Musings of a Thru-Hiker
By Gary Shealy
Rainbow Springs April 25th, Departure
I arose early after an uncomfortable night. My gear was already securely packed since I did not trust these hikers. this group made me uneasy so I had packed my gear securely the night before and decided to take my chances with the mice eating into my pack. If they wanted my gear they would just have to gnaw through my pack. Rodents were plentiful in the bunkhouse, but it did not seem very likely that they would bother with my stuff since so much food was readily available out on the table and in the other bunks.
I headed out of the bunkhouse letting the door slam shut behind me with little concern for the sleep of the late night revelers. My medicine was under control now; I hadn't gotten up at all that night but still due to the constant traffic of the others sound sleep evaded me. Perhaps I had been in one place too long. Huff and Puff and the Florida Flyers were well ahead by now, and I was anxious to be about the business of hiking. I wandered to the edge of the woods in the cool damp morning air and briefly planned my day. I would shower and shave again, not that I needed it but more to kill time, try to stay off of my feet, eat a leisurely breakfast, rest, and perhaps around mid-day I would start out with the shuttle. It would be a slow day of low mileage. Siler Bald Shelter was only four miles away. I would stay there, read, eat, and listen to my body. Hereafter, I will stop each hour for at least five minutes and sit with my feet elevated above my waist to allow the blood to drain from my extremities. At each stream that I cross, I will stop and soak my feet. Lunch will be a production: boots will be removed, socks and all, sun tea will be brewed, and I will sit a full twenty minutes after I finish eating with my feet elevated. No doubt many a passerby will envy the leisure of my lifestyle without realizing its necessity. This should help me get in touch with my body and also help me understand why I am walking int the woods. My pace will be slow and deliberate.
I returned to the bunkhouse clean and refreshed from shower and shave, and still no one else moved. My ankles looked much better, the swelling was entirely gone, and my poison ivy was only a dry patch of pink skin. Thank God for the miracles of modern medicine. I quietly hung my wet towel over the end of my bunk and searched out my guide books and a few dollars for breakfast. The rest of the morning was spent either on the front porch or leaning against a cooler in the camp store. I ate slowly and listened as the others wandered in to eat. With each bite I grew more restless. Finally I collected my gear from the bunkhouse while two or three still slept and carefully closed the screen door one last time.
As I waited on the porch one of the newer arrivals wanted a haircut. The proprietor gladly volunteered to help for a few dollars. At first she tried to trim it evenly, but this hiker was insistent so that when she was done half of his head was bare and the other half was down to his shoulders. I am not sure that the result was much of an improvement, yet he seemed satisfied.
I rode out on the shuttle with the honeymooners, and a few others. We started out together, and it was clear that the honeymooners were not thrilled with the conveniences of the campground. They had had some plumbing problems in their more pricey and private cabin. In addition one of the new arrivals had joined them in their to the Nantahala Outdoor Center. The pace was already far too slow, and he insisted on remarking about each flower and insect stopping, blocking the narrow trail, halting the entire group. He was free with his advice on what to eat, how to hike, which brand of aspirin to take, and what to do for poison ivy. His pretentious presumptuous utterances left me short, or perhaps it was the medication. The grade lessened and the trail widened, so I took the opportunity and left them. I typically am not asocial, in fact I liked the honeymooners a great deal, yet their new hiking companion was more than I could bare. Don't misunderstand, I often seek out authorities and anxiously soak up new enlightening information, but somehow his utterances did not add to the beauty of the flowers or to the general body of useful knowledge. I hiked on smoothly for one full hour and stopped on a convenient rock. True to my word, I removed my boots, elevated my feet and enjoyed a pleasant quiet break.
In this time, the others caught up, admired my spot, but decided to push on, relieved I found a few snacks as a reward and waited a full fifteen minutes more to ensure them plenty of lead. The sun was warm; the sky was clear blue. It was a great day to be outside, for a brief moment my mind slipped back to work and the "real" world, and a slight pang of guilt could almost be felt. Why should I be here enjoying all this and not hard at work with my devoted colleagues? A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, and I was again caught up in the moment. The rock I sat on was cushioned with moss, a small spring trickled through the neighboring rocks, and leaves and buds were beginning to sprout in the spring warmth. For the first time since my childhood, I was without a concern other than enjoying the outdoors. No deadlines, no schedules, no homework, no stress, and no demands on my time. I was lazy, and it was great.
The sun dried my tea cup, and I gathered the remnants of my snacks, pulled on my socks, and laced up my boots. I climbed the next few hills without a care. Soon in the warmth of the early afternoon, I started to smell coleman fuel, faintly at first, and just small whiffs. This continued for half and hour gradually becoming stronger and stronger. Finally I reached a point where it became clear to me that my stove was leaking. I stopped in the middle of the trail and fished my cookkit out. Naturally, just when I fully blocked the trail, the Orlando Boys came around the bend. They each greeted me, as I climbed to let them pass. They had gotten a late start, but were making good time. I explained my predicament and waved them on past. Strange that my stove should leak now, after a week out?
I noticed that the cookkit was warm, and it was near the outside of my pack and was absorbing heat from the sun. This heat caused the gas in the stove to expand, increasing the pressure in the stove, and then the gas was vented through the valve that I had so meticulously cleaned in camp. No doubt, my thorough cleaning removed the soot that sealed the valve, an interesting and valuable lesson to learn. I worked the valve several times, lit the stove, and snuggly shut the valve. I wrapped the stove in a ziploc bag, placed it in the cookkit, wrapped the cookkit in my jacket, and moved it deeper into my pack. Leaking fuel was hazardous(much of my gear was synthetic and would dissolve on contact), hopefully the extra care would payoff. I resumed my hike, checking occasionally for the smell of fuel.
I walked on for another hour, crossing that day Winding Stair Gap, Swinging Lick Gap, Panther Gap, and finally Siler Bald. The shelter was half a mile down a blue-blazed side trail. Since it was so close to Rainbow Springs, I was certain that no one else from the camp would stop here. Siler Bald was and old homesite. Several large oaks surrounded the border of a grassy meadow. The spring was capped. A work party had recently been by to cleanup around the shelter. The shelter was old and full of mice. If crowded it would be uncomfortable. I swept out the shelter and tentatively laid claim to my spot. The spring was a quarter of a mile backup the side trail. I refilled my water bottles and bag, and come back to sit at the picnic table. It was still early in the day, but I had promised myself I would take it easy, so I did.
Peace,
Slim
Copyright 1991-2000, all rights reserved
This is a fictional account of an actual Thru-Hike in 1990. Any resemblance to specific individuals or events is purely coincidental.