An Appalachian Trail Tale
Day 5: Friday, March 29th, 2013
Henry Gap to just past Wold Laurel Top = 11 miles
Miles to date: 35
Henry Gap to just past Wold Laurel Top = 11 miles
Miles to date: 35
A Mean Mien
Hiking the Appalachian Trail is a serious undertaking. Not the type of undertaking where undertakers take note, but serious nonetheless. When I think of walking two thousand plus miles, it overwhelms. Here’s a fun fact: the AT is longer than this year’s Tour de France.
But rather than view the trail as an endeavor that’s to be accomplished in one fell swoop, or one swell foop, I figure it’s best to think of it as a series of shorter hikes all joined together, one after the other. Stages, not unlike those in Le Tour de Dope.
Each stage may be a mountain stage, but each entails only a day’s amble, and that’s not altogether daunting. Every few stages, there’s a place where resupply and civilized rest is attainable. In essence, the AT is just a bunch of walking strung in back-to-back-to-back fashion, from one form of replenishment to the next. The end goal isn’t for the hiking to end, or to reach trail’s end, but to enjoy the means to that end, no matter how mean or meaningless those means may seem.
What else? The AT has a mean mien. It is NOT a side-winding snake; it knows no circumvolving.
Each stage may be a mountain stage, but each entails only a day’s amble, and that’s not altogether daunting. Every few stages, there’s a place where resupply and civilized rest is attainable. In essence, the AT is just a bunch of walking strung in back-to-back-to-back fashion, from one form of replenishment to the next. The end goal isn’t for the hiking to end, or to reach trail’s end, but to enjoy the means to that end, no matter how mean or meaningless those means may seem.
What else? The AT has a mean mien. It is NOT a side-winding snake; it knows no circumvolving.
To illustrate this point, I’ve already done more hiking on my toes than ever before. It’s not that I’m tip-toeing ala Alex the Unshod--just that the act is unavoidable because of the vertical gradient nearly all the climbs play host to. It is impossible to touch your heels to the ground when scaling yet another preposterously steep slope. (They’re preposterously steep, but dammit, they’re not over-the-top.)
The Appalachian Trail goes to great lengths to avoid going to great lengths; there are few switchbacks or hairpin turns; there is no beating around the bush(es). It’s straight up and straight down the most direct line possible, this much is straightforward.
With a backpack on, each upward step is an upheaval.
I can stand the climbs. (I’d rather stand around on them.) What I loathe are the steep descents to follow. (The AT is hilly in either direction, like those barefooted walks to school through the snow when you were a kid.) The feet, knees, hips and spine remind you of their presence every step of the way when heading downhill, and, in the event they forget to, other hikers will remind you how much theirs hurt, reminding you that yours will. There’s also farther to fall. Plus, it’s hard to generate warmth going downhill. Point me upward and I shan’t complain. Much.
And here’s another consideration when heading downhill: the ATer still cannot touch his or her heels to the ground, since there’s often loose scree on the trail (where mud doesn’t drown it). At times it’s a lot like walking on ball-bearings. One is forced to walk cat-like, with the toes landing before the heels, or slipping is assured. Falls follow slips. Impact follows falls. Pain follows impact. And, at least in my case, crying follows pain.
Here’s something to cry about: they say the vertical gain over the entire AT is comparable to climbing eighteen Mount Everests(1), from sea level to summit. The AT is not a level playing field. Had it been around during the dark ages, when nearly everyone presumed the world was flat, they’d have known better had they stepped foot on it. (The AT remains in the dark ages, what with all the trees.)
I can stand the climbs. (I’d rather stand around on them.) What I loathe are the steep descents to follow. (The AT is hilly in either direction, like those barefooted walks to school through the snow when you were a kid.) The feet, knees, hips and spine remind you of their presence every step of the way when heading downhill, and, in the event they forget to, other hikers will remind you how much theirs hurt, reminding you that yours will. There’s also farther to fall. Plus, it’s hard to generate warmth going downhill. Point me upward and I shan’t complain. Much.
And here’s another consideration when heading downhill: the ATer still cannot touch his or her heels to the ground, since there’s often loose scree on the trail (where mud doesn’t drown it). At times it’s a lot like walking on ball-bearings. One is forced to walk cat-like, with the toes landing before the heels, or slipping is assured. Falls follow slips. Impact follows falls. Pain follows impact. And, at least in my case, crying follows pain.
Here’s something to cry about: they say the vertical gain over the entire AT is comparable to climbing eighteen Mount Everests(1), from sea level to summit. The AT is not a level playing field. Had it been around during the dark ages, when nearly everyone presumed the world was flat, they’d have known better had they stepped foot on it. (The AT remains in the dark ages, what with all the trees.)
~~~~~~~~~~
Our day commenced when we had had enough of being tent-bound; cramped quarters overrode our concerns of the cold conditions outside. We had to pick our poison and even though it was still quite early, we’d had enough of the first form.
The first obstacle was Blood Mountain, presumably named for the number of hikers who take their lives at this point of the trail. (All it requires is a spork to the neck, so long as the utensil is metal and not plastic; I’ve been rehearsing.) In truth, no one knows why the ominous moniker(2), but the peak was as unforgiving as anything we’d been up yet. At 4,458-feet, it’s Georgia’s highest point along the AT. But unlike most the trail thus far, we were rewarded with incredible views up top. I was literally taken aback (but thankfully not taken a-back down the mountain) with the sheer vastness of it all. Georgia, no question, is striking.
Also striking were our legs, so we made it a point to sit at the summit for a lengthy while. A stone shelter adorned the peak, as did quite a few needled trees, but we moseyed on just beyond, where a rocky outcropping provided a 360-degree diorama to everything below. It was hazy and even a bit cloudy, but only above.
After a hair-raising descent, we made our way to US Highway 19 at Neel Gap, the first of many resupply points on the trail. I was excited to see other hikers, particularly a French-braided auburn-ish brunette who’d caught and passed us atop the bloody mountain. I’d eventually come to learn that her name was Kalamity, but there then I only wished I knew her. I could see that she was proof that not everyone who hikes the Appalachian Trail has a beard (though there was still plenty of time for her to grow one, of course).
The store at Neel Gap--Mountain Crossings--catered to thru-hikers and only thru-hikers, that is unless motorists required freeze-dried snacks or a new pair of hiking poles during their drive. Prices were unrealistic, but entirely expected. This is where many hikers come to the realization that:
The first obstacle was Blood Mountain, presumably named for the number of hikers who take their lives at this point of the trail. (All it requires is a spork to the neck, so long as the utensil is metal and not plastic; I’ve been rehearsing.) In truth, no one knows why the ominous moniker(2), but the peak was as unforgiving as anything we’d been up yet. At 4,458-feet, it’s Georgia’s highest point along the AT. But unlike most the trail thus far, we were rewarded with incredible views up top. I was literally taken aback (but thankfully not taken a-back down the mountain) with the sheer vastness of it all. Georgia, no question, is striking.
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| The stone shelter atop Blood Mountain |
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| Ruth atop Blood Mountain |
The store at Neel Gap--Mountain Crossings--catered to thru-hikers and only thru-hikers, that is unless motorists required freeze-dried snacks or a new pair of hiking poles during their drive. Prices were unrealistic, but entirely expected. This is where many hikers come to the realization that:
A: A heavy pack cannot be taken lightly
B: What they’d hauled here was too much
3: Owning too much is never enough
Gone with the new and heavy, in with the new lighter-weight stuff.
Prepared accordingly, Ruth and I only needed food, and we didn’t care about its weight, or, for that matter, its cost. Hunger trumps budgetary concerns.
We killed a good couple of hours at the side of the store, conversing with others and ridding food wrappers. While recharging our bodies we recharged our electronic garb. We were discovering just how social the AT is.
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| A storage shed at Neel Gap |
Still, it amazed us how much alone time we’d found on the trail to this point, thirty two miles in. The AT is not overcrowded! Then again, the weather has sent a lot of backpackers packing; perhaps the numbers aren’t indicative of a normal year. One thing’s assured: the attrition rate will escalate--a good thing for those misanthropes too hard-headed to stop what they start.
When all was charged we charged on, straight up Levelland Mountain. Level-land, my ass. Luckily, the trail remained sane the remainder of the day. No handrails required.
When all was charged we charged on, straight up Levelland Mountain. Level-land, my ass. Luckily, the trail remained sane the remainder of the day. No handrails required.
We’d end up camping beside a bunch of log furniture. We were with Chris the Minnesotan, who waddles like an Emperor Penguin when he walks, and two others: Caboose, a pot-smoking gal from Los Angeles’s eastern most suburb (Denver), and a scraggly kid named Mitch--trailname the Dogfather. Mitch was hiking with his doghter, who called herself Bella. I tried flirting with the pup-tart, but like all other females, she rejected my advances. The pooch would protect us from bears throughout the night, what with her snoring.
(1) This is a two-part "foot"note...
Uno: if you have hiked the entire AT, you've hiked the entire AT; you've climbed approximately NO Mount Everests.
Ocho: even with today's fancy GPS units, there is no accurate way to measure elevation loss or gain and therefore no definitive answer to just how much climbing the the AT truly entails. This is because between measurements taken at each data-point there may be numerous ups and downs that are not captured. For instance, if you descend three hundred feet but regain it before the next data-point, the tally will display zero loss or gain. Think of it this way: if an ant were to thru-hike the AT he'd have to account for all the ups and downs that a human would simply step over. That "stepping over" is what the data-points do: they step over all unmeasured terrain between each one taken. This is the fractal nature of Nature.
"Fate"note 3: One of the saddest stories along the AT is that of twenty-four year-old Meredith Emerson. Emerson was murdered on Blood Mountain in ‘08. She and her dog were on a New Year’s Day hike when they came across the perpetrator, a drifter named Gary Hilton, who’d confess to the killing and ultimately be charged with three other such crimes in North Carolina and Florida.
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| The evening's digs |
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| Bella the backpacker |
Uno: if you have hiked the entire AT, you've hiked the entire AT; you've climbed approximately NO Mount Everests.
Ocho: even with today's fancy GPS units, there is no accurate way to measure elevation loss or gain and therefore no definitive answer to just how much climbing the the AT truly entails. This is because between measurements taken at each data-point there may be numerous ups and downs that are not captured. For instance, if you descend three hundred feet but regain it before the next data-point, the tally will display zero loss or gain. Think of it this way: if an ant were to thru-hike the AT he'd have to account for all the ups and downs that a human would simply step over. That "stepping over" is what the data-points do: they step over all unmeasured terrain between each one taken. This is the fractal nature of Nature.
"Fate"note 3: One of the saddest stories along the AT is that of twenty-four year-old Meredith Emerson. Emerson was murdered on Blood Mountain in ‘08. She and her dog were on a New Year’s Day hike when they came across the perpetrator, a drifter named Gary Hilton, who’d confess to the killing and ultimately be charged with three other such crimes in North Carolina and Florida.
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| Meredith Emerson |
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