The Lonesome Crowded Appalachian Trail

Katahdin's Summit (July 23, 2011)

2011-07-23T20:35:00.000-07:00

"This trip is the culmination of years of dreaming, and maybe weeks of planning." Me, 2/19/2011, In the Hotel in Georgia the Day Before I Started Hiking

"Dick's Dome is too small." Teddy to Me in Conversation, 5/3/2011, Jim and Molly Denton Shelter

"A lot has happened since I summited Katahdin on 6/25. I relocated from Chicago to Charlottesville, VA and moved in with my new fiancee, 15, whom I met on a mountain back in the ME wilderness. A pretty amazing + life changing journey this has turned out to be." The Rambler and 15, date unknown, Paul C. Wolfe Shelter

"I came I saw I took a dump." Denver, 4/21/2011, Punchbowl Shelter

"Today is my graduation day...Life on the trail has renewed my faith in myself and taught me what life is about...Goodbye for now AT." Abel Nightwood stopping 1300 miles into a SOBO trip, date unknown, Paul C. Wolfe Shelter

"Who needs porn when you have naked pictures of Eric McQuade, even if Eric McQuade is yourself?" Yikes, Yikes responding to me when I offered to sext her some pics of myself after the hike, 8/6/2011

Top Left to Right, Windscreen, Yikes, Sensei and I. Spam, bottom. (July 23, 2011)

I slept amazingly well since I was so tired from our day of drinking. We were all up
pretty early but Windscreen and I were the first ones to head up.

I was so full of adrenaline that I summited in 2 hours, 10 minutes. Windscreen was right there with me. I wish I could say the very end was dramatic, but it certainly wasn't. The initial summit push was intense and wonderful but then it plateaued and everything was pretty calm for a mile. Then we were there, suddenly.

At the summit I found myself unprepared for a celebration performance. Normally, I thrive in moments like these (moments of braggadocio and ostentatious celebration). But I really didn't know what to do so I went up and extended my hands up, behind the Katahdin sign, and posed for a picture. Then I hugged Windscreen. Was this it? Yikes arrived next. It was hard to believe that 5 months worth of work seemed to end so prematurely. Maybe I had no one to blame but myself for my lack of celebration preparation.

Yikes opened some champagne and Windscreen a bottle of red wine. Things were looking up.

Breeze, the guy we had just met at our all-day drinking session, arrived at the top shortly after us and seized control. He had a handful of close friends with him to celebrate. "America wins again!" he shouted, waving an American flag above his head. He dry-humped the Katahdin sign. He screamed and pointed. He cracked champagne and smoked cigarettes. This is how it was supposed to be done.

I felt better.

Sensei summited next and he had a swagger about him. The summit of Katahdin is not all that big. It's hard to visualize unless you are up there. Whatever space was there, we'd taken it all over at this point. We were chatting and laughing--telling our story to anyone who didn't know where we'd come from to get there. Many people had no idea we'd done anything more than summit Katahdin that morning, so it felt important to tell them what we'd accomplished. This wasn't a day of hiking; it was 150 days.

Finally, Spam and his parents came up Katahdin. It had taken a while because Spam was walking with his parents (almost 6 hours). We were pretty restless up there but when he arrived Sensei stood up. He looked at the 60 or so people at the summit.

Everyone, Sensei said, that guy just walked 2000 miles from Springer Mountain, Georgia to get here! Let's give him a round of applause!

And everyone did just that.

Entering Maine, Meeting Southbounders (July 5-22, 2011)

2011-07-22T12:58:00.000-07:00

"Southward bound where I stop nobody knows." GB, 3/17/2011, Rausch Gap Shelter

"Talking to SOBOs is like talking to a kid who has yet to crushed by the hardships of life." Elvis, 7/4/2011, Full Goose Shelter

Sensei (left) and Yikes with a Clear View of Katahdin (July 22, 2011)

Maine had a lot of rugged trail. One nagging problem I had was forgetting that Maine still
had 280 miles of trail and I felt like I belonged at the finish line. I had read an article by a former thru-hiker early on the trip where she described being so close to the end in Maine, yet not wanting to hike another step. I felt exactly what she felt. I wasn't sure if it was a self-fullfilling prophecy or not, but I burned out entirely. Anything I could do to dull the pain, I did. I kept my head phones on all day and just worried about going each mile. It seemed like I started looking at my watch every 5 seconds and pulling out my trail guide to verify mileage.

I kept reminding everyone I hated hiking (I did) and I would never show my face in the woods again. I can't describe how the novelty wears off. The end was excruciating for me. The bugs became insufferable. We had black flies that burrow into your hair and bite with the heft of vaccination needles. The gnats hover in front of your face and kamikaze bomb into the moisture in your eyeballs. I would get into the habit of waving my hand in front of my eyes every 5 seconds to keep the gnats at bay. When they made it into your eyes, and they frequently did, the best thing to do was pry your eyes open Clockwork Orange style and let the thing fly away. Rubbing your eyes would kill them and ensure they stayed in your eye, irritating the shit out of you.

Then there were mosquitos that would punish you relentlessly. The best defense of the mosquito is to keep walking and put on barrels of deet.

Occasionally, there were horseflies and deer flies. This was torture, not the adventure of a lifetime. I felt like someone who went to Hollywood to star in major motion pictures and ended up doing soft core porn for Cinemax. This was not what I had in mind.

There are no switch backs in Maine. You just get on the stair master and ascend over each mountain top. The Bigelow range was my least favorite of Maine. It just destroyed me. The views atop the mountains were consistently majestic, however. I kept thinking how odd it would be to begin here when the trail below New Hampshire had nothing comparable.

And many people do begin in Maine. They are called southbounders. We began to see some of them in New Hampshire and then a ton more in Maine. When you encounter them they are green and fresh-faced. Everything is wonderful. They are heading out on the journey of a lifetime. Who can blame them? We can. I think we all secretly envy their enthusiasm. All they can do is smile. But they will all be broken soon enough.

There were some good towns in Maine as well. Rangley was one of our favorites. We got a hotel on the lake and took a zero. We went canoeing, which meant we shoved off towards the middle of the lake and tried not to work too hard. Yikes had the enviable position of not having an oar. She simply pointed to places she wanted us to take her.

Somewhere past Rangley we ran into Stillwater, Pants, Niners and Kathmandu (Storm Song and Treebeard got held up in the Whites). It was quite a reunion and we were able to party with them in Monson for the Porcupine Dick festival, or whatever it was. A Black Fly festival? Not really sure. It felt like a pretty special thing to keep running into the same people, after leap-frogging each other dozens of times.

With roughly 100 miles left we hit Monson. I'm not really sure why the final 100 miles are called the 100 mile wilderness because it seems less rugged than southern Maine. I can't think of anything distinguishing about the last 100 miles before the Katahdin summit.

At the end of the 100 miles wilderness we hit an old camp store. On July 22, our penultimate day, we got up early and started drinking about 9am in front of the camp store. We met a guy named Breeze who was always close behind us and caught us one day before the end. He instigated a lot of the debauchery, so I was immediately pleased with him. A park ranger came over to inform us he'd never seen anyone get as drunk as we did before a Katahdin summit.

Absolutely no moralizing, I said. I've been in the woods for 5 months.

Breeze started smoking a joint. I bought more beer. We scared off all debbie downers and do-gooders. Even Spam started judging us, so he left. One of our own felt betrayed by our behavior. I forgive him.

Now the 10 mile walk to Baxter State Park was a real treat.

Only 5.2 miles left. It's 9:30pm and we're nursing terrible hangovers. I couldn't care less. I'm there.

The Whites (June 25-July 4, 2011)

2011-07-04T21:26:00.000-07:00

"Being unemployed has its advantages." GB, 3/18/2011, Peter's Mt. Shelter

Windscreen on Mt. Moosilauke (June 27, 2011)

The Whites are stunning. I appreciated them more than any other part of the trail. They
were the most challenging, the most beautiful.

Navigating the Whites gave us some incredible fodder in our adventure--a vertical climb up Wildcat Mountain, high winds above tree line on Franconia Ridge and a treacherous descent down Mt. Madison that permanently crippled (fucked) our knees for the remainder of the trip. And my favorite shelter: breaking into the Wildcat Mountain gondola service building to sleep.

The trail in New Hampshire is nothing like the trail south of it. We had to grab onto branches and saplings to descend the steep, wet slabs of slate that seems to be everywhere elevation changes substantially. In some spots rebar handles have been cemented into the rock to aid in ascending/descending. What makes the whole operation difficult is the constant engagement it requires out of the hiker--I couldn't just put my headphones and zone out like I prefer to do. Hiking here demands that you tend to every step.

We also added our first female member--Yikes. It only took us 4+ months to find a female who was willing to walk with us. She's from Virginia and seems mostly unconcerned with our group's dysfunction: alcoholism, expletive laced dialogue, bitterness, sexual frustration and perversion. Actually those are all mine. But a group is only as strong as it's weakest member.

In the Whites there is something known as the hut system. The huts are run by a group of mostly college kids, mostly from New England. We'd heard horror stories about them from other hikers but it was all apocryphal cry-babying and lies. I've made it my new mantra that every person I talk to is a lying retard. But I believe they are lying involuntarily. The lies are derived from stupidity, which in turn prevents a person from adequately assessing what occurs around them.

The knock on the huts was that the kids that ran them were heartless and they made the hikers do demeaning things if they wanted to bunk there. The demeaning part: a hiker has to ask permission to stay, only a certain number of hikers are allowed to stay, the hiker must perform chores and eat after all the paying customers. Notice the key word, paying. These people are paying 100 bucks to stay and they don't want to look at smelly hippies who have an inflated sense of entitlement. If you are kind, understand that you must eat last (hikers really are peasants so this shouldn't be too hard to handle) and remove the stinking pile of poo-poo from your drawers that makes you feel like you can act like a petulant child to these people who are doing their jobs, you'll do fine. If not, let the paying customers enjoy their time without you.

So we had a blast in the huts and everything went really well. The first hut we went to took us in during a rainstorm even though they normally wouldn't take 5 people. So off the bat they were very cool. Our chores were super easy. Sensei was asked to play guitar and sing for the campers, which he did with more enthusiasm than could be understood. He started making up verses to a song about hiking. Then he looked at the terrified hut guests, Who wants to sing the next verse?

The whole room froze and looked down at their plates. Come on, who's next?

It's my belief that Sensei was born to work on a cruise ship. I've never seen anyone relish in such outright corny behavior. Don't be shy. Who wants to sing the next verse? You can just make it up!

It was great. The only thing people want to do less is dance for strangers. I don't even remember the song but it was a fantastic display by Sensei.

Right before Mt. Washington (the tallest and most famous peak in the Whites), we stayed in Lakes of the Clouds hut. It's the biggest hut in the system. It was 4th of July weekend and the place was packed. Spam, Yikes, Windscreen and I just paid $10 to stay in what is known as the dungeon. This is unique to the huts. It basically allows hikers to not have to pay the full price to stay in the huts and not have to work for stay. It also keeps the disgusting thru-hikers far away from the well dressed elites paying to stay in the hut upstairs.

I think Sensei was hoping to sing more. Don't know if he did.

Our summit of Mt. Washington was fantastic because the weather was perfect--clear and cool. Spam and I ended up pushing past the rest of the group who were too tired to climb Wildcat Mountain that evening. Wildcat was the toughest climb of the whole trip. That evening Spam and I were going to sleep under the gondola. It was supposed to rain. But Spam climbed up the ladder to the service station and found it was open. So we climbed up and slept in luxury, not having to worry about rain or wildlife.

Spam and I arrived in Gorham (a town in NH after the Whites and right before Maine) a day before the rest of the group. My favorite hostel was in Gorham, a place run by a family. They were hilarious and the place was immaculate. The father, Greg, was a tall gentleman with a mustache and prepared himself a tumbler of spirits around 2:00pm and went around laughing and looking like Bill Murray from a Wes Anderson movie. The mother was super sweet and the daughter, Tess, drove us around town. They went way out of their way and didn't have to.

On the 4th we all went into town to participate in the holiday carnival, a carnival that Tess described as a place to go to if we missed "obesity and vomit" on the trail. She was a gem mint 10. I was a big fan. Then we all went on the zipper and spun around. Actually, most of the ride was me screaming in fright like I was on a burning plane that was nosediving into the Pacific.

Too much fun right now and we've only got 297.9 miles sitting in between us and Katahdin.

Better Times (June 12-24, 2011)

2011-06-24T13:53:00.000-07:00

"To all: get drunk, smoke, make love before 6:00pm." The Corsican, 5/21/11, Eckville Shelter

Tom Laverdi's House (June 13, 2011)
Sensei (black vest), Spam (light shirt in the middle) & Windscreen (Red)

In Massachusetts somewhat taller mountains reappeared. By taller I mean nothing
compared to the smallest mountain you've ever seen in the Rockies. Talking about anything in the Appalachians is all relative to other mountains in the Appalachian range. The mostly flat mid-Atlantic region was transitioning to mountains--more defined ups and downs.

Everything now seems to be about the business of finishing and whiffing the finish line allowed me to relax a little bit. Especially when we made it to Dalton, Massachusetts and stayed two days at Tom Laverdi's house.

I slept in the basement with Sensei and Windscreen. Spam was two days behind because we'd all been separated during a terrifying thunderstorm a few days prior. At this point on the trail, hiking partners are really just people you camp with at night. During the day you are on your own. On any given night you'll conjure up plans for the next day (where to hike to). If you change plans midday, the people you meet up with nightly won't have any idea where you are. Usually you can text them, but since we're on foot there isn't much one can do to close a huge distance gap in a short time.

Spam finally contacted us at Dalton to let us know he'd gotten sick and was two days behind. I was already traveling with a ginger (Sensei). Now I was hiking with a hypochondriac.

The time off waiting for Spam (was it my imagination or where we always waiting for Spam?) ended up being fruitful. We could walk to bars, coffee shops and libraries. Tom drove us to the grocery store. We could also watch movies at his house and basically do what we pleased.

Once we made it into Vermont things became downright pleasant. I even stopped hating the trail for a spell. Spruce forest returned with lovely views and first-rate trail (i.e., easy to make miles on and not rocky). Vermont was extremely muddy and buggy but we were flying through it. Spam got behind us again to meet his sister; Windscreen stayed behind to nurse a nagging foot injury from new shoes.

I would say the final third of the trip is spent tending to varying foot ailments. I had become a woman: obsessed with shoes and my own feet. Well, that, and finishing. The countdown to the end, which you try so hard to put out of your mind, becomes paramount.

Vermont had some cool towns and rewarding views. The Long Trail, a prominent hiking trail in the state that runs north-to-south and overlaps the AT, brought on some extra foot traffic. There were more people to talk to. I was able to chat with a guy who had thru-hiked in 2010 and harass him for details on the remaining part of the trail to Katahdin.

I continued my new habit of buying tallboys (24 oz beers) from whatever store was in striking distance of the trail and hiking with a buzz. My newest goal was to make this as much like a vacation as possible--if that was possible. And I don't know that it ever was. But it seemed like the right thing in the moment.

The day before we hit the New Hampshire border a huge rainstorm pounded us and Sensei and I cruised into the shelter absolutely soaked. I wasn't fazed this particular evening, however. The next day we'd cruise into Hanover and take a zero. I pulled the Budweiser tallboy out of my bag and leaned up against the shelter wall. It was probably about as good a feeling as I would ever have on the trail.

Hanover, home of Dartmouth, ended up being my favorite trail town. It was my kind of pristine college town full of coffee shops, smart people and girls. How I adore the smart people. They are so happy and skinny. They have no children and basically don't suck at life. My best advice to aspiring human beings is to stay aware from bitter people. Youth and smart people should be your target populations.

Soon I'll be back in the real world where people don't smell and walk in the woods all day. 441.8 miles and I'm there.

The Unforgiving, Never-ending Grind (May 23-June 11, 2011)

2011-06-11T13:33:00.000-07:00

"I've come to barely regard expansive views any longer, I pass them quickly with a simple glance, yet I take great care choosing the stump I wish to sit on during lunch." Mancub, 4/23/11, Hightop Hut

Everyone at the RPH shelter in New York State (June 3, 2011)

In the mid-atlantic all optimism ceased. We found ourselves in a vast stretch of trail with
no real goals. We were too far from Maine and incredulous about the miles ahead of us. Before I might sweat hard to go over a mountain but now I just got mad that it was there. I wanted runways, not mountains.

We all needed a break and got off the trail in New Jersey, Spam, Sensei and I. My parents picked us up Memorial Day weekend and took us to my aunt's house in Long Island, New York. The visit was incredible and we enjoyed everything until by Saturday we started itching to get back to the hike. It wasn't a joyful itch, but the painful acknowledgement of duty. It felt more like waking up early to take a family member to the hospital. Don't let anyone fool you into thinking the AT is some sort of vacation. It is a job, only without showers and good food.

Pennsylvania confirmed that it was the worst state on the trail. New York was surprisingly enjoyable given that it has no towering mountains for views. But at that point views and pleasure become secondary to making miles and scurrying ahead to some far-reaching shelter. Sensei and I become really annoyed with each other. Everything out of his mouth was annoying me. Spam could sense the insanity.

After we returned from Long Island, Sensei got Lyme's disease and we had to stop again for a visit to the clinic. Whenever people talk about the clinic, things aren't good. Going to the doctor is just fine, going to the clinic sounds like you need to get rid of that bit of the clap you picked at the Doyle in Duncannon. Not good times.

The heat reached insane levels in Connecticut and we kept pushing further and further. I didn't shower between New Jersey and Massachusetts. Once we reached New England the towns became quainter and more frequent. We snuck into a few bars to watch NBA Finals games. Spam is a Bruins fan, so we also caught NHL games in between.

By the time we reached Massachusetts it felt like we were on a death march. The hot weather had been blown away by incoming storms, so it became rainy and miserable. I could smell the wet, mildewed, sweaty socks "drying" on the back of my backpack. The misery was too much.

We finally rolled into Dalton, MA just shy of the Vermont border and stayed at Tom Laverdi's house. He might have been the nicest guy we encountered on the trail. He let us stay two nights and made dinner for all the hikers. He drove us to the store. The whole thing was amazing.

Were we close now? We wouldn't dare risk getting proud of ourselves again by admiring fleeting progress. But things were looking up now being so close to Vermont.

619.8 miles remaining. Too much gone now to feel fresh but too far away to feel comfortable.

People Coming, People Going (May 6-22, 2011)

2011-05-22T13:26:00.000-07:00

"Pretty sad morning, my hiking partner I met on Springer is gone." Youngin', 5/7/11, 501 Shelter

"Felt stronger this year for some reason but had more trouble with that thing between the ears." Anonymous, 4/26/11, Eagle's Nest Shelter

Rock Puncher (left) and Bear Jew (May 9, 2011)

When we strolled into the hostel in Harper's Ferry, West Virginia we were pretty much all
together. There was Sensei, Spam, Storm Song, Treebeard, Stillwater, Niners, Ghost, the Corsican and Kathmandu. Harper's Ferry is a beautiful place but it's not exactly a town to bum around in. It's more of an historic landmark than actual living, breathing town. Beautiful, but don't touch anything.

In town the whole group of us got our pictures taken at the ATC to mark the psychological halfway mark (the physical halfway point would be fast approaching in Pennsylvania). The pictures are then put into a yearbook for posterity. A state Senator came down to the ATC building to commemorate something not important and offer a rote self-congratulatory speech. My best guess is that the good Senator had too many belts of scotch the night before because he looked a little groggy and disinterested. The people there at the ATC were really nice and they showed a film on the AT, which I really enjoyed, and they opened up a Q&A while us hikers answered questions about the trail. The whole thing was a lot of fun.

When we finally left town we dragged slowly through Maryland and met Rock Puncher and Bear Jew for the first time. We had a faster pace than them, since they just started out of Harper's Ferry by way of DC, but we were being lazy and Spam was complaining about some illness that we assumed he was faking. So we held up even more and stayed at a hostel so Spam could go to the clinic. Turns out Spam had Lyme's disease. As far as we know he didn't lie about the test results. The good news was that we got to hike with Bear Jew and Rock Puncher a little longer.

Given Spam's predicament we had to move on to make miles while he sorted things out. We finally crawled across the Maryland state line and into Pennsylvania. We participated in the half-gallon challenge (eat a half-gallon of ice cream in one sitting). I incorrectly chose Neopolitan. Sensei did Cookies and Cream (much wiser). The Corsican chose Moose Tracks, having something like 60% more calories than ours, and still managed to beat us by finishing around 30 minutes. It was a phenomenal display. Sensei finished right after and I dragged on to 1 hour.

Southern Pennsylvania was beautiful. The rest of Pennsylvania was all rain and rocks.

There is a famous town on the trail called Duncannon and even more famous hotel, called the Doyle in that town. The Doyle is the kind of place you take a hooker to celebrate scoring a bunch of crystal meth. And I'm pretty certain that's what 95% of the clientele was doing there. We met Squash there and shared a dilapidated room with him and The Corsican.

In Port Clinton, PA we finally reunited with Spam and took a day of rest. We took a little side trip to Cabela's, an outdoor store the size of a double-decker super Walmart. In the camping section Sensei and I noted how not a single thing there was useful for our backpacking adventure in the Appalachians. Everything there was for people camping out of a truck.

We felt cocky and superior. We were real woodsman. We laughed condescendingly at everyone. God, I loved the reassurance of being aloof, detached and rugged. We'll be done with this in no time.

A mere 971.7 miles in the horizon. A pittance.

The Shenandoahs and Beyond (April 26-May 5, 2011)

2011-05-05T12:41:00.000-07:00

Killing It in Waynesboro (April 26, 2011)

It was a damn fantastic feeling to walk into Waynesboro, VA and I'm quite sure no one

has ever said that before in their lives. It's a good enough town, but I felt like I'd just come out of the desert. The few days prior we'd been inundated with 3,000 foot climbs that wore me down.

The best thing about leaving Waynesboro after a day and half off was that the Shenandoahs were looming. They are easy, painless miles in the Shenandoahs compared to the rest of the trail. I would like to say the Shenandoahs were marvelous in the sense that they were beautiful but it was just plain marvelous for a different reason: it was easy. There are places to stop and get meals instead of terrible trail food. The camp stores in the Shenandoahs inexplicably sell a bottle of Yuengling beer for 99 cents, yet a pack of noodles or a Clif bar are marked up 100% to $2.00. A cheeseburger off the grill the size of a half dollar costs $5.50 and a Budweiser was something like 75 cents. The person setting the prices there is the same person that sets the price of a cable TV at $100 a month while Netflix is $8 for unlimited movies. There is no logic here. Just know that people are daring you to drink beer there. Take them up on that dare. It's cheaper than Costco.

I pull into a camp store near the end of the National Park to discover Bin Laden's been killed. We have no knowledge of what goes on in the outside world normally. So I do the only thing that makes sense--I buy a handful of Yuenglings and drink them, smiling the entire time.

In the Shenandoahs we continue hiking with Face Jacket and the 3 Bears (we met them before Waynesboro). Everything is pretty carefree at this point. We're feeling overconfident being so close the halfway point in Harper's Ferry. Two nights before Harper's Ferry we spent the night in Rod Hollow Shelter (not named after a porn star as far as I know). Some night prior it was Dick's Dome Shelter. This area is priceless. If only it was all this easy. The final day before West Virginia we stay at the Bear's Den, a truly fantastic hostel. We watch movies and eat ice cream. We dream about finishing and become giddy.

1,186.5 miles left.

Bigger Days and Ferocious Animals (April 7-25, 2011)

2011-04-25T10:34:00.000-07:00

"Approach the bears, do not be afraid. Offer them a treat." Anonymous, 9/19/10, Bearfence Hut

"The dominant primordial beast is strong in Mancub." Mancub, 5/13/11, Mt. Algo Shelter

Sensei at McAfee's Knob (April 18, 2011)

When you see a big river, you know a big climb is coming, Sensei says. The trail
becomes a set of predefined things once you start maximizing your time. There is wake up, breakfast, bathroom and then hiking to start. There is hiking and breaks in the middle. At night there is dinner and sleep. The mountains are predictable as well. Up and down. Down and up. The miles are the same, 20-25 per day.

In Virginia we are pushing so hard that one night we hike until 10:30pm and see our first bear on the trail. He looks into my head lamp and runs away. My heart races and the moment is gone before I really have a chance to scare myself into fright. The bear looked at me, his eyes green with the reflection of the light like a view through night-vision goggles, and departed.

For just under a week we go as fast as we can to get to Bland, where we have maildrops waiting. It's just Sensei and I hiking now. I find out my package from home has been sent to Puerto Rico and is going to be re-routed at a later date. While I'm outside grumbling about the incident a woman invites Sensei and I to her house for showers and meals. I notice the back of her van has a lot of Jesus paraphernalia and I think we might be paying for showers by listening to a few sermons. Not everything on the trail that seems free is free.

She turns out to be a wonderful cook and we are given homemade breakfast sausages, eggs, butters and jams of all varieties. We shower. She insists on one more meal before we go--homemade pork bbq. It's amazing. Just when I think I'm going to escape without any talk of our souls, she goes into a 30 minute monologue about the sins of her past. She tells us her husband was a drug addict and alcoholic (he's listening not 10 feet away). As for her, she's had every addiction and problem imaginable. My ears really perk up when she tells us she had the evil spirit of lesbianism in her. Now things are getting interesting. Then she tells about how she came to Jesus in a church that seemed to talk in tongues. Just when I think I can't take anymore of the awkwardness, she says, but you don't want to hear me preaching. She comes to this stirring conclusion after one hell of an impromptu sermon. She was great, though. And I secretly wonder if I have the evil spirit of lesbianism in me. I've been interested in it for over a decade.

At a shelter just north of Pearisburg we meet Mancub, our patron saint of the trail. The sky that night was a blue and white creamsicle swirl. He came in late and left before the sun was up. He told us tales of 30 mile days and how he didn't carry a personal shelter. He hiked in sandals and socks. His feet were destroyed.

When you meet people that hike this fast and efficiently you feel bitterness, jealousy and wonderment. A common phrase repeated on the trail is, how can he be enjoying himself? As if the only way to enjoy the hike is to take long breaks, lots of pictures and look longingly at wildlife. The fact that the trail becomes a grind would become evident much later. At this point we still had some romantic notions about the trail.

A little bit later we ran into Face Jacket for the first time and I hike with him one night when he stopped dead and told me to get my head lamp out. When I turned it on there was a copperhead sitting exactly in the middle of the trail, invisible to us under the faint moonlight we'd been hiking under. He was coiled up and in the strike position. He'd struck at Face Jacket first and I would have most likely received the brunt of the snake's agitation since I was second. Face Jacket stabbed him with his trekking pole and threw him off in the woods.

The next day I met a diamondback on the trail and began to worry if all these snakes were a sign. All these Jesus conversations and snake sightings were making me nervous.

Still no satan sighting, however, with 1,332 miles looming. The mileage feels insurmountable. There is no way to make it go away.

The Cold (March 28, 2011 - April 6, 2011)

2011-04-06T22:56:00.000-07:00

"It feels like I caught up with winter." Trail Blazer, 4/16/11, Rausch Gap Shelter

Overmountain Shelter (March 29, 2011)

At night it's cold. In the morning it's cold. That's understood. But now it's cold all day. I
huddled under the roof of a Roan Mountain toilet and turned on my stove just to thaw my hands, hands that were numb and no longer giving feeling. White Wolf told me it was 25 degrees at noon on his thermometer.

We've been hiking with White Wolf lately, a retired Marine Colonel who served in Vietnam. Everyone enjoys his company. He's one of these people you intuitively want to hike with but know that he is moving at a different pace than you, so you won't see too much of each other. This situation occurs frequently with friends you meet along the way.

Breaks are not reasonable since we are only comfortable when feeling the warmth of hiking. If you layer too much, you'll just break out in sweats ten minutes into the hike. Some people pile on clothes to break and then take it all off to hike but I don't have enough equipment to make something like this possible.

We're now exclusively hiking in Tennessee and out of Carolina. A guy named Bob Peoples runs a hostel named Kincora that costs $4 and is fantastic. The hostels along the way range from church basements to houses of people sympathetic to hikers. Bob is the latter. He's something of a legend on the trail. He's funny and deaf as a fence post.

The days heading into Virginia are in the 20s and peppered with snow. It's too frigid to do anything but complain. And complain I do. I have to sleep in full clothes just to maintain equilibrium at night. It's not comfortable, just bearable. Also, Tennessee is kind enough to omit privies from the trail so we have to shit into cat holes again in freezing temperatures. I've shit 8 times now in a hole I've dug. I'm counting.

We cross into Virginia and I'm elated, feeling a real sense that I've penetrated deep into the northern sections of the AT. It's not based on fact or reality but it was one of the biggest rushes I remember feeling on the trail.

In Damascus we bum around with friends -- White Wolf, Storm Song, Treebeard, Jelly Pants and of course, Sensei. We also meet Spam for the first time on our way out of town from the hostel where we're staying. The hostel is called "The Place." It's really just more of a collection of signs: No Drinking, No Smoking, No Lying Down on the Couch, Don't Remove Couch Cushions, Clean Up Water Off Floor and Leave a Donation!! Whenever anyone leaves two exclamation points I immediately forget what I'm being told and just want to slap them with a clean white glove across the face. The Place sucks. It's run by a church. I've gotten into 1,000 discussions with sanctimonious hikers who say I should be grateful that The Place gave me a cheap place to stay. They also inform me that the signs are necessary since a few hikers took advantage in the past.

The signs enrage me. They are superfluous, lazy and insulting. If you don't like people, close your stupid hostel. Either that, or charge $20 and employ a human being to enforce bullshit rules that people already know. Plus a little bleach and elbow grease in the showers might help. I would rather pay $20 than allow you to visually rape me with your condescending signs. The Place, how about this for a sign? No Bestiality, Human Sacrifice or Genocide on Premises. And here is one from me to you: Use the Money You Steal from the Community in Religious Tax Exemptions to Clean Up and Police Your Shitty Hostel.

Just when things couldn't get any colder, Sensei and I head out of Damascus and get crushed by a snow storm in the Mt. Rogers area. The area is stunning, but we just run through it like a bunch of refugees across the border, fleeing some homicidal pursuer. In the Highlands there is an area with wild ponies foraging the landscape for grass. In all the pictures I've seen this is a spectacular looking place to waste hours in green pastures. The ponies are so cold they are indifferent to us (they usually approach visitors and lick the salt off their bodies) and we could care less about them.

That same day I get lost on Whitetop Mountain (-10 degrees with the wind chill) because the snow is filling in Sensei's footprints that I can usually use to track. I'm by myself wandering around and looking for white blazes (white blazes mark the AT) in a whiteout. The cold takes my breath away and I'm a little nervous for the first time. I do the smart thing and backtrack--this is always the smartest thing to do but sometimes panic and laziness make you do counterproductive things like pushing deeper into the bush in the hopes that you cross the trail and don't have to go backward. Whitetop is also a bald so there are no trees absorbing the wind.

That night at camp I'm exhausted but we awake to better weather. It hits the 60s by mid-afternoon and the worst of the cold is behind us. Scampering along with 1,652.9 miles left.

Trail Legs (March 16-27, 2011)

2011-03-27T13:17:00.000-07:00

"Always looking at the ground so I don't trip. I don't see anything but ground and now and then a newt, salamander or snake." LabRat, 5/30/10, Calf Mountain Shelter

"Deep in thought, walkin' the walk." Kimazoid, 4/23/11, Birch Run Shelter

Sensei (left) and Delaware Dave on Max's Patch (March 17, 2011)

After the Smokies we find our stride. It's not a real stride quite yet but it resembles
a stride. We're traveling about 15 miles a day. I've lost 18 pounds. We're also able to enjoy a handful of the better hostels and towns along the trail. In Hot Springs, North Carolina we try to stay at a beautiful hostel that offers organic, homemade cooking but we get snubbed by the pompous buffoon who runs the place. He tells us that they are short one bed. One of us can sleep on the floor, right? I ask.

I'm not sure what you people are used to... he says. Worse, he is surrounded by about 3 giggling yes-men who sort of nod and seem to be harmonizing with him, saying, You dirty people may be used to motels but we run a high class joint here. I don't know what all the giggling boys are doing there nodding their heads for this pseudo-intellectual prick but I have a guess. Enjoy your upscale establishment that charges $25 a night, assholes.

It will be a recurring theme that people think hikers are homeless plebes. Only I take offense. Sensei was ill and vomiting so he takes one of the beds with Delaware Dave. Guido, JT Hill and I head over to the Iron Horse Inn and get a nice room.

While resupplying at the sophisticated Dollar General, JT Hill chats with a few girls and gets an invite to meet them at the only bar in town. We later meet them while Sensei goes to the snotty hostel to recover and hydrate.

The girl I'm talking to in the group refers to an ex-boyfriend as an old "partner." I don't care if you're gay or straight--just use the words boyfriend and girlfriend. When I casually mention that it's funny how we picked them up in a Dollar General, she gets noticeably pissy. What's the point of dating? There is none. I detect no gratitude from her that we're here. We all go home alone to hike another day.

We leave town with Sensei a day behind, recovering, and we push on. The hiking begins to get monotonous now. 8 hours of uninterrupted thought is hard to cope with at first. Everything looks the same--dead, winterized forest. I find myself thinking of things that were buried in small passages of my mind. It's a colonic of the brain out here.

We eventually make it to Erwin, Tennessee and check into a hostel there. It's one of the more famous places on the trail, Uncle Johnny's. Sensei catches up with us the next morning. Before we leave town we go out to celebrate Guido's 21st birthday in Johnson City. We mostly sit in our booth with our ragged hiker clothes and beards, hiding behind our beers. We gawk at plenty of girls and leave peacefully.

The next day we leave town and Sensei is back on pace with us. Sensei and I have a conversation about picking up the pace (something we've been talking about for a while), and decide to do our first 20+ mile day. It's overdue. We crank out 22 miles on March 27th and we don't look back. JT Hill and Guido decided not to keep pace and we haven't seen them since.

Moving along nicely now.

Just at 1,814.9 miles remaining.

The Smokies (March 10-15, 2011)

2011-03-15T10:26:00.000-07:00

"I still continue to be amazed that this is all free (so to speak) and how few people are on the trail excepting the thru-hiker. What a sham the billion dollar diet business is." Anonymous, 4/26/11, Eagle's Nest Shelter

The AT in the Smokies (March 4, 2011)

4 1/2 inches of precipitation hit the North Carolina mountains right before we entered the
Smokies. I had naively believed this precipitation had fallen as rain and therefore cleaned up all the lingering snow. Temperatures went from the 60s to the 20s quite quickly. As we left Fontana Dam and ascended into the Smokies we could see the snow accumulation increasing with elevation. There were 1-2 foot snowdrifts at the highest elevations. People just ahead of us were pulled off the trails by Rangers.

We would later hear a crazy story about a hiker who went section hiking in the Smokies right before we were there. He decided to go bushwhacking and got lost. In a colossal act of stupidity, the guy left his backpack behind because it was causing him too much trouble by getting caught on branches. He was lost, off trail, for 3 nights. Finally, he showed up at a shelter in the Smokies, bloodied and confused by hypothermia. The hikers in the shelter had to keep him warm in one of their expensive down sleeping bags and also find cell reception to call for help. When the paramedics showed up the guy asked one of them to take down his pants and hold him so he could piss. He couldn't feel his hands. The good news--the guy is fine. Bad news--someone had to aim for the guy while he pissed.

Water bottles are freezing. Mornings and evenings are just a race to get hiking or get inside your sleeping bag. There are no privies (outhouses), so we have to squat over cat holes we dig in the ground like burrowing rats, shivering with our bare asses over the snow.

We started pushing for bigger days in the Smokies just to get out--16 mile days. This actually isn't really that much compared to everyone else but I'm fat, so don't blame me.

We end up hiking with Storm Song, Treebeard and Delaware Dave for the first time. Delaware Dave had just been given his own room for a weekend by an elderly couple who took him in just because people want to help Delaware Dave. People see Delaware Dave and want to empty their wallets into his open palms. It's either the smile or that angelic face. He is trail magic.

I still have a storm cloud over my head. Just 1,953.0 miles to go.

Sharing the Trail with Friends (March 5-9, 2011)

2011-03-09T21:44:00.000-08:00

"Suicidal hiked in the pouring rain. When I arrived there were tents everywhere and the shelter was full of boy scouts and their shit was everywhere so I layed <sic> down the law of the AT with their troop leaders." Suicidal, 4/10/11, Matt's Creek Shelter.

JT Hill on Top of a Bald (March 8, 2011)

The legend himself, Suicidal, had a meltdown over some teenage boys sleeping in a
shelter. This is a full grown man, aged 45 or so, losing his mind in front of a bunch of boy scouts. When I met Suicidal he was still talking about this encounter, as if the boy scouts had begun a Steve Seagal-level blood feud with him. I think the rain really set him off. Suicidal's logic is that the shelters should be reserved for AT thru-hikers only. While this logic has merit, it's exactly wrong. But who cares? I love this guy and his vindictive streak. Here is a man standing by his principals, even if it means getting in the faces of some fresh-faced boy scouts and their do-gooding scout leaders.

After we left Franklin, NC via Winding Stair Gap all hell broke loose. It rained relentlessly and the fog of death set in, a blanket of white fog that covers the mountains and obscures the views 30-50 feet in any direction. We also camped and decamped in a downpour for the first time. This activity was a nightmare.

Wayah Bald was supposed to have one of the better views but we just scurried past it in the cold and wetness. At one point I huddled under about 6 inches of corrugated roof over a bathroom to eat my snack with the scent of feces wafting out to me through the door. Any break over 5 minutes leaves you freezing and you have to hurry back to hiking to warm up.

We've fallen into a routine at this point. JT Hill and Guido argue with me over gear and trail knowledge (I have superior gear and trail knowledge). Sensei is the spiritual leader, knowledgeable and not prone to extreme highs or lows. I try not to bring all my pessimism to the group at once, lest the weight of it drown them. I do casually mention to JT Hill and Guido that I have class, class derived from wealth, and that they are downtrodden and live in a trailer in Connecticut. When they demand to see pictures of my sister I remind them that they are middle-class trash and uneducated. It's a fun dynamic.

We finally make it to the NOC (Nantahala Outdoor Center) in North Carolina and take a break at the hostel that's on the trail. We hitch a hide to town and back. On the way back the driver tells us, with some degree of tact but not too much, that the NOC is a piece of garbage and all the jobs are imported from out of state. The NOC is a big rafting and outdoor center right in the middle of the Nantahala River and the AT. I can't blame the gentleman for hating the NOC. It isn't exactly blending into the background.

On the way out of the NOC I set up camp in the rain and my tarp almost collapses overnight it gathers so much water. In the morning I suffer through more wind and more downpour. When I make it to the shelter that next night my iPod is destroyed from rain and my sleeping bag is soaked. Rain is miserable. It's what makes everything bad on the trail. I'm even more miserable. Miserable, miserable, rain.

2,023.9 miserable miles left.

Going to Town (February 26, 2011 - March 4, 2011)

2011-03-04T19:47:00.000-08:00

"Stopped in for lunch after the most terrifying hitch ever with sidewalk surfers from Virginia Beach. Retreating to the safety of the woods." Dos XX, Jamie and Sloth-Dog, 7/2/10, John's Hollow Shelter

"A narrow victory as Landfill ate the 10 McDoubles and apple pie (4600+ calories) in the time allotted to claim victory...All it cost me was 12 hours of moaning on the grass by the YMCA, gasping for breath and praying for a merciful death." Landfill, 6/1/10, Calf Mountain Shelter

"I washed these clothes?" Little Foot, 6/13/10, Calf Mountain Shelter

Doing What I Do at the Laundromat (April 27, 2011)

Going into town usually requires hitch-hiking and hanging out at seedy places like Dollar
General and the laundromat. Sometimes you stay overnight in a cheap hotel with a bunch of hikers crammed into the room. If the town has an all-you-can-eat buffet for fat Americans, you take full advantage. The only respectable place you hang out is at the outfitter to buy $50 name-brand hiking shorts and $400 sleeping bags. Many of these towns are quaint mountains towns, i.e., Damascus, Hot Springs, and Harper's Ferry, and the rest are sad places with lots of overweight people and unemployment.

The day before our first town visit in Hiawassee, we ran into 2 local hog hunters. Are you hunting? JT Hill asked.

Yeah, the one not named Harold said.

These dogs have been to war, I said. The pit bulls were covered in massive scars, some of them fresh. The bloodhound was clean, though.

How do you catch them exactly? Guido asked.

The chasin' dog is that one. The one not named Harold pointed to the brown bloodhound. These dogs hold him down. He pointed to the white pit bulls.

One of the white dogs started humping another dog. The man who spoke and wasn't named Harold kicked the dog. He's got the same problem I had. We asked him about the dogs' scars. He showed them off proudly. Sometimes, they die. Hey, Harold! Remember when they killed Obama? Harold nodded. Not the president, now. That's a dog I'm talkin' about. We asked about killing the hogs. With a knife. We slit his throat.

That puts hair on your chest, Sensei says.

Nah, Harold would look like a bear if that was so. We left. Harold stayed silent.

We make it to town and stay at a hostel run on donations by a local pastor, Gary Poteete. It's unseasonably warm in February, in the 60s, and we enjoy the sun. Later we hitch-hike into town and eat at the Chinese Buffet. Then later we go to Ingles where I buy way too much food to overcompensate for nearly starving the first week in the woods.

In between towns we share camp with a local guy named Mayor Puff 'n' Stuff. He lights a fire big enough to burn the entire forest down, smokes Marlboro Red 100s, mixes several enormous rum drinks and then gets so high he can barely crawl back to his tent to pass out with his crazy black labs.

By now it's just the 4 of us hiking together, JT Hill, Guido, Sensei and I. A few days later it starts getting cold and we catch a ride into Franklin, NC for another resupply. I've brought so much food from Hiawassee that I don't really need much from the grocery store. We eat at a Shoney's Buffet this time.

I get so tired at night now I can barely concentrate. During the day I distinctly recall thinking that if a bear attacked me I wouldn't have the strength to fight him off. There is a constant fear that not only will I see a bear but that I will just submit into the easiest position for him to slit my throat and end the encounter. Hopefully, the bear will have the same finishing move as Harold and the hunting dogs. Despite these irrational fears, I'm feeling cocky about how well we're doing. I tell the outfitter in Franklin that hiking isn't rocket science. We're nearly there.

Only 2,072.4 miles left. We have no idea what we're about to get ourselves into here.

Trail Names (February 21 - 25, 2011)

2011-02-25T17:11:00.000-08:00

"I should have made business cards with my trail name, hometown, hike specifics and occupation." Slowpoke and Peter Flakery, 6/25/2010, John's Hollow Shelter

Spam (left) and I (April 17, 2011)

Trail names are assigned to hikers for reasons unknown to me. I guess it gives the
illusion that you are a different person on the trail. Everyone loves flattering nicknames. Unfortunately, real nicknames are usually unflattering or seemingly random. Anyone on the trail with an impressive name like Long Strider (allegedly the name of some guy who hikes fast) named himself. On the flip side, people without trail names are assaulted with a torrent of nickname suggestions that become increasingly annoying. If a person without a trail name does anything, even an innocuous thing such as eating a tuna pouch, people will say, Your name is Big Tuna. I've got it. And then they'll tell everyone else in camp, play up the name repeatedly and admire their own creation. Trail name creativity is often jarringly limited. I actually think we should just go by our own names. At the very least you should be on the trail a few weeks before given an appropriate name. I'm probably in the minority here.

My first camp was a success. I setup and decamped without difficulty. Eating was self-explanatory and I threw my first bear bag. No complaints. The AT isn't technical and this is a wonderful thing for someone like me.

I start off hiking with JT Hill, Sensei and Guido. Hiking with someone simply means you plan to hike the same number of miles to the same camp. You frequently don't see the people the entire day. We start off hiking about 8-12 miles per day. This is a low amount of miles but it seems like we're covering a lot of ground.

On the second day we meet an English professor who tells us how he met his wife facilitating a coke deal in New York City. At the time he was working as a manager at Papa John's. I would later find out that he was showing naked pictures of the very same wife to fellow hikers, Borat style. I guess he wasn't ready to show me the photos day 2. He tells me about his life as a recovering alcoholic, though. Yet I would have liked to have seen those wife photos. We also camp with two hippies who act exactly as you'd expect hippies to act.

The walking carnival is taking shape and we've only just begun.

We pass a South-Bounder, Wreck Diver, who has just 2 or 3 days left to complete his hike. He started in July and hiked all winter. Others are sort of star-struck by this guy but I'm too busy being fat.

I wheeze my way up the mountains and take staggeringly long breaks. The trail is just an up, and then a down. I swear I thought it would be flatter.

2,126.5 miles to go.

Leaving Springer (February 20, 2011)

2011-02-20T23:49:00.000-08:00

"Please don't tell anyone but this is my first night out in the woods alone." Yikes, 4/16/11, Jim and Molly Denton Shelter

Great conversation can stave off feelings of loneliness. It can take you to a good place quickly. It often drops you back where you were but it can be a balm for minutes or hours. Especially when it's your first scary night in the woods.

Dawn in Georgia (March 1, 2011)

I woke up in a hotel with my parents in Gainesville, Georgia and wasted no time
getting straight to dawdling. I had stayed up really late cramming everything into my backpack and then spent plenty of extra time fiddling with it in the morning. Mom, Dad and I then went for a late breakfast at IHOP after an hour shower. How long is the wait? I asked. Thirty minutes, Mom said. I've got nothing to do today, I thought. Why not?

We off-road on a forest road to get near Springer Mountain. Inconceivable you say that there is no easy way to get to the beginning of the Appalachian Trail? There is a 9 mile or so approach trail, one that isn't a part of the Appalachian Trail, that leads you to Springer. Apparently it was created by sadists for masochists. I convinced my parents to drop me off 1 mile north of Springer. I wanted no part of the extra 9 miles.

I've awoken for the journey of a lifetime, with nothing else on the agenda, and yet I still haven't begun at 3:00pm. But it's an early 3:00pm. I'm five hours late to being two hours late and I'm terrified of hiking in the dark. I scramble through my Appalachian Trail Companion.

http://www.aldha.org/companyn.htm

I discover there is a shelter just about 3 miles north of Springer. I kiss Mom and Dad, take the requisite bon voyage photo and hike the wrong way to Maine. My initial impression of being alone was a thrill.

I passed three characters on the way to Springer (one would end up being my hiking partner). When I made it to what seemed to be the end of the trail I asked two gentlemen where Springer was. Right in front of you, one said. I looked at the lusterless plaque commemorating the beginning of the trail, said goodbye to the two strangers and left unimpressed. It must be miserable to end here with the anticlimactic, gentle climb to a piece of stone with a bloodless view. Leaving northbound was my first wise decision.

After reclaiming the same mile I had just walked, now aiming my compass north, the trail turned serene. Everything was dead-leaf brown and the lack of undergrowth allowed a deep view into the forest.

I made it to the first shelter and met four other thru-hikers, the three I passed on my way to Springer, and another guy from Missouri. Everyone is young, 24 or under. Everyone is either taking time off school or taking time off from thinking about going to college one day. These are men unlike me--young, optimistic and immortal. They are trailblazers and pioneers. My only distinguishing characteristic from day one is that I'm 200 pounds.

So we talk for several hours sharing our hopes about the trail. We strongly note our fears and inexperience. No one seems to be a veteran hiker. We're all novices. I can't wait to be out of this introductory phase and want to skip straight to the part where I'm a mountain man. But the conversation reassures me that we're all here for a potentially transcendent journey. That offers me some much-needed patience.

Only 2,178.2 miles to go. I haven't shit in the woods yet, either. This is on my mind.

Trail Personalities

2011-02-20T09:33:00.000-08:00

The Cast (subject to change)

Bear Jew - A guy we met in Maryland who started the trail with his fiancée in Harper's
Ferry heading north. Not only does he have a great trail name, but he is just a prince of a human being. It's a real shame we didn't get to hike with them more. He is really funny and a cineophile. He is part of the chosen people, which means he is not a godless gentile like the rest of us.

The Corsican - One of the international hikers from France. He's been learning English and the art(less) form of backpacking that we practice on the trail. We've done quite a bit of hiking with him around the Virginia-Pennsylvania area. Hope to see him more frequently. We've had a great cultural exchange with him--he wears his underwear around camp teaching us Americans that we shouldn't be ashamed of our bodies and we teach him the fine art of eating at McDonald's.

d'Artagnan - A man with a naturally hairless face except for a three musketeer mustache and goatee. He is a philosopher and an elitist. Extremely funny but infrequently, one could almost say frequently, smug and condescending. I'm very fond of him. Hikes with Teddy and Kodiak. Reveres ManCub.

Delaware Dave - 1 of the 5 legends of 2011. The golden boy of the trail who collects trail magic from virtually everywhere. Leaves women swooning and has a team of girl scouts who sponsor him by sending him resupply and letters of encouragement. A gem mint 10. A++. He thinks everything is wonderful and I don't even remotely hate him for this.

Elvis (Tiger) - Elvis came over to the US from Bosnia when he was younger. He's a tall skinny dude who is an absolute prince of a man. He might have been the funniest person on the entire trail. He's weird and yet completely lucid. We ran into him on and off as much as any person on the trail. Towards the end of the trail, like me, he became bitter and got sick of hiking. Took a ton of zeroes--something like 40.

The Face - Me.

Face Jacket - My evil twin. Saved me from a copperhead. The socialite of the trail. He is better looking than me so I work the twin reference constantly (he actually looks nothing like me). Hikes with everyone and no one at the same time.

Ghost - Named because he sneaks up on people while hiking. A very funny but reserved guy from West Virginia. A little known fact that West Virginians are the best Americans. Hikes by himself but frequently was seen with the three bears and occasionally Spam.

Guido Blanco - Met him the first day of the trail. He is talkative and has an opinion/thought on every subject. From Connecticut. Frequently funny when you don't want to kill him. Turned 21 on the trail and talks about joining the Marines. Works at a liquor store and enjoys good drink. A great cook as well.

Jelly Pants - We met him around the same time we met White Wolf. Another great guy we didn't really get to know because he was so slack about making miles that we passed him. Last thing I heard he was taking trips off the trail to meet girls and attending Bonaroo and God knows what else. He's one of these rare hikers, like Elvis, who could take a week off and then just start hiking again. The rest of us would have been become trail casualties if we didn't stick to the mission. He was easily distracted.

JT Hill - Started with Guido. Really funny dude who defends his crappy gear. Is secretly jealous of my trail acumen. Likes sleeping in, smoking on long breaks and talking all sorts of nonsense. Hikes with Guido and before, Sensei and I. He very impressively picked up girls at a dollar store in Hot Springs.

Kodiak - A tall, blue-eyed, handsome bearded man. A little shy at first. Part of the three bears. Like Niners, he is one of the few people out here who seems genuinely well-adjusted. The rest of us need therapy.

Kathmandu - Former enlisted-man and then Army officer. Hilarious and engaging. Laughs a lot. Strong leader with a hedonistic side. Hiking partners: Niners and Stillwater. Occasionally hikes with Storm Song, Treebeard, The Face, and Sensei.

ManCub - 1 of the 5 legends of the 2011 class. Started off hiking in flip-flops. Currently has no sleeping bag, tent or other personal shelter. Once slept on a picnic table in the rain. Shivers himself to sleep every night. Hikes 30 plus mile days. Looks like the guy from the Jungle Book with a Steve Perry wig. Uses the art of false modesty to brag to everyone about his accomplishments. We talk about this guy roughly 2 hours every day. We believe him to be a demigod. I'm not certain but I'm pretty sure he's just an asshole.

Niners - Started the trail with his daughter but she had a hamstring injury and had to leave. Funny and professional. He may be the most sensible person on the trail. Hikes with Kathmandu and Stillwater. Used to own an outfitter and is very knowledgeable about gear. His daughter rejoined him on the trail in Harper's Ferry.

Rock Puncher - I thought Rock Puncher was some sort of burly dude but she is actually a very lovely young lady. She is engaged to Bear Jew. She's funny. She's cool. She's cute. She's tall. Her name is Rock Puncher for fuck's sake. Not much lacking here, really.

Sensei - I met Sensei going to Springer Mountain and have hiked with him 99% of the trail. Sensei is a musician (saxophone) who studies ethnomusicology and enjoys jazz and Texas singer-songwriter types like Townes Van Zandt. Sensei is well-spoken, thoughtful and tactful. Hiking partner: The Face. Hikes occasionally with Guido, JT Hill, Spam, Kathmandu, Stillwater, Niners, Treebeard, Spam and Storm Song. Loves ManCub's hair.

Spam - Very cool guy from Massachusetts. About 23 years-old. Had no standing hiking partner but seemed to hike with everyone. His pack was allegedly about 60 pounds when he started. He doesn't really like Spam that much but was given a trail name quickly like the rest of us. Got Lyme's disease to prove his manhood somewhere in Northern Virginia. Starting in Virginia and Pennsylvania he has hiked with Sensei and me. Fantasizes about meeting ManCub.

Squash - We met Squash in Pennsylvania and really enjoyed hiking with him. He just graduated from law school at Michigan and picked up on the trail after completing half of it in 2010. I know that at some point he was hiking with some attractive girl but word was they were just friends. Squash was unfortunately another fantastic person we weren't able to hike with because of different schedules.

Stillwater - One of the younger guys on the trail and great company. Everything you would expect from a guy from Georgia: class, love of sport, the drawl and a sense of humor. Hikes with Niners and Kathmandu. Occasionally hikes with Storm Song and Treebeard. Every once in a while he hikes with us. I miss hiking with this group.

Storm Song - A chef who lives in Chattanooga, TN. Hiking partner: Treebeard. Hikes frequently with Stillwater, Niners and Kathmandu. Very funny dude who is enjoyed by all. Likes drinking, smoking and taking ridiculously long breaks during the day. Just A+ all around.

Stretch - Married to Zippers. A tall, bearded guy who is pretty low key. We hiked with him in Pennsylvania for a few days and remember the time fondly. I ran into him about 50 miles from Katahdin and didn't recognize him without the beard. It had been so long. Stretch and Zippers are from Montana.

Suicidal - 1 of the 5 legends of the 2011 class. A south bounder who speaks in 1 hour uninterrupted monologues. He almost lost the ability to walk after a motorcycle crash. Writes 1,000 word essays in every logbook about his hike. People confuse him for crazy. He's not crazy. He's a living profile of an FBI serial killer. I love this guy. He threatened to shoot a couple's dog in a shelter because it was bothering him. He had to lay low after they promptly called the police. I can't emphasize how much I love this guy.

Teddy - A fellow hiker who started out fat like me but now looks terribly gaunt. He is so gaunt we worry about the skin attached directly to his bones. People mistake him for a cadaver. Very funny dude. One of the best people out here. Part of the three bears.

Treebeard - Left Springer with Storm Song. Always smiling and rolling cigarettes. A true man of leisure. Considerate and great company. Hikes with Storm Song. Sometimes hikes with Stillwater, Niners and Kathmandu.

UHaul - 1 of the 5 legends of 2011. Named after the worst corporation in the world and just as efficient as their useless, overpriced fleet of Chevy trucks that were made in 1972. Carried 100 plus pounds to start the trail including a laptop and cast-iron skillets. This guy is a novelty among the hikers. No one has seen him for months because he moves so slow.

V8 - 1 of the 5 legends of 2011. Lives in Tokyo but has flown 3 times to the states to hike the PCT, CDT and now the AT. He represents all that is good in the world. Hikes as fast as ManCub. Carries a handmade backpack that weighs about 15 pounds with full gear and food. A man among boys.

White Wolf - A retired Marine Colonel. We only hiked with White Wolf for a short time in Tennessee but he was an absolute pleasure. I haven't heard much about how he finished but I know he did--even though I have no proof to confirm it.

Windscreen - Our future hiking partner who we met in Virginia but didn't start hiking with until New York. At first he was green and inexperienced, but in New York he was a trail warrior. He started the trail in Roanoke, so he has plans to go back and finish the southern portion in the future. He's a funny dude and he brought a lot to the table when he started hiking with us. We share a love of 80s movies and both of us lamented the ignorant 20 year-olds we were forced to hike with (Sensei and Spam).

Yikes - We met Yikes in New York but she didn't start hiking with us until New Hampshire. Although she tries to be an individual, she was happy to have met us and join the group. She went to school at Virginia and is planning to move to California with a boyfriend she's known for 3 weeks. Well, that's after she finishes the southern part of the trail. She started in Virginia, just like Windscreen. I loved hiking with her because she was cute and I'd been staring at a male ginger in camp until that point. Yikes is a strange combination of shy and outgoing. A little bit of an enigma at times.

Zippers - Married to Stretch. From Montana. She's one of these people that just lights the whole fucking place up with her personality. Just a lovely person. Very cute and funny. Running into her and Stretch in Maine was one of my favorite moments (they had already finished and gave us some orange soda and treats).

Introduction

2011-02-19T19:49:00.000-08:00

"Three robust young men stopping for water, rest and quiet contemplation amidst a cacophony of singing insects in this, the heartland of America." Anonymous, 8/16/10

"Oh AT, you have me by the heartstrings...You make me sweat all the sins of this year away." Tuesday, 11/4/10, Black Rock Hut

The quotes above were written in an Appalachian Trail logbook, a simple spiral notebook found at shelters sprinkled along the 2,181 mile trail. The logs, or registries, are a
collection of mostly tedious comments about weather and hiking conditions. But there are gems inside. I used to never read the things but as the trip progressed I looked to them for messages from hikers, vitriolic tirades, temper tantrums, trail news, shout-outs and comedy.

A thru-hike is a complete, uninterrupted hike of the entire Appalachian Trail, north-to-south or south-to-north. There is some controversy among the approximately 3,000 people in the Milky Way who actually care about backpacking concerning the definition of a thru-hike. I've given my definition of a thru-hike since this is something of a vanity project. But mostly this is a blog about 2011 thru-hikers.

I left Springer Mountain, the southern terminus in Georgia, on February 20, 2011. My goal was to thru-hike north to Maine.

There is a glut of nonfiction about adventuresome upper middle-class boys and girls writing about their accomplishments outside the office. I've noticed these adventures tend to be self-promotion disguised as self-help. The stories are perfect to read for that time after the first divorce when the wife gets full custody of the kids. It's really unsavory stuff. That stuff bores me to tears. All that angst from overachievers. What a waste.

This project will be pure vanity and no self-help. I mean, it will be a little vanity and lots of stuff about my fellow thru-hikers.

Anyway, the log entries I previously mentioned tell the best stories because they are the most raw, most vivid and most vital. And more importantly--they are about the people of the trail. I'm taking the time to record this as a total layman in the field of backpacking. I wanted to see what happens and what kind of people are out there. Nothing more. But we must remember this a great journey and it is to be enjoyed.