no plan, no problem, Part Two

Once I got going, I realized I had more post than anybody would want to read in one sitting, so I split it in two.  Here's the rest of my loosely-ordered "plan."

Food
Yes, I could get lots of those pre-packed freeze-dried backpacker meals and have them every night, and similar offerings for breakfast, but I simply can't afford to eat like that.  On my trips this year, I've tended to have a bigger dinner (often with a snack before and something sweet after) and spent the rest of the day snacking compulsively.  For the Maryland trip, I even made a very detailed food plan that gave me over 4,000 calories a day (normal--even a little low--for a long-term backpacker) and dutifully stuck to it, but for the recent trip to McAfee Knob, I used the rough framework still in my mind from the MD trip and guessed at what I needed--and never felt like I wasn't getting enough.  I made some trail mix with lots of nuts, dried fruit, and chocolate and peanut butter chips, and packed M&Ms, Newtons, Pop-Tarts (high calorie and so trashy they have to pack them with vitamins to be allowed to market them to kids), a little beef jerky (I appreciate this as a treat and a break from all the sugar), Triscuits (I like salty, crunchy foods. These are fairly durable, and I usually had them as a snack before dinner.  When I finish eating the whole crackers, I can dump the broken crumbs into my dinner and pretend it's a high-falutin' topping), and granola bars.  For dinner, I sometimes use the freeze-dried meals, but next year I plan to use them as treat meals maybe once a week.  Usually I cook something like Knorr rice or pasta sides and eat the entire package as a main course.  On the overlook hike, I tried adding a packet of salmon to the teriyaki noodles, and it was great.  That's a two-dollar meal, compared to about seven dollars for a freeze-dried option.  I'm sure the nutritional content is different, but I can also get things like freeze-dried vegetables when available and add them to dinner.  And of course, every time I get into a town, I plan to take the opportunity to stuff myself silly and eat produce.

Much like the underlying principle behind the Clothing mentioned last week, I have a general purpose in a most of my food choices, and I've been sticking to next year's plan on my training hikes to get used to the idea.  If something needs to be cooked, I have to be able to cook it in my single small pot in under ten minutes.  Everything I take on training hikes has to be something I can get pretty much anywhere; then the calorie math I practice in my head on all those little trips will already be programmed by the time I start the big trip.  And I constantly experiment with my cooking so that I'll be able to improvise on the trail as easily as I can in my own kitchen.

Shelter
I love my tent.  I'll get a lot of use out of it, but I most of the governing bodies along the AT don't want you camping anywhere except at the designated shelter/tent sites.  I'm ok with that--those are usually places where I can get more water, and they often have privies and some provision for keeping my food safe.  The shelters also add to the sense of community along the trail; hikers will leave notes for each other in the log books, and there's always good conversation to be had with the other occupants.  However, I hope to be in my tent for the coldest nights, because it will be much warmer there.

Resupply
There are about a dozen towns directly on the Trail--not enough to keep me fully stocked for the entire hike.  there are many more near the trail, and thru-hikers will often travel together into town, hiking or hitching rides in groups for safety.  Sometimes, Trail Magic comes in the form of supportive locals who park near the trail and offer hikers rides into town.  I'll probably end up trying all options at one time or another, and I want to, to get the full trail experience.  However, news of my plans has gotten my family and at least a couple friends very excited.  One aunt in particular is thrilled at the prospect of using her long weekends to drive out with her daughter and grandkids to visit me on the trail and help me get groceries and stove fuel.  I feel bad that she would drive that much next summer, but they like doing little adventures together, and who am I to argue if they want to use those trips to my advantage?  The Girl's mom wants to visit at Harpers Ferry, and a long-time friend of our family has pointed out two or three times that since his retirement, he has nothing but time for driving long distances (though the recent arrival of his first grandkid might change his plans).  I also hope that my brother and my dad will join me at least a couple times, for obvious reasons.  With all the options available to me, I'm not worried about resupply--I'm only worried about getting the efforts coordinated.  For instance, I'm going to need new shoes along the way, and I know that a very particular pair of trail runners is very good for me.  I want to make sure I can get those shoes when I need them.

Navigation
Go north.

That may be over-simplified, but it's the truth.  The AT is famous, popular, and well-marked.  It is almost impossible to get lost along it.  While skilled with a map and compass, I don't plan to take either, but I have spent a lot of time with a trail guide, and plan to buy a different one for the hike itself.  I also nailed a map of the entire trail to the wall beside our front door; granted, it won't do me any good next year, but I spend a lot of time staring at it, and it often reminds me of things I still need to research.  When I actually start hiking, I really only need to know a few things:

1. how far to water
2. how far to the next shelter
3. how far to the next potential resupply point
4. (to a much smaller degree) how far to the Katahdin summit.

In the grand scheme of things, where I actually am at any given time isn't important--what matters is making it to the next thing that I need (food, water, shelter--it's the Maslowe approach to navigation).

First Aid/ Repairs

I recently read a book that made an excellent suggestion: never carry anything in your first aid kit that you don't know how to use.  My knowledge of first aid is pretty good, in my opinion, though I have thankfully had almost no need to ever practice it in real life.  I hope to keep it that way.  On the Maryland trip, I revised my kit to a much simpler version of itself, removing the one or two things I wasn't immediately familiar with, and took out most of the redundant items.  My theory was that I didn't have to expect to repair Humpty Dumpty, or patch an entire human back to fully functioning form, but fix things enough to get the unhappy victim to the next place where a more trained professional could assist them.  I also included a couple small things like safety pins and a bit of tape; another tip I picked up long ago was that in backpacking, "repair" to either your gear or yourself could often be accomplished with the same materials.  At least in the short term.

Summary

When a buddy and I had originally (rashly) considered making the trek this year, we declared the motto of the hike to be "no planning, no training, no problem."  That hasn't changed much, now that I think about it.  I'm certainly getting all the training I can manage, and lately I've rededicated myself to running, since any improvement there should translate well to backpacking, but what I've laid out here isn't really a plan--but it is a pretty thorough strategy.  I may not know exactly when I'll arrive anywhere, or know just what will be in my pack when I get there, but I have a solid framework I can use to guide all of my decisions along the way, and in my mind, it's better to be prepared to adapt to conditions as they present themselves than to have a concrete plan and expect it to weather the storm intact.

no plan, no problem, Part One

When they first learn of my intentions for next year, a lot of people who have done some hiking ask if I've done any planning.

I'm never sure how to respond, but on my snarkier days, I consider telling them that the plan is to hike north.  (I once saw "go fast, turn left" painted across the dashboard of a race car)  I don't know whether they expect a set of dates and corresponding locations delineating my exact northbound schedule, resupply points, zero days, and victory dinner, or just when I plan to start and about how long I think it will take.  The closest thing I can offer is the second option: I'm going to start in March, unless the weather looks extremely favorable, then maybe I'll head out a little earlier, and if I average fifteen miles a day with five zeros, it will take me five months to finish.

But that's just math.

I suspect that they just want to test whether I'm one of those idiots who wakes up one morning thinking "I'ma gonna go hike the Appaloosa Trail!!" and stops briefly at the largest outfitter they can find to buy a backpack and fill it to bursting with everything in the store labeled "for backpacking."  I assure you, such is not the case.

My plan is very detailed structurally, but barely defined temporally.  Here's the gist of it.

Time
I honestly have no idea how long it will take me to hike the trail.  I have a rough estimate above, but I also know that, left to my own devices, fifteen is at the low end of how far I'd like to hike on any given day.  I'm going to try to start a little conservatively to let myself acclimate, but at the start it will be cold, and hiking is probably my best option for staying plenty warm, so I make no promises.  I do know (from multiple sources) that the longer I'm out there hiking, the more I'll end up hiking every day, because I'll get better at it.  After all, the entire pursuit is one long practice session at becoming a better hiker.  On my last trip, I met a southbound (SOBO) thru-hiker who said he was averaging 37 miles a day, and he looked the part.  I think I might get a day or two in that range, but I don't think I'll average that kind of distance.  Still, I'm happy to hike as long as I'm able each day.  As much as I hope to enjoy the journey, I want to make sure I finish before Baxter closes for the season, and there are other things in my life besides hiking across continents.

Clothing
A couple weeks ago, I ordered my wool tights.  That was the last piece of clothing I needed, assuming the exchange of the too-small shirt goes as planned.  I'd like to get a visor, too, but I don't really consider that clothing.  In warm weather, I'll have a sleeveless Merino base layer and a pair of lined running shorts (with pockets!!).  For colder weather, I'll have the tights as a base layer, and I think I'll allow myself the weight of a lightweight hooded shirt I got last year and have taken on my colder backpacking trips since buying it.  I love that shirt.  I only hope that it survives the trip, so I don't have to buy a new one.  If it gets cold in camp at night (or REALLY cold on the trail), I have a stowable puffy jacket from REI, a pair of running gloves (these also work well with my poles), and a wool beanie.  I have a rain shell and pants for wet weather, harsh winds, or as an extra layer of insulation should things get really bad.  My boots have been set aside in favor of trail runners (newly equipped with sturdy insoles), which are lighter, better ventilated, dry faster, and drain reasonably.  They will get replaced at least three times along the trail by my support crew.

There's a constant rationale behind all of my clothing choices: it either needs to be waterproof, or it needs to suffer minimal performance reduction when wet, and dry quickly when the opportunity arises.  Come to think of it, that can apply to most of the stuff in my kit.  I know everything will get soaked at some point; it's ridiculous to believe otherwise.  I just assume that it will rain all day, every day while I'm in the Smokies, and that next summer's Sandy will drive terrible weather into the mountains on at least one long, crappy occasion.  I know the weather will be brutal--I just need stuff that can survive those conditions well, and perform well enough that I can survive the conditions, too.

Gear
Half the reason I've been planning and executing training hikes is to get myself ready; the other half is an extended audition for all of my equipment.  After the Maryland trip, I returned my Jetboil.  If all you want to do is boil water for backpacking dinners, it is incomparable.  However, that is not my intention (see Food, next week).  That was also the trip when I discovered that I am deeply in love with my Gregory Savant 58 pack and my Big Agnes Fly Creek UL1.  On the most recent trip, I tried out the shorts I got from REI, the amazing carbon poles The Girl bought me for my birthday, my sleeping bag liner (used both nights by itself as a warm weather sleeping bag), and the MSR Micro Rocket stove.  Tens all around.  I took my raingear on that trip, too, but it didn't rain until the last three or four miles, and I just let it soak me.  However, I did learn that the jacket, stuffed into its own pocket, is an entirely serviceable pillow.  Incidentally, while it was not the first time I used my cookset, it was the first time I had used it on a backpacking stove, and I was very happy with it, too.

There's still a little gear I need to get sorted.  I'd like a camera with a larger lens and sensor (better quality pictures, better low-light performance), and preferably waterproof (so it will survive the trip).  A friend and photographic genius in Oregon gave me some suggestions, and I think he found a winner, but I haven't gotten it yet.  I'd also like to replace my sleeping bag and pad (current total weight: over four pounds) to try to get my bed weight under two pounds.  Ideally, the weight of the bag liner would be included in that total, but I won't be picky.  I might hand off the heavier layer to my support crew for a while in August.  Right now I think I'd like to get a shorter length pad (my hips and shoulders are what really need the support) and a backpacking quilt (like a sleeping bag, but without the bottom).  I have a candidate for the first, but I'm still investigating the second.  I hope to have both in hand in time to try at least one test run of the combination before the Big Hike, ideally in cold conditions.

More of my "plan" will be here next week.  Same Bat-Time, same Bat-Channel.

Dig bouncer

On Friday morning, while eating breakfast, we heard a story on the radio about a fossilized whale skeleton found along the Potomac River, which is pretty fantastic in itself for the following reasons:

1. Fossils
2. Whale skeletons
3. Along the Potomac

I had no idea!  And I got the impression that it wasn't even that unusual to find that sort of thing in the area, but this was a very large (the skull alone was about six feet long) and complete specimen, which got the paleontologists excited.  It's always nice when you don't have to guess what the whole animal looks like based upon a phalange or something, because sometimes, even with a skull as your extrapolation point, you can become famously wrong.

I became personally invested in the story when they mentioned that they had dug up the skull, returned it to a museum across the river, and had to wait before returning for the rest of the skeleton.  During that time, they kept news of the discovery quiet, because they wanted to preserve the dig site from fossil poachers, vandals, and other unsavory sorts.  That's when I had my great idea.

ATTENTION PALEONTOLOGISTS!!

I am now available for hire to secure your dig sites.  I am happy camping for weeks at a time, I have wilderness survival experience, and though I lack formal training in archaeology, I am fascinated by dinosaurs, trilobites, ancient marine life, and anything else in fossil form.  I'd be proud just to stand by the bone pit and make sure everybody leaves it alone.  Also, I can bark like a large dog or rave like a lunatic, both of which are effective, non-violent deterrents to pretty much anybody.

I dub thee...

When we first broke through the trees and saw the view from Tinker Cliffs, we also saw another hiker.  We had seen him the day before at McAfee Knob, toward the end of our day, but he and his partner had continued another hour or so to Tinker and the following shelter.  We knew that had been their plan, so there presence here was a little puzzling.

At McAfee, we had seen their bear vault, and my cohort had hefted it, curious about its contents and use.  We also wondered why they had stuck it at the top of the pack, under the "brain" (many modern packs have a top pocket built into the flap that closes the pack.  It's called the brain because it's at the top.  The straps that secure it allow for stashing something under the brain without occupying space inside the pack itself.), since that would put a very large, very heavy concentration of weight at the very top of his load--exactly where you don't want that kind of weight.  He insisted that he had done it before, and was comfortable with it, so we shrugged and continued to our shelter.

When the two younger hikers got to Tinker later that afternoon, a wayward tree branch swatted at their packs, and dislodged the bear vault.  "It was like watching it in slow motion," he told us when we found him at Tinker the next morning.  It was rolling under branches right at the edge of the cliff, so there was nothing we could do."  When it rolled off the cliff, they did what they could do facilitate a recovery effort.  They wrapped a large, flat rock in toilet paper, secured it with duct tape, and tossed it off the cliff where the vault had rolled over.  We found him that morning looking from the top while the other young hiker walked the bottom of the cliff, looking for the flagged rock.  Hearing the yell from his partner, he ran to where the trail provided access to the bottom of the cliff and went to help in the search for the rest of their food.  That was after we asked if they had enough to get by, and offered any surplus we had, knowing it was our last day hiking.

The two of us stayed a bit longer, eating breakfast and discussing the situation of the other two hikers, and possible design improvements to bear vaults to prevent similar mishaps.  As we left the clearing on the rocks, we heard a victorious shout from below--the vault had rolled about 100 meters downhill before lodging against a log.  We happened to stop for water at the shelter where they had spent the night (a bear bag hung from a nearby tree), and talked with them a little longer about their side adventure and plans for the rest of the hike.  "You guys have trailnames yet?" asked my cohort.  They laughed and shook their heads.  "I feel like this is exactly the sort of story that should earn you some trailnames," he added.

I pointed at the hiker who had been carrying the vault when it rolled off the cliff and made a suggestion.  "You should be Drop Zone."  He laughed.  "That's actually pretty good!  I like that!"

I hope it sticks.