No Rain, No Pain, No Maine...

I'm writing this blog entry in the style of my friend, "AWOL" who thru-hiked in 2003 and whose chronicle is outlined in his book, "AWOL ON THE APPALACHIAN TRAIL." It's a great read and I recommend it:

http://www.awolonthetrail.com/

There are several mantras that thru-hikers repeat while on the trail...one of them is "No Rain, No Pain, No Maine." As it might imply, the trail from Georgia to Maine is full of opportunity for both, rain and pain. Here is an experience common to anyone who has undertaken this journey.

It was a rough night, my hips are hurting a bit from the many times that I rolled around last night on the hard wooden shelter floor. One bird nearby has begun his song this morning, heralding the first specs of light which are appearing on the horizon outside of the shelter. I poke my head out lightly from my sleeping bag and a cold wind chills my face. I glance above to my shorts, shirt and socks which were hung wet in hopes that they would magically dry during the night, but I know that they are still wet and stinky. And they are actually colder as the wind has been blowing through them all night.

I also notice that the rest of the birds that usually would be singing at this time of the morning are absent and it is not as light as it usually is. I roll over onto my back again, warm in my other set of dry clothes not looking forward to getting up and hiking out in the cold. A distant clap of thunder announces the coming rains which will make it even colder. I pull the hood of my sleeping bag over my head and try to get a little more sleep just as a couple loud drops of rain tap loudly on the metal roof of the shelter.

About 10 minutes later, a loud crack of lightning hits somewhere outside, followed moments later by a steadily growing tapping noise of rain hitting the leaves in the canopies above, until they can no longer hold the weight of the drops. The shelter roof starts to receive the rain. I sigh and notice that the twinge of pain in my left knee has not subsided. Uncomfortably, I roll over onto my right side.

The rains come slow and steady telling me that they aren't going to stop anytime soon. Water dripping down the roof of the shelter results in a small pool of orange water despite the attempts to create a drainage path away to the side. Every once in a while, the wind causes the rain to spatter inside the shelter onto the platform next to me.

I have 12 miles to go to town today. I'm nearly out of food except for a couple food bars, I can't sit here another day despite how much I would love to just stay in my warm bag. I glance up at my wet, cold clothing knowing I have to put them on. I can't go out in my dry clothes because those will get wet quickly, and dry clothes may save my life should something happen requiring me to setup my tent before I reach town. I've already experienced the onset of hypothermia, previously, and don't want to go through it again.

My knee throbs again. I reach for my Ibuprofin and take 4. Usually they help, but the cold weather makes it even more sensitive.

Reluctantly, I pull down the zipper on my sleeping bag and feel the chill along my body. I don't want to get up but I have to. I'm out of food and I have to get to town before the post office closes today at 1:30pm.

I take off my warm dry socks first and put on the cold wet socks. They stink and they don't go on easily. I get chilled goose bumps from the coldness and water drips from the toes of the socks as I press them. Next are the wet shorts. I slip off my warm dry shorts and surprisingly, the cold wind doesn't chill me like I thought it would, at least not until I pull on the wet shorts which I do as my teeth begin to chatter. The ice cold wind blows into the shelter through the wet clothes I'm wearing. I begin to hurry since I'm starting to shiver.

Lastly, I take off my warm shirt and pack my dry clothes into my clothes bag and put on the ice cold wet hiking shirt. Every inch of my body begins to get colder. I know I have to pack up quickly and get moving before hypothermia sets in. The rain continues but now I've committed. I put on my rain jacket which will function as a vapor barrier keeping me warm while I hike, but will do nothing for me until I get going. Rain jackets don't work to keep hikers dry, only to keep them warm. The heat I generate while wearing one makes me perspire heavily underneath it. Lightning strikes again nearby, the rain isn't going anytime soon. My knee continues to throb and I can't wait until the Ibuprofin kicks in.

I finish the packing of my pack and put on the rain cover. It isn't the greatest but does keep a bit of rain out of my pack and possessions, assuming the wind doesn't blow too heavily. Lastly, I sit down and struggle to pull on my stinky, muddy wet shoes and tie the laces. They are ice cold to the touch. My knee twinges as I pull on my shoe but I stand and feel water pressing through my toes and outside the tops of my shoes. The trail is no doubt muddy already and I will be "washed" from the sides by the bushes and trees I bump into as I hike.

I pull on my pack, clip the hip belt and then the chest strap and pull the straps taught. I grasp the edges of my pack cover to make sure it is covering as much as it can and take a quick bite out of an oatmeal bar that was in my pocket. I take a quick last glance into the shelter to see if I've forgotten anything and find that I forgot to take the headlamp off from around my neck. I take it off quickly and stash it into one of my pockets in a ziplock bag that has a little room. I grasp my hiking poles and wonder why I am walking through lightning in ankle-deep pools of water carrying metal sticks. I step down from the shelter and feel the rain tap on the outside of my nylon hood and plod onward. Not 15 feet outside of the shelter I step into the first of countless pools of water up to my ankle completely soaking my left shoe.

But I hike on, hoping to build my body temperature to keep from getting too cold and sick. It's what we hikers do. The water squishes inside my shoe with each step.

I plod onward. It's about 12 miles to town, 6 hours if I'm lucky and the trees don't crash down on top of me. I can't wait until I can be dry for the first time this week.

No Rain, No Pain, No Maine...

Muddyshoes

The Privy Experience...

You are missing it all... really.

A privy is basically a modern day outhouse and they appear in all shapes and sizes along the Appalachian Trail. Privies can be little houses or huts, or they can simply be toilets sitting on top of open platforms 5 feet above the ground so you can share your business with all the creatures of the forest.

Now privies, as you might imagine, attract flies and bugs - and as you also might imagine, things that eat flies and bugs, namely spiders, also like privies. When you come to a privy in camp, or at least when I do, the first thing I do is to take a broom with me and lift up the privy toilet seats which are usually standard toilet seats. Covering the bottom are piles of spider webs and of course spiders.

It's well known that black widow spiders inhabit the undersides of privy toilet seats and I have seen them on many occasions along with other types of spiders and webs.

So, to shit in the woods or shit in the privies...

If I have a broom to clear out the webs and if the privy isn't too creepy, I will generally choose the privy and make a quick job out of it. The goal is to plan efficiently enough so you can unzip, drop the drawers, sit down, do your business and then stand up in under 10 seconds. Any time longer than that gives ample opportunity for the spiders to leap across and latch on to something I'd rather not have them latch onto. "Hey look Jose...bite the pinata and get a prize, homez..."

Indeed, half the fun of using a privy is finishing without a scratch...in any form. But still, they are welcomed sites in the forest and do not appear without a lot of work to get them there and maintain them by the volunteers who do so. Thank you, volunteers!

Muddyshoes

Webwalking - Part II

Ugh.. I hate it. I still hate bugs.

This time of year, since I often walk alone, I spend entire days clearing webs with my face - In many cases I come across them about every 5-10 feet, literally hundreds of webs broken per mile. It's disgusting.

But, after a while you just get used to it. It takes too much energy to keep stopping and clearing them away - So you walk along, feeling them wrap around your ears and your head, your arms and hands. You just try to put it out of your mind.

Occasionally, after a "webrunning" you see or feel a spider crawling up your face -The amount of time it takes for a spider to climb from any area of your face to your nose, eyes or ears is exactly 2.3 seconds. At this point, you stop, do the hokey pokey screaming and wave erratically until your fellow hikers think you are mad. But you get it off you in a jiffy, and plod on knowing there are more spiders ahead.

I hate spiders and all other bugs - always have, always will... Where are the bloody bats?

Muddyshoes

"Getting HIgh" on the trail

I love getting high on the trail - Not with drugs..but with altitude.

When the trail rises above about 5500 feet, there is a dramatic change in the appearance of trees and bushes. Conifers begin to appear and trees in general start to appear smaller. Rock faces become more 'rough' and the air is replete with the Christmasy smell of fir and balsam. The trees are often dense and close together and there is an a little bit of a spooky feel. Tiny pine cones coat the ground and because the canopies create dark enclaves, you expect a sasquatch to jump out at you at any minute.

Clingman's Dome was the first opportunity to see this beautiful environment, and Roan Mountain was the second. I have since seen these beautiful trees on Mount Rogers and a couple other areas. While I live decidedly at sea level, I'll always remember the clean, fresh scent of pine and balsam, long after I return home.

If you haven't gotten 'high' lately - I highly (no pun intended) recommend it ;)

Muddyshoes

Trail Reroutes...

Thousands of people walking through the woods with 30-50 pounds on their backs can take its toll on a hiking trail - Combine that with rains and the footsteps of other forms of wildlife and the trail bed can drop down even lower in the ground disturbing the root systems of trees. When it gets too bad, then the A.T. clubs will often choose to reroute the trail through a different path in the forest. But there's more too it than just digging a new trail.

The process, as explained to me by one of the A.T.'s senior trail maintainers is roughly as follows:

- The local club ties ribbons along trees along the new proposed path in the woods.
- The Appalachian Trail Conservency, the group that oversees the A.T. as a whole then follows along the trail making changes that it wants to ensure a consistency in path 'experience' for the hikers.
- Then the Forest Service has to approve this path making changes as needed.
- Then, the state archeologist has to walk the proposed path to make sure that no historically important areas are being disturbed.
- Finally, a botanist has to walk the trail - 4 times, once for each season, to make sure there are no rare plants or flowers that are being disturbed by the proposed trail or shelter.
- When the final inspections have been done, the trail is then dug by the local trail crews and the blazes are painted, distances taken and maps updated.

The whole process takes about three years.

The Berries are In...

I started to notice about three weeks ago that the wild black raspberries were starting to ripen - It's usually when the trail emerges into an open space where you can find berry bushes lining the trail - Black raspberries, blackberries, white and black mulberries and wild cherries are becoming more and more visible along the trail. It's a nice addition to a boring regimen of oatmeal and when mixed with vanilla ice cream in town, it's pure heaven.

Sometimes, however, in bush areas that are heavy with berries, you have to contend with local wildlife and blackbirds actually drop sopping wet blackberries on you from above, staining your clothes and skin. You can almost hear them laughing as they drop their bombs. But still, it's worth it, having a handfull or two of fresh, wild berries in the middle of a scorching hot day.