TRAIL DAY 69
Fri, Apr 29, 2016 Breakfast, pack and off along the trail that followed the stream to the east. It was a long low hike without significant climbing for several miles. Wooded then open then lightly wooded again. At the first opening onto fields and green, green grass in golden morning sun a little after 8:00 a.m., we were, as always, by ourselves, drinking in the changing scenery and tasting the day we’d been given.
Just off the trail on our left in beautiful freshly mown grass was a one-room schoolhouse of natural light-grey-beige wood clapboard with a worn wood sign of the same color over the door reading: LINDAMOOD SCHOOL 1894. The gabled roof was the same color with shake shingles and a square brick chimney rising from the center not more than a foot and a half per side.
I’ve usually been pretty good at making decisions. Yogi Barra was heard to say: “When you come to a fork in the road, take it.” Reminds me of the knight I mentioned on March 12th who “ran out of the castle, jumped on his horse and rode off in all directions.”
Some people have a harder time than others accepting the impossibility of the jocular point here. I feel a little pang, sure, but, generally, I don’t spend too much time agonizing over the fact that I can’t have everything on the menu.
Which is to say that I wanted to pause and go into the school which was open to the public as a mini museum. I hesitated, considered, wavered – just a little – but decided I needed to cover miles northbound. As I crossed the country road just beyond the school, I saw a man near the parking area across from the school carrying tools to do some volunteer work. Along a narrow path through high grass, I took a 360̊ pan and saw that people behind me had stopped to go in. I had made my choice so turned to find Theo enjoying the cool grass hiding his legs and eyeing the school visitors.
Theo always kept an eye on other hikers and it took a couple of months before he stopped warning me of their approach and acting like my protector. His fierce bark always turned to tail wagging and scratch-me-and-I’ll-follow-you-anywhere antics on his prey’s arrival. He never barked at home when people passed our fenced-in yard until he was attacked by a neighbor’s Yellow Lab as we walked by their back yard when their gate was left open. Ever since then, it sounds like serious blood is flowing or soon will be when neighbors walk by our yard – especially if they have a dog or two in tow. A Jack Russell, who was added a lot more than his 2¢ to the fray, got through our fence once and the blood-curdling scene turned instantly to hugs and kisses. I guess dogs like to pretend, too.
I would joke with hikers saying, only because it was so obviously not true, “Be careful, he can be vicious.” No one ever took me seriously. I would also say, “He likes to pretend he’s protecting me.” That one was true.
We turned northward and headed back into dense woods of fairly new growth. We were no sooner in the woods than we were back out through rolling fields. It was still early morning – around 8:30 a.m. – and I was getting warm. When we entered the woods again, I decided to remove a layer of clothing. As I was pulling my shirt over my head a great flurry of activity erupted up a slight grade to my right and as soon as I spotted the source, it was gone: a wild turkey! It had been in a tree and so camouflaged in its black-and-brown feathers that it was virtually invisible when still. I don’t know if he was smart enough to note that I was quite compromised with my arms working their way through arm holes as my head and eyes were buried in material but it was at that moment that he swooshed overhead, across the trail and through the trees on the other side. I wondered how such a large-winged creature made its way through a thicket of branches and whether the feather-flapping sounds I heard were of wing strokes alone or also of wings against branches.
Cooler, startled and with only my recall to capture what had happened, we packed up and moved on.
My AWOL notes tell me it was on this day that I had a difficult time with Theo. Unfortunately, I don’t have any pictures to confirm the location. Nonetheless, I remember walking along a creek in the woods and seeing some hikers, including Bigfoot, up ahead. They were on the far side of a small bridge in some disrepair and without sides that crossed the creek. They were resting and deciding whether to continue hiking or take the road into town. I decided to carry on up a short steep section which led to a fence with upside-down-V-shaped steps made of 2″x4″s over it leading into a meadow. One of the 2″x4″s had “Dogs go underneath” stenciled on it. I would go over and Theo would go under.
At a prior fence with V-shaped steps, there had been another hiker to help me direct Theo underneath on the diagonal. With a hiker on either side, we were successful in directing Theo where to go. I was on the far side beckoning Theo underneath to me, while my fellow hiker showed him where to enter.
This time, I was alone. I climbed over the fence via the steps and directed Theo to “stay! – stay!” As soon as I was over, he rushed the chicken wire fence attempting to duck under.
He had ducked under barbed wire fences before many times. Usually the bottom strand was high enough that he could make it.
Not so with the chicken wire.
He rushed again without success and I pushed him back with all the strength I could muster shouting a more and more harsh: STAY! STAY!
No go! He rushed again and pushed through under the very low chicken wire, tearing the bear bell off the top of his saddlebags.
I was angry but he was through. We walked on in silence. As my feet pushed the world south of me, I mused on what had just occurred and gradually realized that this poor dog knows the STAY! command to mean, “You stay there. I’m going on.” He probably thought I was leaving him on the other side of the fence in the middle of nowhere while I carried on without him. Since I am life itself to him, he would not be separated from me – no matter what I said. He was getting through and coming with me – PERIOD! Pure panic and determination drove him through that fence.
I realized what occurred at the fence was all my fault. I was careless with my words and not mindful of what Theo would hear – although he can be rambunctious if he thinks for one second he might be left out. Nonetheless, it was still my fault. It is up to me to train him to understand my will and to follow it. There had been no training for the V-shaped steps at fences.
There would be two more times on the trail that I demanded behavior from Theo that I never taught him – two more times that I would get angry at him because of my failure – not his.
I told him I was sorry the best I could and we moved on. We passed through more dense, new growth and open vistas over lush, green fields and gentle rises until we descended to a boardwalk over a stream, then over railroad tracks, then more boardwalk over marshy green plants. More green rolling fields led to a gully in which lay a crumbled wooden farm structure tangled in overgrowth. There were more lush, green rolling hills and then the first sight of I 81. We’d heard it for some time but there it was – the road we had taken south to begin this adventure. We would go under it and wend our way through many twists and turns westward before we gradually turn northward once again.
Before burrowing under I 81, however, the trail spit us out onto Lee Highway (US 11) at the northern tip of Atkins, Virginia where I lost the blazes. I saw the white vertical reflectorized markings on the bridge to my left and figure they could be the blazes I was looking for. I proceeded over the bridge but on the far side there was no indication where the trail continued.
You’ve heard the expression, “When all else fails, read the directions.” Got out AWOL – noted the reference to page 59 for the AT/US 11 intersection. There it was, clear and unmistakable, a diagram showing a right on US 11 followed by an immediate left to go under I 81. I guess the simple routine of feet, dirt, blaze-on-tree was dulling my trail-trained mind – lulling it to sleep. But, in truth I’ve followed the above-quoted lazy rule many times in all settings, flying excepted.
Back on track, there was a Mexican Restaurant just beyond the intersection to I 81. Some hikers were already there. It was tempting even in midmorning. The convenience store at the Exxon station would suffice for a cold drink. Theo stayed cool under the high cover above the pumps most distant from the store.
My notes remind me that, at Mi Puerto, Glider had recommended the Quarter Way Inn in Atkins where he had stayed and appreciated the owner, Tina. I guess Glider took a shuttle back to Marion for another connection home. But it was not the time to pack it in for the night. Respite and return was the best I could do in Atkins so Theo and I took to the pavement walking under I 81 and, a short distance beyond when double blazes indicated the trail turning northbound, into more fields and woods as before.
Spring was irrepressible with life urging life everywhere. Green, yellow and white predominated. Ancient death in a small family cemetery gave way to something I’d never seen before and just by happenstance caught my eye: bees building a honeycomb foundation to a nest in a pine tree overhead. Small tree crotches were usurped by a proliferation of caterpillars nests.
Another hiker had come by just as I caught sight of the bees’ industry. We were both fascinated. He moved on first and I followed at my own, slower pace.
Soon I came to one of those cattle guards made of parallel bars suspended over a pit. The cattle could not get their footing on this device and would stay put. Human footing wasn’t much better.
On the far side of the crossing, the trail was a narrow path up the center of a wide expanse of rolling green hills. The cattle guard was at the start and another upside-down-V set of steps over more chicken wire would be at the other end. A couple of hikers came into view in this green-meadow paradise. One was a girl I saw as I paused to take pictures upon entering. She seemed to have some difficulty crossing the cattle guard. I called out to her if she needed a hand and she did not respond. I let it go, not wanting to embarrass her. She made her way to where I stood, saying nothing at first and then mumbling incoherently. She pointed to her ears and mouthed, “I’m deaf.”
Perhaps an appropriate reaction is, “Sure! Want a Snickers?” completely ignoring the disability. We’re all the same, right? No matter the gender, number of limbs, eyes or cranial lobes.
I failed. I was unnoticeably moved by her courage to undertake the trail with this disability and resolved to be as normal as I could be and to be helpful if necessary and non-intrusive. I wished her happy hiking and moved on.
At the far side, over the steps and in the woods, I looked back to the beautiful green fields and did a video which ended just as the courageous hiker appeared over the knoll.
She made her way over the fence and passed me in the woods.
The afternoon would progress much as the morning: hiking through glorious rolling hills of green interspersed with new young forests showing in small saplings the extraordinary design and efficiency of nature. It was 12:30 or so when I came to an abandoned campsite and stopped for lunch at its picnic table. “Courageous” (my name for her) was already there having her lunch. I had taken a few pictures of the campsite and its privy and noticed that my phone’s memory was full. After Courageous left, I crawled under the picnic table to get enough shade from the bright sun to see my phone’s screen. I also retrieved my tablet from my pack and transferred the photos from my phone to the table via a bluetooth connection. Once the transfer was made and confirmed, I deleted all the photos on my phone. I would do this two more times before Katahdin.
After lunch it was back to the trail where we soon came to the quarter-way sign. “Ziplock” and her friend, whose name I would later learn to be “Falcon,” were there. They said they were my back-field neighbors at Old Orchard Shelter following Grayson Highlands. They had heard all the noise I made getting my tent stake bag out of the tree. More on these ladies later.
When I arrived at the shelter Courageous was already there and settled in. I began thinking I might need her help more than she mine. I set up my Zpacks Duplex some distance from the shelter, ate there and soon turned in.
Day #69 Chatfield Shelter > Knot Maul Branch Shelter 19.3 miles