Posts Tagged ‘bishop’

Night 44: Pink Wine At The End Of The Whites

Friday, March 25th, 2011

Pink wine at Jeffers Brook Shelter

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: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 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.

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: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Posted in Appalachian Trail | 1 Comment »

Night 38: Carter Hut Angels & Ghosts

Tuesday, March 8th, 2011

Monday 7-12-2010
15.2 Miles Hiked, 1866  Miles To Springer

I woke up early and ate a pop tart and some oat meal and watched an old episode of Boy Meets World. It was the one in which Corey and Topenga get married. In the wedding episode, Sean, Corey’s best friend and best man says in his toast that he knows he and Corey will never be best friends again and that’s the way it should be because from now on Topenga is Corey’s best friend. It made me think how once people get married all the friends and acquaintances that once meant so much kind of just fade into the background or fade out of your lives and are only heard from in Christmas cards, or birth announcements, and finally death notices. I wanted to keep my friends around when I got married, but is that really possible? I know for a fact that I don’t know any of my parents friends who they were friends with before they got married. Were all my friends just going to become a part of my past as soon as I said “I do?” That didn’t seem right, but it also seemed realistic, and maybe that’s just part of growing up.

I used the knock off icey hot on my ankle and knee and packed my stuff into the small day pack the hostel had loaned me to slack pack for the day. The small back pack was formerly the hostel owner’s daughter Ashleigh’s and her name was embroidered on the back pack. I put the small pack on and it, combined with my very short women’s dance shorts and with my bandanna on, it appeared that I may be a woman in transition to becoming a man or a man in transition to becoming a woman, either way the look wasn’t very flattering and I thought it might get me into trouble if I ran into any backwoods folks, but this was New Hampshire, liberal land, so I felt a little more at ease.

The woman who ran the hostel told me she was ready to go and could drive me back to where I got off the trail. She dropped me off and I walked down the road and across the street to where the trail disappeared back into the woods. Walking down the street I had to pass a crew of construction workers, and I was dreading the potential gay taunts or slurs, but was surprised that no one said anything and one of the workers even waved and said hello.

The two miles to that first shelter were a complete breeze. It was the flat mulch path I had always dreamed the whole trail would be. With my new short shorts and my ultralight back pack I felt like a completely new man/man wearing women’s shorts. My ankle and knee didn’t hurt in the slightest. Even the climb up Mt. Mariah wasn’t too bad, but right as I reached the summit it started thundering.

My mind went into instant panic mode and I pictured myself in one of those morgue drawers being pulled out so the family could identify me, but they can’t cause I’m charred to a crisp and I’m still smoking since this is my imagination. All my mom can say is, “Why was he so dumb to be hiking through an electrical storm,” and then the morgue guy makes some bad joke about whether anyone else smells chicken and my whole family starts laughing, it was a terrible vision and I needed to get off this exposed mountain top to at least put my mind at ease.

My descent was hurried and I was moving down this mountain as close to running pace as one can get without falling off the mountain. As I moved I heard a loud rustling in the trees to my right. I stopped in my tracks and the rustling grew louder and whatever it was in those pine trees was moving closer to the trail and closer to me. Whatever it was was now close enough that I could make out that it was massive and covered in black and brownish hair. It lifted it’s head up and I saw it’s glassy eyes through the branches.

“Shit, it’s thundering and now I’m going to get mauled by a bear.” I thought.

The rustling stopped.

I could still see it’s shining eyes through the thick pines. I decided to make a run for it. As I ran forward the rustling began again and what was rustling began running and broke the treeline out onto the trail in front of me. I stopped, and a very large mother moose with her baby calf at her side ran right in front of me. I was relieved it wasn’t a bear but I heard momma moose can be dangerous if they feel their calf is threatened. I stood very still, waited til both mother and calf were back into the woods on the other side of the trail and began running again.

I ran right until I found myself behind to older women.

“Are you running from that bear too?” They asked.

“No, I’m running from the thunder and some moose.” I said.

“Oh yeah we saw those moose too, but we’re moving to get away from that bear we just saw, you didn’t see him?” They asked.

“No.” I said.

Now I was running from the bear, and the thunder, and the moose. By the time I reached the next shelter the dark clouds had moved on and I no longer heard the rumblings of thunder. I decided at 1:30 P.M. that it was way too early to be stopping especially with how good I was feeling.

On my way out of Imp shelter I ran into TLC and Piece of Work, a retired couple who were nearing the end of their northbound thru hike. They informed me that I had four SOBO hikers ahead of me, two were thirty minutes ahead and two were one hour ahead and they were all headed to the Carter Hut, the same place I was headed. This wouldn’t have been bad news except that the huts will only take two thru hikers in for work for stay a night and right now I was number five. For those who don’t know, the huts are cabins in the White Mountains, they have fully equipped kitchens and staff and running water, and bunk houses. Rich people or normal people too I guess, pay 90-100 dollars a night to stay in these huts and sleep on a wooden bunk bead, but thru hikers get to sleep on the floor or kitchen tables for free in exchange for doing dishes, mopping, cleaning the pantry, and other odd jobs, hence the term work-for-stay.

I got back on the trail and booked it into full gear hoping to pass all the SOBO’s in front of me so that I could get the work for stay. I knew Abraham was still feeling sick as of yesterday so I really hoped he’d be slowing Bishop down too. I had no idea who the other SOBO’s might be.

I ran up N. Carter, W. Carter, and S. Carter mountains. I began seeing wet footprints on the boards laid down in the boggy areas. I knew I was close to someone. Within five minutes I’d passed Abraham and Bishop. Two down.

I got to Carter Dome and ran into a SOBO sectioner with no one with him, he couldn’t have been the other pair ahead of me. I started sprinting with only a mile to go. I’m a damn idiot, my ankle is busted so is my knee and I’m sprinting down and up this rocky mountain. I didn’t care though, I needed to get to that hut cause I didn’t have my tent in the small pack on my back and weather reports were calling for rain tonight.

As I made my final descent after the dome I could see the green tin roofs of the Carter Hut complex. I heard voices just ahead of me and they weren’t from the hut they were much closer. Just 30 yards ahead I saw two people, it was Monkey and Giggles.

“Hey Monkey and Giggles!” I shouted, hoping they’d stop to talk to me and then I would run passed them to the hut. Does this make me a bad person? I wasn’t sure, I mean if I got there first was there any argument as to who deserved it or who was good or bad?

“Hey! You’re back on the trail and you’re flying!” They said as they saw me running toward them full speed.

“Yep, feeling great.” I said knowing that as I passed them the work for stay was mine.

I busted through the huts front door and was greeted by two girls named Mary Anne and Uli, who I kid you not could have been runway models, and it wasn’t just my trail eyes making me think this, these girls were beautiful and the fact that they were living out in the woods all summer long only made them more beautiful.

Uli was Amazonian, tall, toned, had dark brown short hair, and piercing blue eyes. Mary Anne would have made Mary Anne from Gilligan’s Island look like a walking turd. She was thin but not too thin, wore a vintage sweatshirt that hung off one shoulder and short Sophies. She had golden hair, naturally rosy cheeks, and beautiful smile.

“What the hell is going on?” I thought. Trail girls are supposed to be ugly, it’s what they do best.

These girls would have made most men leave wives, leave girlfriends, at least consider being unfaithful, but the one thing these girls had going against them for me was that they weren’t Sarah. They didn’t have her laugh, and it’s a unique one, her smile, her attitude, her ability to know just what to say to make me smile or want to pick a fight. They didn’t make me want to be a better version of myself, and they didn’t make me crazy like Sarah did. I admired their beauty, but that’s all they were to me, two very beautiful girls and I’ve become sure that in this life beauty will fade, and it fades fast, and it definitely won’t be enough to make someone worth spending forever with. Boy Meets World has really made today a day of serious thinking.

“Can I get work for stay?” I asked the two girls. “I really need it cause I’m slacking this section and don’t have my tent and this is my first day back on after spraining my ankle.” I fibbed the truth a little hoping some sympathy for an injured hiker would seal the deal.

“Yeah, I think that’ll work.” Uli said.

A wave of relief flushed over me.

“Just go put your stuff in that shed over there.” She said.

I thought about hiding in the shed so I wouldn’t have to see the disappointed and perhaps angry faces of Monkey, Giggles, Bishop, and Abraham when they found out there would be no work for stay for them. And hide was what I did. I hid for ten minutes in the pantry shed and then I remembered that I was 23 years old and I’d really done nothing wrong except hike faster so I came out of hiding and decided I would face them.

It helped ease my conscience that I was the last work for stay because it meant that they couldn’t have taken two people and both couples I passed would only have taken it if they could have both stayed.

Abraham and Bishop arrived about an hour after me and about thirty minutes after Monkey and Giggles had already left. They were very unhappy to be turned away. The racist I spent the night in The Barn with showed up an hour after Abraham and Bishop and so did a Frenchmen. I felt bad for them, but mostly I felt lucky and grateful as I watched each of them head back to the trail while I got to stay put.

I waited outside with a man named E****, a NOBO who got the other work for stay for the night. He told me he was married, which shocked me because he was a young man, thirty at the oldest and I wondered how his wife was okay with him being gone this long.

“You must have a pretty cool wife to have her be okay with you doing this.” I said.

“I was going no matter what, so it didn’t matter if she was cool with it.” He said.

While I thought his wife must have been cool I now thought he sounded like a dick.

He then started telling me about how he was planning on doing another long hike next year too. It sounded to me like he was a man in an unhappy marriage and things weren’t going to get better, more likely things were going to end or he’d just spend the rest of his life walking through the woods avoiding his marriage, is there a difference?

I didn’t understand why this man was married if all he wanted to do was hike through the woods away from his wife. If I was married my wife would be with me, we’d be doing these adventures together, but he made it clear he didn’t want his wife there even she had wanted to be there with him. He made me sad. I didn’t ever want my life to be like his was.

After the five guests of the hut finished eating me and E**** were called in to eat the scraps the guests hadn’t finished and they were damn good. These hut people knew how to cook.

After we ate E**** was put on dish duty and I was told I would be in charge of taking all the cans out of the pantry and wiping down the shelves the next morning. I looked at the can filled pantry I’d be tackling in the morning and a mouse ran out of the sea of cans and had jumped onto the spoon leading into the bowl of grits. Mac, the cook and the head caretaker at Carter Hut grabbed the mouse by the tail and took it over to a bucket of bleach and dropped it in.

“When I take him out tomorrow all his hair will be burned off. It kills them pretty much instantly.” He said.

I didn’t imagine it killing it instantly. I figured the bleach probably filled the mouses lungs and it would struggle to stay afloat as more bleach poured into lungs until it’s body was filled with bleach and it was drowned and then it’s fur and any other identifying features would be burned off as it sat in the bucket over night. I felt so bad for this mouse. We were in his environment after all.

One of the hut girls who was visiting from another hut, Ashley, was here just for the night to hang out and had some great stories about the huts.

“A few years ago they found the preseason caretaker for the Lakes of the Clouds hut underneath the sink in the kitchen, pale as a line, clutching an axe in his hands and shaking. He hadn’t eaten in days.” She said as she dumped the remaining food into the compost bucket.

“What happened to him?” I asked.

“They didn’t get the story until a few days later when he was re hydrated and coherent.” She said.

“What did he say happened?” I asked.

“Well, it all started on the anniversary of the cog car crash. The cog is the train going up to Mount Washington and it got out of control and crashed killing everyone on board. It happened a long time ago, just around when the huts were being built. The night of the anniversary the caretaker, who was getting the hut ready for opening heard a knock at the front door right around sunset. He went to the front door and there was a man standing about ten feet from the door. ‘Come in.’ The caretaker said from the doorway. The man just stood there and said nothing but he stared directly at the Caretaker. The Caretaker walked back inside rightly spooked. About ten minutes later he heard another knock. This time when he went to check there was a woman standing next to the man, and again neither of them responded to the Caretaker when he asked them to come inside. He went back inside the hut and by now it was pitch black outside. Ten minutes later he heard another knock and went to check. This time no one was outside. The Caretaker was freaked out and barricaded the door shut. After the door was barricaded he heard another knock, this time it came from the window. He looked towards the window and saw a little boy starring through the window and pointing at him. He heard another knock at one of the other windows and there was a little girl doing the same. Every ten minutes or so there would be another knock and a new person standing in each of the windows until every window was occupied. That’s when he lost it and climbed into the cupboard under the sink. The spooky thing about Lakes of the Clouds is that the number of windows in the Lakes of the Clouds hut is the exact same as the number of people killed in the cog crash and that’s why each window was occupied by one of the victims of the crash.” She said.

“That’s too scary.” I said. “Next day at sunrise I would have booked it out of there.”

“I mean, it’s really not that big of a deal. All the huts have ghosts that haunt them, cause almost all the huts have had someone die near, in, or around them. Usually the ghost ends up being one of the longtime caretakers.” She said nonchalantly. “Carter hut is haunted by Red Mac. He’s got red hair and he usually only comes around if the hut isn’t clean or the site isn’t being maintained. He’ll swing the front doors open and stomp his boots on the wood floor.” She said.

“There’s a lot of ghosts in every hut and the dry river area of New Hampshire is mad haunted, there’s even an old Indian burial ground around there.” She said.

I decided the Northeast was too Stephen King kind of creepy for my liking.

After dinner E**** and I got settled on our respective kitchen tables and ready for bed. While we got in our sleeping bags Uli and Mary Ann got ready for a night raid on Mitzba Hut. The huts have different items in them that the other huts will try and steal from them and bring them back to their own huts. The most valuable hut item is a giant rowing oar. Other items that trade hands often are a butler named Jeeves who belongs technically to Carter Hut, a sword, and a painting at one of the huts. A night raid is simply where you sneak into one of the other huts at night and steal their stuff. Besides night raids their are also power raids which are done in broad day light. A power raid happens when an entire crew from one hut goes to another hut and binds them up with tape and rope and in a power raid you can take anything you want. In a night raid if you get caught it’s over. During night raids the raiders will often bring beer with them which they will give to the thru hikers who often wake first since they sleep on the floor and tables and the beer is a bribe to keep them from alerting the crew of the hut being raided.

Mary Ann and Uli leave around 10:30 just moments before I pass out.

“Raid the shit out of that hut.” I say with a laugh and fall asleep before the door can swing shut behind them.

They returned from their hut raid around 3:00 A.M. and they were successful in their efforts. They carried Jeeves in and set him on the kitchen counter.

E**** and I congratulated them and they both headed off to their bunks.

I went back to sleep and rose about thirty minutes later having to pee. I headed out towards the shed just twenty yards from the hut, unzipped and peed for what felt like five minutes straight. Just as I zipped up I heard something coming from behind me.

“Hello.” I said shakily.

I didn’t have my headlamp on but I could make out that it was a figure that was walking toward me. All the ghost stories of the night came rushing through my mind.

“Hello.” I said even more shakily and more quietly. Still no response.

The figure stood directly in ten feet in front of me now.

It was Uli dripping wet with a small towel wrapped around her waist. It was just long enough to cover anything that might have changed a movies rating from PG-13 to R.

“Oh hey.” She said. “Just takin’ a shower, felt so gross after the raid, ha.”

“Oh, ha, I thought you were Red Mac.” I said.

“Oh no, no, don’t worry, he won’t bother you.” She said.

We both walked back into the hut and I fell back asleep.

Rose – 1st Hut Experience

Bud – Getting Closer to being over Mount Washington and done with the White Mountains.

Thorn – Seeing my SOBO friends turned away.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Posted in Appalachian Trail | No Comments »

Night 20: Three 4,000 Footers and Plenty of Flames

Monday, July 5th, 2010

Privy Without A Door Visibile To Everyone In The Spaulding Mt. Lean-To

Thursday, 6-24-2010
13.5 Miles Hiked, 1,977.8 Miles to Springer

I woke this morning exhausted from the less than five hours sleep I had under my eyes. I crept down the stairs not wanting to wake Abraham, Bishop, and Mud. My grungy clothing dropped on the cold tiled bathroom  floor as I disrobed. I hopped in the shower hoping it would help me wake up, and excited at the prospect of being clean before we hit the trail again. I was thrilled to see a bottle of blue Suave shampoo and could have cared less that there wasn’t any conditioner.

I used the old bar of soap some hiker of days before had left behind . I held it under the shower head to rinse off the black curlies that some previous hiker had donated and embedded into the bar of soap. My hygiene standards had been drastically altered by the trail.  If I saw a black hair on a bar of soap in my own house I wouldn’t have used it and here I was soaping up and washing my face with a bar some stranger had used and shed pubic hair onto.

After my shower I felt so much better. I walked across the street to the general store for one last resupply and to grab some fresh breakfast. I chowed down on a vanilla yogurt Yoplait crunch and chugged some Oakhurst chocolate milk. I bought a buffalo chicken wrap with lettuce, tomato, and ranch dressing that I was looking forward to having for lunch on today’s hike.

When I returned from the general store I realized there was  a scale in the kitchen. Good motivation to leave that last doughnut in the fridge I guess. First I stood on the scale just to see how much I weighed. I had lost nine pounds since I weighed myself three weeks ago the day I left. I grabbed my pack and put it on and stepped on the scale.

My pack weighed 44 pounds. “This is bullshit.” I said. “Somehow my pack is a pound and a half heavier than when I entered the hundred mile wilderness and I sent a few pounds of crap home.” I said to Mud and the gang as they sat in the hiker lounge.

Mud weighed his pack and it came to 41 pounds. Abraham and Bishop weighed their packs too and they weighed 25 and 22 pounds respectively. “This is bullshit, I need to lighten this pack.” I thought.

After finding out the small amount of weight Abraham and Bishop would be carrying I was instantly jealous and I immediately liked them less.

Sue told Bishop, Abraham, Mud, and I that she could take us to the trail head as soon as we were ready.

It was cloudy out, but not raining, at least not yet. Each of us reluctantly headed out to the Sue’s SUV and loaded up.

Mud and I battled with our mammoth packs while Abraham and Bishop tossed their packs in the back like school girls handling a lunch pail.

“When we get to the shelter I want you guys to show me what you’re carrying so I can figure out what I’m doing so terribly wrong.” I said to Abraham and Bishop and they both laughed.

Bishop sat shotgun and I was sandwiched in the back between Abraham and Mud.

“So you guys didn’t shower?” Bishop said stating a fact more than he was asking a question.

“No, we did, we just didn’t do our laundry while we were here.” Mud and I said.

“”Oh that must be why you guys still smell. I always clean my clothes when we stop in towns.” Abraham said.

“Well fuckin’ good for you, you trail hiking snob.” I thought.

Sue pulled into the gravel lot at the trail head. I crossed the highway to where we got picked up the day before. I’ve become neurotic about making sure I get every inch of the trail walked.

I looked both ways before I turned back around and crossed the highway. I was officially back on track. Abraham and Bishop told us we  should go ahead even with our heavier packs because we’d still be faster than them. I didn’t see how we could be faster with our packs nearly double the weight of theirs unless they were planning on stopping to have sex with a moose or grouse somewhere along the trail today.

We were faster until it started to rain and we stopped to take our lunch breaks. Abraham, Bishop, and Mud all passed me while I slowly savored my buffalo  chicken wrap.

I hiked alone and found myself climbing and slipping up a steep rock slide. After a hundred yards and no sign of a white marker I headed back down the slide. Rocks began sliding out from underneath my feet and I slid most the way down and right back down to a white marker that had me back on track.

I caught back up to Mud around South Crocker Mountain and both of us passed Abraham who was really dragging ass at this point. Mud and I hiked together only briefly and separated again.

I walked alone until I caught Monkey and Giggles. I was shocked to see them since they had left a full day before us.

Monkey is a lanky young man, twenty years old, he has short black hair and a trash stache that rivals mine. Giggles is a nineteen year old with the face and pig tails of a twelve year old girl. Her and Monkey have been dating about a year and when she told him she was doing the trail his response was, “We’re going to have so much fun hiking.” She said there wasn’t much to it besides that and that’s how they ended up on the trail together. I envied them and wished Sarah could do this with me, but also thought this hike would be a real test for any relationship. I walked the last mile to the shelter with Monkey and Giggles, none of us were moving very quickly.

I arrived at the shelter to see it already filled with Mud, and The General & Cadets. I told Giggles and Monkey to take the last two spaces in the shelter because I slept better in my tent. They were both thankful.

Right as I finished securing my rain fly the clouds opened up and it started pouring. I hurried to unzip my tent and dove inside onto my  sleeping pad. I was already decently soaked and listened as the rest of the gang hung out dry inside the shelter.

The rain cleared up and Abraham arrived at camp. I walked down to the privy to find that it had no door and faced directly at the shelter. It was about a hundred yards away from the shelter, but if you looked towards it you would have for sure seen the person inside doing their business. I could see everyone in the shelter as I squatted so I figured if they wanted to they could see me too.

When I returned from the privy it started sprinkling again. I was hungry, but I didn’t want to cook in the rain. I set up my alcohol stove and pot of water underneath the vestibule of my tent. I lit the stove and the flames grew higher and higher. They were getting dangerously close to the rain fly material.

I began to panic. I poked the stove and pot forward trying to get it out of the vestibule area. I would have grabbed it but it was too hot still. I nudged and nudged the stove inch by inch.

The pot on top of the stove toppled over and spilled all over my alcohol stove. The water didn’t extinguish the flames it just dispersed the alcohol all over the pine needle and leaf covered ground. The flames began spreading and growing. “Shit, shit, shit, shit.” I thought.

I took the bandanna off my head and covered the flames with it. After about ten seconds I lifted up the bandanna. The flames were still there and still roaring. “Great, you’re going to burn down a forest and you’ve been out here a total of three weeks.” I thought.

I put the bandanna back on the flames and pulled another one from my pack to lay on top of it. I left both bandannas on the fire for about thirty seconds and lifted them to check. The flames were gone but the nail polish scent of the alcohol fuel still remained and was now soaked into my bandannas.

After my tin can stove cooled I set it up away from the tent and tried cooking again, this time with success. I added the boiling water to the freeze dried Mexican chicken and rice feast for two. Sarah had mailed it to me in Caratunk. It was spicy, meaty, salty, and delicious, all things I good.  After I polished off the Mexican feast I chowed down on the freeze dried  ice cream sandwich Sarah had also sent me. It was as disgusting as the Mexican feast was delicious.

I fell asleep and woke to the sound of an unfamiliar voice. A new hiker had arrived. His name was ABEAR. With his beard and slightly chubby build he kind of looked like a teddy bear. He said his trail was actually the phonetic spelling of his Cajun name that was spelled something like Hubert.

I had come out of my tent to talk to him in my underwear and red Northface fleece. I was cold enough that I wasn’t interested in staying out too long. I did discover in the short time we talked that ABEAR had thru hiked the Pacific Crest Trail last year and he didn’t believe in purifying any of his drinking water. He seemed insane to me, but to each their own.

I crawled back into my tent, drained from a day of hard hiking, and exhausted from lack of sleep the previous night. My body was still in shock from not hiking for a day and from the three 4,000 foot mountains we hit. I was excited to sleep and excited to get my hiking legs back.

Rose- The Mexican feast.

Bud – Getting a good nights sleep and hiking with some rest behind me.

Thorn – Being so damned tired.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Posted in Appalachian Trail | Comments Off

Night 19: Stratton, Sue, & Soccer

Monday, July 5th, 2010

The Sign For The Stratton Motel & Hostel

Wednesday, 6-23-2010
5.1 Miles Hiked, 1,991.3 Miles to Springer

Heavy drops pounded against the tin roof and woke me around 3:00 A.M. Grump and Mud were both still sound asleep, unfazed by the drum beat of the drops. I momentarily thought about the fact that if it kept raining we’d be hiking in the rain today. This thought faded from my mind and I was out cold.

Grump left camp with the Bigelows on his mind. As we looked up at them from the shelter he said, “Whenever I look at something like that, I want to be up there.”

He left camp with his bulky external frame pack, his massive wrapped up tarp, and an outfit of a hug cotton long sleeve t-shirt and denim jeans.

“I hope he’ll be okay.” I thought. I worried about him the rest of the morning as we got ready to leave. It was cloudy and foggy as hell, you couldn’t see more than thirty feet in front. I was sad that Grump would miss the views from the peak that were so glorious yesterday.

As we marched out of camp we ran into the couple out for the weekend I had met yessterday. We crossed paths about a mile into our hike. By this point Mud and I had both slipped and fallen several times on wet rocks and we were soaked from the rain that had fallen. The couple told us that in weather like this it would be really hard for us to see the markers and it would be extremely dangerous since some of the hiking ahead was on a cliffs edge.

This information was the final nudge we needed. Mud and I decided we would take a nero day in Stratton and stay at the hostel there.

It took about thirty minutes of thumbing before we got picked up. The woman that picked us up moved one of her two baby seats to the back.

“My brother thru hiked a few years ago so I try and help hikers out when I can, plus, you guys looked soaking wet and miserable, I had to pick you up.” She said.

We were both soaking wet and miserable.

She dropped us at the Stratton Motel and Hostel and we checked in with the woman at the front desk, Sue.  She was originally from Virginia but had been here since 2005. I managed another free listing for  a posting on the site, but she made Mud pay.

She told us she thru hiked in 2004 and bought the Stratton Motel and Hostel along with a hostel four miles down the road called the Maine Road House a year later.

My jaw just about hit the floor when she said she had thru hiked. Sue is by my best guess, 5’5″ and 350 pounds. Her hair is almost pure white, she looks about fifty, and each one of her unsupported breasts was the size of a deflated basketball. She reminded me of Mrs. Claus and radiated a type of warmth that only helped build on that stereotype.

Sue became my latest form of inspiration. My new motto was, “If Sue can, so can I.”

Mud and I settled into the hikers lounge where we found Abraham and Bishop, and met two new hikers, a boy named Monkey, and a girl Giggles who was napping on the coach. Monkey and Giggles didn’t say much so I have nothing  further on that front.

Mud and I picked up some delicious grub from the general store across the street. We returned and watched the remainder of the U.S./Algeria match. It wasn’t looking good, but in the four minutes of injury time added on to the game Landon Donovan scored to send the US on to the next round. I was standing and screaming at the TV after they scored. I was so excited and I thought, “You don’t even like soccer that much, what’s wrong with you?”

After the game I headed to the library where I stayed until closing at 5:00 P.M. I blogged pretty much my entire day away.

When I got back I enjoyed a free hot dog some previous hikers left behind in the communal fridge.

Sue barbecued a lot of chicken, enough for a family of five. Just looking at it had my mouth watering. I sat at the picnic table and talked to a caretaker from one of the nearby campsites who was off for the next few days. He said he saw Grump earlier that day and he was doing fine. I felt relieved.

Sue ate her chicken and had half a cucumber and half a tomato, both of which were coated in a millimeter thick crust of salt. I’d never seen someone salt vegetables the way Sue had. There were three chicken breasts left after Sue had her share and fed her giant white poodle, Knucklehead his portion. Sue offered Mud and I the rest and we eagerly took her up on the offer. We even finished the cucumber and I ate the tomato and I hate tomatoes.

“I noticed the ‘for sale’ sign out front. Are you selling this place?” I asked.

“Yep. This place and the Roadhouse. It’s time for my next adventure. I’m planning to bicycle around the perimeter of the entire country. It’s 15,000 miles total. I’ve got a tricycle type road bike I’ll take.” She said.

Sue was too cool. Not only had she thru hiked, but now she was biking the whole country. I loved that she was the type of person who just thinks of something to do and does it. She’s a dreamer who does what she dreams and that’s an incredibly rare quality in most people.

Sue headed over to the Roadhouse for the night around 8:30 P.M. and I headed over to the general store to get some more grub. I bought a 24 count bag of hostess chocolate covered Doughnettes. It was a good night and the Doughnettes didn’t stand a chance.

I sat at the motel check in desk working all night on my blog on Sue’s Mac.

I ended up checking in some of Sue’s guests. One of them was a man from Syracuse, NY. He said he was looking to join the less than 500 people who have reached the peak of all 115,  4,000 foot mountains in the Northeast region.

“I’m at around 70.” He said. “I’m also working on my Winter 46er status.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“You summit all of the mountains in the Adirondack’s that are considered high peaks, there’s 46 of them, and you do it between December 21st and March 21st. Only  a few hundred people have done it. I’ll tell you, snowshoeing up a mountain sure beats hiking it, even if you have to create your own trail.” He said.

“That’s awesome, sounds pretty intense.” I said.

“It definitely is, but nothing beats it.” He said. “I’m headed off to get some food, if I don’t see you tomorrow good luck on your thru hike.”

I glanced at the clock and it was 2:00 A.M. as I started my last blog entry. My eyes were tired and my mind was moving slow. A shadow appeared behind the blinds covering the door window. The handle turned and the door opened.

My constant fear of being murdered on the trail resurfaced. I took a glance at the room roster, no one else was supposed to be coming in tonight.

The man that entered spoke French with broken English. He said he was looking for a room for him and his wife or girlfriend. I didn’t see any of the motel rooms being marked as filled so I told him to check if any were unlocked and if they were to take one and settle with Sue in the morning. He never came back in so I assume  he found a room or left.

I finished my last post and the clock read 2:45 A.M. This nero day in Stratton left me more exhausted than any day of hiking had yet. I walked upstairs, fell on my mattress and passed out.

Rose- US World Cup victory.

Bud – Hitting the trail again.

Thorn – Not really getting a chance to rest in town.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Posted in Appalachian Trail | 1 Comment »

Night 14: Baring It All at Bald Mountain Pond

Wednesday, June 23rd, 2010

Mud Mediatating In Moxie Bald Pond

Friday, 6-18-2010
8.9 Miles Hiked, 2,046.7 Miles to Springer

It was a late start today as we hit the trail at 8:20 A.M.  Even with our late start we were ready to hike far before our shelter mates Bishop and Abraham. Before we left they were both awake, but not moving into hiking mode as quickly as we were, Mud and I don’t mess around in the morning, we get our gear together and go. We found out they still took the time to do warm breakfast every morning. Mud and I had given up on that a long time ago, it just takes to much time to get the stoves ready, heat everything up and eat. It almost seemed ludicrous to me that someone would want to spend time warming their breakfast, but to each their own.

Before we left I asked a question I find myself asking pretty much every hiker I meet.

“How’d you get your trail names?” I asked as we were strapping our packs on ready to leave.

“Well, our plain up to Maine got laid over in New York for a couple days. We were walking around one of the parks in the city and some guys were playing chess. A man from Mississippi asked me to play. He said he was pretty good and I told him I wasn’t. Long story short, I beat him by splitting his king and rook with my bishop. I like to think I earned my name that way.” Bishop said.

After Bishop finished giving his explanation Abraham said, “Back home a lot of my friends make fun of me and joke that ?I look like I’m Jewish, even though I’m not at all.” He said laughing. “So I figured a Jewish Biblical name would be fitting so I chose Abraham.” He said.

“That’s pretty funny.” I said. “Have a a good hike today. I’m sure we’ll see you later on.”

The hike was an easy one again today. The forest smelled especially like sapp, and pine needles, and most of all memories of Christmas. It reminded me of Christmas tree chopping with my family as a little kids, and it made me miserably homesick, which is weird cause I used to go months at a time at school without seeing my family.

Today was the first day it really felt like summer in Maine. Temperatures were near ninety degrees. Where my blue shirt met my back was dark blue drenched with my sweat. Mud and I stayed close today and talked more than we have been.

“Yesterday when you left the river to go nap I went skinny dipping in the river. I got out and just laid out on a rock completely naked. Those to old men we saw fishing upstream walked up on me and I think I scared them away cause they turned right back around when they saw me.” Mud said with a laugh.

“Oh, no.” I said laughing too.

“I’ve never been skinny dipping.” I thought. “What type of college swimmer am I that I’ve never bared it all in the water?” I decided right then that I was skinny dipping the next time I got the chance.

We arrived at our shelter at 12:30 P.M. Moxie Bald lean-to sat right on Bald Mountain Pond. Apparently I was going to get my chance today. Right after we got to the shelter Mud and I stripped down to our briefs and headed to the pond to cool off. The cold water felt wonderful on this scorcher of a day. The pond bottom was extremely muddy though, and every step you took your foot was swallowed, which I hated the feeling of.

Having cooled off we headed back to the shelter for lunch. Mud had some pop tarts with peanut butter and I had a Snickers and some crackers dipped in peanut butter. While we ate Bishop and Abraham stopped in for a quick bite and then kept on hiking. The peanut butter and chocolate coma was about to hit hard again, and I could tell Mud was tired too as he laid back and closed his eyes.

“This is it, the time is right, if you’re going to do it, then do it now.” I thought.

I didn’t want to disturn Mud so I tip toed out of the shelter as I left and headed to the pond still in my underwear.

My watch said 2:30 P.M. It was still bright as hell out and if someone wanted a better view of the pond the spot I was at would be here they’d go to get it. It was a Saturday too which meant there would be more day and weekend hikers on the trail and higher probably of someone walking up on me.

Just thinking about doing it when their was a high chance of being caught gave me the same adrenaline rush I used to get before all my swimming races. I felt both exhilarated and terrified. I had to do it. I glanced back down the path from the pond to the shelter one last time to make sure Mud hadn’t woken and decided to come to the pond. There was no signof Mud.

I rolled my black, sheer, polyester, Jockey brand bocer breifs down to my ankles exposing some pale thighs and cheeks. I stepped out of one leg. Then I lifted up the remaining leg and pulled my underwear completely off. I sat bare assed down on the sun warmed slab of rock that led into the pond and I looked out onto the smooth, shimmering, sun reflecting pond. It was peacdful, quiet and there was nothing around but water, trees, mountains and my white behind.

I stood up and took my first step in. It felt colder than it had before. I took another step. The water was at about my knees and the mud had swallowed my feet up to my ankles. “Please don’t let there be a snapping turtle or snack in this mud.” I thought. I kept walking trying to get to this boulder that was about twenty yards from shore. With each step away from shore and towaed the rock the water rose closer to my waste. “Wow, that’s freaking cold.” I thought as the water now covered everything a pair of jeans would. I took another step.

My leg was swallowed up to my knee cap by mud. “Aaaaaaaah!” I screamed in my head. “Oh no, I can only imagine whate large mud dwelling creatures home I just disturbed.” I thoguht. I pulled my leg out as fast as I could fighting the suction of the mud. I got my body into a floating position on my stomach and swam the last five feet to the boulder not wanting to put feet down again.

After pulling myself up on the boulder, which offered protection from view behind me I was glad to no longer be naked and vulnerable on the muddy pond floor and happy to be both those things on a dry sun warmed boulder in the middle of the pond. As I sat there an animal like surge of onesness with nature flowed through me. Being naked in nature felt freeing. I felt like this was right. I stood up on the boulder facing out toward the pong away from shore and I pumped my fists in the air, I flexed, and ?I did a one legged kick in the air.

I lost my balance, slid off the boulder, both feet landed in a mud sink hole swallowing me again up to just above my knees. I manouvered out of the mud hole again and swam to shore til I was about at one foot fepth. I did not want to put my feet down ahani and feel the suctiony mud on me again.

I got back to the rock slide where I entered and I rerobed. After drying in the sun a little bit I headed back to the shelter. Mud was awak and was now dressed, meaning he wasn’t asleep while I was skinny dipping as I had planned. As I sat back down in the the shelter and looked pack at the pond I realized the tip of the boulder I stood on was visible between a gap that seperated two trees. I also realized a naked man standing on the tip of that boulder would be highly visible from the shelter.

“So, you’re awake.” I said.

“Yep.” Mud said.

I figured I should try and clear the air because I sensed a bit of awkward tension. “I was skinny dipping in the pond. It was pretty freaking cold.” I said.

“I figured that what you were doing.” He said.

“He ‘figured that’s what I was doing.’ Yep he definetly saw me.” I thought. “I better just put it all the awkwardness out at once.” I thought.

“Sorry if I flashed or mooned you.” I said, realizing as I stared back through the trees where the boulder was that he probably saw my naked fist pumping, flexing, kicking, and fall from grace, and probably saw all of me the way I was moving around on that boulder.

“No, don’t worry bout it, didn’ see anything.” Mud said. Whether he was telling the truth or just sparing me any further humiliation I felt the the issue had been put to rest.

Mud ate dinner first as has become the usual and I wrote in my journal on a rock by the lake. I would take breaks every minute or so to make sure the small garden snake and two huge wolf spiders near by weren’t advancing toward me.

When I returned from my writing and Mud had finished dinner we built a massice bonfire. We hoped it would help keep the mosquitos away while we slept. Once it was roaring I headed to the rock where my skinny dipping adventure began and prepared my own dinner.

While I was boiling my water I noticed two men on the lake each in their own motorized boat. The man closest to me was bald and ad a German Shepperd looking dog riding with him. He kept casting his line over and over agian almost every thirty seconds.

“There any fish in this fuckin’ lake.” the man said in a Connecticut accent. I was shicked at how well the water carried his voice from over 300 yards or so away.

“I wouldn’t know.” I said. “I’m not fishing here.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing on this fuckin’ lake?” He asked.

“Hiking the A.T.” I said.

“Oh,” He said. “Is this where that fuckin’ trail meets the lake?” He asked.

“It sure is.” I said.

“Is that fuckin’ shelter somewhere around here?” He asked.

“Yeah we’re staying in it.” I said right as Mud walked up to see who I was talking to. This was where the conversation died. Mud went back to the shelter after about five minutes.

I managed to cook, eat, and clean my pot and the man was still on the pond in his boat, and still seemed unsuccessful.

Right as I got up to head back to the shelter I heard the man shout. I originally thought it was towards me, but then realized it was either directed towards the pond, his friend, the fish, or his fishing equipment as he shouted, ” You fuckin’ cunt, your fathers a cunt, your mothers a cunt, and your a cunt.” He screamed.

The words echoed across the lake, through the forest and bounced from mountain to mountain.

“What was that?” Mud asked as I returned.

“That guy in the canoe apparently thinks that other guy is a pretty big cunt and has some fuckin’ cunt parents too.” I said.

“Oh.” said Mud.

I put up my bear bad and we fed the fire a little more and as I sat to write my journal my pen was kicked dry. I had no choice but to wait until I found a replacement and go to bed.

Rose- Skinny Dipping

Bud -Getting a real day of hiking in

Thorn- Getting suctioned by the mud

Tags: , , , , , , , , | Posted in Appalachian Trail | 4 Comments »