My Trails

On the third day of our hike we walked into Gathland State Park, site of the famous War Correspondents Monument.  Standing 50 feet high and 40 feet wide, it is quite impressive to see. We were looking forward to our arrival at the park because of a soda machine rumored to be there. A cold Coke tastes so good after hiking all day, and we hurried to the restroom where the brightly lit, pop machine stood waiting. We dug into our pockets for dollar bills and realized that both of us only had $20 bills, useless for obtaining our treat. 

The rest of the day was filled with pleasant walking. The weather was beautiful in the morning, but along about 2:00 pm, it clouded up and began to sprinkle. It couldn’t be our hike if we didn’t get a little rain. The shower only lasted a short time and we made the shelter where we planned to stay soon after. 

We were the first ones at the shelter. It was called the Ed Garvey Memorial Shelter and was as nice as any we had seen for quite a while. I looked it over and discovered a stairway in back that led to a neat loft. It was clean, modern, roomy, a delightful place for the night, and we spread our sleeping pads to claim a place. The one discouraging aspect about staying for the night stemmed from the fact that we would have to walk a half-mile down the hill for water. 

All afternoon and into the evening hikers drifted in. A man and his son arrived shortly. They were doing a section hike for a few days. Then the five, young guys that had followed us for the last three days came in and claimed spots upstairs. Then along about dinner time another thru-hiker, a real nice guy from Texas, strolled in. Karen and I knew we wouldn’t have the shelter to ourselves, but we never realized it would become so crowded. 

Just before dark, as we all sat around the campfire talking, we noticed a young girl walk up and ask if their was any room in the shelter. There is an unwritten rule that there is always room for one more, especially on nights that look like rain. 

She had that athletic look about her – long legs and a torso that molded to a backpack – reminding me of the way Karen looks with pack.  Someone asked her name and I heard her reply, “Snorkel.” (All thru-hikers use trail names, it’s easier to remember)
I knew I’d heard her name before when I did some hiking near Damascus, VA. She was famous for something but for the life of me I couldn’t think what it was. It wasn’t until a couple of days later that I found out her story. 

Liz Thomas, trail name “Snorkel”, is a hiking machine. At the age of 24, she became the youngest female hiker to receive a Triple Crown award, an accomplishment that requires you to thru-hike all three long distance trails in the United States – the 2100 mile Appalachian Trail, the 2600 mile Pacific Crest Trail, and the 3100 mile Continental Divide Trail. She is hiking the AT again this year with the goal of becoming the fastest female, unsupported thru-hiker. Unsupported means carrying a full pack all the way, resupplying from towns along the way, and not accepting help from anyone. She is typically walking 30 to 40 miles a day.  

The night was filled with dredging snores from the shelter. Flashes from a thunderstorm winked off and on in the distance, and rain prattled lightly on the roof, always a good time to be safe and dry inside. I slept hardly at all and was the first one up in the morning. I retrieved our food bag and quietly made coffee as everyone else slumbered on. 

At 7:00 am, as everyone was stirring in the shelter, stuffing their packs with sleeping gear, another thru-hiker arrived.  He was doing the “four state challenge”, a requirement that you hike in four states – Virginia, W.V., Maryland, and Pennsylvania – all in one 24 hour period. To accomplish this task, hikers have to start out in Virginia at 1:00 am, and walk almost 50 miles to PA. It’s not something old guys like me should ever attempt. 

The thru-hikers left together; I imagined offering support and encouragement with their quests. Karen and I were on the trail soon after. There wasn’t any need to hurry; we only had five miles of hiking to reach Harpers Ferry and the end of our trip. We knew the walking would be fairly easy. According to my map, it was mostly downhill for a couple of miles and then a leisurely stroll along the old C&O canal towpath. 

Continued…

On our second day, we pushed ourselves well past our normal hiking range. There was a campground at Turners Gap, by US40, that boasted a free shower
and restaurant within minutes of the camp. After two days of dripping perspiration and trail food, both options sounded good. 

The hiking was easier the second day. We were starting to get deeper into Maryland and the terrain was not quite as hilly. We still had to climb 1000 feet to some of the ridges, but when we got up on them, they were fairly level walking. On one ridge called High Rock, there was a flat rock jutting out over the cliff, used by Hang Gliders as a launch point. It must take a lot of nerve to run and jump off that ledge. 

We ate lunch at another scenic lookout called Annapolis Rock and rested in the warm sunshine. There were some rock climbers scaling the wall on ropes far below, and we could hear their shouts of either fear or conquest rising up. 

From Annapolis Rocks to Washington Monument, we encountered droves of day-hikers. The good weather of the weekend had brought everyone out to enjoy the woods. The AT crosses Rt.40 where a convenient parking lot allows families and pets to walk for a few hours and experience the trail. 

For a while, we were counting how many thru-hikers we passed. By going South, we were meeting the North-bounders every half hour or so, and by the second day it became overwhelming to keep track. At first, I would ask them if they were headed to Maine, but eventually all we needed was a sniff to tell their destination. When one would pass, we would look at each other and say, “Thru-hiker!”.

We climbed the winding stair way to the top of the Washington Monument. Built in the early 1800’s by a small town in Maryland, this structure was the first, and decidedly more modest project than the one in Washington. Still, it provided panoramic views of the countryside. There was also a museum in the park and we spent a few minutes looking at the displays. After resting for a spell on the grassy lawn, and filling our water bottles from the faucet, we walked on to the campground. 

At about 4:00 pm, we descended a ridge and walked across Alt. Rt.40 to the Backpackers campground. To our dismay, there were already two troops of Boy Scouts occupying the whole site. We found out later that because of flooding on a trail near Harpers Ferry, the scouts had diverted to this campground. Karen and I eventually found a place where we could pitch our tent, secluded within the woods and out of earshot of the scouts. 

We took showers and walked to the restaurant. It was called the Old South Mountain Inn and was much more elegant than we needed, but the food was delicious and generous. They asked hikers that trickled in whether they had showered or not, and clean bodies were allows to enter the dining room, while stinky ones had to sit at the bar. 

After dinner, we read more plaques, scattered on the lawn around the inn. It was quite confusing reading about the battles that sprang up in the area: what commander moved his army here; where the charges took place; what side pushed through and who retreated. We were getting tired by now and retreated ourselves to the campground for tea and hot chocolate. 

We talked for a while to five men that were mirroring our exact hike. We talked briefly the night before but didn’t get to learn much about them until the third night. We turned in early and slept well through the night. In the morning, we were packed and on the trail by 7:30.  

End of Part Two…

On Thursday and Friday I hiked the AT for 18 miles. I had almost forgotten how hard it is to walk uphill all day with a full pack. When I hiked with Daryl, Donna, and Dick, we could share some of the gear, combine uses for items like a water filter, stove, first-aid kit, GPS, and tent. Hiking alone requires you carry it all.

Hikers passed me all day. By the time they get to Damascus, thru-hikers have walked almost 500 miles; they are becoming hiking machines. If they make it to the end, most men will be in the best condition of their lives and typically lose 30-40 pounds.

I spent the night in my tent, near a clearing at a place called Saunders Shelter. There were nine of us there: three guys about my age, two young men, two girls and a dog. We sat around the campfire that night and I listened to them talk about their hikes. Some of their names were Rainbow, Raisin, Swamp Dog, Guinness, and the older group that called themselves Team Indecision.

One of the young men was up early the next morning, packed up quickly, and on the trail before I had my tent down. I learned later that he was doing 30 mile days, trying to catch a girl he was smitten with, some two days up ahead on the trail. I hiked out before the rest of the crowd, and only saw a couple of hikers the rest of the day. You tend to meet up with people at shelters, but a lot of the time will be spent walking alone.

The trail crosses Rt. 58 near an entry point for the Virginia Creeper Bike Trail. Two days before, I had strategically hidden my bike behind some Rhododendron bushes, about a half-mile from my exit point. I was a little apprehensive that someone had found it and taken it away, or even worse, that one of the tires would be flat, but everything was ok.

Although the ride down the bike trail only took two hours, I was sore and tired from the weight of my pack, constantly pressing my arms into the handlebars, and jarring my back at every rut. It was quite a relief when I arrived at my van.

I had a good time. I wish it would have been a little warmer – I got cold in the night. There was a light rain on the second day, but nothing that spoiled the hike. I didn’t take enough food. I always have trouble figuring out what kind of an appetite I will have. When I pack, I’m reluctant  to pad my food supply on the grounds that I will have to carry more weight, and it wouldn’t hurt me to drop a couple of pounds anyway. Did I just say I was cold, wet, and hungry?

Damascus, Virginia is home to an annual festival know as Trail Days.  It celebrates the quest of hikers – both past and present – that attempt to hike from Georgia to Maine on the Appalachian Trail. In a few short days, the little town will be mobbed by lanky, smelly hikers, young and old, male and female, all with the strange compulsion to hike 2000 miles through the Appalachian Mountains. Strung out for miles in either direction, hikers try to hitch rides, catch a shuttle, or plan any way they can to get to Trail Days.  

It is such a beguiling accomplishment that past thru-hikers will travel back each year to the town of Damascus and join in the celebration.  On the last day of the festival, all hikers take part in a parade, each representing the class of the year they thru-hiked. They are like a family all reuniting in the experience.  

Backpacker Magazine will have people there doing presentations. All the gear companies will have representatives and demonstrations. The latest and greatest ideas in the backpacking world will be discussed, debated, and shared by experts and beginners alike. There will be forums, slide shows, and talks by famous thru-hikers. I think I may hang around and see what it’s all about. 

I’ve been staying in a campground in Jefferson National Forest. It’s more expensive than I like
but there are showers and trails nearby. I’ve been tossing around logistics for a hike in the area and it looks like I may have one figured out. The AT runs about twenty miles through the forest, traversing the ridges and peaks of the mountains, always pushing continually north. Down in the valley, paralleling the trail, is a bike path, converted from the bed of the abandoned Virginia Creeper Railroad.  I plan to backpack up the trail for a couple of days and pick up my bike for the return ride down the bike path. 

I postponed the hike for two days because of a cold snap. The temperature may get down below freezing tonight. I could swear I saw some sleet a little while ago. I’m the only one in the campground and I’ve availed myself to many hot showers to offset the high price of my site. I think I may rationalize that many showers will keep me cleaner longer when I can’t find one.  A hot shower seemed like a good idea to warm up before bed tonight, but I had a few problems. 

The windows were still open at the shower building I usually go to so I decided to walk to another restroom on the other side of the loop. When I got there, I closed the windows, stripped down and started washing in the hot water. Almost immediately – within seconds – the water turned ice cold, and I jumped from the stall. Wrapping a towel around me and carrying my clothes, I scurried to the other building  in freezing air and darkening gloom. When I got there I noticed the women’s side had windows that were shut. Hey… I’m the only one here… who cares if I use the girls side… it’s not like anybody’s going to catch me or anything. Feeling a little naughty, I stripped in the women’s stall and hit the button for the shower.  

The water for the women’s  shower had been turned off.  Defeated, I returned to the drafty, men’s shower to finally finish what had turned out to be an ordeal. 

For five days now, I’ve been at a campground on Padre Island Nat’l Seashore near Corpus Christi, TX.  It’s a nice little campground right on the beach, cool in daytime because of the ocean breeze and mild at night for the same reason. I have taken many walks along the shore. 

I can’t say this is the nicest beach – or even close to the nicest beach – I’ve been on. The  Gulf Stream picks up trash from all over the world and deposits it in the Gulf on Mexico, littering the beaches with the worst dregs of urban waste. They try to clean it up but it’s a daunting task. 

When I arrived in Corpus Christi, I learned that the Blue Angels were in town for a weekend air-show at the Naval Air Station. Those of you that know me, know that I will go quite far out of my way to experience the Thunderbirds or the Blue Angels demonstration teams, and that is why I’ve been in Texas for so long. I spent most of today browsing military aircraft on display, watching old warplanes and supersonic jets demonstrate their performance, and jostling crowds for a spot in the front of the flight line. 

But disappointingly, the clouds rolled in from the ocean, closing down the required minimum ceiling for safety, causing a last minute cancelation of the Navy’s flight demonstration. If the weather looks better tomorrow, I may try and catch the show then. 

I don’t think I blogged about stopping in San Antonio at the Alamo. I stopped in San Antonio at the Alamo. Like so many historical places around the country, no one knew that these places would be so cherished by later generations to come, and so, ages ago, communities and businesses tore most of the old structures down. They mostly wanted to forget the tragedy on those sites. Today, there is little left except rebuilt walls and rooms with artifacts on display. The grounds are dotted with plaques memorializing the brave men that gave their lives for Texas freedom, wall-size signs tell the history, speakers add a personal tale of the story, and a movie gives you a feel for what it may have looked like during the battle. It was all quite interesting and I didn’t even mind the gymnasium-size gift shop – there was no admission fee.