Ryan crosses overCute Furry Opposom...dinner?
Hanging on...
Mark, you're not on call!
Sean terrorized by Wild Ponies
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
A Selection of Pictures
Ryan crosses overCute Furry Opposom...dinner?
Hanging on...
Mark, you're not on call!
Sean terrorized by Wild Ponies
Thursday, May 24, 2007
On Hikers and Hobos
Hello everyone, I am sorry that it has taken me nearly two weeks to post a new entry. Computer access has been a bit spotty. Rest assured that the Maineiacs are alive, healthy and moving, slowly but steadily, towards Maine. The weather has been beautiful (yet, unseasonably cold); spring is in full bloom, covering the valleys and hillsides in a vibrant quilt of Trillium, Lady Slippers, and blooming Rhododendron. We are now almost six hundred miles into our journey and the past 120 miles has been one of my favorite sections of trail.
At the risk of sounding cliche, hiking the trail these past few weeks over the rugged yet resplendent southern Appalachians, I am reminded daily of the words of Sir Francis Younghusband. Younghusband was an English solider and explorer whose expeditions into the Indian Himalayas inspired him to write, "to those who have struggled with them, the mountains reveal beauties that they will not disclose to those who make no effort. ... And it is because they have so much to give and give it so lavishly to those who will wrestle with them that men love the mountains and go back to them again and again ... mountains reserve their choicest gifts for those who stand upon their summits."
Younghusband's poignant words speak to our own experiences on the Appalachian trail. Hiking these mountains is a constant struggle both mentally and physically. It is sometimes hard to convince yourself to keep walking when weary muscles, aching backs, hungry stomachs, and battered feet plead for a respite. Yet we continue on, because the rewards for our efforts are great. For example, in the past two weeks we have seen the most beautiful part of the south, the Southern Appalachian Highlands. Growing up in the Northeast with Mt. Katahdin in my front yard and Mt. Washington in the back, I never thought that the south had any sort of mountains worth hiking. Much to our astonishment, the South has many rugged climbs and beautiful vistas worth hiking. The Highlands are a series of 5,000+ mountains connected by exposed, grassy ridges and rocky knobs. As their name suggests, the mountains are reminiscent of the exposed mountains of Scotland or England, that offer breathtaking views of Virginia, Tennessee and North Carolina. There are two distinct sections of the Highlands: The Roan Mountain Highlands in Tennessee and the Graceland Highlands north of Damascus. The Graceland Highlands were by far my favorite part of the trail. In addition to the grassy balds and rocky knobs that make you feel as though you are walking on the top of the world, this part of the Highlands are populated by herds of fearless wild ponies that beg for snacks from passing hikers. We brought carrots with us the ponies allowed us to pet them as they ate from our hands.
This section of the trail has also been special for us because it has taken us through Damascus, Virginia, the reputed "friendliest town on the AT." Damascus is another typical Appalachian trail town. The trail runs right through the center of town past three outfitters, a grocery store, and most importantly of all, an ice cream shop. We took a well deserved day off from the trail and indulged with pints of Ben and Jerry's ice cream and heaps of high-calorie diner foods. We stayed at the local hostel that is run by the town's Methodist church called "The Place," where four dollars a night get you a plywood bunk and a hot shower. There wasn't much to do in town but we passed the time reading and drooling over the equipment at the outfitters.
On this past section we have also, at long last, learned how to properly hitch a ride into town. Hitching is another right of passage for thru hikers which we have discovered is a form of art unto itself: a combination of being in the right place at the right time, patience and proper thumb technique. Our first real "hitch" happened on our second day out of Damascus. We came across a road and decided that a hamburger would give us the extra energy we needed to get to the next shelter. So we stuck out our thumbs, bound for the town of Troutdale, 2.5 miles down the road. It took a while, but once it started to rain a passing motorist in a pick-up truck took pity on us and drove us into town. What made the experience even more priceless was the fact that Dad was obviously out of his element, never having hitched a ride in his life. He seemed to enjoy himself, riding the whole way to town with a stupid grin plastered on his face. I turned to him when we reached our destination and said, "Dad, your coolness factor just increased by a factor of twelve on account of you doing this!"
Trail Daze
After four days of hiking north, Dad and I parted ways for a couple of days. Dad kept moving north to meet Ryan in Bland, Va. and I traveled back to Damascus for Trail days. Appalachian Trail Days festival is an annual festival put on by the town to honor and celebrate the trail. During the festival, twenty five thousand current and former thru-hikers, trail enthusiasts, and gear gurus descend upon the town to relax, drink a few beers, and catch up with trail buddies.
When I arrived in Damascus late Friday afternoon, the celebration was already in full swing, with huge crowds of hikers milling around the campground known as "Tent City." There were hundreds of events that thru hikers could attend; including films, lectures on the history of the AT, and even an AT Jeopardy. The highlight of the weekend was the AT hiker "appreciation" parade during which hikers walk down main street while locals pelt them with water balloons. Fortunately, we caught wind of the plot before hand and had a few hundred water balloons of our own ready to meet our attackers. By the time we reached the middle of town, the parade had spiraled into an all out water war. Though we emerged from the battle soaked, it didn't take long to dry ourselves out in the hot Virginian sun.
After trail days I picked up the trail where I left off, racing to catch up with Dad and Ryan. I put in four twenty-plus days and met them this morning here in Pearisburg. We are moving quickly, but trying not to hurry. I am excited to see what Virgina has in store for us next.
At the risk of sounding cliche, hiking the trail these past few weeks over the rugged yet resplendent southern Appalachians, I am reminded daily of the words of Sir Francis Younghusband. Younghusband was an English solider and explorer whose expeditions into the Indian Himalayas inspired him to write, "to those who have struggled with them, the mountains reveal beauties that they will not disclose to those who make no effort. ... And it is because they have so much to give and give it so lavishly to those who will wrestle with them that men love the mountains and go back to them again and again ... mountains reserve their choicest gifts for those who stand upon their summits."
Younghusband's poignant words speak to our own experiences on the Appalachian trail. Hiking these mountains is a constant struggle both mentally and physically. It is sometimes hard to convince yourself to keep walking when weary muscles, aching backs, hungry stomachs, and battered feet plead for a respite. Yet we continue on, because the rewards for our efforts are great. For example, in the past two weeks we have seen the most beautiful part of the south, the Southern Appalachian Highlands. Growing up in the Northeast with Mt. Katahdin in my front yard and Mt. Washington in the back, I never thought that the south had any sort of mountains worth hiking. Much to our astonishment, the South has many rugged climbs and beautiful vistas worth hiking. The Highlands are a series of 5,000+ mountains connected by exposed, grassy ridges and rocky knobs. As their name suggests, the mountains are reminiscent of the exposed mountains of Scotland or England, that offer breathtaking views of Virginia, Tennessee and North Carolina. There are two distinct sections of the Highlands: The Roan Mountain Highlands in Tennessee and the Graceland Highlands north of Damascus. The Graceland Highlands were by far my favorite part of the trail. In addition to the grassy balds and rocky knobs that make you feel as though you are walking on the top of the world, this part of the Highlands are populated by herds of fearless wild ponies that beg for snacks from passing hikers. We brought carrots with us the ponies allowed us to pet them as they ate from our hands.
This section of the trail has also been special for us because it has taken us through Damascus, Virginia, the reputed "friendliest town on the AT." Damascus is another typical Appalachian trail town. The trail runs right through the center of town past three outfitters, a grocery store, and most importantly of all, an ice cream shop. We took a well deserved day off from the trail and indulged with pints of Ben and Jerry's ice cream and heaps of high-calorie diner foods. We stayed at the local hostel that is run by the town's Methodist church called "The Place," where four dollars a night get you a plywood bunk and a hot shower. There wasn't much to do in town but we passed the time reading and drooling over the equipment at the outfitters.
On this past section we have also, at long last, learned how to properly hitch a ride into town. Hitching is another right of passage for thru hikers which we have discovered is a form of art unto itself: a combination of being in the right place at the right time, patience and proper thumb technique. Our first real "hitch" happened on our second day out of Damascus. We came across a road and decided that a hamburger would give us the extra energy we needed to get to the next shelter. So we stuck out our thumbs, bound for the town of Troutdale, 2.5 miles down the road. It took a while, but once it started to rain a passing motorist in a pick-up truck took pity on us and drove us into town. What made the experience even more priceless was the fact that Dad was obviously out of his element, never having hitched a ride in his life. He seemed to enjoy himself, riding the whole way to town with a stupid grin plastered on his face. I turned to him when we reached our destination and said, "Dad, your coolness factor just increased by a factor of twelve on account of you doing this!"
Trail Daze
After four days of hiking north, Dad and I parted ways for a couple of days. Dad kept moving north to meet Ryan in Bland, Va. and I traveled back to Damascus for Trail days. Appalachian Trail Days festival is an annual festival put on by the town to honor and celebrate the trail. During the festival, twenty five thousand current and former thru-hikers, trail enthusiasts, and gear gurus descend upon the town to relax, drink a few beers, and catch up with trail buddies.
When I arrived in Damascus late Friday afternoon, the celebration was already in full swing, with huge crowds of hikers milling around the campground known as "Tent City." There were hundreds of events that thru hikers could attend; including films, lectures on the history of the AT, and even an AT Jeopardy. The highlight of the weekend was the AT hiker "appreciation" parade during which hikers walk down main street while locals pelt them with water balloons. Fortunately, we caught wind of the plot before hand and had a few hundred water balloons of our own ready to meet our attackers. By the time we reached the middle of town, the parade had spiraled into an all out water war. Though we emerged from the battle soaked, it didn't take long to dry ourselves out in the hot Virginian sun.
After trail days I picked up the trail where I left off, racing to catch up with Dad and Ryan. I put in four twenty-plus days and met them this morning here in Pearisburg. We are moving quickly, but trying not to hurry. I am excited to see what Virgina has in store for us next.
The Adventures of Uno and Tres
Hello all, Tres Maineiac here. I'm sitting here in the Pearisburg, Va. Public Library, and I'm struggling to think of the words I should use to start my first blog entry on such an esteemed website. Where to start, where to start... Well, I guess the beginning is always a good place.
Meeting up with my fellow Maineiacs was a journey in and of itself. After spending a week back home in Orono (during which time it rained 7 days out of 8), it came time for me to board a plane by myself and fly down to Virginia. Of course, the cheapest flight available from StudentUniverse was at 6:00 a.m. from Portland, ME., which meant that I had to be at the airport at 5:00, which meant getting up at an ungodly hour. The Maineiac's supervisor (Kathy) and I drove down to Portland the night before and stayed at a hotel 10 minutes from the airport. Getting up at 4:45 was no picnic, but I made it to the airport with time to spare. Another reason why the flight was so cheap is that it flew from Portland to Detroit, more West than South. Why I needed to fly to Detroit first is beyond me, but I was stuck there for two grueling hours, trying to entertain myself as best as I could. I spent most of the time standing in line trying to get a bagel and some coffee for breakfast, and the rest of the time reading a newspaper--the first time, actually, that I had ever read a newspaper cover to cover.
I got off the airplane in Roanoke no worse for the wear. I picked up my backpack directly after getting off the plane--I had to gate check it in Detroit--and soon after I left the gate I realized something had gone terribly awry: the bivvy sack, which was to be my tent for the next two weeks, had vanished from its position securely stuffed into one of the side pockets of my backpack. I immediately ran back to the plane just as the pilots were exiting, and told them of my predicament. They sent somebody to search for it--but only empty hands returned. Miraculously, it was sitting in a barrel right next to me, so I managed to escape the airport unscathed and with everything I needed. I didn't originally know how I was to meet up with the man who was to take me to where I needed to go, but I figured I pretty much stood out with the enormous backpack on my back. Sure enough, Homer, my driver, emerged from the crowd. He was an older man with graying hair, a slight build, and rather--er--distinguishing teeth. We got in his car and began the hour-plus drive to Bland, Va., where I was to rendezvous with Uno. Homer was a kind gentleman, whom my dad described rather aptly in his last blog post. I could barely discern what he was trying to say to me sometimes, but I could infer what he was trying to say based on the context of the conversation.
I got to the Big Walker Inn before Uno, and as soon as he walked into the room after Homer went and picked him up, I was struck by two things about him in particular: 1) the horrendous stench emanating from him, which smelled like a combination of sweat, garbage, and weak skunk odor, and 2) how much skinnier he looked; the skin was literally hanging off of his body. That's what he gets for losing 15 pounds at age 51--connective tissue isn't quite what it used to be. Unfortunately I realize I'm bound to the same fate as his, but I refuse to think about it at least for another 15 or 20 years.
The next day broke warm and humid, and the first challenge that we had to deal with was navigating the town of Bland. Bland, suffice to say, lives up to its name. The roads are lightly trafficked, and the town itself was quiet, with little activity. After getting breakfast and updating the blog, we managed to hitch a ride to the trail after 15 minutes of fruitless thumbing. I was a little skeptical of the elderly woman's ability to drive--the car was constantly weaving back and forth, ever so slightly, and I did not dare to look at the speedometer. We got to the trail and began our hike.
Let me remark first what hiking in Virginia consists of. The terrain is easy, with little climbing, but always follows this order:
Meeting up with my fellow Maineiacs was a journey in and of itself. After spending a week back home in Orono (during which time it rained 7 days out of 8), it came time for me to board a plane by myself and fly down to Virginia. Of course, the cheapest flight available from StudentUniverse was at 6:00 a.m. from Portland, ME., which meant that I had to be at the airport at 5:00, which meant getting up at an ungodly hour. The Maineiac's supervisor (Kathy) and I drove down to Portland the night before and stayed at a hotel 10 minutes from the airport. Getting up at 4:45 was no picnic, but I made it to the airport with time to spare. Another reason why the flight was so cheap is that it flew from Portland to Detroit, more West than South. Why I needed to fly to Detroit first is beyond me, but I was stuck there for two grueling hours, trying to entertain myself as best as I could. I spent most of the time standing in line trying to get a bagel and some coffee for breakfast, and the rest of the time reading a newspaper--the first time, actually, that I had ever read a newspaper cover to cover.
I got off the airplane in Roanoke no worse for the wear. I picked up my backpack directly after getting off the plane--I had to gate check it in Detroit--and soon after I left the gate I realized something had gone terribly awry: the bivvy sack, which was to be my tent for the next two weeks, had vanished from its position securely stuffed into one of the side pockets of my backpack. I immediately ran back to the plane just as the pilots were exiting, and told them of my predicament. They sent somebody to search for it--but only empty hands returned. Miraculously, it was sitting in a barrel right next to me, so I managed to escape the airport unscathed and with everything I needed. I didn't originally know how I was to meet up with the man who was to take me to where I needed to go, but I figured I pretty much stood out with the enormous backpack on my back. Sure enough, Homer, my driver, emerged from the crowd. He was an older man with graying hair, a slight build, and rather--er--distinguishing teeth. We got in his car and began the hour-plus drive to Bland, Va., where I was to rendezvous with Uno. Homer was a kind gentleman, whom my dad described rather aptly in his last blog post. I could barely discern what he was trying to say to me sometimes, but I could infer what he was trying to say based on the context of the conversation.
I got to the Big Walker Inn before Uno, and as soon as he walked into the room after Homer went and picked him up, I was struck by two things about him in particular: 1) the horrendous stench emanating from him, which smelled like a combination of sweat, garbage, and weak skunk odor, and 2) how much skinnier he looked; the skin was literally hanging off of his body. That's what he gets for losing 15 pounds at age 51--connective tissue isn't quite what it used to be. Unfortunately I realize I'm bound to the same fate as his, but I refuse to think about it at least for another 15 or 20 years.
The next day broke warm and humid, and the first challenge that we had to deal with was navigating the town of Bland. Bland, suffice to say, lives up to its name. The roads are lightly trafficked, and the town itself was quiet, with little activity. After getting breakfast and updating the blog, we managed to hitch a ride to the trail after 15 minutes of fruitless thumbing. I was a little skeptical of the elderly woman's ability to drive--the car was constantly weaving back and forth, ever so slightly, and I did not dare to look at the speedometer. We got to the trail and began our hike.
Let me remark first what hiking in Virginia consists of. The terrain is easy, with little climbing, but always follows this order:
1) Hike over a bit of flat land.
2) Climb 1500 vertical feet in the course of a mile
3) Hike a ridge that is anywhere from 6 to 60 miles long
4) Descend all at once, and go back to step 1).
That's basically it. The mountains are ridges that run basically one after the other, and the trail climbs them all, following a rough line North.
Within the first few miles of hiking, Uno and I stopped for lunch at a decent viewpoint (a rare occurrence in these mountains). After we resumed, myself in the lead, at one point I heard a loud noise in the brush to my left, a sound that I had never heard before. I looked down, and there was a massive black snake, about 3 feet long, not more than 2 feet away from me, its tail madly rattling. Oddly enough, this did not instill the fear of God into my soul as it would have to other people who have come into contact with these creatures before. All I did was turn around and state calmly to Uno, "Hey dad, there's a rattlesnake right there." I took some pictures as it slithered off.
The thing that is most annoying about the trail, however, is the switchbacks. Coming down from Doc's Knob shelter into Pearisburg yesterday, the trail would hug the side of the mountain for about 400 feet, then switch back 170 degrees, and go back another 400 feet. This repeated ad infinitum, losing about 15 vertical feet per switchback. I decided to throw caution to the wind and cut straight down to the next segment of trail on a few occasions, saving us probably a quarter mile each time. We were unable to hitch a ride once we got into Pearisburg, so we had to walk the 2+ miles to the hostel at the Catholic church, which was predominantly uphill. Go figure, right?
On a side note, Uno and I were going to stay at the Wapiti hut, which, incidentally, was the hut where 2 Maine thru-hikers were murdered. The hut itself was torn down and relocated after that incident, but kept the same name... We got there at 3, so we decided to hike the 8.4 miles to the next shelter.
I think I've just about covered everything since I arrived here. Hiking has been light: 13 miles Monday, 22 miles Tuesday, and 8 miles Wednesday. I can't wait to get to the Shenandoahs.
Monday, May 21, 2007
May 21, Bland Virginia
Greetings from Bland VA, not like vanilla ice cream, and I will not make any more food references from now on. We are making this entry as Dewey is in absentia for the time being. After hiking 123 miles from Damascus, he returned for Trail Days on Friday with two friends we have made on the trail. He was to return to his exit point yesterday, and will probably catch up to us sometime before New Hampshire.
Virginia has been a great trail state so far. The trails are well maintained and usually well graded. The shelters have largely been recently replaced and are constructed out of a log kit. One very recently constructed shelter we stayed at close to Mt Rogers State Park Headquarters had two levels and could sleep 18. It even had its own hot water shower, a welcomed luxury. A shower now seems to take on a completely different meaning these days and almost reaches a religious experience!
The Mount Rogers highlands at 5500 ft were spectacular. These high bald areas are inhabited by several thousand wild ponies. These horses have no fear of humans and will willingly eat out of your hand. We brought a few carrots for just such a purpose. (We have pictures but have problems downloading them into the blog from the computers we are using at hotels, libraries, etc. These will have to wait until I can send Kathy a CD copy in the mail.)
We have teamed up with two other thru- hikers for the time being, 'almost lucky' a 26 year old from central PA, who will be doing a three month internship with ATC after he completes the trail. 'Circadian' is a special-ed teacher from Mass, now living in New Haven, who has an excellent sense of humor and keeps us all entertained. He has a pregnant wife and two small children at home (wow!).
In the meantime, Ryan, from now on referred to as "Tres" maniac, has joined us for 10 to 12 days of trail magic, flying in yesterday from Portland to Roanoke, Va. There we arranged for a shuttle service with Homer who hiked the trail in 2002 with his wife and two children then aged 8 and 11 years! After dropping Tres off at the motel, Homer had the foresight to know that Uno might be having a problem getting a ride into Bland, as he had to walk the distance 5 years ago. Sure enough, about two miles out of town he found me with my thumb out and frustration somewhat high.
The last three days on the trial have been somewhat lonely, as many of the thru-hikers had been shuttled back to Damascus. I spent one night completely by myself in the Davis Path shelter. The next day, I wanted to cover much of the distance to Bland, so I went a full thirty miles to Jenkins shelter. This took me over Chestnut Knob at 4400 ft., which was another beautiful bald area. The shelter had originally been the cabin for a forest ranger who had manned the tower, long ago dismantled. The building itself was stone, fully enclosed, and could easily sleep 12. What a view from the top! It would have been great to stay there, but at 4:30, 10 miles of further hiking was calling me, so I settled for making dinner, and continuing on my way, arriving at the next shelter at 8:45PM.
Our plan now is to take easy hikes over the next couple days, either waiting for Dewey to close the 55 mile gap, or we will simply wait for him at the next hostel stop in Pearisburg. Next update on our wild adventures to come from there.
Virginia has been a great trail state so far. The trails are well maintained and usually well graded. The shelters have largely been recently replaced and are constructed out of a log kit. One very recently constructed shelter we stayed at close to Mt Rogers State Park Headquarters had two levels and could sleep 18. It even had its own hot water shower, a welcomed luxury. A shower now seems to take on a completely different meaning these days and almost reaches a religious experience!
The Mount Rogers highlands at 5500 ft were spectacular. These high bald areas are inhabited by several thousand wild ponies. These horses have no fear of humans and will willingly eat out of your hand. We brought a few carrots for just such a purpose. (We have pictures but have problems downloading them into the blog from the computers we are using at hotels, libraries, etc. These will have to wait until I can send Kathy a CD copy in the mail.)
We have teamed up with two other thru- hikers for the time being, 'almost lucky' a 26 year old from central PA, who will be doing a three month internship with ATC after he completes the trail. 'Circadian' is a special-ed teacher from Mass, now living in New Haven, who has an excellent sense of humor and keeps us all entertained. He has a pregnant wife and two small children at home (wow!).
In the meantime, Ryan, from now on referred to as "Tres" maniac, has joined us for 10 to 12 days of trail magic, flying in yesterday from Portland to Roanoke, Va. There we arranged for a shuttle service with Homer who hiked the trail in 2002 with his wife and two children then aged 8 and 11 years! After dropping Tres off at the motel, Homer had the foresight to know that Uno might be having a problem getting a ride into Bland, as he had to walk the distance 5 years ago. Sure enough, about two miles out of town he found me with my thumb out and frustration somewhat high.
The last three days on the trial have been somewhat lonely, as many of the thru-hikers had been shuttled back to Damascus. I spent one night completely by myself in the Davis Path shelter. The next day, I wanted to cover much of the distance to Bland, so I went a full thirty miles to Jenkins shelter. This took me over Chestnut Knob at 4400 ft., which was another beautiful bald area. The shelter had originally been the cabin for a forest ranger who had manned the tower, long ago dismantled. The building itself was stone, fully enclosed, and could easily sleep 12. What a view from the top! It would have been great to stay there, but at 4:30, 10 miles of further hiking was calling me, so I settled for making dinner, and continuing on my way, arriving at the next shelter at 8:45PM.
Our plan now is to take easy hikes over the next couple days, either waiting for Dewey to close the 55 mile gap, or we will simply wait for him at the next hostel stop in Pearisburg. Next update on our wild adventures to come from there.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Sunday, May 6, 2007
May 6, 2007 Erwin, Tennessee
Greetings all from the AT! The last four days of hiking have brought us from Hot Springs, N.C. to Erwin over 70 intervening miles of trails. One word probably describes the last few days - wet, wet , wet.
Hot Springs was a fantastic trail town, very small and quaint, well versed in greeting trail hikers, and making them feel at home. The trail goes right through the middle of the town. We had already decided to take our first 'zero' day there and ended up staying at Elmer's, a hiker hostel in the middle of town, and right across the street from the town diner, where the meaning of fried greasy food takes on a whole other delicious meaning to trail hikers. Elmer has an interesting history: having hiked the trail in 1976, he returned to Hot Springs after finishing and bought the old Victorian house he now runs as a hostel. This is a beautiful old home, and for $15 per night per person, we got a private room, and for an additional $10 per person, we had a gourmet vegan meal each night. (After 4-5 days on the trail without substantial vegetables, the idea of veggie overload with these two meals seemed like a good idea.)
We managed to do a little personal grooming while there, going to the only woman in town who does hair. She was very pleasant, but must have been at least 80, and judging by the cut lines in our hair, must have just had her cataracts done. Ah well, we're both wearing hats anyway.
The trail between these two towns was very reasonable, with graded trails, and nothing terribly challenging. The weather, however, threw us our first curve ball. Each day we had showers and thundershowers. During one of the more turbulent t-storms, we hunkered down under my tarp waiting for the thunder to pass. The next day, we found a tree several miles down the trail that had scored a direct hit from this storm. Most days we were walking the the mist and fog. Obviously, nothing wanted to dry out. You do your best to keep your dry things dry. With our arrival in town today, the clouds parted and the sun returned. The best news is that the weather is expected to be good for the next eight days or so, more than enough time to get us to Virginia and the town of Damascus, which we expect will take another 5-6 days.
Most nights we have stayed at the shelters. We have yet to encounter any significant biting insects so it's comfortable to sleep at night, and particularly with bad weather, its nice to end the day in a dry place. As Sean has indicated, the trail is a very social experience. At the shelters we can interact with other hikers and share stories. Most, if not all, are extremely nice people from every walk of life. Many are students, just out of college, some are young computer or bank workers, fed up with their jobs, who gave it up to seek the trail, with no formal plan for reintroduction to the work force on their return. Finally there are other old guy hikers like myself who have retired, etc. We have encountered one other father-son pair hiking together from Georgia, and they lived only a short distance from Springer Mountain.
There are the occasional unusual hikers who seem to become trail legends, and everyone knows about them. It's unclear if they truly are 'crazy' or merely act this way to gain notoriety. One such gentleman told us he would always hike with chewing gum. When he begins to sweat, he would immerse the chewed gum in his sweat and save it, convinced that the gum can then be used to cure homosexuality.
Spring has been slow to come even here. Only now in the lower elevations are the leaves yet out. The forest floor is now a verdant green with an abundance of wildflowers and ferns. Most of them look like prepared gardens. We have seen many lady-slippers, and four different varieties of Trillium; white pink,yellow, and crimson. The azaleas are just starting to bloom, and within the next week or two, the mountain rhododendrons should come out. These plants are abundant at all elevations, and at times make a virtual tunnel or trellis over the trail.
Over all, Sean and I have found ourselves well equipped to handle the challenges of the trail. We seem to have a good system which works well for us. The only exception is my change of boots in Hot Springs after 270 miles. The bottoms of my feet became very swollen, painful and numb on a daily basis, mostly from pounding during descent. I brought the shoes to the local outfitter who quickly showed me that the New Balance trail shoes had no support under the forefoot; so of course, he was able to find me a good substitute, and my feet have been much happier ever since.
I suspect both of us have lost some weight after 340 miles of hiking. Sean's appetite is gearing up a little more than mine, but he had a shorter road to travel to lean body mass than I still have. For four days of hiking, we are generally carrying 10-12 pounds of food, which is about a third of our pack weight. Even with this, I think we are consuming a total of about 2500 calories per day. With a twenty mile day of hiking, we should be in the 4000 cal per day range, but I don't think they make a pack big enough for this. Meals can be repetitious, but the day always starts off right with two pop-tarts. We are trying different recipes at times.
Next update will be in Damascus, in about a week. We hope to pick-up my second son Ryan in Pearisburg, for two weeks of hiking. Every step brings us that much closer to home!
Hot Springs was a fantastic trail town, very small and quaint, well versed in greeting trail hikers, and making them feel at home. The trail goes right through the middle of the town. We had already decided to take our first 'zero' day there and ended up staying at Elmer's, a hiker hostel in the middle of town, and right across the street from the town diner, where the meaning of fried greasy food takes on a whole other delicious meaning to trail hikers. Elmer has an interesting history: having hiked the trail in 1976, he returned to Hot Springs after finishing and bought the old Victorian house he now runs as a hostel. This is a beautiful old home, and for $15 per night per person, we got a private room, and for an additional $10 per person, we had a gourmet vegan meal each night. (After 4-5 days on the trail without substantial vegetables, the idea of veggie overload with these two meals seemed like a good idea.)
We managed to do a little personal grooming while there, going to the only woman in town who does hair. She was very pleasant, but must have been at least 80, and judging by the cut lines in our hair, must have just had her cataracts done. Ah well, we're both wearing hats anyway.
The trail between these two towns was very reasonable, with graded trails, and nothing terribly challenging. The weather, however, threw us our first curve ball. Each day we had showers and thundershowers. During one of the more turbulent t-storms, we hunkered down under my tarp waiting for the thunder to pass. The next day, we found a tree several miles down the trail that had scored a direct hit from this storm. Most days we were walking the the mist and fog. Obviously, nothing wanted to dry out. You do your best to keep your dry things dry. With our arrival in town today, the clouds parted and the sun returned. The best news is that the weather is expected to be good for the next eight days or so, more than enough time to get us to Virginia and the town of Damascus, which we expect will take another 5-6 days.
Most nights we have stayed at the shelters. We have yet to encounter any significant biting insects so it's comfortable to sleep at night, and particularly with bad weather, its nice to end the day in a dry place. As Sean has indicated, the trail is a very social experience. At the shelters we can interact with other hikers and share stories. Most, if not all, are extremely nice people from every walk of life. Many are students, just out of college, some are young computer or bank workers, fed up with their jobs, who gave it up to seek the trail, with no formal plan for reintroduction to the work force on their return. Finally there are other old guy hikers like myself who have retired, etc. We have encountered one other father-son pair hiking together from Georgia, and they lived only a short distance from Springer Mountain.
There are the occasional unusual hikers who seem to become trail legends, and everyone knows about them. It's unclear if they truly are 'crazy' or merely act this way to gain notoriety. One such gentleman told us he would always hike with chewing gum. When he begins to sweat, he would immerse the chewed gum in his sweat and save it, convinced that the gum can then be used to cure homosexuality.
Spring has been slow to come even here. Only now in the lower elevations are the leaves yet out. The forest floor is now a verdant green with an abundance of wildflowers and ferns. Most of them look like prepared gardens. We have seen many lady-slippers, and four different varieties of Trillium; white pink,yellow, and crimson. The azaleas are just starting to bloom, and within the next week or two, the mountain rhododendrons should come out. These plants are abundant at all elevations, and at times make a virtual tunnel or trellis over the trail.
Over all, Sean and I have found ourselves well equipped to handle the challenges of the trail. We seem to have a good system which works well for us. The only exception is my change of boots in Hot Springs after 270 miles. The bottoms of my feet became very swollen, painful and numb on a daily basis, mostly from pounding during descent. I brought the shoes to the local outfitter who quickly showed me that the New Balance trail shoes had no support under the forefoot; so of course, he was able to find me a good substitute, and my feet have been much happier ever since.
I suspect both of us have lost some weight after 340 miles of hiking. Sean's appetite is gearing up a little more than mine, but he had a shorter road to travel to lean body mass than I still have. For four days of hiking, we are generally carrying 10-12 pounds of food, which is about a third of our pack weight. Even with this, I think we are consuming a total of about 2500 calories per day. With a twenty mile day of hiking, we should be in the 4000 cal per day range, but I don't think they make a pack big enough for this. Meals can be repetitious, but the day always starts off right with two pop-tarts. We are trying different recipes at times.
Next update will be in Damascus, in about a week. We hope to pick-up my second son Ryan in Pearisburg, for two weeks of hiking. Every step brings us that much closer to home!
Walkin Down the Line...
"Well, I'm walkin' down the line,
I'm walkin' down the line
An' I'm walkin' down the line. My feet'll be a-flyin'
To tell about my troubled mind."
Bob Dylan
I know that dad has already posted today, but I wanted to get my own post in as well. As dad mentioned, another week of walking down the line, following the white blaze has deposited us, wet and smelly, in the booming metropolis of Erwin, Tennessee. The Southern mountains are a downright beautiful place. The towns we walk through are reminiscent of Vermont, dotted with picturesque green pastures and rolling hills. To tell you the truth, I did not had a lot of experience with the "true" south before this trip. In general we have found the people to be extraordinarily kind and hospitable, but sometimes they come across as a bit odd. Today, for example, we got off the trail and decided that in lieu of staying at the hostel we would make the 1.8 mile trek to the local Holiday Inn (actually, we were drawn here by the promise of a free pint of Ben and Jerry's Ice cream, but that is irrelevant to the story at hand). Anyway we were walking down the road, visions of Cherry Garcia dancing in our head, when all of a sudden a large, brown conversion van stopped abruptly in front of us. A plump, middle aged woman leaned out of the window, "Y'all going into town?" she asked. We nodded and smiled thinking that maybe she would be kind enough to offer us a ride in. "Y'all should hitch a ride...just go up to this next intersection, put your packs at your feet, put yer thumb out and stick a smile on yer face!" she instructed us, in a tone most people reserve for immature puppies who are caught peeing on the carpet. Then, as quickly as she had stopped, she jammed her foot on the accelerator and sped off, leaving two dumbfounded hikers in her wake. We tried what she said, but still had to walk to the hotel. Oh well.
I'm walkin' down the line
An' I'm walkin' down the line. My feet'll be a-flyin'
To tell about my troubled mind."
Bob Dylan
I know that dad has already posted today, but I wanted to get my own post in as well. As dad mentioned, another week of walking down the line, following the white blaze has deposited us, wet and smelly, in the booming metropolis of Erwin, Tennessee. The Southern mountains are a downright beautiful place. The towns we walk through are reminiscent of Vermont, dotted with picturesque green pastures and rolling hills. To tell you the truth, I did not had a lot of experience with the "true" south before this trip. In general we have found the people to be extraordinarily kind and hospitable, but sometimes they come across as a bit odd. Today, for example, we got off the trail and decided that in lieu of staying at the hostel we would make the 1.8 mile trek to the local Holiday Inn (actually, we were drawn here by the promise of a free pint of Ben and Jerry's Ice cream, but that is irrelevant to the story at hand). Anyway we were walking down the road, visions of Cherry Garcia dancing in our head, when all of a sudden a large, brown conversion van stopped abruptly in front of us. A plump, middle aged woman leaned out of the window, "Y'all going into town?" she asked. We nodded and smiled thinking that maybe she would be kind enough to offer us a ride in. "Y'all should hitch a ride...just go up to this next intersection, put your packs at your feet, put yer thumb out and stick a smile on yer face!" she instructed us, in a tone most people reserve for immature puppies who are caught peeing on the carpet. Then, as quickly as she had stopped, she jammed her foot on the accelerator and sped off, leaving two dumbfounded hikers in her wake. We tried what she said, but still had to walk to the hotel. Oh well.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
The AT in Pictures: Georgia to Hot Springs, NC
Hello everyone, 
The Maine-iacs Mark "Uno" and Sean "Dewey" at the Airport
Our second night on the Trail. It was a blizzard.
Wind speeds topped 30 mph that night. It was cold.
Here are a few pictures from our trip so far. We hope that you enjoy them!
The Maine-iacs Mark "Uno" and Sean "Dewey" at the AirportAt the summit of Springer with Roger, the ridgerunner
(who happens to be from Maine...weird)
(who happens to be from Maine...weird)
Our second night on the Trail. It was a blizzard.Wind speeds topped 30 mph that night. It was cold.
"Are you sure we're in Georgia? This feels like Maine."
Into the Georgia wild...
Trekin' to Neels Gap, GA
Tray Shelter after a long day on the trail
The Georgia/North Carolina Border
Trail Magic at Wayah Bald, NC with Anderson South Carolina Backpacking Club
Clingmans Dome
The Great Smoky Mountains
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