Muskrat Creek Shelter

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Musings of a Thru-Hiker

Muskrat Creek Shelter

"The man who goes alone can start today; but he who travels with another must wait till that other is ready, and it may be a long time before they get off." Thoreau.

After the short day Friday, I was anxious to hit the trail, ready to hike. By 7:30am I was on my way and within two miles I crossed a road with a trail access by a gravel parking area that had several trash cans. What luxury! I disposed of my garbage and passed three "punkers" camped beside the parking lot. Evidently one of them was not ready to start out yet, and the other two were desperately attempting to get him to "strap it on and lace 'um up." It was apparent that this three-some would not be together much longer. I pushed on for several miles and took an early break for a snack and to locate my rain gear. As I was finishing my snack, licking my fingers, the threesome passed by moving at a steady pace.

Around mid-morning it started to rain; my first check off point was a water source near the next shelter. April rains in the Appalachians can be rather cold, and I thought I might pass a few minutes at the shelter reading the register and giving the rain a chance to slack up. To my surprise Plumorchard shelter was packed. Four south bounders out for a few days were huddled with their gear in one side, and the three punkers from Orlando were sprawled about the other side with one other north bound hiker. The north bounder had spent the night here. It was after 10:00, and he was still gathering his gear. I had already been hiking for nearly three hours! Since the shelter was full, I waited under the eaves as "Slow Poke" prepared to leave.

Mike "Slow Poke" was a Carter County Tennessee native. He carried a tremendous pack, chained smoked Marlboros, and had enormous boots. I can not remember anyone ever taking so long to move; he looked as if he could move only in slow motion. He did have some news, however, Huff and Puff, and the Florida Flyers spent the night there, so it was possible that I would catch up with them that day. Finally, he left. I moved to the edge of the shelter, almost out of the rain.

By this time the three punkers had pulled out three stoves: one was brewing tea, and the other two were mixing pancakes. Soon the aroma of hot pancakes sizzling on the gridle filled the shelter. My stomach groaned and twisted as I swallowed the aftertaste of peanut butter and crackers from my morning break. I was still hungry. I must have been drooling some since they offered me a hot cake. I declined. A single pancake would only make me hungrier. Besides, I carried sixty-plus pounds of gear, each ounce was carefully selected, and if I had decided not to bring pancakes, then I would not have pancakes. The rain slacked a bit, and I left them feasting on their sumptuous meal. The rest of the day, and the rest of the trip, I longed for pancakes.

The Philosopher's Guide describes the next section as difficult. Strenuous. Deceiving. It was. The climb up Bly Gap would not end. After a mile or so, I passed "Slow Poke", while he was smoking a cigarette. I continued to climb, rereading the guide book. I wanted to make Muskrat Creek Shelter for lunch, and then another six to eight miles to catch up with the others. Bly Gap was cold and exposed. The cold rain was taking a toll inspite of all of my rain gear. A post card was attached to a branch:

       "Dear North Carolina,
Just arrived from Georgia.
That last section was not, was not  funny.
                         Curley."

I laughed uncontrollably as I replaced the card. It really was not funny. The guide book describes Bly Gap as the first(or last-for south bounders ) state line for hikers: how prophetic, it could easily end a hike for a north bounder who is not ready for the rigors of the trail. Although later it was clear that the guidebook mileage was wrong, at the time I was not confident of my judgement, and it is places like Bly Gap that provide the hiker with pause to reflect on his motives for undertaking a long hike.

I sat by the trail unable to continue and ate a quick lunch. My fingers soon went numb as I fiddled with the straps on my pack. The ground was uncomfortable, and I slipped into some vines on the steep slope nearly tipping over my precious water. I found a balaclava and pulled a jacket on under my rain gear. By 3:00pm I reached Muskrat Creek shelter. I stopped to replenish my water as it continued to rain.

The shelter was a large, dry A-frame. Soon I realized that my day would end here. On a clear day I might have pushed on, but since I was wet and cold I decided to stop and stake my claim. By 5:00pm I had eaten: hot soup, hot chocolate, and hot food. The rain broke and with a full stomach the day seemed much better. I truly enjoyed the trail. Shortly the punkers arrived, and forty-five minutes later "Slow Poke" showed up. What a crew.

Peace,

Slim

This is a fictional account of an actual Thru-Hike in 1990. Any resemblance to specific individuals or events is purely coincidental. By Gary Shealy