MD AT

I spent the first weekend of May hiking the Maryland section of the Appalachian Trail with my cousin's husband, and his dad and uncle.  The earlier generation only hiked with us for the first day; the father just wanted to get on the trail and test some gear he's taking to the Grand Canyon in June, and the uncle's shoes suffered catastrophic failure less than three miles from our starting point.  However, their departure allowed us to make better time for the rest of the trip,and ended up finishing our planned four-day trip in three.

Map data by Google and Spot

We started just north of the Mason-Dixon line, barely over the Pennsylvania border.  Bored thru-hikers sometimes attempt the "Four State Challenge," pushing hard from just south of Harpers Ferry to set foot in West Virginia, Virginia, Maryland, and Pennsylvania in under twenty-four hours.  Our schedule was not nearly so grueling.

We had different opinions on ideal pack size and weight.

Less than three miles into the first day, a complete footwear failure befell one hiker.

A boot malfunction (and consequential ceaseless search for more duct tape or a cobbler) kept us from reaching our intended lunch stop at Raven Rock until three in the afternoon, when we pulled out our more substantial snacks and the last of the cookies I had made two days earlier.

I will take any opportunity to climb a tree.

The Girl and I had hiked Old Rag the previous weekend with a couple friends far more skilled in wildflower identification than we are, and I practiced as much as I could on this hike.  I realized that learning lots of plants now could give my brain something to do next summer as I slog through 2,000 miles of wilderness, eyeballing plants and trees.  I think I did pretty well, though there were a couple I had to look up from my pictures when I returned, and a few that just weren't in my book.

Wild Geranium

We spent our first night in our tents at the Cowall Shelter.  I knew from a previous trip that I loved my new tent (though I have ideas to reduce its weight: there are four guy lines I never use, and on this trip I set it up using only six stakes), but I had other gear to test.  This was the night I decided my Jetboil is going back to the store.  If all you want to do is boil water, it's fantastic, and magically fast, but I can't afford five months worth of pre-packed boil-in-bag backpacker meals.  When I tried water with a little powdered milk, it boiled over quickly because I couldn't reduce the flame or remove the pot from the locking base.  The water stayed hot enough to finish cooking the noodles I added after making a mess of the picnic table, and I had a prefab meal for the next night, but I decided that I needed simmer control on my stove.  This also may put to rest my curiosity about alcohol stoves, though at least in that case I can hold the pot a little above the flame to reduce the heat.

Jack-in-the-Pulpit

I considered taking this bike on GOBA, but it seemed like a lot of weight to pack..

The woods really are lovely, even if neither dark nor deep.

My cozy den, which turned out to be plenty big for me AND my new pack!

I also learned something else I need to fix.  On both nights, it was cold outside my sleeping bag, but hot and clammy inside.  I need to find a better method of climate control.  I have some ideas, but they will cost me.  Still, if they get me through the trip and keep me happy, I can accept that.  My tent was a little pricey, but I'm crazy about it.  My pack was not the cheapest option, but it was the one that fit me best, and on this trip I learned that it's thoroughly fantastic.  It rides well and comfortably, keeps things out of my way but well in reach, and carries exactly what I need with room to spare for more, should the need arise.  If I can find a cooking solution and sleeping option that make me as happy as my tent and pack, I'm golden.

This was my favorite of the several violet varieties we saw.

We left camp just after 7, with two hikers staying behind to drive home.  The trail is often flat and wide in Maryland, and we spent most of the day hiking side-by-side, talking about our respective trip plans.  Mine is documented; he is taking four days to go rim-to-rim in the Grand Canyon with family and a friend next month.  We discussed gear choices, food plans, and what to do in Vegas to use up capital.  The miles slipped quickly past, and I never resorted to playing geography games in my head.

Black Rock Cliff

Redbud tunnel

The first Washington Monument

We had reached our intended overnight spot by 11:30, and knew it would be silly to stay all afternoon.  "Let's go a little further," he kept suggesting, and I kept agreeing.  We soon realized that if we pushed to Rocky Run shelter, it would only be about 17 miles for the day, leaving us 15 miles to finish our trip the next day.  We kept hiking.

I think these are Virginia Bluebells, but I'm not sure.

We came into a clearing behind an old chapel, and I immediately recognized the distinctive shape.  I was certain I'd seen it from the opposite side, driving past on my way to somewhere, and still haven't figured out when  or where I was going.  We took a few pictures outside, then a gentleman came out and offered us a tour.  The Dahlgren Chapel had been built as a family chapel, and consecrated because the wife was friends with the archbishop of Baltimore.  She and her daughters were interred in a crypt there, but it later fell into disrepair, and was at one time used as a barn.  When the Central Maryland Heritage League took over, vines covered the interior walls.  They've made remarkable progress since then, and now make it available for weddings and memorial services.  Check out the website; the chapel's story is fascinating.

We stayed the night at Rocky Run shelter (the new one), and decided to skip the tents to allow for an earlier departure in the morning.  We met a section hiker named FedEx and a young thru-hiker named Sunnie Falls. We confessed that neither of us had trail names yet. It's a little embarrassing.

The original shelter at Rocky Run, with raised tulip beds and a porch swing.

We rose and ate breakfast before either of our bunkmates, and left as FedEx found his way down the ladder from the raised sleeping platform.  We knew he would later pass us, because he had the day before. We had told him over dinner about the lady slippers we had seen, and on Monday he left us large arrows scratched in the dirt to show us that he had found some, too.

May apple bloom

One of FedEx's Lady Slippers

Shortly before lunch we met a group of five ladies out for a day hike.  One of them reminded me of a great aunt who likes to watch the Iditarod.  Another was using the unscrewed handle of a Libby broom as a hiking stick.  All of them were fascinated by our gear when we stopped at the Ed Garvey shelter for lunch.  We had been telling them about our multi-day trip, and one of them asked, "you mean you haven't had a hot meal since Friday night??"  My hiking partner crowed, "I had one this morning!"  They didn't believe us until we showed them our stoves.

Not a mountain goat, but still a goat on the mountain. 

I have no idea what this is.

Our speed dropped a little towards the end of the hike, and the final two miles to Harpers Ferry were on the canal towpath, which was dreadfully boring after the rest of our weekend, but we were still in high spirits.  "If it weren't for my feet," he told me, "I could keep going into Virginia."  The day before I had had a similar epiphany.  We had just left the Dahlgren Backpacker camp, where clean water and hot showers are available, and I let him gain some ground on me, knowing I could catch up later.  I looked around at the forest, aware that I'd been smiling for several minutes with no apparent reason.  My feet hurt, my shoulders were sore, I hadn't really slept the night before, and I was very, very happy.  I was having a great time running myself into the ground.

I knew I'd be ok next year.

Tips for scales

I'm off backpacking this weekend, and it's the trial run for my new pack, a Gregory Savant.  The staff at REI was very helpful in my pack selection, which was more difficult because, as the clerk told me, "your body has a weird shape."

I'm still not really sure what that means, but it boils down to this pack being the only one in the store that worked for me, so I bought it.

I've also applied some things I learned from my last trip, conversations with other backpackers, and a book I grabbed off the clearance table at Barnes & Noble.  Key points:

• Use shoes, not boots.  This weekend I'm using a pair of Brooks Adrenaline trail runners.  I started using them for running when I lived in Oregon, and immediately realized they were magic shoes.  They actually made me look forward to running.  the pair I'm in now has been retired from running use and is just my everyday pair, because nobody in our area sells trail runners (no trails), and I couldn't get a new pair in time.  Trail runners offer better ventilation, and they dry faster than boots.
• Don't take changes of clothes.  The only reason to have extra clothes is to fill your dresser, and nobody backpacks with a dresser.  That space (and weight) can be better occupied by food.
• Take only what you will use.   Admittedly, I still have a little trouble with this one, because I'm not sure yet what I will use.  I have a couple "back-up" snacks in my bag, but I don't have an extra day's worth of food, like I did last time.  On the other hand, last time I don't think I took enough food, so I'm still carrying more food weight on this trip, but I think it will work out better for me, because I have a very clear plan of how all of it will be used.  There's some other gear I know I don't need for this trip (our shelters will have bear poles for food, so I don't need a bear bag and line), but I'm taking it anyway because I want to practice.

What's still troubling is that there are other things I know I will carry next year that will add weight.  I need to figure out ways to drop weight from my pack to accommodate those items (camera charger, rain gear, passenger).  I woke Friday just after five, and couldn't get back to sleep because my head was filled with questions about where I could drop weight from my kit.  I got out of bed and started looking at backpacking quilts online while trying to calculate for the thousandth time the weight of an alcohol stove system compared to my Jetboil.

My base weight for this trip is 18 pounds, according to our possibly-accurate bathroom scale.  If I can get that down to 12, I'd be pretty happy, but my pack is 3 pounds, 9 ounces, and my tent is about 2.5.  That only leaves me about six pounds for cooking, staying warm at night, dryish during the day, and everything else I won't eat or drink.

Urban Adventures

We recently returned to Ohio for a nephew's birthday.  While we were in town, we also arranged to meet a couple of my aunts (and two grandchildren of one of those aunts) at the Franklin Park Conservatory.

I think something's hiding up there.

We happened to arrive moments before they released several South American butterflies into one of the habitat rooms.  It was impressive to see the array of color and size variations among the species.  One of them had wings that were almost transparent, and spent most of its time clinging to the shoulder of the woman releasing the butterflies, so that it always looked to be the same color as her shirt.

My aunt eventually convinced this one to land on her hand, but that shot didn't focus as well.

There were also several installed art pieces by Aurora Robson, who makes sculptures from plastic debris recovered from beaches and waterways.  Kamilo, seen below, is made from plastic collected on a beach in Hawaii, and contains no hardware or adhesives to hold the structure together--plastic fishing line was cleaned and sorted by color, then used to tie everything in place.  The colors shown in the sculpture are all as they were in the recovered plastic. Nothing has been painted or dyed.

We identified toothbrushes, several bottles, and plastic army men, among other debris.

Some specimens were more patient for cameras than others.

This was one of the largest species of butterfly we saw.  It was brown on the underwing...

And blue on top.  I was pretty proud of getting this shot from below, without the aid of my viewfinder.

Of course, the conservatory has several other rooms, sorted by habitat.  The rainforest had three macaws in a cage, and lots of orchids.  The desert had lots of the cacti I love, and the Himalayan room had a train set populated with nursery rhyme and fairy tale characters.

After a snack on the lawn outside, we drove further into Columbus to site of the old Deaf School, which now has a small park and topiary garden.  Instead of the usual zoo animals, this topiary has been crafted to reproduce A Sunday Afternoon on the Ile de la Grande Jatte, by Georges Seurat.  A plaque shows a reproduction of the painting, and where to stand to view the full effect.

Perspective has been exaggerated for effect.  The park is not as big as the Ile de la Grand Jatte.

Some of the pieces have a little growing to do.

Characters not to scale.

Early risers

Besides the Cherry Blossom Ten Miler, we've had a couple other early-morning adventures in the past week.  We went out last Tuesday night to see the cherry blossoms at their peak, but people admiring cherry blossoms were also--naturally--at their peak.  Utter madness.  We got up early the next morning, reasoning that it's harder for swarms of people to arrive at the Mall at 6 AM than it is for them to stay up until 7 PM.

Jefferson Memorial, just before 6 AM

Even first thing in the morning, the Tidal Basin was crazy with cameras.

This weekend, after trying to see the Aurora Borealis, we got up early to go see the sunrise over the Potomac.  It was a more successful venture than the previous evening, and we were the only people in the area, which in itself was kind of nice.

We could see National Harbor from our side of the river, and The Girl thought it would be a good time to introduce me to The Awakening, a huge sculpture that used to live out on Hains Point, but has since been moved to a tiny scrap of sand among the boats and shops.  Some of the shops are just plain terrifying.

I was assured that this Peeps store was not seasonal.  The mind boggles.

She told me it's as though he's waking up, and coming p out of the sand, but it always looks to me like he's sinking into it, and is highly panicked by this.

This enormous piggie goes to to market...

We both took pictures of being eaten by the huge mouth, because it is expected.  I guess climbing on it is, too, because it was obvious that kids had slid down his shin enough to polish it.  Concerned for the kids' well-being, I thought it best to test this practice for safety.

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.