TRAIL DAY 97

Fri, May 27, 2016 We had a fairly easy-profile day. A lot of long straight paths all cleared. So different from what we’d encounter in the north. I’ve been telling people that I averaged about 10 miles per day and that my longest day was 20.1 miles (already done) and my shortest was 2.7 miles in southern Maine. But I am going to figure out what my average miles were in the 3 southern states in the 8 middle states and in the 3 northern states. They will differ for sure. After the Whites, you’ll hear about my mantra: “a double-digit day. . .a double-digit day. . .a double-digit day. . . .”

There were other mantras in the north as well and I’ll give you those in time. In the south, however, I marched to an inner rhythm that is very hard to match in syllables. It was something like:

du-du-du-du

That would go on for miles and miles, off and on, all day long. Perhaps weeks on end. Subconsciously. When the conscious mind got wind of the inner cadence, it might shut it down for a while – or turn to hymns like “Be Thou My Vision,” “Amazing Grace,” or some – oh, God! What word do I use? Do I speak the historical language I grew up with, the language through which these songs came to me or do I let myself be “politically correct” and misspeak history? Are they Negro spirituals or African-American spirituals which I sang?

I must inject here that I have hundreds of characters living inside me and I love them all. I love the depth of their ethnicity, their personality, their character and their particular grasp on life. I love their freedom to be free in their culture. Their freedom to express their unbridled identity.

Must I put them all to death for fear of being politically incorrect? Would that we could laugh at the paradoxes and foolishness of life rather than destroy life’s goodness with political correctness serving only to homogenize our identities and cultures like overcooked vegetables. Laughter is a gift straight from the highest realm of our being – it is divine.

Well, I’m going to let this go for now. Suffice it to say that I’m sure I inhabited one or more of the personalities that dwell in my soul as I walked along, entertaining myself by taking a vacation from the person molded by my particular history.

From miles, to cadence, to music, to personalities – and back to miles. I have now figured the average miles per section:

FAR SOUTHERN STATES: GA, NC, TN > Damascus VA 470 miles

60 days – 9 zeros = 51 hiking days
470/51 = 9.2 mi/day

MID SOUTHERN STATES: VA, WV, MD > Waynesboro PA (1064-470) 594

112 days – 60 – 8 zeros = 44 hiking days
594/44 = 13.5 mi/day

MID STATES: PA, NJ, NY, CT, MA (1596-1064) 532

168 days – 112 – 8 zeros = 48 hiking days
532/48 = 11.1 mi/day

NORTHERN STATES: VT, NH, ME (2189-1596) 593

247 days – 168 – 9 zeros = 70 hiking days
593/70 = 8.5 mi/day

TOTOAL MILES / TOTAL HIKING DAYS 2189/213 = AVER 10.28 MI/DAY

Theo-and-I’d trekked quite a few miles on this low-relief day which would bring us to our most aggressive bear encounter.

Toads were a favorite on the trail. I admired their courage and bumbling persistence in getting out of the way notwithstanding the fact that their short hops served only to draw your attention to their location otherwise incredibly well hidden by superb camouflage.

I ran into “Toeshoe Hiker” again and would see him at lunchtime as well. Soon after seeing him on the trail, I took a picture of a contrail in the sky, mindful of the contrast: foot travel with all on your back – primitive travel, primitive quarters vs. luxury and comfort well above ground at unthinkable speed.

I thought I had mentioned this before but word search suggests otherwise. As I hiked along, I reflected on my life in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania compared to my life on the trail. Lancaster is home to a thriving Amish community. It was quite obvious at home that the Amish live at a much slower pace than I do. Life among “The English,” as plain people call non-Amish, was at a pace to be rejected. The Amish live separated from this fast-paced world.

Well now, thinking on the pace of life, there was the contrail in the sky, the Amish and then Theo and I. My pace for months had been, and would be, much slower than that of the Amish. The pace of the horse and buggy is fast compared to ours. I was happy to be on this side of the Amish pace instead of the other side.

Theo and I had crossed the Skyline Drive at mile 92.4 and came to it again at mile 90 where we stopped for lunch with others doing the same. Toeshoe Hiker was there as well as some fellow whose name I never learned but whose image I’ll never forget. Hey, we were out on the trail, away from societal conventions and all but a very short list of norms, LNT being the most revered and important. So some took advantage of the separation to express themselves with little restraint. I never saw anything outrageous or harmful. Just a few times of cutting loose – all was well.

As it was for a couple from Florida were sitting near us. They were on an extended road trip and had a carload of fruit and other fresh goodies they shared with the three of us. Theo particularly enjoying the downtime and extras from the others’ lunches.

My more vigorous companions took to the trail which ran tangential to the wooded end of the parking lot a little before I did then I soon followed. We all thanked our generous lunch mates before loading out.

Back on the trail we took in a branded concrete marker post and sections of long, straight, smooth trail. We crossed Skyline again at miles 88.9, 87.4 and 87.2. We would cross it several more times before nightfall: miles 84.3, 82.9 and 82.2. While we hugged the highway, we were aware of it only at the crossings.

Most often, I found myself in a geological playland. Surely someone knew what upheaval of natural forces brought the mountain of rocks to this place. Had they been molten closer to earth’s core at one time? How did they take the shape they did? How did they differ from volcanic rocks or were they volcanic in a way different from those of Mount Helen or Vesuvius? Was all rock molten at one time? Surely it must be so. But then why here? When? Why just here as the trail moved over the torrent of rocks and back to the woods? It was like seeing a train wreck and wanting to know all of the actions that led to it. But this was not a wreck. This was a force of nature. My home! Out of this world – and yet I am walking on it!

Soon back into the woods there was another force of nature at work demanding a rather quick response from me. I trekked quickly down a steep bank into the thick woods and found the kind of relief for which a waist-high fallen tree can be very helpful. As Mother and I were engaged, some other hikers went by up on the trail. Happily, Theo always followed me on these side trips and happily as well, he had gotten used to hikers coming up behind us and gave up the barking, the I’m-here-to-protect-you routine. They passed. I passed. We returned. All was well, again.

A box turtle! I hadn’t seen one since waking at Keefer Oak. He was right in the trail as was another creature we would soon encounter in a little under two hours. Somewhere en route to that spot dear, speechless Theo endured a trek with both saddlebags on one side. This would happen often from one or both of two causes. His straps were too loose or his load was unbalanced. I never synched him up tightly – just tight enough. The balance thing could be a little tricky but I found the best way to manage it was to monitor which side I would drink from next. If need be, I would stop and move water around by bottle or pouring to even the load.

Twice on the trail, Theo got one of his front legs through the chest strap and just figuring out which strap was which in those situations required a rather intense effort as my poor K9 tried to be pliable and docile. Once you figured out what was wrong, undoing it was another matter altogether and demanded a near torturous twisting of neck and limbs. Forget figuring out how my dear, I-hope-he-soon-sees-my-predicament companion got into this mess. Was it a case of his front synch being so loose that he just stepped into a loop of strap hanging down at some very low chest level? Did he take an extra high step? Did it happen as he jumped over a log?

We were both glad to get these moments and messes straightened out and to continue with relative ease.

A slightly hazy late afternoon favored us with distant views westward as we continued our trek toward Maine. And then, back in the woods, our attention was straight ahead following the footpath so wisely envisioned long ago atop Stratton Mountain in Vermont. And then – smack in the center of the trail – about 40 yards – was the only black bear I ever saw dead ahead. Probably shouldn’t use that term.

Clearly, we were not going to continue forward until – something.

“Theo, stay.”

I would say that again tomorrow in a very different setting but I really never needed to say it. He never – never! – bothered any creature on the trail. He never barked and never chased anything. Have I said already said that I could not design a better K9 companion for our hike?

We stopped. Of course! The bear looked up and saw us and then looked back down. Ever so slowly he moved up the hill to the left of the trail, westward. His gait suggested something like: “Ok. I’ll move. I don’t have to. These are my woods. You are the trespassers. Don’t think I’m going to rush on your account. I’ll go at whatever pace I please and you can pass when you’re ready. Just don’t bother me and I won’t bother you.”

There were several boulders between us and him as he moved up the hill. A very large one hid him from view.

I wasn’t going to stand there all afternoon never knowing where he was. SO! I took out my phone and set it on video and started walking at a fair pace, wondering just what we would see past that big boulder. As we moved on, we could see that he was not very far off the trail. As he moved, I moved. When he stopped to forage, I stopped, camera “rolling.”

And then. . .slowly. . .he raised his. . .and looked over his left shoulder. . .down the hill at us not all that far away.

And then. . .in a single motion, he turned to his left, raised his front paws and lunged toward us.

Camera action tells me I reacted with a jerk. While there was a sudden response on my part, I remember being rather calm.

When the bear decided to vacate the trail and return to the woods, I reasoned that he did not want to bother with us. In keeping with this belief, in spite of my quick action after his lunge, I kinda knew it would be a single lunge and that he would stay put. He did. And I interpreted what had just happened as his warning to us. He was saying, quite simply:

Take your dog and get out of here.

We obliged.

But as I went, both he and I kept an eye on each other as I continued to film our encounter.

I had an associate years ago who was also a pilot. He flew to Toledo, Ohio with me once where we landed low on fuel. His comment comes to mind as I think of this encounter: “Cheated death once again.”

We moved on seeing frequent scatological proof that bears used the trail on a regular basis.

The next animal we saw straight ahead of us was far less threatening. Nonetheless, for many weeks, the odd dark stump along the trail heightened my awareness until its true nature became evident.

The trail climbed gradually up Loft Mountain until there was a turn-off to the left for a fairly long and gradual ascent to an amphitheater at the edge of the campground. I would return to this spot in the morning to resume my hike.

At Loft Mountain Campground I was expecting to be able to stay at a campsite for the night. I made my way along asphalt paths to what looked like a hub of paths and roads. I must have been looking lost enough in the midst of the vast campground that a gal asked if she could help. I told her my plan. She introduced herself as a thru-hiker as well. This was Echo, the gal who was carrying the flag to Katahdin. She would show me to the ranger’s station to check in.

With thanks I followed her and let me add this was no easy task. I was pooped and had a pack on. She was packless with shorts and pastel-colored gaiters. I forced myself to keep up greatly missing my own pace. The roadside station, which all vehicles had to pass to get into the campground, was up the way on the right. Echo left me there and disappear-pear-pear-pear-ed up another asphalt path across from the station. I thanked her and took off my pack at a picnic table on a concrete slab under a roof with two sides completely open. Others were at the window talking to the ranger. I waited my turn and then went to the window and said I’d like to stay the night.

“I’m sorry we have no room. All the sites are taken.”

“There’s not a single one left?” I asked.

“No. They’ve been gone for months. It’s Memorial Day Weekend.”

I had no idea. With those four words, it all made sense. The couple from Florida; the full campground. Did Echo make an early reservation?

On May 1^st, I was on the phone with my oldest who is a very busy business man with a jam-packed schedule.

“Dad. Just a heads up. Today is Hollie’s birthday.”

Hollie’s my niece.

“Oh! Is today May 1^st?”

“Oooh. I can’t wait till I don’t know,” he said.

I was instantly aware of how great my opportunity was. How grateful I was that the years had served up this great benefit. Not without problems before, during and after – but I was on the trail and would be for several more months taking it day by day, with supply stops happening when they could, on no particular schedule, no particular dates or days of the week. Every day was basically the same: hike or get ready to hike. There was one objective. One goal. Katahdin.

What to do? I sat at the table not knowing. Letting the information filter into my fertile mind on its own. I told the ranger I had no idea it was Memorial Day. “Is there nothing I can do?” I asked already planning to look around on my own no matter what he said.

“Well you can see if some campers might let you share their space.”

So, I walked up the path I saw Echo take. It soon led into a clearing with concrete pads for vehicles and picnic tables. I went around to my right and asked the first people I saw if they knew a lady hiker named Echo. They didn’t. I told them my predicament and they said I was welcomed to pitch my tent on their spot. There was plenty of room far away from their tent which was already set up. Their van was nearby; their picnic table was loaded and had an awning over it. It could pour and they’d be fine.

I thanked them profusely and set up my tent away from their spot and a good bit closer to the bathrooms which, I would learn, were immaculate. Their names were Mike and Debbie and they welcomed me to join them for dinner and to cook at their table which I did. As I was preparing my food, they offered me a tin cup of wine. We chatted. They were each divorced and planning on getting married. I filled them in on my hike and home. We discussed bears and, yes, we had to secure our food. I was welcomed to put my stuff in their van for the night.

When you’re at the mercy of others, you’re not in a bad place.

Day #97 Skyline Drive mile 95.3 > Loft Mtn Campground 16.3 miles