Training Days

A couple weeks ago, I went on my first backpacking trip in... a very long time.  I've carried heavy packs on a lot of hikes, usually because I was preparing for a lot of bad things, and often carrying extra gear, water, or food for other people on the trip, but this was the first time I had gotten to do real backpacking since sometime in college.  I'm happy to report that it still went very well.

The forecast was a little foreboding, but I wanted bad weather.  Not a lot of it, because who wants terrible conditions for the entire trip, but I didn't want gorgeous, warm, sunny days because it's easy to handle that.  I wanted to know I could handle bad stuff happening, because next year I'll have no choice.

I think I nailed it.  Both nights were pretty cold, but the days were fine.

I started in Harpers Ferry at 10 AM Friday morning, and headed south on the AT.  The first steps I took on the AT in about twenty years were on a highway bridge over the Shenandoah River, but I was soon climbing the steep hill on the Virginia side of the water.  As I switchbacked my way up the incline, I followed an old stone wall, which I suspect was a continuation of the ramparts built across the river at the stone fort on Maryland Heights.

It was easy to tell where they had gotten the stone for the wall; the trail in this area is made of it, despite nice, soft dirt on either side.  It's good for soil and plant conservation, but it's a little hard on your feet, and it makes for slow hiking.  By this time I had gotten my trekking poles out of my pack, and I was glad to have them.  I had never really used them for hiking before, but I had them out after maybe an hour on the trail, and I used them for the rest of the trip.  They made me feel more aggressive on climbs, they helped when I was descending, and they made me feel like an enormous, hunchbacked stick insect.  Three good reasons to keep using them.

No kidding--this is the trail.  If you click on this photo to enlarge it, you can see a white blaze on one of the trees.

The more I hiked, the better I felt about my decisions.  Both the decision to thru-hike the AT, and to wait until next year to do it.  I had spent the two weeks leading up to this little trip bubbling away in a little stewpot of anxiety seasoned with concerns about calorie acquisition, pack weight, gear choices, and my own physical abilities.  Struggling to come up with good lunch ideas, I eventually decided to just snack all day between breakfast and a bigger dinner.  The day before I left, I read an article that said that was actually the better way to do it, anyway.  Over the course of the weekend, I learned some good things about my gear (I want a lighter pack), got suggestions from other hikers (trail runners, not boots), and was reminded more than once that even though I'm essentially wandering in the woods, I'm not alone out there.  As for my own ability, I don't think it was ever really in doubt--just one of the secret fears that snuck in when everything else weighed down on me.  I am indefatigable.  I may be tired at the end of the day, but tomorrow is another day, and I'll keep hiking then.

Boardwalk through "the swamp," a seasonally wet area which was dry during my visit.  I met one of the volunteers who helped build this, a guy who says he's probably logged two thousand AT miles, but they've all been here, during his daily walk with his dogs.

Looking south from Buzzard Rocks

I took a look around the James Lesser Memorial Shelter on my first day, but I had already decided that I was in pretty good shape so far, and hiked another 3.6 miles to the Blackburn Trail Center, a surprisingly large complex built and maintained by the Potomac Appalachian Trail Club.  In addition to the caretaker cabin and the larger house (available for rental), which features a "sleeping porch" for summer hikers, there is a pissoir, two latrines, solar shower (seasonal--it was not in season during my visit), and the Hiker Hostel, a pretty swank shelter that's really a cabin complete with wood-burning stove.  I ended up wishing I had started a fire in there for warmth, because it got down to freezing in that cabin overnight, but the smoky smell when I first entered made me nervous, so relied on my sleeping bag and a foil blanket wrapped around my feet.

Hiker Hostel at Blackburn Trail Center, my home for the first night.

Snowdrops at Blackburn

Not many hostel guests that night.

I learned a lesson from that night (one of the goals for the weekend was to figure out how to handle some things, like cold nights, and I did learn): a foil blanket inside the sleeping bag just makes you clammy and sticky.  Not warm.  On the second night, I wore wool socks and was much happier.  My cold feet kept me awake often, and by 4 AM I realized I wouldn't get any more sleep that night.  I gave up, had breakfast, and stood outside, watching the dawn eat the stars until it was light enough to find the trail and start hiking.  I saw two meteors, and the lights of a nearby town.  Dark, darting shapes flickered in the trees; I'm pretty sure they were bats, but the shadows of branches obscured their forms and flight paths, and I never saw one clearly enough to be sure.

I used my headlamp for a while, until there was enough light for me to see the blazes on my own.  I could have sat in camp longer, but I knew that hiking would be the best way to get my body warm again.  It was just after 6 AM when I crested and rejoined the white blazes going south.  My feet crushed tiny cities risen from the frost heaves.  When I returned this way hours later, my footprints would be gone, blurred by melting mud and trampled into oblivion by the troop of Boy Scouts who followed me from Blackburn.

Many years ago, my mom's uncle through-hiked the AT, going southbound.  It's an uncommon choice, but he's pretty bad-ass.  He drilled holes in his toothbrush handle to reduce weight, but he carried a skillet so he could make pancakes every morning.  One day he realized he didn't hear any birds, then backtracked to where he had shaken out his tent to find his hearing aids laying on the ground.  Several times during my own little hike, I thought about how I was literally following his footsteps, and reminded myself to pick his brain about advice for a long-term AT adventure.

Guess how far this tree is from Springer Moutain?

Looking southwest from Crescent Rock

I turned around at Snickers Gap, staying long enough to have a snack and try (unsuccessfully) to send a waypoint to The Girl, who was determined to call search and rescue, the FBI, and possibly Yogi Bear if she didn't hear from me all weekend.  Genuinely concerned about the costs of an unnecessary rescue operation, I sent a waypoint every time I ate anything.

signs of spring

I spent my second night, after an 18 mile day, at the Lesser Shelter.  I set up my tent on one of the provided pads and laid down on a bench with bare feet for a little while before refilling my bottles at the spring and making dinner.

the view from the privy

buds on the trail to the spring

I met a man and his dog who run a backcountry resort in the Adirondacks.  He had hiked the north half of the AT before, and was section-hiking the rest of it.  He was on his first or second day of a three-week trip. The dog lay silent on a Z-Rest while the man made and ate dinner, and later had his own bowl of kibble before they retreated to their tent.  I never heard the dog make a single noise.

After I finished cleaning up my dinner, I hung my food bag from the provided pole and laid out my bed and clothes for the next day.  I hung up my pack in the picnic pavilion and looked around the campsite; I wasn't really ready to go to bed, but there was nothing left for me to do, and it was too cold to sit outside and wait for darkness.  I crawled into my tent at 7:30, stretched as much as the small space allowed, and went to sleep.  I was awake and alert again by 4, but I had slept much better than the previous night.  As quietly as I could, I made some oatmeal, tipping in some of my nut and berry trail mix for flavor, texture, and fuel, packed up my tent, and started hiking north.  I watched the sun rise to my right, changing the sky from to black to gray with a prolonged display of oranges and pinks, eventually granting me enough light to turn off my headlamp.  It had been clear the night before, but Sunday was cloudy and gray, and I was glad that I'd be back in the apartment before things got really messy.

This committee of three was waiting for me when I crossed the river.

I knew that night hadn't been as cold as the first because the frost heaves weren't as crisp and crunchy when I stepped on them, but ice still formed in my water bottle.  It was cold on my toothbrush, but tasted good to drink.  I'm already planning my next trip, and yesterday I bought a new pack, three pounds lighter than the one I've been using.

Can't wait to test it.