looked around, and felt some sprinkling rain though the sky looked clear. I’m not sure where it was coming from. An immaculate rain perhaps in honor of the priests I had encountered? Probably not. I got back to hiking just before four and pushed the last bit to the hut.

As I walked up the steps leading to the hut I caught site of Bishop sitting on a bench on the hut’s porch.

“Shit.” I thought. “He and Abraham got the two work for stay spots and I was going to be out of luck.”

“Hey.” I said as I walked closer.

“Hey.” He said.

I walked inside the hut and asked the a camp counselor of the kids staying there if I could get work for stay, thinking she was a member of the crew. She looked at me like I was crazy and then told me she didn’t work there.

I found someone who did, a girl named Leah. She was the huts naturalist, whatever that meant.

“We’ll probably be able to take you, but I’ll have to ask Tobin. We usually only take two, so we should be able to take you.” She said.

“There’s already two here, do you ever take three?” I asked.

“Sometimes, I’ll check when Tobin gets back.” She said.

I walked outside and sat on the bench next to Bishop who was finishing rolling a cigarette and had started smoking.

“Did you get work for stay?” He asked as he exhaled a puff of smoke.

“Don’t know yet. Where’s Abraham?” I asked.

“Well.” He said taking his cigarette from his mouth and pausing. “We got to the road at Crawford Notch and he told me he wanted to go back home to Louisiana.”

“What! No, he’s already walked so far and we’re almost done with the hardest part.” I said, truly shocked that he had quit.

“Yeah, I asked him if it was the terrain or me, something I did maybe, but he said he just didn’t feel like hiking anymore and wanted to go home.” He said.

“So he just got on the road and hitched out?” I asked.

“Yeah he’s gone, headed to the airport I suppose.” Bishop said.

“Crazy. I’m sorry man.” I said, and I was sorry. Bishop and Abraham were close friends before the hike, so it wasn’t quite the same as when Mud and I separated. I mean before the hike I barely knew Mud, but I still missed his company when we separated and I knew Bishop would miss Abraham to a greater extent.

“So, what does this mean for you, still going all the way?” I asked.

“Yeah, when we left home for Maine we both said even if one of us dropped out the other would still finish.” He said.

“That’s good.” I said, still shocked that Abraham would quit after the toughest 345 miles on the trail were already hiked. I realized if it could happen to him what was to stop it from happening to me? Once you let that doubt crawl in, that thought that it would be really easy to go home, that it made sense to go home, that people at home loved you and wanted you home, it was over.

I decided I would never let that doubt in and never question that I was going to finish again. I was going to finish if it killed me. I pray I’m not foreshadowing with that last comment.

Apparently one of the hut guests had found a black headed worm/beetle creature in their oat meal this morning. The crew master, Tobin, explained that our work for stay would be to sift through a three foot deep by three foot wide bin of oat meal. We were told to take it out in hand fulls, spread it on the metal baking sheets he gave us, and pick out any bugs we found.

Bishop and I turned it into a competition to see who could find the most bugs.

I decided after Bishop was off to an early 2-0 lead that this was a competition I wasn’t truly interested in winning.

By the time we had sifted through the entire bin we had found eight living worms, and one dead one. We also found a dozen or so tiny black bugs at the bottom of the bin that looked like fleas. We were told to make sure we squeezed the worms with our gloves before we threw them in the trash can, these were the same gloves we were touching all the oat meal with.

“What should we do with the oatmeal now that we sifted the bugs out?” I asked.

“Dump it right back in the bin.” The Crew Master said.

I can tell you I have no doubt I probably missed several of the worms, I wasn’t looking that closely, they were the same color as the oat meal, and I really didn’t care if some rich yuppie staying at the hut got some extra protein with his oat meal. I did however decide that I would no longer be partaking in a morning serving of oatmeal at any of the huts.

After we finished our work another one of the hut crew members offered Bishop and me a PBR (Pabst Blue Ribbon) after he finished saying, “That was the worst work for stay I’ve seen dolled out in a long time.”

I poured half the PBR into a glass for myself and gave Bishop the other half in the can.

The crew headed upstairs and went to sleep, shutting off the lights as they went.

Bishop and I set our stuff up on the dining room tables and swatted away mosquitoes as they landed and bit us in turn.

I looked over at Bishop, who I could just barely see in the moonlight, raised my glass and said, “To Abraham, and to us finishing the rest of the trail.”

“To Abraham.” He said and we both finished our drinks and continued to fight off mosquitoes until sleep won out.

Rose – Getting closer to Bishop.

Bud – Getting to Lincoln, a real town with real fast food.

Thorn – Abraham leaving the trail.

Tags: abraham, adventure, adventure of a lifetime, appalachian trail, bishop, Catholic priests, falling, feeling safe, fleas, hydroelectric power, mosquitoes, mountains, moving forward, oat meal bugs, pabst blue ribbing oat meal, thru hiker, thru hiking, worms, zealand falls hut | Posted in Appalachian Trail | 1 Comment »

Night 39: Thank God For Madison

Saturday, March 12th, 2011

Tuesday 7-13-2010
13.7 Miles Hiked, 1852.3 Miles To Springer

After the guests had been fed breakfast I got to eat the leftover cheesy scrambled eggs, cinnamon corn bread made in a cast iron skillet and oat meal with canned sliced peaches. Did I mention these hut people really knew how to fucking cook. When I finished I did all the dishes and then Mac, the man in charge of the hut handed me the bleach bucket, yes the one in which the mouse was killed the night before and the rag that had been in the bucket during the mouse murder and he told me to get to work wiping down the pantry shelves.

I wiped the counter down, said goodbye to the hut crew and they sent me off to the next hut with a hut pass of sorts that was supposed to get me stay at any hut even if they already had their two allotted work for stays. The pass was written on the back of a torn off piece of a somoas girl scout cookie box and read, “Yo Homies, Triple P. is rad. Treat him with goodness & hospitality & good vibes will ensue. Much Love CATA.” and also a “Woah” was written arrowing to a $1.00 off coupon also on the back. I tucked my cool kid hut pass into my pack and started hiking with no worries about where I would be sleeping once I got above the treeline because I after all had a written note that would get me in anywhere.

By the time I had finally hit the trail again it was 8:33 A.M. and I was moving with the same intensity and purpose I had been the day before. I had good weather and I wasn’t going to wait around until it got bad with a 50 percent chance of showers and thunderstorms. I tore across Wildcat Peaks A through D and on the peak of D there was a ski lift and several tourists. I was stopped by an older couple who asked if I was thru hiking.

” I thru hiked in 2003.” The white haired woman said proudly. “And I have the distinction of being one of the only thru hikers to have been attacked by a rabid animal.” She said even more proudly as she put her ankle toward me revealing the scars of an animal bite still there some seven years later. I was impressed that this woman had thru hiked as she was now I guessed in her late sixties at best which meant she was up there in years when she did it and she did it after being attacked by a rabid animal to boot.

“What happened?” I asked, genuinely interested.

“Well, I sat down at a picnic table at a shelter in New Jersey. The other hikers I was with were off getting water and while they were gone a raccoon strode up to the picnic table from behind me and first bit me in the butt. Then is went under the bench and bit into my ankle and kept biting. I tried to get it off and tried to get away, but it just kept on biting. I screamed and screamed for help but the other hikers were a ways away and didn’t get to me until it had bitten me all over. It got me on my hands too, when I tried to hit it off my legs.” She said and showed me some scars on her hands as well.

“How were you able to finish the trail if this all happened in New Jersey. Aren’t rabbie shots something you get over a long period of time?” I asked.

“Yeah they are. I went in and got the initial shots and then planned ahead. I called doctors offices in the states I was headed toward and once I got to them I’d go in for my shots and get back on the trail to hike to the next place I’d be getting my shots. I wasn’t going to let a rabid raccoon ruin my thru hike.” She said with a laugh.

She was a bad ass. I think if I got attacked by any sort of rabid animal I’d have called it a wash and tried again some other time or probably never. Who am I kidding, I’m the most stubborn and unreasonable person I know, I would have done exactly what she had. I was glad to meet her and I let her know that and kept on hiking toward Pinkham Notch visitor center.

The descent to the visitor center was steep as hell and I was suddenly aware that the Whites would not just be challenging, they’d be potentially deadly. When I did finally make it to the visitors center I called the White Birches to see if they could bring me my real pack so that I could get back to real hiking.

“No one’s here and I don’t think we’ll be able to bring your pack until around 10:00 P.M. If you really want your pack now you better try and get a hitch,” said the woman who dropped me off at the trail the day before.

I certainly wouldn’t have slack packed that section if I had known I would be held hostage by her schedule and I felt I should have told her that someone obviously was there if she was talking to me on the phone, but I decided to just get on the road and start hitching. N.H. 16 was a highly trafficked road and I figured a hitch would be easy. It was surprisingly not easy. I waited twenty five minutes before I finally got picked up and my arm was dead tired from being held out so long.

The man who picked me up was a balding Jewish man from New York who shared my last name and was the most negative and sad person I had met on my hike up to this point.

“Very odd Jewish name.” He said as he introduced himself.

“Yeah, you don’t meet to many Jewish Andersons.” I said.

He told me how he loved New Hampshire and how he comes here alot, alone, and just goes hiking for a few miles every day. He told me people will often make fun of him because he hikes in jeans and a leather jacket. I felt like telling him he deserved to be made fun of for his poor choice in hiking clothing, but he seemed so down on himself that all I could say was, “People can be jerks.”

After the fifteen minute ride back to the White Birches he said he would be glad to just wait in the parking lot for me to grab my pack and then he could take me right back to the Pinkham Notch visitors center. I paid up with the owners, bought an iced tea and some Doritos for the road and got back in the car and headed back to Pinkham.

Within the first minute of our drive back he asked me if I wanted to hike Mount Adams with him.

“Is it on the A.T. ?” I asked.

“No, but it’s one of the highest mountains in New Hampshire.” He said proudly as if the fact of it’s height would entice me.

“I’d love to, but I don’t have the energy to be hiking mountains that aren’t apart of the A.T.” I said.

“I understand.” He said with a shrug of his shoulders that implied that he was stupid for asking cause why would anyone want to do anything with him. His whole aura was so down, so self deprecating. Maybe people had turned this man down so many times he believed he deserved to be turned down, believed he deserved to be alone. I would have loved to throw him a bone of kindness, but I was on a schedule and raising a forty year old man’s self esteem was not in the cards today.

“That’s okay. He said. “Are you married?” He asked.

“No.” I said with a laugh thinking what an absurd question to be asking someone my age.

“I wish more than anything that I could find someone to marry and have kids with and be happy with.” He said with an air of desperation. “But I don’t think that will ever happen.” He added.

I wanted to tell him it most certainly wouldn’t unless he changed his attitude or managed to find someone equally as miserable, but I said this instead, “Hang in there, you’ll find someone, you’re a nice guy, and you cared enough to help me, a complete stranger, so I’m sure karma will bring it back to you. You should try match.com or something.”

“No.” He said.

“You really should, one of our families good friends met his wife that way, and they already have a baby on the way.” I said.

“Maybe.” He said.

I got out of the car, said goodbye and told him I would send him a picture when I reached the finish to let him know he’d helped me achieve my dream.

Just as I got out of the car I ran into Bishop and Abraham who had just finished eating lunch at the visitors center cafeteria. They instantly became my motivation to blast up mount Madison. Even though I had the hall pass I didn’t want to take any chances so I decided I better make sure I got to Madison Hut before Abraham and Bishop did.

I sat on a rock just outside the visitors center and downed my Doritos and my raspberry Arizona iced tea. Abraham and Bishop had a five minute head start on me.

Within ten minutes I had overtaken them. The first couple miles were a breeze and I was feeling great before I hit Low Bald spot. I ran across the suspended bridge over the Peabody River and it swayed as I ran. I walked straight past Osgood tentsite and I was determined to get up to Madison Hut as quick as possible. I did not want to be on top of that mountain in the dark and though it was only 4:00 P.M. with a chance of showers and thunder storms it could get dark quick and early.

I developed a new method of hiking that I decided I would try up Mount Madison to make better pace. This method involved never letting both feet rest. If one foot was down the other was moving. It may sound simple and much like you would think any normal person would walk but it’s a difficult task when hiking and it kept me from taking rests, and I kept to it for twenty whole minutes and then had to stop for a fruit snack and water break. A side note, fruit snacks are my favorite and if I could survive on them they are all I would eat.

I broke the treeline around 5:00 P.M. and I was huffing and puffing, even though I now stood above treeline I still had 1.5 miles to go before I would be at the hut. And now that I was above treeline I could see that the ridge I would be walking on was just one endless heap of sharp boulders and rocks with nothing soft on which falling would not hurt. It became evident that if I did slip or fall I would very likely break something or be knocked unconscious and left for dead. As I began navigating my way over these jagged rocks that looked like the surface of some alien planet or a giant asteroid I could see dark heavy storm clouds looming over Mount Washington in the distance. Mount Washington was over ten miles away though and I would be safe and inside Madison Hut by the time those clouds got anywhere near where I was.

Just as this thought that I had ample time to do my last mile and a half the wind started gusting and was blowing at a sustained speed that had to be close to twenty five miles per hour. It got cold fast and I was still in my shorts and didn’t want to dig through my pack to get my warmer stuff because time was of the essence.

Within twenty minutes the dark clouds surrounded me. Literally they were surrounding me, I was walking through clouds and could only make out what was five feet in front of me. I couldn’t see the next carin that would mark where the trail headed so I stood still, not sure what to do. I felt lost even though I hadn’t moved anywhere that could have made me lost. My mind started racing and I started thinking about how people die in the White Mountains all the time, even in the summer, it almost always starts like this. Clouds close in, they become panicked, they become disoriented, and they just start moving, get off the trail and never get back to it and they die alone and cold and scared.

I did not want to die up on this mountain alone. I should have just stayed at the tentsite a few miles back and tackled Madison the next morning. There was even a sign at where I broke treeline warning of this exact scenario. If I did die up here maybe I deserved it. I wished more than anything that I could be at the hut.

There was a momentary clearing of the clouds and I started running across the rocks. I saw the next carin and ran towards it and right by it was a sign saying that I only had 0.5 miles to go to the hut. I started running recklessly down the jagged knife like rocks toward the hut. I wasn’t going to get stuck on this mountain less than a mile away and die of hypothermia just steps from safety. For the first time since I began my journey on my own I truly wished Mud was with me, wished anyone was with me. If I was going to potentially die in the whites, I didn’t want to die alone.

When I got to the hut the crew there was more than happy to take me in along with any other thru hiker that might come through. They took eight of us in that night. It was too dangerous for them to turn us out in the Whites especially at this elevation cause there was no where safe to camp and the weather could be extremely deadly even in summer.

My work for stay was pre rinse in the dish washing assembly line. This job was not disagreeable and since I was on pre rinse I got to pick off some of the still very appetizing food items that the guests barely touched. I did this even after I had eaten a ton of leftovers. I realized I no longer had standards, regarding just about anything.

The hut was crowded that night, well over forty guests. It was mostly kids, some sort of camp group. They were so damn obnoxious. They were the most unpleasant people I had encountered up to this point. They stayed up til well past midnight talking about their sexual escapades and it made me sick, 12 to 14 year old children should not have sexual escapades to be sharing, and I did not want to hear about them while I tried to fall asleep on a picnic table, make that the bench of a picnic table.

A NOBO hiker named Redman slept on the actual table while I was on the bench below since there wasn’t enough tables for each of us. I lifted my head to ask the kids talking just feet away if they would please be quiet and at the same time I raised my head Redman unzipped his sleeping bag to give himself more wiggle room and revealed unintentionally that he was sleeping naked as I got a full frontal view of his frotch. I was ready to be out of this hut and on to the next one.

The kids finally quieted down and dispersed to there bunks and as uncomfortable as I was on the bench I slept just fine.

Rose – Reaching Madison Hut Alive.

Bud – The view from Mt. Washington.

Thorn – Bratty kids at the hut.

Tags: adventure, appalachian trail, bad weather, cairns, clouds, crotch, death, eating scraps, fear, fog, lost, madison hut, mount madison, presidential mountain range, storms, the hut system, thru hike, thru hikers, white mountains | Posted in Appalachian Trail | No Comments »

Night 37: Did I Piss The Bed?

Wednesday, October 27th, 2010

Sunday 7-11-2010
0 Miles Hiked, 1881.2 Miles To Springer

Before I went to bed last night I searched through the junk in the lower level of the barn to try and find something I could soak my ankle in. I found an old styrofoam cooler filled with dead bugs and cob webs. I rinsed it out and filled it with the ice I bought from the gas station across the street and soaked my foot in it. It was so cold it hurt to keep my ankle submerged. After about a half hour of soaking I pulled it out and my ankle no longer throbbed or looked as swollen, but it felt like a joint in my knee had been tightened or displaced and it now hurt to bend my knee. I need to catch a break.

While I iced my foot I worked on a surprise that I was going to send to Sarah. A bunch of pictures that I had written letters on the back of. The letters and pictures I had written and would be sending were heavy though and I had no idea how many stamps to put on the envelop and the post office was closed the next day so I knew I wouldn’t be able to ask them. I figured I’d poll a few people in town the next morning.

When I finally went up into the dark attic to go to bed I sat down on my mattress and one sheet barrier and spread my sleeping bag across the bed. I had filled a zip lock bag with ice and wrapped it around my knee with the ace bandage I had from my ankle. I stared up at the barn ceiling and at the wall at the other end and watched as the moonlight crept through the spaces between the boards that made up the walls. As I gazed at the rays of moonlight I wondered where my life was headed and was unsure, and I fell asleep thinking about who I was supposed to be in the post college adult world I was entering.

I woke up in the middle of the night and was soaking wet from my waste down.

“Shit, I pissed myself in a hostel bed. I’m fucking 23 years old, how am I pissing myself.” I thought.

I reached my hand down, touched the wet sheet beneath me, brought my hand to my face and smelled it. (Please no judgment, I don’t know why I would have wanted to smell my piss covered hand when I assumed I had wet the bed but I felt it was the only way to know for sure.)

I qiuckly realized I had not pissed the bed, but had in fact rolled over onto the ice filled ziplock bag on my knee, which had melted and popped. The melted ice left both my legs, and the sheet covering the mattress soaked.

I got my headlamp on to see just how wet the mattress had become and I saw a big orange yellow stain on the white sheet.

“Had I actually pissed the bed?” I thought again. “It didn’t smell like urine?”

I got completely out of the bed and took my sleeping bag off the sheet, and lifted up the sheet exposing the bare mattress and what was on it. I had not pissed the bed. The mattress was in fact covered in dark yellow, orange, red, and brown stains and the water from my ice pack mixing with the mattress had brought all those stains to the surface and allowed them to be absorbed by the white sheet.

“Ghhh….uggh.” My gag reflex activated as I thought about the fact that I had touched that with my hands and brought it to my face.

I spread my sleeping bag back over the mattress and laid on top of it for the remainder of the night. I had no intention of sleeping on those sheets now that they were covered in who knows what. I imagined what those stains could have been caused from a variety of gross things: period blood, sex juices, urine, poop, throw up, dirt, and sweat. I was ready to be out of this barn attic with the odd racist man who was currently my only companion.

I woke up early that morning wanting to get packed up, and get out of the barn before the racist man or the European girl was up to see my mattress was wet and that my white bed sheet was stained with what appeared to be blood, urine, and poop juices. I figured even if I told the truth it would be assumed I had wet the bed and I didn’t need my trail name to be changed for a false assumption two people I barely knew might make. I grabbed my sheet off the bed, balled it up and shoved it at the bottom of the hamper of used sheets and towels. I was out of the hostel by 8:00 A.M. never to return.

I knew I wouldn’t be hiking today with my semi bum ankle and now bum knee. I walked around town until I got to a park and then set my sleeping pad up on a park bench and laid down to take a Sunday morning nap. I felt like a hobo, and I loved it. I woke up from my nap around noon as the park I had set up shop in was hosting the towns bimonthly town yard sale/ flea market. I decided to head to the gas station to get some more stamps and to ask some people how many stamps my letter would need.

“I think five should get the job done for sure.” The forty something woman with a bad red hair dye job said.

“Thanks.” I said and I decided to walk back toward the fast food section of town. On the way to McDonalds I stopped at the post office and dropped my letter to Sarah in the mailbox.

At McDonalds I ordered a Big Mac combo meal, a McDouble, and a hot fudge sundae. I ate my food slowly while I charged my phone and scoped out the restaurant for a potential hitch to the White Birches Campground, another hostel in town that I had heard was cheaper and nicer than The Barn, but a good three miles from where I was.

During my time scoping out potential rides I watched a little boy take a hot fudge sundae off the counter from an old man. The little boy thought it was the one his mom had bought him, which I had already seen his mom grab off the counter. The old man was so shocked he didn’t know what to say, and just watched as the little boy walked away with it. I had just seen the old man set it down on the counter so he could grab some napkins before the boy took it, I thought about intervening but figured this might be the most entertaining thing that would happen to me today and I would let things get a little further along before I said something. The boys mother eventually told the boy she already had his and he came back to give the old man the one he had taken.

By the time I had finished my high calorie feast most of the clientele that was there when I had arrived had left. The boy who stole the hot fudge sundae and his mom were still there. I walked up to his mom.

“Are you heading down the road that way, toward the White Birches Campground?’ I asked.

“Yeah, we are, do you need a ride?” The young-beautiful-probably-had-her-kid-in-high-school-aged-mother asked.

“Yeah, I would really appreciate that.” I said.

“I’d love to help you out.” She said.

I followed the young mother and her son to their white SUV. They moved a bunch of cardboard boxes out of the backseat to make room for my pack. She had explained they were moving into a new house because she and her husband had just divorced. I felt it was a bit of an over share but didn’t really care. She dropped me off at the White Birches and I got out, thanked her and walked toward the front office door.

I checked in with the man who owned the campground and lived in the barn buildings first floor with his wife and daughter, Ashely. I paid for a bunk space in the upper level of the barn area which was much nicer than the barn attic area at The Barn. I also paid for a towel to use when showering.

I walked up the outside stairs to the attic area of the barn and opened the screen door. Inside I was shocked to see Abraham and Bishop.

“What are you guys doing here? I was laid up for 11 days in Andover with a sprained ankle, what’s your excuse?” I asked.

“We’ve been watching the World Cup games, been here since the 6th.” Bishop said.

“Yeah, plus I got sick and was throwing up for a few days.” Abraham said.

They both answered me in a somewhat trance like state. They were captivated by the television as the championship game of the World Cup between Spain and the Netherlands had just started.

I watched the first half with them and dozed off towards the end of the half. At halftime I woke up and went outside to the pool that sat near the trailer park section of the campground. I soaked my foot and there was a radio playing nearby. I soaked up the rays shirtless and listened to the radio. It brought back memories of life guarding at hot pools all summer long during my teenage years. I hung out by the pool for more than an hour and headed back figuring it would be close to over when I returned.

When I walked through the screen door I saw that the score remained 0-0. The game ended in overtime on penalty kicks around 5:00 P.M. Just as the game ended and Spain claimed the title of World champions, the rain started pouring and pounded hard against the tin roof of the old barn.

While the rain pounded Abraham and Bishop packed up there things and got ready to meet the old man who lived in the trailer park who would be shuttling them back to the trail. I was glad it wasn’t me that was heading back to hiking in the rain.

The rain eventually cleared and I headed back to the pool to swim and soak my ankle more. No one else was at the pool so I took my shorts off and swam around in my black mesh boxer brief underwear. It felt so good to be swimming and my ankle was pain free swimming around and my knee felt great too. I swam around by myself until 8:15 P.M. and then headed back to the barn. On the way back I called my family. Each person I talked to and told my ankle was acting up told me they thought it was time for me to come home, time to give myself a break, someone even suggested that maybe it just wasn’t mean to happen for me this year. I was furious.

“I’ll be back when I have to come off for my friends weddings like I always planned.” I told them agitated.

After talking to my family and getting aggravated at what I viewed as their lack of support and faith in me I took a 25 cent shower in the first coin operated shower I’d ever used. I thought a quarter for five minutes of hot water was perfectly reasonable since I’d paid five dollars for a shower at other hostels.

Once I was out of the shower I put the underwear and shorts I had swum in in the dryer and I headed back upstairs to warm up a can of soup someone had left behind in the hiker box.

While my clothes dried I wore my Danskin short shorts and walked around the trailer park while I called and talked to Sarah.

“I bought some women’s short shorts from Walmart, I’ll send you a picture of them.” I said.

“Oh my gosh you weren’t big enough to wear the shorts from the women’s section so you had to get them from the girls section, didn’t you?” She asked after receiving the picture.

“Very funny.” I said. ” But I did make the old lady who worked in the women’s clothing section wait outside the changing room and tell me how I looked in the three different colors I tried on.” I said.

“The thing is I don’t doubt that you did that.” She said.

We both laughed.

We talked about her day, her trip back from my aunts house, and missing each other. Missing each other seemed to be the big topic of every conversation and it seemed it didn’t matter how much closer I got to seeing her again, to getting back home because she knew I’d be going back and leaving her again.

The mosquitoes started biting and I was tired, from what I don’t know, I hadn’t done anything all day, I think my body was just spent. I ended the conversation and headed back inside the barn. Back inside I sat in front of the television watching Myth Busters and I began rubbing some Thermosil (Ben Gay equivalent) that I found in the hiker box all over my ankle, knee, and thighs. The thighs were a mistake, a huge mistake, they burned all night.

Sarah texted me pictures of dresses asking me which one she should wear to our friends weddings coming up soon. Sarah could have worn a trash bag and put every woman in the room to shame and I told her she’d look beautiful in whichever one she chose, but she wanted more participation than that on my part. I told her the one she liked best looked great, which she jokingly said upset her because that one was out of stock, and then I climbed onto the bottom bunk, which was not stained with anything and I fell asleep, looking forward to getting to dance with her in whatever she wore.

Rose – Swimming in the pool, talking with Sarah.

Bud – Slack packing/Freedom Hiking the next section.

Thorn - My family telling me to come home.

Tags: adventure, appalachian trail, canned soup, coin operated shower, dresses, family, frustration, help, hiking, hostel, lifeguarding, mcdonalds, music on the radio, phone calls, pissing the bed, pool, rain, short shorts, shower, single mother, soup, spain versus netherlands, swimming, the barn, the white birches campground, thru hike, thru hiker, urine, world cup, world cup 2010, world cup championship | Posted in Appalachian Trail | 1 Comment »

Night 35: Mahoosuc Notch, Not So Bad

Monday, October 11th, 2010

In between the crevices is ice that stays through summer and a couple moose skeletons which I never did find.

Friday 7-9-2010
14.7Miles Hiked, 1893.0 Miles To Springer

I had planned on an early start, but got caught talking with Farm-A-Sea while I finished my breakfast and loaded up my backpack. He was unloading his backpack and I found out he was carrying speakers with him and had a ton of extra food, his pack had to be at least twenty pounds heavier than mine. He pulled out an extra pop tart and offered it to me. I took the pop tart which made me feel obligated to stay longer and talk with him while I ate it.

“So you’ve really never smoked?” He asked as he loaded and puffed on his metal pipe.

“Never.” I said.

“That’s awesome dude. I can’t remember a day where I didn’t wake up thinking I needed drugs to make it through the day.” He said.

“Yeah, it just never appealed to me.” I said. “Do you have any idea what you want to do once you finish the trail? Think you’ll head back home?” I asked.

“Hell yeah, but I don’t know what I’ll do once I get home, I was a janitor at the high school I went to for two years and they pay $13 an hour but I can’t go back to doing that.” He said.

“You seem pretty sharp to me, you ever think about going back to school?” I asked.

“Sometimes, but high school was so fucking stupid. I could never do pointless shit like that again. Maybe a trade school or community college.” He said.

“Yeah, any type of school is a good idea in my opinion.” I said.

He put some more of the resin he had scrapped out of his broken pipe a few days earlier into his metal pipe.

“I know there’s fucking tiny pieces of broken glass in here, but fuck it man.” He said.

“How long have you been smoking?” I asked.

“Since like sophomore year of high school.” He said “I paid some doctor $200 to say it’s legal for me to smoke to get my mom off my back. That means I can grow up to six plants with three budding at any time. I’m thinking of telling him I’m giving up smoking cause if you’re eating the weed then you can grow up to 20 plants.” He said.

“Sounds like a pretty genius plan.” I said.

He reached into his bag to pull some more food out and two razor blades fell on the wood shelter floor.

“What are those for?” I asked.

“Snorting coke.” He answered as if I had asked him the time of day.

I decided it might be time to hit the trail and leave Farm-A-Sea behind. I liked Farm-A-Sea and didn’t really want to be alone, but I also thought he might be more of a liability than I was willing to take on.

“Thanks for the PopTart, I’m heading out.” I said.

Mahoosuc Arm was a steep rock face and I slipped and fell on my tailbone about two dozen times heading down. The rocks were wet from a light mist the previous night and they were extra slick. Water also appeared to be flowing down the rock face, from where, I have no idea. I listened to my tape recorder music on the way down and fell down every few steps. Falling was the way I hiked this entire section.

I entered the much talked about Mahoosuc Notch around 9:15 A.M. Every SOBO I had met up to this point had warned me of it’s difficulty as though there were dead hikers all along the trail in this section. It was like walking through a giant air conditioned jungle gym. Between several of the rock crevices were pockets of ice that remained solid even in the summer heat. I passed an older man who had no traction on the bottoms of his shoes and was struggling on the rocks, getting up a little ways and then slipping back down.

“I’m getting my new shoes as soon as I get to Gorham.” He said.

“Looks like you better.” I said as I passed him.

I did my best to stay on top of the boulders and had almost no trouble. I made it through the Notch in just over an hour and was unsure what all the fuss was about. I was disappointed in both how easy it was and that I didn’t see any of the moose skeletons I heard were lodge between some of the boulders.

The climb up Fulling Mill Mt. after the notch was almost void of white blazes. I stopped half way up for lunch and the older man I had passed earlier now passed me. About a half hour later I ran into the older man walking back down the mountain.

“I haven’t seen a white blaze anywhere in the last thirty minutes, I’m heading back down.” He said as he walked back down the mountain past me.

“This seems too much like the AT to me to not be the AT, I’m going to keep heading up.” I said.

“Good luck.” He said as he went on his way.

The remainder of the climb was in fact almost void of white blazes with the exception of one I saw painted on a rock on the top of the mountain and one more I saw at the bottom of the mountain just before Full Goose shelter.

I sat at the shelter eating my usual snickers and peanut butter and the old man showed up.

“Guess that was the AT, I walked all the way to the bottom and realized it was the only possibly option.” He said.

“That sucks.” I said.

Before I left the shelter the old man I had passed who I found out was named, Coal Cracker, told me that his weather radio had said there was a storm coming in and a chance for flash floods. I left Coal Cracker behind and headed up Goose Eye North. The views from up top were gorgeous and Goose Eye East was also beautiful, but less impressive then the former.

Mt. Carlo was nothing to write home about and Carlo Col shelter, the only water source for miles was a 0.3 excursion off the trail and straight down hill, but I needed the water to make it the last 5.5 miles to the shelter which stood a half mile past the Maine and New Hampshire border.

When I did reach the Maine/New Hampshire border I started shouting at the top of my lungs. “YES! YES! YES! ONE STATE DOWN THIRTEEN TO GO!” I shouted. I was alone in the middle of the Maine/ New Hampshire wilderness shouting until I was hoarse.

I was thrilled to be out of Maine, to cross a state off of my list, to feel like I’d finally accomplished something on this thru hike. I kissed the border sign, took a step into New Hampshire looked directly at Maine and flicked that bad ass state off. I put my middle finger away and I walked into New Hampshire vowing never to step foot in Maine again.

My first challenge in New Hampshire was called Mt. Success, fitting considering how accomplished I felt for finishing Maine. My phone had service when I got to the top so I left Sarah a voice mail and texted my family to let them know I had finally finished a state, and was feeling much better, physically, but mostly mentally, I was back in the game and I felt reinvigorated for my thru hike.

The climb down toward Gentian Pond Shelter wasn’t easy, at least for me at the moment. When I arrived at the shelter it had the most stunning view of mountains and fluffy clouds colored pink and orange as the sunset. Walking toward the shelter I saw two moose swimming in the pond next to the shelter.

I talked with two NOBO hikers, one from Leesburg, VA and one from England. They told me neither of them were purists when it came to hiking, meaning they didn’t care if they were hiking on the AT the whole way, and both of them were encouraging me to take a blue blazed trail that led to a road I could walk on straight into Gorham that would cut ten miles off of tomorrows hike. I hadn’t decided yet if I was a purist but I had decided I wasn’t ready to start taking short cuts at this point in the trip.

“Did you guys get water from the pond?” I asked.

“Hell no, there are moose swimming in there, which means there are moose shitting and pissing in there, I’m not trying to get giardia.” The man from Leesburg said.

“Probably good thinking, is there anywhere else to get water?” I asked.

“Yeah, there’s a stream a little past where you came in.” He said.

The shelter was a little off trail and I was tired and not looking to do more walking so I decided the water could wait for tomorrow morning and began getting ready to be settled in for the night.

The two NOBO’s had occupied the floor of the shelter so I was left with the loft area up top. I climbed up top and got settled in my sleeping bag. It was too hot to stay in the bag so I just slept in my silk liner.

I kept waking up feeling hot, unable to breath, and my legs were itching like crazy. I decided it was the loft that was making me feel so hot so I climbed down and squeezed into the open space on the shelter floor between the two NOBO hikers. My legs kept itching like crazy though. I scratched and scratched until I couldn’t take it anymore. I decided to get my headlamp and see if I had a rash or bug bites.

I turned my headlamp on and didn’t see any rash. What I did see was far worse. There were 50 or so tiny little black and brown bugs no bigger than the head of a needle crawling all over my legs and up and down the hairs that covered my legs. I started brushing them off in a panic. I felt disgusting. I felt filthy and now I couldn’t go back to sleep. I kept thinking of everywhere on my body they might be. I figured if they were on my legs they had probably crawled up toward my crotch region, and most likely I had some in the hair on my head too.

Even though it appeared that I had gotten them all off I figured they were still in my sleeping bag sense that is where my legs first started itching. I got out of my sleeping bag and out of my liner and laid on top of both. I was now cold but I felt a little cleaner and I think I managed to get a couple hours of sleep.

Rose – Mahoosuc Notch, Finishing Maine!

Bud – Getting to Gorham, New Hampshire, First Fast Food!

Thorn – Flea or Lice infestation inside my sleeping bag.

Tags: adventure, appalachian mountains, appalachian trail, carlo col lean to., first state, fleas, flicking off maine, full goose shelter, gentian pond, goose eye mountains, hiker, lice, mahoosuc arm, mahoosuc notch, moose, mt. success, nobos, shelter, shouting, sleeping, sobos, thru hiker, thru hiking | Posted in Appalachian Trail | 1 Comment »

Night 34: Speck Pond & Will

Sunday, October 10th, 2010

Speck Pond, highest body of water in Maine.

Speck Pond, the highest body of water in all of Maine at 3,500 feet.

Thursday 7-8-2010
6.9Miles Hiked, 1907.7 Miles To Springer

I left Bladpate lean-to and The Beer Poet behind at 6:35 A.M. I was looking to get a big day in when I set out this morning. Old Speck Mountain had different plans in store for my sore ankle than the dreams I woke to. I made it easily the first 2.3 miles to Maine 26 and I was in good spirits even though I still wished I had someone to hike with.

When I reached Maine 26 Old Speck Mountain came into view. The entire top of portion of the mountain was covered in fog. I couldn’t see how high it rose but I knew one thing for sure and that was that I’d be hiking straight up, because I was still in Maine, the land of no switch backs. Before I started the hike I stopped in the parking lot at the base of the mountain to eat some breakfast bars and peanut and then I started up.

As I started up the mountain my quads, knees, and ankles were not willing and were becoming unable to keep hiking. I had to stop to rest every fifteen minutes just to catch my breath and regain some of my energy. As I went further and further up I ran into a father and son from Alabama who were section hiking the entire AT.

“The peak of Old Speck is about 0.3 miles off trail but there is a fire tower you can climb up and the views are definitely worth the extra hiking.” The father said.

I decided I’d take the excursion and do lunch atop the tower. I didn’t want to take my pack the whole 0.3 miles so I left it 0.1 miles in and took out my food sacs and water. When I reached the tower it was tall and the only way up was a completely vertical ladder. I threw my food sack around my shoulder and moved up all 36 rungs one step and one hand grip at a time. I was worried the whole way up that my sweating hands would lose grip or my ankle would give out right as I placed it. Neither of those things happened and I enjoyed my lunch with a spectacular view of the surrounding mountains partially covered by the clouds.

The climb down was even scarier, but I just took my time and didn’t look down and I was fine.

Old Speck Trail had sufficiently kicked my ass and I believed I may have re-injured my ankle as I started to get a limp in my step as I hiked. I arrived at Speck Pond Shelter around 12:30 P.M. and decided with the limp in my step and the burn in my quads that I was done today and that there was no way I was going to make it down Mahoosic Arm or through Mahoosic Notch in the condition I was in.

The campsites’ caretaker wasn’t in and I was the only one around so I walked to the pond and soaked my feet in the cool water. I decided since I was the only one around and since it was such a hot day that I was going to go for a naked swim. The water felt soothing and it was freeing to be swimming through the highest body of water in the entire state of Maine. I began to miss my old life as a swimmer and began to wish I could go back, I began to wish I was the swimming obsessed person I had gone on this trip to get away from.

After lounging on a rock while dangling my bad ankle in the water I went back to the shelter and pulled out my sleeping bag. I decided I had earned a nap. I slept until around 3:30 P.M. when three NOBO’s stopped in the shelter for a snack break. We talked briefly. From our conversation I had gathered that all but one of them had stopped enjoying the hike.

When they left, I was glad to see them go, everything they had to say about the Whites in New Hampshire and the remainder of southern Maine had me feeling down and nervous about what was to come.

Not too long after they left the campsites’ caretaker arrived. I walked up to his tent to find out if I’d be able to do some work for stay since this campsite was run by the Appalachian Mountain Club and had an eight dollar fee to stay the night.

As I approached the tent I saw that he was young, about my age, perhaps younger, my height, and he had red hair and blue eyes.

“Hey, how’s it going? I asked as I stood outside his tent.

“Hey, good, I’m Will, this is my first day working this site. I took a side path up here so it wasn’t as bad with my 80 pound pack and axe.” He said.

“Why is your pack 80 pounds?” I asked.

“I bring my food up for the week I’m up here, and I bring food I like, not just the lightest stuff.” He said.

I noticed his shorts were black and said Army on the right thigh.

“Were you in the Army? I asked.

“Yeah, I signed up when I was seventeen right after high school.” He said.

“Did you like the Army?” I asked.

“Yeah, but after the first two years it became like any job and I began to think of it as a prison term and was pretty much counting down the days til I was out.” He said. “I don’t think I’d ever go back into the military.”

Will’s shirt was off and I noticed he had several tattoos.

“What are the tattoos for?” I asked.

He pointed to the one on his left arm, it was a big Pabst Blue Ribbon logo above which were the words ‘Powered By.’

“I got that one when I was 17, couldn’t even legally drink or get a tattoo then,” He laughed. “Love PBR.” He said,

“What’s the one in your armpit?” I asked.

“Well I was getting out of the Army in a couple months and I had a friend that did tattoos. I gave him $100 and said, ‘Do whatever you want.” He googled ‘pink eye and gross vagina,’ and used a combination of images to come up with what I’ve got in my armpit.” He said as he lifted his arm to reveal what looked like a warn out wizards sleeve of a vagina with an infected red, puffy, and pussing eye staring out and his armpit hair growing out of all of it really added to the overall grossness.

“Tattoo in your armpit hurts like hell, my lymph nodes swelled to the size of peaches for about a week.” He said.

“That sounds like it hurt a lot.” I said.

“Yeah I couldn’t even lift my arm above my head.” He said.

“Ouch,what’s that other one for?” I asked as I pointed to the large black silhouette of the state of Massachusetts on his forearm.

“Well, I’m from Massachusetts and the ’508′ inside the state is my area code and the heart inside the ’0′ stands for home is where the heart is.” He said.

“That’s really cool. I was meaning to ask, is there anything I can do for work for stay?” I asked.

“I think I’ve got something.” He said.

I spent the next hour sawing the limbs off a fallen pine tree and dragging them to areas the AMC was looking to reforest and wanted to block off to hikers.

As it got later and the day became night Farm-A-Sea rolled into camp. We didn’t talk too much as it was pretty late when I finished my work and I headed to pond right after I finished and listened to some music on my tape recorder while I journaled. As the sun completely vanished I stared out onto the pond as the mist rolled by.

With no one to talk to by the pond I just thought and I realized I was really going to be alone and I wasn’t sure I wanted to do this thing alone, or maybe I just wasn’t sure I could.

Rose – Lunch on the tower.

Bud – Mahoosic Notch.

Thorn – Ankle acting up again.

Tags: adventure, alone, appalachian mountains, appalachian thru hiker, appalachian trail, caretaker, farm-a-sea, hiker, hiking, Mahousic Notch, Old Speck Mountain, pabst blue ribbon, shelter, Skinny dipping, solo, southbound, Speck Pond, tattoo, thru hiker, work for stay | Posted in Appalachian Trail | No Comments »

Night 33: The Baldpates and The Beer Poet

Sunday, October 10th, 2010

Celebrating the view from above Baldpate West Peak

Celebrating atop Baldpate West Peak and looking at the path ahead flowing along the ridge line. It's lonely on top, no really it's lonely, where's Mud?

Wednesday 7-7-2010
8 Miles Hiked, 1914.6 Miles To Springer

By the time I had all my belongings packed up and cleared out of the RV it was almost 11:00 A.M. It was hard to say goodbye to Nightcrawler. She had nursed me back to health and been the best trail mother anyone could ask for. She treated me like a son, or at the least, a little brother. I’d always remember her kindness and generosity and I hoped she’d remember me too.

“You’ll always be a part of my AT family and I’ll never forget you, what you’ve done for me, and my time here.” I wrote in a card I made for her and Caretaker.

“You all ready to go?” Caretaker asked.

“Yeah, I think so.” I said and I loaded my pack into the back of his truck.

It was bizarre to be pulling out of the driveway knowing I’d never be back. It was weird to think how important these people had been for the last week and a half and to think I’d never see them again, they would just be a fond memory I would look back on and gradually see less vividly as the years went by. I hugged Nightcrawler before I got in the truck and I was sad that I’d never see her again but glad that I’d had the chance to meet her.

Caretaker drove and Blue Eyes sat in the back just coming along for the ride. There were no life threatening driving incidents today and I was slow getting out of the car. I wanted to stay put and head back to the High 5, but more than that I wanted to go home and I knew what I needed to do was to start heading South because every step I took was a step closer to home and closer to something comfortable, something I knew.

In the meantime though I knew I’d be alone and I knew this was where my journey really began and if I was going to find out some great truth about myself it would start now.

I got my pack up on my shoulders and buckled the hip and chest belts.

“Just don’t push it too hard when you get to The Notch(Mahousic Notch), and you’ll be fine.” Caretaker said.

“Yeah, you’ll be fine and there are some great views from the Baldpates.” Blue Eyes said.

“I’ll be sure to take my time. Thanks for everything.” I said as I shook Caretakers hand. Good luck in Colorado and Cali and on your bike ride back to Georgia.” I said to Blue Eyes as I shook his and said goodbye.

I walked across the street and looked back one last time to see Blue Eyes and Caretaker standing by the truck and waving me off. I turned around and headed back into the woods hoping never to come back to Andover. My first day officially back on the trail started at 11:23 A.M. and the heat was out full force. I had to stop every fifteen minutes just to cool down and catch my breath. I had completely lost the hiking legs I’d built up in the first three weeks and I felt like a contestant on week one of The Biggest Loser.

I stopped at the first shelter I came across, Frye Notch shelter, to have a short lunch and I met a German NOBO hiker named, Olaf. He was carry a very large pack for someone who had made it this far and everything he said he said as though it was fact.

“The next mountain is deadly. You look too skinny. If you’re ankle is hurt you shouldn’t hike. I am the fastest hiker. That hiker you met back there is a huge asshole.” He rattled off fact after fact.

He had to be in his forties but he told me when I got to Gorham I needed to say hi to the 19 year old girl who worked at one of the hostels, I told him I would, but knew I wouldn’t.

After Olaf left I ran into a group from Outward Bound. Almost every teenage kid I met in the group was not on this month long hiking trip by choice. Every one of the kids I saw looked miserable.

“Are you guys out here by choice?” I asked.

“No, my parents said this was the only way I could get my car back.” One boy said.

“Rough.” I said.

“Yeah it sucks ass.” The boy said.

I left behind the group of about two dozen teenagers being led on a forced march through the Maine wilderness and I headed back to hiking and back to hiking straight up.

The climb from Frye Notch to Baldpate Mt. East Peak was steep, rocky, and a real bitch, but I made it and I was damn proud of myself. I had conquered my first real climb since I sprained my ankle and I felt on top of the world as I looked at the views from the peak.

I sat down by the peak marker sign when I got to the top and rested for about thirty minutes. I turned my phone on to text my family and Sarah that I was doing well and my sister Megan texted back with what she believed to be the most important news of the day.

“Lindsay Lohan is in jail.” Her text read.

I laughed when I got it and it was nice to get a small dose of celebrity gossip. It was nice to be reminded of what matters to a lot of people who live in the real world as that’s what I’ve come to thing of everywhere that is not the trail.

As I stood atop the mountain I noticed dark storm clouds in the distance beginning to gather. I got my pack back on, turned off my phone and got back to moving. The climb to Bladpate West Peak wasn’t bad because you could see exactly where you were headed from the top of Baldpate East Peak.

As I descended the peak I ran into an older couple who was from Maine. They warned me that the shelter I was headed to was poorly marked and that they almost missed it when the passed it earlier in the day.

With only a couple miles left to hike in the day I made sure I took the next portion of my hike slow to be sure I wouldn’t walk right past the shelter.

The sign for the shelter was small, but it was still very noticeable, the confusing thing was that there were two signs. One said the shelter was 200 yards off the trail and the other said it was 0.1 miles of the trail. Id say both were wrong and it was more like 0.2 miles off.

I arrived at Baldpate shelter and saw three other sleeping pads on the shelter floor, but no people were inside. Just in front of the shelter was a camping area that was filled with another larger group of teenagers different from the one I saw earlier today. This group wasn’t with outward bound though they were with the Appalachian Mountain Club.

A man who looked and talked like Matthew McConaghey came our of the woods and walked toward the shelter.

“Hey there. Me, my wife, and my daughter are going to be in here too if that’s okay. They’ll be here in just a minute they’re just gettin’ some water.” He said.

“Sounds alright to me.” I said.

“You a thru hiker?” He asked.

“Yeah, my names Tiny Tim and I’m headed South.” I said. I had decided to temporarily change my name to the one Caretaker had given me to see if I liked Tiny Tim better. I was also running from the law after all.

“That’s great. I thru hiked in 2001, name was The Beer Poet. I went North on my thru hike. I couple years after my hike I came up to Maine and worked for the MATC maintaining and building stairs. You remember all those steps going up White Cap Mountain? “He asked.

“Yeah those were a bitch to climb.” I said.

“I helped place each one of those stones.” He said.

“When I walked up those I wondered what poor person had to put those there and here you are.” I said.

“Yeah, we’re from Tennessee, but I wanted my wife and daughter to see some of the trail I helped build in this section. They havent even opened some of the sections I worked on though, the section I worked on here is still closed. In fact that really bad section you came down is actually supposed to be replaced by the nicer section we built a few years back. I don’t know why they haven’t opened the new section.” He said

“That last section was awful.” I said.

“When did you start?” He asked.

“Well I left home on my birthday, June 4th, but I started the thru hike on June 6th.” I said.

“I started on my birthday too.” He said.

“How long did the trail take you?” I asked.

“Eight months, but I worked in Damascus at trail days to get money and I picked apples near Harper’s Ferry for 12 days and I had to come off the trail to save up some money a few times, but I probably hiked for about 6 months.” He said. “Did you say you got hurt on Moody Mt.?” He asked.

“Yeah.” I said.

“I found out about 9/11 on top of Moody Mt.” He said. “It was so quiet for the next few days without the noise of the planes in the sky.” He said.

“When we got into Stratton, ME a few days after 9/11 they gave us a bunch of free lobster because nothing was being shipping out and they had to get the lobster out of their trucks.” He said.

“That’s crazy.” I said. “So you said you live near Damascus. How often do you go to Trail Days?” I asked.

“I’ve been a few times. Basically it’s one giant frunk, debauched hiker festival. I’ll tell you, if you’re a young, single guy with a six pack of beer, there’s a lot of pretty girls with hairy legs who are wild and anyways, well, I mean, I got laid.” He said as he laughed.

“Oh yeah, well, I’ve got a girlfriend I’ve been dating for 2 and a half years and I don’t think that would go over to well with her, but she would probably like to come with me if I went.” I said.

“I had a girlfriend when I hit the trail. We broke up though, a little before I was about to finish. It was my fault though. I never wrote her. Make sure you write your girlfriend, let her know you’re thinking about her. It lets her know you care. I know I dropped the ball on that one.” He said.

“Sounds like good advice. I’ve tried to do a good job of writing and calling and keeping in touch, it’s just been hard with how spotty service is on the trail and how rare it is to find a town to charge my phone in.” I said. I decided I was going to do whatever I could to make sure I didn’t drop the ball with Sarah.

The Beer Poet set up a tent inside the shelter once his daughter and wife got back. His five year old daughter was scared of the mice and the tent was the only way she felt comfortable sleeping. In the short time I talked with them I knew he was a kind man and a good father. I watched him lose to his daughter several times in tik-tak-toe and I watched him help her roast marsh mellows.

Before I fell asleep he gave me his phone number and told me when I get to Tennessee I should give him a call. I was looking forward to meeting up with him again once I had made it all the way down South, but for now I was just looking forward to going to sleep.

Rose – Meeting The Beer Poet,

Bud – Getting closer to leaving Maine.

Thorn – The Climb up Baldpate East Peak in the heat of the day.

Tags: adventure, andover, appalachian mountains, appalachian trail, baldpate east peak, baldpate west peak, goodbye, hiking, hot, maine, older couple, outward bound, shelter, teenagers, tent, the beer poet, thru hiker, thru hiking | Posted in Appalachian Trail | 1 Comment »

Night 32: On The Trail Again

Sunday, October 10th, 2010

Getting back on the trail for the firs time after my sprained ankle at East B Hill Road in Andover, Maine.

Tuesday 7-6-2010
10.1 Miles Hiked, 1922.6 Miles To Springer

I woke up this morning and felt that I was healed enough to try hiking again. I walked to the general store with Mt. Goat because I wanted to get a moonpie before I left and because I wanted to practice walking somewhere with my backpack on to make sure my ankle felt strong enough over the short ten mile distance I had planned to slack pack today. Slacking packing if I haven’t explained is where you have someone with a car take a bunch of stuff out of your pack so you can carry less and they drop you off at one road and meet you at the next so you can get more mileage done with less effort sense you don’t have to carry all of your stuff.

Mt. Goat seemed to be in a weird mood.

“I sense something really strange about Caretaker. I thought about packing up my stuff last night and just leaving, I just get a really werid vibe about this place.” He said.

“I mean, Caretaker and Nightcrawler are different, but they’ve been nothing but good to me, so I just chalk it up to them being different.” I said.

When we returned to the High 5 I talked to Blue Eyes who had just woken up.

“When I got to Katahdin I didn’t really have any emotion. I cried the night before and when I was walking down the mountain. I was just kind of depressed that it was over.” Blue Eyes said.

“Yeah, it’ll definitely be weird once I finish, I’m sure, but I think I’ll be happy that it’s over, that I did it, that I get to go back to my life, to my girl friend, to my family, to my friends. I just think I’ll be happy to be done.” I said.

I began doubting why I was out here. “If I felt I’d be so happy when I was finished, then why was I out here, why didn’t I just go back home to everything I loved?” I thought.

The only reason I could come up with was that I had told myself for so long that I would do this, I would finish, and that meant that I would do it and I would finish, regardless of whether it was still making me happy or not. This whole thing seemed insane, it seemed kind of pointless, but it also seemed like something I had to do for a reason I didn’t understand.

Caretaker drove me to the trailhead at 8:50 A.M. and Blue Eyes joined us for the ride.

As we drove a decent sized deer crossed into the street and instead of running across the street began running down the road in front of Caretaker’s truck.

“Oh hell yeah.” Caretaker said as he sped up his truck and began driving half on the gravel/dirt shoulder and half on the road so that his truck was heading straight for the deer in front of us. “We’re gonna have fresh deer tonight!” He shouted as the car continued to accelerate.

I clutched tight to the seat, not sure id he was serious or not about trying to hit and kill this deer. I became more certain he was serious as we sped faster and faster and inched closer and closer to the deer’s bushy white tail.

I began to imagine the deer’s massive body flying up into the air upon impact and slamming into the hood, rolling up over the hood and crashing through the windshield at 45 mph killing me as my head collided with the deer’s since the deer was now running just in front of my side of the car.

Just as we were within three feet of the deer it jumped into the woods, the truck zoomed past it, and I took a breath for the first time in about a minute.

“Why do you look so scared Tiny Tim?” Caretaker asked.

“I was just worried that we might hit the deer and it might then come crashing through the windshield and kill me.” I said.

“Naw, I was just going to hit it to the ground, then pin it under my tire, and then I was going to get out and slit its throat.” He said as he pulled his flip knife out of his pocket to show me how he intended to slit its throat.

“Oh, that’s all.” I said as I let out an uneasy laugh.

“You can’t be so scared of dying Tiny Tim. If you’re going to be scared of something be scared of being injured or handicapped for the rest of your life, dying ain’t no thing.” He said. “And I’ve read your blog, you need to stop worrying, no one is going to murder you on the trail.

I felt that that was exactly what someone who was possibly going to murder me might say and I grew a little more weary of Caretaker.

“Yeah, you don’t need to be worried about getting murdered, if you want to be worried, worry about getting struck by lightning on an exposed mountain ridge.” Blue Eyes said from the back seat. “Lady got struck by lightning in the whites last year while I was out. If it starts storming, ditch your metal hiking poles, and fuckin’ run.” He said.

“Thanks.” I said, adding lightning to my latest list of possible ways to die on this thru hike.

“You just got to live and not be afraid to live dangerously. I mean you’re doing it right now driving in a car with me while I’m high out of my fuckin’ mind, just kidding, maybe.” Caretaker said laughing like a madman.

The two lane road we were driving down all of the sudden became one lane. A power company had one lane blocked to work on the electrical wires that lined the side of the road we were driving on. No one was directing traffic and the power truck was blocking our lane right at a curve in the road around which we couldn’t see. We slowed down as we approached the power truck, which was about 500 yards away trying to figure out our options and just then a huge logging truck came speeding around the blind turn down the way we had to head.

“Two kids about you and Blue Eye’s ages got killed last night by a logging truck. You see in Maine, logging trucks always have the right of way, even if they’re in your lane.” He said.

As we got closer to the truck about 250 yards Caretaker started speeding up and didn’t seem to be slowing down as we were about to pass the power truck and head into the blind turn down into the lane the opposite traffic would be headed down.

“You want to live life on the edge or do you want to live safely?” He asked in a tone that emphasized ‘the edge,’ and mocked ‘safely.

“Safely, I want to live safely, safely please!” I shouted as I dug in and began tearing at the seat beneath me realizing he wasn’t slowing down and we were headed for the blind turn at least twenty miles over the speed limit.

We zipped past the power truck and into the blind spot of the turn in the road. We made it back into our lane and within ten seconds of us being back in the lane another huge logging truck came barreling by us in the other direction.

“Well that would have been an ugly accident for us.” Caretaker laughed as we past the truck and I felt as though I never wanted to be in a car with him again.

Caretaker pulled the car over to the trail head about five minutes later. I got out of the car relieved to no longer be in the truck. Caretaker pointed me on my way and I headed North on the AT, back toward Moody Mt. where I thought I might be done with hiking and with life forever, just ten days ago.

The hike was rough and my body could tell I hadn’t hiked in a long while. It took me six hours and forty five minutes to do the 10 mile trek.

The temperatures were in the nineties and I was sweating bullets. All my clothes were soaked and chaffing badly on my hips, shoulders and lower back. I ran into Farm-A-Sea with about two miles left and talked to him about meeting up over the next few days and maybe hiking together for awhile.

The rest of the hike was a breeze and Caretaker pulled up right as I got to the road at 4:00 P.M.

I loaded my stuff into the back of his truck and crawled into the front seat.

“We’re headed to Devil’s Den, everyone else is already there, Nightcrawler, Blue Eyes, and two new hikers that were staying with us tonight.” He said.

“You read my mind. I was fantasizing about the ice cold water at Devil’s Den all of today’s hike.” I said.

“We make wishes come true at the High 5.” Caretaker said.

Devil’s Den was amazing and my ankle felt strong enough to do the running start required for the big jump into the gorge at Devil’s Den. The water felt so refreshing after the hike and Nightrcrawler brought a bag of fresh cherries and shared them with me, Blue Eyes, and the new hikers.

When we got back from Devil’s Den we all hung out in the house. Uconn, who was one of the new hikers suggested we all smoke a little something after dinner, and Everyone there but me suggested maybe it was time for me to lose my weed virginity. I wasn’t interested and no one really pushed the issue after I let that be known.

Nightcrawler offered me a Woodhuck Draft cider which I decided was worth a try. I opened the Woodchuck and sipped on it while I iced my foot. After the first few sips I decided this was far better than I’ve ever thought beer tasted. It was just like the sparkling cider I’ve loved ever since I first tried it as a little kid at Thanksgiving and Christmas time. This was a dangerous drink because it was alcoholic and didn’t taste like alcohol.

That night for dinner Nightcrawler made a mixed grill of bear steaks, deer steaks, deer ribs, chicken, pork chops, and mushrooms stuffed with beef and moose meat. She also made an awesome pasta salad and Mediterranean salad. We were all grateful for the protein, carbs, and deliciousness that Nightcrawler offered.

After dinner Litter Box headed to the bathroom and Uconn let us in on some inside information.

“Litter Box has been on her period so she’ll be in there awhile.” Uconn said.

“I don’t trust anything that bleeds that long and survives.” Caretaker said.”

“Then you wouldn’t trust her, she’s been on her period for five weeks.” Uconn said.

“What the fuck, somethings gotta be wrong with her.” Caretaker said.

“No, this happens with her sometimes.” Uconn said.

I just sat there and listened and thought about possibly calling the hospital to get Litter Box help, nothing about this sounded normal or okay.

After we left the house following dinner Uconn, Litter Box and I headed back to the RV. We watched Fletch, starring Chevy Chase which I’d never seen and wasn’t all that impressed with. In fact it was really bad. Ive had bad luck with movies lately.

Sarah called and saved me from suffering through the end of Fletch. I excused myself from the RV and sat on the cooler just outside the conex in the pitch black.

“I’m so glad you called. What’s up?” I asked.

“Not too much.” She said.

“Can you get somewhere where you can see the stars?” I asked.

“Yeah.” She said.

“Well if you’re looking at the stars right now then we’re both looking at the same thing.” I said.

“I’m looking at them.” She said.

“Then we’re doing something together.” I said.

“I like that.” She said.

Sarah started in the morning and went through her busy day filled with swim practice, lifting, class, and coaching and I shared my nervousness about getting back on the trail.

“I miss you so much.” She said in a voice that me feel so sad.

“I miss you too. If you think about it I’ll be home in like two weeks.” I said.

“I know but that’s still so long.” She said.

“It’ll go by fast.” I said, not sure if I even believed what I said.

“Okay.” She said and I could tell she didn’t think it would go by fast.

“Well, the mosquitos are starting to bite. I’m going to get back inside the RV and get ready for bed.” I said.

“Okay.” She said.

“Night, I love you.” I said.

“Love you too.” She said. I knew she meant it, but I could tell all this time and distance was going to be much harder on both me and her than I had ever imagined.

Rose – Eating 6 Animals In One Dinner, sorry Vegans.

Bud – Officially starting my hike South again and leaving the High 5 behind.

Thorn – Hearing how sad Sarah was.

Tags: adventure, andover, appalachian trail, bear, beef, chicken, deer, devils den, dinner, Fletch, hardship, heat, high 5, hiker, hiking, hitch hiker, logging, logging truck, love, maine, moose, pasta salad, period, pork, road, salad, thru hiker, thru hiking | Posted in Appalachian Trail | No Comments »

Night 31: The Grass Isn’t Always Greener for The Mt. Goat

Sunday, October 10th, 2010

Mountain Goat on an ATV with his dog.

Monday 7-5-2010
0 Miles Hiked, 1932.7 Miles To Springer

It was just Mt. Goat and I at the High 5 this morning. After I woke up I headed to the big orange box to see what Mt. Goat was up to.

“Caretaker and Nightcrawler told me there was a musical festival in town called Nateva. I think they said the Flaming Lips were going to be there.” I said.

“Really, I like some of their stuff, and I know a few of the other bands that are supposed to be there.” Mt. Goat said.

“Yeah, I’d only be interested in seeing the Flaming Lips cause I’ve never heard of any of the other bands there. That band will always remind me of my good friends’ little sister’s funeral. The Flaming Lips’ song, Do You Realize, played as they walked her fourteen year old sisters white casket out of the chapel.” I said.

“It’s the worst when a kid dies. No parent should have to bury their own child.” Mt. Goat said. “My dad passed away last year.”

“I’m so sorry.” I said.

“It was completely unexpected. He had a heart condition that there was nothing they have done anything about even if they had known about it. His heart pretty much just exploded with no warning.” He said.

“That’s terrible.” I said.

“I remember I was at work. I was a waiter and it was a really busy night. I had like five different tables. The girl who worked there told me the phone was for me. My sisters friend was the one who called, and I remember she said, ‘Your Dad’s dead.’ I asked if it was some sort of sick joke and she said, ‘No.’ Next thing I remember I was in my bosses office and he was slapping me awake. He asked if I felt okay to drive and told me to go home and get to my mom and little sister and then to get to the hospital.” He explaned.

“That’s awful. ” I said, not knowing what else I could say. I felt like my sentiments of sorrow were so insufficient and felt stupid for any complaints I had made about my ankle. I couldn’t imagine losing a parent. I knew at this point in my life losing a parent would destroy me and here he was still standing and living a dream of his.

“After he died I pretty much spent the next year tripping, I don’t remember much of the last year, and here I am hiking the AT, so that’s what I’m doing now.” He said.

“I hadn’t really lived. I’d never experienced pain like Mt. Goat and I never wanted to. Hearing him talk about the loss of his father sent me to a place I hate to go but I place I end up often when I have enough time to think about it. I began thinking about losing my parents about how my time with them would always be less than the time of my older siblings. I’ve always worried about losing my parents while I was still young because they had me when they were forty three. It didn’t take me to long to realize my parents would be as old as most people’s grandparents by the time I got married and started having kids. I hated thinking maybe they wouldn’t get to see me get married or have kids, and I hated the idea that once they were gone I’d have to really become a grown up because there wouldn’t be any grown ups to pick up if I fell,” I thought all of this and I felt alone and I wanted to go home.

I took my anxiety about losing my parents and started walking back to the RV and as I walked I saw Farm-A-Sea walking up the street toward the High 5. It was mid morning now and Farm-A-Sea, Mt. Goat, and I were all sitting in the conex. I sat with my writing pad while they smoked a bowl. Mt. Goat passed the glass bowl back to Farm-A-Sea and he dropped it as he picked it up. The bowl fell to ground and shattered into tiny glass shards.

Farm-A-Sea looked down at the multi-colored glass shards scattered across the ground. He went through the full spectrum of emotions. First, sadness, as his face contorted into a frown. Then denial, as he said, “Maybe we can fix it.” This was followed by anger as he said, “Damn, I loved that bowl, that was my favorite fucking bowl.” Finally he came to acceptance as he said, “Maybe we can still scrap the resin out and smoke that, but we might end up smoking up some shards and getting them into our lungs.”

Farm-A-Sea immediately began looking for a broom. He was so worried that someone might step on the glass and get hurt.

As Mt. Goat later said, “Farm-A-Sea may be a drug addict, or at least enjoy drugs to high degree, but he’s a really smart kid, and he’s unbelievably nice, he does everything like he would if a scout master was watching.” He said.

Everything Mt. Goat said was true. Farm-A-Sea was a smart guy and in every interaction I had seen between him and someone else he was kind and generous, which made me think maybe drugs don’t make bad people.

“I thought about taking some LSD on the fourth of July and tripping alone in the woods, but I decided not to.” Farm-A-Sea said.

“Is it more scary to trip alone or with other people?” I asked.

“Wait. You don’t smoke weed, you’ve never done LSD, ecstacy, coke, or anything?” Mt. Goat asked.

“No.” I said.

“What about mushrooms?” Mt. Goat asked.

“No.” I said as I laughed, thinking that mushrooms seemed more extreme then weed.

“Dude, you’ve got it all wrong, tripping isn’t scary whether you’re alone or with people. Tripping is just awesome all the time.” Farm-A-Sea said.

I was still skeptical and didn’t plan on finding out if tripping was in face, “Just awesome all the time.”

“I did acid once, and you just realize that like, the sky is the guitar, is your father, is the universe.” Mt. Goat said.

None of what he said registered at all. “What the hell was he saying?” I thought.

“I haven’t done acid since then, but that shit was intense.” Mt. Goat said.

“Sounds pretty intense.” I said as I imagined a guitar as someone’s father and didn’t see it really working out.

Farm-A-Sea carefully swept up the broken glass that surrounded him and began scrapping out the resin that he was still able to get.

“Good thing I brought this metal pipe as a back up he said as he pulled it out of his pocket.” Farm-A-Sea said.

He loaded and lit the metal pipe and it appeared he had officially stopped mourning his glass one.

Caretaker got a call from a hiker who had stayed at the High 5 last year. His name was Blue Eyes. Last year Blue Eyes made it to Andover on his NOBO thru hike and could no longer hike as a result of a torn meniscus. Caretaker told me he had been stuck at the High 5 last year much like I currently was but his trip had to wait to be finished until this year. The reason Blue Eyes was calling was because he had finished the trail and after 7 hours of fruitless hitching attempts had decided to give up and give his friends at the High 5 a call knowing they would come through for him.

Just as Caretaker left to get Blue Eyes two Juvenile-State-Appointed-Defense-Attorney-Section-Hikers-From-New York came knocking at the High 5′s front door. They entered they RV and once they started talking they didn’t really stop and though they were nice enough, hearing about their lives depressed me. They were in their early forties, had no children, no wives, no girl friends, and the one guys only companion was a cat who apparently attacks him.

“My cat, Romeo, will wait until I’m carrying a bowl of cereal from the kitchen to the dining area, he’ll jump out at me from behind my couch. He’ll start clawing at my legs until I drop or completely spill the bowl and sometimes he jumps out climbs up my legs, and up my body, and he claws my face and just claws and claws while I scream.” He said in his nasaly New York accent.

He and his friend had hiked all the AT in sections except for 70 miles in Georgia and the just over 200 miles from Andover to Katahdin. This was the only thing about their lives that seemed interesting and I think they knew this as they shared their sad daily routines.

When the New York lawyers left to head down to get lunch Mt. Goat told me hearing them talk about their day to day lives was liking hearing his worst nightmare described in detail.

“I hope I’m never working at a job just so I can pay for the car I use to get to the job and the house I only get to use to sleep in while I’m not working at the job that I have to have to pay for the house and car.” He said.

Their seemed to be an incredible amount of logic in a statement that might have at another time sounded nonsensical.

“I feel the same way.” I said.

I’d realized in the short time I’d been hiking that I want to be someone who is living more than they work, and not working more than they live.

Rose-Understanding Mt. Goat a little better.

Bud- Getting back on the trail.

Thorn- New York Lawyers downer lives.

Tags: adventure, andover, appalachian trail, big orange box, crazy cats, death, july, lawyers, loss of a child., loss of father, maine, neteva, new york, pipe, resin, rv, sprained ankle, the flaming lips, thru hiker, thru hiking | Posted in Appalachian Trail | No Comments »

Appalachian Trail Hiker

Posts Tagged ‘adventure’

Night 44: Pink Wine At The End Of The Whites

Night 42: Ink Smudges Lie and Hot Fudge Sundaes Can’t Fix Everything

Night 41: Four Priests Are Walking Through The Woods…..

Night 39: Thank God For Madison

Night 37: Did I Piss The Bed?

Night 35: Mahoosuc Notch, Not So Bad

Night 34: Speck Pond & Will

Night 33: The Baldpates and The Beer Poet

Night 32: On The Trail Again

Night 31: The Grass Isn’t Always Greener for The Mt. Goat

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