Look who's coming to dinner

As you may have heard, I went backpacking this weekend.  I'll write about the whole trip, but first I wanted to share a funny story about it.

The Girl had been very concerned about my welfare on the trip, insisting that I send regular check-ins and asking exactly when, if she had not received any, she should start to panic and call search teams.

Friday afternoon I arrived at Blackburn Trail Center around 4 PM.  I had hiked about 12 miles that day, and I knew I had close to eighteen to hike the next day.  I had only been there a few minutes when I heard a car in the driveway.

I was already impressed with Blackburn.  I arrived expecting a shack in the woods, like all the other AT shelters I had seen (besides the famous Fontana Hilton), and instead found what amounted to a manor house, with a caretaker cottage, hiker hostel, solar shower (in season--we were NOT in season), and two privys.  The big house has a screened-in porch available for backpacker sleeping during the summer, and the house itself gets rented out by the Potomac Appalachian Trail Club.  I thought the car in the drive was one of the caretakers, but it belonged to a Boy Scout leader who was there to prepare for the arrival of his troop that night; they had rented the big house.  I had already set myself up in the hiker hostel, a basic cabin with bunks and a wood-burning stove--itself a big step up from most AT shelters.  I had chatted with the scout leader (John) for maybe three minutes before he invited me to dinner.  I'm not sure we had even exchanged names yet.  Pretty great, huh?

My bunk at Blackburn

Later, he was explaining one of their recent outings to me.  "There's this thing called the Klondike Derby..." he started, trying to figure out how to explain the event.  "Oh, yeah, I remember the Klondike!" I told him, excited about a winter scouting skills event that I hadn't attended in many, many years.  He lit up.  "You were a scout??"  I grinned back at him.  "I'm an eagle scout."  In my mind, this somehow made it more entertaining that he had invited a stranger to his Scout dinner.

My fortuitous meal, chef, and one side of the ridiculously ample Blackburn main kitchen.

He had brought a chainsaw; we spent the rest of the afternoon cutting firewood for his troop (the only source of heat in the house) and starting fires in the two woodstoves.  Sure, I'd been hiking a few hours, but he was making me dinner; it was the least I could do (this was also before he learned I'm an eagle scout).  I laughed about it many times that afternoon: The Girl had been so worried about me, and I went into the woods only to meet a group of strangers--with whom I had so much in common--who had me over for a big pasta dinner.  It's the best possible way to backpack.

Plan for the worst

I had told The Girl that I wanted to go on a short backpacking trip this weekend.  I told her a couple weeks ago.  As the date neared, and the forecasts were made (highs in the mid forties, lows at or below freezing), she began asking with increased frequency whether I still planned to go, and laughing harder each time I said Yes.

I felt better when I looked at the forecast for Suches, GA.  If I had left when I intended this year, I'd be a little north of there by now.  It's a worse forecast than where I plan to hike.  I can't decide whether my favorite part is "much cooler than yesterday," or "70% chance of precipitation."  Snow is ok.  Cold rain can ruin you.

Forecast for Suches, GA on March 21, 2013, around 8 AM.  20 miles north of Springer Mountain on the AT.

I checked the weather in Suches because I wanted to get an idea of how bad it might be, and it turned out to be even worse than here.  That's good news for a lot of reasons.  First and foremost: it's worse than here, where I plan to hike.  Second, I'm only out for a couple days this weekend.  I can test my gear, see how it performs, and never be too far away from my car if I need to bail.  Not that I expect to bail--I also need to test myself.  Next summer, I won't have the option of fleeing bad weather.  I'm going to live in whatever happens for four or five months straight, and will only see my car when it comes to bring me cookies.  I need to make sure that I can handle a few days straight of being really unhappy and cold, because it could just as easily become a couple weeks.  I'm actually happy that it's going to be so cold this weekend.

I'm also happy it's not supposed to rain where I am.  I don't mind being tested, but we only need to test so much at a time.  This should hold me for the weekend.

Snowquester

A couple weeks ago, when the weather forecasts assured us that the entire east coast, as far back as Iowa, would be buried four feet deep in snow, there was the expected reaction of panic, early shutdowns of schools, businesses, and government offices, and shortages in every grocery store of milk, bread, and eggs.  I once heard a comic wonder why people always went for those items in time of crisis, and concluded that everyone dealt with major storms by making French toast.

Not us.

A friend of ours decided that the best response to the Snowquester (I can't take credit for that--it was all over the news) was to head for the mountains and play all weekend.  We agreed.  Snowquester was Wednesday (we only got wind and rain, but Ohio got hammered.  Go figure.), but Saturday morning we got up early and drove to Blackwater Falls State Park in West Virginia, where a group of us had rented a cabin for the weekend.

West Virginia got a little more snow than DC.

Once everyone had a chance to shovel in some lunch, we broke into two groups.  One went to nearby Dolly Sods to test their homemade gear sled.  Mainly they wanted to make sure it would pull straight behind them and not run them over going downhill, but as their pictures proved, they also wanted to go sledding.  Who could blame them?

This majestic cataract is about ten inches high.

Our quartet set off on snowshoes (and one pair of cross-country skis) to walk along the rim of Blackwater Canyon.  We passed the reservoir, where I later made several unsuccessful attempts to breach the slushy ice at the surface by lobbing hard-packed snowballs as high as I could, worked our way down to a smaller stream (see above), and finally found a great viewpoint at the canyon's edge where we built a couple mid-size snowmen, and pummeled them with snowballs until they fell.  The weather was amazing; our trip's organizer remarked several times how weird it was to be out snowshoeing in short sleeves and feel relieved when we found shade.

Not shown: the huge rock where we hung out  building snowmen.  I don't know why I don't have that shot.

When we returned to our cabin, the timing was just about perfect to try to get some good shots of the larger, more impressive Blackwater Falls.  Unfortunately, due to snow higher than the guardrails and ice-slicked stairs, the access to the lower viewing deck was closed, but I got this picture to let you know what you missed.

I bet it looks even cooler from up close.

That night, as is the custom with this particular group, we feasted.  There was a lasagna brimming with over three pounds of cheese--I really don't know what else was in there, but I did spot a couple lasagna noodles--which was brought from home to bake, tomato-basil soup, homemade sourdough bread, more cheese and crackers than any group of eight people could really need (all of which was consumed), a large salad, garlic bread, and hot fudge brownie pudding for dessert.  It may not have been camping, but that was never the point of the weekend, anyway.  Food and snowshoeing was the point.  Or maybe snowshoeing was the excuse for the food... I lose track, but we had a great time.

Great Falls at high water

A few weeks ago (because I'm terrible about updating on time), I got a message from a friend I had met in Bend.  She had also become expatriated from the Outdoorist's Ideal, and happened to be visiting someone else in our area, so we planned to meet for a hike and lunch.  Her only condition was that I bring Summit Cookies, because she had become accustomed to that tradition after four years of hiking and snowshoeing together.  It was a small price to pay.

There are usually more rocks here, and often a few kayakers.

We decided to hike around at Great Falls for a while; The Girl knows the trails there well enough to allow us to wander for a bit and still ensure we could get back in time for my friend's flight home, and hopefully lunch.

"That oooold browwwn waterrrrr."

If you're familiar with Great Falls, you'll know by the pictures that the water was much higher than usual during our visit.  If you're not familiar with Great Falls, the dark brown color of the water should be a pretty good clue that we were well above the normal flow level.  Close to the river, we had to speak up to hear each other.

a small side creek flowing into the Potomac

It was also a bit colder than usual, which worked to our advantage.  Most of the time, Great Falls is packed with people because it's easy to reach from the city, gorgeous, and offers lots of hiking options.  There are very easy, flat trails, and there are rockier paths that allow a little bit of scrambling.  For the more adventurous,  there's also a lot of rock climbing.  I've never been to Great Falls to climb, but we've seen people climbing on every trip.  Even on this cold, high-water day, we saw a group rappelling from the top of one of the cliffs.

An icy pool that isn't usually there.

I wasn't able to get very good pictures, but we saw a wake of buzzards feeding on ... something in the woods.  We had spotted them because a couple were circling above, and several were perched in trees.  When we got closer, we saw the larger group still on the ground.  They were only about twenty yards from the trail, and were completely uninterested in the scattered humans that came by to point and take pictures.  We were ready to move on when we noticed a pileated woodpecker on a fallen log right beside the buzzards.  It was the only wildlife we saw, but it was conveniently located in the same place.

The same icy pool, without the extreme zoom.

Our summit cookies were actually eaten at the lowest point of the hike, where Difficult Run flows into the Potomac, but nobody complained about the impropriety.  We also had some of the muffins left over from breakfast that morning, but that was just pack food.  Our grand finale was lunch at a Persian place, with exotic yogurt drinks and some dark red spice whose name eludes me, but which I put on everything.

Rock And Roll

Yesterday we ran the DC Rock and Roll Half Marathon with a college friend of mine.  When we went to collect my friend form the airport, The Girl asked me what my target finish time was.  "Saturday."  Thinking I had asked a question, she said, "Yes, Saturday is tomorrow.  What's your expected finish time?"  "I know," I told her.  "I want to finish on Saturday."

Generally, I figure I can run a half in two hours.  If I were a real runner, I could train hard and set goals and probably get a better time, but I'm much bigger than "real runners," even though I don't think I'm carrying any extra weight.  I don't set goal times (beyond the intentionally vague "around two hours")  Yesterday, running past a high school I didn't recognize, I realized there was a sweet spot: I could have pushed harder, but if I reached a point where I was pushing so hard that it wasn't fun anymore, I would have gone too far.  Instead, I maintained my usual pace.  I went a little faster up hills, because no matter what the sport or terrain, I consider climbing a personal specialty.

At seven miles, I still felt pretty good, and that was at the end of a very long climb.  At ten, I realized I was hungry.  Really hungry.  When my friend and I crossed the finish line ( a solid half hour behind The Girl), I dove happily into the buffet of post-run food offered by the sponsors.  We stopped at a grocery on the way back to our place and bought an excellent loaf of bread so we could have grilled cheese for lunch.  Then, somehow, except for a brief nap break the girls took (during which I read for a while and did dishes), we ate for the rest of the day.  We got frozen custard, played two games of Settlers of Catan over snacks, went out for pizza and beer, and couldn't finish our dinners.  I know I ate way too much.  I regret only the grocery store bagel I grabbed at the finish line.  I'll hike off the rest.

Ka-bloom!

It has been very cold, and very slow in arriving, but spring is making dogged efforts to arrive.

The Next Big Adventure

When my brother and I were much younger, our mom did something daring: she took two kids on a backpacking trip.  At the time, Dad had a job that didn't allow many days off, so she took us for 61 miles of the Appalachian Trail (Rainbow Gap to Fontana Dam) with her sister and their aunt and uncle (also siblings).  Come to think of it, I never realized before, but that trip was three generations of sibling pairs.  Wild.

My brother was so young, and his pack so small, that he really only carried his own sleeping bag and a little of his clothing--Mom carried the rest of his clothes, because we couldn't fit anything else in his pack.  I carried my stuff and helped Mom with our share of the food and kit, as much as I could.

I think it rained for two solid days at some point.  At another time, we were following blue blazes (the AT is marked with white blazes; side trips and detours are marked in blue) to get to either Cheoah or Silar Bald--I can't remember which it was--and the adults were convinced we were lost while I was certain that we were still on the blue blaze route and just needed to keep going to return to the trail.  We later discovered I had been right.

We got blisters.  At the end of the week, the adhesive on the moleskin I had applied to my feet had bonded to my flesh, and the moleskin itself had started to dissolve, so I couldn't seem to scrub my feet clean.  Meanwhile, the constant rain had permeated our boots and dyed our feet the color--and pattern--of our socks.  I didn't really have frostbite; I just had blue toes.  And a little athlete's foot from never getting them dry.

I was the only one who had avoided stepping on the thirty thousand snails all over the trail.  The others said it was like walking on eggs.  The crunch, and the squish.

On a separate trip, during the school year when my brother and I couldn't join, a late spring storm surprised the other two pairs of siblings.  Snow fell deep, and it was a big enough news story that we followed it closely from home, five or six states away.  The four of them crowded into one tent for warmth, and pulled double layers of wool socks onto their hands, because it was springtime and none of them had brought gloves.

It sounds awful, I know, but the weird thing is, I had to think really hard to remember some of those details.  My biggest memory from my AT experience was wanting to do it again.

Wanting to do it all.

Before Mom was even diagnosed, she joked that she wanted us to carry her ashes in a cast-iron Dutch oven to scatter on the AT, from Georgia to Maine.  After the cancer finally killed her, Dad took his boys to Georgia and we scattered a little of Mom's ashes on Springer Mountain, the southern terminus of the AT, where most thru-hikers begin the journey.

I've always wanted to finish the trip.  I wanted to hike the entire AT anyway, because it's something we talked about since that very first backpacking excursion over twenty years ago.  Later, I was given a new reason.  It supplements, rather than supplants, the original drive.  I was a very late baby.  Mom carried me for almost ten months.  I'll only have to carry her for about five.

I've wanted to do this, with her ashes, for many years.  For various reasons, I've never been able to coordinate it.  Lately, though, my schedule has opened up.  Unemployment offers ample opportunity to drop off the grid for several months.  I started thinking about it more seriously, and maybe two months ago, I formed the seed of the plan while I was out for a run.

The plan was to spend this year planning, training, and coordinating.  I'd do some shorter hikes to figure out what kind of mileage I could cover, sort out my gear, and maybe visit a few sections of the trail.  Then, next year, I'd take the long walk.  That was the plan.

I told a friend about it, and even my idea to write a book about the journey.  He asked me about my angle for the book, and I told him about Mom's ashes.  "Let's do it," he said.  "Let's do it now."

He has a manic, infectious enthusiasm about every project he tackles, and as much as I tried to dissuade him from launching directly into such a monumental trial, I found myself agreeing with him.  We're in great shape; we know we can hike for miles on end, and after a couple weeks on the trail, we'll be in even better shape. We both have long history with camping and hiking, and between us we already have all of the gear we need.  Most importantly, we know we can put up with each other for that long, even under trying circumstances.

We later discovered that he didn't have the opportunity he thought he had to wander in the woods all summer.  Faced with hiking it solo after years without backpacking, I was still willing to do it, but I found myself so focused on cramming all the preparation I could into the scant three weeks I had before the planned departure date that I often woke in the middle of the night thinking of backpacking food, and couldn't fall asleep for over an hour after, my mind still churning with details like tent choice, the logistics of resupply, and how far I thought I could reasonably hike every day for five months straight.

Ultimately, I decided to stick with my original plan.  There are a lot of other things happening this spring, summer, and fall that I'd have to work around, and as appealing as it was to just drop everything and hike 2,200 miles, casually declaring it "no big deal" when I finished, I know better.  It's a very big deal, and I want to know that I have everything ready before I head north.

I've talked to Dad and my brother, and the only reservation either of them had was that my brother wanted to go, too, but can't get the time off.  They both plan to meet up with me from time to time.  The Girl has offered to coordinate some gear and food drops.  I haven't told many people yet, but I've been met only with support.  That alone is encouraging.  The fact that nobody has had any doubt that I can do it, and everyone wants to help.