MikeStevensStudio

Southbound North Carolina, Tennessee May 2004

Southbound again. It had been several years since the Maine trip. Since then I have had wonderful opportunities for 5-6 day long trips out in the Serias. Grand rugged somewhat baron terrain. Its been a while since I have had the chance to do some real hiking back east. I felt this trip a homecoming of sorts. I would be hiking alone which is usually not recommended. The Appalachian Trail (AT) is straight, it should be hard to get lost on right? and full of other hikers. The shelter system offers the chance for solo hikers like my self to have company in the mornings and evenings. A solo trip would be less lonesome trip on the AT. I was hopping for this trip to make me strong again. The itinerary was challenging with little chance for extra rests. On the trail you carry everything, once you run out of food you start to get hungry. That would be no good.

Equipment: For late MAY
Jansport external frame pack This was the only external frame pack I saw, this pack is getting to be a bit old school among the backpackers.

20 degree down sleeping bag I can not get this bag wet or it loose 80% of its insulation

water pump

rain gear, kmart rubber rain jacket, rain pants, pack cover

Other rain equipment is very expensive, when its raining its 100% humidity, if you are hiking you will sweat and be damp any way. I regretted bringing the paints, it was late May

long underwear top, made of fancy new age fibers, I got the expensive one because mom liked it and offered to pay for it.

I wore a t-shirt cotton, which is not the best material, thick wore smart brand socks umbo soccer shorts, underwear which I regretted taking. brimmed hat, light weight canvas boots. I tried not to hike in my long underwear in attempt to have a “clean shirt to change into every night after my hike.

bandana to keep the sun off your neck

1 pair extra socks, I did not take a back up t-shirt, shorts. And yes three years ago I blew a very large hole in my inseam of my only soccer shorts while hiking with a co-ed crew for a prolonged trip out in the Serrias. Did I care not really, everyone learned to enjoy a bigger view of my boxers then one would have normally appreciated. Must keep the weight down.

tennis shoes, I don’t usually bring these, I did not trust my boots so I wanted a back foot wear in case of blisters.
the cloths I was not wearing, tennis shoes, long under wear I kept in large zip lock bags to keep them dry. I did the same for my sleeping bag, which fit into a 2.5 gallon size zip lock.

In a zip lock bag I also carried: small tube of sun block 35 SPF, whistle, athletic tape, iodine tablets, to purify water, anti iodine tablets to remove that God awful taste once the water is purified, fishing line and hooks, very very small pocket knife and flashlight, compass, small bottle of Deet bug repellant, baby powder and mole skin. I regret not taking salt tablets, I was carrying several antibiotic pills and ibuprofen.

Food: granola bars, 2 apples, peanut butter, Ritz crackers, M&M’s frozen Brats, pistachios, tuna fish packets, prepackaged backpackers dinners. Gateraid mix I did not bring a stove to cut on weight. I carried my water in a Platipus brand water pouch with drinking tube and kept gateraid mix in a back up water bottle. The water pouch is nice, the pouch is kept in the pack and you drink from a plastic tube that you can clip on your pack right above a shoulder. You are not able to keep track of how much water is left, this can be a problem. I solved this by keeping the quart of gateraid as a back up.

I am carrying the lightest pack I have ever taken on a prolonged trip.

My mother volunteered to follow me to western North carolina Tenn. Boarder. She became concerned when I told her that hitch hiking was the norm on the AT. “Just because you and your dad did it in Yellowstone don’t mean its safe, and for you to do it alone.” She volunteered to follow me in my car to where I would end my hike then drop me off the next morning some 90 miles north on the Appalachian Trail (AT). We after dropping my car off we stayed the night in Asheville with trail drop off plans for the next day.
On the way in we stopped at a Greek/pizza place for lunch. I had pizza, which I loved, mom got the Spania Capetia which she did not eat. I use the rest room and just as I am ready to leave a 7 month pregnant look man enters. He looks at me says, “Good day to be alive aint it.” This particularly catches my ears. I had a patient say this moments before he died. “Ya I say rather interested. Comments like this usually are followed by philosophy or advice. “Yes sir -ee beautiful day , beautiful mountains...... Good thing we’re not over their in that desert getten our heads cut off. Now I was president mind you, elected a couple of years ago.” he pauses tilts back hat puffs out his large belly. “Now some people would have a problem with this, and you would probably kill a couple of good people in the process, but by God we’d kill a awful lot of bad ones. We need to bomb them just clean out the whole area.” I am not at all surprised, I should be horrified but am not. I wash and return to the table.
Asheville was a pleasant surprise. The town is surrounded by mountains . Old buildings still intact with a very active down town. Mom was disappointed that the art and jewelry shops were closed. We checked into the hotel . Later that night I went out. Many bars, most with like live music, several with pool tables but not too many players. I have fun driving around mom’s new BMW pretending to be some pimped out swinger. Ya a little out of chariter but fun none the less.
Next morning mom drops me off takes several pictures an I am off. I think back to my first trip. I was 13 mom drove me to the scout church . I remember thinking I am ready for this? Is this going to be fun? Do I really want to hike for 8 miles with a heavy back pack? Am I strong enough?. I am a little nervous, better not tel mom I think. I have 93 miles map miles that I have to make. I am quite aware of all that could go wrong, blisters rain, equipment failure. I have had major equipment failures on my past 2 extended trips, only one out of the two was I able to repair the equipment. The other time I had to barrow a hip belt buckle. This time I am alone. I am sure that I will come across 4-5 hikers a day in passing who would call for help in event of injury. These however would not be people I could ask to barrow food or ask to help with broken equipment. My other extended trip s I have taken in small groups, we could help each other if needed. It will be me verses the trail. Onward Onward I think and I set out starting my trip at highway 19 my nightly camp is to be bald mount shelter, a 6 mile hike for starters. About 30 minutes into the trip and the skies open up and it runs. Great. Forty percent chance of rain every day for the next nine days. This could be a very wet trip. I put on the rain gear thinking back to the 120 dollar rain jacket I laughed at back when shopping for new equipment. Maybe it would have been worth it? I put the pack cover on and continue hiking in the rain. I am tired and stop for a quick lunch. I eat pistachios, clean up the shells and continue on. I was tired and happy to see the small wooden sign reading shelter. The rain has stopped, I lay about and wait. It gets colder, I put on my long sleeve long under where top, something I almost didn’t bring. Mom talked me into it. The temperature continues to drop. I am wearing all of my cloths, long underwear top, t-shirt and a pair of umbo’s I start to get a little concerned its still late afternoon.
After a while two north bound hikers come into the camp. “No didn’t think so, you don’t look like a through hiker” One says to me. His trail name is Regular Brian, been on the trail 300 miles, 1 month. They both wore fleece jackets, rain jackets on top, (the 120 dollar version) and long paints, internal frame packs, both were very full and aluminum walking sticks. They were stopping for lunch, it was 3:00. They cooked there lunch which surprised me. Cooking takes time and requires heavy fuel. I ask about hot springs, he goes on and on... “What I couldn’t stand what was really pissing me off was all this anti Bush propaganda at the hostel. I mean I voted for him, don’t really like him, not sure if I would even vote for him again. But still. You know all this prison shit, other counties are doing much worse all the time.” I haven’t said much, not interested in changing regular Brian’s mind, I do say, “I they do they aint on T.V., this looks real bad and pisses off the rest fo the world.” Regular Brian doesn’t look up from his cooked noodles. “Shit when I was enlisted they took us up to Road Island and used all sorts of hummulitating shit to try to make us talk on camera.” I had the feeeling from his body lanuage that he broke. He is young and no longer in the service still this is no excuse. I was close to asking him what it was like being forced to perform homosexual acts on another man. A sudden “‘Really they rapped you and made you do homosexual stuff? You still think it’s the same shit?” This may have brought him to his sences. I thought it unwise, I held my tounge. Some people use the trial for escape, an excuse to leave the real world for a time. I am sure Regular Brian had his reasons, problems in the military who knows. I didn’t really care. I brought frozen brats for the first night to share with the through hikers. I thought it would be a good jesture, these guys live off of dried out food, often they are short on money. Anyway Regular Brian was pissing me off. I pull out the brats and offer them to Regular Brain and his friend. We talk about other things. Regular Brain was going 15 miles a day, so far his record is 18 miles. He has tevias strapped to the side of his pack. The leave not taking the bratwosts as they could not cook them on there little stoves. As he is leaving he looks at a pile of wood next to the fire pit. “Good luck with the fire. I tried using stove fuel to start a dry fire days ago. No luck it just puffed up for a minute or two........ Say you know this wood is green.” “Ya I will need to get more.” I say and they leave. I did not collect the wood, if you can’t start a fire with stove fuel, then please stop giving me advice.
It takes me an hour and half to collect the proper wet wood and use a piece of abandon trash to start the fire. It is getting colder. My hands shake. The fire is finally built. I use sticks and roast the 5 brats. Still nobody here to share my feast. I wait in the shelter, it is three log walls with a tin roof. It sleeps 12 on two shelves like bunks. I eat, wait, nobody here. It starts to get dark. To the south is bear country, I may be camping alone which would not be good if a bear comes around attarted by the smell of the brats. The brats will not be good tomorrow, I am in a delema, as I would like to be able to share my delicious food. Finally with the rest of the fire wood I burn the brats. I hang my food on the mice lines and wonder if it will be eariy night sleeping alone. Wonder if I should have taken bear precautions. Is the rope I have in my tent bag long enough for a bear hang. I think about the bear warning cards I saw where I dropped my car off just 87 miles south. I prepare the camp then drift off to sleep in the shelter. I dream about the neighborhood girls. I am 13 we play kick ball inside a house, sharks swim outside, you can see them through the windows. I wake at sunrise get everything ready skip breakfast and walk. I keep a slow pace, hike Bald mountain, the morning fog lifts. I can see very far. I stop and air out my feet, ring out my socks. I try to let them dry for 20 minutes relaxed the trees have just began to bud here. This lets me see long distances. Forest floor was more like a field of small long stemmed small flowering plants. My feet are wet, my boots are good no blisters. I decent. The trees lower down are in full leaves. It is dry. White flowers replaced by wild purple iris, replaced by small yellow flowers, replaced by fern replaced by nettles mixed with different tri-lillies. Climbed up then down 1000 feet in a single mile. Ate lunch at the shelter I was suppose to sleep at, three other north bound hikers were present. They had not seen any other south bound section hikers. (This is what I am) They seemed very friendly, very serious, perhaps a little stressed as the weight of there hike was sinking in. We asked each other about the trail ahead, asked about water sources. Wished good luck to all, they left one left a water bottle his friend came back for it. “Don’t know if its his.” I say. “Well he will be glad to get it anyway.” his friend says takes it and leaves.
It was 3:00 according to the hikers and I was at my days scheduled end. All hell I told myself and kept going. Down, up down mile 16 for the day I am very very tired, no place to camp. Mile 17 will sleep any where, I finally found a level place to set up camp. Throw down the pack then preplan all further movement to decrease the number of further sit to stands. I am to tired to eat. I have eaten only a couple of granola bars and an apple all day. I prepare the camp, I am finally done. I look up right before entering my tent to sleep and see very large dead branches hanging over the tent. The wind picks up, they rattle threateningly. Shit... can see it now 28 year old killed when the stupid kid sets up tent under large dead branches. I clear more ground of twigs and rocks and move the tent. I sleep, the sun is still four inches from the horizon. I don’t have a watch and didn’t want one. I pick up the paper version of this journal and write one word and fall asleep. I wake up two times near dawn. I really hurts to move. After painful stretching I slowly gather my things and start out. I hiked passed the Flint mountain shelter mid morning. Three cokes were sitting in the stream. I left them for the though hikers eat some granola, drink gatorade and went on. Big up 1000 ft 1mile, slow accent. during the accent a 20 year old comes trotting northbound down the trail with two aluminum hiking sticks very, very small pack. Later on I here voices. The hill goes on and I get over passed by a family of North Carolinan weak end hikers putting on a mean pace going south. I was tempted to keep pace with them. When hiking long days I try to take as few breaks as possible. The idea is to keep a slow steady pace. They would over pass me, rest then I would pass them. We leap frogged the trail for 5-6 miles then we all stopped for lunch at Jerry Cabin Shelter.
The father and leader of the group worked in the seamless gutter busness and was retired army. He was almost 60 but still strong, veins popped from his forearms. He definatly still had old army macho mentatlity. They had been weakend hiking the trial for sometime. Every year, a couple of weekends a year the father, two sons and several other family friends would hike another section of the AT. I ate only granola bars and pistacios for lunch. They cooked Ramond noodles and ate vension jerkey. They offered me some jerkey which I took and was very good. A string of meat stuck in my teeth which I was forced to pick at for days. After a lunch that took several hours we head out together. They plan on stopping in four miles, I plan on hiking till I am tired, possilbly making an addition 7 miles to the next shelter. We hiked together on a very exposed ridge. The terrian was some of the most rugged I have traversed with a pack. The trail consisted of jumping from rock to rock. We could see very far on all sides. I watched some storms starting to come in from the west. They moved very slow but made a lot of noise. I was the tallest thing on the mountain, wearing my dad’s metal external frame pack. I picked up the pace as much as I could. We cleared the ridge and spread out. I passed two boys filling water, one 16 one in his mid 20s. The youngest had a very small day pack, a pack so small I would not have been able to fit my old sleeping bag in side of it. They all have desided to continue on and camp with me at the next shelter. About 2 ½ hours later on mile 14 for the day I hear running from behind. Damm where does that boy get all that energy. He comes on fast he is at a dead run. I think someone must be hurt. He comes up behind me and asks how much further till the front man. “I don’t know. Your dad and Shawn still ahead a good while up.” Boy takes off again at his dead run, wearing his tennis shoes. This is mile 14 and I am very tired. I hiked on, several times feeling waves of relief seeing a shelter roof only to have it turn into a group of rocks or tree trunks. My right knee starts to hurt when going down hill.
Arived at the shelter, the North Carolina boys start to set up there tents just a little ways from the shelter. I go into the shelter and sit down, to tired to move. Two northbound trough hikers Sourdough and London Lynn share the shelter with me. London Lynn from London is a long distance runner, he is in his mid sixties. He had large snake tatoes on both his forearms. Sourdough and London Lynn sit around the campfire, which London Lynn had made. We go through the uswall conversation about trail conditions, weather forcasts, and water sources. I oil water over the fire and add it to my dehydrated dinner which taisted wonderful. We talk about the miss treatment of Iraq prisoners. The war. London Lynn goes on and on about how much the British are “with you all the way.” Sourdough was in his mid 60s, carried expensive equipment, neat in his dress, his beard and hair. He was a conservitive and annoid by Lynn, but was trying to hide it. “Its only the liberal fantics and the students who really appose the war. Most people are really with you guys. I am on the same side.” “That’s the way its over here” Sourdough put in a little tired. London Lynn would rant on, it was his first time in the U.S. and I think he was making comments carefully trying not to piss off any of the Americans. He would talk on and on.
“How long you think the war is going to last?” I ask. Sourdough annoid by the question shifted on his seat. “Oh wow!” London Lynn chimmed in, “This is going to be big. Its going to take a while for our boys to sort it all out!” “How long?” I ask. His tone shift more somber “twenty to thirty years I’d say.” Sourdough looks away in discuss and does not say anything. The conservation shift, Lynn talks almost non stop about the Mores living off the dole and how that pisses him off being a regular working tax paying man. How the French, no God damm way would ever have saved England out in WWII if the roles were reversed them ungreatful bastards. Mind you the French arn’t all bad, he has met two or three of them that have he has become friends with. Sourdough wants to restrict imagration, all the damm Mexicans coming in ruining the country with drugs and gangs. “Now if a foriener comes and desides he wants to move in to our country thats fine as long as willing to abide and adapt to American coustoms, learn English and not make a scene of themselves. Now they can keep a little of there own culture mind you, I am not saying that they just need to keep it suttle and in the privacy of there own homes.” Sourdough gave in a lecture. Keep the race pure I could tell what he was hinting at. I have herd this reciently off the trail and was getting pretty tired of it. He was from Atlanta, spoke with a heavy southern accent. “I date a Philipinio.” I looked calmly square into his eyes. I tried to keep my face friendly.
God damn white people, this doesn’t surprise me a bit of course. I stay an angry silent I am more interested in seeing what other colorless thoughts are banging around in this man’s head. He does not offer me any more. I don’t want to talk to him. I offer around my M &M candies. It stays silent for a while, Lyn starts to complain about the north carolina boys’ fire, it’s too big and look how they are not conserving any wood and look at the fire Lyn built and look how it’s got proper logs putting off proper smoke. Sourdough gets bored and decides to turn in,
I would like to visit the North Carolina boys, because I like their fire and maybe they won’t complain so much. I painfully walk over for some good hearty southern man talk. My body is stiff and resists any movement. “Won’t you come drink with us, and man earlier from the looks of you, you need it. A drink is the last thing I need or want right now. I did not want to offend. Get your cup and pour your self off some. I am embarrassed because I did not bring a cup, extra weight, and return to drink Captain Morgans rum from my aluminum mess kit bowl. This produced much laughter. “Man you gonna be out here how long and you don’t even have a cup, come on now take more then that, you need that drink more than any of us” I must have looked pretty tiered. I poured a little more, I didn’t really want the rum, sure would not want the hang over, rejecting a free drink could be taken as an insult. I took a shot worth, we spoke of rain, “naw it’s a good night, no rain tonight” they all said over and over, their tents were the Kmart version, several without rain flies. “If it rains there is room in the shelter for all, no worries” I make my way back to the shelter in the dark pour the remaining rum in my bowl in the fire. Guess I’ll be having a little rum taste in tomorrow’s dinner. It is very dark and I try to get in my bag without waking London Lyn or Sourdough. My food bag is hung on a very low mouse rope about 3 feet from where I sleep, Sourdough and London Lyn have hung their food in trees farther away to keep it away from bears. I am a little worried about my food and attracting a large black bear only 3 feet from where I sleep. I sleep, Sourdough snores so loudly I awake several times thinking it’s a bear. “You should have ear plugs” he says earlier, “all through hikers have ear plugs.” I am only able to sleep a little it rains very hard several times and I can hear the North Carolina boys complain with each downpour. They do not seek cover in the shelter. The next morning my body is very stiff I try to drink water, I am not thirsty, I force my self to eat, nothing looks good, I settle on my last apple, a treasure I had been saving. I make some Gateraid which goes down very well. I don’t have much Gateraid mix left, I am concerned that I am not getting enough salt. I usually keep extra salt packets with me for this very problem. My only real source of salt is Gateraid and my dinners. My urine was brown, but I was difficult to make myself drink. I leave Little Laurel shelter later then usual say farewell to all and decide to make it an easy day 10 miles, and camp at the next shelter. I decent 1500 feet into Allens gap eat a granola bar then accent 1000 ft to spring mountain shelter. I am very very tired, I see a day hiker going north, he tells me I am 15 minutes from the shelter. My boot are finally dry from the first days storms. I want badly to keep my boots dry. It begins to rain, I begin to run. I run for 3-5 minutes spurts, slow down catch my breath then run. I keep my feet dry and arrive at the shelter. It is empty which is a good thing I am able to smell my self and it makes me want to vomit. I take off my only t shirt wipe my body off with it, hang my food pull out my sleeping bag and take a nap, it is probably 200 (the typical time for afternoon showers) I awake several times from the heavy rain. The rain stops, I have slept but do not feel refreshed. I walk down to the spring for water. Making several mental notes about good downed limbs for fire wood I fill up my large zip lock bag with water and return to camp. At camp I pump the water to purify it into my water bottles then collect wood. Both knees hurt, I do not want to drink the water, so I make gateraid which I drink with thirst. The wood gathering takes maybe an hour or so, I put most of the wood under the shelter and wait, looks like another storm is about to blow through. I wait still nothing, silver backs of leafs dance in the wind. I collect more tinder breaking off the ends of last years dead raisebearry bushes. I hear a slight russell of leaves below me, I jump back and a large brown snake is still with in striking distance. Round head, I am safe probably just a gardener snake. Still no rain, I am starting to get hungry and I need the fire to boil water for my dinner. I start the fire on my second try. Just as the fire is just getting started two north bound hikers enter camp.
Conch and Ziplock are both over 65. Ziplock has his gray hair pulled into a pony tail he is tall and confident. Conch wore a big smile with a very swollen bottom lip which has been recently split on one side. At first I thought he had a bad case of the herpes. Thought man, boy did he kiss the wrong girl. Later he explained how one of these small root just reached up and grabbed him. “I was hiking along just minding his own way and such then suddenly bam one of those little root guys said, “Don’t tread on me! I am darn sick of getting walked on day in day out! Take that.” “And down I sure went, ruined a whole hiking day good weather and all, had to go to the hospital and everything. They couldn’t do much though. My lip was nothing but ground beef. “ They were both early risers, liked to go a slow pace lately 8-10 miles a day. “You sure we’d got to do that 15 mile day” Conch would ask. “It’s the last day (before town) then we’ll be able to rest.” Conch still looked worried. Conch looked at me, still guess all this extra weight don’t help. It’s hard though, sure don’t like being cold. Fourth day on the trail it snowed four inches got down to twenty degrees. The shelter was full so we had to sleep outside under a tarp. I used my rain jacket for a pillow, four days later I still had ice in the rain jackets sleeves.” He was pulling a fleece, wool hat, heavy rain gear, long under wear out of his pack. I wore my long sleeve shirt my only other T-shirt was hanging on a nail, I had no other cloths beside my shorts I had on and my rain gear. If it fell to twenty degrees I would have no option but to crawl into my bag and not get out till it warmed.
They had both come from the local town of Hot Springs earlier that day. I boiled my water and made my first dinner lasagna with meat sauce, very, very good. Ziplock had hiked 900 miles last year but had to get off the trail because of foot problems. He and Conch had been friends for a very long time and lived close to each other in Florida. There wives had driven up to meet them for mothers day. That was the last real touch we’ve had from the out side world (other then hostel stops along the way). They said they have been staying away from the news. I boiled more water, ate my second dinner chicken teriyaki, still good not as good as meat lasagna. “I herd the mice were real bad here” I say, “One of the guys last night said he couldn’t sleep most of the night as the mice were constantly running around making all sorts of noise. One of them kept running across his face.” “Ya,” Ziplock said with a tone of experience, “Its sure happened to me a couple of times, I am sure we’ll be fine.” My blue T-shirt smells very badly, I am concerned about entering the town smelling so foul. I take the shirt its nail hanging place and hold it in the smoke. “I’ll see if I can smoke some of this stench out.”
Night came Ziplock found a black willow three feet above his head in the shelter but did nothing about it as it was to cold for black willows this time of the year anyway. It made me nervous. We all agreed we where well out of bear country, none of us did a bear hang. The mice began to make noise before the sun had set. By that time all of us were in our bags trying to sleep. I slept well that night woke at dawn.
“Where are we going today Zip?” Conch asked. “Jerry Cabin Shelter” Ziplock replied. “Fifteen miles my god, thought we had days until we had to hike that far.” Conch started off Ziplock continued to pack “trying to break him easy”, he told me. Most hikers begin to average 20 miles a day by the time reach Virginia. Zip knows this and is trying to get Conch to that level. Zip will reach his half way point regarding miles covered that day.
I feel very well rested, my constant cramps are still there but much less. I drink my last quart of Gateraid for breakfast. I do not want any other food. My boots are dry and which makes me happy. The 11 miles or so into town were mostly down hill. I had some great views of the French Broad River. I am on a ridge and thunder is stomping at my heals. I do a light jog for the smooth stretches. I do not stop for pictures, I am concerned about wet boots, and getting caught on the ridge in oncoming storm. About 10 minutes from Hot Springs the sky opens up. I take my boots off, putting each on into zip lock bags in my pack to keep them dry. I put on my tennis shoes and keep hiking. Hot springs was a resort town in the early part of the century, as people came in to soak in the hot springs. I was used to house WWII German prisoners. The town now survives off a small white water rafting business.
My first concern upon arriving in town was to find the hostel and take a warm shower. I passed the Pub, an ice cream shop, and a small convenient store which sold hot pizza by the slice. The hostel I stayed in was 160 years old; I got the cool basement room. The steps were hard for me, my knees were very painful. I grabbed my green towel and step by step headed for the shower. The bathroom walls were covered in walnut paneling, the sink dripped and the toilet is prone to shift suddenly when sitting. I almost fell off, no kidding. The molding was freshly covered with hunter green paint. An open stained glass window let in air from the vacant side porch. The shower felt great, I soaped my body 2-3 times, I produced a lather from the bar soap to wash my hair. I repeated this four times. I stepped out of the shower looked down at my cloths and reluctantly put back on the same shorts I have hiked in for the past 5 days, my same well worn, dirty stank socks. I wore my long sleeve long underwear which I do not hike in so it is still relatively clean. I put on my tennis shoes and searched for pizza. The only sit down pizza place, or restaurant for that manner, is the paddler’s pub. I enter order 16 inch sausage. I talk briefly with a raft guide, offer him pizza, “Ya, Gully’s got every thing on the east coast beat far as rivers go.” He drinks his bear then leaves. It’s 2:00 I try to write grandpa’s stories for a while, then work on this journal.
In walked a 270 pound man, long gray hair and a full gray beard. Looked like he was once part of the Grateful dead. Gypsy had though hiked twice back in the 80s. I lived 100 miles away and drove the 200 miles every week into town to soak the natural benefits and healing provided from the local hot springs. He told me how when started his first hike he was in Geogia, had to get off the trail because his second cousin was getting married to his third cousin. Naturally this was a big to do in the family so they pulled him off the trail. Mom started dry heaving when she smelled him. After the wedding it had gotten two late in the season to head north so he hitch hiked from Georgia to Maine 6 different rides not sleeping for three and half days. He talked about Mnt. Kataden (the starting point) his friend Whiskey jack who of course, was able to find Whiskey in any dry town they stayed in. Whiskey Jack had a bag of reefer for each map section. Each map section is about 80-100 miles. He was to save a little pinch for each bag and on the completion of the trial he was going to roll it all together in one big joint. “Well it was a good thought but it didn’t work out in the end. The pot just sort of disappeared.” Gypsy loved to talk, missed his trail days. “Good to talk to you” he said, “cant tell these stories to my other friends, they don’t understand. There are sick of all this trail shit any way.” Gypsy was white, had a deep southern accent. The bar was empty he drank 3-4 beers, I drank water.
I was still dehydrated and I did not bring much cash. I had added to the challenge of the hike by only bringing cash, just enough for one night lodging, to resupply, and a pizza. No extra money for a hot springs soak or beer. Equipment failure was not an option.

Gypsy’s story:
Gypsy looked around slowly, as if he wanted to make sure the wrong person did not hear the next story. The bar was almost completely empty. “One time I was at a town and needed a ride back to the trial. These black guys were all standing around.” He said the word black in a hushed voice.
“These guys were poor, man, in from Harlem so I go over there and start talking to them. They asked me many questions about the trail, how long how I got food. And I told them, now most people would have thought I was crazy telling them about my new shoes, how much cash I had on me and all that. We all sat around had a good old time, they gave me beers, passed around a joint. Man let me tell you Harlem, that’s where all the best herbs go through. I had herd it but it wasn’t till then did I believe it. They gave me a ride to the park, and right before we all left two of the young ones had pulled me aside to try to ask questions about some plants and I saw two of the older guys over by my bag. I wasn’t worried. It wasn’t till later that evening when I pulled out my stuff I found a nice sack of Harlem herb that the boys had placed in my pack. People is People guess I always knew it, but it wasn’t till then did I truly learn it.
Karma goes around though just a couple weeks later still in New York I got lost and found my self by this lake in some park. I went swimming taking long dives into the water. When I got out to the shore I herd this yelling. You hear that? I asked this young Harlem boy? We decided kids were just haven fun, then we saw these kids swimming out to this island, they were the ones doing the yelling and looked like they were in trouble. I decided they needed help. Then this 300 pound lady says well I have a raft so in the three of us go. Now this was my second time on the trial so I am at 145 with a skinny ass waist with an ore in my hand trying to steer this boat and man we’re going no where. The other fellow looks at the lady and say she needs to get out. Now this next part is just such a wonderful reflection of what the human soul is capable of. The big ol 300 pound lady yells, “I can’t swim,” With that she flings her self over board. None of us realized we were only in 4 feet of water so she was fine. By the time we make it to deeper water, over to where the boys are only two out of the three are still above water. They look like rats, we pulled them aboard then told them to rest, then start diving as soon as they were able. We dove and dove, staying down for as long as we could it was dark under the water. We would dive then follow the ground moving our arms all over the place. Then I thought I felt hair. We pulled the boy aboard, then quickly rowed him over to the island. I performed CPR and got vomit in my lungs but were able to revive him. He had only been down for a matter of minutes. About an hour or so later we all get back in the raft and start rowing it back to the 300 pound lady to return her raft. Then we see this park ranger waving us over. I want to keep going but we change course and head toward the ranger. “Now I’ve got to write them all tickets” ranger said. For what I asked. “For swimming, there are signs all over the place that say no swimming.” Not from the south side, I say. If your going to write them tickets you’ll have to write us all tickets. I came from the south side and there are no sings posted. Believe me these boys have learnt there lessen. The ranger left without issuing tickets. The three boys looked like drowned rats and the one could barely stand. The ranger must have seen most of it and all he could do was think about writing tickets.”

Gypsy told another story about meeting several people of the same extended family, one in Virginia, another in New Hampshire, and a third in Maine. Each member did not know him but had invited him over for food. Several years later he returned for the Grandfathers 100 birthday.

I listened to his stories until late, 8:00 or so. The bar runs out of change which is a problem because I can not call my girl collect (weird cell phone stuff). I call we are able to talk for 10 minutes, also call my parents. The next morning I wake late, 8:30 slowly get up, my body is still sore but feels much better, I have refilled my salts and water. The only food I need is two dinners. I have not been eating much and still have much food. I leave late, about 1:00 I have 13 or so miles till the next shelter. The weather calls for rain so I want to make it to cover by night fall. I hike, it rains, I hike, it rains harder, I hike up hill, it rain hard, I hike more up hill, it continues to rain. I wear my rain jacket, but not the paints. The paints grip my legs and restrict movement. It is warm enough in May to have wet legs. It continues to rain, I do not make any stops, and continue up. About five minutes after I arrive at the shelter the rain stops. I put on my long under wear top, wring out my socks and put on my dry sneakers. A nice fire would be good. I collect hemlock branches still attached to the trees. A fire from last year burn much of the under brush and left many small dead trees. I pull down the trees, mostly maple and build my fire. All this probably took 2 hours. I got the fire going on the second try and burnt much, much wood. My body felt good, I dried out and cooked my dinner. I read the registration journals, open it to a random page. Jan 28/03 “It was a good hike 4-5 inches of snow, very peaceful.” Next entry was typed out on a sticker and stuck onto the page. “Hello I am called ease-one I am 81 years old and I am completing my fifth completion of the trail. My first two times section hiking, the last three times as a through hiker. I wear a blue pack, carry two sticks and will be going slow. If you see me stop and say hello, and believe me, it just doesn’t get any better then this. Enjoy your hike.” That 81 year old was finishing up his through hike in January. I thought about this entry a lot in the day to follow.
I waited for other campers to come, all who had hiked today would be wet. I wanted company and to show off my beautiful fire. Night came, I arranged camp, hung my food on the mice ropes. I hear the mice scatter and rattle in the rafters only feet from my head. I think about the story Zip had told me about recently finding a large 5-6 foot long rat snake in a shelter. Its dark, I was only worried about copper heads, night is to cold for them. I sleep and am wakened twice by very strong rain storms. I am glad I am in the shelter. The rain puts out the coals. I wake the next morning arrange camp, wait till the very last possible moment to put on my cold wet boots and socks. I hike leaving camp at dawn. My boots are very heavy from the water. With in the first 4 miles of the day I had developed 4 blisters. I use moleskin to cover the blisters. Today is level, with a mild down hill. I decide to change into my tennis shoes. My feet are much lighter, I hike on.
It is level for the first 10 or so miles. At 10:00 I run into a day hiker carrying a flower book. I ask him about several of the flowers along the trail, he lets me thumb through his well worn book. I try to memorize several names of the more common ones. It was then that I realized how much ground I had already covered. Today’s hike was not accompanied by the stiffness and knee pain. I had hiked 8 miles by 10:30. I continue onward arriving at what was suppose to be my camp for the evening by 1:00. I feel good, its another nine or so miles to davenport gap, my truck is parked close to the gap. Pizza for dinner? It would be a hard hike but I studied the map and knew I could finish the trail today. I had never hiked so far in one day, to finish the trail today would be a 23 mile hike. I remember a recent conversation with my dad. “My experience most people can achieve much more physically then they think possible.” “Why” he asks. “Could be many reasons I guess.... patient after patient I find, and attempt to prove to them that they are stronger then they think.” Me and my damm mouth. I wanted to take the challenge. I ate 2 granola bars, my first food of the day, drank a quart of gateraid and kept walking. Gentle up then the rest would be down. I was sad to be leaving, this trail does go on forever. Several days ago that thought was tough thought to think, as I was tiredly trying to make my way though sun up to sun down. Now it is a different thought, more adventure to come. I know how much I will look forward to this next year, and perhaps the year after that and on and on... “The road goes on forever and party never ends.” Good old Willy Nelson’s got it. I hike on get tired, make Davenport gap then leaving the trail have to hike for additional 2 hours to make the truck. I hiked 23 miles hiked for an additional 1-2 hours to make the truck. I laid in the trucks bed, took a picture then drove to a local hostel. Here I payed for a shower, got onto the highway and drove to the closest town. I felt drunk with fatigue and natural endorphins, I didn’t really trust myself to drive far, and concentrated hard to stay focused. I called my parents and my girl told them I was safe and decided I should eat. I should be hungry after that hike but I was not. I had only eaten 2-3 granola bars at lunch and several quarts of gateraid. All chain stores, I go to Pizza hut. It is very cold with airconditioning. The air feels unnatural, synthetic, this annoys me. I am cold and have to return to my truck, painfully dig through my things and find a sweater. I eat half a small pizza and listen to the high school marching band group of friend flirt and sing loudly, I don’t mind the place is empty. The only problem is the waiter is friends with the group and I have to walk to the register for my drink refills. I sleep in a cheep hotel and have to request a first floor room. I phone my girl, we talk the everyday stuff. Its good to hear from her but it all sounds so ordinary. We hang up I can’t wait to see her. I go to the sink. You turn the faucet clean water come rushing out, no pumping, as much as you want. You close the door, no mice no bears will bother you, food is safe, no worries. In the shower the walls are covered with acid yellow tile, the fan rattles loudly, the water is warm on my legs. I get out look at the room the textured ceiling, the door, the TV with Chapell performing his skits, the left over pizza, the phone the bed with its warm blankets and comfortable mattress and pillows, the stained carpet. I think about the 160 year old home, the hostel I stayed in, the beauty and power of the French Broad River, The Pigeon River, the green of new growth, the wetness of the rain, I am sad to be leaving and sad to be in my hotel room. Next year, there is still more trail out there for ya. It say this out loud but to no one. I stretch work my legs and go into a deep sleep.

I felt very independent, mobile. The sun was shining bright, everything here was so bright. I stepped off the bus and smiled.

Only that morning I had been in Alanta visiting with good old Mark Wyssbrod. A quick flight to Miami, a shuffled haist, to the greyhound and I was here. It was bright so very bright. The bus had drove past my stop but it was just as well. Hiking in was the only proper way to enter a scout camp anyway. Good friends were there. People who had arranged the trip where there, old friends of twelve years or more. The boys. The sun was purifying. The blue foreign smells of the sea fill my nose. I had all I needed, back pack on, duffel bag slung with a pillow tucked under the sling. It was Saturday just the beginning for this adventure.

Most of my class mates were studing for a big exam for this coming Monday. Got that over with early. Did well on that test and I knew it. Open sky spanned out before me. They don’t have sky like this in Kentucky. They don’t have sky like this anywhere. I started across the bridge facing the oncoming traffic. Ya hiking into a scout camp. Now that’s the only proper way. This is the Flordia Keys, blue sea spanned out before me. It was all here. The water was clear as air. Brown patches of sea weed splotted the water. A school of fish lay hovering just below me. I was wearing that hat that good old Butch (my grandfather) used to fish in. That was special some how, he had passed on about a year before.

I thought of the fish, the seaweed, my classmates crammed in some libray. That made me smile. I had beaten the system somehow and I felt pretty good.

I thought of the first time here, the key dear the salty water, the fish. It was a good heat that warmed my skin, life rolls on. So many things have changed, all was bright so unbelievably bright. I was here. It was unbelievable. In the midst of graduate school, I had made it to the Keys, good friends ahead and a whole week to be down in the sun hanging with the fish.
Special thanks to Nadim, Nathan and Pooh for setting up that trip for me. Fun was had by all.

T West Coast Trail 1996 Vancouver Island Canada West Coast trail
Mike Stevens makes notes later in italic
Tom Stevens auther of original journal

Wednesday, July 30th, 1997

Carla dropped us off at the Louisville airport. After that our first day of travel got off to a rocky start. Our plane flight to Cincinnati was cancelled-some sort of electrical problem. We ended up getting routed through Atlanta and on to Seattle, but too late for our ferry reservation from Seattle to Victoria. Mike got on the phone and rescheduled our ferry and bus connections and cancelled our Victoria hotel while I wait in line for new airline connections.

On the plane to Seattle from Atlanta, we sat nest to a Col. Carl Hicks, USA retired. He had hiked the West Coast Trail about 15 years back. He was a ranger at the time and headed up a group of about 100 troops. He is now a VP for a company that manufactures environmentally friendly solvents. He invited Mike and I to dinner on conclusion of our trip-as it turned out we did not have a chance to take him up on the offer when we returned. I got his card and would like to keep in touch.

We arrived in Seattle early in the evening. Originally we were to have taken the ferry to Victoria Weds evening, but Mike had rebooked us on the 8 am ferry Thursday Morning. Since we needed to be on the ferry to Victoria early the nect day, we took a bus into Seattle and stayed at the Inn at Queen Anne, in a small efficiency. Iut was old but clean and within a 15 minute walk of pier 69 where our ferry would depart.

We ate dinner at Dukes, a restaurant a few blocks away from the Inn at Queen Ann’s We both had a large bowl of the best clam chaower I can remember eating. We had hot bread and split and entrée of grilled salmon with blueberry chutney.

Thursday, July 31

We were up early and walked to Seattle Clipper terminal at pier 69 arriving at about 725 am. The clipper left right on time at 8 am. The Clipper was passenger only, modern and fast. I spent quite a lot of time on deck enjoying the clear but cold weather and the view of Seattle and the Candadian islands. Mike wrote a letter to Mary and read and spent some time on the deck as well.

We arrived in Victoria after 1100. Victroia is a very scenic and friendly. There are many intesting buildings and beautiful gardens. Ther were hanging baskets of flowers along the streets. Everything was well maintained and very clean.

Mike called mom to see if the letter had come from U of K. Mike had expected to hear whether he was accepted in the physical therapy program there. It is very competitive to get in-although Mike’s grades were good , he was obviously concerned. No word so we promised to call again tomorrow just before we started on the trail.
I remember laying on very well maintained lawn. Dad I believe had started the call that honestly I was not sure I wanted to make. It had been a full summer, I just returned from a trip with Mary traveling for an entire month together. My mind was still somewhat enjoying North American culture again. I had spent the summer in anticipation¼.. . I had spent my collage carrier thus far in preperation to apply to PT school. I was entering into my senior year in collage, no where close to any bachalier degree. All my class work was spent fulfilling requirements to apply for physical therapy school. At that point I had no other real professional desires. I had been working for minimal wage during weekends throughout collage as a PT tech (unlincsed, semicut throught grunt work job). So much time¼. so much energy. The clock was ticking and I would have to face the answer, not today so it seemed. I had taken a gamble, less then 1/6 get accepted.

For weeks I had reoccurring dreams. Both of which had steamed from fairly bad movies. I believe these were a reflection of the slection process in entering into PT school. At my place of employment as a PT tech, they were many other techs attempting to enter into the same program. The dreams would start either at work or some other random place. Then with out warning a T-rex would crash through the roof and start to devour my coeworkers. That dream begain after seeing Jurastic park II. These occurred almost nightly for almost a month.

It took effort to concentrate, effort to appreciate my surroundings.

Mike and I ate lunch near the information center. Mike had a crab melt sandwich and a super rich chocolate pie desert. We wandered around town for a little. I bought some post cards and sent one to Carla and to work. Mike lay done in the garden of the Empress hotel and read a book. I wandered downtown and took some pictures.

We caught a bus at the downtown terminal at 2 p.m. to Port Rendro (the bus was a little late). Actullay the bus turned out to be a van. There were 4 others on the van, also going to hike the trail. There was a man and his son (about 17?) from Calgary and a German girl who had come to Canada just to hike the trail, and a middle aged woman from Vancouver who was meeting her sister from Vancouver. All four would be hike the trail at the same time as we would-but we spread out over the next several days. On the bus trail, the bus stopped for a short break. Mike was still hungry so we got ice cream cones. The van arrived at Port Renfro at about 430.

When we registered at the trail head, we thought that we whould have to hike back in to the town of Port Renfro to get camp stove fuel (can’t bring that on an airplane). The trail head was several KMs from the twon. Luckily, another hiker had left on bottle of fuel with ranger. And the man and his son from Calgary had some left over fuel after filling their containers. So we didn’t need to go into Port Renfro at all.

This trip is like the Yellowstone trip is interesting for me. I have always admired my dad for knowing what is ahead , for being prepaired. I have always thought of him as a planner, not the type to wing it. He has let me plan this trip, I am the one with more backpacking experience. Here we wing it. Get our fuel by purely chance He is the type who knows the answers, I am used to him being in charge. ( that is the role for a dad right) We were both surpired not to find a supply store close to the trail head. It was interesting to see him have the “I don’t know we’ll see what happens” attitude.
We registered with the ranger and got an orientation which include a video and walk through of the trail made by the ranger. We then walked down onto the beach about ½ mile and set up camp for the night. We were on Indain land, and one of the locals came by to collect $8 canadian for4 the ningh. Tom found a piece of drift wook and was trying to cut it to make a walking stick. After some effort Mike informed him that the was he was using might be a little dull since he had used ti to cut bathromm tiles back at this apartment. Thanks Mike. Mike wrote Mary a post card. We both wrote Bill. We waw a boakd eagle circling over towards Port Renfro. Weather was beautiful. We ate our first trail food and turned in.

The stove was new, think I got sand in the fuel cable. I spent to entire trip trying to figure out that damm stove. I dreampt about t-rex that night.

Day 1 Saturday, 1 August ( clear all day)

We got up early because we need to be at he point near the ranger cabin to catch a ferry across the river to the trail. Mike had problem with the new camp stove so we didn’t have oatmeal. We settled for a breakfast bar instead.

Probolly better anyway, can’t stand oatmeal. That was the last trip I packed oatmeal.

A little after 7 am we walked up to the phone near the ranger cabin an called mom.

This is a phone booth next to a brown river flowing to the sea. The sand is harder to walk on then the firm dirt. I prefer the dirt. This is supposed to be a hard trail that we are about to attempt. Dad dialed the call talked for a short while then handed me the phone. The hardest part of that trip was picking up that phone. I stood there stairing down the barrels of reality. We were pressed for time, I believe the fairy had arrived this was the last of chance on this trip for a phone. Mom had met the mail at the post office when it opened. The letter had arrived. I did not breath. Mom opened the mail, I waited¼.. She quickly read the opening formalities. I breathed. Waves of joy swept over me. I was euphoric, I doupt I had many comprehensible thoughts the rest of the next couple of days. My gamble of over three years of school had paid off. I now had job security, reasonable pay at a profession that I thought I enjoyed. Life seemed so spelled out. Everything should be easy from here. (all sounds sort of silly writing about it now, I really thought every thing would be smooth sailing from there.) The Pacific ocean lay before me, it was morning the trial was about to begin. I felt strong. My well used external framepack rested lightly apone my shoulders. A new trail was about to begin.
GREAT NEWS. Mike had been accepted. For the next several days, Mike seemed to be in a cloud with occasional babbling about being accepted. This was a very important event for him and Dad was glad to be there to share it with him.

We got packed up and hiked to the point at about 825 a.m when Mike discovered that he didn’t have the postcards he had written for Bill and Mary. He ran back and was able to find them. Luckily the ferry was a few minutes late.

Our first decision was whether to start the trail at Thresher Cove (saving a distanvce of about 6 KM and 4 hours) or to start the trail at the very beginning at Gordon River. Most of the experienced campers took the ferry to Thersher Cove . Mike and I suffered the trail. This part of the trail is very rugged with lots of ladders and climbing up and down. This area was new growth compaireed to ther virgin forest-but the tree were full height. Along the way we saw an old donkey engin-basically a steam boiler that pulls cable. They used these to grag tress that had been cut down. The trail to Thresher Cove was all forest trail with an occasional view of the Posrt San Juan inlet through the trees. The guild book called this “a 4 hour walk into hell” - who am I to argue. Tom hit the Gatoraid frequently and we took a couple of rests. We met tow other groups on this part of the trail- Anne and Bob from near Toronto and a Canadian family (two boys-about 9 and 11). The older boy and the father had hiked the trail before.

We arrived at Thresher Cove at about noon. The next part of the trail we were going to hike along the coast, so we needle to wait for the tide to start going out before we hiked that segment. This gave us a bit longer to rest and have lunch. Tom pumped water from a stream. Mike again had trouble with the stove-Bob and Anne chatted with us and Bob gave Mike some pointers. He had the same type of stove and some the same problems. We finally ate some Raman noodles. At about 2 p.m. we set off for Own Point.
How frustrating, how many different camp stoves I have used but can’t figure this one out. To this day I still have problems with that damm thing.
Most o fthe trip to Own Point was hpping across large rocks or walking across large logs that had washed up on the shore-a balanceing act most of the way with heavy packs. Owen paoin is very scenic with a natural arch. We had to wade through the arch to get around the point. Tom carried both sets of boots while Mike took some pictures. Some of the rocks were very slippery-Tom slipped and Mike’s boots got wet (soaked) . For some reason, Tom’s boot stayed dry. On the trip to Own Point we often me tAnne and Bob rom Toronto and a group of 5 men who had been in in the same fraternity at Alberta. At Owen Point we saw sea lions in the water and on the rocks near by.

Once around the point, the pace was much easier. We were walking along the Juan de Fuca Strait. We were walking on rock for for a good part of the way , but with having to scramble over the driftwood logs. There were some surge channels that we crossed by walking across driftwood logs. Willie, one of the 5 fraternity brothers, took a spill trying to get over one the surge channels. Mike helped him up and he was OK.

After a few KMs we move to forest trail to awoid some th more dangerous surge cahnnels. The forest trail for the rest of the day and the next was very muddy and with many tangled toots. It was very important to watch your footing every step. We were also going up and dosne hills continuously. There were amy ladders lto go up and dwon ravines that were too steep to hike. There were sometimes shaky with a rotted rung here and there. In a lot of cases, the trail would og over a down tree log to san a small ravine. The tip tof the log was usually flattened, but with all the mud it is easy to see how people can get hurt by slipping over this part of the trail. There were alos boardwalks through some of the marshy ares, again with some planks that were broken or shaky.

We arrive at Camper Creek at about 730 or 800 pm. To get to the camp area, we crossed the creak by a hand pulled cable car. It was a tight fit for two of us in the car with our packs but it worked well enough. At the camp, Tom discaoved blisters on both big toes and a bruised big toe nail on the right foot. These caused by boots just a little too big., The next day he switched to two pairs of socks and moleskin and the condition of the feet improved, by the end of the trial he had no blisters.

We ate some packaged lasagna, washed up, pumped some water and truned in early. Total distance hiked day 1 was only 13 KMs but most of the hikers only hiked 8 KM since they started at Thresher Cove.



DAY 2- Saturday, 2 August (weather was misty rain in the morning-clear in the afternoon)
We had a slower next morning. We got up at about 8 am. Mike looked very comfortable and there seemed no reason to hurry. Day 2 would be all forest trail so the tide were not a factor. We had oatmeal for breakfast and set off at about 9 am. When the rain started, we dreagged out the back pack covers and rain gear. There was no wind and so it wasn’t unpleasant. After awhile, I took my rain gear off and just used the pack cover since I swear a lot and was damp anyway. There were lots and lots of ladders on day 2. Tom’s feet were tender, but O.K. We were into virgin forest by now. (since logged)

At about 1 pm, we stopped at Cullite Creek. In looking across the creek we could see about a 200 rung ladder that we would have to climb-so there seemed to be some incentive for a longer than normal rest. Tom baithed in a pool and washed his hair. Mike reas a book he had started on the plan and that he had been reading on the ferry. Tom ate some Ramen noodles, while Mike had the remaining lasagna. Both of us napped on a log for awhile. The camp area there was delightful, with fresh water and a nice beach.

After about 1 ½ hours we set off for Qalburn Creek. We creossed Culite Creek by cable car and climbed the 200 rung ladders to the top. After a short rest, we continued. We arrived at Walburn Creek at about 7 pm. Tom was dead-Mike just tired. After a short nap and wash in a cold pool, Tom came back to life. We had beef stew for dinner. Later Mike showed Tom some of his Kempo stretching exercises. Tom participated which probolly helped both of us with the aches and pain which for Tome were significant. Tome turned shortly after 9 pm Mike later. There probably about 30 person at the camp including most of the people metioned so far.

Total distance hike day 2 was 19 KMs
That night there was no moon. I stayed up reading using the fire for light. I remember the ocean and the fullness of the stary sky. What story would my time hold? I was at the end of one journey (the climb for acceptance into PT school) about to start a second climb. I still had an idea that life would platue, my major challenge was over, I had risen to the top and been accepted. Smooth sailing from here on.
Day 3 –Sunday, 3 August (weather clear)

Everyone said we needed to get up early so that we could beat the tides. Low tide was about 740am and there were some spots up the coast a way sthat we needed to hit at lower tides if we were to avoid th forest trails. By then we were ready for some beach hiking. We (and many othe rgroups ) were shooting to be out by 700 am. We left on time but some other “early starters” were still in ther sleeping bags. Tom waded the creek (only possible at low tide). Even with the sandals, it was very slippery and he came near to slipping a couple of times but he made it. Mike decided to use the cable car-unfortunately, he got in facing the wrong way and so had a difficult time pulling himself across once gravity had pulled him to the center of the creek. The beach sand was realively firm and at times we walked on the sandstone shelf or rocks. We saw aome tracks from the forest down to the ocean in tow locations. At the time, Tome thought they might be cougar-later on we decided they were river otter. We saw some whales on several occasions off the coast. They were too far out to identify whether they were humpback or gray. The gray is supposed to have spots on the tail.

Breakfast had bveen only some granola bars and so we were getting hungry when we saw what looked like a shack up a head of us just off the beach. As we come close, we swa a sign that said Chez Monique. I think this was on the Indain reservation between Vancouver Point and Bonilla Point. Chez Monique was a snack bar which which served hot breakfast, sandwiches and that had sodas, candy bars, cold beer and some supplies. Mike and I settle for a breakfast of eggs, bacon, hash browns and toast. It was a very hearty breakfast and welcome break. Tom had a diet coke before we left. There were a lot of hikers there from both directions. The cook (Monique?) said about 90% of the hikers stopped to buy something. One group we talked to while we ate included a physical education teacher from Victoria. She said that she takes her class (high school) on the trail each spring.

We continued on the coast until KM44, just before Carmanah Point light house when we switched back to the forest trail. After a short hike around the point, we saw the lighthouse and toured the grounds. Everything was very scenic, freshly painted with beautiful gardens. We understood that in the near future, these lighthouses will be automated so there will be no family living there. I suspect the gardens may not be as well tended in the future. 

2001 trip into the Sierrias with coworkers from L to R, UK Green, The Planners, me then Daniel.


Daniel, then me


The 2 planners































Journey begins:

Paper work finished I am done with my work for the day. I pick up a notepad and scribble King’s Canyon, north trails. Deciding it would be prudent to let someone else in California know where I will be for the next week I look over at Kyle. “Going to be in Kings Canyon with Daniel and some other s for the next week or so.”
“King’s Canyon you’ve done this before?” He’s got a crooked knowing smile, he always has that smile, and it kind of pisses me off.
“Ya, did some backpacking in New Mexico for 10 days or so. Did that trip twice¼ Yellowstone, West Coast trail Vancouver Canada, Big South Fork down in Tennessee and last summer my buddy and I did 50 of the toughest 100 miles on the Appellation Trail in Southern Maine. “ Didn’t even loose that smile.
” Ya but that aint no Sierra’s”
Looking up “ Shitt¼ I’ve hit the Sierras before”
Still smilen he replies, “Ya but not with Daniel and his friends.”

I had gotten a pretty intense e-mail earlier that week. The message listed out the mileage, ascents, and descents. Attached was a very clear spelled out warning that should be training daily, if any problems were to arise and I were not able to finish the trail the rest of the crew would continue and Daniel would accompany me off the trail. I was pretty offended at first, even intimidated. I looked at the mileage; Nathan and I had covered harder terrain in Maine. This note made since. I was an unknown, Daniel spoke for me but they were making it clear, if I could not finish the trail Daniels vacation would be ruined, not there’s. The note ended with an invitation for me to join the group for exercises to help prepare for the trip. I was concerned. The last time I was truly concerned about not being able to keep up with the rest I was 13 years old preparing for my first ever backpacking trip. I knew I was not a runner. Didn’t want anyone running me through any loops so decided I had to miss the training sessions. I figured I was doing something active at least several times a week. I have either been playing in the ocean or riding my bike. I was banking on the fact that most of them would overpack.

I see Daniel earlier that day at lunch, he speaks with a thick French accent, ” You're sure you want to do this, You ready?”
“Ya, Ya¼.I’m sure, been packed since Saturday.”
“Good, those guys can get a little intense. I told them you would hike out on your hands if you had to¼.. Don’t worry about it; I think you won’t have a problem. If you do I’ll stay back with you. No big deal¼. I think you’ll do fine.”
He gives me directions and later that evening and I get terribly lost trying to get to his place. I get there at approximately 700. We head to several stores before we have head back to his place. He wants to buy a floppy plastic container for holding dirty water from the stream. I am confused. I think he is after a drinking bladder.
“No. No. he replies, its for dirty water. For collecting water to pump or bathe in.”
He must be joking. I am still confused. Bathe?, ya,¼ must be a joke your backpacking. Why on earth would anybody need to collect water to pump? You just go to the stream and start pumping. I say nothing; he is in much better shape then I. Recently he has tried to recruit me to take on two minitriatholons. More weight for him will make me look better. He wants a bucket, he’s got one. I don’t understand, and I didn’t feel comfortable yet giving advice. We talk about the terrorist and the trade center. Heard for me to really write about that. We head back to his place and meet Mountain Goat (MG). (Not her real name) She is one of the most fit females I have ever seen. She removes a bike from her car and asks Daniel if she can leave it in his room. He starts to put it in the garage. “No, here’s the really big favor, I need it put in your room. If anyone stole that bike I would be at a big loss.” MG drives an old hatch back Honda. She gives the car some encouragement; we pack the car full and head for the hills. MG has been training with the group for weeks. One of her first comments to Daniel was regarding how surprised she was that they had let me come. I sit in the back and remain quite. Neat¼..She did not mean to make me feel awkward. I spit out my backcountry resume as casually as I can and we drive on. Daniel and MG talk about some 200-mile bike trail that they had ridden. Come to find out MG had trained for the Olympic cycling team several years earlier. She barely missed making the team, with a third place in the qualifying rounds. We drive on into the night seeing several deer along back mountain roads. We make a camp along the road close to the trail head at 230 AM. I slept outside in good old troop 109 fashion. No planes flew overhead. No football/baseball week, the entire country seemed still pausing to recatch its breath, waiting to see what would happen next. That Monday I report to work and am greeted by police directing traffic around a hospital building. Bomb threat. I sleep under the stars thinking about all this. We all half expect a war with all the Arabs to be in full swing by the time we return to civilization. This all happened Monday, it is Wednesday.
Day 1:
I meet the trips planners (I’ll call the couple the Planners). They are a married couple who have brought their dog, Hyde. Hyde wears a small dog pack that hangs on both sides down her trunk and nylon dog shoes on each foot. I ask about the shoes, “ You know it’s interesting, most vets are clueless about them. We really find they are necessary, or her feet get worn and cut from the rocks.” We make pleasant conversation. They both look well packed and carry external frame packs. We talk about how superior external frame backpacks compared to internal frames. Both prefer the thin gray sleeping pads over therma rests. Both wear lightweight canvas boots, one hikes with a ski pole, an Indiana Jones hat and long paints. Both have more backcountry experience then me. I also meet the fifth hiking companion. He is a gentleman from England who spoke with an English accent. I think he has had his green card for about a year or so. I’ll call him UK Green. (I met to ask if I could use his real name in the journal) He packed an internal frame pack, carried 4 quarts of water at almost all times, used a wind proof tent. Tucked away in his pack he would later produce a teapot, which he used for tea with dinner. He has done many climbs including a climb a couple of years ago in the Himalayan’s at 20,000+ feet. I was the youngest, trained the least but I was also probably the lightest packed. (See the old Maine journal for packing details.) My food was dry, requiring cooking only at dinner times. In addition to my soccer shorts, t-shirt 2 pair wool socks and bandanna I hiked in I also brought a poncho, wool hat, fleece pull over, a water pump and long johns. I carried my tin bowl but managed to forget my fork. Not sure if I impressed them or grossed them out when at dinner time I would simply snap a branch off the fire and use it to eat. “You need a fork?” ¼.”Naw, I’m ok. Who needs a fork when you got sticks.” Easy to clean anyway. Maybe they thought it was a Kentucky thing. With that said I did borrow a fork from time to time. My pack is older, the same I have used science I was thirteen. My hiking boots well worn, owned science fall of 94. I am now twenty-five, sure hope the equipment holds. I am among some pretty strong athletes. I feel very much the young new guy. I reassure myself, build my inner strength. I try to feel solid, it almost works. We’ll just see I tell myself. “Shit¼ I got this, come on now¼. What’s your name now anyway? .All right¼.Now then, what you afraid of?” (I think Nadine, an old scout friend said that to me once. At the time he was modeling himself after Jewels from Pulp Fiction. ) Good little pep talk never hurts. I feel better.
The plan is to bushwhack in for the first two miles then pick up the trail. We hike following a dry creak bed. Pines trees are all around; the ground is littered with extremely large pinecones. About two miles in my hip belt snaps. THIS IS A VERY BIG DEAL. I would not be possible for me to finish the trip caring 50 pounds souly on my shoulders. I think for a moment. I recalled an argument I once had with Mr. McCullough, my old scoutmaster about the uselessness of knots. I recall, and use an extra shoestring to lash my hip belt onto the pack frame. I am good to go. The lash is done well and holds for the rest of the trip. As usual Mr. McCullough was right. I owe a lot to my old scout leaders. My hip is sore for the first two days. We spend most of the morning trying to find the trail. Bushwhacking just sucks, avoid it at almost all costs. My companions are good at their map skills and we are able to more or less stay on course. They use a navigation GPS system that is able to state our altitude and location. I don’t have a map, almost preferred it that way. There is much confusion about location; the trails are not well used. We hiked for most of the day passing through abandoned cabins and farmlands. We took many half hour breaks. The tail remained thin, often losing and refinding it after a good twenty-minute search. We camped that night in a meadow among Giant Sequoias. There is a small tinkle of a creek close by. All of my companions use their plastic bendable buckets to bathe. The water is cold and I prefer to be dirty. Daniel gives me some of his left over potatoes a sausage, which I am able to eat with my fingers. Not bad, the meal is much better then the dehydrated dinner I had planned.
Day 2: The next morning camp break down occurs at a leisurely pace. I crawl out of my tent a while after dawn. I roll my thermarest, lower my bear bag and stuff my sleeping bag. Most people cook breakfast, I don’t giving me even more free time. Over all we spent over about three hours breaking down camp. We did not start the trail until past 11:00. We hike for about an hour and a half, and then stop for a half hour. The land that morning was flat. After the break I set the pace and we continue to make good time till 3:45 or so. I eat granola bars dipped in peanut butter. We start an ascent. I am now definitely not leading. In preparations all of my companions have trained for at least an hour or more a day. They can go very heard and ascend much faster then I. I probably ascend the same pace I always have. These guys blow past me. I keep it respectable but it takes much effort. We almost stop at a small camp by a stream. We are behind in mileage and we still have two hours daylight. The two planners disagree on the camp whether or not to move on. I stay out. The decision is to move onward. We take a mad pace, lead by the planner who lost the argument. We decide to hike for an hour then stop. I put a good pace to keep up with the leader, the others string out along the countryside. I am trying to still establish that this old Kentucky boy can keep up with theses Californians. I am the youngest on this trip and I still felt a need to prove myself. The leader and I pushing hard (least for me anyway). An hour passes. No camps we continue to climb. Second hour goes by and we continue on. I am hangen on, tired. We are all getting tired. We finally break camp in a dusty meadow. Here I spend most of the evening convincing Mountain Goat (MG) and myself that my dehydrated food is top notch. Don’t ask why, I think I was probably just getting myself motivated to eat the crap. “Oh man this stuff is good. Just look at it!!! Wow¼ you know I’ve paid 30 bucks at some fancy restaurant and the food wasn’t nearly as good as this.” She was not used to my humor, and politely replied, ”Really I didn’t know those where that good.”
Course I had to keep it going, “ No, I’m telling ya, Backpackers Pantry (a brand name) is the way to go. Just look, almost no flavor bursts and all prepared in a burnable package.” I turn the mush with much enthusiasm. She laughs catching on. Let me explain to concept of flavorbursts. Flaverbusts, were named by a bunch of thirteen year olds scouts on their first extended backpacking trip way back in 1991. The trip occurred on a scout ranch out in New Mexico. Lasting 10 days, almost all of our food was dehydrated. Flavor bursts are the sheer delight that occurs when eating a hydrated, dried cooked dinner and discovering pockets of dryed unhydrated food mixed in the moist mush. They leave a strong taste and interesting texture in your mouth.
It was getting pretty cold at about 9:00. I begin to worry that I did not bring enough cloths. Camp is at 9,000 ft. My sleeping bag is good, I have a thermarest to help keep me warm. I take my tennis shoes off put them in the bottom of my bag Rain poncho, top and bottom get scrunched up along with several empty 2 gallon zip lock bags, thera rest cover, and tent bags. I sleep in my wool hat and strip down to my boxers and t-shirt. I also stick my feet in a garbage bag for extra warmth. In the end I go to sleep warm, waking later hot and sweaty.
Day 3: The goal that morning was to leave by 8:00, with the expectation we would really leave by 8:30. Getting out of my sleeping bag I manage to rip off a good section of my thumbnail. Using my fingernail clippers I file away the rip. I then careful examine the rest of my nails. Though dirty all pass inspection. There is ice on the tents. I munch down some granola bars and watch the others cook. 8:30 comes and goes. I open my only luxury for the trip, a cherry coke and do some writing. 9:00 passes. I finish my Coke and sit happily. The two planners that camped further away came over ready to begin the trail. They help the others get packed. One begins to ask me about the Appalachian Trail. I talk about the trail, talk about backpackers midnight, 9:00 PM. I did fail to mention 10:00 AM is usually considered late noon. Everyone is packed and we continue to ascent. We finally break tree line. We decide to change our route to stay at higher altitudes and the two females in the group set a fast up hill pace. We stop twice for half hour periods. I am learning that with this bunch any stop it is assumed that it is a 30-minute break and you should start eating. No official lunchtime. We continue on through the morning. Later that afternoon the group gets separated. The group sits by a lake while the female planner heads back to find her husband and UK green. We have been hiking in little traveled backcountry. We have only seen a couple of hunters thus far. Not too much signs of other humans. We sit and think, ” They really should have been here by now.” In this kind of country a person could wander for days on the trails with out seeing anyone. And a person could wander for much longer off trails before finding help. I am only a little concerned, both are skilled with maps, have the only maps, and should be able to refine the group with out much delay. I thought about my emergency whistle. Scouts have prepared me well. The dog keeps getting up to search for its mother. Hyde takes constant comforting, even two commands to stay. The only other dog I have seen better behaved was a Seeing Eye dog. Everyone returns, evidently they stopped to take care of blisters, and take a snack. We decide to camp at tree line next to a beautiful mountain lake surrounded on three sides by mountain peaks. Camp is set at about 3:45. This will be the base camp at 10,027 ft for the next two nights. My companions spend the day bathing and hanging out. I eat talk and write. Later that evening we all sit by the fire. Conversation ranges from complete history on England through WII, to all the different kinds of toilets, W/C’s, found throughout the world. The engineering of which was of course discussed in great detail. The benefits of traveling with such a worldly group. No final conclusions on the W/C’s were ever made. Later that evening as everyone returns to their tents. I eat a late dinner of Backpacker’s Pantry Chicken Terkie. This time it actually tastes good. The last one to bed I hang my bear bag and look the camp over. I prepare for a cold night. My pack is next to my tent. I leave the compartments open to allow any mice or anything else sniff as they need. My last thoughts were about how I had eaten tuna fish next to my tent. That was stupid, any spilled juice would leave a strong smell. I turn in. After twenty minutes I hear plastic rustle. Must be a mouse climbing in my pack. I lessen. I hear it again much louder, like a stomp. That aint no mouse¼. SHIT>>>SHIT SHIT¼Bear!!!¼¼.Breath, breath quietly. What the hell am I suppose to do? Keep quite, wait till this bloody bear leaves? Or make noise and scare this fool off. This fool probolly 300+ pounds, my ass is confined in a sleeping bag. Stay quite, I remind my self to breath. More plastic crackles¼.the side of my tent shakes. SHIT SHIT SHIT¼¼
Then something weird happens. I hear plastic crinkle on both sides wait¼..then the tent shakes. My heart is still going. Waite¼. Aint two bears now¼ this can’t be right. It’s the wind. I am using a plastic ground cloth for the first time to protect a barrowed tent. It takes me a while to convince my self this but I finally dose to sleep. I was real close to waking an entire camp because the wind was blowing my tent. Feel pretty macho now.
Day 4
I awoke near dawn hot. Ice had formed on the tent. Today there is talk about climbing Silver Peak Mountain 11,600 feet. It is a relaxing morning and even I bathe. Granola and brownies are breakfast. We leave at 12:07 and start the climb over the saddle of Cox’s Comb. As we descend the saddle we take a group picture and wind down between Rainbow Lake left, and Margot lake right. We then plan the ascent and filter water from the lakes. In Margot late I stop and notice light brown spotted frogs. They are about the size of a quarter. “Didn’t you see those earlier? There were hundreds of them when we passed Frog Lake.” “ Ohh¼ now that would make science now¼” Silver peak has a sister peak 11420 we called bronze peak. So named by Daniel. The plan is to ascend bronze peak then follow the ridge to silver peak. The ascent is difficult, for some reason or another I was the first one to start the climb and I am leading. I pick a 40-degree slope up a crack between two rock faces. We follow the crack up to where it splits. The one to the left runs closer to bronze peak the one to the right leads away from the peak. The one to the right is not as steep so that is the one I pick. I keep climbing. I look below to see that the rest of the group take the left split. I have worked my way up 1/3 of the crack and from my vantage point the right side looked to be the easiest climb. My stubbornist came through and I continue on. I make the ridge and can fairly easy make my way over to the group. I am getting angry with my self for being so foolish. This type of terrain it is very easy to get hurt. Splitting up was stupid. I pick my way along and meet the others who are just coming over the crest. I stay at my elevated position and drink while everyone breaks. A half hour later their group splits and Daniel, Mountain goat, and UK green all cont the ascent of the ridge to the right of Bronze Mountain. The planners are concerned about there dog and return to camp. We all meet on the ridge to the right of Bronze peak. UK green says, “It’s two thirty, at 3:00 we have to turn back.” We take off, Mountain Goat and I had only brought hip packs for this day hike and set the pace. After much bouldering we reached the peak of Bronze mountain. Shortly after Daniel and UK green meet us, we sit and eat lunch at 11,420 ft. It is 3:05 Silver peak will have to wait. We scramble down the mountain choosing a different descent. We boulder back to the ridge then pick a wash path down into the valley. To our left there is a parallel ridge with snow still lurking in the mountain’s shadows. The ridge is bare and rugged, grayed rock running into charcoal black. Very rugged in front of us lay Mammoth Mountain in full view. Margot Lake is cradled by a large green grassy meadow. In the meadow there are feeder steams, which flow into the lake. We are all feeling quite good. Daniel turns to me and in his thick French accent says, ”You know MG is quite a goat.” I laughed, “You better watch it.. Those could be fighting words. Most people where I am from don’t take too kindly to that kind of talk.” I used a thick southern accent just for fun. MG says to Daniel, “Thanks, I actually take that as a complement.” “No, she is a goat. Mike you just smell like goat.” Strange Belgium humor. We all do our best at singing Adlevise from the sound of music and continued downward into the meadow. In the meadow the streams form pools were schools of large trout gather with brown tops and orange bellies. We continue on to camp. Here everyone but myself bathe. Water is just to cold for my blood. I decide it’s finally time for my lunch.
It’s about 7:00 and the rest eat and we trade backcountry stories. UK green tells us about the Himalayans and his 20,000ft + trip. “ The shurpa’s really carry most of your equipment. Your pack is actually pretty light.” With that said it still sounded like a challenging exciting trip. One of the planners talks about how his friend would shit in a sealed PVC pipe when snow camping. After managing to aim your poop properly you then add water to make a creamy pour able past. You then stir the mixture with a stick so that when you return home you can simply poor the mixture down the toilet. Thus it is known as a Shit slurry, an invention of a friend of his. At first I thought he said shit slurpy,¼well now there’s a tasty thought. The Slurry remains a favorite topic of conversation for the next twenty-four hours. Pretty hard core low impact camping. We decide to leave at 10:00 the next morning. Sleep comes easy, as I am tired. I have crazy dreams.
Day 5
I awake at dawn and decide to stay in my sleeping bag until the sun hits my tent. Frost covers to the tent and I was going to stay warm. The rest of the groups were already warming up by the fire. I finally get up eat some granola for breakfast and dry my rain frosty rain fly and frozen stiff t-shirt, washed from the night before, in the sun. I then got my things together, wrote and drew until 10:00 when we all left. We followed the same trail we used to enter the camp sight two days before. I spent the morning talking about scouts. I talked about trips we used to take, the importance of a boy lead troop, and the need for youths to have mentors. I think most of life’s important lessons can be learned from backpacking. Be prepared, team work, carry your weight and live simply.
We rebroke tree line as we headed over the next ridge at 10,500. Most of that morning we were hiking at 10,00 ft. We follow the ridge to arch rock. Here we stop take some pictures and take a break. After arch rock we descend 3000 ft with very scenic mountain views. Even on day 5 the power and beauty of the Sequoia’s continues to impress. At the base of our descent we eat at a small stream. I devour my tuna, giving the rest to Hyde, the dog. After receiving input from some of my companions I decide it’s time to shave. I pull out my Safeway special disposable from my pack. I wash my face in the stream and begin. The razor keeps getting clogged, but now with hair. “Man according to this razor my face is flat out filthy.”
“Well¼. Someone should give him a mirror.”
“Why didn’t any one tell me I was this dirty?”
“Well I did start calling you pigpen” MG replied. My sun block had trapped and held dirt all over my face. It was a new brand. I am unable to shave. We continue hiking and stop to talk with some bear hunter. They were waiting for the pack animals to bring down their kill. The hunters tell us the first news of the world in five days. It all sounded like a military war against Afghanistan. This upsets me. To many dead. A war will not discourage terrorist. We follow the road to Onion Spring Camp. The camp is next to a drivable road and litter is everywhere. Bullet shells, cigarette butts and garbage are all about. The trees are packed full with bullet holes, which left sap bleeding and pussing out of their scars. There is a stream and an old out house next to camp. We remove all the burnable garbage, place it in the fire pit and start a fire. I sit and write enjoying the meadow and the warmth of the sun around me. A very close gunshot causes me to jump. I turn to look at the fire pit and see a large puff of ash. “Live ammo! Live ammo!!, every one get back!!” I am now crouching behind a tree. We all stay back and wait. The fire continues to burn. I am upset.” Thought California boys would be smarter than this. Rednecks in Kentucky aint even this stupid. Now who goes leaven live ammo in a fire pit.”? We wait. Looking back on all this, this next part might not sound so smart. We decide to build the fire high. We all stand clear and burn out any more live ammo that might still be buried in the ash. I sit behind a tree and continue to write. The fire burn high, time passes. The fire burns down. We all get more comfortable and finish preparing camp. We talk about the upcoming war and the history of the Middle East. UK green knows a lot about British history in the Middle East. It is all very interesting. We all agree to an early start. Departure is 8:00. Different people have different wake up times depending on how long it has taken them over the past week. UK green had the wristwatch and would be responsible for waking people. We sleep with out tent fly’s to keep the tents dry. This will avoid drying the tents in the morning. Before we went to bed some one pulls an exploded butane bottle from the fire. Well there’s our gunshot. I slept well that night. Full view of the large trees looming overhead, the still quite sky. It is peaceful. How big and gentle the world looked that night as I drifted to sleep.
Day 6
UK green wakes the camp one by one. I am the last to get out of my tent. It is chilly, I am in my hiking shorts and we meet the 8:00 goal. UK green had woken everyone up 15 minutes early and had been periodically announcing the time 15 minutes fast. He did what he had to do. We hike out on the dirt road. The group slits in two, the first group stops only once for a quick snack and cover the 8-10 miles well before the 2:00 goal. My body felt very good, I felt strong and solid. The second group arrives some time later, taking several stops for food. I change cloths for the first time all week. Now that I have arrived to the car I am ready to get all the dirt possible off my body. We decide to drive to get some lunch. We stopped at Mexican place with American flags and patriotic poetry posted all over the walls. This Land is Your land played on the radio. America was reacting. We bought a paper and crowded around. I read out loud to the group which all sat in silence. After reading for a while I turned the paper over and went to the bathroom to wash my face, hair and hands. Mountain Goat drove us home, Pink Floyd playing in the sunset. I felt good, felt young. A sort of strange heaviness lay pone me. Yet my body on soul felt fresh. In the wake of such tragedy I had been detached. The tragedy was ever as real but I was given an opportunity to simplify, to embrace, and truly observe the details of nature. I was once stranded on high way 17, a mountainous, curvy highway. While sitting waiting for my car’s radiator to cool I noticed for the first time truly details of the hillside. The calmness of the grass, the gentle rocks, the smell of pine. Contrasts with the stress of a broken car. The very very constant 65-m/ph traffic maddening by. When looked at closely in these situations, the rock the grass can be glorified. An art teacher used to routinely tell me, to emphases a red color you surround it with green. Red and green are contracts, mixed and they make black. Make a contrast in both color and texture and the eye will notice. I noticed, I noticed maybe more then before. Though I have not traveled the Sierra’s like this but I've spent many an hour looking at this picture. It’s the picture of backcountry. The colors have always been there. The contrast now emphasis, the shapes the roundness and power. It is rare in life you are given such deep darks. It is rare that one has the opportunity to compare those darks. In this craziness take time out to enjoy those little simple things. Enjoy the everyday greens, securities, opportunity to grow, love from friends we all come to accept and expect. Leaning and attempting to understand the reds, the hate, the blood, we understand the good, and thus the reds make the green more brilliant. Live well above all use understand and enjoy goodness when it presents. With green there is growth. We must learn growth and love.
The realities of the civilized world wash over me. I return to work and begin my routine.

2000 Maine journal on the AT with nate dog Cheez and Nate trail begins
I have been wet for a couple of days. toward the end of the trial.


last day, bloody feet.








 Yes this is the trail, extreamly rugged.  


I crossed the stream to the left of the picture about 30 ft from the waterfall. This was after very heavy rains.  I made it but it was a dumb thing to do. I did not have any other choice if I wanted to keep going.

 Nate and I first night at the lake we camped by.


last day on the trail above a low cloud line.

peg leg and nate dropping us off.



The Journal Main rough draft

Nathan and I plotted a 50 mile trip starting at Riliey on Rt 4 heading south to Grafton notch. This was desided after we had arrived in Maine over a chicken sandwich at a service plazza. There was discusion on whether or not to attempt 60 mies. Nathan talked me out o fit. Later I was to thank him. We finished our lunch and head up to Grafton state park. It was here we expected to find a welcome center where we could ask about transprotation to the trail head. No such place existed and we begain to stressout. When driving through the small park we spotted two trail rangers, they advised us to seek a shuttle at a local bed and brakfast. After trying several local spots with no avail we finally ran across the Anover Guest House. (http://www.andoverguesthouse.com/)

The inn keepr
He had long stringy white hair that went down to above his shoulder blades. He kind of hobbeled around and at first I wondered if he had a broken foot. I looked down then I realizing his foot was missing. He had had a ambutation below his knee and wore the most basic out of date prothesis I had ever seen. I have never seen one that basic, not even in pictures. In fact so basic it was not covered in any of my physcial therapy classes. Home made? Who knows. I later find out he had lost his foot in a motorcycle accident. He talked in a funny Maine sort of way and I could not understand all he had to say. His speech was slurred, I attributed this from years of alcoholism. He had a barreled chest and would cough and wheeze occasonly, maybe indicating the first signs of emphassema.

In the very small town of Andover he had 13 relatives most of wich owned camp grounds or fishing cabins close by. He introduced himself as peg leg.


The house was a three story, old home with a large front porch. It was conviently located across from a small grocery/liquer store. There was also a baseball dimond that could be viewed from the front porch.
We negotiated the price and arranged for a 10:00 shuttle to our starting point. Nathan and I split a pizza and had some thoughtful conversation. After dinner we packed our packs as it was getting dark. Aas we finish packing our bags an otherwise attractive brunette with massive legs bearing scars and scabs all over her thighs comes over to us carring a case of beer. She introduces her self as bugger. (what the hell kind of name is that? Now I know that aint on no birth certificate.) Turns out most
all the through hikers have these weird trail names. It was her last day of her 300 mile section hike. She had been hiking with Roy, a north bound through hiker and this pot belly dead head named Green Green. Her mostly drunk yuppy dad and his girl friend played pattle ball in the frount yard.
She tells us to help our selves to her beer. Her and a black school teacher named Sure toes ancwer some questions about the trail. We popped in a movie that Nathan grabbed earlier and Sure toes Nat and I watched untill later that evening. The movie was called October Sky, a sappy tear jerker about a boy’s conflict with his dad. I had to excuse my self several times as I was over come by tears. Later after the movie I leave Nathan to his reading and join a very drunk Bugger Roy and Green Green in the kitchen. An empty pizza box and several shampain bottles lay scattered about.
Roy was in his mid 30’s. He was a north bounder who had been hiking with Green Green since Georgia. This was his thrid time completing the trail. They planned to take the next day off and contine North starting at Grayson notch. I told them of our 5 day treak which seemed very meak next to his almost 6000 miles of trail experience. “There not really such thing as a through hiker. Take your time enjoy your self. It takes a life time to understand the AT.” Ya our 50 mile grand adventure did not seem so grand any more. I was still very excited. They make a few jokes about south bounders, remember southbounders have only 250 miles completed next to their 1900 miles. I just sit and grin. They then start to comment on how crazy late it had gotten. I check the clock which reads 11:30. They got up and had a lot of trouble walking. Booger desides to urinate on the back steps. She takes hold of the rail, drops her draws and squats while holding onto the rail. She slips and baddly cuts her head. She is half nagged, laying in her urine bleeding badly from her head. She just finished 50 out of the toughest 100 miles on the AT to be done in by a back porch step. She survives, and leaves town drunk again with her dad at the wheel early the next morning.

The nest morning I awake to find the bunk room empty with the exception being Nathan alseep across the room. Nate and I awake, and get our stuff ready. Peg Leg drives us to the trail head and attempts to send us in the wrong direction on the trail. Fortontaly he was corrected by a through kiker that needed a hich back into Ransly. The weather was good. We started at 12:30 from Rt 4 and were told we had a nice flat trail ahead of us. My pack was at least 50 lbs. Nate summed the first 3 miles well, ”What do you mean they call this flat.”
Ya see in Maine they don’t believe in swich backs. Way up north they don’t even belive in dirt. Yes no joke, dirt dose not exist. Every once in a while you will see some black stuff in between the tangle of roots and rocks where a handfull of leaves are decaying. That dose not count. THERE is NO DIRT in MAINE. I gess they also figure the best way to keep a trail marked is to simply biuld it on top of a stream. Maybe they thougth the hikers could fish as they hopped from rock to rock and catch them selves a good dinner as they make there way to the next lean-to. It was not as bad as this but it was some of the worst kept trails I had ever seen. And yes no matter what you might currently belive swich backs are a good thing. Somewhere during that first day I realized I forgot toilet paper. Nathan had just returned from Africa was still concerned about his explosive diarhrea (it’s a great story just ask him). He agrees to share part of his toilet paper role and I stop sweating. We cover 9 miles with out to much trouble and camp at Sabbath Day Pond lean-to. We wat frozen hot dogs cooked over a small fire. Here we meet several South bound hikers.
Freght train is a plump tall fellow with mostly gray hair and a thick brown beard. He is in his mid thrities. He desended Katahdin(the starting point) almost two months ago. He told a good story about hiking to a lean-to up north to find a cooler filled with ice and 4 Budwisers. He talked about missing his Jim Beam. He was married for 4 years when reciently his wife died from complications of diabeties. He is hiking to raise money for the diabeties foundation. He carries there wedding picture on a shoe string around his neck.
Brian, trail name Homeless, is a young some what burnt out southbound hiker. He had been on the trail for 30 days covering some 250 or so miles. He comments several times about how he wishes there were more females on the trail. His buddy hopped off the trail a week ago with a knee injury. The next day he gets some of that good old exlposive diarrhea and gets off the trail. Later from a conversation with Freight Train he headed into Rainsly, a local town. Homeless starts talking about getting off the trail and desides to spend a week with his girl friend who lives in the area.
Heady was a slim guy in his sixties. He held several nursing degrees most of his sons became doctors. He was an all around nice guy, but definitely had a no nonsence attitude about him. Evidently earlier that day Freight train received a no smoking lecture. Heady was the guy who used dentle floss for fishing.
Ohio boy (don’t know his real name) had only been on the trail for 2 days. He wore combat boots, (I highly recommend not doing this), and carried an old army nap sac with no waist belt. His two older brothers had been in the army and helped him pack. He was concerned about his low mile days. He ha only one water bottle, but remembered a retractable fly fishing rod. He emptied and left some stuff at the shelter. He had just finished a graphic arts degree. He said he didn’t feel like working, had some extra money and desided to hike from Maine to Vargina.
A couple of North bounders came in later on in th evening. We offered all our left over hot dogs. The north bounders called themselves The Iowa Boys. I talked with one named Cornbread a little while about what is was like to be almost done with the trail. “Kind of mixed feeling,” he said,”Part of us is sad to be done with this life style. The other part looks forward to taking only weekend trips where you can take anything you want.” They all wore tennis shoes, carried no tent only a tarp. I asked Cornbread if he would do the trip agoinin a couple of years. He thought a moment and said,” I could see myself doing the traill or a big part of it anyway with a girl friend or a wife.”
After dark the moon was close to full so I walked down to the lake and sat on the rocks. The black inky waters of Maine spread out before me. Pine covered the hill sides and every once in a while animals could be herd snapping twigs or making gentle spashes on the water. Nathan and I talked untill very late in the evening about the paradoxes of woman. Every once in a while cyotes would meke errie calls from over a near by hill. I have been in backcountry many times before, but never had I herd the sound of the lonesome cyote. I felt pretty rugged.
The next morning we were the last to rise, the last to leave camp. Felt like such a slacker and were hiking by 10:00. It was now that I was told that the errie “cyote” calls were not cyotes at all but some kind of water fowl called a loon. As we were leaving camp we met Waterfall.
Waterfall was an attrative 30 year old with long blond pig tails. She had spent the last couple of years teaching a backpacking class at a collage somewhere in the north. She decented Katahdin 28 days ago. She looked well equiped. She wore gaiters, good boots, carried those ski walking poles, and carried a medium size internal frame pack. Before teaching she transcribed Lean-to shelter register journals for the state. “ I spent ten years dreaming about hiking the AT. Least year I was scedualed to make the trip. The trip was canncled because I had mono. When I finally accended Katahdin I stopped dreaming and it became reality.” She completed a 100 mile trail located in Southern Georgia in preperation for her trip.
She told me a story about a getting caught in a flash flood while on that trip. She had set up camp between tow dry creek beds that joined at the base of her camp. At twiligh a flash flood hit turning the streams into swift rivers. The water levels continued to rise and started flooding her camp. The the back of the camp steap hill/cliffs rose and were covered with thorns. As it continued to get darkershe broke down camp. She missed judged the strength of the newly formed rivers. She started crossing the creek carring her broken down tent in her arms. Neadless to say the current swepted her off her feet knocking her down. The stream carries her for about 30 yards, she losses her tent, and her glasses as well as suffers minor bumps and scraps. With out her glasses she can only see the outline of objects if they are some three feet away. All of her equipment was now wet. She was effectable blind and the night and cold weather had set in. All this occurred at mile mark 40 on her 100 mile Georgia hike. In the past 40 miles she had only seen 3 people. She stumbled towards higher ground in the dark and finds a fallen tree. She spread her ground tarp over the tree to make a lean-to. The slope was significant enough that she had to dig in the soil to reduce the slope so that she could set up her stove. She cooked soup and tea to warm her self. The sleeping bag she used was very good quality and even wet it kept her warm. She said she acctually slept for an hour or so as she slid out of her shelter during the night to wake in the pouring rain. The next day she met her fourth hiker on the trail whose wife was meeting him at the next road crossing. Having very poor sight he lead her out, the wife drove he into town and she had new glasses in an hour.
She now hikes with disposable contacts. Interestingly the experience gave her more confidence in her back country ablities. That storm broke records for rain fall in the state of Georgia and did it in time of drought. She’ll tell ya,”They call me Waterfall because I tend to fall down a lot and it always rains when I camp.” Later she would live up to her name. She is also a big Jerry Garcia fan. Cool girl.
The first four miles of the second day were fairly flat. We then assened 1250 feet with in a mile and a half. Ths is compairable to Michamoqua’s hill a hard hike we would perform in scouts. That’s only the first part of the assent. It leveled out then we had two more sharp assents which were similar but shorter. (No swich backs remember.) We finally take our first break on the thrid mile of the hill, mile eight for the day. We sat and rested above tree line. We finish the last mile and stayed at Bemis mnt lean-to.
Waterfall, Heady, Ohio boy, Matt the witch doc and Patch camped with us that night.
Matt was in his early 30’s, worked as a Geologist for several years. He had hiked the 281.5 miles of Maine the year before. He was somewhat bitter about his previous job and quit so that he could hike the AT. He knee pain in the past and was wearing two rather worthless knee braces on both knees. I assessed his knees and advised him on better braces and a treatment program I was proud to be able to use my physical therapy skills, I had just graduated from physical therapy school. He had decended Katatin several days after Waterfall and they had been friends since the 100 mile wilderness.
Patch was a north bound hiker. He had a rather devious lauph and for no real reason I kept getting the feeling he had spent time in jail. He wore boots, carried hiking poles and had a pack just bigger then a typical school pack. He ate almost a comletly protein diet. He also took a lot of viatamins. He did not carry a stove and ate blocks of cheese and jerky. He was quick with jokes and was enjoyed cards. Nathan and I taught Ohio boy and Patch how to play spades. Ohio boy was my partner and was a bit slow on the pick up. Nate and Patch beat us quick. I started getting dark and patch complained about us keeping him up so late. He was planing to cover twenty miles tomorrow. Yes, this is double what nathan and I had just covered. Heady had been asleep for over an hour. We had a good time, Patch liked the new card game. I fell a sleep shortly after dark. I awoke shortly before dawn from smoke pooring in from Heady’s fire. He usally left 6:30-7:00 just as I would wake up. That day we assended Bemis mnt, Elephant mnt, Old Blue mnt, with in the first seven miles. On Old Blue mnt rain sets in, we keep a good pace as we once again broke tree line. We were a little concerned because we could he thunder in the distance. This mnt was in between us and our next water source and we were almost dry. We kept a hard pace and missed the storm. The rain stops, and in the next three miles we desend 2000 ft. We then accend Moody mnt. Patch with his 1900 miles of trail experience had told us the night before that this was a tough climb. I knew when he said it would be tough, then it would be very tough. The accent is an easy two times harder then the Michimacqua’s hill. At the peak we then take a short break. Nathan starts to get concerned about his right knee. I assess his knee and was able to conclude that he had a patellar tracking disfunction. Basically the muscles aren’t firing right causing the knee cap the rub just a little more on bones on the outside part of his knee. I tape up his knee but the Walmart tape does not hold. The decent causes him much pain. We take a break at the base of a stream close to a dirt road. Nathan desides to go on and see how he feels in the morning. I take food out of his pack to unweight him. We had covered over 12 miles and we were both very tired. The accent to Wyman mnt staerted at 1000 ft to climb 2700 ft in a mile and a half. I almost vomited twice. Three times as hard as the Michamaqua’s hill. Hall mnt lean-to greated me as the sun was going down. I was concerned about not making it to the lean-to before dark. Matt, Waterfall, and Heady and Nathan were already there. I had to treat and drink water at the mnt base before the accent and the others had gone on. This was uncompairably the hardest day of hiking in my life. All the other hikers, ecept Heady agreed, they had never hiked a harder day. I was not the only one to dry heave, Matt and Waterfall had dry heaved several times as well. I start a fire to dry out my cloths from the mornings rain. Heady declaires no more card playing may be allowed in the lean-tos. Heady and I talk about scouts and everybody goes to bed. I eat very late, after dark and hit the sack. That night I dream that my brother and I are getting attacked by some thug. I go to kick the thug and wake to find that I have kicked something hard. I still don’t know if I kicked the side of my sleeping bag or if it was Heady, sleeping next to me. I woke to Nathan lecturing me about leaving his stove outside. Its raining hard so I roll over and go back to sleep. When I finally do get up Nathan desides to hike six miles to the next road and head into Andover. Heady, Matt, and Waterfall do the same. I modify a taping techenque for the Walmart style tape. I use the whole role. What I did seemed to work, later Nathan told me it got him 80% pain free. It rained hard all the way down the road. At the road I me up with twelve boys and two adults from Qubeck. One leader had no shirt on, was a blue white and was shivering bad. All of my own equipment was soaked including my sleeping bag. That is a big deal. I deside to use a little white gas and start a fire. First I take my tent rain fly and tie it high to four trees. That would give shelter from the rain. The adult leader and I gathered wood. The rain just kept on keeping on. It took me two trys to get the birch caught. The fire built up very slowly. After about and hour the fire was big enough to warm by. The rain finally stopped. Several of the boys gathered around and helped me hold my wet sleeping bag out to dry. One of them let it get to close to the fire and part of it melted. Nathan came through taked for a short time then headed for the raod. I ate some of the burnt cake the Qubeckan’s gave me and repacked my stuff. I had seven remaining miles to hike in the rain. I was completely wet, my poncho though expensive was almost worthless. My pack cover was old and had lost it’s water proff ablilities.. It continued to rain on and off. The rest of the hike was a very wet and tired on. I cross three streams that were fairly high and wade through them. One crossing was at the top of a series of violent water falls 70 yards long and very steep. Not servivable if I fell and got picked up by the current. The trail crossed 15 feet away from the beginning of the falls. The terrain all around was very steep, this was the only suitable crossing. I think about Waterfall’s story and wade across. About half way across the current swept me and I lost my footing. My knees bucked and I felt my back side go under. I caught myself and with all my remaining energy pushed myself back to standing. I was very thankful I had packed my sleeping bag in the center compartment. I could not let that sleeping bag get wet if I was to have a warm night. I was very tired and wet and cont on to assend surpluss mnt. I was some what angry to find a scout troop set up in the lean-to. Though hikers and section hicker (thats me) are suppose to have first dibs. I started a fire while the rain started and stopped. A southbounder in his fifties helped me dry my sleeping bag. I had trail mix for dinner. The rain picked up. Setting up your tent in the rain can be an art. First and most important you need to select a place with good run off. At this I chose poorly. There were puddles in my tent and my ground pad was wet. I went to sleep dry but awoke wet, but warm. I was able to get 3- 4 hours of sleep. I woke early, packed, skipped breakfast and was on the trail by 7:00. Early bird catches the worm, but early hiker clears the spider webs off the trail. There was still a light rain. At this point my hair, shirt and shorts had been wet for over 24 hours. With in two miles I assended from 2500 ft to 3600 ft going from Fryer-nothc lean-to to Baldpate mnt east peak. At about 3300 ft I broke cloud line, at 3400 ft I broke tree line. The sun was shinning, behind me the clouds were layed out like an ocean. Puzzle mnt and Sunday river white caps poked through the cloud cover. I was warm, it was sunny and I was very happy. I set up my tent for it to dry as well as my therma rest. I enjoyed garnola bars chased by sparkling brown iodine water. I finished out that seven mile day secending 3800ft to 1500 ft with in three miles. The hike was over slick rocks and stream beds. My feet were getting sore but all I could think about was the pizza I had promised my self for lunch. I knew I was getting blisters but I didn’t care and I was truly surprised at the damage. By hiking in wet boots in these grades I had lost over 10 % of my skin to blisters over the top parts of my feet. I picked up my car and drove into Andover to meet Nathan

St





5/8/02 Kentucky Derby unfinished
Writing in a Lexington airport after a 5 day long vacation seeing some old boys of mine back in the Kentucky state. I have been living out in California working as a physical therapist
Journey begun on Thursday. That day I put an 9.5 hour day, a research project I have been apart of was wrapping up. Information needed to be completed and set off. The information had been backed up on a disk as well as a file on the hospitals main frame. The disk got a virus and was wiped out. That Thursday I had attempted to update a pass word and failed and was kicked out f the system. Information still exists but we are not able to access it. Pretty fucken fun.
After the work day some girl I used to know drives me to San Francisco airport. Its 11:10 pm and the flight got delayed. I make it to the book store before it closes, look over the magazines and best sellers and decide I’d rather be board. Then I decide to get some food. I chose a cheeseburger which turns my stomach. Flying usually pisses me off.
Any way flying from San Francisco to Lexington KY, via CHarolette NC. To arrive at Ky at 9:45 am. I was able to sleep on the plane changed planes at 7:30 am to run across the airport to catch a departing plane that leaves at 7:45.
I am more awake on this flight and spend more time people watching. Most males are dressed in golf style bright shirts well kept and groomed. Most of the passengers carry and extra couple of pounds in the cheeks and hips. The woman next to me is reading bible study guild. Welcome to the south. I eventually arrive in Lexington on time. I am greeted by my smiling good friend Pooh. “Man you are so lucky I got here this morning. Head (another real good friend) and I got drunk and ended up wrestling at 300 am in the morning. I don’t really remember that much I don’t know how it started I just remember getting Head into a head lock and overturning a table.”
My friends I have known since I was 13, old boys from the old scout troop. Several of the younger guys will be graduating. I end up staying in the shoemaker apartment, a place I have lived while finishing up grad school. The place still looks the same and part of me feels like I have time traveled. This scene of time travel stays with me for the first several days. The heaviness, the vomit of grad school. Its good to be done. I feel proud of my accomplishments since graduation I work in a model (a top of the line) system rehab hospital, I am engaged in research and now live on the beach. Screw grad school, its hoops those monkey ass righteous bible teachers.
I am very glad to see Pooh, he is just starting to date someone new and is excited. “Nate and Joe talked about picking you up but they still had finals.” “It’s cool” I say, Nate is finishing a path final (he is in med school) as we drove.
After the short drive from the airport we arrive to see Nate sitting on the front porch full beard, sun visor on drinking a beer. A big smile on my face he stands walk over to the car. “Good to be finished ah?” “Hell ya he replies.” We sit on the fount porch together and Nate tells me about med school the work, the lack of sleep the work. We enjoy the porch and sit for a while in silence. Pooh has gone upstairs to try to get a nap.
We call Joe its 1100 am we sit on the porch us all old friends drinking Nates beer. Its going to be a good visit. We got lunch at a new pizza place. The pizza restaurant is next to our old favorite small music bar, Lynas. “ You know they are closing that down.” “ya” Ya, the owner is getting old and is tiered of running it.” We sit eat the cheep pizza, We have seen some good stuff there. Time is slipping away, Lexington, my collage town is becoming less and less mine.
Later all the guys come over, We keep joking to Head how badly Pooh beet him up in the wrestling match. Cource we there turn Pooh and talk about how Head beat him up. Both claim victory.
That night we get a keg and sit in Head and Brian’s back yard and drink on the keg. We sit on broken down lawn furniture. The grass was long and uncut, the air cool and fresh. I run my hands over the long health green blades of grass. A cinderblock detached garage with broken windows and a collapsed roof sits at the edge of the property.
Its is Derby eve old collage buddies Rob, Billy and others came over and started gambling. I sat out as usual. The night went on and we drank. Pooh was given wild turkey whiskey and got very drunk continually said how much he loved all his pals and routinely would rise stumble and slap us on the back then fall down. The card came was over no more then 10 dollars traded hands. I got tired and went to bed. The next morning I felt sluggish from the beer. I drank water and went next door to Heads. There was still beer left in the cage and it would be a heavy day. Head’s new girlfriend came over, met her for the first time. We spent the morning sitting in the sun speaking of nothing important. My friends excited about the end of the school year, myself excited to join them. I was very happy, the sun played shadows on the uncut grass…….…………art blogging by creating a new post. You can edit or delete me by clicking under the comments. You can also customize your sidebar by dragging in elements from the top bar.