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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 43: Night Hiking Mousilauke and Dreaming of McDonalds

Thursday, March 24th, 2011

McDonalds In Lincoln New Hampshire With My Tricycle Outside

Saturday July 17, 2010

17.8 Miles, 1788.6 Miles to Springer, 390.5 Miles Hiked

I slept sound after a day of emotional highs (McDonald’s Hot Fudge Sundae, Sarah’s texts, being alive) and lows (Thinking I was going to die, being frustrated with this whole endeavor, feeling like what I was doing wasn’t worth the risks, the solitude, the sacrifice.) that had broken me into a million tiny pieces. I felt better this morning. In fact I felt a hundred times better than I had when I was in that rocking chair, in that basement that smelled like my grandparents house, crying while the laundry machine clunked in the background.

My morning started around 8:30 A.M. None of the normal bikes remained in the garage as other hikers had taken them out so I used what I would describe as a giant adult tricycle which you rode while sitting. My bike ride down Lincoln’s Main Street was like a scene out of a bad 80′s or early 90′s movie. I headed right for McDonald’s. I pedaled down town with my metallic sunglasses covering my eyes, a bandanna on my head, and my Danskin short shorts riding up my thigh, and I felt like a bad ass. If it had been a movie the song playing would have been “Born To Be Wild.” I was sweating by the time I got to McDonald’s and I could tell it was going to be a hot one.

I was feeling ambitious and ordered the McDonald’s Big Breakfast which included, three pancakes, a sausage paddy, a biscuit, and scrambled eggs, and I ordered two milks and sat down to enjoy my feast after the people working there gave me more than a few looks for the outfit I was sporting.

Everything was amazing. Yes, my McDonald’s breakfast was amazing, except for the eggs. They were dry, and crusty, and the opposite of amazing.

I turned my phone on to see if I could get a hold of Sarah before I headed out and right when I turned it on I got a text from her saying, “Bib 3 is lee Robertson.”

“I don’t know who that is, but you are going to do great. I love you so much and can’t wait to see you. I’m sorry I was so down yesterday.” I texted and shut my phone off and left McDonald’s in the same bad ass fashion I had arrived there.

When I returned from breakfast I called the shuttle service. Bishop, myself, and a NOBO hiker named Snickers all shared the cost of the ride back to the trail head at Franconia Notch just past the Flume visitors center.

Before I loaded into the van Chet rolled out onto the driveway and each of us thanked him and gave him whatever donation we were able to and said goodbye.

“Thank you so much for taking me in last night. You have no idea how much I needed a night off the trail, and you can’t imagine what you’ve done for me, for my hike.” I said.

“Sure thing man, no problem.” He said as though he’d heard the same thing from thousands of hikers before and he’d been saying the same thing in return to each of them each time.

As we drove back to the trail we passed a huge water park that was already crowded at only 10:30 in the morning. Snickers informed us that he planned to stay in Lincoln another day because his birthday was tomorrow. He said he was going to Whale’s Tale Water Park, the one we had just driven passed to celebrate and that he was going to ride every single water slide and float in the lazy river until the park closed. It sounded like a pretty awesome birthday to me.

We also passed a place called Clark’s Trading Post that looked like the ultimate tourist trap.

As we drove passed the trading post, our driver, a different man then the man the who picked me up the night before, but equally obese as that man, began to tell us about Clark’s.

“They got trained black bears in there that do all sorts of tricks. They also got a train that rides through a covered bridge and along a stream, real nice place. Tourists love it. I heard they even got bears riding on segways that play basketball now. One hiker even told me he saw a bear on a unicycle with violin, but I think he was lying.” Our driver said.

“I want to go to there.” I thought.

The idea of spending a day watching bears shoot basketballs while riding segways and going on fun and relaxing train rides sounded way better than hiking up and down mountains in blistering heat. It was just a pipe dream though and I would be hiking in the heat today. I hoped though that I might see a bear and I would have been especially pleased to see a bear playing basketball with beehive or something, as long as that something wasn’t my head or the head of another hiker.

Bishop and I stuck together the first few miles and stopped at Lonesome Lake Hut hoping to score some leftover breakfast. We were given a pan of baked eggs with sliced tomatoes on top of them that looked promising, but the eggs were downright vomitous. These were by far the worst eggs I had ever eaten, and the thing is, I still ate all of what I was given, but I did turn down the offer for seconds.

I ended up spending two dollars to buy some almond coffee cake and a piece of chocolate cake. I ate them quickly and I left on a sugar high with the contented feeling of being full. I was sad that this would be the last hut I would visit and that from here on out through the remainder of the trail I would never run into anything like the hut system of New Hampshire again. This was the end of the huts, but it also meant that this was almost the end of the Whites and that was something I was extremely happy about.

As we approached North Kinsman my pace picked up and I was well ahead of Bishop by the time I had reached Kinsman’s peak. I was flying through these hills and I was eager to be off all the peaks before the stormy looking clouds all joined forces and unleashed hell as my experience told me was likely possible.

I was listening to a small AM/FM radio I found in the hiker box at Chet’s place and I felt like such an idiot for not thinking of this earlier. Hiking with music made the miles fly by. ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ came on the radio and I literally felt like I was bounding down the mountain to the beat of the song. Music was the best thing to happen to my hiking experience in weeks.

I stopped at Eliza Brook shelter, a decent sized, well maintained shelter that had two wooden tenting platforms nearby. The shelter was located just up and away from a strong flowing stream. I refilled my water at the stream and sat at the shelter for a late lunch around 4:00 P.M. During my break Bishop caught back up to me and told me he was spent and was staying here for the night.

“I’m going to push on to the next shelter nine miles away, the one that’s halfway up Moosilauke. That way I won’t have to tackle all of Moosilauke tomorrow.” I said as I packed up my gear and headed off back out onto the trail. I ran into some NOBO hikers who assured me the nine miles to the next shelter weren’t terrible.

The nine miles weren’t terrible, but they were the usual ups and downs the A.T. always offered.

The nine miles wasn’t anything hard, but it absolutely wrecked me this late in the day, on a very hot day. I felt finished at just under eight miles into my final nine and desperately did not want to hike that last mile.

When I finally reached the road at Kinsman Notch I still had 1.1 miles to go to the shelter, but I was dead and the 1.1 miles I had left would be straight up Moosilauke.

I sat on the guardrail of the road and turned my phone on. I got service for a couple minutes and called Chet hoping he would let me come back for one more night at the hostel. I was getting weak for the comforts of home. He said I could come back, but that it would make more sense just to find a flat spot at the base of Moosilauke and set up my tent for the night and then I could tackle Moosilauke with fresh legs in the morning.

Chet was right and I was crushed. All I wanted was to be back inside for another night and back at McDonald’s for dinner and desert and breakfast again tomorrow. I would have done unspeakable things to be sitting in a McDonald’s eating a Big Mac with an unholy sized soda that I would refill multiple times, but I knew that was not going to happen, and that if I did go back tonight I would want to go back every night for the rest of the trail and if that was the case I might as well go home for good.

I crossed the road and I took a break at the picnic table by the parking lot at the base of the mountain and ate a pouch of sweet and spicy tuna and talked to Sarah about her triathlon the next day. She sounded so excited and also so nervous and I was so excited for her. I wanted to be there to watch her first triathlon and I wished I could have been there to calm her nerves, and cheer her on, but I’d just have to do my best over the phone tonight.

My side of the conversation went much like this;

“I’m psyched for you! I can’t wait to hear all about it. I know you’re going to do great!….. All I want right now is McDonald’s, you cannot imagine how bad I want McDonald’s in my mouth at this moment…… You’re going to have a blast, you’ve been training really hard and you’re going to wreck it!……. I would kill anyone who crossed my path if it meant I could have another hot fudge sundae…… The run won’t be that bad and you can take breaks if you need to, plus you’ve training so hard on the bike that you’ll already be way ahead……I need you to teleport here with a platter of everything that is on the dollar menu……..You’ll be amazing. I love you.”

I meant every word I said.

By the time Sarah and I had finished talking and I was ready to start hiking again it was 8:30 P.M. Hiking under the cover of trees as the sun began to vanish made me anxious. I got my headlamp on and read the sign at the base of the mountain which read, “This trail is extremely tough. If you lack experience please use another trail. Take special care at the cascades to avoid tragic results.” I became even more anxious. I instantly began to doubt my decision to start this hike up the last and what some consider the most formidable mountains that made up the Whites.

Then my mind flashed to the other option, camping at the base of this mountain which was less than a half mile from a parking lot that spit right onto N.H. 112 a fairly heavily trafficked road.

That was when I remembered the most recent of the nine reported murders that have occurred on the Appalachian Trail since 1974. Given this most recent murder occurred over a decade ago it still sat in the back of my mind because to this day the crime remained unsolved and the murderers remained on the loose. Two young women were found in their tents in the Shenandoah with their arms bound, mouths gagged and throats slit. One was found in their tent, the other just outside hers and their golden retriever was found roaming outside the tents unharmed. There was an article in The Washington Post about the murder that said the FBI believed that this crime may have been done by two or more people, not one.

I pictured myself setting up my tent at the base and falling asleep easy enough after a long day of hiking in the hot sun. I then pictured myself waking to the sound of a pickup truck rolling into the parking lot with it’s headlights off. Then I’d hear the sound of heavy, black, leather boots walking through the woods toward my tent crunching on sticks with each step. I’d call out “Hello,” but there’d be no response. I’d here two sets of boots each heading in different directions around my tent. Then I’d listen even more closely and it would be dead silent. I’d wait for the boots to move again and then there’d be a slash through my tent with a huge blade and that would be the end.

I decided I’d take my chance hiking up Moosilauke in the dark. I didn’t think a murderer would waste his or her time doing the same, and my imagination was far scarier than a hike up this mountain in the dark could ever be, so I began to hike. The ascent wasn’t bad and would have been beautiful in the daylight as the trail paralleled a streaming waterfall almost the entire climb up (the cascades, where tragic results could occur according to the sign.

By 9:15 P.M. it was pitch black and I was tripping and stumbling even with the aid of my headlamp. At 9:40 P.M. I saw a sign indicating I was a quarter mile away. My pace quickened and my stumbling and falling did too.

I heard the sounds of dogs barking. I was close to something or someone if not the shelter. “Keep on barking so I can find the shelter.” I thought as I fumbled down the trail in the dark. When I arrived at Beaver Brook Shelter there were already six day hikers and not a single thru hiker inside. This was somewhat enraging to me because A.T. shelters are meant for thru hikers only and even though this shelter was made to fit ten people, these hikers had spread their things all around the shelter and there was currently no room for me in the shelter. I was pissed.

After I asked the day hikers inside, they moved their things and squeezed together to make room for me and I hungrily and angrily devoured a packet of oatmeal in one quick gulp as I got ready for bed.

As I wrote in my journal the sky was lit by flashes of lightning. It was heat lightning and it was beautiful in it’s own violent terrifying way. Within a half hour winds were gusting at intense bursts of up to 40 miles per hour and rain began slamming against the tin roof. Lightning flashed like clockwork every couple seconds and the roar of thunder now accompanied the lightning. I was glad to at least to be under the roof of a shelter with other humans and not tenting by a road by myself where I might get murdered, and murdered while wet in the middle of a terrifying electrical storm.

I was beginning to see the good in even the worst of situations. Maybe I was beginning to find a way to survive this hike. Maybe I would be able to see the positive in the worst of what the trail had to dish out. Maybe my mindset was all that needed changing for me to get through this thing with some sort of sanity. Was I being brainwashed by this trail lifestyle? Was I being tricked into thinking that just because I wasn’t dead things were pretty great?

I don’t know but I was beginning to think that maybe just being alive regardless of whatever else was going on in my life was something pretty amazing, something I should be over the moon excited about.

I think I’m going crazy, but I was happy to be right where I was, but I still would have killed anyone in that shelter for a Big Mac, a large Coke and a hot fudge sundae.

Rose – Talking with Sarah about her triathlon and joking about how much I wanted McDonalds.

Bud – Officially being out of the White Mountains.

Thorn – Hiking up Moosilauke in the dark and thinking about getting murdered.

Tags: AM/FM radio, appalachian trail, Appalachian Trail Hiker, Appalachian Trail Murderer, Appalachian Trail murders, Beaver Brook Shelter, big mac, black bears doing tricks, Clark's Trading Post, Dartmouth Outdoors Club, Eliza Brook Shelter, fear, hot fudge sundae, Kinsman Notch, lightning, Lonesome Lake, Lonesome Lake Hut, mcdonalds, McDonalds Big Breakfast, Moosilauke, Mount Moosilauke, night hiking, North Kinsman, parking lot, thru hiker, thru hiking, thunder, trained black bears, Whale's Tale Water Park | Posted in Appalachian Trail | 2 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 40: Mount Washington

Sunday, March 13th, 2011

Me at the summit of Mount Washington, and I'm alive!

Wednesday 7-14-2010
7.1 Miles Hiked, 1845.2 Miles To Springer

I met a NOBO hiker the previous night named Nefus, his name had something to do with being in the Air Force. He was great company and we were the last two thru hikers to leave the hut as no one else was interested in staying for breakfast, or more accurately, no one else wanted to wait around for the guests to eat so that we could then eat and then do dishes and then get back on the trail.

“How come you aren’t in the Air Force anymore?” I asked.

“We were flying somewhere and I got a scrape on my foot while we were grounded. I didn’t think anything of it and it seemed to be healing but then it got really badly infected and it ended up spreading into my bone. They ended up amputating one of my toes and some other bones in my foot. Once the infection gets to the bone there’s no other choice.” He said. “The Air Force doesn’t want anyone with defects either so that’s why I’m not in it anymore, but I loved it when I was.”

“I’m really sorry.” I said.

“Yeah.” He said with a shrug and a smile. “The trail and finishing it has been my rehabilitation.”

“That’s a really cool rehab.” I said.

“I think so too, once I finish I’m thinking about applying to some nursing schools, right now I’m thinking Colorado. ” He said.

Nefus and I spent the rest of breakfast in silence devouring the left over blue berry pancakes and oatmeal with peaches and I chugged the cranberry juice that remained and had a quick couple cups of coffee with cream and sugar.

I ended up back on the trail around 8:45 A.M. and it looked like the clouds might give way to some sun after the thunderstorms that raged last night.

The clouds quickly returned after about ten minutes of sunlight as if to laugh in my face for thinking they would go away and stay away. These weren’t fluffy pretty white clouds either, they were dark ominous ones. It looked like it might start storming any minute, which I believe is the way it always looks when hiking in the White Mountains.

I arrived at Thunderstorm Junction, an area where four different trails, including the A.T. all converge and split off in different directions. The four signs on the old wood post all pointed in different directions but none of them pointed to any of the four trails, they were all slightly off and pointing in between each of the trails.

The A.T. sign pointed in between two of the trails. One of these trails was marked about fifty yards down with another sign that read, “For Appalachia.” I made the immediate, and I would quickly learn unwise assumption that this sign meant it was for Appalachian Trail hikers, it did not mean that, it meant this was for the Appalachia side trail, a different trail then the A.T. altogether. The cairns through this section were topped with white rocks and I assumed those were in place of the standard white blaze used to mark the A.T., wrong again.

I hiked 1.1 miles almost completely straight down before I realized I had gone the wrong way and was now lost. After realizing the terrible mistake I made I looked through my camera photos cause I knew I had taken pictures of a map of this section since I didn’t have an actual map of my own.

I had the option of taking a side trail .6 miles that would connect me back to the A.T. but would also mean I wasn’t technically on the A.T. and would mean that I had skipped a small minuscule section of this mammoth trail which I had set out to hike in its entirety.

This was the moment I realized I was a purest. A purest is the type of dumb, stubborn, and imbecilic hiker who must hike every step of the A.T. because that is why they are here, it isn’t enough for them to simply walk all the way from Maine to Georgia or vice versa, they must make the trek entirely on the A.T. taking no short cuts, easier side trail, or safer alternative routes. I was a purest.

I climbed straight up 1.1 miles to where I had gotten lost in the first place and it immediately became obvious to me which trail was the A.T. once I was back on at the junction. I got back on the trail and the wind began to blow hard.

I was exhausted and pissed that I had added an extra 2.2 miles to my day and it had put me right back where I started. My anxiety rose and rose as the clouds became darker and darker and the wind harsher and harsher. I still had five miles to Mount Washington and if a storm hit there were no trees to hide beneath, and if I did happen to find a cave or large rock to hide under I’d heard that lightning is attracted to caves and cave like crevices in mountainsides so that would only increase my chance of being struck. I pushed on.

I ran into a group of campers who were slightly less bratty than the kids I had shared the hut with last night. They were turning around from their side trail hike because they heard on the radio it was going to be a bad storm today and it was supposed to hit anytime now.

I kept pushing on, scared to death, to the same extent I had been the night before when I was enveloped in clouds. Except today even more so because Mount Washington has such a storied history of hikers disappearing never to be heard from again, it even has a list of the hoards of people who have lost their lives to this wondrous terrifying wilderness. In fact, just days from now I would learn that a young man just a year older than me, who had survived cancer would die after slipping from a ledge and cracking his head open.

I ran into two older men walking in the opposite direction as me who I found out were section hikers.

“How much farther would you say it is from here to the summit?” I asked.

“About three hours.” The fatter of the two men said.

“How’s the weather heading toward the summit?” I asked.

“Looks like this, probably a little more stormy looking, I’d say it’ll surely be storming by the time you get there. If I was you I’d just get your tent fly out and crawl in your sleeping bag, wrap yourself around with the tent fly and find a rock to hide under for the night, cause honestly, I don’t think there’s a chance in hell you make it to Washington before the storm hits and hits hard.” He said, and walked away as though nothing he said would have been terribly upsetting to me.

As if my inner voice of panic and terror that was constantly telling me doom was impending wasn’t enough I now had this fat man’s words to push me over the edge. I was in over drive and thought I might drop dead at the mere sound of thunder.

I began hopping from boulder to boulder and running whenever it was feasible.

As I got about 1.1 miles from Washington I ran into an older couple my parents age and in similar physical condition, which is to say not good physical condition. They told me they were headed to Madison Hut which was 6 miles from where we stood. My panic for my own safety changed to fear for these older people. They instantly became my parents and I would never have wanted them to head out in conditions like this walking at the slow pace they were and in such low visibility. I begged them to turn around and come back toward Washington with me. The man’s wife clearly wanted to, but he insisted he thought they would be fine, after all they had their trash bag ponchos with them.

I realized I was not going to change the man’s mind and my safety once again became my top priority. It had been almost four hours since I’d finished my water, in fact I hadn’t seen flowing a water source since Pinkham Notch. On top of being scared I was getting tired and thirsty.

Up ahead through the mist I heard the sound of a train. The sound of the cog was beautiful, not really, but just beautiful to know I must be close, very close to the top. It was the encouragement I needed for the last stretch to the top. The trail took me straight across the raised tracks of the cog railway. After looking both ways I crossed. The final half mile to the summit of Mt. Washington was a cake walk. When the observation building came into view through the clouds every bit of fear and nervousness drained from my body. Nothing was more comforting then walking through the misty White Mountains and seeing a structure in which you could take cover.

Once in the building like any thru hiker would I headed straight to the cafeteria. I got myself a slice of pepperoni pizza, a bowl of clam chowder, a 20 oz. Sunkist soda and a Nutty Buddy ice cream for desert. Everything was bland and kind of a let down compared to the feasts I’d been enjoying at the huts.

I called Sarah and we got into a fight, well less of a fight and more of a she-hung-up-on-me-for-being-an-insensitive-jerk-and-not-thinking-before-I spoke type of thing.

I had told her about how pretty the girls at Carter Hut were and I guess after not talking to me for two days she did not want any of the conversation to be devoted to how pretty girls who weren’t her were. This was one of the dumber things I think I could have said to her, and I just wasn’t really thinking I guess, and after she hung up I realized I deserved to be hung up on.

It made me sad though, cause I realized I had fucked up today’s conversation, and after fearing for my life the last two days I really just wanted some encouragement from someone I loved, from my biggest fan, but I’d have to be my own cheerleader for at least another day. I tried calling back a few times but to no avail.

I decided I would take away from this that the only girl I would mention anything about to her would be her, she deserved that for standing by me and being there for me through this crazy, dangerous, and yes, selfish journey of mine. This journey was all about me, I knew it, she knew it, and she still said she wanted to support me the whole way through. She deserved the same in return and that was what I would try and give her from now on.

I sat on a bench with my head hung in exhaustion and self pity and looked out at the clouds that surrounded me, a real panoramic of grey and white that would have made even someone who wasn’t down on themselves feel damn depressed.

A NOBO hiker, and older man with white hair and beard named Love-It-Or-Leave-It sat down next to me and offered me an orange. I think he could tell I was feeling down because everything he said was upbeat and positive. He told me that I had done the hardest of the White mountains and that the rest would be a breeze.

It worked, I did feel instantly relieved.

I took this new found hope and bought some post cards and sent them out before I packed my things up and got back on the trail. L-I-O-L-I told me he was spending the night at the Lakes of the Clouds Hut too and had just come up to the tower to see if there was anything interesting. He left and I told him I’d see him down there and hung out up top a few minutes longer.

Just before I left I turned my phone back on and sent Sarah a text. “I’m sorry I upset you. Just because I say someone is pretty or attractive doesn’t mean I think they hold a candle to you. I always have and always will think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world. I’m sorry. I probably won’t be able to call you again until I get to Lincoln which is 40 miles away so two or three days.”

She texted me back, “Good luck I love you very much.” It felt good to know that she was at least not so angry that she was going to ignore me.

I texted in response, “Love and miss you more than you now.”

And she replied, “I just felt bad because I sit here day after day missing you terribly and thinking about you every second and I don’t want to hear about you talking about other girls.”

“Okay I’m sorry.” I said.

“I know, I’m sorry I made you feel bad.” She said, and I left to finish my remaining hike happy that Sarah was still cheering me on.

The 1.5 mile hike from the summit to the Lakes of the Clouds hut was easy and all downhill. Right as I got to the hut I even got a little view as the clouds began to clear and continued to clear for the next hour.

The hut crew was friendly and told me I could do work for stay even though I had arrived at 4:00 P.M. and most crew’s will tell you to keep hiking unless you show up after 4:30 P.M. I was relieved and glad to be done for the day even if I had only made it seven miles, I was just glad to be somewhere I could sleep with a roof over my head and walls around me.

I had some time to kill so I climbed towards Monroe to get some sunset views while all the paying hut guests ate their dinner. The sunset was glorious as the rays broke through the clouds. It looked like what I imagine heaven must be like.

Once dinner was over for the real guests I returned inside to eat the leftovers and there was plenty. It was glazed ham night and the warm meat was a nice break from the tuna in a pouch I had come to depend on for protein the last month and a half. They had a bean soup that was so hearty and so tasty and they had fresh homemade bread that tasted like no bread I’d ever had before.

If there is one item I will say the huts make better than any other it is there homemade bread. Something about bread baked in the White Mountains at the high elevation in the rustic kitchens of those huts can’t be beat or even matched. For dessert I ate a baked apple and some sort of cake with a jam frosting. I was stuffed.

After dinner my work for stay was supposed to be cleaning the grease trap for the stove, which sounded like it would be my worst work for stay yet. Much to my luck, the hut girls, who I will add were far less attractive at this hut had filled all three of the giant sinks with hot water and were bathing in them, four girls in total, and there was not any hot water left for me to do my job. Never have I been so glad to see so many half naked, disgustingly hairy girls, I mean hairier than most men you’d meet on the street or even the trail bathing in the same tubs the dishes I had eaten off were being cleaned in.

Saved from degreasing duty my work for stay became much easier and much less labor intensive. My job was to fill up all the salt, pepper, sugar, creamer, cinnamon, and hot coca containers that were put out at each table during breakfast.

With my work done I walked outside to look at the stars since it had cleared and I turned my phone on to see if I had service. I did.

“Got service at the hut. I just wanted to tell you I love you. Shutting my phone off for the night will text you tomorrow if I get service.” Nothing came in return, I figured she was busy, but I decided to leave my phone on for another half hour in the hopes that I’d get something.

After my work for stay I met some more NOBO’s all people in their fifties or older. There was a woman named Nature, short for Mother Nature’s Daughter and a guy named Frost who was section hiking. Everyone was fairly tired and we didn’t talk much, but in the short time we did Nature informed me that she had thru hiked last year and was thru hiking this year as a result of an accident of sorts.

“Yeah, I thru hiked last year, and then I’m thru hiking this year on accident.” She said.

“How did you start thru hiking this year on accident?” I asked, immediately assuming her to be insane.

“Well, I told a friend who wanted to hike Georgia that I would hike it with them, and then I didn’t stop when they did, I just kept hiking, and kept hiking, and here I am in New Hampshire.” She said as though this was the most normal thing anyone could do.

I feel it is necessary to say there is no such thing as thru hiking on accident. Thru hiking is something that requires effort, planning, toughness, and a mentality that never gives up. If you’re going to thru hike it’s because you have it in you and you want to do it for whatever your reason is, it doesn’t just happen on accident. Sure that’s why she was saying she was out here, but people thru hike for all sorts of reasons and she had to have had another, a real one, but if the one she wanted to sell was “accident,” then I would let her sell it.

Her accidental thru hike made me wonder if by the end of the trail my mind would be so altered, disturbed, and warped that I might ‘accidentally’ hike the trail again next year. I couldn’t see this happening, I am much too level headed, but then again why was I out here in the first place, because of a dream, because I wanted to prove I could, because I thought it would be cool. Maybe it would be so cool by the end it would be all I’d ever want to do. Nah, don’t see it happening. I sure as hell hoped not, cause at this point in my hike I’m not sure my body or mind will make it to the end, let alone make through this whole thing another time.

I decided she must be insane, anyone who hikes the trail more than once must be out of their damn mind.

I set up my sleeping pad and bag on one of the dining room tables. I made sure my head was facing away from the windows after the ghost story I’d heard at Carter Hut and I desperately hoped I would sleep through the night without waking up to a tapping on the window and a ghostly child just behind the glass pointing at me.

My phone vibrated.

“I love you more than life.” Is what I read and I shut my phone off with a smile on my face thinking how lucky I was.

As I closed my eyes and said my usual prayers for family and friends, I added an extra one for myself. I asked that I would get through this thru hike and not become as mentally deranged as some of the thru hikers I had met, or that I would at least still be somewhat the person I was when I started because I’d grown to like that person, to love that person, and the people around me had too, and I was scared of what or who I might become out here in the woods by myself. I was scared I might not like me, or worse that the people I loved might not like me.

Rose – The text from Sarah.

Bud – Getting away from Mount Washington and hoping for clear weather.

Thorn – Having Sarah hang up on me and getting lost and thinking I might die alone…..again.

Tags: appalachian trail, cog railway, crazy people, death, fear, fight, food, girlfriend, hung up, lakes of the clouds hut, lightning, lost, love, mount washington, mount washington observatory, pizza, sleep, storms, thru hiker, thru hiking, thunder | Posted in Appalachian Trail | No Comments »

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 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 »

Night 30: Bored On The 4th Of July

Tuesday, August 3rd, 2010

Thrillbilly and Toofpick jumping across Devil's Den to perform a mid air Hi-Five in honor of the hostel.

Sunday 7-4-2010
0 Miles Hiked, 1932.7 Miles To Springer

It was the Fourth of July and Nightcrawler was making banana nut pancakes and scrambled eggs. The VA brothers, Mt. Goat, and I all had breakfast to celebrate.

The pancakes tasted almost like eating giant soft ginger bread cookies with a hint of banana and filled with crunchy flavorful walnuts. I devoured the three pancakes on my plate and gulped down the coffee that I’d made milky in color with creamer.

Thrillbilly and Toofpick were planning to head back to the trail today but only had a few miles of hiking to get to the shelter they were aiming towards. They were hoping to find an overlook to watch the fireworks from cities down below.

It wad another scorcher. Caretaker suggested that we all head to Devil’s Den to cool down, relax and enjoy the holiday. Since the brothers weren’t in a rush to get to the trail they decided to join us.

There were too many of us to take the four wheelers so we all piled into Caretaker’s car. I sat up front with Caretaker, Mt. Goat, and Lou Dog. Thrillbilly and Toofpick laid on the mattress in the truck bed and by way of car it was only a five minute drive.

The gap and swimming hole were empty, we were the only people there and there weren’t any other cars or fourwheelers when we pulled up. I decided on the car ride I wasn’t going to jump today. I remembered how cold the water was and was just along for the ride and a chance to get out of the RV.

With the car parked we all walked toward the jumping spot. Caretaker didn’t waste any time and was completely naked within our first two minutes there. Mt. Goat followed suit and the brothers opted to keep their Umbro shorts on.

I walked away from the gap to pee, one, because I had to and two, because I was looking for a reason to not have to see Mt. Goat’s and Caretaker’s naked bodies running and airborne as they launched into the air above the gap.

When I returned from the woods Caretaker and Mt. Goat were both swimming in the gap. Just as they started climbing up the rock face of the canyon, still bare naked, two overweight men wearing trucker hats walked up to where we were.

Caretaker was climbing up the side of the canyon his clothes were on and quickly grabbed his clothes and got dressed. Mt. Goat was unfortunately halfway up the other side of the canyon when the two men arrived, halfway up the side of the canton his clothes weren’t on. He had trouble getting up the rock face which was made more embarrassing by the fact that he was naked. People should know that almost no one looks good climbing up awkward rocks naked. Once he got to the top he jumped off back into the canyon and climbed up the other side where his clothes were and finally got dressed.

The obese men didn’t turn away or walk away. They just stood there and watched the whole thing play out. I was uncomfortable, but Mt. Goat was probably the most uncomfortable.

With Mt. Goat and Caretaker clothed and the obese men gone the Harrisonburg brothers seemed more comfortable and were ready to jump. Each of them jumped from the side you had to run from and then climbed back out.

“You guys should each get on one side, jump across and high five in the middle, I’ve never seen anyone do that.” Caretaker said.

Thrillbilly was reluctant but Toofpick convinced him to do it. They got to their respective sides ran forward jumped, missed the high five, but almost slammed heads and fell into the gap. Even though they missed each other it was still pretty awesome.

After their jump we loaded back into Caretakers car and I tried to erase the image of his large white ass from my mind.

When we got back to the hostel Toofpick was a little bummed because not only had he lost his toothpick in the tandem jump, he’d lost his Shaw’s baseball cap too.

“If it shows up I’ll send it to you.” Caretaker said. “Until then you can take this.” He says as he handed him his own baseball cap.

“That’s you’re favorite hat.” Nightcrawler said.

“I know but I’m sure it’ll make it’s way back to me once they finish the trail.” Caretaker said.

“I can’t take your favorite hat.” Toofpick said.

“Sure you can, I insist.” Caretaker said.

Toofpick reached out and took the hat humbled by Caretakers generosity. He and his brother grabbed their packs and headed down the road looking to hitch a ride back to the trail.

The rest of the day passed slowly. I went with Caretaker on a couple rides into town but didn’t end up buying anything. The day was completely uneventful and it didn’t seem like the fourth without my family and friends and without the usual neighborhood gathering.

That afternoon Nightcrawler made some awesome chili dogs with the left over moose chili she had and she poked my plate with tortilla chips. The chili dog put me a little more in the fourth spirit, but it still didn’t feel right.

I lazed away the time between lynch and dinner and just sat around the RV wishing I could either be home or back to hiking.

Caretaker came knocking on the RV door. “You want to go to the general store I need to stop in and pick up a few things for Nightcrawler.” He said.

“I’d live to come along. Are Mt. Goat and Loudog coming?” I asked.

Before he could answer I saw them getting in the front seat.

At the general store I bought a pint of moose tracks ice cream and put in the freezer to save for a post fourth dinner celebratory desert or maybe just as a post dinner depression medication.

Nightcrawler outdid herself again and made chicken kabobs, rice, and an fresh Mediterranean salad that I dosed with her homemade dressing that if she ever bottled and sold would make her rich, her dressing kicks Paul Neuman’s ass.

After dinner we all sat around the table and loosened our belts and Nightcrawler began preparing the surprise desert she was making. It was a strawberry shortcake.

“Caretaker, I need some strawberry cheesecake ice cream to go with the desert, it’s so much better with the cheesecake than the vanilla.” She said.

“Okay I can go to the store.” He said.

“How bout You guys relax and I’ll go get it.” I said.

“Oh, thanksTiny Tim.” Nightcrawler said.

Nightcrawler put the shortcake mix in the oven and Mt. Goat and I headed back to the RV.

“I’ll bring you guys out some when it’s done.” Nightcrawler said.

As has become my nightly routine with whatever hikers are there for the night we opened up the RV laptop and pulled up netflix.

“How bout you choose tonights movie.” I said to Mt. Goat.

“Sweet.” He said.

“They’ve got fucking Dreamscape. I’ve been meaning to see that movie for so long, we gotta watch it.” He said.

“What’s Dreamscape?” I asked.

“It’s a movie that was made in the eighties starring Dennis Quaid. He’s like a psychic or some shit who can go into peoples dreams, it looks mad cool.” He said.

About ten minutes into the movie I realized is was neither mad cool and not even remotely good. It may have been the worst movie I’d ever seen and I didn’t have to tell Mt. Goat that, he readily admitted it was a bad choice.

The only thing redeeming the whole movie experience was Nightcrawler knocking on the door holding two giant bowls of strawberry shortcake covered in strawberry cheesecake ice cream.

Nightcrawler stuck around to finish her desert with us while the movie ended and she too acknowledged how bad it was. Mt. Goat felt but for what he put us all through.

Sarah called just as the movie was ending so I immediately jumped at the chance to get out of the RV to talk to her and away from the nightmare they was Dreamscape.

She told me about her fourth weekend at the beach and by the time we said goodnight the movie was over and Mt. Goat and Loudog were headed back to the big orange box.

I got back on the RV and thought only about how much I wanted to be out of Maine and back home in Virginia.

Rose – Strawberry shortcake.
Bud – Getting more healed.
Thorn – Seeing Caretaker naked and Dreamscape.

Tags: 1776, andover, appalachian trail, big orange box, conex, family crest, fireworks, fourth of july, independence day, july fourth, maine, rv, sprained ankle, tatoo, thru hiker, thru hiking, united states of america | Posted in Appalachian Trail | No Comments »

Appalachian Trail Hiker

Posts Tagged ‘thru hiking’

Night 44: Pink Wine At The End Of The Whites

Night 43: Night Hiking Mousilauke and Dreaming of McDonalds

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

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

Night 40: Mount Washington

Night 35: Mahoosuc Notch, Not So Bad

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

Night 30: Bored On The 4th Of July

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Posts Tagged ‘thru hiking’

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Appalachian Trail

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