TRAIL DAY 70
Sat, Apr 30, 2016 Applejack and I had chatted about the length of our daily advance on the north. I had said I was going to be aiming for 20-miles-plus in the less mountainous terrain AWOL was projecting. Applejack was a little nonplused and thought perhaps he should be aiming as high as well. Although I did hit 19.9 on day #59, this would be the only day I would make 20 or better. Way north, Applejack would make tracks that left me in the dust. We would cross paths from NOC to Pennsylvania. He’d go off the trail for leg injuries and catch up with me in Pennsylvania and fire up his jets for the long finish.
With the addition of a few large streams, the character of the trail was much as it had been over the past couple of days. In and out of woods and through green fields and near-bald hillsides. On a long, high grassy stretch, I would stop for lunch by a boulder and some other hikers, including Applejack, would happen along and join me. It was windy and we had our windbreakers or light down jackets on. After lunch, the long, gradual, grassy climb continued until we reached the edge of the open area.
In and out of the woods, we came at one point to the Chestnut Knob Shelter whose name suggests its commanding view. It was the most substantial shelter I had encountered. Even sturdier than the one on Blood Mountain which was a stone structure, barren within. It was built in 1934. Chestnut Knob Shelter invited you to stay a while and enjoy comfortably secure mountain-top lodgings.
I went in and struck up a conversation with several who looked like they intended to stay. It was 1:30 p.m. and I had too far to go. Maybe the others would move on as well; however, I remember seeing Bigfoot setting up his tent on the north side of the shelter.
Inside, I met “Professor” and made the big mistake of asking him how he got that name. I was seated at a table at the back of the long shelter and Professor was on the bottom bunk just inside the door. He “professed” to make his story short but it got so long I lost all interest and all details. I remember nothing except that I never got an answer that stuck. Perhaps I, too, profess too much.
I do remember, however, that Professor had a very rich, thick black beard. When you’re growing a beard yourself, you tend to notice others. I remember, too, that the view north was expansive over a wide expanse of farmlands.
Soon Theo and I carried on northbound down from the knob then over a corrugated ridgeline as the weather began deteriorating.
I was fascinated by interesting patterns in rocks lying in the trail. They stirred deep imaginings about the early formation of our planet, just a heartbeat ago in geological time, when rock was molten and could be shaped. What had caused the shapes I was seeing? A rock face of tangled latticework. How? When?
Miracle upon miracle and all we could do was move on along an endless thread winding over and through a universe of the incomprehensible-real and in-your-hand unfathomable. In awe simply that we can move and be and see and smell and treasure and hurt and tire and revive and thrive and surrender again and again in a world but a speck in the vast realm of creation we can barely imagine.
My musing on rocks and words gave way to Courageous, another miracle of another order. She must have had a Zpacks Duplex tent as well. She was set up in the woods for the night by herself at nearly 6:00 p.m. but I had a goal and would hike for 3½ more hours.
The ridgeline was frequently very rocky and difficult to traverse. The late day was misty and foggy and as it got more and more eerie, Theo and I were more and more alone, hiking deeper and deeper into the wilderness. It was then I saw the sign reading:
RECREATING IN BEAR COUNTRY
More and more habitat is being shared by humans and black bears. Follow these steps to help ensure your safe experience in bear country.
Hike in groups and stay close together
Keep your dog on a leash. . . . Dogs can agitate bears or lead them back to you.
[The sign had a picture of a big black bear]
O.Kaaaay. Stay calm. Stay alert. . .and just keep going.
Perhaps that’s the best rule for life.
We did keep going.
And going. . .and going. . .and going. . . .
I can almost see the terrain right after that sign. An ascent up a rocky knoll on a sparsely forested ridge, late in the fog-laden day.
We kept going.
Through the damp forest, up and over rocks coming eventually to a 3-mile descent to Jenkins Shelter. Within perhaps a mile or our destination, we passed a stream and I filled up. It began raining and I remember connecting the water stop with the rain falling as if, had I not stopped, it wouldn’t have rained. Pure deep-forest hiker poppycock but it seemed to make sense – hey, it happened that way – and had before.
There is always the debate unless there’s a deluge: do I get out the rain gear or hope it’s not going to last? Or do I even care if I get soaked? You always get a little soaked anyway.
I got out the gear in the dark and continued.
Finally, we came to the shelter – it was well past “midnight” and the drenched camp was quiet. The shelter was full and had only about a foot worth of eve or overhang.
I put my pack on the shelter floor at the near end and stood under that foot-wide eve as much as possible. It was around 9:30 p.m. I wasn’t going to bother cooking. I dug in my pack for my lunch and breakfast food and took out some honey and, per my notes, breakfast squares – whatever they are. I sucked on the plastic honey jar and ate the squares.
As I ate my supper, the hiker at the end of the shelter nearest me, whispered, “We can make room here for you.”
Now I’m sure you don’t want me to get emotional about these things but, I must say, sitting here at my desk with a roof over my head and a cup of coffee on my desk and my fingers clattering away on the keyboard – all comfortable and cozy – it does cause me some emotion to think back on that long, difficult, somewhat eerie day that could have ended differently, as many could have. I place myself mentally under that narrow lip of protection, in the dark as my dear Theo, soaking pack removed, seeks shelter under the elevated floor.
Once again, it is good to recall how even the lone hiker is part of a mobile community of like-minded people undertaking an extraordinary and, at times, dangerous adventure.
Thank you fellow hiker – I don’t even know your trail name.
Quietly, while standing under the minimal eve, I removed my rain gear and hung it on a nail or two around the corner of the shelter where I had placed my poles. I extracted my sleeping pad, inflated it, got out my sleeping bag and laid it out upon the pad, got rear end up on the elevated floor, removed soaking boots and socks and found a spot for them in the front corner with my benefactor’s boots. I hung my pack on a peg or nail under the eve. I crawled over my sleeping bag, head away from the boot odors and shelter opening, removed soaked clothes and crawled in for the night – grateful.
Day #70 Knot Maul Branch Shelter > Jenkins Shelter 20.1 miles