hot cocoa at the Hikers Oasis
Saturday, April 30, 2005
Friday, April 29, 2005
April 29, The Hiker Oasis
We slept through yet another early morning of pounding rain today, the tent walls slapping cold and slick against our sleeping bag. By 5:30 things had cleared up and we were going through our finger numbing morning routine of packing everything up as best we can. Eliza was feeling particularly wiped out and miserable. We were both sore from the long day in the rain yesterday. At 25 miles it is our longest to date. The clouds were rolling swiftly overhead, grey and looming, the sun still not up over the knob in whose shadow we had camped. We needed a break.
We agreed before setting out that we would get off the trail and follow guidebook directions to the Hikers' Oasis, a small trail angel operation where we were guaranteed at the very least a working restroom, laundry facilities, and internet access. If we had only known how great these folks really are, we wouldn't have ever hesitated.
After a grueling, awful 6 miles along dirt (and some paved--much worse to walk on) roads we found the Oasis, a 2.5 acre lot alongside the Kamp Anza Rv park, serenely littered with old trucks, sheds, fenced in plots of lawn, a big washroom building, flowerbeds, birdfeeders, light posts, and other sun-baked clutter. No tents were there to catch our eyes, as we thought there may have been. In fact not much of anything was going on. We wouldn't have ever guessed that this were the place had we not seen the little sign at the entrance to the drive. As we made a second loop around the inner drive, a guy who appeared to be doing work on a truck trailer nearby hollered over a shrubline to us, "good luck!" He evidently figured that we had already sipped the sweet waters of the mysterious oasis and were on our way into the snow capped peaks to the north. We yelled back that we were still searching for our hosts and he walked over and accompaned us to the back door of an inconspi!
cuous looking mobile home.
Here we met Bear and Ziggy, trail angels and proprietors of the Hikers' Oasis. They are an old couple who met out of coincidence here in Anza some 8 years ago and because they had a couple of nice experiences with PCT hikers and were both blessed with an unbounded sense of generocity and kindness started the Oasis to help aspiring hikers get from Mexico to Canada.
Bear is a riot, a grandfatherly smart ass who figures at this point that if you can't take time to relax and share a laugh in this life, "you may as well dig yourself a big hole, find a nice rock and throw yourself right down inside to die right now."
Ziggy tells him to mind his manners and reminds him of all the chores he had meant to accomplish today before he started jabbering. As Bear tells it, "She does the cooking and taking care of things. I take care of the other things." They both look to be in their late 60s or early 70s.
Right away they took all of our laundry, gave us clean clothes out of big bins of things they must have gotten as donations or picked up at a thrift store. Bear showed us the bathrooms and shower and gave us towels and told us to come on up to the house after we were cleaned up and had our tent set up in the picnic area across the way. We happily obliged. Today was day 9 without a shower and climbing into that steamy spray felt real good.
The day since has been super relaxing. We signed into their log books and filled out the hiker forms that they keep on everyone who comes through. They talked and talked while we sat sort of stunned, cheeks all puffed up and red from the hot shower--a cumulative effect from the 8 days of straight, direct exposure to the sun and mother nature's other grand universal powers: the wind, the earth, the water.
So these folks just run this place non-stop every spring for hikers that pass through. They do laundry, give rides to town and back to the trailheads (we discovered after the fact that we could have saved ourselves the shin splintering road walk if we had only called ahead or just stopped in to get a drink at a house along the way which had advertised out front that they had water for pct hikers), they even serve 2 meals a day! All this and they wno't take a dime for thanks. It's not too often that you find such kindness in strangers in this paranoid world of ours.
Eliza and I are the only hikers here today, so we are being doted on a bit. Bear took us into Anza, which is just a couple of shops, a gas station and a bank and bought us ice cream cones at the Dairy Queen. Ziggy is making a special vegetarian pizza for us (I know, I thought the Koala had gone carni myself).
What else could a couple of hikers ask for?
It's gorgeous out now and we are lying out on the lawn next to our tent. Eliza is reading up on the next section of the trail. It looks like Fuller Ridge, the range of high peaks in the San Jacintos which we will hit after leaving Idyllwild are still completely frozen over with feet of ice, so we'll have to find an alternative way around that part for sure. It's a bad year to be a purist on the pct, it seems.
that's all for now
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April 28 pouring down rain
We awoke this morning to a wet tent. It was raining lightly but steadily. We packed up somberly and set out around 6:30. The rain didn't let up for nearly 7 bitter, bone chilling hours.
All morning long we cursed our luck and kicked ourselves for passing up a night in the hot springs ranch. Surely, had we gotten up out of a warm bed this morning and sat down to a hot breakfast of eggs and home fries and bacon, a nice cup of coffee, perhaps an early dip in the spring waters--surely we would have looked out the window and said, "no way in hell are we going out there today."
But there we were, worrying, terrified that it might never end. Already by 10 everything I had on was drenched, undies and all. The rain jacket Eliza made for me out of ultralight sil-nylon never got a zipper or anything (we were rushed and it was low on the list of priorities...we were going to the esert afterall) to keep it closed, so it turned out to be ultra-ineffective at keeping me dry.
Later in the day, after things were starting to dry up, Eliza nostalgically recalled another time when we were similarly stuck in the rain with this mutual feeling of pure hopelessness. We were in Jerusalem in the early Spring of 2002--it may have even been Palm Sunday or something, there were bus loads of Christians about for some reason--and we had just taken the bus down from Haifa near where I was living at the time in Shefa'Amr. We had hoped to stay with a friend of mine, Tarek, at the University, but he was visiting relatives and when we got there we had no place to stay. So being the intellgent, resourceful kids we were, we decided t go out to a fancy Geargian Restaurant and then sit in the back of a little wine shop and drink a bottle of wine as the rain started to fall outside. It was all fine and dandy until the shop closed and all of a sudden we were alone in the rain and it had gotten cold and we had no place to go. After wandering for a hour we finally desc!
ended the steps arond Demascus Gate and entered the Old City in search of a hostel. I can see so well the vivid silhouette of the battlements atop the city walls and the cold drizzling clouds whipping over our heads as we clamored down the wet deserted aleyway. That night we ended up barely sleeping in a miserable tin shack that was rented to us as a double bedroom for some outlandish fee.
Today ended pretty well. Things cleared up and we descended a bit. All our things ended up just drying riht on our bodies--amazing, these wickking materials! We finally had our oatmeal breakfast at 4:30 after putting in 22 miles (There is no reason whatsoever to stop walking when it is pouring down rain, so we didn't eat, didn't drink any water, barely stopped to rest).
We went a few more before setting up camp for the night. Eliza chopped her dreadlock of a pony tail of with her swiss army knife scissors as I cooked the nightly snack of Beans and cous cous. We read through the guide book a little and debated stopping at this Trail Angel place, Hikers' Oasis, tomorrow--we're torn because while we'd like to check out the social scene of the trail some, we sort of feel that things are going just fine as is; why get off the trail if we don't really feel the need to. Of course, it could be tha we do really need to "take a zero" (hiker lingo for a day without hiking any miles along the trail) and just don't realize it. We decided that we'll wait and see what the day looks like in the morning--anything like today and we're cutting out and heading for the Oasis.
I will now roll over and read approximately 1.3 pages of Mr. Samler's Planet, the novel I have been shlepping along with me every day. Worth the weight? Not sure yet. If I could only stay awake long enough to...
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Wednesday, April 27, 2005
April 27: Warner Springs
We arrived in Warner Springs today at about 1:30 pm after a quick 16-mile morning down from the San Filipe Hills. The last six miles wound along a meandering creekbed surrounded by lush tall grasses full of wildflowers and gnarly, old oak trees. We have opted not to take a day off in town here, although a dip in the hot springs might be rejuvenating. Once we finish sorting through our re-supply box and the bounce bucket, we'll probably grab a burger or something -- did I mention yet that Eliza's solid six months of staunch vegetarianism ended gloriously the other night as we feasted over a sack of beef jerky in the rain? -- and then hit the trail so we're all set to go tomorrow.
The San Jacintos await to the north. There have been rumors floating about concerning the treacherous snowpack still accumulating up there, so we'll be carrying our ice axes from here through to Big Bear.
The sun is blazing now, but the breezes are brisk. We've got to get back to the Post Office before 4:00
California poppies on the way to Warner SpringsApril 26, blisters on the San Filipe Hills
Today we finally got some heat. Early in the morning we broke camp and cut north across the open San Filipe valley. A water cache had been set up at the far end near the scissors crossing intersection and we indulged in a few of the sodas that had been left in a cooler alongside a wooden stand filled with gallon water jugs. Some local hikers and hiker enthusiasts keep a few of these caches full throughout the hiking season each year. They even find it in their heart to throw in some gatorade and soda and even a few Miller Genuine Draft (for the hardest of the hard core). This morning we were lucky enough to find a bag of fruit waiting for us as well. I wonder what the trail purists think of this kind of thing?
From there we ascended, slow and long, into the San Filipe hills along a contouring trail, over a beautiful, dry landscape accented by tall, graceful agave, fragrant sage brush, spiny ocatillo, and cacti of all shapes and sizes. Pink blossoms and the purples and yellows of wildflowers highlighted the golden browns and reds of the earth and the light blues and greens of the plantlife.
The heat never got to be too much to bear, I guess. The trail just went on and on without much noticeable change. Ultimately our feet became blistered and sore and the second half of the day dragged on until we set up camp early next to anther guy who actually asked us to camp near him because he was afraid he had been tracked the night before by a mountain lion and really wanted to be around other people. We did want to put in a few more miles to keep up our 20 mile quota, but considering he was asking and we were beat, we got off the trail and set up camp.
It's a very fine evening now. We have a view south over the valley which we crossed this morning and a crisp wind is sighing in pleasant counterpoint to the twittering birdsong.
--
Logistically, things are going very well thusfar. We are keeping pace with what we had hoped to be doing. Supplies for this first week lasted without much to spare. Our bodies are both holding up well. A bit of blistering today, but what can we expect? As far as the trail itself, we are both feeling overwhelmed. Every day we cross into another world. I can barely anticipate what awaits us around the next bend. The views are just glorious. The size and expanse of this landscape is breathtaking.
Together, we are doing well. We are supporting each other and sharing food fairly. The tent doesn't seem too small as of yet, nor have we tired of one another's aroma.
It's still light enough to read a bit this evening and I have an unopened Saul Bellow novel to lie back with. Tomorrow, we make our first resupply destination at Warner Springs.
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April 25, our first detour
We dropped down out of the Laguna Mountains today and left the rain and wind behind.
After a mid-morning breakfast in sunny Chariot Canyon on a dry, sandy creek bed, we set out again on the trail which followed a jeep road up a steep hill eastward. The day quickly became very dry and warm. Leaving the Laguna rim, we had entered the Anza-Borrego desert park, and everything around us indicated the change. Now there were cacti and other spiny, drought accustomed plants, lizards scampering off the trail before, the furnace shimmer of heat rising from the distant canyon floor. We found ourselves dropping way down into a valley on what appeared to be a multi-use road (there were mountain bike tire marks). We pulled out our poles which had been backpack bound for a couple of days to take some of the strain off our knees and legs, as the grade had gotten way steeper than it had been yet on the trail. Down and down we went until we bottomed out at about 2900ft (a drop of 1500 ft). It was here that Eliza asked (for perhaps a third time) if I was sure that we we!
re actually on the pct. I had been insisting that we must be, but never really checked our map. So then I did and on the pct we were not.
We were relieved and a bit surprised to find a grove of healthy looking Willow trees lining a running stream, so we took the time there to fill up our water bottles before beginning our backtrack ascent back to the top of the canyon. It turns out that we had missed the trail about 2.5 miles back, very near to where we had stopped for breakfast. Part of me knew the whole time that we ere going the wrong way. I had read the trail description and knew it wasn't matching, but somehow kept convincing myself that if we just waited and saw what was coming up around the next bend...Also, we have been tracking the other hikers around us on the trail by following their footprints. For example, we know Little Debbie wears New Balance running shoes. His print reads plain as day "New Balance." Then there's Trekker. He has a heavy hiking bot with a rugged tread, brand unknown. JD has the same sneakers that I do, the Montrail Masai and while I might not recognize it right off, Eliza!
definitely would. She generally walks just behind me. This footprint game is just something she and I do during the day, and all the way down this dirt road I kept myself going that somehow the wind or sme other magical force had wiped out the print of absolutely every other hiker that had passed before us. Either that or I was imagining that I actually was seing their prints down there.
All in all, the detour was no big deal. In a way it was a good realiy check, a reminder that getting in a ton of miles every day is only part of this hike. It's also dealing with setbacks and staying flexible. There should be a positive side to just about everything, depending on your perspctive. Had we not accidentally taken this trail, for example, we may have never walked on the floor or Oriflamme Canyon. The detour did afford us a chance meeting with two of our new trail friends, Gruevy and Donna, who we have been playing leap frog with and seeing every day or so this week. This is the same couple that we met three weeks ago in NC, who were also training on the AT. We had passed their tarptent yesterday evening in the blustery wind storm and figured that we just might never see them again. We are trying to make really good time and they had hinted that they were aiming for a bit of an easier pace. Today, though, oddly enough, there they were standing right at the!
trail junction which we had missed two hours before.
"Hey, look who it is!" I called out, cracking the first smile I had had in some time. "If you were thinking of maybe coming this way, don't. It's definitely the wrong way."
The remainder of the day was beautiful. The trail ascended and held a pleasant grade. Magnificent views of the San Jacinto Mtns. greeted us from across the San Fillipe valley, which we will cross tomorrow before the heat of the day sets in. The desert has a sense of alluring magic to it--it's creatures and plant life, so strange and exotic; the earth, so hard and burnt.
I feel that it is such an enormous privilege to be out here now, in the grip of this great, wild, expansive countryside.
Eliza decided at some point over the last couple of days to take a trail name. She was hesitant at first, her real name still feeling fresh and new since it's last alteration, but finally introduced herself as Koala as we were heading out after the kickoff on saturday. It has always been a sort of affectionate nickname between us, but I think it fits very well her personality out here on the trail--she's cute, cuddly, and potentially very ferocious if she doesn't get her eucalyptus leaves at suppertime each night.
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April 24, up on the Laguna rim
We were up today at 5am, trying to put some miles behind us before the heat of the day arrived. It had rained through much of the night so everything was soaked and I was extremely and expressively grumpy while trying to deal with the wet, grimy tent with my wet, grimy fingers. From here on out, it was to be a wet and grimy day. The heat never arrived and the sun barely peeped out from behind the swift, speeding cloud force overhead.
I've never experienced weather like we walked through today. The cold whisps of wet mountan mist would roll east up and over the ridge line that we walked, dropping a haze of bitter droplets as they went and then just launch out over the great, golden expanse of the Anza-Borrego desert, 4000 ft down in the canyon below, where they would rise to join some picturesque and benevolent parade of cumulous and drift out peacefully into Arizona. From 6am until 10am, we were a little ways back and up from the edge of the canyon, still ascending Mt. Laguna from the south, concluding yesterday's climb, but we still saw a good deal of wind and rain. We came up over 5000ft and passed through a pretty transitional ecosystem of Jeffrey Pine and Black Oak, but were too wet to pay it much mind. Hurrying onward, we made the Mt. Laguna general store by 10:30 and were able to spend some time attending to our wet-weary selves: airing out our wet socks and camping gear, cooking the daily oat!
s, drinking hot chocolate. There was a hiker box in the store full of items which other hikers have left for the taking and we were happy to grab a bag of seed and fruit trail mix (not that we don't eat this stuff every day anyway, but I can really put away) and some honey for our oats. These things are great, these hiker boxes. We will be sure to check them out before doing our own shopping every week.
After eating and tidying our stuff up a bit, we set out again at 12pm. The day had cleared considerably and we had a very nice few hours walking along the aforementioned rim overlooking the sunny desert valley of the Anza-Borrego. At some point, the clouds became relentless and really started letting loose on us. It wasn't so much that there was all that much rain, but the wind, the wind was outrageous.
My umbrella is probably shot, but Eliza and I were fine. While I felt pretty freaked out at the time (and for much of the next 4 hours until we finally found a decent spot for a campsite) I think that we actually handled the weather pretty well. There was a time not too far back when the mere thought of having to set up camp and sleep through a night in the rain would have practically made me sick, but here today, I think we did pretty darn good--and it really wasn't all that bad. Then again, it better be nice out here tomorrow. If we liked hiking in the rain we would have stayed home and hiked tha AT.
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Sunday, April 24, 2005
April 22: Going to California
So we're finally here, just east of San Diego in southern California, heading north on the Pacific Crest Trail.
After a whirlwind week of moving out of our apartment, packing and unpacking and packing again, dehydrating food, sewing, making last-minute adjustments to our gear, filling prescriptions, seeing the dentist, having farewell meals and saying goodbye to our friends and family, we're finally here -- with our packs on our backs and nothing but the trail to occupy our time.
Flying into San Diego from NYC via Denver on Thursday we glimpsed the fractalled oranges and reds of the Grand Canyon in NW Arizona. We marvelled that Eliza's mother was down there somewhere on an adventure of her own. Shortly, looking north out over the deserts of Southern California, we began to see the foothill beginnings of mountains come rising from he sands. Is this our destination? we wondered. Are these our mountains? Is that a hiker down there? We were able to identify Palm Springs, CA by comparing our trail maps with the real life sky high relief blazing outside the window and were awe-struck by the snow capped ridgeline of the San Jacintos which towered before us. This was our trail. It will be three weeks before we're up in those icy passes, but somehow three weeks doesn't seem like all that long any more.
We were picked up at the airport, as planned, by Chuck, a pot-bellied hiker and garrulous, sarcastic, 46-year-old unemployed metal shop teacher. He and his older brother, Stewart, who we had to pick up at a bar in downtown San Diego (it's around 3pm in the afternoon at this point), are hiking the trail this year. Chuck seems to know everything about the trail, says he's been researching it seriously for five years and section-hiking for a dozen. His brother is going through a crisis (as Chuck informs us while his brother is in the grocery store picking up some Scotch before heading out to the trail) and this summer will be good for him. He rolls his eyes and sighs that just about everyone out on the trail is going through some kind of crisis. That's a interesting angle on it, I thought. Am I going through a crisis? I don't think I am as of yet. Together these two are an absolute riot, positively offensive and chauvanistic, rude and rowdy -- all in all, a distinct pleasure to be around.
After a couple of brief stops to sure up our supplies and send out our food drop box and bounce bucket, Eliza and I are standing at the border, alone in the late afternoon gloam of the hot setting sun. A snaking cloud of dust drifts away behind the diminishing form of Chuck's SUV.
This is what we had been planning so long for. This was the beginning of the end. It seemed all too natural, standing there. A myth come to life that turns out to be wholly believable and absolutely real. The scene was beautiful and aside from the bloated bubble of nerves exanding violently in my stomach, we both felt perfect. So we snapped some photos, did some southern terminus acrobatics, climbed around on the monument, strapped on our packs and set out for Canada.
untitled
We are tucked away tonight up in the Laguna Mountains under the dense cover of thick Manzanita and Ocean Spray shrubs.
The full moon rose up over the crest just northeast of our campsite just as we were ducking onto the tent for the night. Early tomorrow morning there is to be a lunar eclipse which we are planning on getting up an hiking through. The alarm is set for 4am. It is absolutely gorgeous out here tonight, perfectly quiet, a pleasant chill to the air at about 45 degrees.
We left the ADZPCTKO (Annual Day Zero PCT Kick-Off) event today at noon, eager to hit the trail after spending yesterday evening relaxing and visiting with some other hikers. The event was originally held by the PCT class of '77, and each year is put on by a small group of organizers, trail "alumni" from the past few years, and a few Trail Angels. It is an opportunity for current thru-hikers to meet each other, get information about current trail conditions, water caches, etc., and just a chance to celebrate and unwind at the commencement of this grand journey.
The kick-off took place at Lake Morena, which is one of San Diego's drinking water reservoirs, located 20 miles north up the PCT from the Mexican border.
green at the border
We couldn't have been more pleasantly surprised by just how lush and alive the landscape and scenery along the first 20 miles of this trail has been. We knew, of course, that all of California had been getting rocked by heavy rains all winter long, but nonetheless expected that the ever-parched nearby desert lands would have long ago sucked the moisture from this entire area. Wonderfully, this extraordinary year it isn't so.
Horses are grazing in verdant, lush pastures. White tailed Jack Rabbits skip accross the trail in happy groupings of two and three. Streams rush over the trail every half mile. Wild flowers are still blooming. The creek bed valleys between the green chapparel covered hillsides are lush and overgrown, idyllically shaded by the great and steadfast live oaks which dominate the upper canopies of flora throughout the region. Our guide book warns that hikers beware: no water sources reliable until the Lake Morena resevoir campground twenty miles up the trail. This year, on our trail, this couldn't have been less a concern.
The first night out we hiked north about 5 miles before throwing down our ground cloth and sleeping under the open sky. We had been warned by Chuck and Stewart not to camp so close to the border as there were so many illegal immigrants coming by every night and our chances of passing the night alone were slim. We woke up only a couple of times throughout the night, hearts racing, ear drums taut, certain that the odd rabit rustling about in the chapparel was a starving and cold human being, forced to take desperate measures with us over our clothing and food stores. The night, however, passed uneventfully and we awoke early to an overcast morning and brisk cool winds.
Friday, April 15, 2005
day 6, descent to Fontana
We rolled out again this morning at 5:30 am and started our final day of hiking. The day was very warm and the sky pleasntly patched with white candy clouds. For much of the morning we had intermittent views of the inviting, blue waters of Fontana Lake, which we had first glimpsed the previous evening while descending from Thunderhead and Rockytop, and which was our final destination. Eliza's knee continued to bother her today, as the travel was pedominantly downhill. For the most part, however, the grades were easy and the trails well groomed. This was quite a relief after many days of hard travelin' on rocky, muddy, steep, rutted, and rooted trails.
We passed a whole slough of hikers ascending into the mountains today.
Day 5
It was a gorgeous summery day in the mountains. The tallest peak of the Appalachian Trail lay before as we set out. We ascended Clingman's Dome early, leaving the shelter via its muddy, rutted access trail at 5:30 am and slopped our way up to the summit of 6500 ft. by 8:00. A snow storm last week has left many of the trails rushing with snow melt or thick with mud. The trails here in the Smokies are built so steeply and over such a rocky, jagged terrain, that at many points they have been simply washed away. The Smokies are annually the most visited national park in the country, so overuse plays a part in their degradation as well.
From the Dome, which we had to ourselves to peer out from over the vast, foggy mountain valleys on all sides, we forged on westward over a gentle terrain. The trail took us through forests of Beech, Maple, Birch, and gnarly haunting Oak for much of the afternoon. The floor of the ridgeline, underneath the still bare canopy of the trees, was colorful and inviting with browns and oranges still sitting from last fall, new verdant grasses, and a fresh sprinkling of tiny pink and white wildflowers.
Our day was long -- 19 miles -- and we made sure to take care of ourselves along the way. Eliza is still struggling with a nagging pain in her knees which flares up on just about every downhill stretch, so we take lots of short breaks to put our feet up, sit down, drink water, or eat something. Today, we cooked three times, all the while on the trail. Many people will cook at the shelters at night, but we prefer to eat on the go in a pretty spot. It is bad practice, we figure, to eat where you sleep in the wilderness, as the scents of cooking and eating will attract hungry predators and vermin.
Our third meal was a pre-packaged pasta mix, something by Knorr, I think, which we mixed with water ahead of time to soak (Eliza carries a Tupperware container as a food dish). To our amazement, it ended up completely cooking itself. We hadn't thought that this would work so well without adding heat, but it did. We were excited about the possibilities it opened up for fuel-less cooking on future hikes, particularly on the imminent PCT thru-hike, which we are slated to start on in less than two weeks now. We watched the sun dwindle atop Rockytop and felt very alive.
The PCT has been on our minds throughout this trip. We know we'll have to push long days and burn up miles out there, so we've been trying to do that here. As of now we've covered a little under 100 miles in 5 days. We are right on schedule, despite some uncertainty coming in due to the possibility of inclement weather and Eliza's trick knee. All in all the trip has been encouraging and exciting. We didn't discover that we hated backpacking. We weren't utterly destroyed by the mileage we had undertaken to hike each day. We have finally realized exactly what it is that we will be doing for the next six months and thankfully, it seems we actually like it. Fancy that. The whole unknown thing is losing it's mystique and the dark corners left fuzzy and un-illuminated by all the reading and buying, and the constant research we've done are finally coming into focus. We're ready.
Here and now we're still a day away from being done, so we're taking care to keep enjoying ourselves and the company we're making.
Today, for the first time, I introduced myself using my trail name. "Call me 'Wolf', I said," feeling just a little bit goofy. My self-consciousness immediately vanished, however, when the guy smiled warmly and responded, unfazed, "cool, I'm 'Groovy'."
Groovy and his partner Donna, it turns out, are also heading out to hike the PCT at the end of the month. They were actually the first people we've met at all who are going to be out West with us, so we were more than happy to sit and chat about the upcoming trip, how plans were going, etc. Whens and wheres and what nots were exchanged and Eliza and I had one more aspect of our own thru-hike to discuss over the course of the day . . . all these people, their hilarious names, this bizarre and monstrous quest . . . are we them too?
"Wolf", as I mentioned, will my trail name. It is standard thru-hiker practice to leave behind every facet of one's "regular" life, and become someone else entirely on the trail. For example, Dr. Schissel might walk the trail as "Rockstar." Perhaps mine will even end up as "The Wolf," in a subtle nod to Jeff Bridges and the Cohen brothers.' aloof, pacifist protagonist. For me, the wolf is an affirmation of my personal identity as a person living with Lupus. SLE (systemic lupus erythematosus) is a chronic, systemic auto-immune disorder. The name Lupus is derived from the Latin name for the Grey Wolf, lupus canis. This mysterious disease and the nocturnal, woodland carnivore were originally associated with one another when early pathologists likened the frequent skin rashes and subsequent scar tissues which are common on patients' faces to the marks of a wolf's bite. In my life, Lupus has held itself relatively at bay since my initial childhood diagnosis. As an adult I've decided to actively pursue a healthy and intentional lifestyle as a means to live in harmony with this potentially debillitating condition.
To this day the wolf is an elusive and much misunderstood creature in our culture, just as Lupus remains a medical mystery -- often misdiagnosed, widely misconstrued and mistreated.
***
The hiker culture on the Appalachian Trail is a bizarre and many-faced thing. The first thing that struck me a few days ago, particularly when we slept our first night in the shelter with the party all-night atmosphere, was how much more was going on here than just hiking. It's a lot like being on phish tour, it seems, to be out on the AT. Most of the guys out here probably used to spend every summer on tour. It's a way to keep moving and have no destination, to soul search and smoke pot with lots of strangers every day. It doesn't sound all that bad, really. It's just not really what I expected the thru-hiker scene to be about. I figure most of the younger folks out here (by younger, I mean people in their twenties) probably finance a summer of hiking and stopping into towns to party every so often similarly to the way I've financed my up-coming thru-hike: by working odd jobs, saving a few thousand bucks, and then just packing all of their stuff away back at their parents' house for however long the money lasts. That is certainly not to say that this is the only kind of hiker out here -- this is far from true -- but there is definitely a very pronounced and sizeable crowd representing this approach to the thru-hike.
all for now . . .
A few days on the AT
So far, the hiking trip has gone very well. Eliza and I set out from about 4 miles east of Hot Springs, NC, southbound on the AT yesterday morning at around 8am. We began walking at an elevation of nearly 2300 ft. through gorgeous patches of Rhododendren and scattered Hemlock. After a few miles we began a sharp descent along a rocky ridgeline down over the French Broad River and the small resort town of Hot Springs. Following a highway bridge over the wide, swift river we could imagine what a welcome sight a place like this must be for thru-hikers. In fact, the first fellow hiker we had passed, earlier that day, after inquiring in a tone of quiet astonishment dripping with mild delight, "You southbound hikers?" [everyone we see asks us this, hoping that we might just be the first] lauded great praise on the town, it's southern hospitality, and the $9 four course meal at Elmers. It looked like a nice enough town to us, but as we weren't in any need of a buffet breakfast or !
a refill on our Isopropyl alcohol supply, we just headed right on by and started up the other side of the valley.
It turned out to be a day of tremendous ascent. Over the course of the day, we netted ovr 5000 ft in elevation. Today, however, we dropped down every one of them. I can't decided which is more difficult, up or down. Right now I'd have to say down, but that's only because we just spent the last 4 hours
coming down from about 4300 ft at the summit of Snowbird Mt to 1500 ft where I-40 crosses through from NC to TN.
We are camped now next to a loud brook which cascades exotically out of sight. The air is warm, around 70. Eliza is fast asleep next to me. This trip is about training and practice and this is a part of that as well, I guess-coming into our little yellow home and tring to put my thoughts together about the day.
I can only think of highlights now. Like the little green beauty of a bald which served as our campsite last night, the blue sky above and the warm sunlight and the iconic mountain ranges, so perfect in their monochrome blues, dwindling into clouds.
We awoke to my watch alarm this morning at 5:00 am and I've never felt so good waking in a tent as I did then. There was an ideal 50 degree breeze blowing into the open tent mesh facing SSW over the silhouetted mountains which we were to climb over later in the day. There wasn't a drop of condensation, in or out of the tent. This is such a relief to me, just knowing that the conditions can in fact be met to avoid turning the inside of this state of the art Black Diamond, ultralight, mountaineering tent into a dripping, damp sweatlodge. We spent two nights camping in Southern FL and were sorely disapponted with the tent's inability to breath. Here, it seems to be be breathing just fine. Other gear impressions: I am very pleased with my new altimeter watch. It's really great to keep an eye on the elevation changes over the course of the day. It's not somthing you would miss, but having it is really cool.
Speaking of watches. I just looked at mine and it's past my bedtime.
We've got a good 4000 ft direct ascent into the Smokies to wake up to. We're keeping our fingers crossed that the weather holds. Last weekend, the whole are got rocked with rain and snow and we've heard our share of horror stories.
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To the Smokies
Eliza and I are ready to head into the woods tomorrow morning for a 6 day practice hike. We have all of our gear set and our food organized and stowed. Now we'll see just how ready we are. We set out in the morning for Hot Springs, NC, from where we will follow the AT south through The Great Smoky Mountain National Park. The total distance we hope to cover is approximately 110 miles over the course of the next 6 days. We are both excited. Thankfully, neither of us is feeling much anxiety about the myriad things out there to worry about. Weather forecast shows sun for at least the next two days, but then rain for the latter part of the week. Arriving in Asheville on Saturday evening we were met with driving, drizzling rain and wild, whipping winds. This was not what we were hoping to find after 14 hours of driving south, trying to escape the NY winter. The past two days have been gorgeous, however, and our fears of a thoroughly drenched visit have passed. It will certainly be chilly and wet at points, but we feel prepared. At the very least, we've got lots of extra garbage bags packed.
technical difficulties
A few entries from our trip in NC somehow never made it to this site. I am re-sending them today, so hopefully the entiety of the trip will be up here soon (with photos as well, just as soon as we get our apt cleared out today)
We're back in Ithaca now, busily geting things ready and tying up loose ends before leaving for the PCT on Thursday.
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Sunday, April 10, 2005
day 3, and rain
Tonight we're high in the Smokies and rain drizzles plasantly outside the shelter. We're tired after a long day which nearly had us stopped 8 miles back after the initial ascent out of Davenport Gap. The climb took us about 4000 ft. up over the course of 4 miles. Yesterday evening, Eliza's knee starting giving her a lot of trouble as we descended from a similar height on the other side of the Gap, and today, all morning long she was in a great deal of pain. We ate a good meal of oatmeal, fortified with flax, soy, sunflower seeds, dried apples and bananas at around 12 pm and pushed on a bit further until stopping at 2:30, when Eliza thought she might have to call it a day. We got out the park map and figured what we would do in case her injury was really a serious one which had to be dealt with.
We thought of giving ourselves another day. We considered altering our route to shorten the trip. We even considered just pushing on the Newfound Gap and calling it quits there. Finally we opted to get in touch with Jacob who had agreed to pick us up and ask for another day. I left a message and there we were, sitting at a shelter alone at 3 pm under what had suddenly turned into a beautiful, sunny sky. Since she had just popped a few of our pecious ibuprofin about a half hour before, Eliza thought it only right that we hit the trail for one last push and try to make th next shelter.
Now this ibuprofin stuff works wonders. Eliza and I flew over the next 8 miles, ascending another 1000 ft to well over 6500. We entered a high zone where snow and ice covered the trail and tall aromatic firs replaced the bare oaks and lush rhododenron bushes of the lower altitudes.
We came to the Tricorner shelter at about 7 pm as rain began to fall. 6 others were already inside, two of them busy kindling a fire in the stone hearth. An older man, the only other section hiker we've seen, was sitting up keen and interested in introducing himself and hearing about us.
We didn't care to talk much though. We were tired and had a dinner to cook. We had cous cous and home dried beans with fresh cauliflower and broccoli. It seemed like many of the guys knew each other from earlier sections of the trail and kept to themselves to some degree. They had their trail names and there inside jokes already well established. One hiker, Doc, showed up just a few minutes ago and successfully rousted the whole nest with the sweet promise of a nip off his plastic water bottle full of Scotch. It didn't sound bad, actually, but I was happily engrossed with this entry here.
The social scene here in the shelter is surprisingly adolescent--macho fraternity type humor abounds. One guy repeatedly makes note that they're all thru-hikers here, following himself up with an obnoxious grunt. I even heard someone snickering from outdoors (there's a tarp covering the entrance, due to the cold and rain) that "it's so funny how all the thru-hikers came out and the others didn't. They're like, 'We're on vacation, we don't drink'." It kind of gets my goat actually. I would hope that people would be a little more respectful. Then again, we don't all have to be friends with one another...
Eliza is sleeping now. I promised her a back rub but I missed my chance. After making such good time tonight, we may be switching back to the original plan for getting out of the park on Sunday. We'll have to see how we fare on another 20+ mile day tomorrow first.
day 4
We are waiting for water to boil aside the AT, just west of Newfound Gap, 2 miles shy of our destination for the night. We broke camp early this morning, hitting the trail at 6 am, our headlamps illuminating the pathway. It is a wonderful part of each day. The feeling is like being on the moon, or exploring a dark deep cavern at the ocean floor. We are both quiet, slowly stretching our sore muscles, anticipating the break of day. The sky brightened today over endless green-grey misty mountain ranges, shrouds of thick wet cloud hanging in the valleys. Most of the morning we walked the back of a sharp ridgeline, with steep declines on both sides. Views on the left, including the distant snaking double track of the four lane I-40, which we had passed late two evenings prior, were of North Carolina. And to the right lay Tennessee. The heavy clouds rolled over the ridgeline and cancelled the boundary which our rail was defining. It was time all to ourselves. Occasionally!
we'd stop to consult the map, just to track our progress and get an idea for what we had in store later in the day.
It turned into a long one. We misjudged distances between water sources and ended up doing a good 12.3 miles before finally sitting down on a chilly bed of damp pine needles for a drink of water and our daily oatmeal. The weather had shifted; clouds wre passing swiftly and bringing on chilling and damp breezes. While the walking was nice, we were beat and preferred to just sit and relax for a bit. This proved impossible. The same thing happened this evening. Just as I started writing this entry, a burst of thunder crashed somewhere off in the valley and within seconds pellet plops of rain were pounding down on us. I quickly tossed the emailer in my pack and in the midst of a whole spat of frantic cursing and fumbling we were able to rig up a miserable little makeshift shelter out the the groundcloth which I've been using as a pack cover these past two days. We shoveled down our cous cous and corn chowder and were up and moving within ten minutes as the rain slowed an!
d we made our way down the muddy trail to the Mt. Collins shelter. The crowd in the shelter is much moe agreeable than last night's gang. So much so that they're all already asleep. Last night's marathon conversation about absolutely nothing dragged on deep into the night (trail time translates this to mean at least 11pm). Anyway that's all I've got in me for tonight. It's up and over Clingman's Dome first thing in the morning. We'll be wearing our space lamps.
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