Happy Trails and Turkey Days

Happy Thanksgiving peeps, unless of course, you live somewhere that today is not Thanksgiving. In that case, happy Thursday. I'll be working on getting backdated posts up today and tomorrow, so make sure to be looking for those, if you care.

Just so you know, there are no close encounters with the bear kind, ticks, bum knees, or even any poop stories worth telling. There are some wandering pot heads and close encounters with through hikers only about 100 miles from finishing their 2000+ hike.

The End of the Trail

I woke up surprisingly fit today. I would have thought the sore spots on my shoulders from the straps of my pack would hurt more, but they actually hurt less today than they did yesterday. There's a point about halfway through our hike out to the car this morning that I actually tried jogging a bit down a straight section of the trail. I could have done it if my pack had fit more snuggly. I took the lead for most of the trail and actually outpaced Daniel and Mickey for most of it, although they started keeping pace with me at the end. That's my thing. I'll kick your ass on any flat section or gentle downhill. Just don't ask me to go up anything. Still, I would have expected to wake up stiff and hurting this morning after yesterday's longer hike and strenuous climb, but I didn't. I feel good.

Of course, when we took a break at Glassmine Gap before taking the last few miles from the AT to the car, I finally did start to stiffen up. After Mickey finished his cheese and bread, I strapped on my pack and started to walk down the trail only to realize that my hips didn't want to move very much. Of course they loosened up like stiff muscles do after a few steps and I made it out without any trouble. It's just weird that they'd have objected to the two or three miles of gentle downslope this morning and not to the brutal climb or long walk yesterday. The hike out may have been prettier than the ridge, if only because the sun had started to break up the fog finally during our morning of hiking. It had still been foggy when we broke camp around 9 a.m., but by 10, it was sunny at Glassmine. I also like the valley hikes where you tend to follow streams as the tumble down off the mountains instead of just high up on a ridge. About midway through this last stretch, we came upon what must have been an old homestead. There was a clearing and on one end of it was an apple tree with a few apples still hanging from it. The tree was ancient, and huge by apple tree standards. It'd been a long time since someone had tended it and we found no evidence of the house that surely must have been here at some point.

After that, it was just more hiking downhill with the occasional crossing of a shallow stream. We made it back to the car around 11, loaded up and headed home.

It Might as Well Have Rained

A funny thing happened during the night. The dew was so heavy that it rained down from the leaves of the mountain laurel. I awoke early this morning thinking the fog had risen and turned into rain clouds. It wasn't until I finally emerged from my tent just before sunrise that I realized there were no rain drops. In fact, the sky was still blue from our campsite. There had just been so much moisture in the air that when the temperature reached the dew point, everything became saturated. I've heard that the Smoky Mountains near where we hiked are actually temperate rainforest. From my experience today and the often inches-thick coating of moss on many of the trees, I wouldn't be surprised that this section of the Appalachian Trail also passes through temperate rainforest.

After wandering the ridge while everyone else slept and watching the sun rise from an outcropping of rock that allowed me good views of both the east and west sides of the peak, everyone else crawled out of their tents and tarp shelters, I fired up my stove for breakfast and we broke camp. Our packs felt heavier today from all of the moisture packed away inside them, but it could have just been the soreness on my shoulders making it feel that way. Chris, the hiker we met there at the top of Standing Indian was headed south and we were headed north, so we parted ways there.

Luckily for us, a majority of our hike today was downhill, and it was the same gentle slope of the hike up, meaning that about seven hours of our day were brilliantly easy. The only truly remarkable thing from the first 10 miles or so of today's trek was the fog. It may have been clear when we left the peak of Standing Indian, but we soon descended back into the gray mist we never once saw the sun again today. We could see the peak of Albert Mountain that morning, or at least we thought we could as it wasn't much shorter than Standing Indian and we had been able to see a couple of peaks in that direction, so we thought we'd eventually climb out of the fog. Apparently, the fog rose during our hike through the gaps and lower ridges that connected Standing Indian to Albert. When we finally summited Albert, it was just as cold, gray, and viewless as every other section of the hike had been. Worse perhaps.

Honestly, that wasn't the worst part of Albert. The worst part was the last bit of climb up to the top. About two miles before the summit the trail had gradually gotten a little rougher and steeper and my pace had slowed. Mickey had taken off ahead of Daniel and me not long after lunch and we'd meet up with him at trail intersections before he'd outpace us again. Daniel, who doesn't live 70 miles from the nearest hill like I do, was able to outpace me toward the end of this section as well, although not nearly as far as Mickey, the part-time park ranger and full-time freak of nature. Because of my slower pace (at least I wasn't stopping to take breaks even after 10 or so miles at this point), I hit the final scramble up Mount Albert alone. Because of the strenuous nature of this section, Mickey and Daniel had long since stopped talking so I couldn't even hear them in the distance. I turned a corner on the trail and realized that to my dismay the last half mile (probably less, but it felt longer) of ascent eschewed switchbacks and other trail-making methods to ease the difficulty of the climb, and just gone straight up the side of the mountain. Several sections had been turned into stairways, but others were simple scrambles up boulders and rock faces, a couple of which I actually had to make use of handholds to climb. I had taken off my cap when the trail had stopped being easy so the steam could escape my head and keep me cooler, and somewhere in this section, I dropped it. It was just too steep of a trail section to even consider going back for it, even without my pack. I abandoned my hat after a few choice words and continued my climb into the mist. Considering that I was carrying a 45-lb backpack up this entire section, I'm actually fairly pleased with my performance. I made each section of the climb up in one set. Then, I'd pause for a few breaths in the flat spot before the next scramble and I'd head up again. By the time Mickey got too cold standing around under the fire tower at the top waiting for me and decided to come looking for me, I was already just a few yards away. I dropped my pack and sat on the first step of the fire tower no more than five minutes before heading down the other side of the mountain to the Big Spring Shelter to make camp for the night. Sure, I was slower than the other two guys, but I was actually able to do the entire section without any significant breaks. I don't think I would have been able to do this only a couple of years ago. I may not be up to the fitness level of many of the through hikers we saw near the end of their 2,178 mile hikes, or Mickey, but I'm better than I was when I started backpacking.

We had to set up camp in the late dusk. It's funny, but after I rested a bit and ate supper, I really could have managed a few more miles today. In the summer, that would have been an option. In late November when the sun has set by 5:30 p.m., the days are just too short.

A bit of advice here for novice hikers. Spend the money for the hiking poles. I've never had knee problems since picking mine up, and you'd be surprised how much that little extra push from the poles and the extra stability they provide conserve your energy on tougher parts of the trail. Seriously, I'd give up my stove or tent before I gave up my poles.

On Standing Indian

There's a point when you're hiking long distances that your mind clears and your body gets into a rhythm. This is especially true on the longer uphill sections that are steep enough to require noticeably more effort, but not so steep as to make you wish you were dead. The brain is reduced to left foot-right pole, right foot-left pole, repeat. The eyes focus on the ground a few feet ahead of you searching out the roots and rocks that will break your flow if struck unnoticed, flickering up on occasion to check for the trail blazes and get a glance at the scenery. Miles go by like this. You take in as much as possible, but you've got a destination to hit by nightfall.

Today, Monday, was the first day off the loop hike I'm doing with a couple of friends. The loop is based on an about 17-mile stretch of the Appalachian Trail in North Carolina from Deep Gap to Glassmine Gap connected by a few other trails that turned it into a large loop. We started at Standing Indian Campground and took a trail from there into Deep Gap to pick up the AT. The day started off nice enough, but as we descended into Deep Gap, we were walking in a thick gray fog. The forecast had called for mostly cloudy in the area today, but the fact that we may have had to actually walk through those clouds hadn't crossed my mind.

The next section of the trail is what had originally worried me. It was an at least two-mile stretch entirely uphill and the elevation map didn't make it look like a very gentle uphill either. What it turned out to be was actually pretty nice. The grade made the hike challenging enough that it came with a sense of accomplishment when finished, but not so hard as to cause any real distress or discomfort. Standing Indian is the tallest mountain on the AT south of the Smokies at 5,499 feet, but the climb is pretty easy. When we left the trail for the maybe 50-yard trek up to the summit (an unmarked trail across from the sign pointing toward water), we found that the view from the top was amazing. We had left the fog far below the summit and from the top we had clear skies and a perfect view of of a sea of clouds with only a few islands of neighboring peaks breaking through. It was breathtaking.

We also found that someone else had already set up camp on the bald spot at the top of the mountain. Chris, the other hiker, had been there for most of the day. He had planned to move on, but had been taken by the scenery and thought that the westerly view would make for a great view of the sunset. He invited us to set up camp around him and we ended up staying the night there as well. The sunset was amazing, although I missed the chance to take a photo of it while making supper.

Tomorrow, we set off down the mountain for what will be our longest day of the hike. Photos from the hike will have to wait until Friday's post when I can finally get my computer online instead of having to use the one at my in-laws' house.

Beer, beer, and more beer

There was a time when I rated almost one new beer a day. Back then I lived relatively close to decent beer stores and bars, but since I moved back to the swamps, getting new beer has been difficult. For the first couple of years I went out of my way to pick up beer every time I went into a reasonable city, but lately it's gotten harder. I didn't try a single new beer in August and I've only had a handful in September and October. Tonight changed that. We rolled into Atlanta today precisely in time for one of my beer geek friends' legendary tastings. Tonight was a small one by his standards. Only about thirty beers. I added about a dozen to my list of life ratings in one night. Of course those dozen tastings added up to about three full beers, but it was more beer than I've had in almost a Year now.

By the way, I'm not bailing on NaBloPoMo, but next week I'll be out on the trail and I won't be able to post Monday and Tuesday. I'll be writing my posts on waterproof paper with a waterproof pen and back dating them when I get in on Wednesday. Today and Sunday I'm posting from my phone so screw proof reading.

My Dad, The Old Man

I went to a retirement roast for my dad tonight. It made me realize that I have a lot more in common with him than I realize sometimes. I'm forgetful. I have his irreverent sense of humor. I cry too easily for a man. Half of the jokes mocking him during the roast could have been directed at me. I also was reminded of just how good a man he is.

I didn't fully appreciate my dad when I was a teenager. He was often irritable, partly from the epilepsy medication he's taken most of his life and partly because we were kids and kids are annoying, but he was a good father. My sister and I can never say that he wasn't there for us or that he didn't care. We always knew we were loved and as I gradually and begrudgingly turn into a father, I'm glad I have him as a role model for this part of my life.

Stepping into a room of a hundred people, judges, police officers, teachers, family, I realized I didn't know many people from the work part of my dad's life. Here were people he spent almost as much time with on a daily basis as he did his own family, and I was completely unaware of their existence. Usually, people have different faces they show depending on the people they're with. I'm guilty of that myself. My college friends and a select few from from my grade school years see what I think to be the truest me besides the person I am with my wife. She gets the full spectrum. My family gets a much more reserved version of myself and I'm probably pretty bland to strangers. That's not my dad. While I may not have known many of the people gathered to wish him luck in his retirement, they knew the exact same man that I did. My dad treats everyone exactly the same. He doesn't have anything to be ashamed of about his person and he's brave enough (or dumb enough) to not be so self-conscious to hide who he really is from anyone. When you meet my dad, you're meeting one of the most genuine people on Earth. If he acts like he likes you (and he will), that's exactly how he feels about you.

This may be why my dad was so good at his job. He was a juvenile probation officer until 5 p.m. Friday afternoon. He always told me that if you treated those kids, the worst kids three counties had to offer, with respect, they'll treat you with respect right back. It's because of him that I felt more successful as a teacher in an alternative school full of inner city kids coming out of lock up than I do now with classes full of normal children. I followed his lead and managed to win the trust of some of the worst kids in that school system. Of course, it makes it easier to win those kids over when you actually care about them, and my dad did. He actually enjoyed working with the kids. Since I moved home, I can't tell you how many times my students have told me that they had to talk to my dad because they were on probation and every time they mentioned him, they did so with a smile. This was the man who had to nag them about grades and curfew and court dates. The fact I'm his son has always given me a bit of an in with those kids.

I may not have known all these people who knew the same guy I call my father, but they all knew me. That's because I got my storytelling tendencies from my dad. While I focus on dookie jokes and daydreams, my dad always thought more about his family. Every person who stood up to give a speech, and there were many, were able to pick out my sister and me and refer to us by name even if they'd never met us before. My dad's family is his life. We lived all of the stories he cared about. I feel a little guilty sometimes that I don't share that same focus on my loved ones. Maybe I'd be a happier person if I did.

I do share that sensitive nature and bleeding heart of his, but I don't share his gregariousness. My sister got all of my dad's social skills. She's the one who people are drawn to, who they automatically like, just like my dad. I got my mom's introversion and more precise grasp of grammar and syntax. Watching my dad work the room after getting control of himself (he'd not suspected the surprise), my brother-in-law-to-be said my dad should have been a politician. I don't doubt he would have won any office he'd run for. He knows all the political leaders in the area. He's on good terms with everyone. He'd have judges, educators, the cops, and the crooks all on his campaign wagon. The only problem is that he would have been miserable. He wouldn't have been able to put up with the political maneuvering, the hypocritical nature of politicians, and the fakeness of it all.

That's one of the reasons that I'll never be able to live up to the standard that my dad set in his career. He never moved beyond being a low level supervisor in a governmental agency, but when he left, he had people convinced that the entire system was worse off without him.

And the whole time he just thought he was doing his job.

Please Make Sure Your Camo Matches

I believe that abortion should not only be legal, but it should be mandatory for people I don't like. If I don't approve of your existence, you shouldn't die, but you should not be allowed to reproduce. I'd be like China except I'd have a no-child policy and I wouldn't force you to farm my fields. I would also not be Chinese. I realize this makes me sound a bit like a Nazi, except that I actually wouldn't put this into practice if I were to find myself in position to make it real. I just know that the world would be better off if I were both evil and powerful enough to make it work.

Also, there wouldn't be any racial or socioeconomic standards by which I'd make my decision. I would go by the dick factor. If you are a dick (male or female) you don't get to have kids. If you conceive with a dick (metaphorically speaking), you don't get to have kids. I'm pretty sure I'd empty the McMansion subdivisions of children just as thoroughly as I would the projects.

Would this make me evil? Yes. Would this make me quite possibly the worst dictator in the history of the planet? Maybe. It really depends on your definition of human life. Pro-choice types would have to rank me well after the likes of Hitler, Stalin, Mao, and Pol Pot simply because I'm not executing any breathing human beings. Pro-life types would be able to justify my ranking up there with Mao. I'd eventually get around to just sterilizing the dicks, lessening the need for abortions, but this wouldn't happen overnight and there's always that person you thought was cool until you found out who they really were.

Still, any of those people I judged worthy of breeding would be better off because of it no much how they protested. They wouldn't want to admit it, but when the last turd bucket in the world died off of old age, the rest of you would have much happier lives. Sure, I'd have sacrificed my soul for your happiness, but it would be worth it to know as I burn for eternity that you suckers don't have to deal with jerks.

Oh, and for the kid I saw walking down the hall today: Wearing three different varieties of camouflage is enough of a fashion faux pas that I would likely retroactively abort you for the clashing patterns. Besides, you walk around all the time arcing your gut out in front of you like you're proud of it. You should never be proud of a protruding gut. You should be like me, ashamed and self-conscious but without enough self-discipline to do anything about it.

Just remember, I'm sitting here, quietly, judging you.