Mileage

Here’s the daily mileage, as I remember it:

Day 1: 12.5 miles

Day 2: 15.5 miles

Day 3: 13.5 miles

Day 4 (half day): 7.5 miles

Total: 49 miles.

I felt pretty good about that, though my swollen right achilles tendon begs to differ. Then I watched National Geographic’s “The Appalachian Trail” last night. According to the narrator–who probably never walks farther than the distance from the voiceover studio to his waiting limo–the section of trail we hiked was “mostly even,” over which experienced hikers can easily crank out 20-25 miles a day. Funny he didn’t say how much rye and pipe tobacco those experienced hikers are consuming on a daily basis, though. An inconvenient truth?

Section Hike

Mike and I have decided to attempt section hiking the entire trail over the next decade or so. If we do 100-200 miles a year, we could do the whole thing in 10-20 years. Any section hikers out there have any advice? 

Three Walls and a Roof

On the afternoon of our last full hiking day, the rain was light but incessant. The thought of setting up our tent and huddling inside of it for the rest of the evening was pretty depressing, so we decided to try to get into the nearest lean-to for the night. The lean-tos on the trail are typically meant for thru-hikers, so we were happy to just stay in our tent the other nights. But the trail seemed pretty empty that day, so we didn’t think we’d be depriving any thru-hikers of their spot.

We got there around dinner time, and found out we were the first hikers to stop that day. Mike figured we’d have the place to ourselves; I wasn’t so sure. He bet me a dollar. We set up our bunks, sipped some rye from our flasks, and waited. After a while, we set about making a fire.

Lean-to. (note my flask on the picnic table)

I won the dollar about an hour later, when two guys named Stan and Sean came rolling in. They were really nice guys, and we were soon joined by two more guys, a couple of college students thru-hiking the trail, and also very friendly. We all got along famously, except at one point, shortly after nightfall, when Mike explained to them how the section we were on was the “murder capital” of the Appalachian Trail. The other guys didn’t know this (and had apparently not read Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods, which mentions this point).  There was definitely a weirded-out, awkward couple of moments after that. There’s a certain level of trust you need to have achieved before you can use the words “rape” and “murder” in a sentence in a group of people, and we hadn’t collectively reached that point yet. Still, I made sure not to pick my teeth with my knife, stare grinning at anyone with my eyes flickering in the firelight, or chuckle creepily for the next few minutes, and we moved past it.

All in all, staying in the lean-to was a great experience, and the time we would have spent packing up the tent the next morning was spent. . . sleeping for another two hours. We ended up hitting the trail later than we had any of the previous days. Oops.

Photos from the Trail

Where Elk Dare to Wallow

On day 3, we decided to stop in to Elkwallow Wayside for a real lunch, and catch up on the latest scuttlebutt of the trail.

As it turned out, the grill at Elkwallow turns out a hell of a good bacon club wrap. We each had one. After our meals digested, we turned out attention to our morbidly obese packs. Gear and extra food went flying in an attempt to cut weight.

The night before, I had foolishly tried to wash my Rhubarbicon t-shirt in a silt-filled trickle of water that only an optimist dying of thirst would call a “stream.” At Elkwallow, I tied up the bathroom sink trying to rinse out the 4 pounds of dirt that had accumulated in what can only be deemed a one-of-a-kind collectible. We even spread out our tent and fly to dry them out from the rainy night before. The grill/store staff eyed us apprehensively, seeming to think we were planning to set up camp. Were we? The grassy area looked tempting. And the access to the store’s selection of beer and fruit-based wines was unparalleled.

But actually, we were waiting for a 1pm delivery that was rumored to have trekking poles.  After seeing everyone else out on the trail with poles, Mike bought a pair; after hemming and hawing, I planned to do the same, but only one pole was left. Would the delivery truck have its mate?

1pm turned to 2pm to 3pm. I ate pepperoni and slept in the grass. We speculated about some guy clad head to toe in leather (a “leather daddy,” if you will). Finally the truck rolled in shortly after 3. After much standing around, the store folk unloaded it. No pole. So I bought the one pole, and away we went.

So long, Elkwallow. Your sandwiches were delicious.

Out of the Dead Zone

No cell coverage at Pass Mtn last night. Sorry folks. We made 15.5 miles in 6.5 hours. Alternatively crappy and more crappy weather. Sun is shinning momentarily. Morale is high (temporarily). On the way to Gravel Springs. Peace and love to all.

P.S. Thanks Henry Bloomrose for the witty and insightful comment. We can always count on you, son.

First night’s camp

We were unable to sleep in the AT hut at Rock Spring due to the scourge of national park overcrowding. We did manage to score a sweet tent site commanding the high ground of the area. After much confusion, we erected the tent. That skill probably should have been retested before this adventure commenced. Our removal from the one percenters down at the hut was probably for the best: consumption of rye, tobacco and coffee kept our evening rolling long after the privileged few hit the hut hay.

Mike was quite taken with a nearby PATC cabin. While it was unoccupied (and secured), it wasn’t available for short-notice rental. More’s the pity. He hopes to someday spend his golden years there chasing hikers off his mountain.