Gimme Shelter

Now a mice infested, dilapidated, three walled shelter constructed in the 1930s may not sound like home to you, but after hiking 15 miles in the rain or snow it’s about the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my life.

The shelters typically sleep around 8-10, but sometimes up to 24 or as few as 6.  Of course there is always someone who snores, and mice who crash into your head at night.  But if you clean out your pack and make sure you’ve not left a Snickers wrapper anywhere, they at least won’t chew through your rain gear to find it.

I’ve become quite accustomed to sleeping on a wooden floor.  Out of the 21 days I’ve been on the trail, I’ve only used my tent 4 nights, two of which were in heavy wet snow resulting in the roof collapsing at 3 AM – but hey, that’s what I get for bringing a two and a half season tent.

The shelters themselves are fairly uninspired structures – most are 3 walled with a sloped roof and slight overhang with the open wall facing opposite the direction of the wind or so the theory goes.  The really interesting part about them is what people leave behind.

First, there are the shelter legends.  These wet, sometimes tattered notebooks are records for hikers to write thoughts, complaints, whimsies or messages for people who they met earlier on the trail.  They range from tirades against snowy trails to almost philosophical observations of life on the trail.

Much less encouraged, but still dutifully performed, are the graffiti and engravings left by former hikers.  I had a message left by some folks who were doing a section hike and liked my moniker “Two Rings” and the various stories I was making up about its origin.  Of course I was a little shocked when I saw “Hi Nipple Rings” freshly carved into the next shelter.  But aside from funny messages, the carvings and graffiti are mostly written by would-be philosophers or potheads, or sometimes both.  Quotes from John Muir and Henry David Thoreau neighbor marijuana leaves and images of a scruffy male with a joint hanging from his lips.

It’s certainly an interesting mix of people who hike the trail.  And no where is this more evident than in what they’ve left behind: their records, graffiti, and sometimes, pair of pants.

The Trip So Far, Pt. 1

In hiking the trail I’ve had some highs and lows.  There have been beautiful views, sunny days, town food tasting fantastic, and of course trail magic.  But it hasn’t all been a breeze.  We were snowed on our 3rd day day, rained on, had to climb over, under, and through fallen trees, and traverse the 4 to 7ft. of snow in the Smoky Mountains.  I’ve been taking pictures through it all, so here are a few of my favorite.

Trail Angels (and Demons)

Trail Magic and Trail Angels are two things you want your trip to be full of.  An example of Trail Magic would be having lost your baseball cap, only to find a note at the next shelter attached to a hat reading, “you left this.”  Sometimes Trail Angels are purveyors of Trail Magic and in our case it couldn’t have come at a better time.

Hiking in the snow has been difficult, and though the weather is finally starting to turn for the better, it’s going to be a while before the trail condititions shape up.  This means extra effort and calories spent trying to get from one place to the next.  So to a hungry hiker, there is nothing better than free food.

Every year, near Tray Mountain, two section hikers drive up with a grill along access roads in the Chattahoochee National Forest.  Rounding a bend, I could smell hamburgers in the middle of the woods and was so surprised that I could only answer “possibly” to the question “Do y’all want some cheeseburgers?”  He didn’t need to ask again if I wanted seconds and handed me another as soon as I had finished my first.  The accompanying Mountain Dew tasted like a fine wine and was delicious beyond any description. 

You couldn’t ask for a better definition of Trail Angels – people going out of their way to make the trip a little more enjoyable, pleasant, or memorable in some manner. It’s going to be a while before I get over being suspicious of people offering something free.  But relying on the hospitality of strangers is a necessity on the AT.  And when  it’s cheeseburgers in the middle of the woods after two exceptionally cold days of hiking through the snow it’s as close to heaven as you can get.

Bon Appetit

It’s 5am and you’re cold.  This is the 3rd night in a row that the temperature has dropped below your sleeping bag rating, making it hard to get a decent night’s sleep.  You’ve been slowly convincing yourself that getting up and out of your sleeping bag will result in you becoming warmer faster and so you do.  Breakfast will have to wait as you shiver while packing up your tent.

Within an uphill mile you’re taking off your hat and shoveling gorp into your stomach.  The next shelter is 3 miles away and you take a drink of water to fill your stomach.  Oatmeal and summer sausage are about the only things you think about as you march onward towards your destination for brunch.  As you reach the shelter, you unpack your alcohol stove, boil some water, pour three oatmeal packets in a bowl, and mix in some hot chocolate mix as well for starters.  Then it’s summer sausages, dried apricots and prunes, and spoonfuls of peanut butter.  Finally you have some fruit snacks to ward off scurvy.

After packing 3 to 4 granola bars into your jacket, you set out again for the final shelter or campsite of the day.  By the time you arrive, you’ve changed your mind and are craving chili and instant rice, maybe some more summer sausage, and possibly a bagel.  Out comes the alcohol stove and your Walmart grease pot (a lightweight aluminum pot, not intended for cooking, but works like a charm) and you set about to boiling some more water and shoveling food down before it gets cold.

Obviously I worry that I am not getting enough of this, or eating too much of that, but for the most part, considering I have to carry everything on my back, I am probably eating better than I did as an infinitely picky eater child.

And by the way, when you’re in town, AYCE is the greatest thing to see in the restaurant listings.  Particularly when it’s only $5.99.

Hello. My name is…

“Dan” – no that’s not quite right.  Everybody ends up with a trail name in some form or another.  Some choose theirs, but most are appointed by others. ”Campchair” got his rather quickly for obvious reasons.  In a group of people, among whom half own gram scales to compare weights of jackets, the idea of carrying a 10 oz. campchair 2,176 miles seems ridiculous.  But I certainly had campchair envy when the only other places to sit were covered in snow.

“Red Ranger” I can only assume got his because he wears predominately red clothing.  And “Tugger” did wood working on tug boats before setting out on the AT.  I had tried for “Three Maestros” wanting to avoid a less-flattering name like “Brown Butt” or something of that nature, but it seemed forced and was difficult to explain that it was only my name, and had nothing to do with the two other people hiking with me.

But then it snowed.  We marched on leaving boot prints for others to follow.  “Tugger” was trying to reach the same shelter as us and was about an hour or two behind.  I was pretty tired from back to back 10+ mile days and this one would be 13 in the snow and so I was at the back of our group of 3, dragging my body to the shelter.  We arrived close to dusk and it was already 18 degrees and falling.  We were all in our sleeping bags within a few minutes of finishing dinner and “Tugger” never showed.

The next day on top of Blood Mountain, “Tugger” came in as we were finishing brunch.  Talking to him about the snow, he said he had been following “Two Rings” all day.  “Two Rings” had almost led him to the shelter but his headlamp died and it was after sunset so he pitched his tent and called it a night.  I wasn’t sure who “Two Rings” was so I asked him.  Apparently the boot prints I had been leaving in the snow leave two large rings and is pretty unique among all the other prints. 

So no more “Dan” for the rest of the trail, but “Two Rings” from now on.  I might make up some story about how I was married twice before I was 18 or something like that in case I get bored with the boot print origin of the name.