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.