Appalachian Trail, part 3
"He who is indeed of the brotherhood," wrote Robert Louis Stevenson of hikers, "does not voyage in quest of the picturesque, but of certain jolly humors - of the hope and spirit with which the march begins at morning, and the peace and spiritual repletion of the evening's rest. He cannot tell whether he puts his knapsack on, or takes it off, with more delight. The excitement of the departure puts him in key for that of the arrival. Whatever he does is not only a reward in itself, but will further be rewarded in the sequel; and so pleasure leads to pleasure in an endless chain."
For weeks I just made the required movements to function as a normal human being and try to run my little business. The pain was unbearable, I cried almost onstantly. and at days end I would go home and try to drink myself to death. There was no comfort. My sweet little girlfriend, Jeanne, tried as hard as anyone possibly could, to give me comfort. Thank you Jeanne Brockway! I was a terrible companionn for her. I believe that if one has lost a child and they have not taken their own life and are not in an institution, they are doing very well! I really did not care if I lived or died. These words came out of my heart during this time. Oh God I cried, my soul relieve, I soon realized I had to go back and finish the "AT". I had to show my son that my life would go on and I had forgiven him. My son had intended to do the trail in 2000, so I would do his hike and finish mine in honor of him. I completely emerged myself in preparing for my completion of the "AT" and thus shortened some of my daily crying spells. The nights were still a frightening place to visit though. I became totally involved with my hike. I was determined to have the lightest backpack on the trail by researching and buying the lightest gear I could find. I stayed as busy as possible, keeping my mind occupied and and working to provide extra funds for my venture. I came up with the idea of my daughter joining me at the finish on Mt. Katahdin and she and I would do a thru-hike of the "AT" south. What is called doing a "flip-flop". My daughter was all for it. I felt it to be the perfect way for us to combat our grief and I would spend precious time with all that I had left .... my little girl. I got my backpack weight down from 50 pounds to 22 pounds! I had saved enough money to cover all my expenses while I was gone and to do the trail comfortably. My local paper ran a nice story on the loss of my son and my personal challenge of finishing the "AT". My daughter and my girlfriend, Jeanne, would be orchestrating my trip and sending my "mail drops" (food and supplies sent via post offices along the trail.) I was ready to go! April 1, 2000, I climbed off a Greyhound bus in the town of Tamaqua, Pennsylvania, the closest town with bus service, to where I stopped my hike. Before I left, I had called the Tamaqua Chamber of Commerce to get information about available motels, etc. I told my story to a Chamber employee and why I was coming to Tamaqua. She requested I send her a copy of the article from my local paper. I had did so and she sent me a map of their little town and where I was to pitch my tent. Tamaqua had no motel accommodations. I was to pitch my tent at the firefighters training ground. She included a note that the fire department would allow me to tent at the training grounds but I was not to build a fire ....? I was perplexed at this request .... did none of the firefighters pass the test? The bus had arrived very early and I walked down to check on my designated tent site. It was not a nice spot, there was no level ground and it was quite far from everything. So I did what I always did when in doubt, I found a bar and had a couple shots of bourbon. After leaving the bar I started back toward the firefighters training ground. As I was passing the spot where the bus had dropped me off I heard someone yelling at me. I turned, and across the street there was a guy with bleached blonde hair standing next to a new Cadilac. He continued yelling, "Hey, are you the hiker from Florida?" His mannerisms and the way he sounded to me .... this guy was gay! And I am not! Why the hell is a sissy little gay guy with bleached blonde hair, yelling at me!? And .... he knows who I am! I slowly acknowledged him and nodded my head yes. With his left hand on his hip and his right hand doing that which I've always termed as "limp-wristed", he shouts across the street, "Where have you been? I came here to meet the bus and you were not here! I have been looking all over for you!" His actions and voice were the stereotyped gay guy!! I am totally bewildered and just stand there looking at him, I don't know what the hell to say to him! Then he starts waving his hand frantically ( and limply! ) for me to cross the street to his car. I was not in a hurry to do so .... but I did .... very relunctantly. He begins explaining to me, using more gestures that told me he was no doubt ....gay, "I am the city manager for the city of Tamaqua, the director of tourism, and I am editor of our local paper. I took a look at where they want you to stay tonight and it is just not acceptable to me!" We now have ONE thing in common anyway. He continued, We have got to find you another place to spend the night!" I'm thinking, "It sure as hell ain't gonna' be your place!" "Come on," he says, gesturing toward his new Caddy, "We are going to find you a nicer place to stay and tomorrow I will pick you up and take you to the "AT" and I want to do a story on you for our paper." I figured he must be telling the truth or he wouldn't have known who I was, so .... Iclimbed into the Caddy. He drove us to a convenience store with a nice level patch of ground next to it. and behind it was the Schuylkill River. The spot was far enough from the road for safety and quiet and was near enough to the store for morning coffee or what ever. It was the perfect spot. He informed me he had been looking for a nicer place for me over the last two days. He says, "Now I'll just go in the store and inform the girl working that you will be here for the night." I am starting to trust this flamboyant little guy .... even with his feminine ways. He comes out of the store in a huff! "That dumb little bitch!" He says. "What a f---in' idiot she is .... she says she is afraid to let you stay here, she is not sure whether the land belongs to her boss or not, or if he would approve!" And then he says, "When I asked her to simply call her boss and find out, she told me she was afraid to bother him!" He stands there for a moment, obviously thinking on how to solve the problem. "You know," he says, "There is a possibility this land belongs to the city of Tamaqua .... and I represent the city!" On that note, he marches back into the store. When he came back out I could see he was now in complete control of the situation. "Pitch your tent!" He says. Oh, the land does definitely belong to the city?" I asked. "Hell I don't know, I just told her it did, f--- her, she's too chicken shit to call and find out!" He goes on, "The police officer on duty now is Bob, he already knows you are here and will check on you. At 11:00 p.m. Frank comes on duty and he will be checking on you also." I could certainly see how he was able to handle all the positions of responsibility he held. This little guy got things done! He continued, "I know that you have the rest of your gear waiting at the post office for you. They normally do not open until 8:00, but I have talked to them and they will let you in at 7:00. Just knock on the door and they will let you in. And you can stay there and get your gear together. I will pick pick you up from the post office, interview you in the car and drop you off at the "AT" trailhead." Just as he said, Bob came by, and then Frank. Both were extremely courteous and caring. Both men asked me to let their city manager know they had carried out his instructions to check on me. I sensed a deep respect from both, for their city manager. The kind of respect you have to earn! I knocked at the post office door at 7:00 a.m. and they led me to a table with my package sitting on it. I organized all my gear into my pack and looked out the window to see it pouring the rain .... on a brand new Cadilac, waiting for me. When he saw me running for the car he jumped out in the cold pouring rain to assist me. He questioned me about my son and why I felt I had to finish the "AT", interviewing me for his newspaper article. He was very thorough, patient, and understanding. As we were stopping at the trailhead for the "AT", he turned to me and said, "My brother committed suicide, I still haven't been able to forgive him! I am still so mad at him for breaking my heart!" "I understand." I said. He continued on, "I am embarrassed to confess this, but I have lived here my whole life and I had no idea where this trail was!" Then he looks me right in the eye and says, "I don't know anything about the trail but I asked around and was told about this little trail here. Now this is not the actual "AT" trailhead, the official access point is just a couple hundred feet from here, over there on route 309. But I just thought it might be a little easier on you, not having to go to the exact spot where you first found out about your son." How ignorant of me .... I had seen a gay guy instead of, just a wonderful sensitive human being! He helped me get my gear from the car, he reached out to shake my hand, I surprised him and myself .... I gave him a big hug instead! The story he wrote on me was one of the best ever done! From Henry David Thoreau's Walden: "We need the tonic of wilderness, to wade sometimes in marshes where the bittern and the meadow-hen lurk, and hear the booming of the snipe; to smell the whispering sedge where only some wilder and more solitary fowl builds her nest, and the mink crawls with it's belly close to the ground .... we never have enough of nature. We must be refreshed by the inexhaustible vigor, vast and titanic features, the sea-coast with its wrecks, the wilderness with its living and its decaying trees, the thunder-cloud and the rain that lasts three weeks and produces freshets. We need to witness our own limits transgressed, and some life pasturing freely where we never wander." I trudged on through the mountains of Pennsylvania, mostly in a cold rain. That was my mood though .... dismal. I cried almost constantly .... I missed my beautiful son so very much! It had been nine months and the pain was sometimes as if he had died that very week! I was driven by something, I'm not sure what, I only knew I had to climb Mt Katahdin in Maine. As I look back, it was as if I would meet my son on top that mountain with some sort of decree, absolving him from all guilt and responsibility for his desperate last minute decision. And he would see how much I loved him. The journey became an obsession .... and I was miserable. I trudged on through New Jersey and into New York. I was on the "AT" at a time when there were hardly any other hikers out there. It was still a little cold for the week end hiker. The south bound thru-hikers don't start until the first of June and the north bound thru-hikers were still down south that time of year. So it was natural that the locals would be curious as to why I was out on the trail that time of the year. I would explain that I had to stop the year before, they would ask me why, I would explain that I had to stop because I lost my son, and .... I would start crying. I went into a little deli near Arden, New York, for breakfast one morning. It was operated by three Italian looking young ladies that were no doubt, from the city .... there was no way you could mistake that accent. As I was paying my bill, one of the young owners just had to know why a thru-hiker was out there that early in the year. In the strongest Bronx accent you could imagine, she asked, "Wadda' ya doin' out hee-ah dis toime ah da yee-ah?" I answered that, "I went a little over half way last year and now I'm out here to finish." And then I just wanted her to hand me my change and let me run for the door. But she, being the typical "have to know" New Yorker, she naturally said, "Well .... how coime ya didn't finish last yee-ah? I mean, afta all, ya wah already out dere!?" And of course she was using her hands and shoulders to emphasize her point. I couldn't believe she was pursuing her curiosity, and I blurted out that I had to quit because I lost my son! I couldn't control it .... the tears started to pour. She immediately came out from behind the register with both arms up in the air with hands signaling for her partners to follow and she said loudly, "Hug toime!!" She wrapped her arms around me and the other two followed suit and did the same. Nearly thirty years of operating a business in Florida dealing with New Yorkers had caused me to think I didn't like New Yorkers. And here I was, standing in a New York deli, the center of a "group hug" from three New York Italian ladies .... probably from the Bronx! It seemed that no matter how hard I unknowingly tried to remain miserable, I kept having little encounters with people who unknowingly, just were not going to let misery stand! In Bear Mountain, New York the trail winds through Trailside Museum and Animal Exhibit, the site of America's first Nature Trail. I was walking through the tunnel-like nocturnal animal animal exhibit, with my head down when I was approached by a young lady in her twenties, "Are you a thru-hiker?" she asked. I looked up startled and told her I was. She then said, "children, children, come here quickly!" In an instant I was surrounded by little munchkins, kindergarten age, I think. There were two other young teachers there as well. She introduced me to the class, "This gentleman is a thru-hiker, and he has walked over a thousand miles to get here and he is walking on to Maine!" There was an instant chorus of "wows" from the sweetest voices on earth! She then said, "Let's ask him some questions, I'll go first!" And she asked, "Do you ever get lonely out there?" I answered, "Yes, as a matter of fact; I just got off the phone with my girlfriend in Florida." There was a pretty little blonde girl right in front, and with eye's opened wide as though totally astonished, asked, "You have a girlfriend!?" I, with a slight smirk, answered, "Yes I do." And with eyes still wide, she said, "Wow! You're too old to have a girlfriend!" The three young teachers, in unison, while trying to keep from bursting out in laughter, said, "Beverly!" Undaunted, little Beverly continued, "You're too old to have a girlfriend, you're supposed to be married to a grandma!" "Well, I do have a girlfriend," I said, sheepishly. "Is she pretty?" Beverly asked. "I think she is." I said. Then the precious little darling asked, "Is she as pretty as Miss Davis?" A crimson faced Miss Davis said, "Beverly!" Struggling for an answer to this one, I said, "To me she is." To which, with eyes even wider, she exclaimed, "Wow!" I looked at a blushing Miss Davis, being teased by her co-workers and said, "That sure beats getting an apple doesn't it?" She was speechless. Life and all its wonderful participants were not going to let me stay unhappy! That same evening, I was planning on getting out of the cold and misting rain by staying at the Graymoor Friary. My Appalachian Trail Data Book said that the monks at the friary offered a free nights lodging to thru-hikers. I was really looking forward to being inside for the night in a warm bed. I found the Friary and started looking for the building where my hot meal and warm bed were awaiting me! I approached a very old nun .... I'm betting she was in her nineties! She was very pleasant and when she smiled, only one tooth was revealed. I asked her where they let the thru-hikers stay? She told me they were no longer doing that. Some convent had burned down recently and the homeless nuns were offered shelter in the dormitory formerly used by thru-hikers! Now I had to pitch my tarp and sleep in the mud at the Friary baseball field! And .... I would have to eat those f--kin' Ramen noodles again! In the f--kin' rain .... the cold f--kin' rain! "Yes," The the old nun informed me, "the wonderful Brothers here at the Friary have donated their building for such a wonderful cause!" All I could think was, "Screw the nuns!" The kind old nun continued, "The Brothers have taken an oath of poverty you know." I said, "Well, I haven't! If they really want to experience poverty, have one of 'em come down here and trade places with me! I'll go up there and eat a hot meal, sleep in a warm bed, and wake up to a hot breakfast. In turn, the seeker of poverty can come down here in the cold drizzling rain, try to get that damn wood burning stove lit to heat up those damn Ramen noodles, crawl under the tarp to sleep and wake up in a cold rain, without breakfast! Now that Sister, is poverty! They should be delighted to swap places!" The old woman bent over and slapped her knees in laughter! Every time she came up for air, I could see that one tooth; she looked so sweet and seemed to be having a grand time. I started laughing too. The two of us must have been an odd sight; standing in the cold drizzling rain, doubled over in laughter in front of a big statue of some damn Saint. We said goodbye and I headed for the baseball field, in the rain. As I lay under my tarp, I could visualize the monks up there in warm beds with full tummy's, experienceing all that poverty. I could also visualize the round face of that old nun laughing with her one tooth shining, I had made her laugh... good! I barely remember the hundred forty two miles of Connecticut and Massachusetts. I was way too busy allowing my grief to occupy my mind. I did manage a visit to the covered bridge at Cornwell Bridge, Connecticut for pictures though, only because it was a request by my loving girlfriend, Jeanne. I was still keeping a bottle of bourbon (tent leveler) in my pack, to insure my getting some sleep. So, my favorite tourist attractions in New England were its liquor stores. I had just entered Vermont that day and was less than two miles from highway 9, which would take me the five miles into Bennington. I chose a small overgrown meadow just off the trail to pitch my tarp. I was using a very thin, light weight tarp for shelter instead of the much heavier tent. I had sacrificed comfort for a lighter load on my back. About 10:00 pm I awoke from a dream in which I was being charged by a bull moose! It had been so real like I could still hear his hooves hitting the ground! Then it dawned on me .... "Shit, I'm awake and I still hear the sounds of hooves .... and they were getting louder!" It became obvious that a large bull moose was charging toward me and would over run my tarp! I just knew I was about to die! I could hear him snorting and panting as he charged by .... within a few feet of my tarp! I never did see him .... I was not about to look death in the face. I heard him galloping off into the woods. I was told later by some locals that it was mating season and I was probably in "Bullwinkles" ( trail name ) territory .... he was challenging a possible threat. I hadn't been in the woods that long! And had that moose seen how bravely I had fought and killed my opponent when attacked by a huge backpack .... he probably would not have challenged me. I was awakened again at about 11:30 pm; this time it was a storm, other than hurricanes, it was the fiercest lightening storm I ever witnessed! The night was lit up as if I were under flood lights! I could actually see the lightening coming up from the ground! Or so it appeared. The rain was in torrents. The only thing keeping me safe was the fact my tarp was pitched in vegetation taller than it was. I had smashed out a place to pitch it and so was protected from the wind, somewhat. The lightening was constant and never let up all through the night. My prayer was that at least one bolt of lightening would find and kill that f---in' moose! The storm let up around 6:00 am and I scrambled to get my gear together and hightail it for the road and hitch a ride into Bennington. I barely made it to the road and the electrical storm started again. I truly do not remember ever being in a harder rain or seeing so much lightening! All I could do was stand there and be drenched. If a car did come by, I figured they couldn't see me anyway. I was just staring in the direction of where I thought the cars might be coming; hoping to see one. All of a sudden there was an incredibly bright flash of light accompanied by a terrble cracking sound! Lightening struck a tree , no more than fifty feet in front of me! For a few seconds I could see nothing but bright light, I could see nothing at all! Which probably didn't matter because I couldn't see for the rain anyway. But it still scared the hell out of me! Then I heard the sound of a vehicle right beside me and a male voice yelling, "Hurry up and get in!" I went toward the sound of the voice and got my wet ass inside! He asked, "Where do you want to go?" "Home! .... I wanna' go home!" I said. He started laughing because he knew by my pack I was probably a thru-hiker and headed for Maine. This time he said, "Where do you really want to go?" He was a wonderful young man on his way to work. He dropped me off at a motel in Bennington .... the only way to ride out a storm. The Green Mountains of Vermont were so lush and green, they are so very beautiful, I enjoyed hiking in them. I was still grieving my little boy and was still crying daily. In the solitude and privacy of those soothing mountains, I could scream as loud as I wanted and for long periods at a time. After most of these long screaming sessions I usually felt somewhat better. I never knew when the torturous pain of grief would attack me. Sometimes I would be in a grocery store buying supplies and I would just start crying! Often I would have to leave the store so others wouldn't think me nuts! I had to keep pushing on though. I would get my mind off my horrble loss by thinking about the wonderful time my daughter and I were going to have on our south bound thru-hike together. I was really excited about spending six months in the wilderness with my daughter. I crossed the bridge over the Connecticut River and into New Hampshire and the town of Hanover. As I was looking down from the bridge I saw the Dartmouth rowing team practicing. I stood there and watched them for a long time. Those fine young men .... God keep them alive .... don't let any of their parents suffer what I've had to suffer! The terrain was changing, getting a little more rugged than Vermont. It was still quite beautiful though. My Appalachian Trail Data Book described a new hexagon shaped shelter that had only been built the year before. They had named it Hexacuba ....? Maybe because it was only a mile and a half from Mount Cube ....? I reached it early one evening and it was beautiful! It was made completely of logs and they still looked and smelled brand new! I didn't usually like staying in the shelters, but this one was different, I decided to spend the night. And I was completely alone .... how wonderful! After I had cooked my meal and laid out my bed I sat up against the back wall and ....WOW! I could not believe the view! Nothing but mountains of green lay before me and there was not a sound .... the quiet too .... was beautiful. I thought of how beautiful my son was .... and I started crying. And then I started screaming, screaming out the pain in my heart! I felt so detached from everyone and everything .... I continued to scream louder and louder. Somewhere during my screaming, I realized I was not crying alone .... there were others crying with me. There was a chorus of sorrowful voices blending with my own. I was not alone .... I had understanding companions. Coyote's were howling along with my screaming, or so it seemed. When I cried out louder, they seemed to howl louder! I stopped so as to listen to their forlorn call. As they ceased their cries, I could hear the yelps of their young. It was a spiritual experience for me, it was soothing, I felt comforted and not alone .... as I heard the presence of their young, I felt the presence of mine. I soon fell asleep. "In wilderness is the preservation of the world" ~ Henry David Thoreau
The trail in New Hampshire was getting tougher; many times it was hand over hand climbing. And according to other hikers, the hard parts were yet to come, after Franconia Notch. I figured I better take a day off and get ready for the rough stuff, so when I reached Franconia Notch, U.S. route 3, I hitched a ride into North Woodstock, New Hampshire and found an old boarding house that gave reduced rates to thru-hikers. When I checked in I was told to keep the noise down, as the owner who lived down stairs had lung cancer and was dying. Ironically, I had been considering finding other accommodations as the building reeked of the smell of cigarettes. The frugal part of me won out and i stayed. If I had left I would have missed seeing the ailing proprietor put down his oxygen mask and hobble a few feet to the lobby to smoke! Once in my room, the smell wasn't so obvious. But that selfish man was still going to die ....he was making certain of it! He had been too self centered to to deny himself a habit he knew could kill him. I was learning from my son how one can let their thoughts dwell only upon themselves to the point of taking themselves out of the lives of their loved ones .... how very sad. I called my little girl and expressed to her how excited I was that she would soon join me in Maine to begin our south bound thru-hike. And she says, "I can't go!" I was so shocked! After all the planning, we were all set to go! She told me she had to spend all the money she had put back for her hike. "On what?" I asked. She told me that she had to pay bills with it. When I asked her why she hadn't paid the bills before she decided she could afford the hike, she simply wouldn't answer. In my mind, "Oh my God! My little girl is into drugs!" "Should I come home?" I asked. "Yes, I need you." She said. I left North Woodstock the next morning, headed for Florida. My girlfriend was delighted! She figured I had finally come to my senses and would give up the silly idea; I had to finish .... that damn trail! I too, thought my hike was over. I was miserable out there anyway ( I thought ) and this was a good excuse to quit. My daughter needed me! I asked my daughter if she and her boyfriend were doing drugs. She adamantly denied it; she kept insisting the money had gone to bills and her problems were emotional, from the loss of her little brother, whom she adored. I finally dropped the drug questioning, I so much wanted to take her at her word. After all; I knew my own emotional turmoil, brought on for the same reason. And she was all I had left. She insisted she would be alright now and she wanted me to go back and finish the "AT". So, after a twenty day lay off I headed back for the trail .... my girlfriend was not happy! It was late afternoon; I was stepping off the bus back in North Woodstock, New Hampshire. My foot had not touched the ground yet and I looked up to see two bottles of Samuel Adams beer dangling in my face! Behind the beer was a face I never dreamed I would ever see again .... "B +"! "B +" was one of the friends I made while hiking the year before .... I was shocked! He gave himself that name, he explained that B+ is the grade he gave himself for his attitude toward life. I give him an A +! He had a big beautiful smile on his face .... and the beer looked damn good! He told me he just happened to be going through his address book and saw my phone number. He happened to call only hours after I had left for North Woodstock, my girlfriend told him where I was headed and what had befallen me. He explained, "Heck I only live a little way from here in Massachusetts and I've wanted to do a little hiking .... and I figured you could use a beer!" What a guy!! "B +" dropped me off at the boarding house; he was going to camp for the night at the Franconia Notch. I would have joined him but I had already made reservations for my room. I offered to treat him to a room, He declined my offer, saying he had been there before and could not stand the smell of cigarettes. So we made arrangements to meet the next day and hike together for a couple days. That night I came down with one of those 24 hour bugs and had to take the room one more night. I was hoping he woud call the motel, but he never did. We didn't get to hike together but we became fast friends and our paths would cross again. In Gorham, New Hampshire i stopped at a hostel called "Hikers Paradise" that offered all-you-can-eat pancakes made to look like the sole of a boot. I ate them until I thought they would come back up. That place was great! The next day I was somewhere between Dream Lake and Mt. Success in an area of large pines when suddenly, not more than twenty feet to my left i heard a very loud crashing noise, as though all the trees around me were falling down! I could barely make out what appeared to be the bodies of at least three bull moose charging down the slope! What a noise they made! I now had two moose encounters but still had not seen a whole moose! Everyone had seen moose but me .... it seemed. I heard of moose sightings all the time. I had only heard them and seen little bits of them through the trees .... I wanted to see a moose! What I did see alot of though were wood grouse. Wood grouse are birds that look to me like little plump chickens and they act as thought hey have been injured if they feel their nest is threatened. I encountered at least four of these performances. Some are much more dramatic than others. I witnessed one who should have been given an Oscar! She dives at the intruder ( me ) first and then acts like her wing is broken in an attempt to get you to go after her, and not her babies. They will actually flop around on the ground and act as though they have been hurt very bad and are indeed easier prey than their babies. I had one experience with a wood grouse I could never forget. I heard her coming; by now I was quite familiar with the that high pitched shreik and the sound of those beating wings! I had my camera around my neck and as I raised it to get a shot .... she hit me! She actually flew into the side of my face! I couldn't believe it .... I was being attacked by a fat chicken! The impact stunned her and knocked her to the ground. In my initial shock of being struck in the face, I became angry! Then I heard the babies crying .... I couldn't hurt their mommy! There I stood, my glasses were lop-sided on my face making everything a blur, blood was trickling from my nose, and the babies were chirping louder and louder! The whole scene became humorous to me. I interpreted the babies cries as, "Hey, did you see mom hit him with that left!" And, "Hit him again mom .... you got him in trouble!" She was actually on the ground but a few seconds .... and she flew off. I shared my wood grouse story with some locals as soon as I had opportunity, none of them had ever heard of a mother grouse carrying her guise to that extreme. They all surmised; she must have been a new mother .... and she miscalculated? No one had a definite answer ....? I'm glad it happened to me .... what a memory! Hiking through the White Mountains of New Hampshire was breathtakingly beautiful! I felt that this portion of the "AT" was marred for thru-hikers by the fees charged for overnight camping. Many of the simple three sided shelters even required a fee, as did the good tent sites. In the rough jagged terrain of the White Mountains, descent tent sites are very hard to come by. And the hiking club that maintains the trail in the "Whites", the Appalachian Mountain Club, takes full advantage of it. Thru-hikers call them the Appalachian Money Club. Of the thirrteen states the "AT" passes through, the jurisdiction of the Appalachian Mountain Club is the only area this occurs. In my opinion, they are taking advantage of the mostly young thru-hikers who are on a tight budget anyway, and by the time north bounders get that far up the trail they are damn near broke! The wonderful young people who take on the challenge of thru-hiking the 2,175 mile long "AT" need all the help they can get, not someone's hands in their near empty pockets! There are large stone buildings through out the "Whites" called "Huts". This is where the wealthier section-hikers stay for about $80.00 dollars per night, without showers and linens on their bunks, in shared rooms. They do get supper and breakfast though. I suppose allot of section-hikers consider this, "roughing it!" The "Huts" are always booked up way in advance of the hiking season so this makes it very hard for a thru-hiker to get in a "Hut", even if they could afford it. They are obviously making money on the "Huts" , why can't this be enough income for them? Why do they have to charge the thru-hiker and those less fortunate, for a simple tent site that should be free!? I am convinced that this is not what Benton McKaye and the other pioneers of the Appalachian Trail intended. As my dear sweet momma says, "Those sonsabitches!" "The ultimate purpose of the Appalachian Trail?... to walk to see. And to see what you see." Said Benton Mackaye, founder of the wilderness footpath extending 2,174 miles from Georgia to Maine. Maine .... beautiful Maine!! I had never been in Maine before, the beauty of Maine, in my mind .... is hard to equal! To be on a mountain top and look in any direction and behold nothing but tree covered mountains and abundant lakes ..... wow! And the real beauty of the lakes .... "There ain't nothin' on 'em!" That's right, many are so remote, there are no boats on them. Maine is serenity. I was in Maine and still had not seen a moose. Everyone else had .... just not me! Iyt was probably about 9:30am and I was just reaching the summit of Saddleback Jr. (3655 feet) and the whole mountain top was totally encased in a cloud. I had to strain to see even a few feet in front of me. I thought I saw movement just in front of me, I could barely make out the outline of a moose rising up from where she had been lying. She was less than twenty feet from me, directly on the trail. It seemed like she would never quit getting up! Her shoulders were as high as my head! She never moved after she stood up, she just stood there and stared at me. It was so unexpected; I had been told moose never go up to the higher altitudes. I found out later that they sometimes go higher to excape the blackflies that are so prevalent that time of year. I had no where to go, there were no trees to climb .... I was screwed! I decided to photograph my killer. So I took about eight pictures, she just kept looking at me. She soon tired of modeling, turned very slowly and stepped a few feet off the trail, so as to let me by. I took advantage of the opportunity and walked on past her. I looked back a few times to make sure she wasn't chargeing me .... she was still there. I was so excited; I saw a moose .... up close and in person! I was even more excited about still being alive though! I called my moose encounter, "Moose In The Mist." A couple hours later I met two hikers going south. I excitedly started telling them of the moose I had encountered just ahead of them and the wonderful oppurtunity they may have to see a real live moose! Instead of being impressed with with my sighting, they informed me they were from Maine and they saw moose all the time. I thought they were quite flippant about it. One of them even questioned that I really saw a moose, he said that moose weren't known to go up to the higher altitudes. How dare them .... they weren't interested in my first real eye to eye moose sighting .... what assholes! It had been raining so I decided I would bed down for the night in a shelter. I hiked another ten miles to the Spalding Mountain lean-to. I got settled in after my meal and couldn't wait to tell the other occupants my exciting "Moose In The Mist" story! There were only two other hikers and I wanted a bigger audience to tell my adventure of a lifetime to, so I decided to wait at least til dark to let my audience grow. It only grew by one, another north bounder like the rest of us. I started my story, "Hey, I ran into a huge moose cow this morning!" The late arrival interruped me and said, "Speaking of moose, I ran into two south bounders coming off Saddleback Mountain who said a big female moose kept them at bay for nearly two hours up on Saddleback Jr.! They said she would not let them down the trail at all and did a couple of false charges at them before stepping off the trail, allowing them to make a run for it!" Were the two guys from Maine?" I asked. "Yeah, they did say they were from Maine." He said. I started laughing my ass off, evidently the moose had discernment .... she knew they were assholes! Now the story was even better! After I told my part of the story the four of us had a great time laughing! The late thru-hiker, like myself and the moose, hadn't cared for the two hikers from Maine either. One of my most memorable people I met on the trail in Maine was "Ausable Mike". Mike was 45 and one of the strongest hikers I encountered. After he had set his depature date and made his family aware he was doing a thru-hike, his nephew requested to accompany him. The nephew was in his early twenties and yet Mike told him he couldn't go unless he promised he would try to keep up with him. The few times I ran into them, Mike was usually about an hour ahead of his young nephew! "Ausable Mike" took his name from the Ausable River in Northern Michigan. He operated a canoe livery and guide service on the Ausable River in Northern Michigan. Mike and I became good friends; We sat around a fire a couple of nights talking. We regrettably had something in common .... we both had lost children. Only about three years before, his 19 year old daughter, his only child, was killed by a drunk driver! They had planned to thru-hike the trail together. His hike, like mine, was in honor of his beautiful child. The son of a bitch who killed his little girl had a long record of previous drunk driving charges and was driving without a license when he killed Mike's daughter. He had money and a good lawyer. Mike said he and his wife sat in the court room and watched the murdering scumbag get off without serving any time! He told me he comtemplated killing him .... to the point of actually purchasing the gun. He fought with his desire for revenge for a long time. He eventually abandoned the idea, he was a good man and I am glad he didn't succumb and become a murderer himself. I admire him for not doing it; I wonder could I have been that strong. Monson, Maine was the last town before the "hundred Mile wilderness", a stretch of wilderness about 115 miles long that ended at Mt. Katahdin, the end of the trail. I stayed in town for two days because of shin splints. They were so painful! I would like to know how you get shin splints in both shins at the same time!? It's an injury, how the hell does one shin know the other one has it and it's supposed to be hurting too!! Huh? I increased my vitamin-I (ibuprofen) intake and pushed onward! Somewhere soon after leaving Monson, I suffered a groin pull! talk about being miserable! I made it to Mt. Katahdin on July 15, 2000, exactly one year after my little boy killed himself. As bad as the physical pain was, the mental pain was much greater! My daughter had made up a collage from pictures of our beautiful Stevie and added lines from a Lennie Kravitz song they both liked. I was to hang the collage from the famous wooden sign at the top of Katahdin. I had not looked at a picture of my little boy since I lost him, I just couldn't! I was dreading having to look at his picture. I had kept it hid in an envelope in the bottom of my pack. It had been pure hell for me those last days in the "hundred mile wilderness"! Only "Ausable Mike" understood what I was going through, he was so understanding. He encouraged me every chance he had. He finally went on ahead of me, he was much faster. Climbing Mt. Katahdin was the hardest part of the entire trail for me, it was extremely difficult and I was in intense pain! When I finally reached the summit there were probably twenty people up there. I struggled over the rocks to the famous sign denoting the terminus of the Appalachian Trail. I pulled out my daughters tribute to her little brother and I immediately burst out in tears! I used a piece of wire and tied it to the sign, and just stood there sobbing! All were looking at me and I cared not! After my crying had ceased some, a woman who had climbed the mountain with her two sons approached me. She told me her sons were 13 and 15. She told me someone had told her the reason for my anguish, and asked if I would mind sharing my story with her sons. I'm not positive of her motives; she only said she felt it would help them. That was the first time I used my tragedy in an attempt to help others. I had hiked the 2,167.3 miles from Springer Mountain in Georgia to Mt. Katahdin in Maine! I was a certified 2000 miler! But my real journey was just beginning. :::
Appalachian Trail by John Davis To know the cold morning he simply shifts inside his mummy bag to measure the marbled sky: so soft the valley and the first owls voice and the bronze mountain of maple trees and a whistling, Somewhere in the giant hush of the forest a whistling - a stream - a bird - a music so simple he can hum it past hickory and oak, always back to the oak those leaves like stubby footprints. He's taken to shaking their hands on the trail and talking, gently talking to rocks calling the pitch and white pines by name down the trail, down down to Georgia in the slow cold of November as the pine needle trail switches back and back up. Beside his tent he eyes the merciful and moth-like frost, scrunches low, sights down the miniscule glaciers, the coming snow. Maybe death will be a learning: to squeeze into the cold and keep warm. Maybe the spirit remains a wild blueberry and ripe. But that whistling. What is that whistling? |
    After his ascent of Mt. Katahdin in 1846, Henry David Thoreau described it so - "I entered within the skirts of the cloud which seemed forever drifting over the summit ...." it appeared to Thoreau, "as if some time it had rained rocks, and they lay as they fell on the mountain sides .... they were the raw material of a planet dropped from an unseen quarry ...." |