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.
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