A Limp in the Woods (Day 51)

An Appalachian Trail Tale
Day 51: Tuesday, May 14th, 2013
Catawba Shelter to Troutville = 19 miles
Miles to date: 725

Downsize and Upgrade

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took them both, just to be sure I didn’t miss anything.

It all went down (and up) not even an hour into the day, when we reached the AT’s most prominent prominence, and its most photographed spot, McAfee Knob. I was so enamored with the outcropping--one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the Walk, though I know not the other half dozen(1)--that I covered it from all angles, which basically meant two paths and a scramble below. The finest angle is the one leading to it from the south, whence we’d come. Thus, the plethora of pictures. Search ‘McAfee Knob’ on Google Images and your computer might very well explode.

Very well indeed. As it is with all the world’s wonderful sites, you have to see it in person, and feel the dizzying vacancy below, to truly experience it. And visiting it on foot, after carrying on headlong under your own power for seven hundred miles, with everything you own in a container ship on your back, makes you appreciate it in ways the motor-bound or computer-bound sightseer never could. Screw those fat, lazy motorists in their rolling recliners! And screw me for typing this on a computer!

Thankfully, the nearest road still means a lengthy toddle to come pay your respects to the sandstone knob. The herd mentality is reserved for animals afoot. Our little herd sat and mused upon the scenery, legs dangling in the vast, verdant, vivid expanse. We were thinking how entirely splendid it was to finally have reached this place. And to think I’d thought the famed outcrop was in New Hampshire! I was today years old when I discovered differently. Sometimes it’s nice not knowing where things are.

Backstreet enjoying the view (“Feet, don’t fail me now!”)

“Been there, done nothing,” I later scribbled in my notepad, when thinking back to McAfee and how perfectly morning unfolded. Afternoon would end up a little less gratifying, proving that it can also be a little less than nice not knowing what’s ahead. C’est la vie, they say. (Whoever they are, they ain’t talk English good.)

But I mustn’t jump ahead just yet. A couple hours beyond McAfee Knob the four of us would skirt Tinker Cliffs, a precipitous half-mile ledge walk offering vistas back to McAfee and almost everywhere else we’d been. A pair of juvenile turkey vultures, each already larger than a full-grown raven but unable to fly, squawked and squealed in a massive nest below us. It was sandwiched within a gaping crack in the rock. Mom circled us, ready to dive in and fight if need be. Flight and fight.

The less desirable part of the day commenced when we descended from the wilds into the civilized world. The number of powerlines we traversed lay testament to just how pervasive--and invasive--the civilized world has become. Civilized to death. We knew we each preferred being uncivilized. “What if this world is just another world’s hell?” Backstreet pondered.

But the decentralized sprawl that is Daleville allowed us two tasks. One, a meal at the surprisingly dynamic Rancho Viejo Mexican Restaurant. (Surprise, surprise: we were ravenous.) And two, unload mode at the post office. I could finally winnow out the weight, obviate the obvious excess, and kill the overkill. I didn’t care where it went, so long as I didn’t slip up and ship it back to my back. Drop Your Load isn’t just a porn website; it’s the thru-hiker’s directive.

The contents of the Priority box I sent Ruth weighed SEVEN pounds. Gone were the used pages of the guidebook (kept for future reference); the bulky fleece jacket; the ninja balaclava; the Peruvian-styled winter hat; the sleeping bag liner; a bandana; the fleece gloves; the pocket knife and compass I found in the past two days(2); the outmoded PocketMail device and its batteries; the long-sleeved fleece shirt; and things I can’t recall. I’m keeping the flip-phone and the fleece vest. The phone’s for obvious reasons, the vest is for pocket space for the phone. Since it weighs little, the puffy also stays. I was now unencumbered. My load is light enough to carry with a single shoulder strap, like the cool kids used to do at school.

“Inevitably, a long distance hiker must choose between traveling light, and not traveling at all.”

~Earl Shaffer

“We found in the course of our journey the convenience of having disencumbered ourselves, by laying aside whatever we could spare; for it is not to be imagined without experience, how in climbing crags, and treading bogs, and winding through narrow and obstructed passages, a little bulk will hinder, and a little weight will burthen...”
~Samuel Johnson

And so, when we returned to the old world and the hard-pack track, I warned TK, Backstreet and Goat: “I’m not gonna be a tenderfoot anymore; you’re gonna have trouble keeping up.” But by the time I completed my cautionary tale, they were too far ahead to hear me.

They were awaiting my arrival when we emerged onto the Lee Highway. (It’s called the Lee Highway, but there sure isn’t much leeway for pedestrians.) With our splintered group once more fully formed, we strode vigilantly toward the sedated town of Troutville (pop: trout, mostly). TK and Goat had a package sent there and we’d planned to colonize the town park, as encouraged by Troutville’s city council and local businesses.

From the looks of things the local businesses didn’t number enough to warrant the plural designation. All I could see was a diminutive corner grocer. None of us needed a thing, but we stepped inside, not knowing we were entering a time warp. 

The place was a complete throwback from seventy-five years ago, as I sometimes wish I was. There were old metal displays, non-neon price tags on the food, dust galore, and most notably, honest friendly service. Only the prices were modern. I was thrilled to see they had cheese in a can. Progress marches on.

I didn’t know about the others, but I felt for the store’s proprietors, an elderly pair who seemed to reject the notion of changing with the times. I empathized and wondered why anyone would care to change with these strange, so-called contemporary times. The AT is romanticized, because so many of those who hike it, or wish to, desire to escape these times. Back to the basics.

"Foot"note 1: Here's a crack at the Seven Natural Wonders of the Appalachian Trail, though I have yet to know...

1) One wonders why he chose the AT, naturally.
2) Mount Katahdin, Maine
3) McAfee Knob, Virginia
4) Mount Moosilauke, New Hampshire
5) Grayson Highlands, Virginia
6) Mahoosuc Notch, Maine
7) Max Patch, Virginia

There aren't only Seven Natural Wonders along the AT; there are more than Seven Billion Natural Wonders.

"Find"note 2: The AT is a hiker-hoarder's dream, since rich kids on it are apt to either forget half their stuff or purposefully leave it behind at shelters or along the path. I estimate the worth of goods I've gathered along the way at $300, and I've passed by--and passed on--that much more stuff.