Musings of a Thru-Hiker
By Gary Shealy
"Sock Head"
Rainbow Springs (continued) April 24th
"nickname: a usually descriptive name given instead of or in addition to the one belonging to a person: moniker, name
name: a word or phrase that constitutes the distinctive designation of a person or thing, a descriptive often disparaging epithet, reputation;"
Merriam-Webster
aside...
Parents often expend a great deal of effort in choosing a name for a child. Numerous books exist listing names and their meanings. Many parents include the name of a Saint in their child's name, perhaps in hopes that the child will be protected or guided by the Saint. Others are named for famous people showing in part the parents' hopes and aspirations for the child. Playmates may find particular names for friends, and who has not heard the teasings of children and witnessed the pain of name calling. Teachers, leaders, bosses and others are often referred to by many names other than their given names without their knowledge. Certainly it would not be proper to introduce a person by these names.
It is a person's name which identifies him and through which others come to know him and his deeds. Nicknames may be descriptive: Honest Abe, Gentleman John, The Swamp Fox, and Jack the Ripper. At a any age names affect the way people see themselves, and sometimes how others see them.
Breakfast at Rainbow Springs
After breakfast, hikers leisurely selected food stocks from the limited and pricey collection available at the camp store. Toilette paper seemed popular, as Huff and Puff carefully rolled several feet from a new role of plain, white, unscented, lotionless paper. With meticulous care for nearly twenty minutes several hikers rolled small tight cylinders of paper and placed them in water tight bags. The conscientious ones added a small pack of matches with each roll. Under most circumstances it is preferred that discarded toilette paper be burned and carefully buried along with the other waste. Plain paper is best because the ones with lotion often do not burn very well. Keeping the matches with the paper is most convenient, ensuring that one would have both together when the pressing occasion arose. Few things are more disgusting than finding a pile of discarded paper.
The hikers ambled around the store for a while that morning, waiting for the proper time to depart. Dandy Lion and the Pygmy Pony marched in to a warm reception. Dandy Lion is a repeat thru-hiker. When not hiking, he juggles two jobs: one on ski patrol in Colorado, and another helping to manage an outdoor shop. Once again he field tests the backpacking gear so that he can make informed decisions on stocking equipment and offer sound advice. Practical experience. Pygmy Pony is a border collie and companion. Small and well-behaved, he follows closely behind Dandy Lion never straying or wasting energy. Evidently he has learned to backpack since it is no small feat to keep up with his master. Dandy Lion consistently averages 2 1/2 to 3 1/4 miles per hour. He moves. These new arrivals quickly became the center of attention. All exchanged information on who was where, who was coming from behind, and how far ahead Ed Garvey was.
Trail names are chosen or bestowed. Typically those that are chosen make some sort of personal statement: the honeymooners, Huff and Puff, the Florida Flyers. Those names that are bestowed also make a statement: gadget, the trail store, PI(poison ivy), Slow Poke. Toward 11:00 am, while most everyone was still eating and chatting, the Orlando boys came strolling into the campground. Dandy Lion had alerted us to their approach. One had chosen the name Prince Valiant; it would not stick. The three Orlando boys were four at one time, but one had already dropped out. In fact each of them had been seen sporadically on and off the trail over the past two weeks. It was clear that they were having some disagreements. One always wanted to go, and he was the first one up, first one out, and waiting on the others. Another, aka. Prince Valiant, enjoyed camping, leisurely meals with coffee or tea, and little hiking (I can still smell the pancakes they fixed that rainy morning in Plum Orchard Shelter, and I can see the three of them arguing amongst themselves in their pajamas and down booties in the Muskrat Creek shelter just past Bly Gap).
The proprietors of the camp had heard of the boys from Florida too, and did not like some of the remarks they left in the registers as related to them by other hikers. It seems many people had passed the Orlando Boys, both on and off the trail. At first the store owners thought the Florida Flyers were the Orlando Boys, and they wasted no time in sharing their displeasure. Scott, one of the Florida Flyers, set them straight immediately, "Wrong people lady, you are talking about sock head and his buddies." Sock Head, not a name chosen, but one bestowed. He always wore a stocking cap over part of his punk hair cut. The conversation continued enumerating the sins and transgressions of the Orlando Boys and Sock Head in particular.
Soon the Orlando Boys approached the steps and unloaded their gear. The proprietor greeted P.V., "You must be Sock Head." Prince Valiant was no more. It was the first time that he had been confronted with his trail name. For awhile, he tried to disown it. The other hikers were rolling with laughter. The laughter was genuine, deep, and gut wrenching. It was a laugh that brings both a tear to the eye and a pain to the side. Words cannot describe what Sock Head felt when confronted with how others saw him. Hence it was to be, once and for always, "Sock Head." In that instance P.V. and all his previous register entries that were so offensive were no more.
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.