trail magic

Mile 120.8, Wayah Bald Shelter // I woke up at 4:00am. An 8:30 bedtime will do that for you. It was still completely dark out so I rolled around in my bag for another 30 minutes. I was sore from sleeping on one side up against the bush outside my tent. I was too restless to sleep any more so I put on my headlamp and my down jacket and went to get my bear bag down. I made breakfast and coffee - a packet of Quaker Instant Oatmeal and a Starbucks via packet (well, two actually). I carefully repacked my stove and all my trash into my food bag. I rolled up and stuffed my bag and my sleeping pad into the pack as well. Then I took off my pajamas and put on my smelly, slightly damp hiking clothes. I packed everything up except the very tent I was in. This whole ordeal is, in and of itself, something to see. My tent is a one person ultralight tent. This means it is as small as it can be and made of the lightest materials. The first time I set it up, on the floor at REI, I was amazed with how far tent technology has come. Maybe it's because most of my camping experience came via Hollywood's interpretation of how you set up a tent in an entertaining way, but it's really so beautifully simple. And small. My tent is big enough for me to lie down and almost sit up. That's about it. My pack doesn't fit inside the tent with me, so I typically pull it up to the door and bring in what I need, as I need it.

It is not advised...at all...in fact you really, really should not do this...but I cook in my tent. I usually try to get the stove as close to the door as possible, but sometimes it's windy, freezing, pouring or all of the above and it's just the only way. I am a little nervous someone will read this and follow suit and end up: burned, gassed, or eaten by a bear, so I really want to make the point that you should not do this. But I do it.

So, mornings bring on the choreographed dance of changing, cooking, packing, eating and drinking all within the space of a small coffin you can't even sit up in. It's a little like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon the way you pack yourself out of the tent, and then you pack the cocoon itself. I was on the trail by 5:30am, hiking with my headlamp through the dark, misty woods. By 10 in the morning I had covered almost 10 miles, but I needed to cover 24 miles and would be going right through Nantahala where I would need to stop to charge my phone before the 8 mile climb into camp. I came out of the woods onto a gravel fire road and ran smack into Rufus and my first experience with "trail magic." Trail Magic is what thru-hikes dream about. It's when someone sets up where the trail crosses the road and gives hikers food or drinks that they typically can't carry. Long distance hiking means a lot of freeze-dried meals. On my last long hike, I dreamed...literally fantasized about bananas and Dominos pizza. It's different for everyone...I have had hours of conversation with one fellow hiker discussing the merits of the entire Chili's menu. I have heard stories of trail magic in the form of cold beer, warm soup, pancakes or cookies, but I had never seen it for myself. Rufus has the tailgate of his beat up white pickup truck open. A tablecloth was draped over it and upon it he had the most amazing spread of fruit I have ever seen. Apples, oranges, grapes, strawberries, blackberries...and bananas! He had homemade peanut butter cookies and coffee with cream. I didn't deserve this gift, I had only been hiking a day, but I gratefully accepted a banana and a cookie. Rufus wasn't so sure about me taking his picture, but he let me.

I thanked him and asked him to wait for Red Panda because I knew she couldn't be far behind me. I marched onward thinking about the kind of person who spends his day the way Rufus was today. Faith in humanity renewed, courtesy of Rufus and his wife's amazing peanut butter cookies.

Six miles later I popped out of the silent woods into the bustling NOC, Nantahala Outdoor Center. The NOC is a popular place this time of year - a favorite spot for biking, rafting, kayaking and hiking. There is a restaurant, an outfitter, a market and a hostel. Most thru hikers stop here for a burger or some other real food. You can hear people talking about it days before they even reach it. For many hard-core thru hikers, it's the first time they have come off the trail or resupplied or showered in a few weeks. I wouldn't allow myself the rewards of a thru hiker. I hadn't earned them, so instead I plugged my phone in (it was dead) and bought a cliff bar and a Diet Dr. Pepper. I sat on the deck to air out my feet. It seems that most hikers stay overnight here and I had heard tales of the heartbreak they would face the following day, as they are forced to leave comfort behind. The AT welcomes them back with one of her most challenging stretches, 8 miles straight up the side of a mountain. I couldn’t stay long because I still had at least 4-5 more hours of climbing ahead of me. It was nearing 2pm when I went to grab my phone and go. It was still completely dead! I plugged it back in. Nothing. Another hiker let me try her charger - I plugged it in and my phone vibrated. My charger was fried. I handed the charger back to the girl, hoping she would offer it to me to use for a bit - but she didn't. I went to each of the shops trying to buy a new charge but no one carried anything newer than an iPhone 4 charger. I sat down, trying to decide what to do. I couldn't go back out with no phone and therefore no way to reach my shuttle driver when I finished. I had been in this position once before and the desperation had caused me to make bad decisions and hitch hike with some shady characters. I was under strict orders from friends - I had promised one thing - no hitchhiking. That promise would be tough to keep with no phone, no phone charger.

I was getting ready to start calling shuttles when a guy, a hiker from South Africa, walked up with an iPhone charger in his hand. "Is it the charger?" he asked in his South African accent (one that my friends have since asked me to stop trying to emulate). I told him it was and that I thought I would have to call it a day. "Nope. Take this one. I have an extra," he insisted. It was my second brush with trail magic in one day - and another reminder of the good in people. He wouldn't accept any payment. He said goodbye and headed into the restaurant to meet his friend for lunch. I snuck in after them and gave the server my credit card for their lunch. I charged my phone for 10 minutes, packed up and headed toward the trail.

The first hour out of Nantahala was tough. The second hour was really tough. The third hour broke me and the fourth left me mumbling “it’s gotta end somewhere” to myself while I literally stumbled up the trail. I could no longer lift my feet to the height each step required. Around every corner there was just more up. I don’t know if it was the long miles of my day catching up with me or if this was indeed the hardest stretch of trail I had yet encountered, but I was comatose for the last two hours of hiking. I was still technically moving forward, but it was painfully slow going. I would cast both poles out in front of me, sink them into the ground and then use my arms to swing my legs through…one step. Then I would do it again…two steps. Then I would bend over and lean on my poles trying to catch my breath. I stopped looking up because I couldn’t take the mental defeat of seeing another, even steeper, incline ahead of me. It took 5 hours of huffing and puffing so hard that I could feel my heartbeat in my ears to reach the top of the climb. I passed a couple who had set up camp near the top. “We gave up,” they yelled as I crawled past them. “It’s gotta end somewhere,” I managed to get out between gasps for breath. “Yeah, that’s what we thought too,” they replied. Onward.

When I think back to this afternoon on the side of this mountain…I sort of wonder if I am actually still there, still hiking, yet to reach the top…and the days of life I have lived since then are just part of some elaborate fantasy my mind is engaged in to keep me going. This must be a tiny window into what PTSD is like (no offense to anyone who suffers from PTSD because I know I am just a wimp!).

I finally took the step that brought me over the top of that fucking climb. It was a quick 20 minutes downhill into camp. For the first time since I started hiking the AT, I didn’t even bother going to the actual shelter. I saw campsites set up as I neared the shelter and I just dropped my things at the first clearing available. Campsites near the shelters are really just tiny clearings. They are scattered around the shelters…some will accommodate a few tents and have a little campfire in the middle. Others, like the one I had found and tend to find because I am usually one of the last people into camp at night, are just flattish clearings that appear to have at some point accommodated something along the lines of a tent. Once again, my campsite was a little less than flat so I positioned my tent in a way that ensured I would be rolled up against the other side of my tent tonight. It was getting windy and chilly and I was soaked with sweat. I pitched my tent and crawled inside to change into my camp clothing.

I put on my long pants and long sleeve shirt, my down jacket and my thick wool socks. I climbed back out of my tent and set my stove up beside it so the tent would block some of the wind. I lit my stove and boiled my water…pouring it into the freeze-dried bean meal I had brought with me. I sat down and waited the 10 requisite minutes for it to turn from flake to mush. It was actually freaking delicious. I sat and listened to the awkward conversation coming from one campsite up.

Two women were, in my opinion pretty obviously, trying to go about their evening while some guy attempted to be their new best friend. I could tell by the long sighs before one of them would reluctantly answer his questions, using as few words as possible, that they were not hiking with him. It seemed more likely that he had mistaken the Appalachian Trail for a great place to meet new friends, particularly of the female type. He was making a big production of the campfire that he was so valiantly keeping up for them. I was a ting jealous of the fire. I coveted their campfire actually as I shivered in the rapidly dropping night air. But I was not willing to risk opening myself up to Mr. Friendly just for warmth and comfort. I was too tired for chatting.

Mr. Friendly announced to his lady friends that he was going to “get more wood for the fire” and he began combing the ground picking up twigs. TWIGS! He spotted me and his twig hunt shifted in my direction. Shit. I looked down and faked being so totally into my beans. The guy was literally walking past enough firewood to heat the entire state as he crept closer and closer to my campsite. “How was your hike?” he asked as he marched toward me. “Good,” I replied, face still in my bag of beans. “Where did you start from?” Seriously?  Laws of conversation clearly state that a one-word response and no reciprocal question signify lack of desire to engage. “Wayah.” That is all you are getting buddy. I could hear the ladies at the other campsite, their conversation returning to normal, relieved to have their new friend distracted. The Stick Collector crept even closer…face in my bean bag, FACE IN MY BEAN BAG. “What’s for dinner?” Oh come on!!

I considered my options. No response? He would just ask again, louder and closer. “Nothing”?? Clearly a lie and now I am the weird one. I decided to go with “same old, same old,” which I said into my bean bag without even bothering to look up. At this point I realize this guy is not going to take a hint so I am going to have to be clear. This is way outside my normal behavior…which is to say that I would NEVER be this rude to anyone in the real world, but out here on the trail – I gave myself a quick pep talk. “Look, I don’t want to be rude but I don’t feel like talking,” I said, looking straight at him. He stared back at me for a second and I thought he would turn and walk back to his campfire, but instead he took a step toward me. “What’s wrong?” he asked. OH, GOOD GOD. I stood up, grabbed my stove and climbed into my tent without another word to him. I listened as he stood there taking it all in, and then his steps moved further and further away. “I got some wood!” he proudly announced back at the campfire.

I was in bed and asleep by “hiker’s midnight” or 8pm (actually I think “hiker’s midnight” might be 9pm, but for the sake of my story, it’s 8). I don’t remember much except the wind blowing through the mountains…there is just nothing like it. The temperature was down below 50, perfect sleeping weather. I snuggled in and fell right to sleep.  // 144.0 Sassafras Gap Shelter