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