Tag: Springer Mountain

The Love Of My Life

It was almost dark when a south-bound back-packer hustled into Thunder Hill Shelter in Virginia, just ahead of a gathering storm. There were four or five NoBos — north bound thru hikers headed for Maine  – already in the shelter,  laying out their pads and sleeping bags, getting ready for the night,  so thankful we were out of the weather.  At 72, I was the oldest, by a lot.

The new guy glanced at the younger men and then asked me: “Are you Lucky?”

I said I was.

And he said, “There a woman, a SoBo, who wants to meet you.”

***

He told me that he had stayed at a shelter a couple of days earlier with this woman and three friends I had hiked a lot of miles with at different times — California and The Hiking Vikings. He said they told her all about me and she wanted to meet me. She wasn’t far behind him, he said, headed south. I was hiking north so I’d probably meet her the next day.

California
California: He helped oversell me.

I did meet her the next day, a young woman in her early 60’s. She had a pretty smile. I suspected right away that California and the Hiking Vikings had completely oversold me.

She was a flip flopper, which the Appalachian Trail Conservancy encourages to reduce stress on the trail. She had hiked about 300 miles, from Harpers Ferry, near the mid-point, on her way to Springer Mountain, Georgia, the southern terminus. She said she planned fly to Maine on July 4 and then hike south to Harpers Ferry. So we would meet again, probably in what they call the 100-mile wilderness in Maine.

The Hiking Vikings
The [Famous] Hiking Vikings: They liked practical jokes.
We talked a few minutes, until I said something about my wife mailing me a resupply package and she said:  “You’re married?!”  

My friends had left out that salient fact.

Anyway, I hiked on to the next shelter, Matt’s Creek, near the James River, took a break there and checked the shelter journal.  That’s the most dependable way to get news from hiker friends who are ahead of you.  There, to my surprise, I found that the woman had written that she hoped to meet the love of her life.

And she ended by asking, “Are you the love of my life, Lucky?”

I responded in the journal:  “Alas, I am not. I married the love of my life 51 years ago.”

Postscript:  The Vikings, and California, had not put her up to the “love of my life” thing but they had commended me to her and thought the whole thing was pretty funny.

Weeks later I was hiking alone — The Hiking Vikings were an hour or two ahead of me — when I came across a woman young enough to my granddaughter. She had pitched her tent near the trail and when I passed by she asked:

“Are you Lucky?”

Yes, I said.

She smiled and asked, “Are you the love of my life?” Obviously, she had met the Vikings.

Coming Tuesday:  Feeling Sorry For The Enemy

Lost On Blood Mountain – Part 2 of 2

It’s hard to appreciate how black total darkness is because we so rarely experience it. There’s always a little light somewhere, if only from the face of a digital clock. So I was surprised when my cap light died on Blood Mountain and I couldn’t see anything. It was as if I were standing in a closet at night with my eyes closed and the door shut — wearing a blindfold.

I dug into my pocket and pulled out a cigarette lighter.  But it wouldn’t light.  I discovered later that the flint was wet. 

That’s when I told myself: You make one more mistake –if one more thing goes wrong –you’re not going to Maine.  You’re not going home, either.

I had a spare cigarette lighter in my tool bag.   Now if I could just find it in the dark and coax my fingers, which were freezing and not working all that well, to make fire.   I fumbled through my pack and, somehow, I did find it. I shielded the lighter from the wind and got fire.  With that light I was able to replace the batteries in my cap light.  Now I was back in business.  I put the cap light back in my mouth and, in a few minutes, I had my tent up and I was inside, in my sleeping bag, starting to get warm.  Outside it was still sleeting.

Did I pray any that night when I was lost on Blood Mountain? Oh yes, without ceasing.

This photo was made at Nell Gap two days later, after the storm passed.
This photo was made at Neel Gap two days later, after the storm passed.

There was light coming through my tent when I woke up next morning. It was 6:40 a.m. Time to move. I had to get off that mountain.

Everything was frozen.   I could not open or close zippers.   My tent was frozen to the ground cover and the ground cover was frozen to the ground. I peeled them off. The joints of my tent frame were frozen.  I huffed and puffed warm breath on each joint, warming them up enough to pull them apart.

Worst of all, I had left my wet mittens outside and they were frozen. I should have slept with them.  The frozen mittens were a major problem. Unprotected in that kind of weather your fingers freeze in a few minutes and then they stop working.

I couldn’t just put my hands in my jacket pockets because I couldn’t hike on ice without using my poles.  So I stuck my frozen mittens under my shirt, next to my stomach, to melt the ice enough to get them on.

My plan was to walk down the Freeman Trail until I found the A.T. or I found civilization. No more turning back. I jammed my frozen gear in my backpack, strapped it on, and headed down the mountain.

It was slow going on the ice but, two hours later, there it was, a beautiful white blaze.  I had intersected the Appalachian Trail.   In another 45 minutes, I could see the roof of Mountain Crossings hostel through the ice laden trees.  What a beautiful sight! Warmth, food, safety.

NOTE: I got frostbite on two fingers, a thumb, and one of my ears but the sores healed in a few days.  The feeling returned to my fingers in a month or two and over the past two years part of the feeling has returned to my toes.

Postscript:

That's me, sitting by the fire the next day.
That’s me, sitting by a fire the next day in an outfitter store adjacent to the hostel.

I stayed at Mountain Crossings for two and a half days with seven other A.T. thru-hikers, waiting out a terrific winter storm and zero degree temperatures. I was glad to be indoors, but the hostel was not the toasty refuge I had imagined it would be.

It was cold inside the hostel.

How cold? So cold I wore a toboggan when I took a shower.

Nah, I made that up.

But how about this: the water in the dog’s bowl froze. No, the bowl wasn’t on the porch. The bowl was sitting on the “living room” floor of the hostel. And, no, I didn’t make that up.

Coming Monday: Take Her or Leave Her