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.