Even the longest journey must start with a single step, and we began our steps on April 30, around 11 AM. Thanks to the wonderful, generous, and conveniently Georgia-dwelling Spencer Smith, we had a ride from the Atlanta airport to the trail head at Springer Mountain. Also thanks to Spencer Smith, we actually got on the correct trail and made it up Springer Mountain, rather than spending our whole first day wandering along the Benton McKaye Trail (BMT in hiker lingo), which is where we (quite mistakenly) began walking on that warm, sunny Georgia morning. I think I'm getting a bit ahead of myself, so let's Backtrack (get it?) for a moment.
Denver
I suppose you could say that Denver is where our trip was slated to begin. Our flight to Atlanta left about 11:30 on April 28, and from that point on we were pretty much committed to this whole hiking thing. Patty had gone back home to the STL for a few days and I was still hanging out in Winter Park, so we agred to meet up in Denver the night before we flew out. The idea was that we'd get to hang out with the Hathaways for a bit, have a fun night out, and then have only a quick drive to the aiport in the morning. It would be a fun and relaxing way to begin our adventure, right? Well it would have been, if not for a minor detail. See, I had loaded my pack and some clothes for the plane into my car and driven to Patty's house, where I was meeting Caleb, who would drive me to Denver (it really was a good plan). We met up, I tossed my stuff from Ruggers (my Subaru) into Caleb's van, and we hit the road. It wasn't until my stuff had been brought in from the car, in Denver, that I realized something was missing.
Me: Did you guys bring in a big black trash bag?
Patty: I don't think so, but we grabbed all of the stuff that Caleb said was yours.
Me: (a bit concerned) Caleb, can I borrow the keys to go check in the car?
Caleb: Sure, I'll go with you.
Surprise: the bag wasn't there. Now here's the best part: except for my camera (which actually turned out to be somewhere else entirely), I couldn't remember what was even in the bag. I knew I had been tossing in random extra things as I was leaving the house earlier in the day, but didn't know if I was missing anything really important. I did a mental inventory: Gum (easily replaced), Crocs (Dang!, but I could pick up a pair of flip flops for camp shoes)... That was as far as I got, but the thought that I was forgetting something pretty important kept nagging at me as we went out for dinner, and all during the walk back. Back at Christy's we debated just driving back up to get the stupid bag, in order to put my mind at rest. (The drive from Denver to WP, by the way, is about an hour and a half in decent weather.) Caleb had to be back to work in the morning anyway (at this point it was definitely after midnight), and was willing to go early to take us. I knew we could get another ride back down, but I figured that since I couldn't rememer having forgotten anything important, I could count my losses when I figured out what they were. After all, I had my pack and all the important stuff inside. I was set, right?
Wrong. I realized it as we were doing a final once-over before bed: I was indeed missing something important. It was not only gum and blue foam clogs that I'd left back in my car. No, I had succeeded in forgetting my hiking boots as well. My freaking boots! How is that even possible? Well, with my talent for always having to go back (to pretty much wherever I'm leaving) for something, and without a solid double check after transfering my stuff to Caleb's car, it was pretty ease.
So at 5:30am the morning of our flight, we drove back up to get my boots (and the Crocs and gum, while we were at it). Brian Tripp was kind enough to drive us back down to Denver and the airport, so we tossed our stuff into his car (remembering the trash bag and boots this time, but forgetting my poles: ski poles rescued from the dumpster at work, that I had decided only the day before to take as trekking assistants) and were off once again.
We made it to the airport with time to spare, and that night in Atlanta had one of the funnest (yes, it's a word) evenings out that I've had in awhile. Rather than go straight to Springer the next day we spend an afternoon and night at Spencer Smith's (ok, his family's) lake house, where we set up our tents, waterproof-sprayed everything we could think of, and were treated to a fantastic home cooked meal. It was also at the lake house that I got in some last minute "trail training": marching up and down the stairs twenty times, wearing my loaded (and really freaking heavy) pack while Spencer counted my laps and laughed at me. Yes, it was a fantastic final evening in civilization.
And now we're back to where we started: April 30th, 2007. Patty and I are dropped at the trail, say our thanks and goodbyes to Spencer, and start walking. Two minutes later we hear yelling and a horn honking, and look back to see that Spencer's not just waving goodbye, but is urgently beckoning us back the way we've come. Ok, I'm thinking, we're never going to get to Maine if we have to keep turning around like this. As it turns out, we also never would have gotten to Maine walking the direction we were, because (as I mentioned earlier) we had set out on the wrong trail, and were 50 yards into exploring the (rather extensive and probably beautiful but unintended) BMT. So to add to the list of things for which we will eternally be grateful to Spencer Smith (a ride from the airport, accommodation in the ATL, driving us to WalMart, the lake house, dinner, a ride to the trail head, basically being amazing): getting us onto the AT. Without him, we'd probably still be wandering around northern Georgia, wondering why we couldn't seem to find the Hawk Mountain shelter.
So we set off, in the right direction (which was actually South, since we wanted to get an official start at Springer Mountain, but the nearest road access was nearly a mile up the trail), and we walked. Next time I'll write some more about the actually hiking part of the adventure, but for now I'm through. After all, if you're reading this now, you'll probably want to read as long as Patty's out on the trail. And she'll be out there for a few months yet, while I've only got three weeks of adventure to log. I figure there's no rush to get my story out. And check back soon for a promised post from Patty herself. I imagine it will go something like this: "Day 32- Still walking, and all I can think about is how much I miss Backtrack, and wish she was still out here hiking with me and making my coffee and dinner every day. The trail-- life, actually-- just isn't the same without her." I know, Patty, I miss you too.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Excuses
Hey folks,
For anyone and everone who has been either diligently or casually checking this blog for updates on the famed Patty Weber's Appalachian Trail journey, and has been confused as to why there hasn't been a post in over a month, I offer my sincere apologies. Yes, she got on the trail safely. No, she did not swallow her pride and accept Pooslinger as her rightful trail name (yep, HER trail name), but instead goes by Tumbleweed. If you ask me, it's a loss in the '07 AT trail name book. Yes, she is still hiking; now a solo adventurist after being abandoned by her partner (that would be me) in Damascus, VA at the close of the Trail Days celebration. No, she has not yet killed any bears with either her bare hands or the very large knife that hangs at her waist (except when she's in town, when she stows it somewhere slightly less threatening). And yes, she will be posting here sometime soon.
See, the thing about having a blog, or trail journal, or other such method of reporting progress to the outside world while on the trail is this: it seems so brilliant and simple. We'll have stories, we'll write them down in our journals, and we'll share them. Let me tell you: step 2 is the hitch. I'm sure that for many hikers, journaling is a daily part of trail life. Wake up early and write as you watch the sun rise; clean up after dinner and write before the sun goes down. Write in your tent or the shelter du jour, by the light of your ever handy head lamp. Take a few minutes during a lunch break to jot down some notes. It would seem, to the casual observer, that a hiker has numerous opportunities each day for this type of chronicle work. Yet here we are-- Memorial weekend-- and this is the first post since the trip's beginning (April 30th, by the way). For now, I'll chalk it up to the following excuses:
1) Tumbleweed sleeps late. I (Backtrack, by the way) woke with the sun almost every day we were on the trail (with the exceptions of days that were drizzly or gray-- no sun to wake up with-- and days spent in hostels or hotels). I stretched and retrieved our food bags from wherever they'd hung the night before. I filtered water, and boiled it for coffee. I made coffee. Sometime around the time the coffee was ready (though a few times it was notably later), Tumbleweed would emerge from the tent. We would eat breakfast and pack-- a process that often consumed a couple of hours (I'm still not sure how)-- and then hit the trail. My excuse for not writing in the mornings: I was making coffee and (on the rare occasion that there was time to kill) reading. Patty's excuse: she was asleep.
2) We often hiked until it was nearly dusk. Owing to the fact that the hours between 8 and 10 am had a twilight zone-esque way of just not existing out on the trail (7:55 doing breakfast dishes. 8am start packing. 10:20am leave camp. What?! We only had one pack apiece. I'm convinced there is a time warp out on the AT that steals what could be the most productive morning hiking hours.), we normally broke for a long(ish) lunch break around 2pm: the middle of our day's mileage. So we'd get into camp and race to set up camp, get water, eat, wash, and hang our food in rapidly dwindling twilight. I think when I was on the trail there were 2 nights we got into camp early enough to actually hang out, and since both of those nights were marked by camp fires, it was more social time than sit-in-a-corner-and-journal time.
3) Hiking makes you tired. This may seem like a point that doesn't really need explanation, but I'm going to do it anyway. On the trail, dark = tent time. And tent time = sleep time. After walking 12 miles with 35 to 40 pounds on our backs, neither of us was normally up for extensive nightime activities. I read a few times, and sometimes we'd get out the cameras and go through our pictures. (Note on pictures: I'll try to post some in the near future, so keep checking.)Other than that, there was really no energy left to expend, and writing coherent thought-- especially in an entertaining style-- does take energy.
4) I lost my pen. Ok, not really. But suffice it to say there were things to do and people to meet, and anything that was jotted down in our journals remained there while we were in town, because laundry and cheeseburgers just took priority over posting on the blog.
But here I am, back in Colorado, while my hiking buddy remains somewhere in the Virginia "wilderness." (One of the things I found most interesting on the AT is that you rarely go a day without crossing a road, and you can easily hit towns twice a week: at least in Georgia and North Carolina.) We jumped ahead over Tennessee and the Smokies, in favor of partying it up, hiker style (your guess on what that means is as good as mine) at the Trail Days in Damascus. (Yes, there was a parade that involved an extensive water fight. Yes, there was a large bonfire, and dancing around it. Yes, we effectively cut 298 miles out of the trip by making this jump: mileage which may or may not be made up after Patty summits Katahdin.)
I have to go now, but I promise there's more to come soon. ("There better be," you're thinking, "because all you did was make excuses for being away. We still don't now how Patty's doing, or who she's meeting, or whether her one pair of pants is holding up. This is the worst update ever!" All valid points, but now that I've got this post out of my system, I can fill you all in on some of what actually did happen/ is happening on the trail.)
In closing, Patty called yesterday (Saturday) and left a message saying that she's doing well, and has been hiking with some fun new people. She's still having fun, and had no complaints or mishaps to speak of (at least not any she felt like explaining in detail on my voicemail). Remember that if you want to leave her a message, just comment on the blog and she'll get to read it eventually. Until next time, keep her in your thoughts, and be a little jealous of what she's doing right now, because I can tell you first hand: life on the trail is good.
For anyone and everone who has been either diligently or casually checking this blog for updates on the famed Patty Weber's Appalachian Trail journey, and has been confused as to why there hasn't been a post in over a month, I offer my sincere apologies. Yes, she got on the trail safely. No, she did not swallow her pride and accept Pooslinger as her rightful trail name (yep, HER trail name), but instead goes by Tumbleweed. If you ask me, it's a loss in the '07 AT trail name book. Yes, she is still hiking; now a solo adventurist after being abandoned by her partner (that would be me) in Damascus, VA at the close of the Trail Days celebration. No, she has not yet killed any bears with either her bare hands or the very large knife that hangs at her waist (except when she's in town, when she stows it somewhere slightly less threatening). And yes, she will be posting here sometime soon.
See, the thing about having a blog, or trail journal, or other such method of reporting progress to the outside world while on the trail is this: it seems so brilliant and simple. We'll have stories, we'll write them down in our journals, and we'll share them. Let me tell you: step 2 is the hitch. I'm sure that for many hikers, journaling is a daily part of trail life. Wake up early and write as you watch the sun rise; clean up after dinner and write before the sun goes down. Write in your tent or the shelter du jour, by the light of your ever handy head lamp. Take a few minutes during a lunch break to jot down some notes. It would seem, to the casual observer, that a hiker has numerous opportunities each day for this type of chronicle work. Yet here we are-- Memorial weekend-- and this is the first post since the trip's beginning (April 30th, by the way). For now, I'll chalk it up to the following excuses:
1) Tumbleweed sleeps late. I (Backtrack, by the way) woke with the sun almost every day we were on the trail (with the exceptions of days that were drizzly or gray-- no sun to wake up with-- and days spent in hostels or hotels). I stretched and retrieved our food bags from wherever they'd hung the night before. I filtered water, and boiled it for coffee. I made coffee. Sometime around the time the coffee was ready (though a few times it was notably later), Tumbleweed would emerge from the tent. We would eat breakfast and pack-- a process that often consumed a couple of hours (I'm still not sure how)-- and then hit the trail. My excuse for not writing in the mornings: I was making coffee and (on the rare occasion that there was time to kill) reading. Patty's excuse: she was asleep.
2) We often hiked until it was nearly dusk. Owing to the fact that the hours between 8 and 10 am had a twilight zone-esque way of just not existing out on the trail (7:55 doing breakfast dishes. 8am start packing. 10:20am leave camp. What?! We only had one pack apiece. I'm convinced there is a time warp out on the AT that steals what could be the most productive morning hiking hours.), we normally broke for a long(ish) lunch break around 2pm: the middle of our day's mileage. So we'd get into camp and race to set up camp, get water, eat, wash, and hang our food in rapidly dwindling twilight. I think when I was on the trail there were 2 nights we got into camp early enough to actually hang out, and since both of those nights were marked by camp fires, it was more social time than sit-in-a-corner-and-journal time.
3) Hiking makes you tired. This may seem like a point that doesn't really need explanation, but I'm going to do it anyway. On the trail, dark = tent time. And tent time = sleep time. After walking 12 miles with 35 to 40 pounds on our backs, neither of us was normally up for extensive nightime activities. I read a few times, and sometimes we'd get out the cameras and go through our pictures. (Note on pictures: I'll try to post some in the near future, so keep checking.)Other than that, there was really no energy left to expend, and writing coherent thought-- especially in an entertaining style-- does take energy.
4) I lost my pen. Ok, not really. But suffice it to say there were things to do and people to meet, and anything that was jotted down in our journals remained there while we were in town, because laundry and cheeseburgers just took priority over posting on the blog.
But here I am, back in Colorado, while my hiking buddy remains somewhere in the Virginia "wilderness." (One of the things I found most interesting on the AT is that you rarely go a day without crossing a road, and you can easily hit towns twice a week: at least in Georgia and North Carolina.) We jumped ahead over Tennessee and the Smokies, in favor of partying it up, hiker style (your guess on what that means is as good as mine) at the Trail Days in Damascus. (Yes, there was a parade that involved an extensive water fight. Yes, there was a large bonfire, and dancing around it. Yes, we effectively cut 298 miles out of the trip by making this jump: mileage which may or may not be made up after Patty summits Katahdin.)
I have to go now, but I promise there's more to come soon. ("There better be," you're thinking, "because all you did was make excuses for being away. We still don't now how Patty's doing, or who she's meeting, or whether her one pair of pants is holding up. This is the worst update ever!" All valid points, but now that I've got this post out of my system, I can fill you all in on some of what actually did happen/ is happening on the trail.)
In closing, Patty called yesterday (Saturday) and left a message saying that she's doing well, and has been hiking with some fun new people. She's still having fun, and had no complaints or mishaps to speak of (at least not any she felt like explaining in detail on my voicemail). Remember that if you want to leave her a message, just comment on the blog and she'll get to read it eventually. Until next time, keep her in your thoughts, and be a little jealous of what she's doing right now, because I can tell you first hand: life on the trail is good.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Time for a trail name
A trail name is important because it is how you are identified on the trail for the entire time out there. It usually has a story behind it or tells a little bit about you. I have been called "sausage fingers" in the past due to the fact that my fingers turn into fat sausage-like links! Mmmhmm. I think that is pretty common for hikers to experience, but mine are just ridiculous. I mean, seriously. I have skinny long fingers and they get to the size of a jumbo Oscar Meyer! Not pretty.
Anyhow, the debate now is weather or not one is 'allowed' to give themselves a trail name? I suppose you can't really give yourself a nickname...but a trail name is different. I am going to be known as "insert trail name here" for the next five months. I think it should be something that I agree upon and like. Sausage fingers....not so much.
I have decided upon 'tumbleweed' for my trail name. A long time ago I had a friend call me by this name. He said it was because I am always moving around and never really in one place for too long. I suppose he is right about that. I'll take it!
Now we just need to think of one for my co-hiking partner, Samantha. This could take a while. She is very enthusiastic about this piece of gear that I have that allows for a relaxing um....bathroom break in the woods! Because of this and several other reasons that are not to be spoken of anymore, her trail name should be......(drum roll please).....'poo-slinger!'
In the words of Stooks- "And that's that!"
-Tumbleweed
Anyhow, the debate now is weather or not one is 'allowed' to give themselves a trail name? I suppose you can't really give yourself a nickname...but a trail name is different. I am going to be known as "insert trail name here" for the next five months. I think it should be something that I agree upon and like. Sausage fingers....not so much.
I have decided upon 'tumbleweed' for my trail name. A long time ago I had a friend call me by this name. He said it was because I am always moving around and never really in one place for too long. I suppose he is right about that. I'll take it!
Now we just need to think of one for my co-hiking partner, Samantha. This could take a while. She is very enthusiastic about this piece of gear that I have that allows for a relaxing um....bathroom break in the woods! Because of this and several other reasons that are not to be spoken of anymore, her trail name should be......(drum roll please).....'poo-slinger!'
In the words of Stooks- "And that's that!"
-Tumbleweed
Monday, April 9, 2007
The way this is gonna work
So how stoked am I that Patty has so enthusiastically adopted this co-blog idea? Very. For her, it'll be a cool way to chronicle this crazy long adventure upon which we embark in less (significantly less) than a month. For me, it will doubtless be one of my greatest sources of amusement during the summer. (Is it lame of me to say that? I don't really care.)
Going along with the theme of recording our preparations for The Trail (see below), I would like to share with the world what I'm doing to ready myself for two weeks of hiking. First off, I bought a backpack. I ordered it last week on Steepandcheap.com (my favorite website/ addiction; check it out if you never have), breaking my Lenten resolution not to buy anything (with the exception of household necessities) until Easter. In my defense, I couldn't not buy the thing. It's an Arc'teryx, it's red, and it was a ridiculously good deal. I'm a bit concerned that the thing might actually be too big; I guess I'll find out when I get it from the post office today. (As I've told Patty, I'm like a goldfish: I'll use as much space as I have at my disposal. If 3 shirts, a towell, and my toothbrush don't fill enough of the pack space, I may well end up taking along something like a basketball or a pair of hooker boots; and who needs those on the AT?)
Other than buying a pack, I also started looking through the thru-hiker's guide, but was (to be honest) more interested in reading the to do lists Patty has scattered through the thing as bookmarks than in reading tips for what to do on day 16 in Tennessee. I did read the book's intro, however, where I learned that it wil basically be a miracle if I don't get poison oak or lyme disease; and that when I'm walking through towns I should act as a pedestrian. Dang! I was going to act like an Australian and walk on the left hand side of the road: the very middle of the left hand side, that is.
Unlike my co-hiker, I have not bought either a sleeping bag or pad, have hardly begun to think about getting together food or cooking apparatus, and don't have a single "to do" list to guide me in my preparations. Somehow, I think I'm going to be ok. My goal for this week was to convince Patty that we should fly to Atlanta; not ride the bus or the train. Not only does the airplane take at least 34 hours less than either of the land-bound alternatives, but it's way less expensive than the train. Have we bought our plane tickets yet? No, but we're planning to, and that's half of the battle, right?
Hiking, here I come!
Going along with the theme of recording our preparations for The Trail (see below), I would like to share with the world what I'm doing to ready myself for two weeks of hiking. First off, I bought a backpack. I ordered it last week on Steepandcheap.com (my favorite website/ addiction; check it out if you never have), breaking my Lenten resolution not to buy anything (with the exception of household necessities) until Easter. In my defense, I couldn't not buy the thing. It's an Arc'teryx, it's red, and it was a ridiculously good deal. I'm a bit concerned that the thing might actually be too big; I guess I'll find out when I get it from the post office today. (As I've told Patty, I'm like a goldfish: I'll use as much space as I have at my disposal. If 3 shirts, a towell, and my toothbrush don't fill enough of the pack space, I may well end up taking along something like a basketball or a pair of hooker boots; and who needs those on the AT?)
Other than buying a pack, I also started looking through the thru-hiker's guide, but was (to be honest) more interested in reading the to do lists Patty has scattered through the thing as bookmarks than in reading tips for what to do on day 16 in Tennessee. I did read the book's intro, however, where I learned that it wil basically be a miracle if I don't get poison oak or lyme disease; and that when I'm walking through towns I should act as a pedestrian. Dang! I was going to act like an Australian and walk on the left hand side of the road: the very middle of the left hand side, that is.
Unlike my co-hiker, I have not bought either a sleeping bag or pad, have hardly begun to think about getting together food or cooking apparatus, and don't have a single "to do" list to guide me in my preparations. Somehow, I think I'm going to be ok. My goal for this week was to convince Patty that we should fly to Atlanta; not ride the bus or the train. Not only does the airplane take at least 34 hours less than either of the land-bound alternatives, but it's way less expensive than the train. Have we bought our plane tickets yet? No, but we're planning to, and that's half of the battle, right?
Hiking, here I come!
The simple (expensive) life of the thru-hiker
One might think that the life of a thru-hiker is pretty simple. Wake up, have some oatmeal, put on your hiking boots, enjoy the scenery, chat with some fellow thru-hikers about how grand life is out on the trail, and hike.....all day, just hike. Well, it should be and I'm banking on WILL be pretty simple, but the preparation for that 'simple life' is nothing but a headache....and expensive.
For the last....we'll say four months I have been seriously planning for the trail. Buying gear, collecting boxes upon boxes for my maildrops, planning out where exactly those boxes are going to be sent, conning...I mean asking someone (thank you Samantha) to send my mail drops, and getting into umm....shape (of some sort). Running is not really the best way to get into thru-hiking shape. My thoughts on that are I am already going to be in some (hopefully not major) pain just getting used to the pack and the boots...so why not get into shape at the same time. AKA....be COMPLETELY miserable for the first couple of weeks.
The simple life is dang expensive too. Imagine, if you will, having to purchase three of the majors-sleeping bag, tent, backpack PLUS all the other stuff that goes along with a long distance hike. Not to mention all of your food for the next five months (bought in bulk). Then the expense of the maildrops. YIKES!
But really, how can I complain? I am going to be out in the wilderness for the next 4.5-5 months. No work, no annoying people in my life (well none that I can't just push off a cliff or something), no worries really. Not too shabby.
Bitchin Gregory Pack- the Deva: $250
New humble abode AKA Mountain Hardware Tent: $109
Incredible sleeping bag that everyone wants to "just touch": $150
Knowing that I will not have to answer any telephone calls, respond to any emails, deal with people in general: priceless
For the last....we'll say four months I have been seriously planning for the trail. Buying gear, collecting boxes upon boxes for my maildrops, planning out where exactly those boxes are going to be sent, conning...I mean asking someone (thank you Samantha) to send my mail drops, and getting into umm....shape (of some sort). Running is not really the best way to get into thru-hiking shape. My thoughts on that are I am already going to be in some (hopefully not major) pain just getting used to the pack and the boots...so why not get into shape at the same time. AKA....be COMPLETELY miserable for the first couple of weeks.
The simple life is dang expensive too. Imagine, if you will, having to purchase three of the majors-sleeping bag, tent, backpack PLUS all the other stuff that goes along with a long distance hike. Not to mention all of your food for the next five months (bought in bulk). Then the expense of the maildrops. YIKES!
But really, how can I complain? I am going to be out in the wilderness for the next 4.5-5 months. No work, no annoying people in my life (well none that I can't just push off a cliff or something), no worries really. Not too shabby.
Bitchin Gregory Pack- the Deva: $250
New humble abode AKA Mountain Hardware Tent: $109
Incredible sleeping bag that everyone wants to "just touch": $150
Knowing that I will not have to answer any telephone calls, respond to any emails, deal with people in general: priceless
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