Continuing the series with the detail that didn't make it into print:
Cheetah. Cheetah was a young man from Rotterdam, Netherlands. Slight of build with blond hair, he was very quiet, traveled light and hiked fast. I first saw him at Mollies Ridge shelter in the Smokies. He stopped in, signed the register and continued on. He was particularly noticeable wearing his cheetah print jacket. Someone said at the time that he spoke little English which was why he was so quiet but later on when I did have a chance to speak with him, he spoke English sufficiently well to communicate with me. I caught up with him in southwest VA north of Pearisburg after a particularly severe thunderstorm. He had reached Baileys Gap shelter ahead of the storm. Red, Gary and I had not and came in wet. The shelter was full and cold on that wet afternoon. All of us were trying to decide whether to stay or go once the storm had passed. Cheetah was the first to leave. He shouldered his pack, announced that “after the rain, comes the sun” and was gone. Most of us did the same but without his enthusiasm or certainty. I saw him once or twice after after I jumped ahead to Delaware Water Gap to catch Red & Gary but he soon left us behind. R&G had hiked with him in Pennsylvania and learned that he had sewn most of his equipment, including his Cheetah jacket. My last recollection of him was his picture at Andover House in Maine. He was about three weeks ahead of me at that point and was probably nearing the end of the trail as I was viewing his picture. Cheetah was very impressed by the many kindnesses he received on the trail. He noted so in one shelter register and said that if any through hikers were to visit him in Rotterdam, he would serve them cookies and soda.
Angelhair and Rigatoni (the Noodlleheads). I met this young couple at Carter Gap shelter on the day of my second big rain and learned that they were from New Mexico, practically neighbors. I rarely saw them again–they were usually a day or two ahead of me–but their shelter entries were quite notable, particularly their “top ten lists” (how to tell when your partner is about to leave the trail, how to tell when you’ve been on the trail too long) and account of their adventures on Hike Naked Day. I met them again at Delaware Water Gap. Rigatoni had punctured his foot in Pennsylvania and was laying up for a few days to heal. We crossed the Delaware River together but his foot was still bothering him and he bailed for additional treatment. Later on, I heard he was back on the trail but that Angelhair had gone to Phoenix due to her brother’s illness. The last I heard was that she rejoined him in Vermont to hike north to Katahdin after which they would return to Vermont to hike south on the section she missed.
Pickle & Pinata. This young couple turned up in NY-NJ sections of the trail. I think I saw them first at the St. Thomas Episcopal Church hostel in Vernon, NJ and encounted them off and on through Massachusetts. Pickle was a systems specialist who had been working as a consultant in Utah before hitting the trail. He was small of build with dark hair. He passed me on a hot July day just north of Southfields, NY cursing the state, a feeling I shared. Pinata was on leave from her job as a flight attendant. They began their thru-hike separately and fell together before I met them. We camped together at Tom Leonard lean to in Mass on a hot muggy and buggy night. They had just spent a couple nights in Great Barrington and even rented a car, something that seemed highly exotic to me at the time. Lost track of them for a while but met Pinata again at Panarchy House in Hanover, NH. She was looking particularly serene and relaxed. The reason was that she had left the trail at Sherburne Pass in Vermont and was now following Pickle using another thru-hiker’s car. By this time they she had decided to join Pickle in Utah after he finished. I saw her last in Gorham, NH but saw pictures of them in Maine at a couple hostels.
Fullmoonwalking. One of the older hikers I met along the way, in his early to mid 60's, I think. He was a retired Air Force pilot who had flown in Vietnam and then spent 20 years as a stockbroker before hitting the trail. Despite his age, he was a strong hiker who was usually ahead of me. He was noted for falling, often several times a day but none of the falls were ever serious. His name referred to the fact that he had lost so much weight that his pants would fall down, although I never saw this happen and he always looked pretty healthy to me. He and his nephew, who joined him for a week in Maine, organized the one observance of the first anniversary of the 9/11 attacks that I saw on the trail. They asked thru-hikers to sign an American flag that they planned to carry to Katahdin.
Rocky Top. A 6-4 (or so) Black man, Rocky Top was a truly unique thru-hiker. Not only was he the only Black thru-hiker I met but he was very outgoing and animated. I first met him in Damascus, VA at the Side Track Café. He made a point of introducing himself and striking up a conversation. He was actually more than 150 miles ahead but had returned to Damascus for Trail Days. He was hard to miss; in addition to his height and race, he was wearing a hat made from a number 20 grocery bag, his bushy beared flecked with gray. I didn’t see him for a long time but followed his progress in the shelter registers. We met again in Delaware Water Gap, PA and occasionally thereafer but he was usually well ahead of me. But he slowed down a bit toward the end and I caught up with him in Maine and had the opportunity to get to know him, one of the more pleasant and interesting experiences of the trip. During that time I got to know him better. He was a building contractor from Memphis, Tennessee who specialized in framing houses. Somehow, his free spirit on the trail didn’t quite fit with my idea of a contractor. I also learned that he would often hike long distances in a single day–I had read about a 34 mile day previously–but would then take long side trips. He said he spent five days in Troutville just checking out the area, including a visit to the Roanoke County Fair. He went to NYC for a Yankees game. After breaking his glasses, he made a two day trip to locate new frames, an excursion that involved much serendipity. He always looked kind of ragged, his frayed University of Tennessee ball cap and clothing that hung from his lanky frame probably contributed to that look. One night during the last week on the trail, he pulled into the shelter just before dark, cooked dinner and continued on. I was amazed that he could hike difficult trail in the dark (daytime hiking was enough of a challenge for me). He went up Katahdin the day before I did but turned up in Millinocket with Radar two days later. He was part of the thru-hiking crew that descended on Radar’s house for the end of hike party. I last saw him squeezing into a car for a ride to Asheville, NC, heading back to a life that he thought would be quite different having finished the AT.
Pigchicken. Picgchicken was a tall, blond young man hiking the trail after completing Army service. First met him in late July north of Kent, CT. Saw him again as I was heading out of North Adams, Massachusetts in August most of what I knew of him was from in references from other hikers. Hiked, or rather camped, with him in Maine and shared hostel space with him there. His unruly hair, mustache and thick goatee reminded me of Confederate general Nathan Bedford Forrest. He had a reputation as a partier, at least on a couple occasions that I heard about. He was also prone to drawing, particularly his Pigchicken figure, in the shelter registers. Pigchicken was the only person at Caratunk House when we arrived and served as a stand-in for the owner. He was a man with a plan: finish the trail, spend a few months in Europe and begin attending college at Appalachian State University in North Carolina. Lost track of him in Maine when he headed into the Gulf Hagas area for a side trip off the AT. He showed up at Radar’s with Zues and Bert the night of the party. Left the next day heading home to Buffalo, NY.
Hollywood. Met Hollywood at Delaware Water Gap and encountered him off and on into Vermont. He was in his late 20's but he looked older with his curly beard and hair. Can’t remember if he was showing gray hairs or it just looked that way. Hollywood was an avid photographer, devoting much time and effort to recording his trip. He had hopes of pursuing a MFA after the trail. Spent a leisurely afternoon with him in the woods across the road from Worthington Bakery where we ate sub sandwiches and drank beer waiting out the afternoon heat. The following day we lounged around the concession stand at High Point State Park. Camped with him often in Vermont but never saw him again after Killington Peak. He went to the summit to camp and see the sunrise on his birthday and never caught up with us.
Dharma, Polish Ninja, Kali-Frodo & Cap’n. Our companions on Katahdin summit the last day of our hike. I’d seen their names in the shelter registers along the trail but didn’t meet them till I was in Maine. Met Dharma in Andover and he was with the other three at the White Wolf Inn in Stratton. We leapfrogged them in the Hundred Mile Wilderness but they passed us when we headed into Whitehouse Wilderness Camp. Cap’n told me they met in the south and vowed to go up Katahdin together and somehow it had worked out so that they would. After they passed us in the Wilderness, I did not expect to see them again but our 25 mile day from Rainbow Springs to Katahdin Stream put us at Katahdin’s base with them. They went up ahead of Red, Gary and me but were still there when we arrived at the summit. And so, they became our summit family sharing the ecstasy of the trail’s end with us.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Early Reviews
A few friends have offered comments on Speed of Foot. Here's some of what they said:
Gary:
I am happy to have you read it in any form at all.
"An easy read"My Appalachian Trail companions, two people in a position to know, both offered kind words as well.
" [I] feel like I’m walking down the trail with you. I’m really enjoying it....The sketches add a lot too, I like the size and the white space, like little windows through the words."
"Gives readers a real taste for the highs, lows and gritty in-betweens of the adventure with an emphasis on the companionship of the thing. Bravo!"
Gary:
"It brought back many memories that I had lost,and I enjoyed the telling very much....Red is reading it now,and we're having some good laughs."Red:
"I just finished your book and enjoyed the heck out of it....You brought back so much of the trail for me that I would have forgotten forever."So...Don't just take my word when I say that Speed of Foot is good. My friends say so, too, and they are certainly objective about the whole thing. But if you want to see for yourself, just click the link above and I will get a copy to you forthwith. Our you can by the Kindle edition.
I am happy to have you read it in any form at all.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
More Names
As promised, here are some more word sketches of my fellow thru-hikers.
Little Bob was an attorney from Louisana, a short, wiry man whose black beard and hair were streaked with gray. He wa a determined hiker who described his approach to the trail as walking from 7:00 am to 7:00 pm and checking out everything along the way. I met him first at Laurel Creek Lodge, where he described himself as happy to get away from all the “kids” on the trail, and we encountered each other off and on through Grayson Highlands in southwest Virginia. We camped together at Saunders shelter, the first shelter out of Damascus. Like us, he was a refugee from Trail Days, happy to be away from a very large party. He had just switched over to a “bagel and peanut butter” diet and had gotten rid of his stove. He passed us a few days later and we never saw him again. We saw his shelter entries for a while but even these disappeared and we wondered if he was still on the trail. I saw his picture at Andover House in Maine in early September–he was almost a month ahead of us at this time and I have every reason to think that he had finished the trail by that time.
Bert caught up with me on the trail north of Watuga Lake shelter in north Tennessee. She’d camped at the shelter with us the night before but came in very late. The following day she blazed by me on the trail. I kept up with her for a while to chat but she was moving fast so I didn’t do so for long. During that time, however, I learned that she had skipped from Dennis Cove, TN to Damascus, VA and walked north to Bland, VA before returning to Dennis Cove. That way she could walk into Damascus for Trail Days. She hiked with her brother, Ernie (not sure if that was his real name or trail name) so they were Bert and Ernie for a while. She was a small woman, with short, dark hair and big eyes. Reminded me of a deer at times. Didn’t see her for a long time after Damascus and figured that she was long gone. But one Sunday morning in Massachusetts, she came up from behind much to my surprise. He parents had dropped her off after a short visit and she was slackpacking to the Cookie Lady’s place about 18 miles up the trail. The encounter was brief and she was gone again but it was fun to see someone from the earlier part of the hike. I saw her again Vermont and read her register entries off and on again into Maine. At Speck Pond in Maine, she noted that she had met someone special who was “easy on the eyes”. That some one special was Zeus. After that she (and Zeus) slowed down. They camped with us at West Carry Pond shelter and were with us waiting for the ferry across the Kennebec River. They were still in their tent just north of Caratunk, ME when I saw them last on the trail--reading to each other, I recall. I expected them to show up that night–both were strong hikers–but they didn’t and never caught up with us again. They finished the trail four days after I did and made it to Radar’s party late Saturday evening.
Zeus came bounding into camp the night before I reached Damascus, Virginia. Red, Gary and I were well settled into a campsite near route 421 after some wonderful trail magic. We thought we’d have the place to ourselves when Zeus motored into camp with two companions. He was a high energy hiker, his movement appeared to be on the double quick. Maybe that was to make up for his short legs. Zeus was a short man, with thick brown hair and beard. His voice was soft with a not too strong Massachusetts accent. He’d been laid off and had hit the trail. Didn’t see him again for a few weeks until he came by our camp at Laurel Creek just south of Bland, VA. He came motoring by, moving fast. Said he couldn’t stop or his leg would lock up painfully. The following morning he was in Smokey Jack’s van when we caught a ride into Bland. He was planning to see a doctor about his leg. Saw him again just outside Pearisburg, VA where he recounted his adventure in medical treatment that ended up with him driving the doc’s car into WV for additional tests. He was with me off and on throughout southwestern and central VA. He holed up with us at Bailey Gap shelter after a severe thunderstorm. When he took off his legs churned like a cartoon character as he disappeared up the trail. He was at the Best Western in Troutville when we zeroed there and camped with us many nights on the way to Rockfish Gap. After that, I saw him again in Vernon, NJ. He passed us near Harriman State Park in NY when we went to town for a mail drop. Next time I saw him was in Gorham, NH getting out of Southpaw’s car but he headed out while I took a zero day. When I saw him next he had linked up with Bert and the rest of his story is joined with hers.
Paladin first appeared at Helvey’s Mill shelter north of Bland, VA and hiked with him off and on till Rockfish Gap. He was a section hiker doing the trail in four years, 2002 being his second year. If one is going to hike the AT in sections, Paladin’s approach seems to be the best. Being on the trail for a long stretch gave him the chance to get to know thru-hikers and vice versa. Paladin was a short, stocky man with a southern accent and a taste for small cigars. He was a criminal defense attorney from SC who only defended “innocent” clients in his words. He wore a broad brimmed had and seemed pretty intense at first. His intensity dissipated as I got to know him, evolving into an acute sense of humor and sharp mind. Most of us thought his name referred to the 1960's TV character but his reference were to the knights of Charlemagne, which certainly seemed appropriate for a thru-hiker.
Kinky & Two Timer were a young married couple I met just north of Pearisburg and hiked with into central VA. I saw them again on the trail in Vernon, NJ and read their register entries for the rest of the trip since they were only a few days ahead of me. Both were tall with dark hair that they wore in pony tails. Two Timer was making his second thru-hike, Kinky her first. They were married after he completed his first thru-hike and apparently Kinky was sufficiently impressed with his feat that she wanted to do the same, so they were on the trail. That’s where Two Timer got his name. Kinky’s name derived from the fact that she was hoping to work out her “kinks” (allergies, etc) on the trail. Together, their names were more suggestive and they often were asked about it. They hiked with Radar and Zeus for much of the trip and went up Katahdin with Radar and were among the thru hikers at Radar’s party in Connecticut.
Pop Tart, whose name reflected one of the common breakfast foods along the trail, was one of the “characters” of our trail community. I saw his shelter entries containing the lyrics to “Big Rock Candy Mountain” long before I ever saw him in Virginia. Even then, I didn’t get to know him until after Pennsylvania. He was an elfin presence on the trail, short round, a wide smile protruding from a bushy black beard flecked with streaks of gray. He wore Mardi Gras beads as part of his hiking attire and always seemed to be in a happy mood. I last saw him at North Woodstock, NH. He went out ahead of us with plans to get off the trail at Pinkham Notch to attend a high school reunion. I assume he made it back and to Katahdin summit.
The Maryland-Pennsylvania Trail Family is a collective group that I met when I solo hiked from Front Royal, Va to Boiling Springs, Pa. It included Hoss,Razz, Snoopy, Uncle Jesse, Little Bo Peep and Kitchen Sink. I met Hoss, Snoopy and Razz the first day out from Front Royal early on and the rest as I neared Harper’s Ferry. WV. They hiked as a group. When I saw one, the others were usually not far away. Our usual encounter was passing each other on the trail. I would be in camp around 5:00 pm or so. They would roll by my camp, heading farther on. The following morning I would pass their camp, often before they were awake, sometimes they were already up. Either way, it was comforting to see people I know, even if it was only in passing. They were already at Pine Grove Furnace State Park when I arrived. Snoopy and Razz had successfully completed the “half way-half gallon” challenge and were lying on the porch of the camp store looking very uncomfortable for the experience. The rest had tried but stopped so they were still up and around. Their lack of success left uneaten ice cream on the table for me to graze upon. I knew that eating a half gallon of ice cream was not a good idea but was more than willing to consume calories and fat in moderate amounts. We parted the following morning when I jumped north to catch up with Red & Gary. In the short time I’d been with them on the trail, they had become important to me and I was sorry to leave them behind.
Still more to come...
Little Bob was an attorney from Louisana, a short, wiry man whose black beard and hair were streaked with gray. He wa a determined hiker who described his approach to the trail as walking from 7:00 am to 7:00 pm and checking out everything along the way. I met him first at Laurel Creek Lodge, where he described himself as happy to get away from all the “kids” on the trail, and we encountered each other off and on through Grayson Highlands in southwest Virginia. We camped together at Saunders shelter, the first shelter out of Damascus. Like us, he was a refugee from Trail Days, happy to be away from a very large party. He had just switched over to a “bagel and peanut butter” diet and had gotten rid of his stove. He passed us a few days later and we never saw him again. We saw his shelter entries for a while but even these disappeared and we wondered if he was still on the trail. I saw his picture at Andover House in Maine in early September–he was almost a month ahead of us at this time and I have every reason to think that he had finished the trail by that time.
Bert caught up with me on the trail north of Watuga Lake shelter in north Tennessee. She’d camped at the shelter with us the night before but came in very late. The following day she blazed by me on the trail. I kept up with her for a while to chat but she was moving fast so I didn’t do so for long. During that time, however, I learned that she had skipped from Dennis Cove, TN to Damascus, VA and walked north to Bland, VA before returning to Dennis Cove. That way she could walk into Damascus for Trail Days. She hiked with her brother, Ernie (not sure if that was his real name or trail name) so they were Bert and Ernie for a while. She was a small woman, with short, dark hair and big eyes. Reminded me of a deer at times. Didn’t see her for a long time after Damascus and figured that she was long gone. But one Sunday morning in Massachusetts, she came up from behind much to my surprise. He parents had dropped her off after a short visit and she was slackpacking to the Cookie Lady’s place about 18 miles up the trail. The encounter was brief and she was gone again but it was fun to see someone from the earlier part of the hike. I saw her again Vermont and read her register entries off and on again into Maine. At Speck Pond in Maine, she noted that she had met someone special who was “easy on the eyes”. That some one special was Zeus. After that she (and Zeus) slowed down. They camped with us at West Carry Pond shelter and were with us waiting for the ferry across the Kennebec River. They were still in their tent just north of Caratunk, ME when I saw them last on the trail--reading to each other, I recall. I expected them to show up that night–both were strong hikers–but they didn’t and never caught up with us again. They finished the trail four days after I did and made it to Radar’s party late Saturday evening.
Zeus came bounding into camp the night before I reached Damascus, Virginia. Red, Gary and I were well settled into a campsite near route 421 after some wonderful trail magic. We thought we’d have the place to ourselves when Zeus motored into camp with two companions. He was a high energy hiker, his movement appeared to be on the double quick. Maybe that was to make up for his short legs. Zeus was a short man, with thick brown hair and beard. His voice was soft with a not too strong Massachusetts accent. He’d been laid off and had hit the trail. Didn’t see him again for a few weeks until he came by our camp at Laurel Creek just south of Bland, VA. He came motoring by, moving fast. Said he couldn’t stop or his leg would lock up painfully. The following morning he was in Smokey Jack’s van when we caught a ride into Bland. He was planning to see a doctor about his leg. Saw him again just outside Pearisburg, VA where he recounted his adventure in medical treatment that ended up with him driving the doc’s car into WV for additional tests. He was with me off and on throughout southwestern and central VA. He holed up with us at Bailey Gap shelter after a severe thunderstorm. When he took off his legs churned like a cartoon character as he disappeared up the trail. He was at the Best Western in Troutville when we zeroed there and camped with us many nights on the way to Rockfish Gap. After that, I saw him again in Vernon, NJ. He passed us near Harriman State Park in NY when we went to town for a mail drop. Next time I saw him was in Gorham, NH getting out of Southpaw’s car but he headed out while I took a zero day. When I saw him next he had linked up with Bert and the rest of his story is joined with hers.
Paladin first appeared at Helvey’s Mill shelter north of Bland, VA and hiked with him off and on till Rockfish Gap. He was a section hiker doing the trail in four years, 2002 being his second year. If one is going to hike the AT in sections, Paladin’s approach seems to be the best. Being on the trail for a long stretch gave him the chance to get to know thru-hikers and vice versa. Paladin was a short, stocky man with a southern accent and a taste for small cigars. He was a criminal defense attorney from SC who only defended “innocent” clients in his words. He wore a broad brimmed had and seemed pretty intense at first. His intensity dissipated as I got to know him, evolving into an acute sense of humor and sharp mind. Most of us thought his name referred to the 1960's TV character but his reference were to the knights of Charlemagne, which certainly seemed appropriate for a thru-hiker.
Kinky & Two Timer were a young married couple I met just north of Pearisburg and hiked with into central VA. I saw them again on the trail in Vernon, NJ and read their register entries for the rest of the trip since they were only a few days ahead of me. Both were tall with dark hair that they wore in pony tails. Two Timer was making his second thru-hike, Kinky her first. They were married after he completed his first thru-hike and apparently Kinky was sufficiently impressed with his feat that she wanted to do the same, so they were on the trail. That’s where Two Timer got his name. Kinky’s name derived from the fact that she was hoping to work out her “kinks” (allergies, etc) on the trail. Together, their names were more suggestive and they often were asked about it. They hiked with Radar and Zeus for much of the trip and went up Katahdin with Radar and were among the thru hikers at Radar’s party in Connecticut.
Pop Tart, whose name reflected one of the common breakfast foods along the trail, was one of the “characters” of our trail community. I saw his shelter entries containing the lyrics to “Big Rock Candy Mountain” long before I ever saw him in Virginia. Even then, I didn’t get to know him until after Pennsylvania. He was an elfin presence on the trail, short round, a wide smile protruding from a bushy black beard flecked with streaks of gray. He wore Mardi Gras beads as part of his hiking attire and always seemed to be in a happy mood. I last saw him at North Woodstock, NH. He went out ahead of us with plans to get off the trail at Pinkham Notch to attend a high school reunion. I assume he made it back and to Katahdin summit.
The Maryland-Pennsylvania Trail Family is a collective group that I met when I solo hiked from Front Royal, Va to Boiling Springs, Pa. It included Hoss,Razz, Snoopy, Uncle Jesse, Little Bo Peep and Kitchen Sink. I met Hoss, Snoopy and Razz the first day out from Front Royal early on and the rest as I neared Harper’s Ferry. WV. They hiked as a group. When I saw one, the others were usually not far away. Our usual encounter was passing each other on the trail. I would be in camp around 5:00 pm or so. They would roll by my camp, heading farther on. The following morning I would pass their camp, often before they were awake, sometimes they were already up. Either way, it was comforting to see people I know, even if it was only in passing. They were already at Pine Grove Furnace State Park when I arrived. Snoopy and Razz had successfully completed the “half way-half gallon” challenge and were lying on the porch of the camp store looking very uncomfortable for the experience. The rest had tried but stopped so they were still up and around. Their lack of success left uneaten ice cream on the table for me to graze upon. I knew that eating a half gallon of ice cream was not a good idea but was more than willing to consume calories and fat in moderate amounts. We parted the following morning when I jumped north to catch up with Red & Gary. In the short time I’d been with them on the trail, they had become important to me and I was sorry to leave them behind.
Still more to come...
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Trail Magic
“There’s magic at the next road crossing”. The words spread quickly among the thru-hikers. The day is transformed. An ordinary day on the trail now holds the promise of something different, an unexpected treat. I continue walking north, wondering what to expect. When I reach the road, I find a cooler of sodas and snacks put out by former thru-hikers for this year’s class. I grab a soda and a bag of chips and savor their taste and texture, so different from the normal trail food that I carry. Refreshed, I shoulder my pack and head north again, thanking my unknown benefactors for their kindness.
Trail magic is a well established custom on the Appalachian Trail and includes any kindness and assistance to thru-hikers from the outside world. Usually, however, it takes the form of food left along the trail or served by volunteers known as trail angels. At its simplest, trail magic is an untended cooler left near a road but it can also mean a full fledged barbeque. Any magic is a welcome event, an opportunity to relax and enjoy the hospitality of complete strangers. Sometimes it can be a lifesaver.
I encountered my first trail magic on my second day out from Springer Mountain. A volunteer from the Georgia Appalachian Trail Club put out soda and fruit for us. The cold soda was very welcome on a warm day. A few days later, a section hiker gave me a Snickers bar. Although the candy bar was identical to the food I was carrying, the gesture was a welcome sign. It told me that I was among friends.
Stories of trail magic also made the rounds during those early days on the trail. Some hikers told of trail angels serving hot dogs and full meals. The stories sounded the trail version of urban legend until I reached Brown Gap, NC. I was heading toward Hot Springs, NC on a dark, windy day. Hiking alone through the gloomy forest was a bit unnerving. Around mid-day I met a southbound section hiker who told me that people were serving food–major food–where the trail crossed a road at Browns Gap. Sure enough, when I reached the gap, I found a large collection of people cooking cheeseburgers under a tarp covered kitchen. They were the Blue Blaze Hobo Hiker Trash, a rough looking but very hospitable group who were enjoying themselves and the company of thru-hikers very much. Their three day cook out was an annual affair for this group of former thru-hikers. I ate a double cheeseburger, trail beans, salad and soda. I left the party so full I could barely walk. Somehow I climbed to the next ridge where lay down in the sun for a short nap. That evening, I read in the shelter register that the previous day’s hikers were treated to a dinner of salmon and baked potato.
A few weeks later in northern Tennessee, I crossed Route 91 to find Red and Gary sitting on their packs drinking–beer? They responded to my quizzical look by pointing to four beers and a soda cooling in the stream I had just crossed. I joined them in toasting our unknown benefactor and continued on. That night we camped at a site just before the Route 421 crossing. Our guidebook showed a spring at the road so, after dropping our packs, we headed the short distance to the road to fill our water bottles. We could smell hamburgers cooking on a grill as we approached the crossing. When the crossing came into view, there was Redwood, another thru-hiker, sitting at a picnic table eating. Two former thru-hikers, Strolling and Gambler, were serving cheeseburgers, chips and beer. We joined right in, delighted that we would not have to cook dinner that night or walk on a full stomach.
The next magic was a lifesaver. I was hiking toward Catawba, VA on a hot, muggy June day. I was dangerously low on water and was seriously considering detouring a mile down the next road to buy a soda and maybe find water. I sure didn’t want to walk an extra two miles but didn’t think I had a choice Just before reaching the road, however, I found a plastic tub with about five sodas remaining. The ice was long gone but the sodas were wet and saved me a long detour. At the road crossing, I met some day hikers who shared their water with me. Like Blanche Dubois in “Streetcar Named Desire” I was depending on the “kindness of strangers.”
Irish Creek in central Virginia was the site of the next major magic. A couple named Renegade and Tomboy had established a full field kitchen alongside the creek and were serving dinner and breakfast to hikers as they passed through. A southbound hiker told me about the food and soda there, which delighted me to no end since that was my planned destination for the day. I reached the creek around 3:30 and was greeted by Tomboy with an ice cold soda. While I savored its coolness, Renegade informed me that dinner was grilled Polish sausage, baked beans and salad. I set up camp, relaxed with other hikers and enjoyed the meal. After dinner, Renegade took Red, Gary and me into town so we could buy groceries. His kindness saved us what would have been a long hitchhike to town the following day.
Trail magic continued all the way to Maine. Occasionally, it was a major feed like Brown Gap and Irish Creek but most often it was just a small kindness by persons who wanted to treat thru-hikers. Rides, virtually free hostel space and food offerings were common along the entire route. On my last day before reaching Katahdin, I found a cooler of beer and soda at Abol Bridge, the last in a string of kindnesses that stretched back to the soda and fruit in Georgia. And it reminded me, once again, how wonderful people can be. Beyond the food, trail magic was a boost to my spirit knowing that others–complete strangers–cared about me. They may not have had me specifically in mind when they set out their treats but they knew some one like me was coming that way. And they knew how much I would appreciate their generosity.
Thank you all.
Trail magic is a well established custom on the Appalachian Trail and includes any kindness and assistance to thru-hikers from the outside world. Usually, however, it takes the form of food left along the trail or served by volunteers known as trail angels. At its simplest, trail magic is an untended cooler left near a road but it can also mean a full fledged barbeque. Any magic is a welcome event, an opportunity to relax and enjoy the hospitality of complete strangers. Sometimes it can be a lifesaver.
I encountered my first trail magic on my second day out from Springer Mountain. A volunteer from the Georgia Appalachian Trail Club put out soda and fruit for us. The cold soda was very welcome on a warm day. A few days later, a section hiker gave me a Snickers bar. Although the candy bar was identical to the food I was carrying, the gesture was a welcome sign. It told me that I was among friends.
Stories of trail magic also made the rounds during those early days on the trail. Some hikers told of trail angels serving hot dogs and full meals. The stories sounded the trail version of urban legend until I reached Brown Gap, NC. I was heading toward Hot Springs, NC on a dark, windy day. Hiking alone through the gloomy forest was a bit unnerving. Around mid-day I met a southbound section hiker who told me that people were serving food–major food–where the trail crossed a road at Browns Gap. Sure enough, when I reached the gap, I found a large collection of people cooking cheeseburgers under a tarp covered kitchen. They were the Blue Blaze Hobo Hiker Trash, a rough looking but very hospitable group who were enjoying themselves and the company of thru-hikers very much. Their three day cook out was an annual affair for this group of former thru-hikers. I ate a double cheeseburger, trail beans, salad and soda. I left the party so full I could barely walk. Somehow I climbed to the next ridge where lay down in the sun for a short nap. That evening, I read in the shelter register that the previous day’s hikers were treated to a dinner of salmon and baked potato.
A few weeks later in northern Tennessee, I crossed Route 91 to find Red and Gary sitting on their packs drinking–beer? They responded to my quizzical look by pointing to four beers and a soda cooling in the stream I had just crossed. I joined them in toasting our unknown benefactor and continued on. That night we camped at a site just before the Route 421 crossing. Our guidebook showed a spring at the road so, after dropping our packs, we headed the short distance to the road to fill our water bottles. We could smell hamburgers cooking on a grill as we approached the crossing. When the crossing came into view, there was Redwood, another thru-hiker, sitting at a picnic table eating. Two former thru-hikers, Strolling and Gambler, were serving cheeseburgers, chips and beer. We joined right in, delighted that we would not have to cook dinner that night or walk on a full stomach.
The next magic was a lifesaver. I was hiking toward Catawba, VA on a hot, muggy June day. I was dangerously low on water and was seriously considering detouring a mile down the next road to buy a soda and maybe find water. I sure didn’t want to walk an extra two miles but didn’t think I had a choice Just before reaching the road, however, I found a plastic tub with about five sodas remaining. The ice was long gone but the sodas were wet and saved me a long detour. At the road crossing, I met some day hikers who shared their water with me. Like Blanche Dubois in “Streetcar Named Desire” I was depending on the “kindness of strangers.”
Irish Creek in central Virginia was the site of the next major magic. A couple named Renegade and Tomboy had established a full field kitchen alongside the creek and were serving dinner and breakfast to hikers as they passed through. A southbound hiker told me about the food and soda there, which delighted me to no end since that was my planned destination for the day. I reached the creek around 3:30 and was greeted by Tomboy with an ice cold soda. While I savored its coolness, Renegade informed me that dinner was grilled Polish sausage, baked beans and salad. I set up camp, relaxed with other hikers and enjoyed the meal. After dinner, Renegade took Red, Gary and me into town so we could buy groceries. His kindness saved us what would have been a long hitchhike to town the following day.
Trail magic continued all the way to Maine. Occasionally, it was a major feed like Brown Gap and Irish Creek but most often it was just a small kindness by persons who wanted to treat thru-hikers. Rides, virtually free hostel space and food offerings were common along the entire route. On my last day before reaching Katahdin, I found a cooler of beer and soda at Abol Bridge, the last in a string of kindnesses that stretched back to the soda and fruit in Georgia. And it reminded me, once again, how wonderful people can be. Beyond the food, trail magic was a boost to my spirit knowing that others–complete strangers–cared about me. They may not have had me specifically in mind when they set out their treats but they knew some one like me was coming that way. And they knew how much I would appreciate their generosity.
Thank you all.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Names, Names, Names
At the Speed of Foot gives a fair amount of detail on a few of the thru-hikers I was close to on the Appalachian Trail but passes over many. There were just too many of them. I included a lot of their names in early drafts, when they were all still fresh in my memory but manuscript readers found them too much and too little at the same time. Too much in that without my perspective, they could not sort them out. Too little in that the names were just that, with no detail or characterization.
So now that the book is done, I can give them some space. Here's the first installment.
The Hammock Brothers: Brian and Eric were two brothers from Pennsylvania. They slept in hammocks slung under tarps from the outset. I met them at Tray Mountain Shelter on a very rainy day. They arrived after the shelter was full but managed to stay dry under their tarps and had ample room to pack, cook and perform all their camp chores. The brothers were with us the following day at Deep Gap shelter, where we all spent the sunny afternoon drying gear. We saw them occasionally on the trail as we headed toward the Smokies and camped with them three nights straight in the Smokies. Both had long blond hair and round, not quite chubby, faces. Brian was the older of the two, a bit shorter and more stocky. He was an ambler, usually wandering into camp after Eric. Eric was taller and more inclined to bolt ahead of his brother on the trail so that he could spend time photographing things that interested him. Our three nights together in the Smokies gave us a chance to observe their interactions, characterized by a long established brotherly rivalry. There was an edge to their rivalry but it was more of an intimate dance between two very close siblings. They headed into Gatlinburg, TN after our third night in the Smokies and I saw them again only in Hot Springs, NC and during my southbound trip through Shenandoah. I saw their picture at the ATC HQ, standing together looking confident. After that, I saw their names in registers while I was soloing up to central PA. They passed us in Hanover, NH. R&G saw them at Ben & Jerry’s. I did not but I followed their progress in the registers. I figure they went up Katahdin about four or five days ahead of me.
Flatfoot & Whisper: A couple of young self-styled ski bums who work in food service at ski resorts. Whisper managed serving staff. Flatfoot was a chef. They were hiking toward winter jobs in Vermont after working in upstate New York. They were a quiet couple. Whisper had a soft voice and manner that rendered her almost invisible in the gloom of a shelter. Flatfoot, with his dark hair, eyes and beard, looked more intense. They seem to have been together for a while; they were very attentive to each other and their camp routines well established. Being with them was one of the hike’s pleasures. They were not only very nice but I enjoyed sharing the company of younger hikers and knowing that I could keep up with them. I met them for the first time in Hiawassee, GA but got to know them better during the long afternoon at Plum Orchard Gap shelter. I saw them of and on again as we made our to the Smokies. They were stuck in Fontana Village, NC waiting for a food drop when we left to head into the Smokies. We wondered if they would receive the package in time to make the first shelter with us. They did barely, arriving not long before dark. We camped together that night and the next two nights, sharing shelters with the Hammock Brothers, Sylvain and Bill and Ursula. I saw them last at Newfound Gap in the fog, heading into Gatlinburg. I expected to see them in Hot Springs, NC but did not. The Hammock Brothers said that Flatfoot was ill but didn’t know what had become of them. We wondered and worried. I heard much later that they had traveled to New Orleans for the jazz festival, finished the Smokies and returned to Massachusetts where Whisper was helping her mom with a family matter.
Sylvain: Sylvain was a French-Canadian hiker who spoke limited English so he was hard to get to know. But over time, we learned to communicate well enough. Sylvain was a solidly built individual, heavy frame and bones. He had a broad face with an infectious smile. His camping style looked chaotic to me–he seemed to just drop into whatever place he found and exploded his gear around him. His tent was a real cheapie, with a tiny fly and too little space for him to fully stretch. He carried a can of mace in a holster. Every time I saw him, I would think the mace was a pistol. We met the first night out from Springer. He was playing chess with another Canadian, Medicine Man. We camped together most nights in the Smokies and I saw him again on the way to Damascus. At that time he looked like a real Voyageur(?), with his two wooden poles and red bandana on his head. He camped in the yard at The Place in Damascus and I gave him my bunk when I pulled out. I heard after Pearisburg that he was ill with something intestinal. I saw him last during my southbound through SNP. He was about a week or 10 days behind our original group. He said that his intestinal ailment had slowed him down a lot. He looked tired when I saw him. He’d had something done to his boots at Trail Days that resulted in poor fit, so he’d sliced open the toes for relief and taped the incision over with blue duct tape. As I headed north, I wondered how he was doing. He was in Gorham, NH the day before I arrived. Montreal had dinner with him. After Harper’s Ferry, Sylvain returned home for a few weeks and then returned to the trail at Katahdin, heading south. I assume he made it the rest of the way. I hope so.
One Gallon Bill & Ursula: They crossed our path at Wayah Bald just south of the Smokies. They looked odd together. Bill is a big man–over six feet and broad chested–who can cover large chunks of the trail in a single step. Ursula is much smaller and has to hustle to keep up with him. My first impression of Bill was not favorable due to his booming voice and enthusiastic talkativeness. He and Ursula camped with us at Wesser Bald shelter on the first day we met. His voice filled the shelter and carried some distance. I named him Bellowing Bill for that reason. But as time and miles passed, he was an interesting and pleasant companion. Our first night together also introduced us to their unusual diet: dinner was corn meal cooked with cocoanut flakes, pudding and maybe something else. It looked pretty gruesome, especially the idea of eating the left overs cold the next morning. Bill thru-hiked the trail in 1982 and got his trail name for eating a full, rather than a mere half, gallon of ice cream at the halfway point. He carried the same equipment he did in 1982, including a well used Kelty Tioga pack with metal buckles. His load also included some improbable items, such as a map of Canada, which he whipped out during a long discussion with Sylvain in the Smokies. Bill & Ursula were part of our shelter crew during the first few nights in the Smokies. After that, we saw them off and on along much of the trail. However, the rarely stayed in towns; I think they were on a limited budget so they would usually take care of business and get back to the trail. They were just ahead of us through much of Virginia but had to take a week off to travel to Canada so Ursula, a German, could re-enter the US for another six month visa. I last remember seeing them in Kent, Connecticut at the IGA. We crossed Schaghticoke Mountain together. Although I never saw them afterward, I saw their entries in the trail registers into Maine and am pretty sure they completed the trail.
Syracuse Pete: first appeared at Peck’s Corner shelter in the Smokies. He’d come in for water but decided to stay and dry out gear after a very wet night. He looked old when I first saw him: gray beard, braces on both knees. Took a while to get to know him. He kept to himself or the people he knew so my interactions were limited at first. He was part of the large crowd at Cosby Knob shelter our last night in the Smokies. He spent much of that time sitting on a log talking to Pushing Up Daisies, putting up his tent only at the last minute. A group of women section hikers saw him sitting by himself and were worried about him but he did finally find a place and set up. Got to know him most in southwest and central Virginia. Shared a B&B room with him and Radar and he was at the Village Motel two nights later when we pulled into Atkins. We leapfrogged and camped with each other all the way to Rockfish Gap, VA. Pete was one of the big slackpackers, especially on the section leading to Damascus He also slackpacked a couple days out of Troutville, VA. It always caught me by surprise to see him just appear on the trail heading south. I last saw him in Waynesboro, VA. He was having trouble with his boots and feet. I saw a shelter register in SNP where he said he was dropping out for a while and would return to the trail at Katahdin and head south but I never saw him again and don’t know what became of him.
Take Care: A young blond man from New Jersey (or was it New York). I first saw him on the last night in the Smokies at the “refugee camp” at Cosby Knob shelter. He was camped in what Gary called the mine field, where many previous campers had dug their cat holes. It was one of the few flat spaces available, so he and a few others had little choice. I walked with him a couple days later as we went over Max Patch and Roaring Fork shelter. He was a pleasant companion on that day. Never really hiked with him again–he was usually ahead of me, trying to cover 14 miles per day so that he could reach Katahdin on schedule–but I continued to see him occasionally and read his entries all the the way through Maine. He had worked as a consultant (in computers, I think) but was laid off and decided to hike the AT while he had a chance.
Redwood: A tall young man who stood about 6'8" who wore UNC-Asheville basketball trunks. He was hard to miss, with his head towering above everyone else and his frame pack poking over his head. First met him south of the Smokies and hiked with him in NC and TN. He had a smooth, deep voice, a southern accent, a very pleasant manner and was a genuinely nice guy. His long face, prominent nose and jaw and thick brown hair reminded my a lot of Al Gore. Redwood was a writer and had worked as a reporter in Asheville until he was laid off. That’s when he decided to hit the trail. We used to joke that, with his long legs, he could cover more trail in a single step than the rest of us could in several steps and he would reply that the trail was as challenging for him as any of the rest of us. This was particularly true in that he had knee problems that bothered him at several points in the trip. He pulled in to Laurel Creek Lodge in Tennessee for an extra day to recover at one point but the pain persisted through much of the hike. Spent time with him at the Dairy King in Damascus but saw him only a few more times in Virignia after that. We met again at Glen Brook shelter in Massachusetts. He was ahead of me after that until he showed up at Goose Pond cabin a few days later, heading south trying to intercept Tin Tin to arrange a place to stay in NYC for a concert. Last I saw of him was in N. Adams, MA where he was waiting at the trailhead to return to Dalton to pick up something. Never saw him again but I heard that he finished the trail a few days after I did.
Now or Never: He walked into the Duckett House B&B in Hot Springs, NC the day R&G left. He was traveling light and making good time, having started 11 days after we did. Now or Never was a businessman from Charlotte, NC who had decided that 02 was the year to hike the trail. It must have been a difficult decision because it meant that his income would take a real hit at the same time his daughter was in college. I saw very little of him for most of the hike, just his register entries. He was leaving Pearisburg, VA as we walked in. I saw him again in Shenandoah NP in June and again on the morning we left Kent, CT in late July. We camped with him that night but he pulled away from us until Bennington, VT where we encountered him at the Autumn Court Motel. After that he was a day or two ahead of us until we reached Katahdin Stream campground our last night on the trail. As a result, we summited with him, or more correctly, he was at the summit when we arrived. Being part of our summit crew makes him one of the special people on the trip–he was there for the final event of a long march. He was also at the motel–along with the rest of our summit crew–in Millinocket that night and the following morning when we all parted.
More to come.
So now that the book is done, I can give them some space. Here's the first installment.
The Hammock Brothers: Brian and Eric were two brothers from Pennsylvania. They slept in hammocks slung under tarps from the outset. I met them at Tray Mountain Shelter on a very rainy day. They arrived after the shelter was full but managed to stay dry under their tarps and had ample room to pack, cook and perform all their camp chores. The brothers were with us the following day at Deep Gap shelter, where we all spent the sunny afternoon drying gear. We saw them occasionally on the trail as we headed toward the Smokies and camped with them three nights straight in the Smokies. Both had long blond hair and round, not quite chubby, faces. Brian was the older of the two, a bit shorter and more stocky. He was an ambler, usually wandering into camp after Eric. Eric was taller and more inclined to bolt ahead of his brother on the trail so that he could spend time photographing things that interested him. Our three nights together in the Smokies gave us a chance to observe their interactions, characterized by a long established brotherly rivalry. There was an edge to their rivalry but it was more of an intimate dance between two very close siblings. They headed into Gatlinburg, TN after our third night in the Smokies and I saw them again only in Hot Springs, NC and during my southbound trip through Shenandoah. I saw their picture at the ATC HQ, standing together looking confident. After that, I saw their names in registers while I was soloing up to central PA. They passed us in Hanover, NH. R&G saw them at Ben & Jerry’s. I did not but I followed their progress in the registers. I figure they went up Katahdin about four or five days ahead of me.
Flatfoot & Whisper: A couple of young self-styled ski bums who work in food service at ski resorts. Whisper managed serving staff. Flatfoot was a chef. They were hiking toward winter jobs in Vermont after working in upstate New York. They were a quiet couple. Whisper had a soft voice and manner that rendered her almost invisible in the gloom of a shelter. Flatfoot, with his dark hair, eyes and beard, looked more intense. They seem to have been together for a while; they were very attentive to each other and their camp routines well established. Being with them was one of the hike’s pleasures. They were not only very nice but I enjoyed sharing the company of younger hikers and knowing that I could keep up with them. I met them for the first time in Hiawassee, GA but got to know them better during the long afternoon at Plum Orchard Gap shelter. I saw them of and on again as we made our to the Smokies. They were stuck in Fontana Village, NC waiting for a food drop when we left to head into the Smokies. We wondered if they would receive the package in time to make the first shelter with us. They did barely, arriving not long before dark. We camped together that night and the next two nights, sharing shelters with the Hammock Brothers, Sylvain and Bill and Ursula. I saw them last at Newfound Gap in the fog, heading into Gatlinburg. I expected to see them in Hot Springs, NC but did not. The Hammock Brothers said that Flatfoot was ill but didn’t know what had become of them. We wondered and worried. I heard much later that they had traveled to New Orleans for the jazz festival, finished the Smokies and returned to Massachusetts where Whisper was helping her mom with a family matter.
Sylvain: Sylvain was a French-Canadian hiker who spoke limited English so he was hard to get to know. But over time, we learned to communicate well enough. Sylvain was a solidly built individual, heavy frame and bones. He had a broad face with an infectious smile. His camping style looked chaotic to me–he seemed to just drop into whatever place he found and exploded his gear around him. His tent was a real cheapie, with a tiny fly and too little space for him to fully stretch. He carried a can of mace in a holster. Every time I saw him, I would think the mace was a pistol. We met the first night out from Springer. He was playing chess with another Canadian, Medicine Man. We camped together most nights in the Smokies and I saw him again on the way to Damascus. At that time he looked like a real Voyageur(?), with his two wooden poles and red bandana on his head. He camped in the yard at The Place in Damascus and I gave him my bunk when I pulled out. I heard after Pearisburg that he was ill with something intestinal. I saw him last during my southbound through SNP. He was about a week or 10 days behind our original group. He said that his intestinal ailment had slowed him down a lot. He looked tired when I saw him. He’d had something done to his boots at Trail Days that resulted in poor fit, so he’d sliced open the toes for relief and taped the incision over with blue duct tape. As I headed north, I wondered how he was doing. He was in Gorham, NH the day before I arrived. Montreal had dinner with him. After Harper’s Ferry, Sylvain returned home for a few weeks and then returned to the trail at Katahdin, heading south. I assume he made it the rest of the way. I hope so.
One Gallon Bill & Ursula: They crossed our path at Wayah Bald just south of the Smokies. They looked odd together. Bill is a big man–over six feet and broad chested–who can cover large chunks of the trail in a single step. Ursula is much smaller and has to hustle to keep up with him. My first impression of Bill was not favorable due to his booming voice and enthusiastic talkativeness. He and Ursula camped with us at Wesser Bald shelter on the first day we met. His voice filled the shelter and carried some distance. I named him Bellowing Bill for that reason. But as time and miles passed, he was an interesting and pleasant companion. Our first night together also introduced us to their unusual diet: dinner was corn meal cooked with cocoanut flakes, pudding and maybe something else. It looked pretty gruesome, especially the idea of eating the left overs cold the next morning. Bill thru-hiked the trail in 1982 and got his trail name for eating a full, rather than a mere half, gallon of ice cream at the halfway point. He carried the same equipment he did in 1982, including a well used Kelty Tioga pack with metal buckles. His load also included some improbable items, such as a map of Canada, which he whipped out during a long discussion with Sylvain in the Smokies. Bill & Ursula were part of our shelter crew during the first few nights in the Smokies. After that, we saw them off and on along much of the trail. However, the rarely stayed in towns; I think they were on a limited budget so they would usually take care of business and get back to the trail. They were just ahead of us through much of Virginia but had to take a week off to travel to Canada so Ursula, a German, could re-enter the US for another six month visa. I last remember seeing them in Kent, Connecticut at the IGA. We crossed Schaghticoke Mountain together. Although I never saw them afterward, I saw their entries in the trail registers into Maine and am pretty sure they completed the trail.
Syracuse Pete: first appeared at Peck’s Corner shelter in the Smokies. He’d come in for water but decided to stay and dry out gear after a very wet night. He looked old when I first saw him: gray beard, braces on both knees. Took a while to get to know him. He kept to himself or the people he knew so my interactions were limited at first. He was part of the large crowd at Cosby Knob shelter our last night in the Smokies. He spent much of that time sitting on a log talking to Pushing Up Daisies, putting up his tent only at the last minute. A group of women section hikers saw him sitting by himself and were worried about him but he did finally find a place and set up. Got to know him most in southwest and central Virginia. Shared a B&B room with him and Radar and he was at the Village Motel two nights later when we pulled into Atkins. We leapfrogged and camped with each other all the way to Rockfish Gap, VA. Pete was one of the big slackpackers, especially on the section leading to Damascus He also slackpacked a couple days out of Troutville, VA. It always caught me by surprise to see him just appear on the trail heading south. I last saw him in Waynesboro, VA. He was having trouble with his boots and feet. I saw a shelter register in SNP where he said he was dropping out for a while and would return to the trail at Katahdin and head south but I never saw him again and don’t know what became of him.
Take Care: A young blond man from New Jersey (or was it New York). I first saw him on the last night in the Smokies at the “refugee camp” at Cosby Knob shelter. He was camped in what Gary called the mine field, where many previous campers had dug their cat holes. It was one of the few flat spaces available, so he and a few others had little choice. I walked with him a couple days later as we went over Max Patch and Roaring Fork shelter. He was a pleasant companion on that day. Never really hiked with him again–he was usually ahead of me, trying to cover 14 miles per day so that he could reach Katahdin on schedule–but I continued to see him occasionally and read his entries all the the way through Maine. He had worked as a consultant (in computers, I think) but was laid off and decided to hike the AT while he had a chance.
Redwood: A tall young man who stood about 6'8" who wore UNC-Asheville basketball trunks. He was hard to miss, with his head towering above everyone else and his frame pack poking over his head. First met him south of the Smokies and hiked with him in NC and TN. He had a smooth, deep voice, a southern accent, a very pleasant manner and was a genuinely nice guy. His long face, prominent nose and jaw and thick brown hair reminded my a lot of Al Gore. Redwood was a writer and had worked as a reporter in Asheville until he was laid off. That’s when he decided to hit the trail. We used to joke that, with his long legs, he could cover more trail in a single step than the rest of us could in several steps and he would reply that the trail was as challenging for him as any of the rest of us. This was particularly true in that he had knee problems that bothered him at several points in the trip. He pulled in to Laurel Creek Lodge in Tennessee for an extra day to recover at one point but the pain persisted through much of the hike. Spent time with him at the Dairy King in Damascus but saw him only a few more times in Virignia after that. We met again at Glen Brook shelter in Massachusetts. He was ahead of me after that until he showed up at Goose Pond cabin a few days later, heading south trying to intercept Tin Tin to arrange a place to stay in NYC for a concert. Last I saw of him was in N. Adams, MA where he was waiting at the trailhead to return to Dalton to pick up something. Never saw him again but I heard that he finished the trail a few days after I did.
Now or Never: He walked into the Duckett House B&B in Hot Springs, NC the day R&G left. He was traveling light and making good time, having started 11 days after we did. Now or Never was a businessman from Charlotte, NC who had decided that 02 was the year to hike the trail. It must have been a difficult decision because it meant that his income would take a real hit at the same time his daughter was in college. I saw very little of him for most of the hike, just his register entries. He was leaving Pearisburg, VA as we walked in. I saw him again in Shenandoah NP in June and again on the morning we left Kent, CT in late July. We camped with him that night but he pulled away from us until Bennington, VT where we encountered him at the Autumn Court Motel. After that he was a day or two ahead of us until we reached Katahdin Stream campground our last night on the trail. As a result, we summited with him, or more correctly, he was at the summit when we arrived. Being part of our summit crew makes him one of the special people on the trip–he was there for the final event of a long march. He was also at the motel–along with the rest of our summit crew–in Millinocket that night and the following morning when we all parted.
More to come.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Foot Travel
(editor's note: Now that Speed of Foot is in print, I will use this space to offer excerpts and expand on the hiking and writing experience. Today, I offer one of my earliest essays. This one is particularly significant in that it is the only portion of the book that has been previously published, has much to do with the fact that Speed of Foot was published and is the source for the book's title.)
Walking 2,000 miles on the Appalachian Trail took me through and past many places. At least 36 small towns, countless mountain tops, lakes, rivers and valleys. Many, many different places. The odd thing about all these places is that on foot they become one place. Walking does not create gaps between places. There’s no “leave there, arrive here” sensation in walking. Instead, the space between here and there is filled with the places experienced on the way here.
My thru-hike was the first such experience for me. My longest previous hikes did not really take me from one place to another. After 50 to 70 miles I was more or less in the same place I started. Even after hiking 170 miles of Vermont’s Long Trail in 1991, I was still in Vermont. The Appalachian Trail was different. I started walking in Georgia. I ended up in Maine. That’s one hell of a difference.
Despite this vast difference, I found continuity. Springer Mountain, Georgia is linked to Mount Katahdin, Maine by the thousands of steps I took along the way. Between those two points are the countless “here’s” that I passed through during 180 days of walking. Tray Mountain, Georgia. Hot Springs, North Carolina. Rockfish Gap, Virginia. Harpers Ferry, West Virginia. South Mountain, Maryland. Cumberland Valley, Pennsylvania. High Point State Park, New Jersey. Mombasha High Point, New York. Kent, Connecticut. Mount Greylock, Massachusetts. Sherburne Pass, Vermont. Wildcat Ridge, New Hampshire. Stratton, Maine. To name only a few
All these places merge into a “single place” stretching along the Appalachian Mountains. Walking links them together without the separations that are so common with faster modes of travel. Just as Christians believe in the unity of the Holy Trinity in which separate spirits are also one, this thru-hiker believes in the mystery of many places/one place. I was in many places. I can measure the distance between any two. But because I walked from one to the other, they are part of the same place in my memory. No discontinuity here. Only the gentle progression of one step following another.
The sense of place that comes from walking a long distance is unique in our modern society. We span great distances in a few hours. Rapid means of transportation make the world smaller in terms of access but they also fragment the world into many unconnected places, many more “there’s” that are linked only by the fact that one has traveled to them. The inherent links from one place to another are not part of the experience traveling 600 miles per hour in an airplane or at 75 miles per hour in an automobile. Only the gentle pace of non-motorized travel creates the experience of one place merging into another and, by extension, the interconnections among all those places.
Crossing state lines further illustrates this experience. Until I hiked the Appalachian Trail I had never walked across a state line. I always drove or flew. Even when I lived right next to the Arizona-New Mexico line, I never walked across it. Walking across the Georgia-North Carolina border was a first for me. With one step, I linked two states. I did this 12 more times as I hiked. Each step across a state line connected to the steps that preceded it. My final step on Katahdin summit in Maine was a clear successor to my first step off Springer Mountain in Georgia. Katahdin and Springer were not here and there but rather a succession of “here’s”, two of the many places that together constitute a single place that I experienced as the Appalachian Trail. Walking at the speed of foot on the Appalachian Trail, I saw for the first time in my life the connections that join many different places into a single whole.
Walking 2,000 miles on the Appalachian Trail took me through and past many places. At least 36 small towns, countless mountain tops, lakes, rivers and valleys. Many, many different places. The odd thing about all these places is that on foot they become one place. Walking does not create gaps between places. There’s no “leave there, arrive here” sensation in walking. Instead, the space between here and there is filled with the places experienced on the way here.
My thru-hike was the first such experience for me. My longest previous hikes did not really take me from one place to another. After 50 to 70 miles I was more or less in the same place I started. Even after hiking 170 miles of Vermont’s Long Trail in 1991, I was still in Vermont. The Appalachian Trail was different. I started walking in Georgia. I ended up in Maine. That’s one hell of a difference.
Despite this vast difference, I found continuity. Springer Mountain, Georgia is linked to Mount Katahdin, Maine by the thousands of steps I took along the way. Between those two points are the countless “here’s” that I passed through during 180 days of walking. Tray Mountain, Georgia. Hot Springs, North Carolina. Rockfish Gap, Virginia. Harpers Ferry, West Virginia. South Mountain, Maryland. Cumberland Valley, Pennsylvania. High Point State Park, New Jersey. Mombasha High Point, New York. Kent, Connecticut. Mount Greylock, Massachusetts. Sherburne Pass, Vermont. Wildcat Ridge, New Hampshire. Stratton, Maine. To name only a few
All these places merge into a “single place” stretching along the Appalachian Mountains. Walking links them together without the separations that are so common with faster modes of travel. Just as Christians believe in the unity of the Holy Trinity in which separate spirits are also one, this thru-hiker believes in the mystery of many places/one place. I was in many places. I can measure the distance between any two. But because I walked from one to the other, they are part of the same place in my memory. No discontinuity here. Only the gentle progression of one step following another.
The sense of place that comes from walking a long distance is unique in our modern society. We span great distances in a few hours. Rapid means of transportation make the world smaller in terms of access but they also fragment the world into many unconnected places, many more “there’s” that are linked only by the fact that one has traveled to them. The inherent links from one place to another are not part of the experience traveling 600 miles per hour in an airplane or at 75 miles per hour in an automobile. Only the gentle pace of non-motorized travel creates the experience of one place merging into another and, by extension, the interconnections among all those places.
Crossing state lines further illustrates this experience. Until I hiked the Appalachian Trail I had never walked across a state line. I always drove or flew. Even when I lived right next to the Arizona-New Mexico line, I never walked across it. Walking across the Georgia-North Carolina border was a first for me. With one step, I linked two states. I did this 12 more times as I hiked. Each step across a state line connected to the steps that preceded it. My final step on Katahdin summit in Maine was a clear successor to my first step off Springer Mountain in Georgia. Katahdin and Springer were not here and there but rather a succession of “here’s”, two of the many places that together constitute a single place that I experienced as the Appalachian Trail. Walking at the speed of foot on the Appalachian Trail, I saw for the first time in my life the connections that join many different places into a single whole.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Books Are In Hand!
Yes, indeed. These puppies arrived on my doorstep this very afternoon. The writing and publishing journey is complete, a journey far longer in duration than my actual hike. As was the case with the hike itself, writing and publishing brought new understanding and awareness.
Now comes the next part of the journey--putting my work into the hands of readers. I hope you will find it interesting, informative and enjoyable. An author cannot ask for more.
Friday, September 30, 2011
The Press is Rolling
AT the Speed of Foot is at the printer as I write. If all goes well, I expect to have copies in hand by mid-October!
Friday, September 23, 2011
About to Run the Press
The final changes to the manuscript at at the publisher and we should go to press shortly. In the meantime, I will build out the rest of the At the Speed of Foot Website so that you will be able to easily order a copy for your reading pleasure.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
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