Appy Trail Day Six: Damascus!

Yahoo!!
Taran finishing the hike. He lost 27 pounds on this trip..

Awake the last day, feeling nauseated, we head out for the last eleven miles. Downhill. We hiked down to the Virginia Creeper trail, which is an old railroad bed turned into a trail, and took that into town. We skipped the last hill.

Yes, we were exhausted. We feasted on milkshakes at an ice cream store. Taran drank Gatorade. I drank sodas. We called for our ride---and took a blessed shower back at Taran's lovely house. Taran weighed himself: he had lost 27 pounds in 6 days! The poor kid suffered, yet, he wants to join me on the Pacific Crest Trail next year. His words: "Next year I'm gonna train for it!"

Success!

Miles: 11. Total miles: 54--plus side trips for water...

Appy Trail Day Five: To Saunder's Shelter...

Vulture Head...
These white blazers mark the entire 2,100 miles of the Appy Trail. It is nearly impossible to get lost.

Taran near the top of Whitetop Mountain...

Views...

We had lunch at Lost Mountain Shelter...

There are signs along the way. Many of them nearly unreadable...

And Saunder's Shelter. Photo taken the next morning because we got there as darkness descended...

Coffee in the morning, oatmeal and off for a long, long day. We started out without water (yet again). And, as seems to be the case on the Appy Trail, we began by climbing a mountain. This was going to be around a fourteen mile day.

Taran's feet were battered. More moleskin. Blazers mark the way (see the photo above). Frankly, it would be really, really hard to get lost during the daytime on the Appy Trail. The way is so well marked with white paint blazers. The way to water, or alternative trails, is marked with blue blazers. This eighty year old trail is well maintained and highly developed, which is part of its charm and also part of its non-charmfulness.

Yes, the trail is difficult. Mountain trails are like that because mostly you either go up. Or down. Level stretches are few and far between (at least on this section). The age of the trail makes you think of all those other folks who have hiked it through the years. Tradition. History. The path more traveled.

Back to suffering. I was feeling pretty good, but the child of mine was hurting real bad. He slowed down. Needed lots of water (which we didn't have). Needed rest. We drank some water on Whitecap that came right out of some rocks. We didn't feel a need to filter it. (mistake!).

When we got to Lost Mountain Shelter for lunch (Ramen anyone?), the water there was, once again, in a foul, leaf littered, one inch deep murky puddle. I filtered the water thinking that the best filter in the world couldn't make such water safe.

Six more miles to our destination at Saunders Shelter. And a mountain ridge to climb. Taran's blisters had blisters on them---with more blisters on top of that. He suffered miserably. I encouraged him to "dig deep" and "it's more in you mind than anything". These are awful words of advice I have heard while deeply suffering on the trail from more in shape companions. These words rung hollow with me then--and I'm sure they rang hollow with Taran.

But he made it to Saunders Shelter just as the sun set. We skipped dinner. Both of our tummies were hurting. Taran fell asleep fast. Snoring!

Later I awoke to the sound of wretching. The poor kid was vomiting up the last bit of almonds he had eaten from the trail mix. The emesis passed and he made it through the night.


Mileage 14. Total Miles: 43.

Appy Trail Day Four: The Virginia Highlands

On top of the Virginia Highlands...

Taran...

Thomas Knobb Shelter...5,500 feet in elevation...

On the trail...
A haggard face...

Views! Finally!

The path down to Elk Garden (where we camped on Day Four)...

The rain had stopped. The next two days promised to be the most picturesque of the whole trip. Multiple mountains to climb, descend and sally by. We are behind schedule. Our intention was to hike a 14 mile day to Lost Mountain Shelter.

Didn't make it.

Taran's feet had gotten wet the previous day. Angry blisters emerged! He did his best to mend them with moleskin. I gave him a pair of wool socks (didn't know he was hiking in booties). He also cut a hole in the bottom of his floppy shoes and strung laces through them to hold it together. This worked.

We enjoyed the views this best of days. We stopped off at Thomas Knobb Shelter to rest. This shelter is a double-decker one, just before the very top of Mt. Rogers--the tallest mountain in Virginia. It has an alpine flavor to it. And it was cold. We had endured the climb through Rhododendrum Gap to get there. We filled our water bottles and moved on.

We ended up completing 10 miles. We stopped at a place called "Elk Garden" which didn't have water. We used what little we had to make (yet again!) Ramen. At this point we both were getting rather nauseated at the sight and smell of this awful noodle. We had a couple of trail bars left. Some trail mix without M and M's (which is worthless, in my opinion).

Taran carried a tent with him. He set it up at Elk Garden. Since we both were a bit ripe by this time, I elected to sleep outside the tent Cowboy Fashion style. Now the last time I had done this, I had a bat crawl into my sleeping bag. I cleared the area around me and hoped that the gigantic Eastern Diamondback rattler wouldn't decide to share my bed. Nor a copperhead.

We made a fire, knowing that we had quite a journey ahead of us if we were going to make it to Damascus by Day Six. The fire warmed us as we talked. Although our talk was losing the cerebral quality of our earlier discussion. Mostly we talked about our aching backs. Our feet. Our tired muscles. And about the burgers and malts we would eat when this death march was over.

Mileage: 10 miles. Total mileage thus far: 29 miles.

Appy Trail Day Three: To Old Orchard Shelter...

Old Orchard Shelter and Jim Beam....

The Tropical Storm hit that night. We lay in the Hurricane Shelter and listened to it pour on the tin roof. This made me a little homesick, as I thought of listening to the rain on my own tin roof back in California.

The next morning it was still raining. Undaunted, we packed up and made it our plan to just hike the six miles to Old Orchard Shelter. We didn't have pack covers to keep the rain off of our packs. I did bring garbage bags along to put the packs in, but, once again, my sheer slothfulness kept me from wrapping the packs. "It isn't raining that hard", I thought to myself.

It doesn't take much rain to get a pack soaked. On top of that, Taran's shoes fell apart. The soles separated, making him walk with a flappy shoe. Rain got into it. And given this genetic propensity to overlook the obvious, he also only brought along anklet socks to wear. Cotton. Can you guess the result?

The result will become obvious on Day Four.

Again we climbed up and down a mountain. We made it to Old Orchard Shelter and, once again, made Ramen. I celebrated with Jim Beam. Pringles and SubMan caught up to us at the shelter. They pulled out a few sandwiches from Subway and shared them with us! To each according to need; from each according to ability---the story of the Trail.

SubMan and Pringles marched on; we never saw them again. Taran and I decided to pack it in for the day. Rest. Plan out the rest of the trip. We were horribly behind schedule to make it to Damascus (our ultimate goal). Planning is best done with a bottle of Jim Beam.

Right about then six Grannies came to the shelter. I kid you not. These were six 60 to 70 year old women who were on their first day of an 8 day trip. They had originally planned to stay at Old Orchard shelter for the night. That's when I spilled a second pot full of Ramen. And then dropped several other items.

The sophisticated Grannies took a second look at us; looked at the cramped size of the shelter and the bottle of Jim Beam---and then decided it was in their best interests to continue on another six miles to Hurricane Shelter. They did have M and M's but didn't share with us. I did offer them some Jim Beam. The Grannies didn't wave as they left.

The end of the Third Day. Mileage: 6 miles. Total mileage for the trip: 19 miles.

Appy Trail Day Two: To the Hurricane Shelter

Starting Day Two...

Filtering water in Comers Creek...

Hurricane Shelter..

A comatose young man...

Awake early the second day to a very loud, unnatural sounding owl. At least that's what SubMan called it. Breakfast: Oatmeal and coffee! We pack up before SubMan and Pringles. Virginia had been undergoing a drought the last month or two. Of course, I hadn't planned on there being a lack of water in Virginia. The water at the Trimbli shelter was a foul smelling puddle. The water had an orangeish tinge to it. I still had a pint or so of water (Taran about the same) so we made the decision to get water about three miles up the trail. The map we purchased had all the shelters and water holes marked on it. Along with side trips into towns for such necessities as burgers and fries. Off we go!

This is eastern woodland hiking. This means that you are under the canopy of deciduous trees, never seeing more than a 100 feet or so in front of you. And our lack of planning also means that we picked a pretty tough section of trail to do our 56 miles on. We have elevation gain everyday to handle. And the three tallest mountains in Virginia to climb.

The trail climbed after we left Trimbli. It soon became apparent that not filling our water bottles with the rust colored water was a mistake. We ran out quite soon. And when we finally trudged to the top of the first mountain, where the water should be, we couldn't find it. Damn!

We were saved by SubMan and Pringles who came by and gave us the rest of their water. They were following the path that intersected there a mile or two down to Troutdale, where they would be imbibing in ribs and a hostel for the night.

Saved!

We hiked on another three miles to Comers Creek (see photo above). We filled the wine bottle full of water too (this, I think, is my best innovation to backpacking: bringing a bottle of wine for the first night and then using the bottle to hold water for the remainder of the trip). We still hadn't really experienced much of a view: the trees and foliage get in the way.

Now Taran is a young man a bit like me: grandiose, forgetful, a tad delusional and unbelievably optimistic to his abilities. It's in our genes. However this young man has been focusing on a successful computer programmer career. Working late hours peering at a computer screen. His free time has been mostly doing the same thing: peering at a computer screen. The result of this is another family trait for our every slothful ways: weight gain. Lots of it.

But when you are 24 you still think you are 16 and 160 pounds of youthful enthusiasm. He soon learned that that is no longer the truth of his physical conditioning. To make matters worse, a Hurricane had come ashore in Mexico a few days before (I forget the name, but it started with an "H"). This storm had continued up through Texas---off to Ohio before it decided to make a turn straight towards us.

Clouds filled the sky.

We had originally planned to put in a 16 mile day to Old Orchard shelter. Given our early morning dehydration and our non-trail legs, we decided to just go to Hurricane Shelter. This seemed fitting as the remnants of a hurricane were headed our way. Always go with synchronicity, I say!

But first we had to climb Hurricane Mountain. Just a few thousand feet of elevation gain---but this poor progeny of mine suffered up every inch. When we finally got to the the shelter (halfway up the mountain), the poor kid threw down his sleeping bag and immediately went to sleep. He awoke a couple of hours later, ate some Ramen---and went back to sleep.

I sat and sipped Jim Beam and listened to the Tree Frogs.

The end of the second day. Mileage: 10 miles.

The Appalachian Trail: Day One

The start of our sojourn at Virginia State Road 670

Taran having dinner at the Trimbli shelter.

September 8, 2010. I flew across the country, first from Sacramento to Chicago O'Hara---then on to Charlotte, North Carolina---arriving at midnight. Taran, my 24 year old son, picked me up at the airport and then drove me the four hours to his home in Lebanon. A nice, contemporary cabin style house in the hills of southwestern Virginia.

I'm not much into flying. And it has been a year or two since I last darkened the doors of a plane. What is apparent is that nobody, and I mean nobody, talks to each other anymore. In this digital age, most people seriously stick there noses into their smart phones. And nobody smiles either. Flying has become a humorless business.

I wanted to be of good cheer, so I had a couple beers before taking my flight to Chicago. In Chicago, at O'Hara, the United Terminal had only one bar---and that was about the size of a closet. Nobody talked even at the bar.

So we awoke late that next morning (the day of the start of our hike). I'd decided to go light on food this trip---so we went to the store and bought a case of Ramon (chicken flavor) and about 15 packs of Tuna. We also bought a few trail bars and I had already brought along some organic trail mix in my pack. I still have it in my pack: this trail mix didn't have M and M's in it.

Trail Mix must have M and M's to be good!

My stroke of genius was to buy a few fresh steaks and a tolerable bottle of local Virginia wine for our first night's feast.

We still hadn't decided fully where to begin our sojourn. On our way to the trail head (Taran's wife giving us a ride) we stopped at a store and picked up a map of the Appy Trail. Talk about shoot from the hip! Plan a hike? Pushah...best to leave it to a whim!

We finally decided on a 56 mile route---set the auto's GPS to get us to the trail head---and finally got on our way around 6 pm.

Our goal was to start at Virginia State Road 670 and hike to Trimbli shelter. Easy enough and it only took us around an hour or so to get to the shelter. Of course, much of it was uphill.

For those unfamiliar with the Appy Trail, there are shelters located along the whole 2,100 mile sojourn. They seem to be spaced around a days walk apart. There you can sleep on a floor, off the ground, with complete smelly strangers. It makes the whole experience rather communistic and genteel. You just walk from shelter to shelter.

The Trimbli Shelter was the perfect one to stop at for my first experience of this. The photos above don't give it justice. The thing must date from the 30's; is made of stone---and even has a hearth in it.

And the Trimbli Shelter came complete with smelly strangers. Their Trail Names: Sub-Man (this guy spent years on a nuclear sub--waiting for the chance to blow up the world with Nukes); and "Pringles"--an Architect.

We pulled out our steaks and wine (and Jim Beam--plus a small bottle of Crown Royal Black). Sub-Man and Pringles were in ecstasy when I asked them to join us for wine and steak. Cooked the steak on my backpack stove and talked of our trail experiences.

Long trails are great equalizers. It is about the only thing left in our culture that is halfways egalitarian. People who have nothing in common outside of the trail become fast friends on the trail. Witness SubMan--who just gave up a job working the third shift at Walmart---and Pringles, the Architect. They met years ago on the trail--and now continue their friendship by hiking the trail now and then. Sub-Man actually Thru Hiked the thing in 2004. Pringles accompanied him at the start and the finish of that journey. My point is, I highly doubt these two guys would be friends if it wasn't for the Trail. They are just too different.

We went to bed and slept well on the floor of the shelter. Sub-Man joined us. We all snored really, really loud; drowning out the Tree Frogs which were louder than the noise of a freeway. A good noise though: give me Tree Frogs over Freeways anyday!

The end of the first day. Mileage: 3 miles.

Made it to Damascus...

I'll write about the six day hike later. For now, just a few thoughts. I skipped the Billy Graham Library in Charlotte, North Carolina. The guy has done more harm for morality than good. The guy never heard of such a thing as collective sin.

And here is a case in point of Collective Sin. This sign is all over southern Virginia where they want to keep mining the coal.

I flew across the nation last night. In the dark. It was amazing just how crowded with electric lights most of our nation is polluted with. There is hardly any place where our species has left things alone and untouched.

The plane had one of those devices that tells you exactly where you are. When we flew over Moab, Utah--I was so happy to finally get back to my beloved West. I could look down and not see an electric light anywhere. Aldo Leopold's blank space on the map. "What good are forty freedoms (he wrote) without a blank space on the map?" Flying across the country it is quite apparent just how danged prolific we humans are. Even Oklahoma looked crowded!

As for the hike, more about that later. I seem to be wrestling with a tummy ailment that probably came about from filtering water out of a small, one inch deep puddle. Been nauseated for three days. Of course, the hike was wonderful with an excellent hiking companion (who was quite the trooper---suffering through exhaustion, days and days of Ramen Noodles and Tuna Fish and gigantic blisters!).

Cheers Everyone! It is good to be home!

Days 247-250: The Road to Damascus...

A walk this morning in the Napa Valley. Work today, then home--will arrive in the wee hours of the morning. And then up tomorrow, pack my backpack and hop a plane to Chicago--and then Charlotte, North Carolina.

We will start a leg of the Appalachian Trail on Thursday. The section will end in Damascus--and from looking at the map, if we start in Marion, it will be a 63.8 mile romp, including a climb up Virginia's highest mountain (Mt. Rogers---5.700 feet). I'm told that the Appalachian Trail is much tougher due to the lack of switchbacks in rugged territory. When it was built in the 1920's, people must have been less domesticated---so they just built the trail from point to point--leaving out any need for a lower grade or comfort.

I've read Bill Brayson's book on the Appalachian Trail; wasn't impressed. That's about all the reading preparation I've done for this thing.

And I remain woefully out of shape. Unprepared (as usual). Since this is my third week long trek this year, one would think I'd be getting smarter at this by now. But no. I continue to believe I'm 160 pounds and 25 years of age. This burgeoning gut and the lines around my eyes tell the real truth. So I shall suffer. Carry my home on my back. Hope for the best.

So this little, goofy website will be silent for a bit. Be back late next week with a full update on the experience.

Cheers!

Days 244-246: Ghandi, John Muir and Chief Joseph

Got a call from work asking my assistance. Since Joni and I are living on financial fumes, I drove down to pick up some shifts. My walks have been solitary, angst ridden sojourns to some of my favorite vineyards in the Napa Valley.

You see there was just one Letter to the Editor in the Chico News Review. And not a friendly letter. I know this is a family web-site, so I apologize for the language in the letter that was printed:

"Let’s see if I’ve got this right. A guy takes a walk in the woods with a bottle of rum and a couple of his buddies, and that earns him the right to pontificate to those who read about his excursion on how to live right—“become a creature again and not just a nurse, office nerd, or cog.” Kinda condescending to his fellow two-legged creatures, I’d say.

What is it about Chico bikers and/or hikers that invariably produces such smug self-righteousness? You took a fuckin’ walk, man. That doesn’t make you Gandhi, or John Muir."

Jaime O’Neill
Paradise

Yikes!

Jaime is a very good writer. He also is an English Professor. If you look at the web pages of the CNR, you will find no less than five pages of his features, articles and other pieces. He also has written for some major publications. I've seen his stuff in the Los Angeles Times.

And I like what he writes. So the only Letter to the Editor was a critical one written by the area's best known writer! I was quite discouraged. Told Joni I was never going to write anything again. I thought about closing down this web-site.

Then a few fan e-mails started trickling in. One guy wrote to tell me that he has added the hike I wrote about to his "life list". Others have asked advice on backpacking (if they only knew what a sham I am!). Others just wrote to say they loved the article.

And now this letter taking on Mr. O'Neill:

Re: What’s the big deal? Letter to editor by Jamie O’Neill: Jeez, Jamie, who does the author need to be before he can proffer a bit of friendly, useful advice on life, living, and the wilderness? John Muir? Chief Joseph? How about just a guy who has a newly found respect for the wilderness experience and wants to wax a wee bit philosophical? In all your editorial rantings, Jamie, I’m sure you’ve never pontificated out of turn! Take a chill pill, sir, or better yet, go take a hike.

And I think there might be a couple other positive letters in the next edition of the paper. I won't be able to read them: I'll be carrying my backpack up some mountain on the Appalachian Trail with a fine young man.

Day 243: Highest Praise...

Back up to the Homestead last night. Pulled in about 1:30 in the morning.

Angel and I took a walk this afternoon. Had to check out the Ridge. What is evident is the rapid growth of the Scotch Broom. This non-native ornamental escaped people's gardens and is now taking over the West. Choking out the Native Plants. Reducing habitat for small game. Over the last two years, I've watched this plant takeover much of the road I walk.

When Joni took the girls to school this morning, she saw one of our neighbors walking the road wearing one of those old, external frame backpacks. This neighbor decided to start backpacking after reading my piece in the News Review. Evidently it inspired him to dust off that old backpack. That's exactly what I wanted that article to do: get folks outside and enjoying our backyard!