It happens every year.

I take my last backpacking trip in late October or early November. I say to myself, last trip till Spring…

And I mean it, when I say it.

I go on with my life. The busy holidays in December. The short, but cold and dreary days of January. And then it gets to be February. The days begin to get longer. There will be a mild weekend. And I get the itch. And it won’t go away.

Next thing you know, I’m packing my pack; wearing layer over layer of clothing; getting ready to go out backpacking in sub-freezing weather. This invariably leads to huddling in a sleeping bag, shivering, hoping to make it through the night with out having my extremities fall off.

Well, maybe it’s not quite that bad. But it gets cold. In this day and age, most of us just ignore cold. Cold is something we endure between the house and the car. And again from the car to inside of an office building, or grocery store, or whatever. But when you are out in it, with no where to go in to, it is a different thing. A persistent force to be reckoned with.

As I type this, my pack is packed and I have several layers of clothes laid out. I’m going backpacking. Tomorrow will get up to about freezing. On Sunday it will be warmer, in the high 30s, of course it will probably rain. Guessing the weather is aways hard. The mountains, even small mountains (like the ones we’ll be hiking this weekend,) keep their own weather. But I don’t think it’s gonna be pretty.

I don’t care. I can’t wait till late March. I’ve the itch. I need to get out there and be away from everything else. Even the huddling and shivering is therapeutic. It’s not much fun while it happens, but when you get back to work and deal with the everyday annoyances, they don’t seem so bad.

At least that is what I’m telling myself tonight. Monday, when I get back, I may have a different story to tell.

A tale of two hikers.

7:36 AM

We pull in to a gravel parking lot and begin to get our packs ready for a 3 day hike that would take us from Blue Mountain (just southeast of Palmerton, Pennsylvania) to the Delaware Water Gap; where the Delaware River cuts through Kittinany Mountain at the PA-NJ Line. After some last minute adjustments and finishing our coffees; we start walking north on the Appalachian Trail.

Northbound would actually be more accurate. The Appalachian Trail stretches from Springer Mountain in Georgia to Mount Katahdin in Maine. Maine is obviously north of Georgia, but it is also considerably east of Georgia. The stretch of trail we plan to walk on actually runs West to East.

7:57 AM

I sit down on a rock to catch my breath and wait for dad. We’d only walked a half mile or so, but we had climbed nearly 400 feet. Like much of the trail in Pennsylvania, the climb was extremely rocky, not so much a trail but stepping from boulder to boulder. The mountain was covered in a thick fog this morning and visibility was limited. After a few minutes, Dad caught up. He didn’t sit down.

“Are you good or do you need minute?”
“I’m ready.”

We start walking. To our left, the trees opened up and an exposed outcropping of rock jutted out over the side of the ridge. Beyond the rocks there was nothing to see but swirling white mist. “Beautiful view,” I note to Dad before moving on.

The next time I would see my dad, he will be standing on crutches.

8:07 AM

After a stretch of trail that was more rock than trail, the trail improves. I pick up my pace to take advantage of the improved terrain. The trail dips and then climbs and eventually levels out at 1500 feet or so. The weather is gloomy, but the walking is good.

8:09 AM

Dad walks across a rocky section of trail, ahead he can see a better stretch of trail. He comes to a large boulder, it had a flat surface but was angled relatively steeply. He considers going around briefly, but instead steps on the boulder.

The difference between tragedy and trivia is so small that sometimes its hard to find at all. It’s difficult to accept that what will occur hundreds of times without incident, will occur another time with serious repercussion.

As he steps on the boulder one foot slips, he slips two, maybe three feet. His other foot, however, remains firmly in place. His left foot ended up laying next to his hip. Although he had felt a stab of pain when he fell, he isn’t in any pain as he lays there. He tries to lift his left leg, but it simply doesn’t respond. He calls out for help, but no one answered.

He picks his left leg up with his hands and moves it to a more natural position. He tries to stand up, but the left leg still isn’t responding.

8:12 AM

The trail is level and in good condition. I can’t believe it. Pennsylvania has a reputation for being rocky and treacherous. I had walked, at one point another, every step of the AT in Pennsylvania except for this stretch and had experienced the what seemed like every kind of rocky trail possible. I had expected this section to be as bad or worse than any of the others, yet the walking is easy and I am making excellent time. It looks like luck is on our side.

8:14 AM

Dad sees that his knee is beginning to swell rapidly. He rearranges himself so that he can lean on his pack and elevate the knee.

8:19 AM

I stop for a drink of water. I estimate that I’ve walked about mile since I’d stopped at the top of the climb.

8:27 AM

The swelling has gone down, but it is becoming increasing clear that this isn’t a problem that is going to get better by itself. Dad pulls his cell phone out of his pack and dials my number. It goes to my voicemail.

“Jeckles, if you get this message you may want to turn around. I’m in need of some assistance.”

He hangs up the phone. He knows that my phone would be turned off to conserve battery and that I’d have no reason to check it. It is unlikely that anyone was going to find him and even if they did, they wouldn’t be able to move him anyway. He needs help. He dials 911 and explains his situation. The 911 dispatcher took the information and says that the search and rescue operation will start immediately.

8:36 AM

I stop to take a drink. The trail is good, the walking is easy and I feel great.

8:42 AM

Ed, a 12 month employee of nearby Blue Mountain Ski Lodge, finds my dad. He radioes the others searching for him and soon they are putting a make shift immobilizer, made of cardboard on his knee. They bring a gurney and proceed to put him in it. They then begin to discuss the best way to get him off the mountain.

“You guys are gonna have fun carrying this 220 pound body off the mountain.” jokes Dad.
“What? How much did you say?”
“220 pounds.”
“That’s a shame, our limit is 219. Let’s go fellows, nothing we can do here.” retorts one of the rescuers.

9:02 AM

Five good old boys carry Dad on the gurney on the AT till they reach a clear cut that allows power lines to run to the ski lodge. They tie a rope to the gurney and slowly lower it down the steep slope that is the side of the ridge.

9:34 AM

After being lowered, Dad is put in the bed of a pick truck. They drive down a gravel road to the waiting ambulance.

10:15 AM

Dad is admitted to the ER at Palmerton Hospital. He is one of two patients.

10:37 AM

I take off my pack to take a break. I’ve walked just over five miles and there is supposed to a spring near here. I eat trail mix and jerky, while looking at the map. I estimate that we will arrive at the shelter around 2:00 PM.

11:02 AM

I’ve snacked and I feel rested, yet dad hasn’t shown up yet. He should have been here by now. I decide that if he doesn’t show soon, I will backtrack and see if he isn’t stopped some where behind me.

11:04 AM

The Carbon County 911 dispatcher tries to contact me on my cell. Volunteers coordinted by the Fire Chief attempt to locate me on the trail. They don’t know my exact location, but Dad has helped them to narrow it down to a ten mile stretch of trail, between where he fell and the shelter we planned to camp at.

11:21 AM

I grab my trekking poles, but leave my pack, and start back tracking. I reason that maybe Dad has stopped for to take a break somewhere behind me. I walk a mile without any sign of me. There is no longer any doubt in my mind, something is wrong. Dad is hurt or lost.

I fight down the panic and the urge to sprint down the trail that comes with it. My backpack, which has my cell phone and my car keys in it is a mile in the other direction. I decide that I will need, in all likelihood my keys and phone, so I turn around and walk back to my pack.

11:56

I return to my pack and immediately get my phone and turn it on. I check my voicemail first and hear Dad’s message. I hang up and try to call him but there is no answer. I leave message to tell him that I am on my way.

That panicky feeling begins to rise again, his call was from 8:27 he’s been hurt and alone for over three hours. Leaving my phone powered on,I strap on my pack and begin to walk as fast as I can. Before I’ve gone a half mile, I misstep and painfully roll my ankle. I fight down the panic, telling myself that I can’t help anyone if I hurt myself.

12:02 PM

The ER doctor gets the X-rays back. Dad has separated the tendon that connects his patella to his femur.

12:09 PM

I’ve walked a mile and still see no sign of Dad. I fairly certain he must be near where I had last seen him, but I have no idea what his condition is. I stop and try to call again. Still no answer. I call my voicemail again hoping to pick up some detail I had missed in his message. I discover that there is a second message.

“Mr Jeckles, this is Carbon County 9 1 1. When you get this message please call 9 1 1!”

I feel a sense of relief that 911 is aware to the situation, while at the same time it confirms my fears that Dad is injured, perhaps severely.

After a few attempts I am able to connect to 911. The operator seems to be aware of our situation and transfers me to Carbon County 911. The dispatcher informs me that dad has “wrenched” his knee and is at Palmerton Hospital. He believes that they will release him soon. He wants me to get off the mountain so that they get me to my father.

I tell him that my truck is about four miles from my location and that I can get there in about 2 hours. The 911 dispatcher would like me to be off the mountain, sooner than later. After a brief discussion, I help him pinpoint my location. I’m near a clear cut for a large set of powerlines crossing the mountain. He asks me to follow the powerlines down the north side of the ridge. He’ll have the Fire chief meet me at the road at the bottom of the ridge.

I follow a rough ATV track down the slope. Before I’ve gone far, the Fire Chief calls my phone. He confirms that he will meet me at the bottom. He says that it will take him 30 minutes to get there and that he will lose signal as he drives down the mountain. He will call me when he arrives.

12:15 PM

The trail I had been following ends. I start bushwack down the side of the ridge. This section is extremely steep and very overgrown. I consider calling 911 and telling them that I can’t go down this way, but in a funny way, I don’t want t let them down. So I push on. I can see below where another ATV trail picks up, I just need to get past the steep descent.

The further I go, the mover overgrown it gets. I slip and fall several times. I now know I should not have proceeded this way, but I’m too far down to go back. I have no choice, I’m committed. As I near the end of this steep section, the Fire Chief calls. They’ve spotted me and they are sending a local up with a “four wheeler” to meet me. All I can pitcure is myself strapped to the back of an ATV, but I don’t argue, I’m exhausted.

12:39 PM

I reach the bottom of the steep descent and begin to walk down the ATV trail. My legs are shaking from the exertion of the climb down to this point. I am bloody from countless little cuts from the brambles I made my way through. And I am luck that I didn’t hurt myself worse going down that slope.

I don’t walk far before I see an old Ford Ranger spring from the tree line. I throw my pack in the bed and hop in for a hair raising ride down the side of the mountain.

12:46 PM

We reach the road and I get out. The Fire Chief is waiting for us. He shakes my hand and looks me over. He apparently decides I’m okay.

“So… you guys drove all the way from Maryland to walk on a trail on this mountain?”

I have no doubt that he has no idea what the extent of Appalachian Trail really is, even though he lives within a few miles of it.

He drives me to my truck, and then I follow him to the hospital.

1:05 PM

After a little re-arranging, we get my dad situated in the back seat of the truck and begin the four hour drive home.

He will need surgery to put his knee cap back where it belongs, but he’ll be fine.

I went backpacking. Again. I know, it’s almost boring. It was a great weekend.

I’m sure its just me being paranoid, but as the end of Dubya’s term gets closer, I keep waiting for some one to announce that they are extending his term indefinitely, citing terrorist threats and what not.

Thanks Monty, Mango and WK for sponsoring me in the blogathon. You can sponsor me too. Dammit.

Two weeks till training camp starts. I can’t wait.

I got a promotion at work. I am now, officially, a Network Engineer. But you can still call me Jeckles.

I’ve changed my gym routine around a bit. I’ve added more emphasis to muscle training. I’ve also added protein shakes to my diet. I’m seeing good results.

Shitty Blog Radio is stupid. My mother has never listened to it. (And this is a good thing.) But for some reason she keeps telling everyone in my extended family about it. I spent an uncomfortable 15 minutes yesterday, trying to explain to my nice Christian cousins what is I do on the internet radio. Maybe my mom should listen. I bet she’d stop telling family about it.

Shitty Blog Survivor is even dumber.

And now my lunch break is over.

When planning a backpacking a trip, I always look at a detailed map of where I will be hiking. I look for places that we camp, taking into account the distance between camping spots, and the amount of climbs in any given stretch of trail. But sometimes, the map just doesn’t have enough information.

The map indicated that after Marble Springs, we would have a 500 foot ascent up High Cock Knob. It showed that the climb would be steep in a few spots, but really it didn’t look bad. The map doesn’t, however, show trail condition or take into account the heat and sun.

The trail up High Cock Knob started out okay. I was able to ascend 300 feet, to an altitude of 2500 feet according to the altimeter in my watch, without any problems. The trail became rockier and much steeper. At the same time the sun was now directly over head and the temperature was above 80 degrees Fahrenheit. The canopy was getting much thinner, and it was obvious that I was getting sunburned on my arms and face. I kept going, but my pace slowed to a crawl as the trail got much steeper. Slowly, using my willpower to force one foot to step in front of the other, I proceed up over rocks until I finally reached the summit. Over an hour had passed since I had left Marble Springs. This climb had taken much longer than it should have.

I found a rock to sit on and drank the bottle of water I had carried up with me. The water bladder in pack was now empty too. The summit was beautiful, but I felt too hot and exhausted to care. I put on my wide brimmed hat to keep the sun off my face, and started walking again.

The descent was as bad as the climb had been, slow going over rocky trail. The day was only getting hotter, and I was getting tired. I was beginning to get concerned, I still had over 5 miles to walk. The descent ended at Petites Gap, and now I was faced with a 1200 foot ascent up Thunder Ridge

The trail up this ridge was better and the walking went easier, but I was hot. There was no shade, my arms were turning a brilliant shade of red and there wasn’t any relief in sight, as the sun was still nearly directly overhead. Eventually, I reached a spring on the side of the ridge. I took of my pack and filled a bottle with water, I sat on a rock that almost let my arms be in the shade. When I had finished with the water, I refilled the bottle and drank it’s contents again. The temperature was now close to 90 degrees, and it was nearly 4 o’clock. Instead of being at the shelter, as I had believed, I was till over 3 miles away with a lot of climbing left to do.

I have to assume, that I had the beginnings of heat exhaustion at this point. As I write this, I know that I should have taken the bladder out of my pack and filled it. I know that I should have changed in to the long sleeved camp shirt that was in my pack. But sitting there on the side of the mountain, in the heat, I thought about these things and decided against them. The idea of digging through my pack seemed to hard. I didn’t want to lose anymore time than I already had, yet I still sat at the spring for nearly 30 minutes. I also didn’t want to add the weight to my pack that a full bladder would have added. These things which make so much sense now, I could not think clearly about at that time.

After finishing a 3rd bottle of water and clipping a fourth bottle to my pack, I started walking again. Instead of feeling refreshed, I still felt beat. My muscles were tired of climbing. I tried to walk at an even pace, but I found myself stopping after just a few steps. I’d have to make myself start walking again, just to find that after a few steps, I had stopped again. It went on like this till I had reached the top of the ridge.

The trail leveled out a bit and I was able to walk at a slow but steady pace. I pushed on till I came to a road crossing, the Blue Ridge Parkway. I checked my map, and saw that I had about a mile to go. I wondered about Shutter, who I hadn’t seen since I had left Marble Springs six hours ago. I considered waiting for him at this point, but I decided if he was feeling even worse than me, I wouldn’t be able to help him much sitting here exhausted. I decided to push on, get to the end and if he didn’t show up I would go looking for him.

Between me and the shelter at this point, was one last climb, about 500 feet to put us over 4000 feet of elevation. On the map, it appeared that 300 of those feet had to be climbed in less than a quarter of a mile. As we had looked at the map, we had dubbed that last unnamed ridge, the Fuck You. As in, “you are almost to the end, but Fuck You, you have to climb this.” It lived up to its appellation.

As soon as the trail started to ascended, I again slowed to nearly a crawl, taking a few steps and stopping. I finally got to the top of the Fuck You, and sat on a log and caught my breath. After a few minutes, I pushed on. When I arrived at the shelter it was after 7 o’clock.

I ate a big snack and drank a liter of Gatorade. I set up my tent, and tossed my gear inside of it. There was still no sign of Shutter. When he hadn’t shown up by 8 o’clock, I grabbed my trekking poles and headed back the way I had come on the trail. I felt better for having rested, the snack and drink had helped and the temperature had gone down. I didn’t have to walk far to find him. I saw him at the base of the Fuck You.

“Dude!”
“Dude. I’m off the trail.”
“What do you mean?”
“My legs are cramped, I can hardly walk. I feel like shit.”
“Let me take your pack.”

I carried his pack up the Fuck You, and to the shelter. He followed at a very slow pace. By the time we got to the shelter it was nearly 9 o’clock. Thirteen hours had passed since he had set out that morning.

I made myself some dinner and drank some tea. Earl Grey, hot. The wind had picked up and was gusting across the ridge, there wasn’t much point in staying up, so I crawled into my tent and fell asleep quickly.

We both slept in the next morning. I felt much better, but Shutter still felt awful, his legs were still cramping. He was dehydrated. After a bit of discussion, we decided we had to get him off the trail. We walked back to the Blue Ridge Parkway, and made a few calls.

Our trip was done. I could have gone on by myself, but two things stopped me. First, 9 days is a long time to be alone. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to endure that. Secondly, even though I didn’t feel as bad as my friend, I still had a pretty bad sunburn and had pushed myself very hard. I didn’t want to find myself alone and exhausted and wanting to get off the trail in a day or two. If I was going home, this was the time.

The trip may have ended early, but that climb will stick with me.

I was so excited about being started on my big hike, that I climbed the first stretch using nothing but adrenaline, I think. But the climbing continued. I soon set into a good stride and was making great time. I took in views of the James River Gorge and was amazed at the thought of a river slowly cutting it’s was through a mountain range. I also took note at the changes that came with increased elevation.

Many of the changes are subtle, but they are there if you look. The Rhododendrons that had been in bloom at the beginning of my hike were only showing buds by 2000 feet. The vegetation was thinner in general, especially the leaves on the old hard woods that cover these mountains. Over the course of the day, I went from walking under a lush green canopy at 700 feet to bare limbs with only the hint that a leaf would someday be there at 4000 feet.

The day was going to be a challenging one and we knew that going in. We would be gaining over 300 feet of elevation over the course of the day, but actually climbing much more that that. The day broke into 5 climbs; a 1000 foot climb out of Matt’s Creek Hollow to Big Cove Branch, another 800 foot climb that would bring us up on a ridge and then to Marble Spring, a 600 foot climb up High Cock Knob and the 600 feet back down to Petites Gap, an 1100 foot climb up Thunder Ridge, and finally a 700 foot ascent to the shelter.

I reached Big Cove Branch and took off my pack and grabbed my water pump and two 32 ounce Nalgene bottles. I pumped water from the stream into the bottles. The pump is actually a filter against microorganisms and other nastiness, a necessity when all of your water comes from unprotected sources. I took the bottles and sat in the shade and proceeded to ‘camel up.’

There is a school of thought that believes that the best defense against dehydration is to get more water than you need in you before you actually need it, not unlike a camel storing water in its hump. Then as your body needs the water it can absorb it from your stomach to the cells that need it. Also this means that you aren’t carrying the weight of the water on your pack, only to drink it after your body already needs it. They say that by the time you feel thirsty, you are already beginning to dehydrate.

I sat in the shade and drank the contents of both 32 ounce bottles. I clipped the bottles and the pump to my pack and started walking again. In addition to ‘cameling up,’ I also had a water bladder in my pack that I was able to sip water from a tube as I walked. I sipped sparingly knowing that the hottest part of the day was still ahead of me.

Again I climbed. Finally I reached the ridgeline at an elevation of over 2500 feet. As the trail leveled out, I picked up my pace to take advantage of the easier walking. After a mile or so of walking I saw Capt. Shutter for the first time since early that morning. It was now about noon, the sun was nearly directly overhead and shade was scarce. We stopped and reviewed the map. We weren’t quite halfway, but we did seem to be on pace to make it to the shelter at a reasonable time. We decided to walk another mile or so to Marble Spring and have lunch there.

It didn’t take long to get to Marble Spring. I sat on a fallen tree to make my lunch, while Shutter wandered down to the spring to get water. I mixed tuna from a foil pack with mayo and relish from single serving packs and put it on a tortilla. It was delicious, but messy. I made a mental note to just eat the tuna in the foil pack and have the tortilla on the side on the next day. I went down to the spring and filled 2 bottle and drank them.

Haven eaten and ‘cameled up,’ I felt ready to to tackle the rest of the hike. I left Shutter to preparing his lunch and headed out, guessing that I would be at the shelter in three or four hours.

A huge trip is what I planned. What I got was a long climb. And that’s okay.

We drove hundreds of miles and for hours. We left Shutter’s car in small parking lot by the side of the road outside of some small Virginia town. He threw his gear in my truck and we continued to head southwest.

We drove up a mountain on winding back roads. We reached the top, there waiting for us was our ’shuttle.’ We had arranged, via email, for him to meet us here and take to the beginning of our hike. We put our packs in the trunk of his car and headed out, leaving my truck on top of the mountain.

We drove for miles, over a hundred. We finally reached the James River Foot Bridge. We retrieved our packs and paid him for his trouble. He drove off, leaving us ready to hit the trail. Or you could say, he took all of our money and left us in the middle of nowhere.
I guess it all depends how you look at it. Watching that distance pass had made me start to doubt whether I could really go that far. I was really questioning if I could walk the last 5 days by myself, it seemed to be just too much.

We hit the trail and headed south. It was hotter than we expected, in 90’s, but we only had 2 miles to walk. Before very long we had reached the Matt’s Creek Shelter.

We set up our tents, but left the rain flies packed. We cooked dinner and relaxed, enjoying the beautiful weather and the quiet of the woods. After a while we retreated to our tents and slept, knowing that we had a very big climb the next day.

A big climb isn’t really accurate. We had to climb from an elevation of 700 feet above sea level to over 4000 feet over the course of 12.5 miles. It is not a simple ascent up a single mountain, but a series of climbs of several mountains resulting in a total of more than 6000 feet of climbing.

Shutter was up early and already eating his breakfast before I crawled out of my tent. I felt good. It was a beautiful morning and I was on the trail! I cooked myself a breakfast of scrambled eggs and grits with a large cup of coffee. By the time I was done eating Shutter was packed up and ready to go. He headed off up the side of the mountain.

My feelings of apprehension from the day before had evaporated. I felt great and it felt good being in the woods again, and I was looking forward to the trip.

I packed up my gear, finished my coffee and headed out on the Trail.

11 days. An ambitious plan. I knew that it was extremely possible that I would not complete the whole trip. And I was at peace with that.

I did, however, think that I would make it further than this.

Details to follow.

For now, I am home a week earlier than I expected to be. I still have next week off, but I am seriously considering going to work. I mean what’s the point of taking Vacation Days just to sit around the house?

Still, I feel refreshed. I got some time off work and spent some time in the woods. These things are important to me.

The backpacking is something I need to think hard about. Be able to walk the Appalachian Trail from beginning to end is a goal I have had for a long time now. And I’ve been working towards being able to complete that goal. Every time I turn down a donut or cookie; every step on the treadmill and stair-stepper is towards that goal. And I’ve done well, but it has left me in a situation that I hadn’t considered before.

While I have prepared myself for this, most of my hiking/camping buddies are not physically or mentally prepared for this. I think that, realistically, if I want to be able to do a long section hike, I will have to do it alone.

I don’t like alone. I don’t care for it one bit. I’ve had times in my life of terrible loneliness. I never feel teh need or desire for long stretches of solitude. I enjoy leaving the world behind when I go backpacking, but I like a companion or two to enjoy it with.

This is a contradiction that I will have to deal with.

I feel that, on some level, maybe it would be healthy for me to come to terms with the solitude. To find a way live quietly with myself, to help me to appreciate the company of others more. But being alone in the woods for several days is a hard thing for to do. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m not talking about being a hermit or anything. This time of year, there are several hikers on the AT. I would not be completely isolated, but I would be alone.

This is something I will have to think on for a while. I may sneak out and take a weekend trip by myself and see how it feels, see if this is something I can do.

To be able to do this alone will take a new level of mental toughness, and quite honestly, I don’t know if I am ready for that.

Backpacking.

Need I say more? We went backpacking. Me and three guys from work: Shutter, our Sr. Network Analyst, and a Jr. Technician. On the trail I call Shutter ‘Dead Weight.’ The firewall admin is the WAN-Man. Grayson, the tech didn’t have a trail name, but one usually presents itself.

He’d gone with us once before. He carried almost no supplies, just a very small tent, a lightweight sleeping bag, and an old school backcountry stove. We razzed the shit out of him for carrying so little, but it was August— You can get away with that in August. This trip was something different. The forecast called for a Nor’easter. Rain and wind would sweep in from the west, and if that wasn’t enough when the storm hit the ocean it would pick up energy and draw cold air from the north. High winds, rain and snow would come back across the mountains from the east.

We discussed canceling the trip. Grayson said no way… he was fearless! We decided to give it it a go, but with the understanding that we wouldn’t walk far on Saturday. If the weather was bad Saturday night in to Sunday, we would go back to the car, otherwise we would walk 14 miles or so to the next campsite.

Saturday morning we met at my house, it was overcast, but not too windy or cold. It actually was decent weather for hiking. We packed up and headed north. We left my truck at the ‘end’ and piled into the WAN-Man’s little Subaru. we drive 30 miles south to the ‘beginning.’

We started out on a blue-blazed trail that would take us up the mountain to join the Appalachian Trail. We climbed the mountain for a mile and found the AT. We set out looking for a good place to camp. Before we’d walked another mile, we found one.

We set up our tents and sat on the fallen trees that some hiker from years past had arranged around a small fire circle.

“Weather’s not too bad.”
“Just wait…”
“Yeah, look over there.”
“Shit, those clouds look ugly.”
“No worries, I’ve got my fleece pants and jacket to wear if it gets too cold, plus my waterproofs.”
“Me too.”
“I brought my snow pants, I won’t be cold.”
“I’ve got what I’m wearing.”

We all turned and looked at Grayson. He was wearing UnderArmour ColdGear pants and shirt, camp pants, a shirt and a fleece jacket.

“What are you going to do when it gets colder?”
“You do know it is going to cold…”
“and windy!”
“I’m fine. I don’t get cold.”
“Come on man, it’s not like you can go ‘inside’ and warm up.”
“I’ll just to my tent and get in my sleeping bag.”
“What is it rated?”
“45 degrees.”
“Shit. It’s 45 degrees now…”
“You are clueless.”

I looked at my friends and I looked at Grayson.

“Fucking Bear Bait,” I said. The other two burst out laughing. He just looked at me. I explained that we didn’t have to fear bears, with his lack of preparation the bears would undoubtedly go for him first.

We cooked dinner and talked trash about people at work. We had a good time.

The sky grew darker as the clouds moved in from the southwest and the temperature dropped. Each of us added layers, except Bear Bait, of course. We started cleaning up and getting our gear ready for the night, trying to be sure everything would stay dry. We hung our food from a tree. (First we had to get Bear Bait to take the midnight snacks out of his backpack and put them in his food bag.)

“See. Bear Bait.”
“Come on man. I’m not even cold either!”
“Polar Bear Bait!”

We waited for the rain. It started around sunset. We went to our respective tents. I changed out of my clothes and into my fleece pants and jacket. I climbed into my ‘15 degree’ bag. After a while I fell asleep, nice and warm, to the sound of rain gently falling on my tent.

I awoke in the middle of the night to hear the raining falling in sheets and the wind roaring in gusts out of the valley and up on the ridge we were on. I did a quick check and saw that my tent and gear were dry and went back to sleep.

I woke up sometime right before dawn. I’m not used to going to sleep that early. The wind was still gusting and the rain still falling. I got out of my bag and changed back into my layers for waking. I took my camp pants and put them in a ziplock bag to keep them dry for later. I started packing up my stuff. Once everything, but then tent I was sitting in, was packed, I put on my boots and ventured out.

It was cold and rainy. The wind was still gusting. But it wasn’t really worse than other weather I had hiked in. The real concern was what would happen through the day and that night.

As the others woke up, we discussed our options: go on or bail. Shutter’s tent had let some water in and he was concerned about not being able to get it dry enough. Bear Bait was ready to go on, but he was shivering. The WAN-Man did fine through the night, but he had concerns about walking in the cold and rain all day. He said let’s not be stupid. Let’s bail.

So it was decided. I packed up my tent and put my pack together. When everyone was packed we started on the trail, back the way we came. As I was walking, I found my stride and was walking very comfortably. As I walked, I realized that this was no worse than many other days that I had spent on the trail. I stopped and waited for the others to catch up.

I proposed that we go on. We’d all, except Bear Bait, walked in worse. Shutter considered it and decided that since we had a shelter dry out in, he’d be okay. Grayson, Bear Bait, was all for it. He felt warmer now that he was walking. All eyes were on the WAN-Man.

“There are a few things to consider. First of all, what he is wearing is all he has…” he said, nodding towards Grayson.

I looked at Grayson. He fleece wasn’t going to keep water out much longer, he camp pants were already soaked. If he couldn’t change into dry clothes at the shelter, he risked Hypothermia. And his sleeping bag wasn’t rated anywhere near warmer enough for him to be able to just sleep in that, with out his clothes.

“You’re right. He’ll fucking die. Sorry Bear Bait, we need to bail so you don’t die!”
“Fine use me as a scapegoat, if that helps.”
“Ask me about hypothermia some day.”

We headed back to the Subaru, and drove back to my truck. We stopped for a big breakfast, and headed home in the rain.

That’s what the tell me.

Snow, hurricane force winds, rain and other fearful stuff.

This, of course should have tipped you off that we had planned our fisrt backpacking trip of the season for this weekend.

No. We did not cancel it. Because… well… Capt. Shutter is insane. And our young hiking buddy, who I’ll call Bear Bait for now, is too young and dumb to know better. Actually, he pronounced himself as ‘fearless.’ And that leaves the WAN-Man and me. And I guess we weren’t going to be shone up by these younger guys.

So I’m packed. My new ‘light-weight’ pack has so much shit lashed to it, that it kind of defeats the purpose.

Wet, cold, windy.

This is dumb.

I’ll take pictures.

Stay tuned.

And if this does mange to turn into a blizzard. And you turn on the news and hear about 4 foolish backpackers stranded in Central Pennsylvania. That’s not us. It’s four other guys.

Have a great weekend, slackers.

I’m back.

I went camping. Not backpacking, but car camping.

Car camping is so different. We had so much stuff. A big old stove, a propane lantern, a cooler, camp chairs! The funny thing is, compared to the other car campers we were roughing it. We hardly had any stuff compared to most of them. But when you compare it to backpacking, we were living like kings.

Shutter and I took his kid and my younger child out for an overnight camping trip. We had fun, but I have to admit I prefer camping with out the kids. I’m a jerk like that I guess. Don’t get me wrong, I had a good time and I’ll do it again.

Chasing kids around saying, “keep your hat on, keep your gloves on, don’t touch that” isn’t exactly a vacation for me. But I didn’t take my kid camping so I could get a vacation. My parents took us camping every year. I must ahve been about six months old on my first camping trip. Looking back on it, I suppose that economics had a lot to do with it. It is a hell of lot cheaper to go camping than go to Disneyland.

The result was that I (and my brothers too, I think) grew up with an appreciation for the outdoors. Many of my fondest childhood memories revolve around being out in the woods in the Adirondacks or the Blue Ridge Mountains. We would explore the woods near the campsite. I imagined that I was an explorer walking through woods that no one had ever set foot in before. There is something primal and satisfying about sitting around campfire at night.

The point, I suppose, is that I learned these things while camping with my parents. I feel a deep responsibility to take my kids out so that they can have the same opportunity.

To put it more simply, while backpacking is more enjoyable for me, I need to take my kids out to the woods so that they have the chance to learn to love it like I do. And I think they will.

As for this trip, it was a pretty typical camping trip ( except maybe colder than you would have expected in April.) We went for a walk. The kids “discovered” an amphitheater in the woods, a creek an d a pond complete with frog eggs.

We had hot dogs for dinner and S’mores for dessert. Only after feeding them the gooey combination of marshmallow and chocolate did it occur to me that the tradition of giving kids S’mores and then expecting them to be able to lay down and go to sleep is a bit stupid. But we must have worn them out enough, cause they went to sleep with out incident. We buried them in sleeping bags and blankets to keep them warm.

Having put the kids down, Shutter and I finally got a chance to sit down and relax. The temperature continued to drop, be we we dressed warmly and we built the fire up to a nice warm blaze. We sat and talked and laughed till midnight or so.

We woke up and ate a hearty camping breakfast of eggs, pancakes and bacon. And then set ourselves to the task of breaking camp. It is so much easier to break camp when you are backpacking.

We rounded out the morning by taking a fairly long walk up the Appalachian Trail. We walked to the point that is the “official” half way point on the trail. And then we headed home.

I think that it was a successful trip by any measure.

And better yet, I get to go backpacking next weekend.

Backpacking. Again, it’s what I do. Like a junkie, I need my fix. I’ll be alright, just let me get a fix.

This weekend would be my last fix, till next spring.

But making it happen was proving difficult. The Uber-Bot, my most reliable hiking buddy, had said she would go this weekend. But had to back out due to a previous engagement, which she had forgotten about. Okay. No problem.

But I wasn’t going to let that stop me. Re-think. The trip to hike to the Delaware Water Gap, and in the process complete the AT in Pennsylvania, was out. But there are other options. The Tuscarora Trail for example. Not as well known as the AT, this 250-some-odd-mile trail running through Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania provides plenty of opportunities for hiking. There was a stretch that my Dad and I had been looking at for a potential trip.

I called him up and asked him if he was interested in an overnight trip. He was. I decided to make it a family affair. My boy is 13. Old enough to come along on a trip like this. Time to break him in. Why not.

Would you believe that they were calling for rain? Of course you would.

Saturday morning we drove over mountains, back roads and one streambed until we reached the place where we planned to end the hike. We left my truck there and headed for the beginning.

We started our hike at the Silar Country Store. I picked up two blaze orange vests for my son and I, we tied them on to our packs, on account of it was the first day of Black Powder Hunting Season. The Tuscarora Trail is not as established as the AT and this stretch of trail actually started out on a public road. VA 689, as a matter of fact. Rain was forecast for the afternoon, but at the moment the sky was clear and blue. We actually worked a good sweat walking along the road. After a mile or so, the trail made a left on to VA 671, which was a smaller gravel road. We made our way up a fair sized hill and then down again.

Finally we made it to the point where the trail left the roads completely. As we stood there, taking a small snack and water break, a service van driving by slowed to a stop. The lady in the passenger seat rolled down her window and said:

“Y’all be careful in the woods with all those hunters.”

We smiled at her and assured her that we’d be alert and it would be fine. And with that we headed up the trail, the path was well marked as we made our way up another fair sized hill. As we got close to the top, I could see the mountain we would be climbing in a mile or so. It looked pretty steep, and according to the map would be just over a thousand foot climb.

I looked back to see how far behind my companions were. I saw that they were about 100 feet behind and I turned to start walking again. It was at this point that I heard a sound that I imagine that I will remember for the rest of my life.

It was the sound of a small object whistling through the air, above my head and to the left. Although it was certainly moving very fast, time seemed to slow down for me. I heard the sound of it cutting through air, spinning as it went. I could not see it, but I knew where it was as I heard it cut through leaves and small twigs as it went by.

As time went back to its normal speed and I remembered to start breathing again, I looked down to my Dad and my son. They were looking back at me with expressions of shock on their faces. I turned and looked to see if I could see where the bullet had come from. I couldn’t tell.

“Oh SHIT!” I yelled. I yelled it extra loud so that hopefully whoever was shooting would stop.

After a moment or two passed and no more shots were fired, my hiking partners walked up to where I was.

“You heard that?
“Yeah.”
“Where did it come from?”
“Up there.”
“Over there?”
“No, had to be closer. Up there.” My dad pointed to clear area at the top of the hill, right where the trail was heading.
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know.”

We walked the 50 yards or so to the top of the hill. Carefully. As we got close to the top we heard the sound of a small engine receding from us. A four wheeler, most likely.

“Good, maybe he’s gone.”
“Probably. This area is posted. He probably heard us and drove off.”
“I didn’t see any deer.”
“I doubt he was shooting at one. You know. They come out here into the woods with a gun… they’re going to want to fire it.”
“Fucking idiot.” I shot a guilty look at my son as the words left my mouth.
“What should we do?”
“That’s the question. Was this a fluke, and now we have nothing to worry about? Or are we in danger?”
“One idiot doesn’t represent all hunters.”
“True. And we’ve hiked in hunting season before without any trouble.”
“Yeah… but that was the AT.”
“I say we go on.”
“Sure.”

We started walking again, but before we had taken a dozen steps we heard the report of a black powder rifle, and not far from us. The three of us hunched down, ready to hit the deck. We exchanged looks. Another shot fired.

That settled it. We dug out a cell phone and called for a ride. We backtracked down the trail and headed back up the gravel road, until we saw our ride coming up the road to meet us.

And the worst part of all, worse than some asshole shooting in my general direction, is that I didn’t get my fix. And in all likelihood, I won’t get it till some time in March.

This is not a good thing.

Sunday was the big day.

Sometimes, when planning a hike, you just look at the map and say, whoa! You see a climb or mountain or something that grabs your attention. You look forward to it (or dread it) as the hike gets closer. On this hike, we would cross the Lehigh Gap. A 1000 foot descent, followed by a 1200 foot climb. That in itself isn’t that extraordinary. But 700 feet of that ascent are climbed in less than a quarter of a mile. I was looking forward to this challenge. The Uber-Bot was dreading it. She hates steep climbs.

I made myself a quick breakfast, and packed up my gear. We headed back up to the shelter and filled our bottles at the spring. And then we hit the trail. We descended through the trees. The sunlight shining through the leaves was quite a contrast to the overcast skies of the day previous. The temperature was comfortable and the trail was easy enough to walk. It was a good start to the day.

We descended until we came to a break in the tree line. Ahead of us we could see the Blue Mountain slope down to Lehigh River. Mist still rose off of the river, where shade had prevent the morning sun from burning it away. On the far shore, a mountain jutted up from the river. The top third of the mountain was completely bare of trees. There was nothing but rocks and cliff. I challenge to be sure.

We descended to the river and crossed the bridge, along side the Sunday morning traffic. We started up the other side, which quickly became a series of steep switchbacks. I pushed ahead, although I had stop to catch my breath a number of times. Finally, I came out of the trees and stepped on to a rock field that led to the base of, for lack of a better word, a cliff. As I looked up I saw those familiar white blazes painted up the side of the rock wall.

A closer look did show a place to step here and a hand hold there, and soon a was standing on a narrow ledge 10 feet above where I began. We continued like this, climbing to the next ledge, soaking in the view, continuing. Eventually we gave up on our trekking poles and strapped them to our packs, to free up our hands.

We climbed till we reached the crest of the ridge. We stopped and surveyed the view. We could see clearly the mountain we descended early that morning, the Lehigh river snaking between the mountains from Palmerton down to the south and then around a bend and out of sight. I took out my camera and snapped a few shots, even though I knew that would not, could not, do justice to what was before my eyes. After a while, we moved on. Because that is what you do when you go backpacking. You move on.

We made our way up the ridge, until it leveled out. I sat down. My legs were screaming from the exertion of the climb. Once again the gnats were on us. The Uber-Bot pushed on to keep the gnats off of her. I mixed up some Gatorade in my water bottle, dug some Jerky out of my bag, and then headed down the trail myself.

The ridge was wide and flat across it’s crest. The trail followed what might have been an access road. On either side of the trail there was nothing but rocks and the occasional skeletal remains of a long dead tree. The landscape was completely desolate. As I walked I speculated on what could have caused this. As I walked more sign of life began to appear. Small shrubs and grass mostly. I caught up with the Uber-Bot after a mile or two. We compared notes and decided that it must have been a forest fire. But one that happened long ago.

We walked down the road until the trail went away from it to the left. We wandered down the mountainside into Little Gap. We sat our packs down and waited by the side of the road. We were early, but we knew Captain Shutter would be there soon to pick us up.

I woke up to the sound of the Uber-Bot packing up her tent. I’ve never been a morning person. I hurried to get myself packed up before she was pacing around ready to go. I fired up my campstove to have a quick breakfast and some coffee. The coffee was great and the clearing we were camped in was beautiful. I think I would have been content to just sit there all day. But we had 10 miles to cover, so i tossed the dregs of my coffee into the underbrush and packed up the rest of my gear as my partner filled her bottles from the spring.

Soon we walk along the AT again. The trail was a little rockier than the night before, I was grateful that I hadn’t had to walk on this trail the night before. The air was cool, but the walking kept us warm. The gray skies were uninspiring, but at least it didn’t look like rain.

Each State has it’s own ‘personality’ on the trail. The personality of Pennsylvania can summed in one word. Rocks. Thousands of them. Large boulders that must be climb over. Stretches of trail that run over boulder fields, where you have to step from boulder to boulder. And miles of trail with sharp pointy rocks coming out the dirt with such frequency that you cannot avoid them. I’ve kicked, tripped over, slipped on, fell on, scraped against and banged into more rocks than I can enumerate.

We hadn’t walked long when the trail turn up on to a pile of boulders that led to the crest of the ridge known as the ‘Knife’s Edge.’ The ridge literally narrows to a point only a few feet wide, and the trail ran right along it. We stopped at the highest point and looked out over the patchwork fields that spread out below us under the cold gray sky.

The day went by easily, we came to the view at Bake Oven Knob we took it in for a few moments, but the wind blowing on us forced the break short. We scrambled down a rock descent and before long arrived at a shelter. We stopped and had lunch. After cleaning up from lunch, we went to the spring and refilled our bottles. Then we were back on the trail.

The afternoon continued smoothly. The ridge broadened and the trail was level and easy to walk on. Eventually the trail began to descend marking the end of the day’s walk. We came to the shelter after a short descent. There was a lone hiker already camped out there. I scanned the area, but saw no where to pitch a tent. I approached the hiker.

“Good afternoon.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
“Is there a tenting area around here any where?”
“Well… there is one a little bit back the way you came…”
“We saw that one.”
“… or you could go down that trail, ” he pointed to an unblazed trail to the right, “and there is a nice little field down there. at least there was. I haven’t been down there in a while. I guess some one could have trashed it.”
“Cool, we’ll check it out. It’s not to far down, I hope…”
“No about Five Minutes form here.”

Five Minutes?

We walked down the trail, no more than a quarter of a mile, an came to a nice little clearing with a fire ring. We started pitching the tents and getting our equipment set up. We were hassled the entire time by nasty little biting gnats. I would have thought that there wouldn’t have been any insects to speak of this time of year. Once my tent was pitched, I headed back up the trail to the shelter to locate the spring. The Uber-Bot retreated to her tent to escape the gnats.

As I approached the shelter I was greeted by the hiker.

“Find what you needed?”
“Yeah…”
“Nobody’s trashed it?”
“No, it’s good. Perfect actually.”
“Good.”
“Is there a spring?”
“Yep. Just down the trail. About Three Minutes from here.”

Three Minutes?

I headed down the trail assuming that the spring couldn’t be far off, if this hiker’s standard of measurement was consistent. And it was. I filled my bottles, drank one of them and filled it again. And then headed back to our campsite again.

We built a campfire to drive of the gnats. It worked like a charm. We spent the evening lounging by the fire. Relaxing. Sometimes in silence. Sometimes we talked. We watched the moon make it’s way over the trees. So bright that the trees cast shadows under its glow.

Something rustled in the brush not to far off from the campfire. We peered into shadows trying to make it what it could be.

“What do you think?”
“Probably a deer.”
“Yeah.”
“They’re nocturnal…”
“Or a raccoon.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m glad our food is already hung.”
“Yeah…”
“Besides, there aren’t any bears around here.”
“Should we shine our lights over there?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Cause, I could be wrong about the bears.”

After a while, we hadn’t heard any more noises so we shone our lights at the brambles, but we couldn’t see anything.

The fire had died down, so we to our respective tents, and laid down for the night. And with no concern for what was crawling around out there, I went right sleep.

Are you sure you want to do this?
Of course.
But you’ve been sick. You should rest.
I’ve rested, and I’m still sick. I’m well enough to go work.
You have to go work.
I have to go backpacking.
Be careful.
I will.

Another trip. I’m not even sure as I plan this one that it is even for fun anymore. I’m on a mission. I’ve walked 170 some odd miles of the Appalachian Trail in Pennsylvania. I have just over 50 miles to go to reach New Jersey. Pennsylvania has been a mess of ankle twisting boulders and toe bashing rocks. I don’t know that I believe in a bad backpacking trip, but I’ve had it with Pennsylvania. I just want to make to New Jersey. New State. New Trail.

This trip will have us walking about 20 miles. My companion on this trip is the hiker we call the Uber-Bot. She’s unstoppable. She walks for hours with out need a rest or a drink or anything. She never seems to get tired or hungry or frustrated. She is just like a robot.

Friday night we hope to go four miles to the New Tripoli Camping Area. Construction on the interstate delayed our arrival at the trail head. By the time we walked away from the truck and in to the woods it was after seven. And quite dark.

Night hiking is, as you can imagine, quite different than hiking in the day. As we started out the moon was low in the sky and a mist hung in the air. The haziness gave you the impression that is you’d just squint maybe you’d be able see better. We used lightweight head lamps to light the way. The head lamps were good for lighting the trail and exposing rocks and roots that hid waiting to trip the unsuspecting hiker. At the same time, they mad the surrounding woods even darker. The effect was very much like walking in a tunnel.

I was tired. It had been a long day at work, hell a long week. The drive was long and it was late. We hadn’t walked far when we came to a tent site off the trail. I wanted to just stop there and make camp. The Uber-Bot pointed out that the trail was in good condition and we should take advantage of it. And she was right. Every step that we did not take that night, would have to be walked the next day.

So we walked, in the dark and the mist. The trail stayed well defined and easy to walk on, and I let her talk me out of a few more tent sites. To our surprise we passed a few campers who set up camp alongside the trail. As we walked I mentally tallied the distance. I knew we had to be close. But close is a relative term. A half mile is a long way to walk we you are exhausted.

I smelled the smoke of a campfire first. Then heard voices. Finally we could see them. A dozen or so bodies milling around half as many tents. Boy Scouts. As we neared them, one of the adults came over to see what we were about.

“Hi there.”
“How’s it going? Is this New Tripoli Camp Area?”
“We’re not sure. There is a Blue Blaze just beyond that may go down to the camping area. But we didn’t go down, this was nice and level so we just made camp here.”

We thanked then and went on our away. As promised we found the blue blazed trail just a few hundred yards down the trail. My friend may be untiring, but she doesn’t not care for climbs. She looked in the darkness at the descent to the campground and said, “It’s nice and level where those scouts are.”
“the last the ting those scouts need is a women around.”
“I’ll be good.”
“Let’s go see what is down there.”

We headed down after a quick check of the map (just to be sure that the trailed did not go all the way to the bottom of the mountain.) The blue blaze led to a level clearing next to a spring. Even in the darkness, it was very beautiful.

We went to work setting up our tents. Once our tents were struck. I set up my camp stove and heated some water for coffee. I was tired, but my throat was a bit sore and something hot to drink sounded good. We relaxed for a while and enjoyed the quite of the woods. I especially enjoyed it, because I knew that had we set up camp near those scouts we would not have had this kind of tranquility.

With our beverage consumed and the temperature dropping we retired to our respective tents. And reviewed the map for a few moments and then turned out my head lamp and fell asleep almost instantly.

Some weeks at work just aren’t worth the head ache.

This has been one of those weeks.
Nothing serious. Just a lot of stupid, useless shit.

I’ll go to work tomorrow. I’ll some how make it through the day, and then I’ll go home grab my backpack and head for the trail.
I just need to get away from all of it.

Usually when I go, it’s me and my dad or me and Shutter. This time there will be 6 of us. We’ll be like a field trip or a scout troop or something.

It doesn’t matter. I just need to be out there, exhausted from walking, relaxing in the woods.

I can’t out there soon enough.

I went to REI.

That’s the store that I buy my backpacking gear at. It’s a sort of “candy” store for the outdoor crowd.

I picked up some new boots. My old boots aren’t really worn out, but they have never been quite right. And unfortunately, I didn’t buy the old ones at REI. They a have a lifetime guarantee on everything they sell. If the boots don’t work out well, trade them in for new ones. If the tent didn’t seem as great out in the rain as it did in the store, bring it back. It is a great store. They understand that you have to use your equipment to know if it is right for you.

After the last two trips, the tendons in my ankles have been rubbed raw. I decided not to make matter worse with another trip upcoming. I picked up a pair of Merrrils. They seem pretty good. And they have some extra padding around the ankle. And if they are not the ones, I’ll take them back and try again with new ones.

I also picked up a camp shirt and some waterproof stuff bags. With me, it is best to be waterproof.

I don’t remember if I’ve explained about how I cook on backpacking trips. I like to eat. The idea of wandering off into the woods and walking all day just to eat some ramen noodles holds no appeal to me. I cook actual meals. Using dehydrated veggies, pasta or rice, and canned chicken or shrimp crab meat. It works out pretty well. I have it down to a pretty good science.

For fun, I’m going to try to dehydrate my own veggies, instead of getting them through mail order. Right now, I have peas, corn, potatoes, banana peppers, and some apple slices drying. I’ll also see about some Green peppers, jalapeños, onions and whatever else crosses my mind.

I’ve been hearing that the blogathon folks have been real inconsistent with sending out emails to let you know how to fulfill you pledge. You can go to Freedom from Hunger to donate online (whether or not you sponsored me.) Thanks again for all of your support.

I woke up, crawled out of my sleeping bag and climbed down from my bunk. It had stopped raining, but we opted to cook breakfast inside. It was too wet to eat outside. After breakfast and coffee, we packed up and got ready to hit the trail. Uber-Bot and WAN-Man were ready to go, but I still needed water. I told them to go ahead, I’d catch up. It only took me a minute or two to fill up my Nalgene bottles.

There are two trails leaving the 501 Shelter. The one we came in on, which is blazed blue. Or a red blazed one that comes out a little further to the north. I didn’t know which one they had taken, but I decided that if they took the Red Blaze I’d never catch up if I took the Blue Blaze, and if they took the Blue Blaze I might be able to cut them off at the pass using the Red Blaze.

I headed off following the Red Blazes, until that trail dead ended on another trail. I looked both ways, but I didn’t see any blazes. I was unsure of which way to go. I backtracked, but the red blazes had definitely led to this spot. It didn’t look like the AT, it was overgrown and unblazed. Of course, the trail the day before had been rather overgrown also. If it was the AT, I’d need to turn left. So I made a left and started walking. I still didn’t see any blazes. After a while, the trail dead ended at another intersection.

This must be the AT, I thought. I turned left and started walking. But there were no blazes, no signs, no hints of any sort. So I turned around and headed the other direction in search of a clue. But there was nothing, do I turned around again and started walking. I walked until I was about ready to start backtracking again, but in the distance I saw a white sign. I walked to it and looked at it. It had symbols indicating Horses and Bikes and at the very bottom in small print, it said ATC. If this wasn’t the trail it must surely lead to it. I walked on until once again the trail dead ended on to another trail. This time when I peered down the trail I saw a familiar white blaze on a tree.

After wandering around for a half hour or so, I had finally found the trail. I started walking and tried to set an aggressive pace. I was way behind the other two now. The pace did not last long however, as the trail was replaced with boulders. I had to step from one to the next as I attempted to follow the blazes. It didn’t take long before I was thoroughly defeated.

The Appalachian Trail runs from Maine to Georgia. It was formed, in part, to connect existing trails that ran through the great Mountain Ranges of Tennessee, Virginia and New England. There are interesting mountains in Pennsylvania, but there are located to the North and West of the AT. The goal of the Trail in Pennsylvania is to go East. While we think of the East Coast in terms of North and South, you have to remember that Boston is hundreds of miles east of Washington, DC. So the Trail goes East over the rocky ridges of Pennsylvania.

As a result, the Trail through Pennsylvania is somewhat uninspiring. It runs over low rocky ridges, across farmland, and through a number of towns. There are very few spectacular views. The most remarkable thing about the Trail in Pennsylvania is, as a matter of fact, all of the rocks. Large Boulders you have climb over. Fields of boulders that you have to traverse, hopping from one rock to the next. Trail that has smaller rocks sticking up all over the place, just enough to make you have to watch your step to avoid rolling your ankle. Opinions about Pennsylvania may vary, but is generally agreed that Pennsylvania has more than its share of rocks.

As I walked over the rocks, I found myself going slower and slower. I kept thinking, around this next bend, I will find real trail again. But I didn’t, I found more rocks. I just stood there and stared. I did my my best to will teh rocks away, but it wasn’t enough. So pushed on to the next bend, once again hoping for an end to the rocks. And so it went for nearly a mile. To say I was moving slowly, would have been an understatement. I hadn’t walked more than two miles and I had already had enough. And then it started raining.

I kept walking. Because that is what you do. You either sit down on the trail in exasperation or you keep walking. And if you choose the latter, sooner or later you will still have to get up and walk anyway. The rain wasn’t more than a drizzle, and it let up after a bit.

Eventually I caught up with my friends. They were waiting for me at a campsite. I don’t know exactly how long they waited, but it was a long time. I cooked some ramen noodles for a lunch, and this seemed to give me a little energy. We set off again, and I did my best to keep up with them.

I did pretty good for several miles. But I ran out of steam. My friends walked out of site as I trudged along. I knew the shelter couldn’t be too far, but I was so beat, I couldn’t help but walk slow. I finally arrived at the shelter. The Uber-bot and I, opted to tent. The WAN-Man stayed in the shelter with two older section hikers.

I set up my tent. And cooked my dinner. I was exhausted. I went in to my tent, read for a few minutes, then went to sleep. I woke up to the sound of driving rain. I did a quick inspection of my tent and my gear, but everything seemed to be keeping dry. I closed my eyes and was out like a light.

Continued.

I go backpacking. Most of you know that. I am on a mission to hike the length of the Appalachian Trail, one section at time.

The section we had picked for this weekend ran 35 mile from Swatara State Park to the tiny town of Port Clinton, in Pennsylvania.

I walked with 2 friends from from work; our Network Analyst, who sports the trail name, WAN-Man; and a technician, we call her the Uber-bot.

We took off work on Friday, so we could make a three-day weekend of it. It was fun, even though we are allowed to take off work it had the feel of playing hooky.

We got on the trail around noon. The walk started very uninspired. The trail went along a small road, and then up and under Interstate 81. But then it went in to the woods. Once I within the thick summer canopy again, I immediately felt like I had some returned, even though I had never been on this section before. I didn’t have much time to start waxing poetic about it before the trail began to ascend steeply up Blue Mountain.

It was hot and humid. And we were drenched with sweat as we climbed. We reached the top and followed the trail along the rigdeline. The trail was overgrown and the underbrush rubbed against our legs as we walked. After a while I noticed that a lot of that underbrush had three leaves. Poison Ivy. The only saving grace was that I sweating so much that I could hope that the sweat running down my leg would wash off any of the poison that may have rubbed against my leg.

For the most part it was decent trail and we made good time. We covered the first 8 miles or so before the trail turned extremely rocky. It was slow going, trudging through the rocks, especially since I knew that I was close to the shelter and I was ready to be done.

Eventually, we crossed Pennsylvania Route 501 and not long after that we came to the 501 Shelter. I had been told that the 501 shelter was great. But I was immediately unimpressed by it. It wasn’t a shelter in the traditional sense. It was more like a bunkhouse. It had four walls and doors. A huge sunroof. 12 Bunks. and a large table in the middle. On the table was a pizza box. Apparently they delivery to the ’shelter.’ Outside there was running water and even a primitive shower set up.

It went against a lot of what I am looking for when I go backpacking, namely to get away from it all. I considered pitching tent, but rumor had that violent thunderstorms were called for. We unpacked and claimed bunks. We went outside to cook, the stench of the eight hikers staying there was a bit strong.

We ate and sat around and talked until the bugs drove us indoors. I wrote in my journal for a while and then went to bed. I fell asleep quickly. II woke in the middle of the night to hear driving rain on the roof and thunder. This wasn’t my ideal shelter, but on this night I was glad of it.

Continued.

I woke up, got up and started up my stove to heat some water for coffee.

I love coffee. For many trips, coffee was an issue for me. At first, I packed instant coffee. But instant coffee isn’t any better on the trail than it is at home. As a matter of fact it is worse. After all this walking, I can’t help but feel that I deserve a good cup of coffee. After that, I tried these little coffee packets that you dip in hot water like a tea bag. The flavor was better than instant, but it always tasted weak. Finally, I discovered a rugged coffee press designed for backpacking.

I put the coffee in the press and poured the hot water in. While that was brewing, I started to work on breakfast. I added some water to the dehydrated tomatoes, potatoes, and mushrooms. I mixed some water in with the powdered eggs. I push down the plunger on the coffee press and take a sip of hot freshly brewed coffee.

I throw the vegetables in a pan put them over the stove. Once the water is cooked out of them and the potatoes start smell good, I add the eggs. A few minutes later, I’m eating scrambled eggs.

After I was done eating, and I had cleaned up my pans, I started packing up my pack. I stopped for a moment to look at a map with Kurly. She was trying to figure out where her and Swanson would camp that night. As we were looking at the map, the young kid (whose name still escapes me) dropped his pack and jumped back, and flung a mouse to the floor of the shelter.

“Holy Shit. Fuck! It was in my pack! Fuck!”

We were all watching him now. He went to see what kind of damage the mouse had done to his pack. He jumped back again. He threw another small mouse from his pack. He started removing the contents from his pack. Once he removed the larger items, he turned the pack upside down and started shaking it. Another little mouse fell out. A few more shakes and a larger mouse with another small one clinging to it fell to the floor and scampered away.

My feelings about shelter mice are well documented. But this was taking it to another level. It looks like those mice had taken up residence in his backpack. He maintains that his pack was mouse free when he arrived. But I have a suspicion that he picked up those mice in another shelter and had carried them to this shelter. Those nasty little bastards moved into his pack and built a nest. While we standing there gaping at his pack, one of the the little ones tried to crawl back into his pack. It was at this point that I decided that from now on, I’d sleep in a tent.

People packed up and headed out. The thru-hiker Sourdough asked me if I could take a note and leave it at Matt’s Creek Shelter. He wanted to warn other north bound hikers that a bed and breakfast that was listed in the trails guides was no longer open. I told him I’d be happy to take the message and leave it in the shelter for other Hikers to see. Since Matt’s Creek Shelter was our destination for that night, it was no inconvenience at all.

The Kiteman put on his pack hit the trail. I told him that I would catch up with him soon. I sipped my coffee and looked at the map. For the day we had to climb 800feet. Then we would descend 2700 feet to the James River. From there would go two more miles to Matt’s Creek Shelter, 12 miles in all. The next day would bring a 3000 foot climb over another 12 Miles.

I put on my pack and started walking. The morning was foggy and humid. I found myself winded quickly. I couldn’t help thinking that it was going to be a long day. I caught up with the Kiteman at the top. We took a break and looked at the view. But there really wasn’t much to see. Most of the view was shrouded in fog.

We wandered at a leisurely pace, chatting and enjoying ourselves. After a bit, we passed a sign. It said that we had only walked 4 miles, and that we still had 8 miles to go. I picked up my pace and got serious about covering some trail. I had soon left the Kiteman behind me somewhere and was walking alone again. Just as I thought I had found a good walking pace, the trail started descending steeply.

At some point a day or two earlier I had stumbled while walk. In the process, I must have bruised my ankle. I didn’t really notice it much, until I started walking downhill. Now every step pushed my boot into the bruise. At first it hurt, this grew to a nice throb, until I was stopping every few steps to relieve the pain some. I tightened the laces on my boot to try to help. I walked a few yards, then decided to loosen the laces. Nothing was helping. As I walked I began to get very angry. A very irrational angry. I was not having fun. Soon I was thinking strange thoughts like, at least tomorrow is all uphill.

Down the mountain I walked. I seemed to go down forever. I was sure that I must be getting close to the bottom. I came around the bend and Saw a nice overlook. I walked out on to the rock and looked out and saw a beautiful panorama of the James River stretching below me. Way below me. I was only halfway down the mountain! I dug in my pack and came up with some Advil. I sat and stewed and snacked.

Before long, the Kiteman showed up. If I was angry, he was livid. He tossed down his pack, looked over the edge and said, “We have to go all the way down there?”
“Yep.” I replied.
“Fuck.”
“Yep.”
He noticed that I had taken of my boot, “Ankle bothering you?”
“Only, a lot.”
“Dude, I don’t know if I can walk another 26 miles after today.”
“Not knowing isn’t good.” I pulled out the map and showed him the wilderness we would be walking in to.
“Holy shit!”
“If we keep going there is no good bail out point for 22 miles or so.”
“Shit.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t want to ruin your trip… but I’m not sure how much more I have left in the tank.”
I thought about the throbbing pain in my ankle and said,”I’d rather bail at the James River today, than have to carry your pack for your tomorrow cause you pushed too far.”
“Let’s bail.”
“Let me see if I can get a signal.”

I took out my cell phone and managed to get a weak signal. I called Mrs. Jeckles and she volunteered to drop everything and head down to meet us. I told her that we would be at the James River by no later that 5. She would have trouble getting there before 7, so we would wait for her there.

I think we both felt better, knowing that the end was in sight.

He said, “Dude, I’m sorry I’m such dead weight, I’m just not in good enough shape for this shit.”
“Dude you did fine, we’ve come over 40 miles. And you just earned yourself a new trail name.”
“I did?”
“Yeah. Dead Weight.”
“I can live with that.”

We packed back up and started walking. We hadn’t gone too far when the sun came out for the first time since Saturday. The descent became less steep and the Advil must have done some good, because I could walk with out stopping every few steps now.

We spent the rest of day walking down this mountain. We arrived at the James River around 4.

I now had a dilemma. I had promised to deliver that note for Sourdough. I left my pack with Dead Weight and slack packed the 2 miles up Matt’s Creek Shelter. I dropped off his note. and then headed back. With that extra excursion, I had walked 16 miles. And my ankle was throbbing again. I made it back to the James River at just a little past 5.

We sat by the James river for a few hours, snacking, chatting and joking. At just about 7 Mrs Jeckles pulled up and drove us back to the real world.

After the 15 mile day on Sunday, I slept deeply. When I woke up it was after 7. One of the other hikers in the shelter was already gone. The other was making himself breakfast.

The rain had stopped but the air was still heavy with humidity. The Kiteman and Short Term were still burrowed in their bags. I crawled out of my bag and was assaulted by the cool, wet air. I slipped some pants on over my shorts and put on my shell jacket, which was mostly dry now.

I cooked my breakfast, (easy, hot and yummy) of instant grits and I drank some coffee. I was in no rush. I all day to get to the next shelter. It was nine miles away over fairly level terrain. As usual, Short Term and the Kiteman hit the trail. I sat around and drank my coffee.

I like these longer trips. This was the third morning waking up in the woods. You probably wouldn’t believe how quickly a person can forget their normal routine. In just three days, it seemed as normal as can be that I was sitting at a picnic table, putting my boots on. Just another day at the office. Get up. Cook breakfast. Pack up gear. Put on Boots. Walk. Walk. Walk. Eat some lunch. Walk some more. Arrive. Unpack sleeping bag and change clothes. Make dinner and eat it. Relax a bit. Maybe read or write something. Go to sleep. It is a lifestyle, I could get used to. Or, more accurately, it is a lifestyle that I very quickly do get used to.

The walking on this day wasn’t bad. I followed the trail down a hollow with a picturesque stream running next to it. Across the stream from me, I could see ruins. Foundations of buildings long gone. It was long ago, in fact, a village formed by newly freed slaves. They lived there successfully for decades until the federal government reclaimed the land to create a National Forest on.

The trail led me around the Lynchburg Reservoir and to a bridge across the Pedlar River There sitting at the bridge were Short Term and the Kiteman. I announced that I was going to cook myself lunch. As I prepared my ramen noodles, Short Term gathered his stuff and headed off towards the climb that was ahead of us. I ate my lunch and the Kiteman stomped around looking grumpy. He was tired. The walk the day before had done him in. I assured him that toady we were only walking 9 miles and he would feel better tomorrow.

Walking all day is hard. It is even harder when you do it with a 40 pound pack on your back. Then add in a rocky trail that goes over mountains and down in to hollows. It is hard work and it can wear you out. The exhaustion is cumulative. One long day wears you down for the next. If you are used to weekend trips, these longer trips can come as a quite a shock. During a weekend you can push yourself and then crawl in to work on Monday and try not to move much. But it was Monday and we still had miles to go.

The Kiteman headed out as I finished cleaning up my cooking kit. I packed my gear up and hit the trail. The climb was pretty steep, but I pushed on at a pretty good pace. In time, I passed the Kiteman. And then Short Term. Finally I arrived at the Blue Ridge Parkway. There I found Short Terms car waiting for me. Short Term and the Kiteman caught up after a few minutes. For Short Term, this was the end of the trail. We grabbed supplies out of his car and said our good byes. Short Term got in his car and drove away. The Kiteman and I were left in the woods. So we did the only thing that we could. We started walking.

A short, but steep climb brought us to Punch Bowl Mountain Shelter. Each Shelter has a unique feel to it, and this one was no exception. There was a pond there, which seemed odd up here on top of mountain. We unpacked and got ready to cook. We needed water. Most shelters have some sort of source of water. At this shelter, it seemed to mostly just be this pond. We pumped the water through the filter, but it just didn’t seem like enough.

The pond was shallow and murky. The water was relatively warm. And if that wasn’t enough; there in the water, there were salamanders and polliwogs. Yes polliwogs, you know those critters who were once tadpoles but haven’t yet become frogs. And as I took a closer look, I realized that the polliwogs were attacking and killing the salamanders. Somehow no amount of filtering seemed like enough.

It was a beautiful setting. The pond has mist rising off it and the air was remarkably still. It was easy to relax there. There was a young guy, whose name escapes me, there when had arrived. Several hikers showed up while we were preparing dinner. Micheal the Austrian, Swanson and Kurly, Sourdough and his dog Action Jackson, Rocky and Bullwinkle. We talked about where we had hiked and what was ahead for us. We exchanged stories, we laughed, and we listened. As the sun went down, the peeper (they’re frogs,) joined in. It was a great night. I went to sleep feeling relaxed and looking forward to several more days of hiking.

I’ll see about getting some pictures up for this one on Monday or Tuesday.

There are a couple of factors that one has to be aware of on the Trail. One of the Biggest is hydration. Walking miles at a time with a 30-40 pound pack on your back is hard work. You lose a lot water as you walk. And since you are in the middle of a forest, you can’t just expect to be able to drop in to a Bistro and grab a Dasani. Water is available along the trail in springs and little mountain streams. Most shelters have a natural water source nearby. The problem is that water is heavy. You don’t want to wander off into the woods carrying gallons of water. The way to address this is simple. If you encounter a water source, drink as much water as you can. Then you can carry a reasonable amount on you, 32 ounces or so.

Before I started of that morning I went to the spring and filled up all three of my 32 ounces Nalgene bottles. I treated them and then proceeded to drink two of them. Amongst hikers this is known as Cameling Up. I headed down the trail, sloshing slightly as I walked.

In my personal Backpacking experiences there have been few constants. You never know what is going to happen. But you know that the sun will rise in the East, going downhill will lead to going uphill, and that Short Term is a slow and steady hiker. So, I knew that before long I would catch up with him. I wandered along; the trail was nice and relatively level. I was making relatively good time, although I did have to stop twice to take a whiz. Maybe I Cameled Up a bit too much.

I came to the first climb of the day, a series of switch backs that worked their up the broad side of a ridge. As I climbed I was confident that I would overtake Short Term and the Kite Man. I expected to come around the next bend and see those guys standing there catching their breath. But it never happened. I got to the top, and there was the Kite Man.

“Hey Man.”
“Hey.”
“Your dad just left.”

Now I was worried. I mean maybe I was going too slowly. I’ve always walked faster than Short Term. But here he was barreling ahead of me. Things were not as they should have been. After five miles or so, I came down to an old fire road, and there was Short Term sitting and waiting for me. And if that wasn’t strange enough what he said next completely blew my mind.

“I’m feeling pretty good.”
“I guess so, I’ve been chasing you all morning.”
“So I was thinking, how far is it to the next shelter?”
“Like five more miles.”
“No, no the one we were planning on stopping at, the next one.”
“I’m not sure, a few miles.”
“Since we’re making such good time, I was thinking that maybe we should push on.”

Push on? Who was this hiker, and what did he do with Short Term?

We climbed another ridge a 600 foot ascent in a mile or so. As we sat at the top, the temperature dropped, and then it started to rain. We walked in the rain. Down the mountain and up the next. And down again. We arrived at Cow Camp Gap Shelter, wet cold and tired. The Kiteman had no interest in pushing on to the next the shelter anymore.

The Kiteman and I got there first. The shelter was empty except for a ratty old sleeping bag that some one had left there. As we were taking off our packs we surprised when a voice spoke to us from under the ratty sleeping bag.

“Hey guys.”
“Hi.”
“Where’d you get on the trail?”
“Crabtree Meadows.”
Blank Stare.
“Just south of the Priest.”
Blank Stare.
“North of here…”
“Oh… Yea. Priest Mountain? Okay.”
“How about you.”
“Well I was kinking the trail, but now I’m kind of just camping here.”

I took a look at these guy. He was wearing a hoodie, not exactly hiker clothing, but you never know. I didn’t see a pack or any equipment. My ‘creepy-meter’ was pegged. The Priest is one of the steepest mountains in Central Virginia. Every hiker we had talked to had not only heard of it, but was anticipating it. I wanted to get out there bad. But we had to wait for Short Term and we needed to take advantage of the dry shelter to cook a hot lunch if we were going to push on.

When Short Term arrived our friend had retreated under his bag again. I jerked my thumb at the bag to let him know someone was there. Before long he popped back out.

“Hi there”
“Hi.”
“Are you hiking alone sir?”
“No, I’m with these guys.”
“Do you get separated often?”
“Not really”

We unpacked our stoves and boiled water for Ramen Noodles. Our Friend rambled on about how he was trying to survive in the wilderness by eating wild edibles, but he had been fasting for three days. To purify his body and soul. He tried cook by heating a rock and cooking on that, he said. He said a lot of things. Most of it didn’t really make sense.

It was clear to me that this guy was insane. People talk and joke about people being insane all the time, He’s so crazy, that guy went nuts, so on and so forth. We’re very casual about it. So it comes as a shock when we are confronted with the real thing. I cooked my food and ate quickly. I paced as Short Term and Kiteman finished up. I was impatient to put some distance between us and him. I was sure he would happily steal our gear, if given the chance. I was concerned that he might do worse.

I thought of another shelter 350 miles north of here (near the town of Dunncanon Pennsylvania,) the Thelma Marks Shelter, where a decade ago two thru hikers were murdered by a deranged homeless person. I knew this, and I knew that there had been a few other murders on the trail in last 20 years. I felt that the trail was mostly safe, but now I was standing not 10 feet away from someone who could easily be described as a deranged homeless person.

When Kiteman and Short Term had the gear stowed and were ready to leave, we set off to climb one more mountain in the rain. I have never been more happy to set off in to the cold rain as I was right then. After a mile or so, I stopped check over my shoulder.

We pushed on. Up another 600 some odd foot ascent and then down the other side. A 2700 foot descent. The rain started to pour on us. And we walked down the mountain. As I descended, I walked through areas where some white wild flower carpeted the forest floor. The rain and humidity held the aroma of the flowers in the air. Despite the weather and my weary legs, I could not help but be amazed at the simple beauty of the experience of walking down this mountain.

At long last we reached the shelter, it was almost eight. We had been walking for nearly 12 hours. We changed out of our wet clothes and crawled in to our sleeping bags to warm up. We were all to tired to cook, so we had a dinner of trail mix, jerky and whatever other snacks we had on hand.

We were all asleep by nine.

We headed South along the Appalachian Trail under sunny skies, our spirits high and our legs still fresh. We walked at a good pace through the woods.

Backpacking is strange business. Just ask anyone. Go up to your average person on the street and tell them that your are planning to walk off into the woods. Not only that, but that you are going to carry everything you need while you are out there on your back. And just to keep it interesting you are going to walks miles at a stretch over rocky trails over tall mountains. Go tell them that and you’ll look at you as though you had two heads.

It is an odd thing to do, the body and mind know it also. They react in odd way to this trips at times too. And that’s what happened that first day on the trail. As we walking through the woods, I caught a whiff of Hash Browns. Fast Food Hash Browns. I could smell it as clearly as if I walking in Burger Kings parking lot. I called back to Capt. Shutter, “Do you smell that?”

“Hash browns?” He answered. We checked with Short Term and sure enough, he smelled them too. We caught the fragrance of Hash Brown several times over the next mile or so. Why or how, I’m not sure. The mind reacts oddly to being thrust out into the woods and being told to walk.

We climbed to the summit of a mountain called Main Top at just over 4000 feet. After a quick rest, we walked to rocky outcropping, not far from the summit, called Spy Rock. We scrambled up the rock face of this large rock that was once used as out post to monitor troop movements during the Civil War. Once on top, the view was breathtaking. It was 360-degree view showing us nothing as far as the eye could but more mountains. Not a house or road was visible. It gave some perspective in to how deep in the woods we really were. We could see the distinctive summits of the Priest and the Three Ridges to the north. To the West was Main Top, close to us and dominating the Horizon. Also visible were the Mountains known as the Little Priest and the Cardinal, plus many more whose names weren’t known to us.

I pulled out some food, since this seemed like a good place for a snack. Capt. Shutter looked at me and said, “I brought this along, just in case we came to a place like this.”

He reached into his pocked and pulled out something colorful. “It’s a small kite,” he explained. He proceeded to the center of this large rock and proceeded to fly his kite. This was the moment I had been waiting for. He had just earned a new Trail Name. From this point on, I will refer to him as Kite Man.

We descended for a while until we came a small road. There we met another thru-hiker. He was going to go into the small town of Montebello to stay at a Bed and Breakfast. We chatted for a moment and then were on our way again, passing a few more North Bound hikers as we went.

I arrived at the Seely Woodworth shelter ahead of Kite Man and Short Term. I took off my pack and relaxed. The stretch of trail that we walking on runs through the George Washington National Forest. The shelters built by National Forest Service are all the same (at least those that I have encountered,) modest three sided buildings. Big enough to hold six sleeping hikers comfortably, eight if you squeezed. Shelters come in different shapes and sizes. Some very nice, others leave a lot to be desired. This shelter fell in the middle. It was functional and clean, but not much more.

My concern was simple; I wanted to know if there were mice living in the shelter. I didn’t use to care too much whether or not there were mice, but after my experience last summer, I was much more concerned about spending the night with mice. As I was inspecting the shelter for mouse shit evidence of mice, Kite Man arrived, not long after that a young thru-hiker came down the trail.

His name was Grizzly and it was his Birthday. He was planning to go to the Bed and Breakfast in Montebello. Apparently, they were offering free food to thru-hikers. As we talking to him, Short Term arrived and then another thru-hiker named Stogie. We chatted for a bit and they headed of for hot showers and free food at the bed and breakfast.

I didn’t see any sign of mouse activity, but we set up tents anyhow. A little while later some Boy Scouts rolled in, followed later by two more thru-hikers. Every one got busy with the business of preparing dinner and then as the temperature dropped, people moved into the their sleeping bags. It was one of the nicest days I have ever had on the trail.

I slept soundly and woke up early. I got up and was surprised to see that neither Short Term nor the Kite Man were up yet. I fired up the stove and made myself some coffee. As I started to prepare my breakfast, the others joined me. We ate our breakfast and then broke camp.

Short Term left first, he likes to get an early start. After a bit, Kite Man got started. I finished sipping my coffee, took some pictures and added an entry to the Shelter Log. And then I put on pack and headed out on the trail.

Every year, I like to take a week or so and take a longer backpacking trip. This is part of my overall goal of hiking the entire length of the Appalachian Trail one section at a time. Four years ago we started out at the North End of Shenandoah National Park. This year I find my starting point about 130 miles further south, at Crabtree Meadows. In past years, I’ve walked with my dad and sometimes my brother. This year, dad would be going again and we would be joined by my buddy, Captain Shutter.

On the Appalachian Trail, many hikers user trail names, made up handles that they use to identify themselves, not unlike CB handles or internet Nicknames. I go by the name The Rain King and I call my dad Short Term, since he seems to forget the most strenuous parts of a hike not long after walking them. Or in other words, if it weren’t for his short term memory loss, he would probably quit hiking. Going into the hike I didn’t really have a name for Captain Shutter. On some of our earlier hikes, I had christened him Trail Donkey, but he had been hiking at a much better pace, so that name no longer seemed right. I was sure that a new name would present itself before the hike was over.

Crabtree Meadows is over 200 miles from where I live. A friend from work kindly offered to drive us down to our starting point and to help us shuttle dad’s car to the point he would get of the trail. She had gone hiking with us in April and earned the trail name Uber-bot for her relentless and untiring stride. It took us about four hours to get to the tiny town of Montebello, Virginia. From there we just needed to drive four miles up a small road to Crabtree Meadows. We didn’t go far on this small road before our speed was reduced to a crawl. We climbed steeply up a mountain, only to go back down the other side. The mountain dropped away sharply from the road. And the road itself was rutted and filled with large potholes. As went farther down this road, I began to feel extremely guilty for making my friend drive her minivan over this over-glorified goat-trail to a destination that I’d never been to before. We pushed on, if for no other reason, because there was no where to turn around. After inching over large bumps, down sudden drops and around hairpin turns, we finally reached the gravel parking lot that marked our destination.

Short Term was there waiting for us. He showed us where he set up his tent, and then drove off, with the Uber-bot following in her minivan to deposit his car 30 some-odd miles down the trail. Capt. Shutter and I set up our tents and then looked at our surroundings. We were camped in a field at about 3000 feet of elevation. The horizon was ringed by the summits of mountains. You couldn’t help but have the feeling that you were on top of the world. You might think that after driving to such a remote location, that we would be very isolated from the rest of the world. But that wasn’t the case at all. Camped about 200 yards away from us was a group of giggling college girls, and not long after we finished setting up our tents a family of four showed up and sent up their tents. Some time later, a bunch of drunk rednecks drove by in their Jeep Wrangler, seemingly intent on finding a way to drive it stupidly enough to overcome the design of the vehicle and roll it any way.

With our tents pitched and food bags hanging from the limb of a nearby tree, we had nothing to really do but wait. We sat on a large rock and looked at the clearing sky and talked. The air was chilly, but not uncomfortable. We sat in the dark and talked, occasionally wondering around to see what we could see. At long last, we saw head lights headed up the road towards us. We walked down to the parking lot and retrieved Short Term and thanked our friend the Uber-bot again. She drove off and the three of us were left high in the mountains of central Virginia, with nothing but the contents of backpacks.

It was late so we climbed in to our tents for the night. I read a chapter from my book and then turned off my headlamp and went to sleep. Maybe it was the cool air and the warm sleeping bag, or maybe it was just that I had slept very little the night before, but I slept incredibly well. I woke up around 6:30 and got out of the tent set up my stove and started heating water for coffee. Capt Shutter and my Dad joined me before long. We cooked our respective breakfasts and enjoyed the meal under blue skies. Once breakfast was cleaned up and our tents were stowed, we put our packs together and set off for the trail. We followed the little gravel road for about a ha