North of Pearisburg

Shoes and boots in a tree at Neel's Gap

From Sarah via a phone conversation with Jay on 5/20/11:

He is 'only' 35 miles north of Pearisburg.  "Thirty-five miles in two days doesn't sound like an 'only' to me," I

protested.  "Well, I did hike 20 miles today, but I did a short day yesterday because my shoes have been hurting me," Jay replied.

When Jay started the trail, he was wearing heavier tennis shoes, to keep him warm through the spring storms.  Since Damascus, he has been wearing lighter shoes that he bought for summer wear back in March. But after 600 miles in five weeks, his feet have changed shape a bit. So the shoes that were very comfortable in March don't fit him quite right now. He is having to break them in all over again. Fortunately, since they are tennis shoes, another 100 or so miles should get the shoes conformed nicely to his feet again.

Other than shoe issues, he is doing well. Jay says the hikers that he passes now are in smaller groups, he thinks many hikers stopped in Damascus. He is still passing most people, as he is still hiking long hours. It's not so much fun to hang out by himself, so he hikes.

Update 5/25/11 from Helen:
Jay has since gotten good insoles for his new shoes and his feet are feeling much better. Hooray for access to choices in shoes! He is closing in on Buena Vista, VA. He is now about 9-10 days ahead of his posted itinerary.

Update on Jay's Progress

From Helen via emails from Sarah:
Many of you know that the southeast has seen some steady cold rain this past week, and a lot of it was right on top of Jay as he hiked through Virginia. As he reached Pearisburg a couple of days ago he decided to head in to a hotel to get dry and warm for the night. He had recently traded out his winter types of clothing for only warm-weather items as he met us at Damascus Trail Days. I guess that was a bit premature. The local thrift store in Pearisburg was a good place to find a wool sweater and long johns. The woman at the thrift store told him now that he bought those clothes the weather would heat up. Small price to pay for a few days of warmth and sun.

Jay is still about 8 days ahead of his itinerary. He has gone through a barrage of hail, chilled wind, torrential rain, summer heat, and bright sun. Way to go, Jay!

Pictures from Newfound Gap



Jay, Sarah, Mark, Helen at Newfound Gap

 From Helen:
Too many pictures wouldn't quite fit in the post "Feeding Hungry Hikers," so I thought I would add a few good ones from that visit here.



Mark presents Jay with a topographical relief map of
Great Smoky Mountains National Park to carry
with him. Sure, it will fit in his back pocket!





Only 1,972 miles to go.
Sarah and Jay stand by the sign at
Newfound Gap.



Jay on his way up the AT from Newfound Gap.
Beautiful day! Sad parting.

Standing Bear Hostel at Waterville School Road.
Jay and Helen protect their pizza from the friendly dogs.

Damascus Trail Days

From Helen (more pics coming later for this one):
On Friday 5/13 Mark and I picked up Jay and another thu-hiker, Mike, as they came into Laurel Creek and State Route 615 near Wytheville, VA. We brought them down to Damascus, VA for the annual Trail Days celebration. In Damascus there were many terrific speakers sharing their experiences about past thru-hikes. Gene Espy, the second person to complete a thru-hike of the entire AT, was there with the book he wrote about his adventure. He gave a presentation about his hike in 1951 and he autographed copies of his book for people. There were also several films shown, including a film about Katahdin and a film about the Pacific Crest Trail. To see more about the schedule for Trail Days and to see more pictures from the weekend go to http://www.traildays.us/ .

First trip for us was to the Damascus US Post Office for Jay to catch up on mail. We wandered around the vendors and briefly looked at outdoor gear displayed there, and then we walked down to Tent City where many hikers stayed the weekend. A great map of Damascus was provided online, and we oriented ourselves to what was available. Later we got Jay back to our hotel in Abingdon, VA, for a long-awaited shower and reunion with my parents, Ruth and Jack. (See Alpine Motel at http://www.tripadvisor.com/Hotel_Review-g30220-d116017-Reviews-Alpine_Motel-Abingdon_Virginia.html)

That evening was spent at a Shoney's seafood buffet, and the next morning's breakfast was at a Huddle House. Jay enjoyed indulging in as much food as his eyes could hold.

Mark and I spent Saturday seeing the parade and vendors in Damascus, while Jay relaxed and did laundry with Jack and Ruth. There are many choices in lightweight backpacking gear now that allows a hiker to carry 30 lbs or less with ease. Every tent and backpack we saw made us wish to be out on the trail more.


Jay and Mike enjoying lunch at the
Appletree Restaurant in Marion, VA


Sunday morning Jack and Ruth and Jay picked up Mike from Damascus and we all went to Jack's old alma mater, Emory and Henry College, for church. We tried to go to Glade Spring for lunch, but that small town had suffered tremendous tornado damage in the storms at the end of April. Most of its restaurants were closed because of damage, and the destruction of homes and trees and other buildings was evident at every turn. We soberly turned toward Marion, VA for a country cooking lunch that allowed Jay and Mike to fuel up before their afternoon back on the trail.

Mark, Mike, Jay, Ruth, Jack getting ready to embark again

We were sad to part from Jay and Mike for now. Jack and Ruth took them back to the trailhead at Laurel Creek. Almost immediately Mark and I started planning our next rendezvous with Jay. Such great adventures lay ahead on the Appalachian Trail!

Walking the Straight and Narrow

From Jay:

As I dropped down from the wintry ridge tops of North Carolina toward the Nantahala River, I was overwhelmed by the profusion of spring colors.  Dogwood, trillium, violet, and columbine blossoms punctuated the vibrant green hues of the shimmering leaves.  Light sparkled off cascading creeks; a cacophony of bird songs filled the air.  The surrounding beauty, and the anticipation of meeting my in-laws in Wesser, NC and seeing my wife soon after, gave rise to unbridled joyfulness.  As a result, I must admit, I frolicked.

Now, when one hears the word ‘frolic’ one may visualize some young animal, say a colt, bounding and prancing in the morning sunlight.  However, when the word is applied to a late-middle-aged, somewhat over-weight, balding male hiker the result is somewhat less endearing.  For me frolicking is mostly a state of mind; however my frolic does manifest itself in a slight bounce in the step which, although hardly noticeable, does result in a distinct jiggle in the paunch.  So . . . trudging merrily along, paunch ajiggle, I was unaware that the vibrations emanating from my midriff would be detected by the wicked one.

Red and yellow trillium

“Hmmm, I detect a disturbance in the force . . .”  Gazing into her crystal ball, the wicked witch of the AT spies the loping imbecile.  “Ah Ha!  It’s that snob from the west, and he’s . . . FROLICKING!  Disgusting!  I’ll nix that frolic in the bud.  Bring in the poison ivy!  Ah, Ha, ha, ha, ha! . . . Look- he’s stopping to rest, the slacker.  Let’s put some ivy on that tree he’s leaning his pack against – that’s right . . . hip belt, shoulder strap, water bottles . . .Ah, Ha, ha, ha, ha!”

Hours later, an itchy rash begins to appear on random parts of my body.  “Oh Noooo!” I think.  It looks and feels just like the poison oak I used to get in California.  This is going to be a bad case.



Poison Ivy vine on tree trunk

I have come to the conclusion that, for several generations, my ancestors lived underground.  During their prolonged stint of spelunking, their skin lost all resistance to sunlight, mosquitoes, bee stings, and any plant substance stronger than syrup.  This also explains my sub par eye-sight and addiction to wandering.  My ancestress must have somehow stumbled out of the family cave system and spent her remaining days myopically searching for the way back . . .  Anyway, I am extremely allergic to poison oak and won’t recover without the assistance of modern medicine.  Assuming the same vulnerability to poison ivy, especially when the worst blisters developed under my pack straps, my hike toward Wesser became, let’s say, more purposeful.

My two days off trail passed with dizzying rapidity.  I remember episodes of zipping about at light speed in metal cages with wheels, interspersed with the consumption of food that wasn’t in wrappers and tasted heavenly.  Somewhere in there my kind in-laws took me in for repairs.  (“Snip, snip here, cut, cut there, put in some brand new hay ...”)   Before I knew it, I found myself back in the forest, trudging north, accompanied by itchy, oozing rashes, but hopeful that my prescription would eventually heal them.  Hiking along, I wished I could identify at least some of the incredible variety of plants I saw – especially the evil one.  As I ascended toward the Smoky Mountains, an apparition parted the fog.  It was a lady.  She wore a tattered outfit which, oddly, seemed to have sprouted several cat tails.

“I reckon you are the Unfortunate One,” she said with a southern drawl.  “I’m Cat Tails, the guardian of the Smokies. You might think of me as the ‘good witch’. I aim to give you, the Unfortunate One, a little common sense as far as plants in these parts are concerned.”

Very healthy Poison Ivy plant

For the next few days this woman pointed out poison ivy plants as we passed by. At lower elevations they lined the trail side in profusion. Their little triplets of droopy leaves seemed to reach out, straining to brush my legs as I passed.

“That looks like poison ivy, but it has five leaves, so it’s really Virgina Creeper,” she would say, or “Those leaves are too pointy, so that plant’s a maple.”

“If you brush against a plant, Unfortunate One, look back and see what it was.  If it was poison ivy, then rub yourself with a Jewelweed and then rinse yourself off in the nearest spring.” “Can you show me a Jewelweed?” I whimpered. “Naw, they ain’t leafed out yet.  And they only grow at lower elevation, near water.”  The apparition continued to appear here and there as I walked through the Smokies, reiterating her earlier botany lessons. 



Apparition - out of
spitting distance range

As I slowly healed, I began to notice that she was quite attractive.  Walking along, cat tails swinging gracefully, she must have read my mind.  “Even if we was hitched, you wouldn’t get within spitting distance of me, sporting that rash!”

“I’m sorry,” I whined.  “But say, isn’t there something you can give me that will prevent poison ivy in case I screw up again? . . . No, I’m not wearing those ruby hiking boots – they must weigh 20 pounds!” “Hmph!  Suit yerself, you ungrateful trail leper,” she quipped, and vanished for good.



Tulip Poplar in bloom - safe greenery to touch!



I concluded that the anti-poison ivy strategy most appropriate for a thru-hiker is to walk the straight and narrow – or avoid touching any greenery on the trail sides.  Some wear protective gaiters, but I find they give me heat rash in warm weather.  I know . . . I really need to find that cave system!

Hills, Hollers, and Stories

Sarah at Fontana Dam

From Sarah:

Jay has already mentioned how the AT tends to follow ridge-lines, up and over mountains, then down between to gaps, stamps, or swags.  Our first night together, we camped on a ridge line just before Stecoah Gap, and woke to a deep red sunrise between slate-blue clouds on one side of the ridge and a huge three-quarter moon setting on the other side.  Talk about a beauty spot!  On our third day, as the morning rain blew itself out, I could look back and see clouds pouring over the gaps as I hiked above them on the ridge.

            On Wednesday we climbed Shuckstack Mtn.  “What do you suppose a ‘shuckstack’ is, anyway?” Jay asked as we were looking at our day’s itinerary. 

            “I reckon it has to do with corn shucks.  Maybe the mountain is in the shape of a corn ‘stook’, where all the plants are piled in a pyramid” I suggested.  Sure enough, after a couple of hours of hiking, we spied an appropriately pyramid-shaped, steep-sided little peak ahead and above us.  The trail curled between two ridges, then rounded the outer edge of Shuckstack, slowly ascending, and acting as if it had no intention of getting to the top any time soon.  “Maybe this isn’t Shuckstack yet”, I said dubiously.  “Or maybe we won’t hit the top of it.  This trail looks like it will just go around, behind, and beyond the mountain.”  But, just as I said this, the trail started gaining some serious elevation with lovely switchbacks, and before I knew it we were standing on top, out of breath from exertion and breathless from the view.  An old abandoned fire tower still stood at the very peak, and we quickly dropped packs and scrambled up for a 360º unimpeded view of Fontana Lake, misty blue ridges, and miles of wilderness.



Sarah climbing up the fire tower

            On our way down, as I stepped off the trail and behind a tree for a little privacy, I discovered another reason for the name ‘shuckstack’.  The whole side of the mountain was made of flattened, concave rocks, piled higgledy-piggledy, ready to tip and slide at the slightest pressure, just like a huge pile of corn shucks at the end of a shucking party.  Not the easiest place to do a bit of private business, and it gave me a renewed appreciation for the firm footing of the trail.

            On Friday, we woke to a little rain and a LOT of mist.  Pyro told me he was “walking the clouds”.  I thought that was a good description of walking along a narrow ridgeline, featureless fog within spitting distance, and all sights and sounds muffled to pianissimo.  With not much to look at, I retreated into my imagination, and began telling myself all the Grandfather Tales I could remember from my childhood.  I told myself tales unique to the southern Appalachians, such as “Mule Eggs” – where a mountain farmer gets the best of a city slicker;  “Only a Fair Day’s Huntin” – a boasting tall tale of geese, trout, and deer; “Wicked John and the Devil” – a tale explaining what foxfire is when it isn’t; and “Snakebit Hoe Handle” – a tall tale with a small ending.  Then I told myself stories that were mountain renditions of European fairytales, such as “Cat Tails” – a Cinderella who wins the day through hard work, a kind heart, an intimate knowledge of her surroundings, and a bit of judicious lying.  There was also “White Bear Whittington” – a rather earthy rendition of Beauty and the Beast.  If Disney had been from the southern Appalachians, his movies might have been a good bit different!



Sarah and Jay inside fire tower

           Those tales took me to a flat ridge near Clingmans Dome, the highest point on the AT, at 6,643 feet.  Since I couldn’t see more than 15 feet ahead of me, when a southbound day hiker materialized out of the mist, I cheerfully asked him if I was nearly to the top.  He looked at me with a panic-stricken expression and exclaimed, “Oh my gosh, no!  You’ve got a killer of a hill in front of you!”  Well, that was a little daunting to hear, but I figured I might as well tell myself another story.  Just about then I ran into Jay and Blair, who had been waiting for me.  I delightedly began telling them “To Market” – a story of a married couple whose love and trust helped them triumph over the wiles of sharp bargain hunters and scoffing neighbors.  There is nothing more enchanting to a storyteller than a captive audience, and I thoroughly enjoyed my climb up the ‘killer of a hill’ to the top of Clingmans Dome.  Blair was very polite and said he enjoyed the story, too.  Jay has heard several of these stories before.



Sarah fell asleep on the car ride
down the mountain

            The end of my 70 miles through the Appalachians came all too soon, and I slept most of the plane ride home.  My time on the AT with Jay was bewitching, and I look forward to more this summer.



Thru-Hikers of the AT



Jay and Blair eat Krystal burgers brought by Mark and Helen

From Sarah:

Jay and I were hiking at the height of the thru-hiker season on the AT from Wesser through the Smokies.  Although each shelter was no longer a tent city, as in Georgia, there were still a couple dozen hikers to meet each day, especially while in the Great Smoky Mountain National Park where staying at a shelter is mandatory.  Ninety percent of the hikers were young males, between the ages of 18 and 25.  We met one pair of sisters, two women each hiking alone, and two women each hiking with a partner.  Including me, that totaled seven women out of 40 or so hikers.  All the hikers were very nice, and most were eager to talk when we met. 



Pyro displays a delicious
salami and tortilla dinner



            Most hikers on the AT take on a ‘trail name’.  The first one we met was Tin Man, so named because he had open-heart surgery two years ago.  Another memorable name was Pyro, because he could reliably build a fire even with wet and green wood.  TicTac could have been called ‘Mouse Bane’, for she was known for carrying mousetraps in her pack, and skewering any mice she caught at the shelters.  Blair, a recently retired gentleman, was our most constant hiking partner, as he and I had paces almost perfectly matching.  The wide variety of people on the AT added to the fun as much as the diverse flora and fauna.

Itinerary Update

From Helen:
Jay is currently about 8 days ahead of schedule on his itinerary. He just passed Atkins, VA yesterday. He'll be off trail for a couple of days this weekend for Damascus Trail Days. After that he'll be back on his trip, lapping up the miles.

Fauna of the Great Smoky Mountains

Red salamander

From Sarah:

When hiking the AT, bears are a popular topic, but smaller fauna are much more likely to be seen.  Snails and centipedes are worth stopping for.  One misty morning we saw a brown tree frog hiding among the dead leaves, almost perfectly camouflaged.   We heard turkeys while at Mollie’s Ridge Shelter, and Jay spied one strutting down the trail the next day.  Small birds filled the air with song.  The thrumming of grouse was a near-daily occurrence.  And of course, insects in their thousands were beginning to hatch out. 

Centipede

It was too early to see lightning bugs (fire flies), but each night a soothing lullaby was sung by crickets, katydids, and who-knows-what-else.

Spring Glory (Flora) of the Great Smoky Mountains

From Sarah:



Newly leafed poison ivy



Forty hours later, as Mom and Dad waved goodbye to us, and Jay and I set foot on the AT for the first time together, I still felt the wide eyes and dream-like wonder of Dorothy.  The clouds had blown away.  The sun was shining; birds were singing; flowers blooming.  The yellow brick road had nothing on the glory of the southern Appalachians in spring time.  My feet were walking through paradise!

Jay suggested I show him poison ivy as we walked.  I think he was a little disconcerted when I immediately stopped and pointed to our right, then left, ahead, and behind.  Every few yards for the next mile or two I showed him every possible permutation of that poisonous plant.  Poison ivy as ankle-high ground cover, as knee-high shrubby plants, as a vine, just leafing out in candy-mint green, slightly older in rusty brown green, fully leafed and large in almost-summer green.  “I’m just never going to touch anything green!” he exclaimed at one point as I showed him yet another transmutation.



Helen and Sarah among a sea of anemones
The ramp is part of a protected area.



The ground was covered with much more that last year’s dead leaves and poison ivy, however.  We hiked past patches of wild ginger, yards of yellow and white trillium, scores of white, fringed spring beauties, colonies of deep green galax, and hundreds of broad-leafed may apples.  Above this wealth of beauteous ground cover rose gray and brown tree trunks with silvery branches sprouting lacy green leaves.  The occasional dogwood in all its glory added to the beauty. 



Red trillium



As the days passed, and we climbed ever higher into the Great Smoky Mountains, we continued to see new flower species almost daily.  Tiny bluets lined the path.  Clumps of Dutchman’s breeches waved their banners.  White wood anemones covered the ground for miles.  Yellow lilies with spotted green leaves poked above the snow-white covering of anemones.  These lilies are called trout lilies in most of the U.S., but here in the south they are known as dog-toothed violets, though they look about as much like a violet as a dog looks like a cat.  Yellow and white trilliums were joined by brilliant red trillium, known as wake robins.  With over 100 species of deciduous trees and 1500 species of flowering plants in the southern Appalachian Mountains, the variety felt endless.

Patch of white trillium

Sarah's Arrival

Can't get enough of these ridges!

From Sarah:

As the airplane approached Knoxville, TN, an endless, rolling sea of clouds stretched to the horizon. 

What am I getting myself in for?, I wondered.  Five and a half days of cold damp rain on the AT?  Seventy miles of pouring precipitation?  Oh well, I comforted myself, at least I’ll be with Jay, even if our tiny tent ends up being an enclosure of condensation, mist, and running rivulets of water.

The airplane descended, hesitated with wings brushing the tips of the cloud waves, then dove into grey, featureless, fog.  We flew and flew and flew, with no change in the blank void of water-laden mist outside the window. 

How thick is this cloud cover?, I wondered.



Sarah - Land of Smokies/Oz

 Then, suddenly, within the space of two heartbeats, the plane broke through the bottom of the cloud sea and before me spread a bright and verdant land, carpeted with emerald green grass, lime green newly-leafed trees, and flowers everywhere!  I felt like Dorothy entering Oz.



Near Misses from the first leg of my hike - David and Goliath

From Jay:

Hung food bag - 12 feet off the ground, 8 feet from the trunk

Protecting your food from bears is a big concern on the AT. I've met victims of bear thefts that occurred while food was hung in trees, and while food was stored in the shelters. A notorious bear bandit (or maybe it's really a store clerk dressed as a bear) operates 2 miles north of Neel's Gap. It's an ideal spot for ambushing freshly resupplied hikers who decide to tent and eat some of their payloads. Although several hikers display insufficient food-hanging skills (I saw one pack full of food strapped three feet up a tree trunk, looking like the owner was preparing to burn it at the stake.), the bear can pretty much nab anything hung. Another bear bandit strikes often at the shelter on Blood Mountain, which has no food hanging devices. Hikers tend to store food there in one of the shelter rooms and sleep in a second room. The bear is quite satisfied with that arrangement. Enter bear, front door; exit hikers, side window.


Out west in places like Yosemite hanging food is no longer considered effective. Also, contrary to what many AT hikers believe, black bears will not hesitate to invade your tent while you are in it if you keep food there. During the first leg of the AT, I tried hanging my food each night. Because I didn't camp near shelters I had to find a suitable hanging tree, one where I could hang my food bag 12 feet off the ground, 8 feet away from the trunk, and on a sturdy enough tree that a bear couldn't shake it violently to get the food. The nightly food hanging ritual turned out to be a considerable source of risk. Most of the trees with nice hanging branches were too tall for me to be able to heft a rock tied to 50 feet of parachute cord over a branch and be able to reach both ends. This meant I had to tromp around through the brush at dusk, risking exposure to poison ivy. Once I found a suitable tree, the really risky part began.

Food bags hung on preset cables at
a shelter in the Smokies

There seems to be an infinite number of ways that one can clobber himself when tossing rocks up in the air. The rock can hit the branch for which you aim, and the tree responds by batting a line drive toward your face. Even when the rock clears the branch it can swing back towards you like a deadly pendulum, as you stand admiring your achievement, and whack you upside the head. If you are fortunate enough to duck the roundhouse, the rock can continue on, looping over the branch again, fashioning a nice clove hitch around it and making it very difficult to retrieve.

Night by night, I became familiar with more of the endless possibilities for failure where food hanging is concerned. After one particularly long day on the trail, I set about once again to secure my foot at twilight. I selected a rock, kind of sharp but the correct weight, tied one end of the cord to it, and stepped through the brush to a nearby perfect-looking hanging tree. My first toss appeared successful over a high branch, but I soon realized that the rope was too close to the trunk. Grabbing both ends, I tried to pull the rope and slide it farther out on the limb, but the limb was much too rough.

Sarah between roots in a tree
(definitely cool, but not a great place
to store food!)

"Ok," I thought, "I'll just pull it down and try again." Unfortunately I decided to pull the end of the cord without the rock, requiring the rock end to raise up, slide over the branch, and drop over. Not smart. I backed away from under the branch, pulling the rope and watching the rock float up toward the branch - very amusing if you haven't had access to a TV for a few weeks. Then the rock lodged firmly against the branch, refusing to pop over it or even slide back down when I reduced tension. Irritating. "Maybe just a little tug," I thought. It turns out there is considerable elasticity in parachute cord. My bear hanging device transformed into an uber-slingshot. The rock whizzed past my head. I  felt a searing pain on the outside corner of my left eye as the trailing cord rasped my eye and eyelid. Visions of myself lying under the tree with a sharp rock protruding from my eye socket danced in my head all night. I called Sarah, who would be joining me soon, and asked her to bring me my bear vault - a bear proof container that weighs 2.5 lbs. No more fun and games with stone-age weapons for me!

As the first days on the AT slowly turn into weeks, I hear of more and more fellow hikers succumbing to hike-terminating injuries: knee strains, back problems, falls, and other mistakes that hit like a bolt of lightning from the clear blue Appalachian sky, especially when the hiker is weary. The best prevention? Train before the hike or at least don't push it too hard during your first few weeks. Stay attentive; keep your eyes on the trail when in motion, and most of all try to learn from the near misses you encounter.

Near Misses from the first leg of my hike - Lemming Imitation

From Jay:


Thru-hiker tents near a shelter - cold and misty night

It has been a long stormy day sporting rain, sleet, and searing winds. I hike wearing every piece of clothing I packed underneath my raingear. With the route on exposed rocky ridges where the AT crosses from Georgia into North Carolina and the temperature in the 30s, my only hope for staying warm is to keep moving. Toward the end of the day the rain stops, but the wind continues to roar like ocean surf. Visibility is minimal, and the view from the ridge is completely white. I struggle onward toward Muskrat Creek Shelter, hoping to collect some water and get out of the wind while I eat. Most shelters are located a ways off the AT on side trails marked by blue blazes.


Visibility is minimal, even among the trees

Finally I spot a sign on the right that says "shelter." On the left I see a blue blazed trail and follow its lead. The side trail follows a ridge through a tunnel of rhododendrons. After a puzzling quarter of a mile I begin to wonder how and why anyone would cart building materials for a shelter way out on such a rocky ridge. At last the trail emerges from the vegetative cover onto wet slippery boulders. Beyond the boulders I see nothing but white. I follow blue rectangles painted on the boulders and scramble to an edge where nothing more is visible.  Should I lower myself over and feel with my feet for a ledge? I decide to check in the bushes beside the void for signs of a trail, but only succeed in obtaining a perfect nipple whip as a supple vine snaps back into place. OW!


Jay safe on cliff's edge (not Raven's Roost)

I decide to sit down, eat a poptart, and think things over. If the shelter is near, someone should come by or surely I would hear its occupants. After a silent meal, staring at the featureless horizon, I turn back and retrace my steps to the AT. Near the ground across from the first blue blaze I see a previously unnoticed sign that reads "Raven's Roost." I shudder as I imagine the height of the cliff I must have unknowingly courted as I explored the brink.

Proceeding 10 yards down the AT, I see the shelter just 20 yards off the trail to the right. It is packed full of shivering Zombies. I check the data book and find no reference to Raven's Roost. I attribute another near miss to the witch.

Near Misses from the first leg of my hike - Self-Inflicted Conflagration

From Jay:

Miles from civilization, anything can happen in this beauty!

At the end of a long and successful day of hiking, Ben sets a pot on to boil on his homemade backpacker stove. It is made from a soda pop can and burns alcohol. He decides to lie down next to the stove while he waits for the soup to head. Reaching up to shift the pot slightly, he accidentally topples it. In a split second the cylindric stove tips over, spilling ignited alcohol under his butt and catching his pants on fire. After frantically rolling and slapping at the flames, which are alarmingly close to vital areas, he succeeds in escaping doom with only second degree burns on his inner left thigh and some souvenir holes in his shorts. Ben is duly christened "Torch."

Near Misses from the first leg of my hike - Belly Flop

From Jay:
I have both observed and experienced several near misses with doom. Disaster, as defined by a thru-hiker, is any mishap that results in premature termination of the hike. These "showstoppers" strike swiftly, out of the blue, when you least expect them. While researching the AT, one is duly warned about the most popular and sexy showstoppers such as getting mauled and/or eaten by a bear, getting murdered by some wacko, or simply disappearing for undetermined reasons. (lost? abducted? fell off a cliff? went to Jamaica instead?)

Looking up a rough, steep trail

The near misses I have personally experienced could have been just as effective as the popular showstoppers, but I'm afraid they were much less glamorous. Those which I will impart on this blog include: belly flop on a solid medium, self-inflicted conflagration, lemming imitation, and, last but not least, David and Goliath.

Belly Flops: We've all done them, usually unintentionally, off a diving board. They are not pleasant for the participant, but are strangely comical to observe. The sequence of events usually progresses from a confident strut down the board, followed by an enthusiastic leap to gain maximum height and perfect horizontal attitude, followed by a mid-air stall which locks the participant into this splayed position while the force vector changes from out to down, followed by a pitifully un-streamlined entry into the aqueous media. The collision between belly and water can be spectacular, producing a delightful noise, impressive splash and entertaining sounds and motions from the participant.

Now imagine a young but sadly overweight male hiker, staggering up a hill in the woods, toting a 50 lb pack. He employs trekking poles to aid his climb. These telescopic sharp metal sticks are strapped to each wrist of many hikers these days. They are as great an assistance as 4 wheel drive is in going up hills and in slowing descents as well. They counteract the downward force generated by the heavy pack and distribute the work to the shoulders and triceps instead of the knees.

The heavily burdened rotund young man finally tops the rise and begins his descent. Like a roller coaster he gradually picks up speed as the grade steepens. Unfortunately the novice hiker decides during the ensuing acceleration to adjust the length of his trekking poles. He goes on autopilot, takes his eyes off the trail, and disassembles his right pole, exposing several sharp tube rims that are usually tucked away while the poles are in use.

Water Bar diagram

Water bars are both loved and hated by hikers. They are installed in the tread of the trail on slopes to deflect water. They prevent the trails from becoming streams during rainstorms and snowmelt. The water is deflected by the water bar, which looks like a miniature diagonal dam, off the downhill side of the trail. They also serve as slight obstacles to the hiker, who must step over them if he wishes to avoid tripping or prevent a painful toe stub. A launch pad helps to maximize the hiker's speed, while a slight depression increases the probability of abrupt toe contact with a launcher. The launcher may be made of wood, rock or metal, and is often securely installed to prevent an cushioning effect to the toe of the hiker. The landing area is immediately downhill from the launcher and can incorporate rocks, slabs, or even stairs to make the landing more memorable.

Eyes diverted from the tread, our hapless hefty hiker kitters forward as his left foot hits the depressed launch pad. He desperately swings his right leg forward to counter-balance, but the motion is abruptly thwarted by the launcher which, in this case, is made of rock slabs. Take-off is successful; the splayed horizontal attitude is achieved. Fortunately our aeronaut possesses the composure and skill needed to eject his trekking pole pieces on his way down. He sticks the landing almost perfectly on the fortunately benign landing area. The sound resembles that which one would expect to be produced by a collision between a tour bus and an adult water buffalo.

The hiker remains motionless, face down, pinned between his pack and the trail. Soon a moaning sound is emitted. The hiker gradually squirms into a kneeling position. "I think I broke my arm," he moans. Remaining on his knees, he gingerly tests his range of motion as he breathes, "Thank you, Jesus, for not letting me break my arm," several times. His friend, approaching from behind, proclaims, "I'll give that one an 8."