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.