Musings of a thru Hiker
By Gary
Shealy
Copyright 1991-2000
According
to my trip plans, I was not suppose to start until Monday after Easter, but the
excitement was too much. So, I managed to convince my parents to
drop me off a couple of days early. Everyone was a bit apprehensive
as I struggled to lift the sixty-three pound pack from the trunk of
the car. My father reluctantly offered assistance, then quickly
asked who would help me lift the pack while on the trail. After a
few nervous hugs and a couple of pre-trip pictures, I started on the
adventure of a lifetime, the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to
Maine, a foot trail over 2100 miles in length. Possible late snows,
crowded shelters, wild animals, being alone, and tremendous unending
physical exertion all lie ahead. After a year of intense planning,
studying, conditioning, and many years of dreaming about the long
hike, the time had finally come.
I managed
to huff my way along for six miles, still too excited to notice the weight on my
back, thinking ahead to Springer Mountain. It was after 6:00pm when
I realized that I would not make the first shelter nor actually
reach the summit of Springer Mountain before dark. Fortunately,
there is a designated camping area before the final climb up
Springer. Many, in fact, skip the first few miles from Amicalola
Falls State Park and start at Nimblewell Gap, only a mile or two
from the summit. This shortcut avoids several miles of climbing
coming out of the park and typically makes for an easier first day.
I reasoned that since I would be out for four to six months and
would hike over 2000 miles, six more miles could hardly matter.
Besides, there is no way I could convince my father to drive his new
car down the logging road to Nimblewell Gap.
Realizing
that I would fall short of my first goal, I stopped for the day. The area was full of
campers. A scout troop from Alabaster, Alabama had filled the most
desirable sites. Two other scraggly hikers were camped near an old
fire ring. They carried hatchets, saws, lanterns, and a variety of
other interesting gear. One of them did not have a sleeping bag.
Instead, he slept in a single piece oversuite that hunters often
wear during very cold days. It was an intriguing trade-off, however
I wondered how long he would be able to continue to sleep in it as
the weather warmed with Spring.
The scout troop managed camp in the fine tradition of
scouting. They even hung
a bear bag. Actually, it was more like six or eight bear bags. The
food was so heavy that it took four of them to pull the bags up in
the tree. I imagined that the tree was beginning to give way under
the added weight. Their food bags were less than eight feet from the
ground and less than two feet from the tree trunk. Not by the book.
Although the scouts hung their food, I did not. It seemed reasonable
that surrounded by others with such plentiful, aromatic food stores,
any decent bear could not be interested in my meager rations. As the
smell from several cooking fires lingered in the area, I would sleep
with my food.
The
nearest water was several hundred yards downhill. It was from a slack spring. I left
my pack and headed downhill to collect enough water for dinner, for
breakfast, and to fill my water bottles for the next day.
Reflecting
on my first day, I was already missing my goals. Somehow those first miles
took longer than on my previous jaunt in February. Of course, this
time, my pack was over thirty pounds heavier. Since I started out
two days ahead of schedule, my progress was not a real concern. At
the time two days seemed like ample time to make up any lost
distances. As the sun set it began to rain. I crawled into my tent,
studied the maps, and after struggling for some time with the
excitement of being on the trail, eventually dozed off to sleep. And
so, an evening ritual was started that would be repeated many times
over the next four months.
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.