March 20
Reflecting back on the 26 hour bus ride from
Greenfield, MA to Gainesville, GA. This was one
of the less educated choices I have made. The
people we met on our way to Springfield, MA were
young like us and in high spirits. Energy seemed
to bounce off the speaking tongues. New York was
the usual freak scene, people asking me for
money; 10 cents here, dollars there. I can
barely understand the words that drop out of
empty mouths, hollow bodies, vacant stares,
unused heads and encumbered minds. Sleep
engulfed me from NY to Richmond, VA. Richmond to
Charlotte, NC was tedious. 80% of the passengers
on the bus were black. I do not understand their
behavior, their culture. I am not pushing a
negative cultural stereotype. I wonder about
race interaction and why I felt so uncomfortable
on that bus. It was my first taste of being a
minority. Even if it was for a brief period of
time, it was unnerving. A good perceptual shift
to start the trip. Charlotte is where we ran off
schedule. We sat 1 hr+ in the bus terminal
waiting for the local shuttle. We arrived in
Gainesville to a lovely narcotics search. I was
sweating the prospect of the dog sniffing out my
mushrooms but the Georgia Bureau of
Investigations had not trained it for that.
Chuckle, Chuckle. Getting to the trailhead was a
nightmare. We walked through the center of
Gainesville and tried to hitchhike out to
Amicalola Falls State Park. The local resident
knew our game and didn't even bat an eye or
offer a ride. They had seen people like us
before. We cut our losses and called a taxi. 50
fucking dollars for 40 fucking miles. The ranger
greeted us and told us our scenario before we
could get a word in edgewise. Dumbfounded we
trekked a couple hundred feet to the shelter,
met some boys from Ohio, and passed out.
March 21
Early rise with granola. The slight chill in the
air spurred us forward up a series of
switchbacks to the top of Amicalola Falls and up
a side trail to this posh hotel near the falls.
We got an early dose of culture shock but filled
up with water and got into an argument about
which way the trail continued from the hotel. We
found it after some discussion and busted up to
a ridge. The woods were extremely open with the
absence of leaves, who were encapsulated in the
rosy red buds. The forest seemed mature, huge
oaks lying around the many naked spaces. The
were probably the result of Windstorms and
shallow topsoil. Dipping down into a gap and
gaining the next ridge we ran into Charles who
had cammo duds and a large external frame pack.
Quite frankly, the trail was very unimpressive
in terms of elevation loss and gain. Spirits
were as high as the crystal blue sky with the
relative ease of the slope. The blackflies ate
me on Springer and I felt extremely anti-social
writing poems in a cloud (of bugs). Shoulders
ache but trail vibes are slowly trickling into
my consciousness. We eased down to Stover Creek
shelter resting and enjoying our 10 mile day.
Charles shows up along with "Slow Walker"- a
pleasant grandmother type. We finished dinner
full of laughter. Slow Walker and Charles turned
in real early, around 6. Two tripping from
Indiana showed up and asked us if I would lend
them my stove for dinner. They stayed until
dark. Backtracking, Andy and I had the best
interlude where the A.T. met Stover Creek. The
rhododendron turned Georgia into Amazon. Tossing
and turning all night.
March 22
Gooch Gap shelter- The trail started off real
gradual and after the oatmeal, I felt
invincible. My body was responding to the
friction of the load. The sun came out again
today to play with skin. My neck is burnt form
the rays that generated 75+ degrees. Hawk Mt.
shelter was reached after the spectacular
cascade of Long Creek Falls. We chatted with
"Luna" an attractive young woman from Winnipeg
who was carrying a hefty 60 lb. pack. Andy and I
seem to be working with each other even with the
long hours hiking. The wind was howling all day,
a fresh reprieve form the ball of blinding
energy above. Speaking of energy, I have chosen
Tatanka Iyotaka (Sitting Bull) as my Spirit
Guide for the journey.
March 23
Top of Blood Mt. Mid-afternoon, third day of
blue cloudless sky. Tourists, weekend warriors,
dayhikers and walkers all came into our world of
backpacking. The people I meet down here are
friendly, no acidic New Yorker types or
judgmental, liberal Masssachusett types like
myself. Three days of crystal clear weather
defies my sense of prediction. Three days of
perfect weather in New England is inconceivable.
Relaxing at the summit of Blood, conversations
are not listened to as much as the tone of voice
is, the southern drawl comes in with "gooch" and
the lilt on the other side is familiar,
Bostonian or upper atlantic seacoast. Southern
people have a quiet lilt in their voice, but
they are proud honest folks. The change in
scenery has enabled me to accept the people
somehow. Maybe backpacking infuses patience into
my life, to increase my reception of every
person. Backpacking helps me to explore that
dualism of good and evil. If I pass over summits
on the way it is simply added enjoyment. Names
of places today included Woody Gap, Slaughter
Gap, and Blood Mtn. The latter two apparently
received names from a battle between Indians
(possibly Cherokees) and Whites. Blood's
backside had switchbacks from hell. Andy's "dogs
were barking" which meant his feet were tired.
We have every right to be; by the time we
reached Walasi-Yi (a center for tourist and
hikers) we had logged 15 miles. To add insult to
injury, the campsite was another mile uphill. I
was ready to crack the skull of the lady who
sent us up here from the gift shop but the
campsite was peachy even if the water was a
quarter mile away. At the center, we met 4 other
hikers: Mr. Mingo, Hard Core, Joe O., and Kurt.
Joe O. stopped by at our camp for some
ben+jerry's we managed to pack up from
Walasi-Yi. I slept through the eclipse. Soreness
still dominates me after the day's journey. I am
conscious of my muscles in the waking hours. I
keep having the overwhelming desire to describe
myself in the 3rd person. Why? The reason for
the massive number of blowdowns was hurricane
Opal a couple years back. The Georgia A.T. Club
does a superb job with their trail maintaining
efforts.
March 24
Today we get to slack due to the Herculean
effort of yesterday. You haven't experienced
hunger until you've backpacked. Oatmeal, oh boy!
Relaxing after a fucked up dinner of burnt
natureburger casserole, I reflect back on
another long day in the glorious cycle. We are
here at Chugger's Crook or Knob, whichever you
prefer, a little bend in an old woods road that
the A.T. faithfully follows after Low Gap
shelter. Andy and I are zeroing in on our first
maildrop. I met Fiddlehead at Low Gap, a
definitive trail guru. He's running his first
Ultramarathon next Saturday, sounds wild.
March 25
Rain moved in at night and we woke up in a thick
mist. Three times the drops hailed down on the
tent, the third time I got up and covered my
pack. We were slow and took our time getting up
and chatting with Aquaholic (Joe O.) and Chugger
(a Texan). Chugger was telling us how he lived
in L.A. and how he could have become a gigolo
for all the rich women whose husbands didn't
give them any loving. The hike around Blue Mt.
was surreal--mist, moss, steep slopes and muddy
trails had me grinning in no time. Fiddlehead
caught us early from Low Gap shelter and hiked
with us (Andy, Aquaholic and I) for most of the
day. We met Red Dancer and five other
thru-hikers as well as a ridgerunner, Dave. This
is basically what the A.T. is about. A
connection with people. How you can relate to
those people. A semi-organized group of people
in love with the woods. The climbing was tougher
today. Coming down off Blue Mt. I left my knees
at the summit. Unicoi Gap was reached and a
couple had a trunk full of goodies for
thru-hikers. Hiking on the A.T. is a collection,
you collect your self, the self by hiking, you
recognize order in every thing, hiking gives you
a sense of place even if you have no sense of
place. You are somewhere even if you have no
idea where that is. I'm fucking tired.
March 26
Early morning in the wee hours, the rains came
and I was glad to be nestled in a shelter. Andy
and I trekked 60+ miles in 5 days, our bodies
are starting to fall apart. My boots are finally
giving me blisters. The rains also brought
thunder and lightning so it was my first
thunderstorm of 1997. Flashes lit up the
surrounding to the point where you could see
vivid color. In the morning, mist is still
present like London Fog or Weather Soup. The
walk today was gradually sloped except for
Kelley's knob. I tend to attack inclines like a
steam engine. Overstimulation of the calf
muscles happened early on the climb. The burning
pushes me on, serving as a catalyst. I try to
reach a point, a plateau, where the pain
dissolves and disappears. 75 mils in 6 days. I
feel excellent besides a slight twinge in my
left quad and a blister on my left achilles. We
spent the afternoon in Hiawassee, GA and are
sleeping in this smoke-infested room at the
Hiawassee Inn. Food down here in this town is
close to army grade slop. Everything makes me
sleepy when I come into town. Town swings the
pendulum of mood.
March 27
Town is bizarre, I'll never forget coming down
into Dick's Creek Gap and the carbon monoxide
infiltrating my nose from the highway that runs
through the gap. Andy bought running shoes to
trek with instead of his Limmers which are
tearing apart his knee. Sitting here at Plum
Orchard Gap shelter I don't know how to feel
towards Andy, I feel that he needs to make a
decision about his condition. We don't have much
leeway in our schedule for slow or free days.
Towns are the epitome of the phrase "Necessary
Evil". Andy is contemplating seeing a Dr. about
his knee. Andy and I have decided to split up. I
have no idea what his plans are; he might
continue at a slow pace. I feel like a caged
animal, poetry isn't coming. Andy's situation
has me in a funk, he doesn't know what to do, I
don't know what to say--it is past advice-giving
or sympathetic gestures. I'd love to have him
continue and I understand that it isn't easy
with the condition of his knee.
March 28
Wet, dismal, dreary day. I managed to evade the
thunderstorms by waiting them out in Muskrat
Creek shelter. Aquaholic, Yarddog and Roo
decided to camp on top of Standing Indian Mt
(el. 5498'). We are playing percentages with the
storm. I think clear up, but if we get another
boomer we'll be in rough shape. Eatin' time.
Sleeping bag=warmth. Rain has abated for a
while. The wind is generated from the soul of
the Standing Indian this mountain is named
after. The mist and fog is thick near 50 ft.
visibility and even less with the dark. Southern
Nantahala Wilderness is where I exist on this
planet. This place is a bear sanctuary.
Hopefully they are still hibernating????
Everything is so rapid out here, quick, fast; no
time to concentrate. The trail is all about the
people you come in contact with. Most of your
time is walking, spiced with eating and social
action, eating and sleeping. I have a bit more
space being alone now, but I hope Andy makes it
to Nantahala Outdoor Center to continue on our
journey. I try to fight off sleep like a roman
gladiator but the prospect of sleep is too
inviting, the simplicity is so refreshing, when
it's light you walk, when it's dark you sleep.
March 29
The early hours were spent in soggy, withered
shape out side the tent. The thunderstorms came,
much to our dismay and I retreated from the
summit, my tent, instead of being the highest
point for miles around. Rain jumped on us drove
into our treated nylon, seeking to make us
drenched, wet, unhappy. A silly harmony was
reached listening to the rain, a pattern was
recorded by listening to drop after drop smack
your unconscious, sleepy, sluggard state. If we
had only set up camped 15 feet lower, we would
have had less to worry about. Watching the
lightning, the valley and all around in the sky
was fantastic, though, in spite of the rain. We
broke camp at 5AM to do some early morning
walking. The cloud cover was in the larval
stages of blowing off as we strolled the
Standing Indian ridge. The cool morning ended at
Carter Gap shelter when Aquaholic and I hung
everything out to dry and collapsed for 2-3
hours due to lack of sleep. We scramble off
later to enjoy another fabulous ridgewalk and
meet a young group of thru-hikers sitting at
Betty Gap. Albert Mt was a beast of an uphill
but we reached it as the sun was sinking low.
Killer views of the southern Smoky Mountains
from the firetower. The campsite-we took a side
trail that was more rhododendron jungle than
trail but we were rewarded with fine views for
our efforts. I miss Andy, but as a thru-hiker
said, "you have to hike your own hike". I am not
suggesting that we were becoming plural. Time
alone, relatively speaking, strengthens the
individual.
March 30
Easter sunrise was spectacular. I watched it for
about an hour, watching the colors grow and
fade. There is a rhythm in these woods. Could
this rhythm be in the absence of any rhythm? I
always look for nothing in the deep, solid folds
of a thing. If you look for nothing whatever
finds you is the thing you were searching for.
Today was the first time hiking alone. It felt
marvelous, an Easter sabbatical. I am perched up
here on Siler bald (el. 5216') noticing the fact
that I am now surrounded by mountains with
little evidence of towns, roads, industry
existing. The mountains are sacred for their
diversity of weather, flora and fauna. Strange
fact: Vanderbilt, the millionaire, brought
Russian boars over to the states for hunting
sport many years ago. It turns out that the joke
was on him because the boars proved too elusive
and stealthy to hunt. These boars bred with wild
boars and feral pigs and are still roaming
around the mountains. Someone told me that park
rangers shoot them, I guess they are a problem.
The man who enlightened me on this was John
Harper a.k.a. "Cornbread". He is a member of the
Nantahala Hiking Club who has done the A.T. in
sections back in the mid 80's. I had a real good
time talking to him over lunch at Winding Stair
Gap. He was a true, hilarious regional character
with a good, strong woodsman sense. If our
public land are to be preserved for future
generations, we need more people like
him.............I had a nice chat with Aquaholic
about reincarnation. He was open and receptive
about the idea of it existing. I have changed my
name from " " to Void (of Consciousness). People
seem to like the fact that I have a name now.
One thing pissed me off today as I was lunching
at Winding Stair Gap. I had taken a few supplies
from a hiker bag not far from the Gap. Roo went
up to find the hiker bag because he missed it
the first time. He came back with news that some
Hikers out for 3-4 days had swiped the whole
bag! Thru-hikers need the food more than people
out for several days. However, why take the
whole bag? Just snatch a few items and leave the
rest for others. Sharing, it’s what this life is
about. Rain dropping plunking, clunking on the
tin roof of the shelter, warm and dry in my bag.
An incredible easter. The view from the top of
Siler Bald was poetry in a landscape. Words do
little save to capture the essence of scenery.
March 31
Last Day of March in Wesser Bald Shelter. Crazy
18 mile day. I met 3 people on top of Wayah
Bald-Gypsy, Willow and Sol. 3 young, boisterous
(excepting Gypsy) people. The two Canadian girls
are very talkative and obnoxious!!!! The journal
entry is hard to write with Willow in my left
ear.
And the Cantaloupe jumping
off the Wesser Bald tower
thought of his angelic mistress,
the lovely georgia Peach
lounging under the freeway overpass.
A lemonade stand,
her modest establishment,
was an honest forthright institution
the rind exploded
the seeds flew
orange mush of brains on grass.
Poetry form uttered words, meaningless, senseless, floating in some random void and I pluck them out and give them value. My headlamp is very dim and it's hard to see the page. More tomorrow, such a long day.
April 1
Chilly night in the shelter. The wind was
howling, the temp fell to 22 degrees, I took my
time waking up and trotted off for town mid
morning. The 2,500' of descent was extremely
tedious and drawn out. 6 miles of screaming
knees. The afternoon was spent eating and
relaxing. The town is only the Nantahala Outdoor
Center, but it has a well-equipped gear shop and
tasty restaurant. The increase in appetite is
astounding. I ate a four course meal and could
have eaten more. This place is built the river
and an adjacent road. There is some whitewater
on the bend in the river (near the center) and
kayakers try their paddles at the slalom course.
Bulldog had a room with three empty bunks so
Aquaholic, Gnome and I stayed with him that
night. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that Gnome
took 4-5 days off and his knee felt better so he
reunited with me at NOC. Andy and I walked a
mile up the road to a store for provisions. It
was a rural scene unfolding. The lady stocking
eggs into a cooler had a cigarette leisurely
draped from her lips. They only carry
non-alcoholic beer. yuck. Now, Bryson City was
our only option. We decided to hitch and the
first truck picked us up and brought us back.
April 2
Evidently, I snore really loud, Andy and
Aquaholic were yelling at me last night. The
morning was another mind detachment from the
body--all the people around the NOC make me a
touch neurotic psychotic or just plain spacey. I
mailed off a bunch of postcards and Andy needed
to jet out of there because he had been at NOC 4
days. Every time I go into town I seem to spend
$50, it's unreal and costly. The deviation from
trail food and replacement of equipment adds up.
On a positive, I called a supervisor of product
testing a L.L. Bean's and he sounds excited
about sending us new gear to test and evaluate.
We'll wait and see. A half mile out of NOC up
the trail and the woods sense was already
starting to creep back in. The hike out of the
valley was pleasant until we approached Swim
Bald. The trail ran an everlasting ridge to the
summit which some Floridians were camping on. We
moseyed to the shelter and took water and ate
snack. We climbed a mile to Cheoah Bald, the
last half mile was demanding. The view and
campsite was spectacular excellent vistas,
sunset, stars. Sex and everything relating to
sex comes up as a topic often. With all the
hormones and energy pumping your sex drive goes
off the chart. A lot of good-looking women in
the back country already seem to have met their
"Mountain Man". There are sooooo many types of
people out here. People hike for ambiguous
reasons. Andy feels healthy and is psyched to be
back on the trail. Spirits are high and I think
about the miles tomorrow.
April 3
It's comfortable being in the woods. Existing,
Being, now I have to work on interaction. A very
big 14 miles today. Stecoah, our first real
climb after coming down from Cheoah, was
murderous. I did see it coming. I had read about
it but no one seemed to give it any advance
billing. Whoever made that section of trail was
a vicious person or quite possibly a New
Englander. The morning was accentuated by people
who stayed at the shelter a mile below us. The
would come up and chat, move on. I met Smiley, a
great guy from Georgia. He had this look of
determination in his eye. After Stecoah, lunch
was eaten at Brown Fork Gap shelter to rest our
tired, burnt legs from the climb. Moving on to
Cody Gap we thought a campsite was attainable.
We ended up lounging, waiting and resting. The
decision was up to Andy if we should continue,
he felt o.k. I did not want to push his knee,
but an eleven mile day is short. The last 3
miles to Cable Gap Shelter was rolling and
relatively easy walking. We arrived to a full
shelter and new faces. I chose to be fairly
anti-social a write away from the shelter, near
the tent. My body feels excellent, strong,
almost impervious except for my left ankle. It
had a slight twinge if the trail was sloped down
to the left. The A.T. is a fairly narrow foot
path and add that to the fact of schlepping
around 40-50 lbs. A 2 foot wide trail can get
hairy in a hurry. Precision with foot placement
is necessary. How you place feet is also
important. You acquire this through thousands of
trail miles. We enter the Smokies tomorrow,
maybe some bear will grace my presence.
April 4
Early wake up on Andy's Birthday. I was pumped
for going into Fontana Dam and chowing down
anything other than trail food. 5 miles to the
road was shredded and we pulled into the village
around 10. The mail had not come so we trucked
up to the Inn's restaurant and cleaned out the
all you can eat breakfast buffet. Pork
phenomena. Someone cranked up the humidity today
Hitching out of town was a bitch. Tourists don't
pick up our scraggly, smelly asses. A park
ranger grabbed us out of the kindness of his
heart. Fontana was one of the lowlights of the
hike. Walking over the pride of Tennessee Valley
Authority. Dams- the subject of Dams. It is so
impossible to write anything coherent with
everyone talking in the shelter. Everyone is all
psyched about trails, trails, trails. It's kind
of exhausting, the constant chatter. Dams-
hydroelectric power- harnessing nature. It would
be nice to see a flood come crashing through the
Dam. It is still intriguing to see the contact
of man and nature. Man viewing nature as a
resource and fouling her beauty in the process.
After leaving the concrete eyesore behind, the
hike up Shuckstack was nasty in the humidity.
Sweat, Sweat, drink, liquids, aaaaahhhhh! The
view from the firetower was otherworldly. Still
surrounded by mountains. Yes, I am home and
alive. We pulled in to Birch Spring and as we're
cooking dinner Garth cranks down the trail
--smiles and laughs all around. He looked good,
comfortable on the trail. I'm completely tired.
My headlamp just kicked off-----dead.
April 5
Garth said he wants to hike with us for awhile,
I'm excited like a little guuuuurl. Greater than
1% of students at COA are on the A.T. Another
bit of useless trivia. Andy want to go to a bar
in Gatlinburg because he just turned 21
yesterday. I saw my first horsepackers today. I
have mixed feelings towards people on horses.
They have a right to be out here, but the horses
destroy the trails and we almost got run over at
little Bald today. The fields at high elevations
are incredibly surreal. Instead of an alpine
zone these fields resembling orchards pop up at
higher elevations. These are the product of
forest fire, perhaps. It's good to have Garth
with us, he's a scientific complement to the
duo, now a trio. We flew in the latter part of
the day 10 miles in 5 hours. Onward.....
Rockytop+Thunderhead were crossed in the
afternoon under the growing cumulonimbus and
fresh east wind. So intense at times that I had
a hard time staying on the trail. I was
unconscious today. The last 4-5 miles from
Thunderhead was a bit much, a tad excessive, 16
miles today, in the Smokies. Yahoo! We're
getting rained on here at Derrick Knob Shelter.
Tomorrow will be a quagmire. Clingman's Dome,
coming up, the highest point on the A.T.,
6,600'+. After the conversation I had with Andy
tomorrow is up in the air. Everything is
dependent on the weather. Hopefully, the storm
will blow off by tomorrow morn. Wind gusts to
30mph. Rain sounds like scattered sand on the
tin roof. My eyelids feel heavy once again. An
island of dryness in an ocean of rain. An old
stone structure (the shelter) protecting
backpackers from the elements.
April 6
The clocks fell backward, time jumped into a
vacuum, Daylight Sucking Time began. Christ!
We're done with WWII, why does this country
continue to practice it? It rained all night,
heavy at times. The earplugs worked well with
the tin roof of the shelter. Pop-tart breakfast.
The food situation was meager today, 50% of my
diet consisted of Clif bars. Rations are getting
slim. Tomorrow--Gatlinburg! The way I talk about
it, it seems that we're going to paint the town
red. Tonight it's Mt. Collins shelter. Two slots
shy of a full boat. Besides the 3 of
us--Galileo, Huff+Puff, Butch+Redneck, 180, and
one other name that escapes me. The hike today
was good but especially peculiar. It rained all
morning as we passed Siler's Bald shelter and
trucked on to Double Spring Gap shelter where we
met some good old boys from Indiana. If they had
not been there and didn't try to give us
everything they had, we probably would have
stayed. The floor of the shelter was flooded and
they boys were drinking whisky and smoking dope.
People have all different philosophies of life.
Why do fat people always snore? We decided to
push on to Clingman's Dome. Trail Trooper wanted
nothing to do with those drunk fellows. He said
to me "I'm glad I don't work in North Carolina",
referring to the two pot-smoking individuals.
Clingman's was a beast of a climb, not to
mention the fact that I drank some bad spring
water. Too many unfriendly microorganisms in the
unfiltered water. The top of Clingman's was pea
soup. The clouds parted as we came down from the
summit. Our boots were acacias. Quercus is still
great on the trail, a solid hiker. I tend to
have less patience with Andy, I don't know why,
possibly it is how this whole trip has come
together. One thing I learned at a very young
age was to never go back on your word. If you
talk something up, do it with flair, style, give
it your best twist, angle or side. Chances are
only you see it that way, but others can
appreciate it equally. I had a great few
sentences with Redneck today. "The more you are
outside, the more you realize you want to do
nothing else with your life but be in that
place". The sleep of 1000 yawns. I'm sooooo glad
I brought ear plugs. Pizza, Beer, Pancakes, Fast
food----Culture Shock.
April 7
Andy, Garth and I really got ripping last
night-laughing-hysterics. Garth started in about
a satanic boy scout who killed 3 skunks and I
thought that was odd, but then we got rolling
thinking about a hot bath of oatmeal and tomato
juice. Then Andy and I got hysterical about 180
snoring out of his testicles. Early morning four
of us wake up and were whispering quietly when
some of us giggled and woke 180 up. He woke up
and said, "that's it, I'm outta here", and
proceeded to pack his shit, wake everyone up and
take roughly 2 hours to leave. He was slow
rattling death coming out of the shelter and
into the shelter, out+in, in+out. The chain link
fence on the front of the shelter is soooooo
noisy. The crew in the shelter was mostly good
natured. I flew the last 5 miles to the road for
Gatlinburg. We had to get a ride from this Smoky
Mtn. overlook. We solicited people for a ride
and these two religious people from Michigan
picked us up and shuttled us down to the tourist
zoo. Walking down the street was like being on
another planet. We strolled a mile or two to the
motel which did not have "no smoking" rooms.
When I asked the clerk about this she said,
"Honey, this is Gatlinburg". No shit. Town was
the usual rat race, the post office, dinner,
drinking-Tennessee microbrew is barely worth
mentioning. No hops in the aftertaste of the
stout, a sign of weakness. Fortunately, we found
a natural food store in this mecca, this throng
of tourists.
April 8
Peck's Corner shelter, I met Falling Apart and
Ultralight- great guys from Conway, NH. An
uncomfortable nights sleep in the Willow Motel
last night. I enjoy reading Garth my poetry. I
have to be more respectful of Andy, I am cruel
and treat him poorly when he balks at the idea
of doing 20 miles. 3 laughing people, we are a
silly bunch always giggling, snorting,
guffawing, chortling, screaming and hollerin'.
My head got sunburnt a while back and it's
slowly recovering. Everything is too fast to
record. Trail life emphasizes enjoyment. I sent
Kit some poetry. My style is beginning to gel. I
dropped like $85 in Gatlinburg- a shithole of a
town. We got shuttled back to Newfound Gap where
we continued our journey north. The
ridge-walking today was simply phenomenal. Good
views- especially from Charlie's Bunion, a bald
rock outcrop. An odd name for a feature but
intense abysmal drops nevertheless. 10 miles in
the afternoon. It felt longer than usual. 20
miles tomorrow? I was really jiving on the
spring at this shelter. Butch and Redneck are
hear also. Ultralight asked me if I had any bad
habits, and I recounted my daze on drugs. Nature
is my sedative now. My thoughts are unlike glue,
they can not stick to each other. They do not
form this continuous, cohesive, coherent strip.
I have given my self to this trail to shape. The
ever-changing self will benefit from this act of
charity to an object (the A.T.) perceived by
many as inanimate. The lifeforce of this trail
is the shaper of the self. Do I come on to this
trail for new direction? No, I come to learn
valuable lesson of and about the self.
April 9
Awoke with a head swimming, full thoughts, the
stomach is like an empty cauldron, raw and
hollow. Steam trickles gingerly from my nose,
wisps from my mouth. Everyone is sleepy or
dozing in the half light of a crisp April
morning. How can I relay an experience that I
feel everyone must have to heighten their
appreciation for the surrounding environment?
Here I get stuck in the idea of using realism to
convey a message. This journey is not realistic
for many, many people. I could be viewed as
fantastic because of the super or subrealness of
my experience and I would fall into fantasy.
Mountains are fantasy for most people, something
to look at, something to ski down. What they
forget is that mountains are soooooo
ecologically rich; these masses are providers of
many rivers from their enormous snowpack. I
guess the idea I'm inching closer to is:
Everything starts with mountains. No, it's not
Ronald Reagan's trickle down ecological theory
from the peaks to the valley, it is the thought
that mountains are diversity in action, motion
and being.....Huge day-20 miles, the first time.
I couldn't have asked for more interesting
weather today. It was freezing this morning when
we pulled out of the shelter. As soon as the
spur trail hit the A.T. my eyes lit up like
candles. All the trees were frosted, the wind
was bellowing. Another morning ridgewalk. Sun
was spotted in the valley and it was soon
streaming on the next ridge. Clouds broke out,
patches of blue shone through. Sunlight but
still bitter cold. Songs floated through my
head, my pace quickened. In general, a beautiful
day for a long walk.. I didn't meet anybody I
feel like mentioning. No one stood out today,
except for the reunion with Rareback+Honey
Bear-best people I know from Alabama. Tomorrow
we exit the Smokies. My pockets are getting thin
and tight. Hot Springs, NC is the next stop to
ease the hiker muscles. Goodnight.
April 10
My mother's birthday is less than a week away,
Shit! The sun crests over a northern mountain
sending beams down to the canopy, our way. One
guy was snorin', snorin', snoring last night.
Luckily, I had those earplugs. They blocked out
about half the snore noise. I woke up early and
watched the light grow on the horizon. I miss
sunrises when I am not on the trail. The
beginning of another day for all of us diurnal
creatures. A positive attitude encompasses my
thought on future footfalls. The sun disappears
over the western horizon as I contemplate the
past 3 weeks sitting on this mossy rock. I was
beat today, that 20-miler drained me. We did
about 13 today. The morning started with a
beautiful stream walk. Garth was in heaven with
all the blooming flowers. We also found Morels
today. Garth spied one in the middle of out
climb up Snowbird Mt. It was yellow but I wasn't
sure of edibility so we left it. At the top of
Snowbird there was this FAA command center. And
was convinced it was a pizza joint for UFOs. I
thought the theory had some merit. Lunchtime was
stellar, we lounged really hard for hours;
finally we dragged our lazy asses up a hill and
to Brown Gap campsite which is the worst yet.
I'm thinking about hiking a little longer, past
the first of May, it depends on Andy. The
crescent moon brings promise of brighter nights.
The time change already has the days spread out.
Patience is all I have. Funds are running low.
April 11
I heard two coyotes calling to each other in the
night. It was dreamy and wolflike. I heard them
cackling when we rose this morning. Today is
splendid and sunny. Coyote is the trickster in
many native american stories and legends. One of
the few larger predators that has expanded its
range in the past 100 years; funny if you think
about how the farmers loathe them and how most
people consider them pests. They are an
essential part of mountain ecology. The Max
Patch today was amazing with its grassy hill
formation and bald summit. Slurping in the misty
views. 20 miles er...19.7 long ones. The pace
was slower today, my body felt as tired as two
days ago but less achy. We pushed because the
post office closes after 11AM Saturday in Hot
Springs. I had Devo, "Whip It" stuck in my head.
Bluff mountain was a beast. I bluffed the
mountain with my tai chi exercises. As we began
to ascent, I still felt very full from lunch at
wonderful Walnut Creek shelter. I concentrated
all my energy into the palms of my hands. I
began to almost weigh the energy rhythmically.
Two beats left, two beats right, over+over+over
and over. Soon, I was revolving my hands in
front of me, a constant circle, a constant
cycle. We did 2.9 miles in 50 min. Flying,
Seeing visions. A lovely walk among the
claytonia (Spring Beauty) flowers. The backside
of Bluff was endless dropping down a 45 degree
pitch on smooth switchbacks. Near Garenflo Gap
this beautiful Amazonic tumbling stream kept my
ears fixed on it. The last 3 1/2 miles hurt. I
was chippy with Andy during mealtime but
everything relaxed after eating. I'm psyched for
a shower in Hot Springs. A vile, pungent odor
accumulates from hot, cloudless days.
April 12
The three mile jaunt into Hot Springs was a nice
rolling hike. A cloudy, warm and humid morning.
The town was packed with thru-hikers----jammed.
The only place we could stay was the Jesuit
hostel. $9 a night but Garth and I dug
er...cleared a ditch, it was fairly laborious
but only an hour. Father Vince was extremely
gracious. Let me digress; the hike into Hot
Springs was glorious, spiritually uplifting,
looking off the ridge east and west, seeing that
you were encased in mountains, there is no place
I'd rather be, I need to focus on the moment,
the now in order to be where I am. It's true I
am a space cadet but the more I focus on just
being in the experience or being the being,
(which is it?) the more I feel whole, a sense of
peace achieved from climbing these peaks, hills,
mountains. Hot Springs is the first town I feel
comfortable in, it is quite small and dirty, but
all of the people are friendly. I learned that a
dear friend, Luke Yohan, passed away in a fatal
car accident about a week ago. Tragic, Tragic,
words can not describe. I was checking in with
my mother and that was basically our whole phone
call. Sadness shrouded me but I shook it off.
His spirit was ready to exit, I guess. Being on
the trail can make you feel powerless about
certain situations you want to be in control of,
but it also teaches acceptance through the
sacrifice/embrace of a lifestyle. Yes, I'm being
vague. I wish Luke's soul all the best.
April 13
Too many doughnuts in town again. It's hard,
those chocolate covered ones always get me.
Doughnuts, they make you feel like the people
who made them--Pretty Shitty. I ate meat in town
to bolster my protein. I still do not understand
how Andy convinced me not to bring Instant black
bean mix on the trail---the stuff is dy-na-mite
trail food. The air is colder today after a
humid spell yesterday. Hell, it might snow. The
wind sure is whipping. We got to the last
shelter but I am thrilled that we didn't stay on
the ridge, it's going to be a cold, cold night.
12.5 miles today---after an 11AM start. Hot
springs was the best town yet, groovy, down to
earth people. Andy thought it was like a
commercial on TV. We jumped into the tent to
stay warm. Great mountain weather; Old Man
winter refuses to yield to Sister spring. I felt
lethargic with the extra weight from the
maildrop. We fucked up and forgot essentials
like cheese and batteries in town. Andy and I
were recipients of trail magic, a thru-hiker
from 1980 gave us a can of beer.
April 14
Last night turned out to be a slight bit chilly
but the stars were out in the early morning.
Plagued by more odd dreams with friends in them.
I'm sure it's my brain reacting to Luke's death.
He was so young. The older you get the more
people you know die. The trick is staying among
the living. Has the veil of immortality been
lifted? Andy had bizarre dreams as well. Another
incredible day as I reflect back.....A Barred
Owl hoos in the distance. In the morning, the
cold morning, we trickled down to a road called
Allen Gap and climbed moderately to Little
Laurel shelter. By this time we had it in our
heads to do 20 miles. Again the terrain was
forgiving and even welcoming. I will be sleeping
under the stars tonight, there is no room in the
shelter. A rest at Little Laurel shelter was
followed by a severely demanding climb. That
mountain (Camp Creek Bald) took out the whip and
beat my ass with it. The trail's grade meant
business. We dropped packs at the fire tower
side trail and found a summit chock full of
mission control toys--radio towers, fire towers,
etc. The comet (Hale-Bopp) is faint in the
moon's first quarter, today or tomorrow.
Blackstack cliffs was the best site for lunch
yet, fresh eastern views. We rolled to Jerry
Cabin Shelter through the mud and rock. A cold
day even in the sunshine. It is warmer
tonight....the haze around the moon could mean
warmer days ahead. After watering at the last
shelter I went about half a mile, when I
suddenly noticed a black figure 50-70 feet off
the trail. In my second glance the bear had
turned tail and furiously fled, crashing brush
in its wake. Good medicine from this sighting. I
feel more connected to these woods now, but a
gap in values distances me from many people out
here. Am I not like all of them? Perhaps I am
far too critical. Maybe I just observe subtle
differences. Flying Turkeys, I seldom see, but 3
days ago on Walnut Mt., Andy and I saw one take
off. It was so quirky, a bird that massive
actually flying. Something in the bushes as I
write in an anti-social spot away from camp.
Time for my diurnal self to exit. High chirping
sound---similar to bats.
April 15
I walked with Garth yesterday from Big Butt to
the last shelter--his knowledge of biology is
stellar. I begin to understand how and why
people become biologists. 3 shooting stars
passed overhead last night. April 7-18 is the
period of a certain meteor shower-not as
spectacular as the perseids but a good omen.
More strange dreams last night, earth is more
comfortable than wood. We caught Rareback+Honey
bear and might hike with them for the next few
days. The weather seems to like us, lots sun,
the air temperature could use some hot sauce.
Sun lounging at a shelter. Already a hard day of
climbing. The trail ripples now, I feel like a
human roller coaster. Thoughts I have on the
trail evaporate when I try to pen them on paper.
Wittgenstien spouts, "when you have a thought
what you think is not the same as what is
written", Something like that. Planning,
Planning, Planning for Erwin. It will probably
turn out to be some reconnaissance mission.
We've heard bad things about this town so we
plan to get in and get out quickly. Who know?
Today was hot with some mean climbing. I met my
first tobacco-spitting farmer. He said, "you
ain't lettin' that boy with the sticks outwalk
ya, are ya? I said no and replied that there
were people behind me. The farmer was referring
to Andy and his trekking poles. The 15 miles
were hard coming off the previous 20. My pack
has been riding like shit. I've got this funky
calcium deposit on my left shoulder blade,
similar to a cyst. Enough of my weird
physiology, think of this: You sleep in the
clothes you work in, you work in the clothes you
play in, you play in the clothes you wear to
present your self. Its not your clothes, it's
you. You permeate your self. The clothes don't
make the person, Experience does. Low Gap is a
smooth campsite, 2 springs and one flat
campsite. Sleeping on the ground beats the
shelter any night. Gleep, do you know what a
Gleep is? It's similar to spit but it is a
method of projecting clear saliva. Sleepy
people. Is my senior project a culmination or a
vacation? This is what I plan to do with the
rest of my life. Peaks tomorrow. Big Bald.
April 16
This day of hiking is dedicated to my mother
because it's her birthday. Super incredible
views from Big Bald. We lounge again for
lunch....15 mile days are so relaxing and
carefree. The wind is slight, breezy and the sun
shines like a vulture zeroing in on prey. I seem
to have lost my knife, oh well. Being in the
woods is such a cultural revolution. We are past
halfway on our trip. Erwin is though of with
anticipation and mixed feelings. Too tired to
write the sun has me drunk and drugged. Picked
up the pace in the afternoon as the Tennessee
Eastman Hiking Club is now in charge of the
trail, fairly level walking. The A.T. is novel
during springtime because you'll ascend a
mountain and all the plants will be in a winter
phase or stage. Dipping into the valleys, the
buds are opening slightly, slowly. It is a
strange way to view spring. In between the
summits and the valleys, the trees are leafless
but ground cover is green, early flowers bloom.
I'm psyched for the rhododendron and azalea to
bloom. This will not happen until Virginia,
unfortunately. Puffballs pop up in the mossy
coat of this giant fallen oak. The bugs lazily
float, seeking blood. Andy and I had our first
serious conversation, but I was convinced that
the more rash generalizations I made, the more
hotly he disputed. Sometimes I don't believe
what I say and fall into the trap of arguing.
The only thing I feel strongly about are
mountains. I'm not narcoleptic but it's always
interesting how your sense of hearing takes over
just when you get sleepy, everything is
magnified, exploded, heightened and then you
crash or wake up. Yes, Andy and I are complete
opposites. It could be me asserting my
independence/defiance. I guess I'm a stubborn
s.o.b. on the trail in some areas. Yes, we
conflict and bounce off each other. We can never
be too pissed at each other for too long. Ask
questions and, depending on the person, you'll
get their life history. Who likes dealing with
cops? The nicest cop I met was on this trail, a
statie from PA. These devices in the shelter are
hilarious. A rope hangs with a stick tied into
the rope. Halfway between the stick and the top
is a can. You hang your food bag and it's
mouseproof. The mice can't climb down over the
can. It's funny when the mice try though.
Crashing, coming to earth, going to
space---Dreamworld.
April 17
Rain last night, clouds look menacing as we sit
by the Nolichucky river and hope to catch a ride
to Erwin. Andy+I cruised this morning, using
pizza and beer as our motivational tool.
AAAAHHHH! Never ever has a day been this
strange. Today was the fulcrum for the trip, the
pivot point. The journey from Hot Springs to
Erwin was slow, our pace was slow, Andy noticed
yesterday and said something about it. We just
tanked up with food in Erwin. My pack is the
heaviest it has been the whole trip. I'm just
ripping, ready to pound out the miles, enjoy
myself. I've been caught in a funk the last two
days and it's time to shed off the bullshit. No
more candy ass "I can't". Time to get a better
attitude, especially about climbing (ascending).
The mental state for ascent was lost for a few
days, now its back with full fury. I'm almost
sick of meeting people, the trail seems to be
wrapped in a big social clique. I am stripped
down to my hiking essence once again. I'm unsure
about the quality of the project, school and
graduation; the whole ball of wax. Maybe I need
to relax. Garth said back at Low Gap, "I feel
like everything we do is a cycle". This
statement speaks volumes about trail life. All
aspects are cyclical. You are doing the same
action over and over and over, constantly. It
can drive you berserk, whatever. The trick is to
find a steady rhythm in the cycle. I try to find
security in this. I feel safe, more aware in the
woods. I take stimulus as I choose to receive
it, I am not forcefed. Garth and I had a
wonderful discussion about a catalpa flower, he
know his shit. I picked up the flower before
crossing the Nolichucky river. The shelter is
full of talkers its hard to concentrate. Blah,
Blah, Blah, Blah. I'm sick of shelters.
Campsites are the way to go, you have to be
selective about your wilderness experience. I'm
not tired, huge day tomorrow, even with the
stifling pack weight. Smile beaming now I'm
dreaming. Ovenass-new word for the day---hot
rectal stimulus--goodnight.
April 18
21 mile day, yes, I am impressed with us. The
terrain was a roller coaster. Few switchbacks,
mostly straight climbing on a ridge, taxing on
all leg muscles. I was tired by lunch at Cherry
Gap shelter. The ascent up Unaka mountain was
otherworldly. Let me back up...We awoke to a
dusting of snow on the ground and it falling
lightly from the sky. We broke camp earlier
anticipating the long day. It was low 20s and we
ate cold breakfast. A morning climb sweating
under the many layers. Beauty Spot was scenic
but I felt like a mountaineer cresting the spot
with the wind howling and the snow flying.
Movement was the word early in the trek, got to
keep moving. I'll never forget the moment of
coming out in a meadow and looking up at Unaka
veiled in mist and the sun shining on the frosty
trees with every cloudbreak. Unaka was a monster
of a climb. The red spruce on the summit created
this psuedo-enchanted forest feeling. Andy
snapped a photo of the ice beard I was wearing.
Poetry almost hopped out of my pen. We all
agreed that today was the most beautiful day so
far on the trip. The backside of Unaka is where
we stepped into another place. Clouds lifted and
cold sunshine sprung! Today was my first hot
lunch ala cous-cous. After those primary 12
miles, the legs took a beating because the next
9 were no cakewalk. "You look like an Orthodox
something/someone", Andy says of my character.
Hot cheddar shells from Annie- with fresh garlic
and real cheese, mmmmmmm....the moon is waxing
gibbous now. The best and one of the first
sunset was gazed at from Clyde Smith shelter (a
mouse house). Spirits are high for Roan Mt. as
we lie in the foothills of its mighty flanks.
April 19
Dirt, Slime, Grease, Grime. A misty no-view day.
We awoke to an inch of snow. The southerlies
(south winds) started blowing and the ground
cover started melting. Roan Mt. in the morning
lived up to its billing as Cloudland. The climb
was huge, a decent 3 mile ascent. It was one of
the stiffer climbs complemented with snow cover
which made the footing trickier. We met a man at
Roan High Knob shelter named Peter who had
started at Katadhin on July 2 of last year. We
had thoughts of another big day, but these were
quickly shattered with the murky, misty weather.
Not much rain but enough to create lots of
gloppy MUD. A slow day, a needed day. Andy and
Garth saw bobcat tracks. I told people today
that it was "all downhill" to Overmountain
shelter. I never lived that one down with all of
the climbing we did before the shelter. I have
to quiet glancing at those evil profile maps.
Listening to other people talk in this barn it's
hard to throw thoughts and impressions out on
the page. This is the art of shelter hopping.
The ability to coexist/relate with other
recreationally minded people. We are zeroing in
on Hampton-planning a big day for tomorrow. We
are basically animals reduced to senses,
instincts. If we reach 600 miles I'll be
surprised. It's not just about a project for
school, it's a quest. We are testing our limits,
our endurance. I wish some people would shut
their mouths. They seem to be talking for others
to hear or listen to. Some weekenders gave us
treats here. Smores and ham sandwiches. I start
to feel closure to the trip. We've been out a
month. A month living with the rhythms of the
earth, more or less. Times are becoming strange
when we jump into a town. Eating food until you
puke, talking with locals, the anxiety at the
post office (is our package there?) , thumbing
rides, the short amount of time we have to do
everything, even hiking. The days just peel
away. You can't romanticize about hiking/walking
up high you have to do it. Mountain weather is
cold 9 or 10/12ths of the year. Is this why
mountains are so attractive?
April 20
Sunrise at Overmountain shelter accentuated the
view. The shelter sat on the high edge of the
field. The clouds burnt off and sun warmed up
our cold, ghostly figures. Little Hump Mt. was
the early morning kick in the rump. Hump Mt.
loomed in the distance. I came down into Bradley
Gap and wrote some poetry. Up big Hump and jam,
jam, jam down to Apple House shelter where we
found a flyer for this Sunday buffet at the
crossing up to the restaurant. Four stinking
thru-hikers (Us+Whetherman) descending on an
all-you-can-eat buffet. Everyone was in their
Sunday best, ties, dress the whole get up. We
strolled in an proceeded to eat our way through
pile after pile of greasy fried food. I truly
wonder how people ever live past the age of 40
in the South. the hike back on the road was
hilarious with us waving at every car,
soliciting friendly gestures. Most people waved,
it was bizarre. The climb in the beginning from
the road was grueling, but brief. We had come
out of the mountains, and now mired in hill
country---ugly overgrown pastureland. Garth and
I did a roadwalk that consisted of, count 'em; 6
angry, barking, unchained dogs. Granted, four of
them were beagles but the 2 others were mean.
The only chained dog was a rottweiler; my heart
skipped a beat when I noticed it. Someone told
me somewhere that you could always look a dog
down, I guess it worked, they didn't bite us.
Maybe we just had good luck. The rest of the
days was spent pushing to get to the lovely
campsite a Laurel creek. Excitement was high for
a shower. All we could talk about was how bad we
smelled, the stench, the ripe odor of
accumulated miles of sweat. Many people have no
concept of how bad hikers smell. It's
unparalleled, sweat turned over, day after day,
and the garments are a bit crusty, funky. Some
may think it's glamorous to be hiking the A.T.
Their mind may be dragged away form the minor
disgustingness and fixated ont he contact with
nature, some romantic notion. This surely is not
me, but does it suffice for most?
April 21
Woke up and packed 15 minutes before the rains
started to pour. A wet ten miles to Kincorra
Hostel. We basically trucked it to the hostel.
Hot shower, town food, the building excitement
spurring us on. Bob and Pat Peoples who ran the
place were great, overly nice. The fee for a
bunk, hot shower and laundry was $4--dynamite.
The masses, hordes of hikers shortly followed us
and soon the place was packed to the gills with
some sleeping on the floor. Names: Hawk who
Walks, Tennessee, Rareback+Honey Bear, Mama's
Boots, Wild Fish, The Wizard, Al, Baevis, Happy
Chappy, Wild Heart, Hardcore. The place was just
packed! Unfortunate circumstance #1: I tried to
call my friend at U of VA and his phone number
had been disconnected. He was our ride off the
trail. What now? The situation with all the
people was difficult, so much energy, so many
people. We hit town and bought way to much food
at the grocery store. The give and take in the
hostel was interesting, there were as many
givers as their were takers, not much in
between.
April 22
Rain on the roof of Vandeventer shelter after a
humid 17 mile day. Never drink beer for
breakfast before backpacking. The early morning
waterfall was spectacular, 50 ft. high,
thunderous. The pack felt heavy from the food
drop in Hampton. My journal writing time has
been limited these days due to social
interaction. I think thoughts but they slip away
before I have the time to write them down. Even
in writing that thought down it slipped away. I
could have expanded on it or enhanced it
somehow. "That's a lame excuse for a description
of thought", some people would say or think. How
does one connect with someone who is completely
unaware of their experience--the one the writer
is having as he writes. The reader can never
quite grasp the experience unless they have
actually done it in some capacity. So what makes
writers great? The fact that these writers are
able to convey an idea, a fantastic idea to an
audience who are virgins to the subject, no
prior knowledge or little knowledge of the
subject. How can I, how do I A.T. breathe for
the reader? I can not. I can only hope that the
reader can understand my train of thought. If
this is not understood, who knows? A good day
overall, some tiredness. I was worried about my
feet, they are starting to react to the
stresses, a general soreness in the ball of my
left foot. It seems to be on the rebound. I had
a wonderful conversation with Hawk who Walks. He
is fairly high up on the AMC (Appalachian
Mountain Club) ladder as a supervisor. We talked
about job opportunities for fall. I'm psyched,
high as a kite. Countless possibilities for work
in the White Mts. YAWN.
April 23
Chatter on the tine rood of the shelter last
night. Poetry seems to be slipping away again,
possibly as the terrain does when we leave
Tennessee and hit Virginia. I'll have to lasso
the word and rope them together to make sense.
Stupid coincidence of the day: It's April 23 and
we did 23 miles. We had our hearts set on 33 but
we didn't get an early start. The trails' slope
is among the most gentle I have seen thus far.
Virginia comes in like a lamb. Oh, the reason we
were going to do 33 miles was to make it to
Damascus, VA. Ten miles of a moderate grade will
get us there tomorrow. The trip is slowing,
energy is changing. I start to think about the
next transition back to school. Truthfully, I do
not find writing poetry easy as an assignment
that I have taken upon myself to accomplish. It
was foolish on my part to think that assignment
and creativity run hand in hand. Enough
complaining, I still enjoy writing poetry but it
is better with pure inspiration and not school
lurking in the background. I do feel fortunate
for being given the opportunity to incorporate
the physical side into the mental frame.
However, the physical literally eats the mental.
Rain splattering on the tent. Andy+I talk about
family, people, I discuss my individualism. The
only child syndrome. What have I learned from
this hike Have I just been rolodexing my
thoughts? When I'm hiking------------SLEEP.
April 24
Sore feet in a foggy morn but the mind was glued
on Damascus. A truly wonderful town with great
people. Most everyone is hiker friendly and the
pizza place rocks (serves palatable food). The
hike into town from the shelter was quick on
mostly gentle grades. The terrain has been kind
lately. We've been doing quick miles. Tennessee,
who's been hiking around us recently is a
genuine southern boy and I like his attitude.
Everybody is at the hostel: Grey Bear+Long Pig,
Wizard, Knuggs, First Knight, Coppertop,
Rainman, Hawk who Walks, Phluffhead, PSal, Honey
Bear+ Rareback, Count, Whetherman, Jasmine,
Hardcore, Shadow, Wild Fish, Smiley. Tomorrow we
take our first day off. We deserve it, 450 miles
without one full, true day off. The scene at
"The Place" is like an intense social gathering.
There must be 30 people in this house converted
into a Methodist hostel. My eyelids are
fallin'......Poetry session tomorrow.
Sleep is like falling leaves
Petals from Magnolia trees,
fluttering softly to a solid pavement
of dark black night.
Dreams pop up
as reminders or forewarners,
snoring brutes
stir you form a surface
of pleasant passions
or intense nightmares.
Eyes swell until seeing
is complete blackness.
April 25
A restless day, it was like we didn't know what
to do. Boredom registered in our forms early. We
all sat around reading trashy magazines and not
saying a word. I had a good poetry slam with
Knuggs last night, I dug his style just as he
dug mine. Two opposite tastes, types of thinking
coming together for unexplained moments, intense
feelings, silliness. Knuggs was also
appreciative to find someone else who practiced
verse on the trail. The conversation I had with
First Knight was incredible. He has climbed a
bunch of peaks in Colorado. Naturally, I was
overcurious on the details of each one.
Impressive stuff. The mountains of Colorado have
this alluring attractive power on my form. The
make me want to hike them. Everyone cleared out
of the hostel today and the night is very quiet
here, we seemed to be in a lull of hikers. 8
more days or so until we head back for school,
it's finally sinking in. I firmed up some travel
plans with Dharma, a friend from UVA. He will
yank us off the trail. I went to an auction in
town. Another cultural experience--I can't even
begin to describe--you'll have to go to an
auction at Mike's in Damascus, VA sometime. My
next long distance backpacking trip may be a
solo venture.
April 26
A fun crew at the Lost Mountain shelter. Sleeper
day, a slow 16 miles, tomorrow we have big
plans, again. A warm, overcast day, rain seems
to be on its way. The climbing was gentle today.
Tons and tons of switchbacks. A long lunch was
in order. The "end of the trip" feeling was upon
us with our plans for extraction from the trail.
How will we face CoA? How will we get home? That
question is still up in the air. Possibly we can
snag a ride form a UVA student leaving after
their exams are done. We should hit Mt. Rogers
tomorrow, the highest point in VA. Another bit
of useless trivia. Al, a hiker form Florida that
I met at The Place, had me in stitches. "It's so
cold up here...when I left Florida it was 85". I
asked, "Why did you leave? He replies "To get
away from it all". Laugh Riot. He then proceeded
describe how his wife called him from the pool
on their cellular phone. Yes, I know it's
random, but you must meet Al. Everyone out here
drowns in their own uniqueness, sometimes other
are just plain boring. If you have character or
quirks in you mannerisms chances are you'll vibe
with trail life. I try not to get caught up in
what seems to be a big, flowery social
production. I've always been better talking with
one person instead of larger groups. It all
becomes a charisma contest after a while.
Anyway, The Place was the nicest hostel on the
trail. The only feature that really struck me
today was this little, green, algaic pond. The
color of the pond was strange. Another day of
dirty, vulgar humor.
April 27
An incredible day of windiness on Whitetop Mt.
The wind was kicking at 40mph with gusts to
fifty. It knocked us off our feet, almost. We
were walking hunched, curved into the wind.
Imagine trying to climb a hill into the teeth of
a howling gale. Another word on my journal
entries, I am usually completely spent and
worthlessly tired. If my entries don't make any
sense it is directly related to my present
physical condition. We only did 17+ miles today.
We were thinking about 23 but that got canned
when we saw how nice the people in the shelter
were: Psal, Cosmo and Phluffhead--wonderful
guys. I missed Knuggs, though. I Would have
liked to trade more verse. The Grayson Highlands
are simply spectacular. High rocky grasslands
with feral ponies. I boogied up to the summit of
Mt. Rogers. I've now climbed the highest peaks
in seven of 50 states-VA,TN,AZ,MA,NH,VT,ME.
Wowie Zowie, it's not that impressive. The
smiles I received from some young female
backpacker today, really lifted my spirits. I
returned them with a big grin and I felt
sheepish for some unknown reason. Lights out.
The shelter has eight people and it's supposed
to sleep six. The rain has us cozy, we get to
sleep like rats!
April 28
The strangest day of the trip bar none. We raced
all day in the fog for a maildrop that wasn't
there. I was livid even thought the earliest
start of the trip happened. We struck out on the
trail before 8. The air cleared in the morning
and the views opened up a smidge. Creating the
top of the first rise I looked south into dark
blue greyness hovering over distant peaks.
Sooner than not the fog enveloped us again. I
figured out why the park lets the feral ponies
run around. If the park personnel shot the
animals the highlands would slowly change to
forest. The ponies keep the Grayson Highlands
grassland. The ponies act as lawnmowers. The
rains came hard but the air was warm so the
chance of hypothermia had been greatly reduced.
Boogie Woogie all day, hiking so fast, 16 miles
in 6hrs 5mins. Smoke, smoke, Smoke. Then the fun
started. We tried to hitch into Troutdale after
much debate as to which way Troutdale actually
was. Well, people were not picking us up so we
decided to start walking. After about half a
mile a limo, yes, a limo pulled over. We were
ecstatic, elated. The four drunk hicks in the
limo informed us that we were hitching the wrong
way. They were cruising to Sugar Grove to buy
beer because Troutdale was in a dry county. They
assured us they were returning to Troutdale and
would drop us at the post office. It seemed real
sketchy but we climbed in, drank Budweiser, and
tried to understand their slurred jargon as much
as we could. It was an experience to say the
least. No package at the post office. The clerk
was incompetent. He was not completely aware on
in the present. I went to the restaurant and
wolfed down a Ham+cheese sandwich with some
fries. The man working the register let me
borrow his truck to buy stove fuel in Sugar
Grove. The kindness of strangers is incredible.
Getting rides always seems to work-it just takes
an ounce of faith. I had a poor attitude with
our maildrop's failing--let it go--I hope it's
there tomorrow. I only have a few dollars to my
name. A leisurely tromp up to Raccoon Branch
shelter. The same crew from last night is here
tonight. Honey Bear passed out today. We thought
she was dehydrated. The end is nigh. A strange
day indeed.
April 29
Rain poured down all last night, but the dawn
promises sun. Andy and I have to hoof back into
Troutdale to check on the phantom package. It is
difficult to pen thoughts with 7 other people's
thoughts \floating around in space. This is not
a cop out. When others are talking I don't feel
like writing in the rain. Plastic doesn't
fucking burn. No Mail at the P.O. The postmaster
offered to call Troutville to see if our package
was misdirected to there. Hey, waddaya know? It
was. However, the package had the right zip
code, the correct town (Troutdale). Go figure.
The postmaster offered to bring the box to a
motel in Atkins which is right on the A.T. It
should be there at 6pm tomorrow....our stomachs
are riding on it. After the P.O. fiasco, we
bought 25 miles of food at the store and the
storekeeper graciously gave us a ride back to
the A.T. We didn't actually start hiking until
some time after noon. The sun shone bright for
the first time in a week. I pour through my
journal to see the amount of change I have made
during the walk, trip, hike, etc. A slow 12.5
miles, relaxed, enjoyable, we're finally
enjoying our trip and it ends tomorrow. Yes,
it's true the decision is to finish on the last
day of April. One month of school left. The
accumulation of education in this life is
reduced to one measly month. How wonderful. I
picked the campsite tonight-a grassy spot above
the trail that was actually an old iron ore
mine. Garth found this out after some
investigation. Oh! I saw my first cup fungi, but
I am unfamiliar with the genus. I think I saw
Coprinus (Mica Caps) also. The mushrooms of
spring are coming! The evening chat between the
3 of us was great, talking about school,
ourselves, how well the hiking worked out. It
was genuine fun with good people. I learned a
lot more about nature's rhythms than I did if I
were to sit in a classroom or do library
research. I appreciate COA's philosophy od
education and how I was able to format it to
coexist with mine. My hands were on dirt and
dirt was on me. If you are going to learn it
become it. Heavy lids.
April 30
Lounging in the back of a pickup truck we have
decided to hitchhike back to MA. 25 mins. to get
our first ride is great considering our beards.
525 miles on the Appalachian Trail. I consider
it and accomplishment. Garth, Andy and I stuck
together like warm jellybeans. Garth thought
Andy+I were like a married couple, always having
trivial squabbles about mook points or usually
nothing. The hike today was hot. Our camping
spot turned out to be only .5mile from Mt.
Rogers information center on rt.16. We caught up
with Psal, Cosmo, Phluffhead and Tennessee. The
name of that cup fungi I found yesterday-
Devil's Urn (Urnula Craterium). The second rid
up to Bland was even quicker than the first. A
man who inspects coal mines for the Government
carted us to Bland, a sleepy small town that
seemed to exude good vibes as we walked around
the center. We asked the Sheriff where we could
camp and they directed us to the town pavilion.
Two hoodlums spent the evening with us. One
badass wannabe type and a football player, yet
another poignant look into the youth of America.
May 1
Charlottesville, VA is the destination of choice
today. I'd like to see an old friend who attends
school there. Yesterday, Garth told me that the
feather I found and carry on my pack belonged to
a Bard Owl (he previously thought it was
Turkey). Good medicine for the terminus of the
trip. THE END is only the beginning of
something. Finding that something is essential.
May 2
The trip journal ends, I do not have the desire
to drag out my experience at UVA which involves
at good deal of drinking and TV watching. Big
university life reminds me of how much the
drinking seems like an escape. Seeing Dharma
again is good though. Every on down here is
clean shaven and all the girls are "like, Oh my
god" types, at least a huge percentage of them
are. Vastly different culture with alien values.
Being here during exam week is incentive to get
my ass in gear.