The American Heritage Dictionary:
Vacation
(vā-kā'shən) n. A period of time devoted
to rest or relaxation, as from work or study.
So maybe we should have considered this definition BEFORE we
planned our vacation, er, trip! Having
successfully conquered Mt. Washington,
the highest peak in the Northeast and somewhat less successfully (sans Mark)
attempted connecting Loy Canyon and Secret Mountain Canyon trails, we felt we
were ready for the challenge of the Appalachian trail section though Great
Smoky Mountain National Park. We, of
course, refers to our intrepid group of adventurers: Rick, Bruce, Tom, Mark and me. (For further discourse on the individual
adventurers, please see my previous account of our Arizona trip.) We selected this particular route after a
long and arduous discussion where many other potential locations were
discussed. One attraction with the AT,
as all true backpackers refer to it, is assisting Bruce in his stated objective
of hiking the entire length before he dies.
(Based on our progress so far, he may want to consider accelerating the
pace substantially unless he plans on hiking well into his 80’s.) Fall is a beautiful time in the Smokies with
the color of the leaves and October is historically the driest month of the
year. Both were major draws for our
planned trip.
Our plan was to converge at Davenport Gap, drop Bruce’s Grand
Cherokee there and drive mine, loaded with everyone and their gear, to the
other end of the park at Fontana Dam. We
would then spend the next 7 days hiking the 73 miles to return to Bruce’s
vehicle. For those of us traveling from Central Illinois , it meant leaving my place at 5:00
am. Ah, what better way of starting a vacation
than getting up after half a night’s sleep to drive over 11 hours, of which the
first two are in the dark? The half
night’s sleep turned out to be somewhat optimistic as Mark, coming from Elgin to join us did not
arrive at my place until sometime around 12:30 am. I had, of course, already gone to bed, but
the anticipation of the trip and the uncertainty of Mark finding my place in
the dark and fog led to very poor sleep.
In addition, the normal pre-vacation jitters and thoughts didn’t
help. In spite of using Tom’s equipment
list, I was sure that I was forgetting something important. The list is my attempt to compensate for
being blond, but the track record thus far is decidedly mixed. Nothing like getting on the trail the first
night and realizing you forgot something important. (Where’s my sleeping bag?) Having checked the list twice, I felt I was
as prepared as I would ever be, but still couldn’t shake the feeling that I was
forgetting something…
After Tom arrived around 4:45, we loaded our stuff and set off for the Smokies at 5:10 am on Saturday, October 10th. The road trip was rather uneventful, at least after I almost missed the turnoff from I-74 to I-55 South. Fortunately the median was not too muddy and traffic was light. After all, what’s the use of having a Jeep if you don’t go off-road once in a while? Since we are guys and don’t feel the need to communicate any more than necessary (other than Rick), I had stocked my 10 disc CD changer with plenty of music. As I did so, I realized my taste in music is of rather limited range. You can never have too much Southern Gospel, right? I also included a couple of bluegrass CD’s in honor of our destination. You can’t spell
Fontana Hilton Shelter |
Fontana Dam |
Fontana Dam is a large hydroelectric dam build in the 40’s
as part of the TVA. After we filled our
water bottles and partook of a cold breakfast of granola bars, we walked across
the dam to officially begin our trip.
Our goal was the shelter at Mollie’s Ridge, which had been experiencing
significant bear activity in recent days.
This was almost 12 miles from the Fontana Hilton. The problem with this hike was the starting
point. When you start at the dam, you
are, by definition, at the lowest point.
I won’t say we went up all day, but we gained over 3,000 feet in
elevation.
We had a few miscues that morning. Evidently the lead hikers stirred up a bees’
nest. Bruce bore the brunt of their
wrath, being stung three times, including on his hand. I believe it was the same hand that he had
put into a cactus in Arizona . I’m glad it was Bruce instead of me. If it had been me, I’m sure Bruce would have
wanted to use the medical kit that he has been so anxious to try. “Don’t you know you have to use sutures on
bee stings or you risk infection and ultimately amputation? Now hold still!” Also our plan to keep Tom in
check worked well as Mark “forgot” his water bottle back at the dam, causing
Tom to volunteer to go back to get it.
That gave him an extra 2 miles for the day and seemed to take the edge
off his overabundant energy and keep him within the normal distribution as the
day wore on.
As we hiked in, we met two thru hikers coming out. These guys started in Maine
back in the spring and were now in the home stretch as the trail ends in Georgia . Thru hikers are a different breed. First of all, they spend 5 to 7 months doing
nothing but hiking. I have to admire
their tenacity, but at the same time question their sanity. Realize also that they probably have only had
two or three sets of clothes that they have worn during the trip, although they
generally wash periodically. Thru hikers
adopt a “trail name” that they use during this period. The ones we met were older men who went by
the names “Ringmaster” and “Flaxseed”. I
was slightly envious of their cool nicknames.
Not being a creative person, I probably would have a nickname like
“Bob”, like Bob of Accountemps. Often
these nicknames are given to them by their traveling companions. There is no way in the world that I would
have asked my companions for a nickname.
And if they HAD given me a nickname, I wouldn’t be broadcasting it.
We also met a lone hiker who was part of the Dartmouth
Hiking Club. The day before, the club
had hiked the entire AT by positioning their members thoughout the trail. If they had 100 people, they had to do over
20 miles each. The previous day during
his section hike, this hiker had the unfortunate experience of getting between
a sow and her cub. Normally, the black
bears in the park are not aggressive.
Since bears have a tremendous sense of smell, allegedly 7 times as good
as dogs, they generally know you are coming and try to avoid human
contact. So unless you surprise them,
they are relatively harmless, unless you happen to get between a mother and her
cub. Fortunately he was able to get out
of the way and didn’t get attacked.
We at lunch on top of Shuckstack Mountain ,
the site of a long abandoned fire watch tower.
Those of our group without any common sense (which was evidently
everyone else), climbed to the top. The
weather was clear allowing for the best pictures of the trip. Not being a fan of heights, I only went up
one level which was not enough to get above the trees. The tower was a steel structure of probably
30 feet. Most of the stairs had a steel
railing, some on both sides(!) and MOST of those railings had supports attached
to the wood steps, most of which were attached to the structure by at LEAST one
rusty bolt. Some in our group thought I
should have climbed to the top and one declared that I wouldn’t sleep that
night regretting my decision. Soon after
that declaration, a group of dayhikers came and went to the top. They came down quickly expressing in rather
colorful language that they wouldn’t do that again and almost lost control of
certain bodily functions while they were up there. In a more honest moment later in the trip,
several of our troupe confirmed that it wasn’t worth it, thus confirming my
good judgment.
Shuckstack Fire Tower |
The rest of the day served as a reminder to me that I wasn’t
physically prepared for the trip. We
finally arrived at the shelter, which we had to ourselves. Thus far, the trip had gone very well. Plus I was carrying the first night’s dinner,
so my pack got a little lighter, although I’m not sure the 2 pounds I took off
was noticeable compared with the 35 pounds of other stuff. The shelter was typical, but no privy.
Monday was another long day approaching 12 miles. It rained all day, which made the trail wet
and muddy, causing an unfortunate accident where Mark snapped one of his trek
poles. I have to tip my hat to the
marketing person who named these mountains.
“Great Smoky Mountains ?” Only a bunch of flatlanders (or dayhikers) would
buy into that name. More accurate would
be “Great Cloudy
Mountains ” or “Great Cold, Damp Mountains .” One group we met coming out wished us luck as
they had three straight days of rain.
With the elevation of the trail, the clouds became a bank of fog. This limited our photo ops
significantly. We did see some wildlife on
Monday. Rick saw a bear drop out of a
tree about 30 feet away and run off into the woods and Tom saw some wild turkeys.
We also crossed the summit of
Rocky Top, the subject of the famous song.
It was a bit disappointing. We
were expecting something more substantial such as a sign or plaque or
something. Basically it was a
non-descript mountain with a few rocks. We
did sing the song to the best of our ability.
Unfortunately said song was then stuck in my mind for the rest of the
day. Although this day was a difficult
hike, I was feeling pretty good. I was
testing the theory that while man cannot live by bread alone, he can get by
pretty well on Cliff’s Shot Blocks. We
arrived at our next shelter to find a group of 8 people. They were a group from REI with two
guides. Kind of like a bus tour for
hikers, but somewhat younger. The guides
knew the area and what they were doing, so we did pick up a few good tips. They also told a numbers of stories that
night, some of which were almost believable. We feasted on Rick’s soon-to-be-famous
dehydrated chili. Quarters were a little
tight that night with 13 of us, but it was manageable. Our group and the two guides slept on the top
the rest of their group on the bottom.
This wasn’t a bear area, but just to be on the safe side, we always
slept on the top. I’m not sure that is
keeping with the Christian principle of self-sacrifice, but I don’t think it
applies to bears and camping. One of
their group was a serious snorer, but that’s what earplugs are for, right? The shelter was similar to the previous one
and was also privyless.
Tuesday was a beautiful day with sun and temperatures
probably in the upper 60’s. As we
started off, we met another group of thru hikers. There were 3 young guys, followed at some
length by another guy followed by his wife.
They were moving. They had
started in Maine
on June 3rd and were currently doing 25 miles a day. We barely had time to get out of their
way. The guys looked like real mountain
men. With bushy beards, they appeared
not to have shaved since they started, but had gotten haircuts. I proposed we all not shave for about a month
before our next trip so we have the same look, but the motion failed for lack
of support. Mark found a walking stick
to replace his broken pole. With less
than 8 miles to cover for the day, we were able to get to the next shelter at
Double Spring Gap early in the afternoon.
This allowed us to air out all our clothes that had gotten wet the
previous day. Plus this shelter had a
throne privy. At the risk of sounding
soft, it was so much nicer than digging a hole next to a tree. I think we all used it about three times just
because we could.
While we were airing everything out and just relaxing in the
sun, we had some visitors. First we heard
the bells. In order to avoid startling
bears, some paranoid hikers (definitely dayhikers, at least in spirit) wear
bells to warn of their arrival. We, of
course, didn’t need bells to announce our presence. Bears, with their sensitive noses, could tell
we were coming far sooner than they could have heard us. After some less than subtle and somewhat
unkind comments, I decided it was time to change to my second set of
clothes. I hasten to inform you, gentle
reader, that if your olfactory sensitivities are such that you are offended by
others, then you probably shouldn’t go backpacking. After all, more changes of clothes means more
weight, the ultimate anathema to the serious hiker. I will also add that I was not alone in this
situation. Some, in fact, had an even
more limited wardrobe. If you can’t go
at least four days with the same garments, you should seriously consider the
dayhiker route where you only carry the clothes on your back and spend every
night in your nice soft bed after a long hot shower, in a temperature
controlled environment with chocolates on your pillow each night. Yeah, doesn’t that sound nice. No, wait… I mean… doesn’t that sound
disgusting. Yeah, DISGUSTING. That’s it.
This, after all, is an adventure!
This is exciting! This is getting
away from it all! This is getting back
to nature! Anyway, back to my
story. We had another couple stop by
while Tom and Bruce were getting water.
They were a friendly older couple out for a couple of days. During our conversation, Rick noticed that
the man had a bottle of Diet Mountain Dew.
For those not familiar with our entire group, you will not know the
significance of this. Bruce lives on
Diet Mountain Dew. Literally. At this point in the trip, he was going
through serious withdrawal. Having
mentioned this to our new friends, the man revealed that he actually had TWO
bottles and would very much like to give Bruce one. About that time, Tom and Bruce returned from
the spring and the presentation was made.
Bruce was beside himself with joy.
It also turned out the man’s middle name was Bruce, and his first name
Michael, like the angel.
Coincidence? We think not. We referred to them as our angel
friends. Seriously, what are the chances
that we meet a couple in the middle of the wilderness with EXTRA Diet Mountain Dew? Bruce let it cool in the spring and
proclaimed it the BEST bottle of soda he had ever had. Of course, we had to take his word on it
because he hadn’t offered any to us.
Best Diet Mountain Dew Ever chilling in the stream |
Back to our group, we had been discussing building a
campfire during the whole trip. The
first two nights we were too tired to give it serious consideration. However, since we had a short day, Tom was
determined to get one started. It took a
long time…a really long time.
Personally, unless it is cold or you need to cook over one, I’m fine
without a fire. Most of the wood was wet
and not of very good quality. Mark had a
lighter that was supposed to work even in hurricanes. Unfortunately, we weren’t in a hurricane and
it wasn’t working. After a very long
time with a great deal of assistance, we finally got it going. I have to admit that it was enjoyable as the
nights were chilly. We had a very long
day planned for the next day, including summiting Clingmans Dome, the highest
peak on the AT and the second or third highest point east of the Rockies at over 6,600 feet. We planned to get up early and be on the
trail before 9:00, which was our normal starting time.
I woke up around 3:00 to the sound of a steady rain on the
sheet metal roof 3 feet above my head.
Actually, it was kind of soothing.
Also, it did drown out the sound of the mice. Most of the cabins have a serious rodent
problem. As soon as we had turned off
all the lights the previous night, we could hear the mice start running across
the weather tarp. Every night I unzipped
everything on my backpack as I hung it in the shelter so the mice could explore
it without having to chew their way in.
One night Bruce neglected to take some cashews out of his pack. He awoke to a chewing noise and the next
morning the cashews were gone and he had a nice little hole to remind him next
time to take EVERYTHING out. Even though
all the food was put into the bear bags and hoisted 20 feet in the air, we even
had mice climb the 20 feet up the tree, across the cable and down the pulley to
chew into that one. I am sure they also
ran across our sleeping bags at night, but I tried not to think about that. As long as they stayed on the outside of the
bag and I was on the inside, everything was fine.
At 6:00, the rain was continuing, causing the adventurers to
cancel their yoga class, although I had doubts that it was going to happen
anyway. Around 7:00 Tom got up and I
followed him a short time later. It was
pretty miserable. It had been raining
steadily for a number of hours and it was dark and cold. But, we had over 14 miles to go and the trail
wasn’t getting hiked with us staying in our sleeping bags. There was some grumbling and others who
thought we should just wait out the rain.
But, as Tom said, “You can’t make a good decision while still in your
sleeping bag.” So after a vigorous
breakfast of granola bars, we put our rain gear on and trouped off into the
rain as the sky turned lighter. We
aren’t sure what ever happened to the adventurer’s club. The last we saw them, they were debating
about cooking some pasta for breakfast.
My guess is they finished off the last of the Jim Beam to give them just
enough body warmth to make it to their next shelter before hypothermia set in.
Unfortunately, the morning did not get any better. The rain continued and the trail as we
climbed to Clingmans Dome was a ridge run, meaning
there were less and less sheltered areas.
It would have been a beautiful view down each side of the mountain if it
had been clear. As it was, we couldn’t see much. With the openness, we were exposed to the
cold, rain and wind. The trail was quite
wet leading to a lot of mud and standing water.
Most of us had waterproof shoes, but mine were not 100%. Also, Mark did not have rain pants. We reached the summit after 2 or 3
miles. While not anywhere near as
commercial as Mt.
Washington , there is a
road up to a point about ½ mile from the top with an asphalt path from there. At the top there is a spiral concrete
staircase up to a small tower. Most
importantly, this was a link to the outside world. On our way up to the tower, the wind was very
strong. At that point, some of us were
in trouble. The combination of cold,
rain and wind was bone-chilling. Since
Mark didn’t have rain pants, he was probably in the worst shape. We didn’t think we would be able to do the
rest of the hike that day, nor did we want to, except for Tom and maybe Bruce. We still had about 12 miles to go to get to
our shelter. We met a couple from Wyoming who had driven
up to the parking lot and were now heading up to the tower. Why? I
don’t know. We were in the middle of the
clouds, so you couldn’t see more that a couple hundred feet. Plus they weren’t dressed for that weather. They offered to give some of us a ride off
the mountain, and we planned to accept their offer, especially after they
disclosed that the weather forecast was for two more days of rain with a chance
of snow on Friday night. As we were
deciding which two would go and who would stay, Tom had walked out to the
parking lot and had come across some park employees in a pickup loaded with
mowers and trimmers. Since they didn’t
seem to doing much on such a rainy day, he was able to talk them into giving us
a ride down to Newfound Gap where we would have cell phone reception and could
catch a shuttle out of the park. We
decided that sticking together was a better option so we all piled in the back
of the pickup and rode the 8 miles down to the Gap.
Riding in the open back of a pickup is not the greatest
thing when you are already cold and wet.
However, realizing that we were moving several times faster than we
could walk and that we were getting closer to escaping far outweighed the
inconvenience. Once we got to Newfound
Gap, we sought shelter in the bathrooms to make some phone calls to get us back
to civilization. By that point, my hands
were so cold that I couldn’t even use my phone.
Once again we were rescued from this by a Good Samaritan. One of the park employees had seen a shuttle
in the parking lot and flagged them down for us. Perhaps his motives were not purely
altruistic. I am sure there are a lot of
hikers who end up having to be rescued, so if he could get five of us off the
mountain without much effort, all the better!
During our trip planning phase, one of the group came across the fact
that more people suffer from hypothermia in the Smokies than in the White Mountains where we hiked last year. This is significant as Mt.
Washington is the deadliest mountain
in the US ,
primarily because of hypothermia.
Regardless of these facts and motives, we were very grateful that people
were so helpful.
The shuttle was a minibus similar to shuttles you might take
from a hotel to an airport. There were
12-15 older people on board enjoying a nice warm, dry ride when this group of
five bedraggled ragtag with backpacks gratefully scrambled aboard. The driver seemed almost sorry that she had
to charge us $5 each to ride to Cherokee, NC.
Little did she know that at that point some of us probably would have
sold one of our companions into slavery to get back to civilization. The group on the shuttle were bikers
(motorcycle) who were stranded because of the rain. One semi-obnoxious older gentleman kept
asking what kind of hikers we were to have given up because of weather, as if
he was very clever to have thought about this.
Since we were still just thankful to be on the shuttle, we didn’t reply
by asking why such brave bikers weren’t riding their motorcycles instead of
being hauled around in a bus. Several of
the others seemed more concerned as we moved to the back of the bus that we
were going to do a wet dog imitation and shower them with water. Even though I had to sit on the floor for the
ride, I couldn’t have been happier. After
all, it was warm. The driver dropped us
off at a small pink roadside motel in Cherokee.
We figured the driver must get a cut for delivering desperate hikers to
that business. We quickly decided to
abandon that for the Comfort Suites across the road.
While not the best shower I have ever taken, it was
definitely Top 10. Even after that, some
of our group were still of the opinion that after a night in civilization we
should go back up the mountain and continue our trip the next day. Personally, I thought Tom and Bruce needed to
find new backpacking partners who were either more hardy or less intelligent. Fortunately, the Warm, Dry, Wimpy Backpacker
coalition prevailed and we decided not to pursue that ridiculous idea. Instead Bruce called for a shuttle service to
Fontana Dam where we would pick up my Jeep, drive to the other end, pick up
Bruce’s Jeep and then drive back to Cherokee.
Shuttle service along the AT is very common. In New
Hampshire , Bruce and I had the experience of riding
with Artie, who filled us in on all the local lore as well as his life history
including a stint in Hotlanta. This
experience was not quite as sordid, although her car was one big ashtray. For the rest of the day, we could taste the
smoke and smell it on our clothes. Bruce
sat in front safely steering the conversation in a more neutral direction. We did learn a number of useful tidbits, such
as what to do when being attacked by a bear.
According to Nancy ,
they hunt bears with dogs, so to scare off a bear, you should bark like a
dog. I’m not sure I would endorse this
idea. What kind of dog do you need to
bark like? If a bear was charging toward
me and I did remember to bark, I can see it coming out like one of those yippy
purse dogs. I doubt this would dissuade
the bear unless it would be dying of laughter.
The next day started out rainy (surprise, surprise). The area we were staying was an Indian
reservation. We went to the Cherokee
museum in the morning. It was an interesting
place and seemed to deal with the whole Indian situation fairly
even-handedly. We headed to Asheville in the afternoon
and visited Mast General store and walked around Biltmore. At Mast, they had a nice selection of hiking
goods and other products. They also had
a map of the entire AT, approximately 8” by 45”, which clearly showed how
little of the trail we have completed.
They only had two copies left.
Bruce will claim that I stole his, but that, of course, is a complete
fabrication and distortion of a rather complicated situation. It was also in Asheville that we happened upon a flyer
advertising a local music group. As I
mentioned earlier, none of our group have cool trail names, something we sorely
miss. The local music group was named
Col. Bruce and the Quark Alliance. Some
of us felt this had possibilities, but others are holding out for something
cooler and representative of who we are.
Personally, I am fearful there are much worse names that we could be
called. Perhaps we already are.
Toward evening we returned to our motel en route to see some
waterfalls at the edge of the park.
GSMNP is known for waterfalls.
Based on our experience this is probably because it rains all the
time. As we prepared to leave, Bruce had
some transmission problems with his Jeep, so we took mine. As it turns out this was a good thing.
Thursday night at the hotel was another near miss. There was a group of schoolchildren with
their teachers as well as what seemed far too few chaperones. My idea of a properly chaperoned group would
be 2 chaperones per student, at least.
They had a significantly less favorable ratio. Due to a mix-up at the front desk, some of
them had mistakenly been given our rooms.
The teachers discovered the error rather quickly upon opening the doors
to our rooms. They claimed they realized
the problem when they saw our gear spread out in the rooms. A more likely scenario was that they were
pushed back by the pungent smell of wet backpacker that had permeated the
area. Fortunately their new rooms were
on a lower floor so we were not entertained with the endless pitter patter of
feet up and down the hallways.
Friday brought another beautiful Smoky Mountain
morning. In other words, the weather in
Cherokee and surrounding areas was overcast, but the mountains were encased in
clouds with likely rain. Did I mention
that October is their driest month? Bruce
tried his Jeep again and discovered the transmission was nonfunctional. At this point, our group was destined to
break up. Bruce wanted to head back to
KC for a funeral, but needed to get the Jeep repaired. The rest of us were planning to head back
into the park to do some more of the trail.
The parting, as they always are, was bittersweet. In this case, we were all disappointed that
we had not achieved our goal of hiking through the entire park. And yet it was not an altogether unfamiliar feeling
as our group has yet to complete a hike as scheduled, having bailed out of two
hikes early due to bad weather and backtracked on another after getting over
halfway through. Seeing Bruce seated
dejectedly on the hood of his Jeep awaiting a tow was somewhat
guilt-inducing. We had expected to stay
with him, but he seemed offended at the idea that he was incapable of facing
this difficulty on his own. So, having
abandoned our physician friend to his unexpected delay and new redneck towing
friends, we proceeded back up into the mountains and the AT.
Awaiting the tow truck |
Bull Elk |
On the way up, we passed an open field where a small herd of elk were grazing. We were able to get within a couple hundred feet and get some good pictures. They were very impressive, especially the bull who had a huge rack. Elk are native to the area, but were wiped out years ago. The current herd has been reintroduced.
Our plan for the day was for two of us to be dropped off at
Newfound Gap and hike up to Clingmans Dome while the other two drove to Clingmans Dome and hiked down to Newfound Gap. The first group would then drive the Jeep
from Clingmans Dome down to Newfound Gap and
pick up the second group. Mark and I
volunteered to hike up. Mark’s knee and
my ankle were giving up problems the whole trip, and hiking uphill is actually
easier on the joints as you don’t have the pounding from landing with all your
weight on each step as you go down. This
was also a good team for other reasons.
Throughout the hiking portion of the trip, we tended to spread out on
the trail based on age with Tom and Rick, the young guys, leading and the more
mature ones of the group bringing up the rear.
Mark and I were about the same speed.
Based on the plan, all four of us should have met somewhere
around the middle of the hike. When Mark
and I reached a point about 2/3 of the way up and hadn’t seen them yet, I
figured they had detoured to a shelter about a half mile off the trail that had
a reputation of being a bear area. Mark
and I reached the shelter without having seen Tom and Rick or any bears. We headed back to the trail and continued on
to the top. Of course while we were on
our detour, Tom and Rick came down the trail and went past us without knowing
where we were. Since they never saw us,
they erroneously assumed we had turned back.
Instead, the plan worked well and Mark and I reached the Jeep and drove
to Newfound Gap, arriving there shortly after Tom and Rick.
Mark in front of root wad of overturned tree |
In case you haven’t figured it out, I have been describing a
day hike. It pains me more than you can
imagine to confess what we did. While we
were on the trail that day, we encountered several section hikers. Ordinarily, we would stop and chat with other
section hikers, but on that particular day, carry fanny packs, I purposely
averted my eyes to avoid the scorning looks.
It just wasn’t the same. After
all, we had spent the night in comfort and had a hot breakfast that was
prepared for us. They had spent the
night in a rodent-infested shelter, probably with others who hadn’t bathed for
days and snored. At best they would have
had oatmeal and hot chocolate for breakfast.
I felt so pampered and spoiled. And
yet (deep breath), I also have to confess that in some small, insignificant
way, I kind of…. Well, I mean I kind of
felt…. OK. (Gulp) I kind of liked it. There, I’ve said it! I don’t mean the whole day hiking
experience. And it was probably only
because we had such lousy weather. Or
maybe because my ankle was bothering me the whole trip. Of course.
That was it. It was just a moment
of weakness. The next time will be
different. I’ll be more prepared! I’ll be in better shape! I’ll gladly carry a 50 pound pack! There will be no turning back! No Quitting!
No hitchhiking down the mountain in the back of a pickup! HUNDRED MILE WILDERNESS, HERE WE COME!!!
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