TRAIL DAY 83
Fri, May 13, 2016 Friday the 13th would be a magnificent day with one mishap that could have been very sad indeed. My red-truck friend took me back to the trail and we were on our way. It was overcast and the woods were wet. A great hiking day which did get brighter as we went.
Beauty abounds on the trail – so many kinds. The vast vistas from a summit lookout or a bald; the lush, green lowland hills rising and falling like a vibrant wave; fiercely rustling leaves in a high woodland torrent of wind; tall grasses tickling the sunlit sky in a flutter of pale colors as the breath of life blows through them where it will. Standing there in the symphony of color, light and air, a call comes from a hurting daughter and the symphony continues its blessing, more inward, a ceaseless, painful joy – a tearful ecstasy of prayer evaporating from the breath on a colorful, breezy day of green and white and blue.
The last field would yield to the cool blessing of a forested canopy.
Undercover, we headed onward soon to encounter Highway. I was leading and did what I’d do again in time. I walked right over branches lying across the trail and followed the path beyond them until the lack of blazes and the character of the surroundings alerted me to my mistake. Such a “pathblock” is intended to alert the hiker to the fact that the trail does not go beyond this point. Sometimes you were so into your hike and “progress,” that you simply didn’t compute the message. This was one of those times and Highway jumped off the cliff with me.
Back on track, Theo and I had a good lead on Highway who was a very strong hiker – just how strong and determined would soon become all the more evident a day out.
At some point, Theo was out ahead of me and rounded a corner as I had seen him do before. I never had any concern about his getting lost or abandoning the trail or chasing wildlife. I have frequently said, I could not design a better K9 companion.
One time Theo disappeared around a corner and a most unusual thing occurred. He came trotting back toward me and appeared as if he were stark buck naked – which, of course, he always is – BUT! he didn’t have his pack on! The lack of a pack made him as naked as a totally unclad female walking down a city street would be. The brain startled at the sight.
What the bleep?
Where are the saddlebags?
How did they come off?
While I’m in a mild panic of bewilderment, Theo is blithely sauntering along kinda proud of himself for getting out from under.
In search, I went around the corner from whence he came so naked and entirely unafraid. No pack in sight.
Then I recalled that about a ¼ mile back Theo had stopped to drink from a small stream crossing the trail. We went back. There it was.
I recalled that I had allowed the 2 straps that go under his chest and belly to hang somewhat loosely. When he bent over to drink, the pack simply slipped off. This event was obviously followed by not the slightest, “Oh, Master! Look what happened. My pack fell off.” Nor was there any barking, nor any hesitation, nor any lingering behind to get my attention. No sir! He was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Hiking free and easy was just fine with him.
Well in the woods after Four Pines, Theo again went ahead of me, around a bend, and as I got around, he was nowhere to be seen. I figured he was on up ahead. I figured he could be thirsty and had scurried on ahead looking for water. So I kept on going.
I never thought he’d go off the trail or lose it. I was sure I’d see southbound hikers soon and could ask them if they’d seen him. If perchance he’d pulled off to the side of the trail for shade, which he did on every hot and sunny day, and was camouflaged as I passed, then he would probably be back on the trail when Highway came along. So I reasoned.
In time, southbound hikers showed up. “No.” They hadn’t seen a Golden Retriever with blue saddlebags.
Then Highway came along. “No.” He hadn’t seen Theo.
I prepared myself to hunt as long as it took and dismissed any thought of continuing on without him. Since I am always talking to someone in my head (that’s probably why I like to write – might as well get the conversation down), I imagined the conversation with the family, “I lost Theo in Virginia. He just disappeared and I never saw him again. I have no idea what happened to him. I’m so sorry.”
I took off my pack and set it on the ground by a fallen tree with my trekking poles and red bandana and hiked back whence I had come. I probably went a mile calling “Theeeeeeee-ooooh” as I went. I also clapped which I do to summon him because my whistle is pathetic – not like my brother’s which was deafening. And not like my mother-in-law’s which my father-in-law used to hail cabs in New York. He’d stand on the curb with his wife behind him, place his fingers in the corners of his mouth and she’d do the whistling. He looked cool – and she was!
If Theo’s close, I can whistle and he responds in a heartbeat. For distances, I would clap. Calling and clapping availed nothing. . .until I got near the corner he rounded before me.
There he was.
Somewhat sheepishly, he made his way down the leafy hillside at the corner. It had been on our right heading north. Now it was on my left.
I was so glad to see my guy. There was, of course, no reprimand. Dogs don’t understand delayed reactions. They must be immediate and connected instantaneously with the incident or behavior you wish to alter.
I did not explore where he went or weather there was a trail up that hill that he may have thought was the way. Maybe he just wanted some shade although it was not all that hot. I’ll never know how Theo got lost that day but we were now back together and it was time to cover the distance to my pack once again.
Soon we were at VA 311, a number which just sticks in my craw. It is not necessarily thought of as a dividing line but it is in some way. South of VA 311 is just Appalachian Trail hiking. Up, down, over, onward, onward, onward. But north of VA 311 is McAfee Knob – the greatest icon on the AT with the possible exception of Katahdin – certainly the greatest icon in the south!
At Four Pines, there was a sign stating that Lambert’s Meadow Shelter (6.7 miles beyond McAfee Knob) was closed because of bear activity. Campbell Shelter was only .7 miles beyond the Knob but somewhere in my brain I connected the two shelters with the bear problem. If they’d go to Lambert’s Meadow, why not Campbell? Was there some imaginary boundary that would keep them away?
I had no fixed plans for where I’d camp when I crossed VA 311. I just crossed and climbed the 3.7 miles to the Knob. The trail was well worn in spots because of the Knob’s fame.
The woods were fairly sparse with open areas as we climbed the 1100′ to the top.
I crossed VA 311 around 2:15 p.m. so I was early for folks wanting to catch the sunset. Accordingly, there were not many hikers heading for the iconic outlook.
As I neared the top, vegetation thinned out and turned to scrub brush. Up ahead and off to the left the woods seemed to dissipate against a backdrop of late-afternoon, blue sky. I walked farther north as tall vegetation thinned out even more as underbrush increased until even it was gone and I arrived at open rock.
I was standing on that most famous of all intermediate AT locations. Janus. Looking back and forward. And it wasn’t until last night, while thinking about this time and the views from McAfee Knob, that I realized something perhaps all too obvious to admit.
The trail went generally north and McAfee Knob was off to the left (AWOL’s West) of the trail. So! Looking out from the Knob, you were obviously looking west, right?
But three irrefutable elements of absolutely stunning evidence put the lie to this misconception. All much, much too obvious to ignore – but I did!
I’ll get to them but first. . . .
As I would be on Katahdin, as I was on Clingman’s Dome, so I was here: BLESSED WITH THE MOST EXTRAORDINARY WEATHER!
The waning, gold-orange daylight framed the broad, green undulating expanse in such a way that it would be hard to imagine the great banquet feast of heaven more sumptuously displayed. The air was still. The silence holy.
We watched the sun go down hour by hour that afternoon and saw the horizon of mountains change in hues and aura. At last the brilliant orb sank out of view dipping the suspended world in a molten cauldron of gold.
As this spectacular event occurred, people arrived to see and share the neighborly cosmic event. Two very fine young men got my attention and we talked of hiking and the trail. One was a policeman and the other equally respectable. I felt privileged to share the time with them.
Sacket was on the Knob as was “Sphagnum” who all but danced at the edge, kicking a leg up in the air causing my palms to sweat as I review the pictures. In a grander, less frightful gesture, she raised her arms high overhead and embraced the entire scene with her whole body. Her gesture expressed the magnificence of our view and the thrill of being suspended out in space taking it all in.
Camping on the Knob was not permitted but it soon became apparent that this was a rule observed primarily in violation. I was going to go on but was encouraged by Sacket to stay put. It was going to be a clear night and you could just sleep out under the stars and be in place for the sunrise at 6:15 a.m.
I found a pocket of dirt just off the jutting rock, amidst the low-lying scrub brush and set up camp cowboy style (pad and bag only). Before turning in, I carefully made my way around the rock ledge toward the east far enough to get a view of the night lights of Roanoke.
On my return, Theo and I spent the night on McAfee Knob.
Day #83 Four Pines Hostel > McAfee Knob 10.3 miles