Table of Contents

Introduction
This trip report is filed with the members of the Lickskillet Trail Club, their families, and some of our close backpacking and non-backpacking friends in mind. I have mostly written it to be a record and not for entertainment value. As such, I have written it in a kind of "diary style." I cannot completely overcome my smart-aleck nature, however, so I have included some of my own brand of humor, which amuses me greatly. I can only hope that it will offer some amusement to my intended audience as well. I regret that I have no photos to include in this report. Aside from my usual desire to include corny, posed, group photos, this trip was one of the most photo-worthy I've been on. This report is LONG. The links in the table of contents will allow you to go directly to different sections. Hopefully, this will make it easier to read in multiple sittings.

Expedition Team

• Mark
• Tim
• Clyde

Goal
46 miles of Appalachian Trail in the Southern District of the Shenandoah National Park (between Rockfish Gap and Swift Run Gap; mileage includes connecting trails to shelters)

Prologue
Back in August, I sent out an invitation by e-mail to the LTC at large to participate in a Veterans Day weekend walkabout. Tim and Clyde responded with their interest and we set about deciding on our destination. I had done some reading in Bill Bryson's "A Walk in the Woods" which contained descriptions of SNP that had won me over. I mentioned this to Clyde and Tim and suggested we target the AT in SNP's Southern District. This suggestion met no objections and we began planning. Targeting the Southern District kept the drive from the Deep South to a minimum. With my family on temporary duty in the Washington DC area, Clyde and family decided they would all fly up for a visit, during which Clyde and Mark would slip off and rendezvous with Tim in Waynesboro, VA, near the southern end of our walk. About a month after I sent my invitation, I realized that Kim and I were due at a one-man show, Rob Becker's "Defending the Caveman" on Thursday night, November 9. Ordinarily, this would be a night for packing and we would depart for a trip the following day (a holiday for yours truly and every other federal employee). It turned out I wasn't the only one with concerns over a conflict. Clyde had to make a business trip to Boston earlier in the week and, as the AT trip neared, his schedule became fluid and threatened to sneak into real conflict. Fortunately, Clyde's schedule stabilized, he made his trip to Boston and back, and flew up with his family on Nov. 9. The family arrived at our rental house in Alexandria in their rental car to meet our rental babysitter, Britney. We spent the following day visiting, shopping for trail groceries and last minute supplies, deriding the terrible service at our local IHOP, and we even squeezed in a visit to the National Gallery of Art. That night, we continued the grand tradition of staying up way too late getting organized and packed, with Clyde and Mary Jo making hummus in my blender while Clyde and I filled bottles, stuffed bags, and I even ground my hand axe on a borrowed bench grinder in my back yard (well after midnight - I'm sure our neighbors think me a madman). In keeping with this tradition, we also followed its corollary of not getting enough sleep. I think I hit the sack around 02:00 with a wakeup time scheduled for 04:00.

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Expedition Day 1 (Saturday)
Clyde and I rose on time and made our targeted departure time of 04:30 hours. We had a nice drive down, stopping once for gas and tire inflation and again for McDonald's breakfast. We had given ourselves thirty minutes of contingency time for an estimated three-and-a-half-hour drive. Our destination was the Swift Run Gap Entrance Station of the SNP where we would meet Beverly Leikkanen. Bev provides shuttle service, for a fee, to and from points on the AT 150 miles north and south of Waynesboro. She can be found among the shuttle listings on the Appalachian Trail Conference's (ATC) website. I had spoken with Bev on the phone and made arrangements to meet her at the gap at 08:00 hours. She had also recommended a place to meet near our put-in. It had been my intention to be coolly leaning against my car when Bev showed up at 08:00. I had printed out directions from Mapquest.com the night before and was diligently following those until they took us through some beautiful scenic hills from which we emerged to face a sign that assured us we were on the wrong track. We pulled out the road atlas and made course corrections but we had lost nearly all our contingency time. As a result, we were five minutes late for our meeting. We recognized Bev's brown and gold Windstar van from her description and, with help from her husband Pat, had transferred out gear in no time. We kicked back in the comfy captain's chairs and settled in for the ride along the beautiful Skyline Drive, through the southern district, to Waynesboro. Pat and Bev shared many stories of previous shuttle customers, along with some of their misadventures. Bev told us that she had segment-hiked most of the AT. She only had a few of the northernmost states to go until she'd finished. Clearly, she provides this service because she has a love for hiking and her fellow hikers. I apologized for our being late and Bev blew that off. I asked her what the longest time she'd ever waited for a hiker was. She didn't give an exact time but said, "A LONG time." They told us they had a big day planned today they had two soccer games to attend, with a grandchild playing in each one. After dodging quite a few deer on the roadsides and running over numerous fallen branches in the road, we reached The Inn at Afton at 09:05, exactly the hour's drive that Bev had promised on the phone. Tim's car was in the parking lot and he was waiting inside it. We were startled by the strength of the wind in the parking lot as we stepped out of the van and quickly became interested in going inside. I had noticed the thermometer in the van showed the outside temperature to be 44°F. Clyde paid Bev for our ride, offering her $30 (we had discussed adding a tip to the negotiated $25 fee) but she would only accept $20. I took this as a sign that we had bonded with Bev in some way. We unloaded our gear, exchanged good-byes with Pat and Bev and hauled everything into the Inn's lobby.

The desk clerk graciously allowed us to leave our pile of packs, boots, and supplies in his lobby while we used the bathroom and phone, then we hit the dining room. I ordered coffee, English muffins with honey, and a fruit salad cup. The coffee was great, the fruit salad fresh from a can, and the honey was so plentiful, I stuffed the extra three containers into my pocket. I momentarily considered that this might make it more tempting for a bear to investigate our camp or any of my gear, should some of the it leak out, but thoughts of honey spread on my bagel each morning in camp won out over my concerns. Besides, I could probably get Tim to carry them. Clyde and Tim also ate lightly, and we were back in the lobby changing into our boots and making last minute provisions adjustments in no time. Tim had brought along two new pairs of liner socks for me that he'd included in his pre-trip Campmor order and I transferred one pair to my pack and put the other pair on my feet as a replacement for the old, worn pair I had put on that morning. Clyde and I had weighed our packs ("pre-cheese" as we would later say often, as I had forgotten to include the cheese and other refrigerated items while weighing my pack) at home and they were both about 42 lbs.

We gritted our teeth and stepped back out into the wind, made a short walk down through the parking lot and along the highway and were on the trail by 10:30. Of course, we started out uphill, so we got ourselves warmed up pretty quickly. The winds had been predicted to be 15-20 mph in Waynesboro that day. We're sure they were every bit of that, maybe a little faster at our elevation. That being said, we were never truly warm on Saturday. But the sun was shining and it was a beautiful day. We were all pretty happy to be back on the trail. Only a little way into our walk, we encountered another hiker. We were single file, first me, then Tim, then Clyde. The other fellow gave way, which surprised me, as he was going downhill. Putting a finger thoughtfully to his lips, he stared intently at my boots as I approached. He seemed to be quite well-equipped, with layers of all the appropriate materials, gaiters, and an Outdoor Research Gore-Tex hat. With this in mind, I wondered if he was a "gearhead" as Eric so often accused some of us to be. As I neared him, I said, "Howdy!" to which he responded, "My REI co-op number is 935794!" I realized he was looking straight at me now, only his eyes didn't quite line up so the resultant effect was that he seemed to be looking around me. I tried to determine if this was some kind of hiker joke that I simply didn't get. I decided that this individual was just a little eccentric or had perhaps been on the trail too long. Still, I was challenged with the prospect of a correct response. To my shame, I didn't know my own REI co-op number. I gave the thumbs-up sign and tried to say heartily, "Cool!" and kept walking. I made an intentional effort not to look back. When I thought our group was out of sight or at least certainly out of earshot, I stopped to compare notes with the others. Clyde said, "He was staring at my boots!" I remarked that he had taken close notice of mine as well. Neither of the others knew their co-op numbers either. By 11:00, we had reached the self-service backcountry permit registration station and Clyde filled out our permit. I carried this with me for the rest of the trip. Permits are required in the park, but are free. They tell how many are in the party and when and where the party entered the park, plans to spend the night, and plans to exit the park.

At 12:10, we stopped for lunch on some big rocks through which the trail wound. We had to put on extra layers and rain jackets to stay warm in the wind. We consulted the chart on the back of my zipper-pull thermometer for a wind chill factor but we were off-scale low for both temperature and windspeed. My family and Clyde's had enjoyed marinated, grilled flank steak with bearnaise sauce the previous night and I had made each of us a little sandwich with the leftover dinner rolls and grilled onions. These were perfectly delightful cold. We sized up each other's additional choices for lunch food and sampled and shared what we had. I noticed that Tim had brought a rather large plastic bag full of different types of "energy bars." I really enjoyed the hummus but Clyde remarked that he was a little disappointed that "it wasn't as good as last year's." I'm convinced that one of the things that makes trail food taste so good is that you're on the trail. The experience seems to sharpen your appetite. The downside is it can make your anticipation of foods so great that you are inevitably disappointed with the actuality. I'm not sure if this phenomenon was in play here or if last year's had simply been better. Since Clyde was carrying the hummus, Tim was carrying the flatbread, and I got to eat both, it all tasted pretty good to me.

We were on the move again by 12:30 and making good time when we stopped again at McCormick Gap for Clyde to engage in some foot repair. We had loaded the first aid kit with plenty of moleskin and other blister prevention supplies. This was actually a good time in our hike for everyone to take close notice of how his feet were doing. I had rubbed a blister on my heel last year even before I knew it. Close attention is often the difference between a "hot spot" that can be aided by a piece of moleskin and a blister that can have a hobbling effect for the remainder of the trip. I ate one of Tim's energy bars while we were waiting and we talked about the nifty stile that we'd just clambered across to get over some farmer's fence (the AT here crosses some privately owned land; hikers may pass at the grace of the landowner). We assumed the stile had been built by the Potomac AT Club. They maintain all the SNP AT, as well as other trails in the park. During this break some snide remarks were made concerning the Georgia AT Club and how we'd be surprised to see something this neat on the section of AT that they maintain.

Across the road, we began our ascent of Bear Mountain. This was pretty steep but not quite as challenging as some of the most severe elevation changes from last year's section in Georgia. The path up Bear Mountain was covered with pine woods that provided nice cover from the wind and some shade to cut the glare of the sun. All the deciduous trees had been without their leaves for a couple of weeks now and we shuffled and crunched them everywhere we stepped when we were among them. Here in the pine woods, the needles made a soft, quiet bed to walk on and silence came back into focus. With a mix of fear and excited anticipation, I kept wondering if I'd see a bear or a cougar around each turn. Near the summit, we emerged from the woods to a mostly treeless grassland, studded with large boulders. With no trees for blazes, the rocks on the ground were often the best place for the familiar white paint patch to appear. Despite the presence of some side trails, the AT would have been quite easy to follow even without the blazes.

We reached the summit somewhere between 13:45 and 14:00. It was covered with antenna towers and little radio shacks. I was a little uneasy about staying too long next to these radio frequency transmitters. My work in the last few years as an electromagnetic compatibility engineer had taught me to be cautious about exposure. I had learned that the effects of RF fields on the eyes and testicles were cumulative. My need for the latter at this point is debatable but I intended to keep my eyes in working order as long as possible. I mentioned my unease about lingering near the antennas to Clyde and Tim and suggested we not stay too long. On the other side of the summit, the AT shared ruts with an unimproved road that provided vehicles access to the summit. We noted with some amusement an "amphitheater" overlooking Waynesboro and the rest of the valley. Someone had cleverly driven old metal tractor seats directly into the ground to make seats for it. I bet it is a wonderful place from which to view the stars, or the lights of Waynesboro. Pat had told me that morning that Waynesboro's big industry was the Du Pont plant. He didn't know what they made there, but I imagined them making all the wonderful materials that were keeping me warm in the stiff winds. As Homer Simpson might say, "Mmmm, Thermax."

Coming down from Bear Mountain, we entered Beagle Gap. Just before we crossed Skyline drive here, we passed through a tight turn in a fence. Wide enough for a backpacker but not for a cow or a horse. There is a little parking area at Beagle Gap and there were a number of cars here. We had seen several day hikers at the summit and more on the way down. On the ascent from Beagle Gap, we had our only notable wildlife encounter of the day. A small, green snake was lying in the trail, sunning himself. Because of his bright coloring and the contrast with the brown soil it provided, I saw him in plenty of time to avoid the usual "I-almost-stepped-on-a-snake" dance which amuses one's comrades so much. I turned to the others and pointed down at the trail. "Wildlife opportunity," I yelled back.

When we'd cleared the grassy slope up from the gap, we took another break among the trees. We were trying to be careful to keep our hydration and calorie levels even during the day. I had recently read Paul Petzoldt's New Wilderness Handbook and had mentioned some of his ideas about "climate control plans", "energy control plans," etc. to Clyde. In particular, I had told Clyde that I was going to experiment with an energy control technique that Petzoldt called "rhythmic breathing." This involves knowing how many steps one takes per breath while walking at pace on level ground and then adjusting the number of steps taken per breath for increases in grade. In this way, Petzoldt claims he can keep his heart rate and breathing more even all day and make more efficient use of his energy. Instead of peaking too early and being tired when you may have miles left to walk or climb on a given day, the idea behind rhythmic breathing is that you have adequate energy all day. At some point during the day, Clyde asked me how my experiment was working out. I told him I had pretty much decided I must have always been using the technique without knowing it. The one real difference my conscious efforts may have yielded was that I did pay closer attention to my pacing. I dramatically slowed my pace whenever the going got steep. However, using this technique, I never felt I had to stop and rest. Not for the entire trip. The only thing I stopped for was water, a view, or to allow my companions to catch up with me (so I could hit Tim up for another energy bar). While we were on this break, a little "Westie" dog (we never once saw a beagle!) came down the trail from the Calf Mountain direction dragging his leash behind him. I could hear a woman just behind him and I assumed that he had gotten away from her. I stopped the dog and got a hold on his leash. His owner, once she caught up, didn't seem the least bit fazed at his having gotten away, nor particularly grateful that I had "caught" him. After we exchanged some friendly words, she and the dog were off again, he pretty soon dragging the leash. We saw a sign later that clearly forbade pets except those on a leash. I asked Clyde and Tim if they thought the Westie had met the definition of a pet on a leash and some head scratching ensued. The leash had definitely been on him.

By 15:20, we had reached the Calf Mountain Shelter and found it unoccupied. Without a doubt, it was the nicest shelter we had ever seen. It went beyond the basic raised floor and three walls with a roof. It had an upper "bunk" so you could nearly double the capacity over what could be accommodated on the floor alone. It had a very nice gabled roof and even a gutter along the front to keep the water from pouring down your back when you step out from under it. There was a nice fire pit, and a privy just beyond the shelter and down the hill a bit. From the front door (yes, a door!) of the privy, one could see through the bare trees to the city of Waynesboro, which had never totally left our sight during the day. The shelter contained the ubiquitous log book, as well as a broom, a towel (which we presumed was left behind by a previous occupant) and featured a nearby clothesline (ditto) and a very nice, sturdy wooden picnic table. The privy was even outfitted with toilet paper! We were quite pleased to have made the time that we did to the shelter. Our daily total of 7.3 miles had taken us roughly five hours, making our average for the day 1.46 mph. We had gotten the sunset/sunrise times for Waynesboro from the US Naval Observatory website beforehand and knew what times we had to beat each night in order to have some remaining daylight by which to set up camp and work.

Tim and I immediately went on water patrol and Clyde, our expedition's appointed "master chef," began preparing the evening's table. We had passed a spring on the access trail to this shelter and had to walk back about 0.2 miles to get water. Thanks to a new "raw water" bag that Tim had bought, in addition to everyone's individual bottles and my usual 2- and 10-liter dromedary bags, we only had to make the one trip. I had also just bought a new water filter, MSR's "Miniworks," and we were all interested to see how we'd like it. We'd had some bad luck with filters in the past so the ease of field maintenance that the MSR ad copy promised was a big factor in my selection of this product. Having seen the spring on the way in, we knew it was piped (someone has driven a 2" pipe into the side of the mountain so that the spring water is somewhat elevated instead of merely running along the ground in a shallow stream where it would be difficult to capture) but decided to use one of the pots from my cookset as a collection point. We were quite pleased with the filter's performance and also quite pleased with the new bag. We were able to fill it directly from this and every other piped spring we came across on this trip. On at least two occasions, we filtered from the bag the next morning, saving us a trip back to the spring.

Back in camp, we found Clyde eating his customary "welcome to camp" soup and I set about heating some water to wash my face. We took care of some other hygiene needs, began "tea time" and set about the rest of our preparations. We also made a fire in our fire pit. This is one of the luxuries of shelter life; fires are prohibited anywhere else in the backcountry in the SNP. Even though we were outside the park boundary at the Calf Mountain Shelter, we respected this rule, especially since we knew that forest fires were burning at that very moment in the Northern district of the SNP. On Oct. 30 and 31, fires had started at The Pinnacles and Old Rag, respectively. The park service suspected campfires in both cases. The recent weather at SNP had been quite dry. The night before we went on our trip, we checked the website that had been monitoring the firefighting progress to see that the now combined burns had been 80% contained. Our fire provided some warmth and lots of ambiance. Our master chef, meanwhile, whipped up a rather interesting combination of cabbage, sautéed in butter with salt, pepper, and caraway seeds; spëtzle (German dumplings); and mushroom gravy. Our appetites may have been sharpened by the trail, but this was still a pretty fantastic meal. Since we had arrived in camp with so much daylight on the day with the smallest amount of mileage, leaving us with more energy than we'd likely have any other evening, I had suggested that Clyde choose the menu that was the most amount of trouble to make. He decided that this would also be "the sucky menu" although we decided that a better way to say that would simply be "saving the best for last." We had also chosen banana cream, from among the pudding choices, for dessert. This is from an idea that Todd Holloway gave me years ago. It works like this: buy instant pudding mix, and powdered milk (Todd specified Milkman brand but we couldn't find that at the Safeway here). Put the pudding mix in a ziplock bag, measure out the appropriate amount of powdered milk (the amount that would make reconstituted milk in the right volume), and add to the bag. Then write on the bag with a sharpie the amount of water to add. Once on the trail, add water, have Tim mash the bag around for about a half hour and then let sit in the cold evening air to congeal. This made a pretty good dessert, which we ate communally, right out of the bag with our spoons. Cleanup is a breeze.

The SNP is well known for its black bear population. As with other parts of the AT that wind through bear country, special precautions must be taken with food storage and some other camp issues. Especially for food, some method of suspending it above ground is preferred. A method the LTC has used plenty of times before is to load all the food in a bag and string it up over a high tree limb. I had done some research prior to this trip and found especially helpful PATC member Dean Ahearn's online article "Black Bear Manners." In it he describes our usual method and gives it a name: the Shenandoah bear bag. To effect this, one must toss the weighted end of a strong cord over a tree limb substantial enough to take the weight of your bag. The bag should then be raised to a height of at least ten feet and should be no closer to the trunk of the tree than four feet. Then tie off the free end. There are variations to this method but the idea is to make your food very difficult for the black bear, an excellent climber, to reach. Hikers who avail themselves of the shelters in the SNP can save themselves a little trouble. There are steel poles, set in concrete, from which they may hang their bearbags. The poles are quite tall, with a four-pronged fork on the end that make them look a little like an umbrella that's had the fabric torn off and all the spars broken off at the first joint. Hanging on a rest near the top of the pole is a long, forked tool, chained to the pole, for use in hanging and retrieving bags from the prongs. While hanging our bags, an awkward proposition, we speculated about the purpose of the chain. We couldn't imagine someone stealing the fork. It was extremely long and pretty heavy. The weight of the tool itself, combined with the weight of the food bags and the increased leverage they had at the end of the long tool, made the hanging exercise quite comical.

Based on our astronomical research, we knew we'd have a full moon on our first night but I think we were still a little startled by just how bright it was that evening. We could walk to the privy and back without the use of a flashlight. The lights of Waynesboro could clearly be seen from this side of camp. Our fire lit the area near the shelter, and the moon could have lit the path for a not unreasonable nighttime stroll. But we had made a decision to rise at 05:30 the next morning and knew we'd need as much rest as we could get to prepare for the next day's long walk to the Blackrock Hut. I read aloud an excerpt I'd brought along from Bryson's book as a bedtime story and we bedded down sometime around 21:00 hours and slipped off to peaceful dreams in which Auburn defeated Georgia and then, just for fun, hosed down all the UGA faithful. I wondered what we would do if a bear came to investigate us. I found myself in a state of partial awakening a couple of times during the night and met the surprisingly bright night all over again. This usually occurred while turning over in search of a more comfortable position, or, more likely, while praying to God to please, please stop the snoring of my sheltermates, even if it meant having them be eaten by a bear. It occurs to me as I write this that we probably needn't have worried about a bear coming anywhere near us. The noise we (my wife assures me that I must have been a substantial contributor) created would certainly have kept Eurarctus americanusaway as well as any three buzzing chainsaws.

Total day one miles walked (including connecting trails): 7.3
Average speed for day one: 1.46mph

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Expedition Day 2 (Sunday)
I was awakened by the sound of my $17 Timex turn-and-pull alarm watch at 05:30 hours. Despite the snoring of my companions, I had slept well, been adequately warm, and felt quite rested. I rose, dressed, and began preparing for breakfast. The other guys, having not been eaten by bears, came alive soon after and we feasted on our usual backcountry meal of oatmeal and bagels with coffee and tea. As usual, we had butter to spread on the bagels and I broke open one of my three leftover packages of honey. The honey was so firm it not only wouldn't run out of the package very well, but I had to scrape it out of the little plastic tub with my knife and then exert an unusual amount of force just to spread it. A check of the thermometer helped explain this: we declared the official LTC morning low to be 35°F. As we dined and packed up our gear, the sun rose and unveiled the beginnings of another beautiful day. This one proved to be without the harsh wind from yesterday. We broke camp and were on the move by 07:30. By 08:30, I had already warmed up enough to zip off the pant legs from my convertible pants. These, a gift from my in-laws last Christmas, proved to be one of my favorite items on this hike. They had come from REI and were nylon, with a sewn-in web belt and zippers not just at the top of the removable pant legs but also on the outside of each leg up past mid-calf to facilitate easy removal over boots. As we found ourselves hiking long days, we came to appreciate the value of short breaks. And, as part of what Petzoldt called the climate control plan, adding or subtracting layers was pretty important to our comfort on the trail. Although it had been too windy on day one, I would spend most of the remaining walking time on this trip in shorts, only layering up or down at the torso.

We took a break at 09:00 at the Sawmill Run Overlook. We laid out the map on the picnic table there, pulled out some snacks, and computed our average speed to that point. We found that we'd done a respectable 1.8mph. Although we were in full sun, the overlook was located at an intersection of the AT with Skyline Drive. That meant it was open and windy. We had to layer up for the stop and back down before we resumed walking. I availed myself of some more of Tim's energy bars. We resumed our walk and agreed that whoever was in front should stop at the best looking place for lunch at or after noon.

I don't remember precisely what time we stopped but we ended up at a level, not very wide spot in the trail. I pulled out my sleeping pad and chair and spent some time wrestling with them, having forgotten exactly how to fold the pad for insertion into the floppy frame's pockets (duh: once in half and then bend it at 90° to shove each end into place). This provided some amusement and/or disgust for my companions. Once I got it put together, I had worked up a pretty good appetite. I sat back and shed my boots and socks for the first major foot inspection, which I passed. Clyde's feet weren't faring as well, however. He spent quite a bit of time with the first aid kid, dressing blisters. We took turns tossing bags and containers back and forth across the trail as we shared the meal. I had brought a small wheel of smoked Gouda, some beef jerky, a bag of Sun-Maid fruit bits that Whitey had picked out at the Safeway, and some trail mix that had been left over from our day hike in the SNP's northern district a couple of weeks earlier. The fruit bits were especially good and I should note to take them again. However, the "recloseable" bag in which they were sold frustrated me by separating where the plastic zipper met the bag wall. A "trail techniques" note ensues: repackage everything in brand name zipper bags prior to the walk. I shared these items and availed myself of the other guys' selections. In addition to the hummus and flatbread, Clyde had brought a small wheel of Edam (?) with caraway seeds, Tim had brought a couple of bags of dried fruit, and they'd both brought trail mix of their own. I also picked out yet another energy bar from Tim's supply and put this in my pocket for later.

We had each resolved to carry and drink two liters of fluid each day. Clyde chose to make both of his bottles Gatorade, I chose one of water and one of Gatorade. I didn't notice that Tim followed a pattern but he was at least carrying some Gatorade. I had packed lemon ice flavored crystals in one of the miniature plastic "coolers" in which the mix is sold. Clyde carried the equivalent amount of orange flavor, repackaged in a short, wide nalgene jar; Tim carried the equivalent amount of an unidentified blue-colored flavor in a zipper bag. We dubbed it "blue stuff" although its color similarity to Romulan ale, when mixed, was noted. My plan was to hit the water bottle as I walked. I had replaced the plastic hip flask with belt clip that I had carried since I was a boy scout with another polycarbonate nalgene bottle and a $3.50 bottle bag from Campmor that I looped through my pack's hipbelt. The Gatorade, I would spread out over the course of the day to get the added energy and flavor benefits as a treat. I tried to drink about 250ml during the morning break, 500ml at the lunch break, and finish off the remaining 250ml during the afternoon break. After my experience with dehydration last year, I was not only resolved to do a better job of staying hydrated but also to "evangelize" to the other guys about the importance of staying hydrated and how to monitor it. Last year's hike, at our traditional Veteran's Day timing, had been in exceptionally warm weather and we had sweated like madmen during the walk. I packed only my quart hip flask during the day and found myself urinating very infrequently and always a dark yellow color. I am certain that this mild dehydration contributed mightily to a misery I suffered last year: constipation. That had been a new experience for me and one I did not wish to repeat. As unpleasant as it may be to read about it, take this as a warning and spare yourself, gentle reader, the unpleasant experience. In addition to the two liters we carried during the day, we resolved to drink plenty each morning and night. Trying to live by the spirit of the law, I broke, or at least bent, the letter of it each morning with coffee, and again each evening with a bit of Tennessee whiskey added to my lemon ice. Each of these, while enjoyable, is a diuretic, and generally serves to dehydrate. Therefore, campers, take them in moderation, not only so that you do not dull the senses but also so that you remain adequately hydrated. Although we emptied out Tim's bag of unfiltered water on the fire pit each morning, I tried to drink any surplus filtered water that was left over after topping off our bottles.

Our wildlife sightings increased in number on day two, though not much in diversity. I saw a total of five deer, all does, as far as I could tell. I also saw numerous squirrels. The squirrels, confirmed by Clyde's experience as a hunter, turn out to be one of the noisiest things in the forest. Sometimes they were noisier than us humans. Each time I'd hear the loud rustling of leaves off to one side, I'd start just a little, wondering if it was a deer or a bear. Invariably, it was always a squirrel. The deer, although amazingly quiet, would occasionally cause some rustling, always quiet and deerlike. I would also hear some occasional, quiet rustling in the briars near the trail. This usually turned out to be small birds, although sometimes it was a chipmunk or ground squirrel. This critter was pretty shy and I never got a very close or long look at him. The other encounter which we made several times over was one with grouse. An individual or sometimes a pair would suddenly launch themselves into the air as I came up even with their position beside the trail. They would make such a commotion with the rapid beating of their wings that it was always a little startling. It was almost like soft machine gun fire.

We passed a young guy, who I guessed might have been a college student on break, hiking alone. Tim was some distance ahead, in full "robo-Spanky" mode. Clyde and I exchanged greetings with him and we asked about each others' origins and destinations on the trail. This fellow had preceded us by one night at the Calf Mountain Shelter, had spent last night at Blackrock Hut, and was headed back to Calf Mountain, where he would spend another night and then hike out at Rockfish Gap, where he had put in. We asked him about Blackrock Hut and he said he thought it was even nicer than Calf Mountain This was encouraging. A little farther on and after a break, I had passed Tim and was hiking in front when I met a young couple with a dog, on a day hike, at one of the crossings with Skyline Drive. The guy noticed my Auburn cap and told me he was a Hokie, himself. He asked if I'd heard about yesterday's game with Georgia. I said I hadn't heard anything as we'd been on the trail since Saturday morning. He told me that Auburn had won, in overtime. I told him that my two buddies behind me would be interested in that news but asked him if, as a prank, he would tell them both that UGA had won the game. He said he would. He praised the shelter and recommended that we make a trip up to the Blackrock summit. It was quite a view, they both agreed. We exchanged good wishes and I headed up the hill.

At one of our roadside breaks that afternoon, Tim had complained of pain in his left knee. This could be bad. Downhill hiking, loaded or unloaded, can be especially hard on the knees. On our trip the previous year, the dramatic change in elevation we experienced on the AT in Georgia had put both of Sarge's knees out of business by day three and contributed to a decision that we get off the trail a day early. I was concerned about that possibility on this trip and hoped that a night's rest would restore Tim's knee. Backcountry shelters, especially the ones we would use on this trip, tend to be located near a naturally occurring spring. This usually means they aren't near a summit and, in fact, can be at much lower elevations than most of the ridgelines along which the AT tends to lie. That was certainly the case with the Blackrock Hut. In order to access it, we left the AT for a blue-blazed trail that was so steep it seemed to go straight down. There was some early joking that, when we reached the end of it we would be in China. Or Hell. Although Tim and I had hiked at a pretty matched pace so far, his knee slowed him down significantly on this steep slope. I had taken the water filter from Clyde at our last break, anticipating that I would arrive first in camp and would use the extra time to begin drawing our water.

I reached the hut about 1615, which I knew would give me a little less than an hour before sunset. Sunsets are different in the deep crevices where shelters tend to be located. They occur artificially early on the false horizon of the surrounding mountains, giving campers a protracted twilight time. Tonight, one night after the full moon, this would also mean a delayed moonrise, just like we'd seen the previous night. As I was coming down the approach trail to the shelter I went over in my mind the things I would do and the order in which I would do them to help take advantage of the remaining time. First, I unrolled my sleeping pad and unstuffed my sleeping bag on the "upper bunk" of the shelter to maximize the time available for them to regain their loft. Then I dug out my stove and cookset, pulled out a pot in which to capture the water from the spring, collected my bottles and water bags and headed down the steep bank to the spring, which was only fifty feet or so from the shelter.

By the time I had gotten situated at the spring, I saw Clyde peering over the top of the bank on his way down. I mock-scolded him, "Don't you come down here without an armload of bottles and bags!" He grinned and turned around to collect the rest of the group's collective water-holding gear. This spring was also piped and a little nicer than the one at Calf Mountain simply because the slope took the water away quickly and didn't allow much pooling, and therefore much mud around it. Also, there was a fairly good sized set of rocks on which to sit that meant we wouldn't have to squat during all the pumping. We discussed Tim's knee situation and both agreed he should be off his feet as much as he could during our time in camp. I suggested that, using his authority as master chef, Clyde assign Tim to "pudding patrol" right away. He assured me that he'd already thought of that. Clyde relieved me at the spring and I returned with my pumped water to see T.J. already spanking the evening's chocolate pudding mix in its bag.

I put a pot of water on to boil and, making sure someone was keeping an eye on it, went off to check out the privy. This one, too, was pretty nice. The shelter and camp in general were a little nicer than Calf Mountain The shelter was made from stone in large measure, although it shared the same floorplan and features with the other. The firepit, too was made of stone and concrete block, and featured a four-legged iron grate that could be set over the fire or removed at the campers' discretion. The bearbag "tree" was even a little fancier than the other one had been, with two additional "branches" at the top of each of the forked "limbs." When my boiled water cooled, I washed my face and hair and felt amazingly refreshed.

The master chef outdid himself with one of his standards: reconstituted, dehydrated, refried beans, a delicacy about which I've long maintained someone should write a campfire song. He incorporated these, along with a sautéed mix of onions and green bell peppers and Spanish rice, into burritos made on flour tortillas. We seasoned the burritos with Tabasco sauce from tiny bottles that Tim had harvested from some MREs (Army shorthand for "meal, ready to eat") he'd been given by a guardsman friend at work. We unanimously voted this meal the best one so far. Although the backcountry is probably the least likely place to need them, I had brought along some Beano tablets, a few of which I ate with my first bite of burrito as we dug in and then drank a traditional toast to our absent LTC companions (lazy bastards!). After the meal, we refined our technique for eating pudding out of the bag by placing the bag into a plastic bowl to give it some shape and keep it upright. Then we cut the top part of the bag away to make it easier to get into it with our spoons. The chocolate pudding was good, too, but we all looked forward to the best-saved-for-last flavor on tomorrow night's menu: cheesecake. As darkness settled in, my mini mag-lite's two lithium batteries gave up their last and I found that I had committed a serious error in judgement by consciously not packing spares. Remember when I wrote earlier about grinding my axe in the backyard? I had used my mag-lite, in my headstrap, with these same batteries, to provide light by which to work. I asked my companions if either of them were packing spares. Fortunately for me, Tim had not only packed a spare pair but two spare pairs of AA's. I received his answer with some ambivalence. "Of course I have spares," he said, "Just like you taught me." We hung up our food bags, I read another installment of Bryson around the fire and we retired. Tim and I made small talk as I made last minute clothing adjustments just prior to climbing into by sleeping bag. Clyde was already making some terrible noises but was evidently sleeping peacefully. I wished Tim good night, he responded in kind and literally seconds later, began snoring. I envied both of them that they could fall asleep so quickly. It looked like we were in for another bear-free night.

Total day two miles walked (including connecting trails): 13.5
Average speed for day two: 1.54mph

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Expedition Day 3 (Monday)
The Timex dutifully sounded at 05:30 and I took a few minutes to figure out where I was and get my bearings. The clear sky and barely waning moon lit our predawn campsite quite brightly. I dressed and went over to the bear tree to retrieve my foodbag, which also contained my cookset and all my dishes. I made an error in judgement however and decided not to use my flashlight to sight the bag's drawstring but instead decided to rely on the moonlight. I thought I had slid the big hooks's tine under the drawstring and began sliding it off the tree's tine. It turned out that I had not hooked the cord at all but was successful in sliding it off the tree. The bag hurtled downward and I barely had time to deflect some of the force before it crashed noisily to the ground. That ought to wake the others up, I thought. And ensure a little embarrassment for me. I had in fact tried to catch the bag with one hand but for some reason instinctively left one hand on the fork. Plus, the bag was filled with items of irregular shape and size so, when it met my outstretched hand, it simply rolled off. I took the bag over to the picnic table and began unpacking, now concerned about what might be crushed and leaking inside. Upon inspection, the only casualty was my Rubbermaid "supper dish." In the cool of early morning (official LTC morning low: 34°F), its properties were not sufficiently plastic to avoid cracking under the load of all my other food and gear. With a good sized hole on the bottom corner and a crack running up the side all the way to the edge, the bowl would be useless for oatmeal. But, I reasoned, it could still be used to support the pudding bag tonight, so I decided not to put it in with the other trash.

The other guys had a tough time hooking their bags so I went over to help. With the two of them shining lights and "on belay" for falling bags, I hooked one of the bags and started down with it. I was startled by the unexpected weight and mechanical advantage of the load and it descended briskly until brought to a clanking halt by the chain going taut. Mystery solved: the chain was there for our own protection. I hooked the remaining bags, each successive time a little better prepared for the suddenness of the load. We unpacked our food and stoves and got breakfast started. I used the plastic lid of my supper dish as my plate for my morning bagel. By now I had learned to put the butter container and the honey inside my pullover to warm them up enough to spread and, perchance, to run.

We got off to an even later start this morning than we had yesterday. While waiting for Clyde to finish stowing his gear, Tim pointed to a sign posted on the hut that had some instructions and a couple of emergency phone numbers on it. He said, "Do me a favor and write these down, will you?" I pulled out my memo book, turned a few pages, and held it up to show him. The 800 number for SNP Emergencies was already there, surrounded with a little box in red ink. "I knew you'd be prepared," Tim smiled.  I wrote down the other number as a precaution but I noted to Tim that the 703 area code was one for Northern Virginia and any calls to it would likely be answered by a PATC member. I knew he was worried about how his knee would hold up. We ended up not hitting the trail until 07:53. We decided that we would take shorter breaks today. In addition to needing to make up the time, Clyde remarked how yesterday's long lunch break had left him stiff and creaky. We figured it would be better not to cool down too much during our breaks. On the way up the side trail from the shelter, I told Tim that, if he got desperate, I had packed a few extra Celebrex capsules that might help his knee. I felt kind of silly offering these because I really didn't know how much one or even two of these would help him. I knew however, that he was struggling with one of the backpacker's toughest decisions: whether or when to say to his buddies, "Hey, I have to get off the trail." And the buddies, if they're really his buddies, are obliged to say, "Okay, we understand," even when it means they, too, have to get off the trail when they would rather just keep going.

A short way up the hill from where we got onto the AT, we found ourselves at the bottom of a rock slide that was the summit of Blackrock Mountain. Blackrock gets its name from a lichen called rock tripe that makes the rocks appear to be black. This summit was nothing more than a huge pile of boulders. It looked like some giant toddler had stacked up his playthings in a random pile atop this mountain. This presents an odd appearance because there is no visible higher point from which the rocks could have slid. I was a little ahead of the others but was determined to take in the view. I slid out of my pack and left it by the side of the trail. I put on my pullover and snugged down my ballcap against the wind and started clambering over the boulders until I was at the top. What a view! The sky had clouded over since last night but the view was still magnificent. The wind, not too bad at the trail, was pretty chilling up on the exposed summit. I found myself wishing I had put on my rain jacket to cut the wind. I topped the summit just about the time Tim and Clyde came into view below me on the trail. I warned them, yelling over the wind, that if they came up, they had better dress for the wind. They decided to take my word for it that the view was so good. I came down and we pressed on.

A little while later, I came around a bend and looked up to find myself staring into the face of a doe, just a little ahead of me on the trail. I stopped and we stared at each other. The other guys were far enough behind me that I could not see them nor hear their footsteps. I could clearly see another doe behind this one on the trail and was pretty sure I could discern a third, just off the trail to my left. The big doe in front looked over to the side of the trail that was on my right a couple of times as if looking for another member of her party. I heard some rustling among the leaves more than once in the direction she had looked. Still we faced each other in this silent standoff. Eventually, she stamped a hoof on the dirt. I didn't react. She stamped the other front hoof. I didn't react. Clyde told me later that deer, especially the bolder does, will sometimes do this, "Just to see what you'll do." Tim came along and I signaled to him to approach quietly. This is a difficult proposition amid all the dried autumn leaves but he did his best and was able to get up to my position in time to see the white tails hopping off. Clyde, a little further back, missed the show.

At 09:05, we stopped at the Jones Run parking area. We dumped some of our trash in one of the park's bear resistant garbage cans and sat down at the picnic table for our morning snack. The map was spread out again, like a tablecloth, under our provisions, and we discussed our progress and remaining challenges for the day. The sun peeked out during our break and warmed us a little. I looked up and happened to notice the spectral colors of a sundog, which I pointed out to the others. Clyde remarked that he'd heard of them but never seen one before now. We asked Tim how his knee was doing and he said he was not yet ready to throw in the towel. Despite the five times we'd crossed Skyline Drive yesterday, the map told us we'd only cross two more times today and both of those were in the next two miles. After that, it'd be another nine miles before we reached Pinefield Hut with plenty of up and down between here and there. Tim would have to make up his mind in the next two miles to either get off the trail or stick it out for the whole day. If he made it to Pinefield Hut, there was another road crossing just on the other side he could use as an exit the next morning.

We decided to press on but by the time we reached Brown Gap at about 10:00, Tim had made up his mind: he had decided to get out. Since my car was parked at Swift Run Gap, Clyde and I could conceivably continue on without Tim. This is exactly what Tim wanted us to do. We shucked our packs and sat down at the picnic table to formulate our plan. We decided we'd try to reach Beverly and see if she would shuttle Tim down to his car in Waynesboro. I got out my cell phone, which I had reluctantly packed against an even more dire emergency than this, but couldn't get a signal. I decided I'd try it from a higher vantage point and headed up the trail to the nearest high point while Clyde helped Tim divide his gear and community food into two piles for us to transfer to our packs. After a climb that I was sure would improve my chances, I still couldn't get a signal. We decided to try our luck with passers by, to see if anyone had a phone that could get through or to see if someone would be willing to drive Tim themselves. While we waited we went over the gear transfer several times. We decided to take Tim's collapsible Sven saw, a smaller version of the one I have (I could never find mine at the house in Alexandria and could not remember whether I'd moved it from Madison. Tim had pleasantly surprised us in Waynesboro when we told him we didn't have a saw and he said he had one.), his "raw water" bag, salt and pepper shaker, and all the community food he was carrying. He offered us our choice of all the rest of the food he had. I took the entire bag of energy bars as well as the unopened bags of dried fruit and the "blue stuff". The few vehicles that came by were all headed in the wrong direction and none of them that we flagged down were willing to turn around. One fellow let Tim use his phone though and he called Beverly. Clyde and I looked at each other as we listened to Tim talking to what we assumed was Bev's answering machine. "That's bad," I said. "Yeah," nodded Clyde. Before we could stop him, he wound up his message and thanked the driver, who left. Tim had told Bev's machine who he was and where he was but not what time it was. Tim said he was sure the machine was a digital machine and that it would automatically timestamp the message. Still, there was no way for Tim to be absolutely certain that Bev would be able or willing to come get him today. Also, if he decided that she was not coming, there was no way for him to let her know that he had left, not until he reached another phone. I formed a picture in my head of Bev coming in from shopping, getting the message, driving up to Brown Gap and finding an empty picnic table even as Tim left another message on her machine from the lobby of the Inn at Afton, telling her that he'd found another ride so she needn't come get him. We decided that he should leave Bev a note if he left the gap and I left him with a pencil and a few sheets from my memo book. I also left him Bev's phone number and my home number in Alexandria, with instructions to call our wives and give them an update once he reached civilization. After making the transfer of gear and food, Tim assurred us that he would be fine and encouraged us to get going lest we not make the shelter before dark. At 10:50, we reluctantly left him at Brown Gap. Now Clyde and I were really determined to take short breaks. We had decided we would allow ourselves no more than fifteen minutes for lunch and stopped at noon to take that just north of the Doyle's River Cabin trail. I told Clyde that, after seeing so many garbage cans, I had come up with an idea inspired by NASA astronauts. If we packed our dry trash separately from our wet trash, we could lighten our load any time we came near a trash can, and still have some tinder left for fires at the end of the day. (It is well known among backpackers that paper oatmeal envelopes make fantastic tinder. I don't think space shuttle astronauts use oatmeal paper for tinder, or even light fires on board, but they do separate their dry and wet trash.) Plus, we would avoid the possibility of contaminating the tinder with moisture and also get rid of any "aromatic" trash (here I was still thinking of the honey containers) that might be especially attractive to bears. I checked my phone often for a signal but couldn't seem to find one. We passed a connecting trail that would have taken us to the Loft Mountain amphitheater and, a little later, found ourselves at the foot of a steep trail with a building at the top. The trail was marked with a sign that featured an arrow and the words "Camp Store." We dropped our packs, pulled out our wallets, and began walking the trail, hoping mainly to find a phone and check on Tim. The store was closed for the season and there was no phone. There were vending machines in a breezeway, but the Tom's snack machine was empty and the soda machines had "out of order" signs taped on them. I assumed that the ATM machine was out of service, too, although it didn't bear any explicit marks. We headed back down, repacked our wallets, threw on our packs and began the long uphill walk to the summit of Loft Mountain.

About 1415, while looking down at the trail, I spotted some kind of fruit on the ground. Looking up, I could see that it had fallen from a tree that was laden with more of the same kind of thing. They looked like big crabapples. Or really small apples. I picked up the fruit that I had seen first. Evidently it had fallen and one side had been squashed and was now torn and soft. I took an experimental bite out of the firm side and chewed thoughtfully. Clyde asked, "How is it?" It was good. Quite good. I tore off some of the firm half and offered it to him. He agreed. I half-jokingly suggested that he shake the tree and get us some more. He obliged and we each stuck a couple of apples in our pockets and I continued to munch on what was left of the first one.

As we continued up the trail, I soon finished my apple and tossed the core off to the side of the trail. Then I stopped and turned around. I had just done a mental survey of the "baking supplies" in my pack. I looked at Clyde earnestly. "You know," I began, "some of those apples would sure taste good baked with some brown sugar." Clyde had stopped, too, and he returned my earnest look. I could hear the little gears in his Ph.D. head turning at maximum rpm. They were starting to click together so fast it became a sustained whine. "Yeah," he said, "they would. Or fried in some butter." That was it. I was already taking my pack off again. We stepped pretty lively back down the trail about a hundred yards or so and I climbed up on top of the boulder that rested against the trunk of a tree just beside the apple tree. From here I could reach several of the fruits and picked the biggest, best looking ones. I handed my ballcap down to Clyde and then handed him all the fruit I had just picked and turned around to continue. Sure enough, some of the best specimens were out of my reach. Clyde found a long, forked stick and pushed some of the better ones to me as I chose them. "That one, and that one," I'd say, and he'd push them over to me. Leaning out precariously, I'd pick them and pass them down. After we'd exhausted all the ones we thought we could reach in this manner, he knocked a few more down just for good measure. We had a heaping capful when we were finished. I volunteered to carry them and, lacking anything better in which to carry them, I put them in the big ziplock bag with the dry trash (no contaminants; hooray!). Even with the added mass in my pack, I walked with a little bit lighter step in anticipation of the fried apples.

About 14:30, we reached a point of view through the trees on the summit of Loft Mountain. It provided a marvelous view down into the valley west of the mountain, despite the still-overcast skies. No cellular signal to be had. This was really frustrating me. At 1455, on the other side of Loft Mountain, we reached another good viewpoint. Finally, I found a signal. It was strong. I pulled out my memo book, looked up Bev's number and dialed. I got her machine. I left her a message with my name, the date and time, and asked her if she would please leave a message on my NASA HQ voicemail telling me how the situation with Tim had been resolved. I barely got all the information out before I ran out of time allowed by Bev's machine. I didn't know what else to do at this point. I shrugged at Clyde, we assured ourselves that Tim was a big boy and could take care of himself, and we pressed on.

At 15:30, we took a break at the Ivy Creek crossing. I finished off the orange Gatorade that I'd made from Clyde's supply and had some trail mix. This had been a long day and we were getting tired. Plus, we had run late and it would be getting dark soon. We were only a little more than an hour and a half from sunset. As we made our way along, only one ascent and then the final descent down to the Pinefield Hut remained. Here, the trail, which had been hard and rocky all day, gave way to green grass with a thick covering of pine needles. We were suddenly out from the bare trees and back in the shelter of a pine thicket. This change of landscape gave more than just a warm, fuzzy feeling inside - it also gave my feet some comfort. Even as the sun dropped down below the clouds on the western horizon, we felt a few drops of rain. It was only a light sprinkle, but the forecast had suggested rain tonight. We were really hoofing it, now, intent on beating not just the darkness, but any real rain that might come down, to the shelter. As we began down the final descent, the treetops that were above us and directly ahead framed a beautiful half rainbow and its slightly dimmer twin. I told Clyde we'd find the shelter at the end of the rainbow. "And a pot of food," he replied. At 17:15, we arrived at the Pinefield Hut. We found it already occupied by a couple of other guys who looked as if they hadn't been there long. They invited us to join them and "take the bottom bunk." By backcountry tradition, as well as SNP rules, occupancy at shelters is first-come, first-served. We thanked them for the invitation and introduced ourselves to "Backwards Bob" and Chuck. Chuck was about our age, maybe a little younger and Bob was older, a grandfather, he said, but maybe even a little older than our dads. Bob told us that he had section-hiked the whole of the AT. He saw our AU caps and said, "That's a land grant college, right?" Yes, we told him. "I'm a Hokie, myself," he continued, "but I always pull for all the land grant schools. That's where a fella can go to get an education." We had never looked at things quite this way but couldn't argue with his logic.

Bob asked us if we had seen any bears. No, we told him. He looked skyward and said that, with the rain and our having not seen bears, he would take his chances hanging his food from the ceiling of our shelter, rather than hanging it on the bear tree and guaranteeing that it would get wet. He rigged a "mouse bag" and hung it from a nail in one of the beams. The mouse bag is a familiar sight to anyone who has overnighted in a backcountry shelter. Shelters, mostly due to occupants who don't keep them clean enough, attract mice, who usually set up permanent residence. In fact, in addition to hauling our food up the bear tree each night, we had been careful to leave our pack bag pocket zippers at half-mast. This is to allow a mouse, who may smell the aroma of food that is no longer present in your pack bag, to enter, ascertain that there is no food, then leave. In this way, we save the mouse the inconvenience of chewing through the fabric and we spare ourselves the outrage of having a hole chewed through our pack. And there had certainly been mice in our shelters. One had run across Clyde's head as he lay in his sleeping bag on the first night. However unnerving this is to a backpacker, once the disgust begins to subside, his next thought is always, invariably, "Did I remember to open my zippers?" But let's get back to the mouse bag: this is usually a two or three foot length of cord, hung from a nail on the ceiling. Midway down the cord, a knot supports an inverted, empty steel can or other similarly shaped device with a hole punched in the center of its bottom. This obstruction prevents the mouse from climbing down to your food, which is in the bag, usually hanging from a small stick toggle around which the bottom end of the cord is tied. Watching Bob hang his bag, I thought about the fact that we did not have any kind of can. Then I remembered my busted supper dish and realized we had all that we needed.

For all Bob's experience, Chuck was from the other end of the spectrum, on his first backcountry trip. Bob told us this and lots of other stuff in a running commentary that almost didn't let us get away to the spring to draw our water before dark. It was dark by the time Clyde relieved me. I had in fact only filled up the raw water bag and left him to do the pumping. We had decided that we probably wouldn't need a lot of water tonight so there was less pumping, anyway. When we returned, Bob was already tucked in to his sleeping bag, despite the early hour.

Clyde worked admirably hard, making our supper and dessert by himself while I strove to get some too-green wood going in the fire pit with Chuck's assistance. Amazingly, I found a discarded AA battery in the fire pit. Not satisfied to merely litter, some knucklehead had tossed in a potentially explosive bit of trash. I put it with our wet trash. While we worked, I asked Chuck what he did when he wasn't on the trail. He turned instantly from a quiet, backcountry novice, to a talkative, furniture factory, computer numeric control (CNC) expert. He worked at a plant in North Carolina that made composite wood office furniture. Chuck programmed the machines that worked the wood. He and Clyde found some common work elements to talk about and I soon found myself on the outside of this conversation but nonetheless glad that Chuck had found something to talk about. It has always seemed to me that spending time with people was one of the best parts of going in to the backcountry. Stripping away the elements of society and modern living that serve as barriers really facilitates getting to know each other better. In our circle of backpacking friends, we certainly had put that into practice. Meeting new people on the trail was just as much an important experience, in my mind. During the course of the conversation, the fire got going as well as it was going to and Chuck moved from the fire pit to his bunk. He sat perched there until supper was ready and then he lay down in his bag while Clyde and I ate.

We had chosen a Lipton meal, "garlic and olive oil pasta noodles" at the Safeway over some of the other choices and we had two packages. Clyde decided that one would be enough for just us two as Bob and Chuck had declined to join us. The noodles turned out to be pretty good. I may have liked them more than Clyde, who offered that we seemed to have had the "sucky meal last." When Chuck saw me about to slice a bagel in half, he helpfully offered a serrated blade. I told him I didn't need one but he had already pulled out his Wave multi-tool, made by Leatherman. Gearheads that we are, Clyde and I were more than willing to take Chuck up on his offer to admire his equipment. The tool was pretty neat. It's mostly an improved version of the original Leatherman tool with some added features.

We never had a really great fire and the sky continued its light drizzle all evening. I also spent a few minutes getting our own mouse bag prepared. I dug out the busted supper dish and augered out a nice, round hole in the bottom with the awl from my camp knife. Then I chose one of the shortest cords from my supply (have you figured out by now, gentle reader, that almost every backcountry challenge is met with paracord?), tied a bowline on one end, then a figure-eight knot, ran the free end through the dish and tied another bowline. By this time, Chuck had already bedded down too, so my challenge was to climb up on the bunk near enough to the best available nail and hang the line without disturbing him too much. This done, I snapped one of my carabiners onto the loop of the lower bowline. When our bags were ready, we could simply snap then onto the 'biner.

Bob and Chuck had also turned down our offer of a cocktail and, most astoundingly of all, didn't want any of Clyde's fried apples. The apples were the master chef's crowning achievement of this expedition. I think they tasted all the better for having been picked on the side of the trail and lovingly lugged over Loft Mountain and then some. In fact there were so many, that we only used half of them. This was definitely not the sucky dessert. We had decided to make the cheesecake pudding anyway but, in the face of the apples, didn't really make a big effort to eat it. We decided to save it for tomorrow, and Clyde suggested we consider a cold breakfast anyway, in hopes of beating our time out of camp from this morning. Clyde also did the lion's share of the cleanup after supper. What a trooper.

The rain had stopped, so I asked Clyde if he would help me move the picnic table out from under the shelter, over a few feet closer to the fire pit. We sat on the bench seat, staring into the coals, occasionally adjusting them with the "gepokeling stick." We decided that we'd best finish off the whiskey since we had always maintained a tradition of not packing any out with us at the end of the trip. Plus, we still had 11.7 miles to do tomorrow and we needed to lighten the load as much as possible. I had brought along a total of three distinct excerpts from Bryson's book, one of which remained, but decided not to disturb our sheltermates with a reading tonight. We simply sat by the fire, talking quietly, occasionally checking the clouds to see how, backlit by the moon, their appearance had changed. While we sat, we heard some rustling off to our right. We looked over to see a large doe at the edge of our camp. We shone our lights on her and her eyes reflected our beams. She foraged, not in a particular hurry, until she was done and then quietly walked away. We also caught sight of another visitor to our camp: a mouse. I saw him on the low, stone foundation of the hut where it projects out from underneath the side wall to make a shelf, bench, or table, depending on your need. When I shone my light on him, he scurried quickly around the side of the shelter and behind. I followed him but never saw him again. It was starting to look like the mouse bag was going to be more necessary than the bear bag. After brushing our teeth and packing the mouse bag, we turned in. As Clyde started up his chainsaw, I wondered if Tim would be sleeping in his own bed tonight. He had intended to drive all the way home once he made it to his car. I hoped that, wherever he was, he was safe and warm.

Total day three miles walked (including connecting trails): 13.5
Average speed for day three: 1.48mph

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Expedition Day 4 (Tuesday)
The alarm woke me again at 05:30 hours. With sheltermates who had said they would probably sleep in, I tried to be quiet as I moved about in the shelter. Cold breakfast or not, I was going to have some coffee. I retrieved our mouse bag and poured a small pot of water for coffee for myself and tea for Clyde and started my stove. By now, I had learned to stuff the butter, honey, and even liquid soap into my pullover to warm them with my body heat. Even though the thermometer only showed it to be 45°F this morning, the soap still didn't pour from its bottle without this extra help. Clyde arose, we sipped our hot drinks and munched our cold breakfast, each made a trip to the privy, then we washed our hands and our dishes and started packing our gear. As daylight slowly poured into our still overcast valley, Clyde pulled out the first aid kit and spent some serious time and effort on blister management. He had some pretty serious surface area on both feet where the topmost layer of skin was irritated, swollen, or completely gone. While we were packing, Chuck used the opportunity to show off some more neat gear. He had some plastic bags that self-sealed airtight so you could put your clothes in them (flat), roll up the bags to press the air out, then either leave them rolled, or unroll them to pack the whole bag flat. He said he'd gotten them from walkabouttravelgear.com. In the packing process, Clyde agreed to carry the remaining apples and I took back my water filter, which he'd carried for almost all of the trip up until now.

Despite our early rising and intention to dust off early, Backwards Bob and CNC Chuck left Pinefield Hut before us. We finally hit the trail at 08:17. I was beginning to feel a tightness in my left Achilles' tendon that I hoped would loosen up after some walking. Also, I was feeling a bit galled from all the walking, despite using my hand cream as "grundle grease." Still, I consoled myself, Clyde had to be just miserable from his blisters and he was like the Energizer bunny, still going. He said he was galled, too. I thought I had solved this problem this year with my nylon pants and fancy, synthetic boxer briefs. The previous year, I had chosen some cotton shorts as a last resort and at the last minute, after it had become clear that it would be too warm for long pants. Those old camouflaged fatigue cut-offs had absorbed all the sweat from my body, including any salt and whatever other minerals and electrolytes you replace when you drink Gatorade. These deposits on my thighs and the in the crotch of my shorts had rubbed me pretty raw on that trip. Now that I had gotten away from cotton, I suspected that the real problem was no longer the material but that I simply hadn't cleaned away the perspiration and accumulated dirt from the previous days. I made a mental note to develop a good method for a camp sponge bath, at least to include "moving parts." If washing one's face and hair were luxuries, this type of maintenance should probably be more regarded as a necessity. I had changed into fresh boxer briefs and liner socks that morning but whatever good they were doing went unnoticed.

A little way down the trail, I finally had a chance to do the "I-almost-stepped-on-a-snake" dance. Despite the cloudy start, the late morning was beginning to clear and the sun was shining. I was walking in front and going downhill. I had a pretty good momentum built up and didn't see this little fellow, considerably better camouflaged than the bright green snake we'd seen on day one, until my foot was about to come off the ground and chart a course for his back. It's funny enough to watch an unencumbered human perform an instant retreat. It's really comical, along the lines of the Marx Brothers or the Three Stooges, to watch a human with forty or so pounds on his back try to change direction this fast. I cartwheeled my arms and tried to control my balance despite the almost instant shift in my center of gravity that came from applying the brakes so quickly (my boot soles literally skidded on the trail). I can't remember now exactly what kind of noise came out of my mouth but I'm sure that was humorous, too. From a safe distance behind, Clyde had a good view of my little dance and knew exactly what lay on the trail in front of me. The "I-almost-stepped-on-a-snake" dance is known the world over. I managed to stay upright and regained my balance without ever coming close to stepping on the serpent. Clyde caught up to me and we tried to determine if it was venomous or not. We decided not, and Clyde used a stick from the trailside to gently nudge the snake off to side of the narrow trail.

At 09:30, we found ourselves at Simmons Gap. We were determined to keep our breaks short today, too, so we only paused for a moment to eat and drink. I pulled out another one of Tim's energy bars and we crossed Skyline Drive and pushed on. At 11:00, we took our lunch break at a spot on the trail that was neither wide nor particularly level but did afford some fallen logs on which to sit. Here I asked Clyde for the first aid kid and applied one of our new Spenco Second-skin blister guards to my heel. I had been developing a hot spot on my left foot but I seemed to have caught it in time to prevent a full-fledged blister. We ate lunch and in fact I finished off every bit of the food that I had brought to eat for lunch. All I had left was some trail mix, the leftover cheesecake pudding, and the food I had taken from Tim. I also drank my "blue stuff" Gatorade down to the 250ml level.

My notes don't reflect which it was, but around 13:00, we stopped at either Powell Gap or Smith Roach Gap and sat down on Skyline Drive's short stone wall to have a snack and a look at the map. The cheesecake pudding, now thoroughly uncongealed, held the promise of lots of calories, so I chewed a hole in one of the bag's bottom corners and drank the contents. I felt a bit mouse-like, chewing the hole. Can we agree to call it caveman technology?

Thinking about it some more, we must have been at Smith Roach Gap because in my memory we were about to begin our ascent to the Hightop summit. I think the signpost on the Hightop side of the drive at that crossing gave the mileage to Hightop. I don't remember what it was but I remember feeling that we were close. I finished off the blue stuff and moved another of Tim's energy bars from my pack into my shorts pocket. I had put on my pullover against the wind for the break but now that we were about to be moving again, I packed this away and got back down to my shorts and thermax T-shirt. The sun was shining brightly now with only the occasional cloud to block it out and I was warm enough once we were under way. This was the biggest, toughest ascent we would make on this trip, or at least it felt like it. Hightop would be, at 3587ft., the highest point on our walk. On the way up to Hightop, I rounded a bend to some rustling noises and looked above me on the slope to see a buck. He surprised me by not only not bolting away but by, after staring at me briefly, only moving slightly away and continuing to feed. I waited for Clyde to round the bend and we walked along the trail with the buck walking alongside and slightly above us, foraging for nuts and whatever other goodies deer like. We walked side by side like this for quite a way before he found something so good that he wasn't willing to come any further and remained in place, munching. After we'd been hiking for enough time that I was sure we must be at the summit, I came upon a signpost that marked the summit as still being half a mile away. This was discouraging. The walking had been difficult and slow and I had felt certain that I was closer. I pressed ahead and walked one of the slowest half miles in my life. Eventually, I came to a sign that pointed off the trail toward the west to a rocky outcropping that was a viewpoint from the broad summit of Hightop Mountain. As I emerged from the trees and out onto the rocks, I was struck by how much colder it was in the wind. I immediately zipped on my pants legs and threw on my pullover. I put on my fleece hat and pulled on my glove liners. Then, I got out the rest of my Gatorade and my bag of trail mix. I was going to get in some more calories while I waited for Clyde and enjoyed the view. No sooner had I sat down than I realized I wasn't going to be warm enough in the fierce wind. I got back up, went over to my pack and pulled out my rain jacket for the first time on the entire trip. That kept the wind enough at bay for me to sit down and enjoy the view while I snacked and drank. Clyde was only about ten minutes behind me. He slipped off his pack and put on much of the same layers, including his rain jacket. He pulled out some food and we discussed the view. It was phenomenal. It was the real payoff for the entire trip. Here we were, maybe a couple of hours from the end of a four-day trip and this was the moment that brought home to us why it was worthwhile. We were able to see, for those few moments, a view that few people would ever see and even fewer would be willing to walk all those miles to enjoy. It's true that you can get to Hightop summit without walking forty miles. You can drive up to the trail from Skyline drive or another forest road and not carry a heavy pack. But I think we appreciated the summit all the more for what it had taken us to get there.

It's well-known among my hiking buddies that I hate litter and despise the practice of littering. They see me bend down to pick stuff up off the trail all the time. I've seen them do the same and we always make a habit of doing a final "sweep" of our campsite before we leave to pick up not only our own trash but any that had been left before as well. I like to think that most hikers and backpackers feel the same way and also make a practice of leaving the trail and their campsite cleaner than they found it. That being said, I enjoyed the irony when I picked up this little piece of trash on the trail.

At 1615, we stepped out of the woods for the final time and onto pavement. We emerged out of the trees within sight of the Swift Run Gap entry station and could clearly see my car from where we were. After crossing a bridge on Skyline Drive that took us over US 33, we were only a few dozen yards away from my car. I saw a figure then, walking alongside the line of parked cars, who seemed to be coming to meet us. It was a man who was wearing a dark green rain suit. I wondered if it was ranger but it didn't fit that he wasn't wearing the customary uniform hat. Then, I recognized the figure. It was Tim! "That's Tim!" I said out loud. Clyde looked and he couldn't seem to believe it either. It didn't make sense that he was here and our minds weren't able to fill in the explanation very quickly. Tim being here must mean that there was some kind of problem. My mind reeled trying to work out different scenarios that would put him here. I hoped that he hadn't spent the night at Brown Gap.

Tim greeted us warmly and, as we all shook hands, he assured us that he was okay. He told us he had quite a story to tell us but we were all eager to get going so we agreed that he could tell us on the way to Waynesboro. I walked down to check in with Carol, the ranger who was manning the entry station. She said she was about to close up shop for the day but, before she did, we could use the station's restroom. An angel of mercy! We all took turns in the restroom and then hung around for a few minutes inside the station's little office area chatting with Ranger Carol about our trip, the fire, and the best way to get from here to Waynesboro and then to DC. She told us it would be fine for us to drive south on Skyline to Waynesboro. We thanked her, went back outside and used the payphones to call Alexandria. Mary Jo answered the phone and told me that Kim had taken Sophie to the doctor after what had apparently been an allergic reaction (hives) to an antibiotic that she'd been taking since Saturday. Sophie had been fighting ear infection(s) for weeks now and we thought we had sensed something wrong with her on Friday night. My call to Kim on Saturday morning from the Inn at Afton had confirmed this and she had told me then that she had made an appointment for later that morning to see the doctors at INOVA's Manchester, VA office. I put Clyde on to talk to Mary Jo and we estimated our time to get home. He and I had thought we would change into our shoes, throw our gear in the car, get on US 33, and be back in Alexandria in 3 hours. With Tim here, we now first had to drive to Waynesboro and drop him off. I figured this might add as much as two hours. When we got back to my car, Tim pointed out that there was motor oil around the hood and grille and on the pavement underneath it. I popped the hood to take a look and found my hands covered with oil as I lifted the hood. The filler cap on the valve cover had evidently come loose and become completely unscrewed. Fortunately, it was resting on the engine only a few inches away from its home. I had changed the oil recently and could only figure that I must simply not have tightened the cap adequately. I immediately worried that I had lost a significant amount of oil on the trip here, or sometime since the oil change. I imagined the damage to my engine. I cursed the auto manufactures for skimping on gauges that gave the driver useful information. Idiot lights don't help the driver diagnose trouble; an oil pressure gauge would surely have shown me that the crankcase was vented. Or at least would have warned me if I had lost an appreciable amount of oil. I checked the dipstick and found that, despite the mess under the hood, the engine had not lost a significant amount of oil. I made sure the cap was screwed on tight this time and we set off.

On the way, Tim told us his story. Apparently, one of the drivers we'd flagged down who was going the wrong way and didn't have a phone had stopped to inform a ranger about Tim. Tim told us this led to his amazing transformation into an "injured, Caucasian, male hiker." The rangers dispatched Officer Busby (Tim calls her Michelle) of the park police to pick him up at Brown Gap. Apparently, it's park policy not to leave an injured hiker in the park (good thing they don't have the policy that everyone taken into custody must be handcuffed). Tim told us that his protestations about Bev being on her way to pick him up fell on deaf ears. Officer Busby told him they'd put in a call to her as soon as they reached a phone. It turned out later that Bev had come for Tim and found him already gone. He had forgotten to leave her a note and was pretty sore about that, later. Officer Busby was willing to drive Tim to nearby Elkton for lunch and later to drop him off at a hotel but was apparently unwilling to drive him all the way to Waynesboro. This may have been due to a manpower shortage caused by the large number of rangers and park personnel fighting the fire in the northern district. At any rate, Tim was finally able to contact Bev. He apologized profusely and offered to pay her the normal fee but she declined. He then set about trying to find alternate passage to Waynesboro but decided that the taxi service was too expensive. He may also have decided that, given the lateness of the hour, it made more sense to stay in Elkton and rest up, rather than hit the road for a twelve-hour drive after a day filled with so much excitement.

Consequently, he did spend the night in a hotel and had probably been lying in bed, sipping a Pepsi, munching on pork rinds and watching "Real Sex" on HBO while I was slithering into my sleeping bag the night before, hoping he'd made it out of the woods. As we drove, sunset was looming. We had seen a huge number of deer in the past few days but that number paled next to the amount we saw in our one hour of driving Skyline at dusk. Back on Saturday morning, Pat had commented that the deer come to the road to eat the grass along the shoulders. They were certainly doing it in droves this evening. We had the opportunity to see some more grouse on our drive, too. Someone brought up the fact that we hadn't seen a bear. Someone else said, "It's too bad we didn't see one." Clyde responded that, in a way, he was kind of glad he hadn't seen one. I remarked that what I would have liked was to have seen the bear and not have had the bear see me. Everyone seemed to agree that this would have been the best way to enjoy this particular element of wildlife. Only a few minutes later, as we were rounding a bend to the left, I caught sight on a clumsy-looking, black shape loping along just ahead of us in the left lane. It was going the same direction I was going, and almost as fast as the 35mph speed limit on Skyline. It was the very bear we had been discussing! I sped up a little to try to allow us a look before he got out of sight. As we came around the bend, the bear took to the side of the road and began climbing the steep slope upwards. I came alongside him and stopped in the road. The bear stopped his climb, partway up the slope to the ridge just above the road. We all stared at him, thrilled. Clyde said, "Open the sunroof." I pressed a button on the dash and the electric motor rolled the smoked glass back, giving him a little better view of the bear who was now looking down at us from his position on the slope. We sat there a moment staring at the bear, he staring back at us. We were all glad to be in the car at that moment. The bear was remarkable to behold. I had never seen one outside of a zoo before. I was amazed at just how black he was. His fur was the very color of darkness itself. We had seen large amounts of scat (same color as the bear, by the way) on the trail during the last few days which we were certain had come from bears. It was as if the bears considered the AT their own personal latrine. In the face of all this evidence, I had been a little surprised not to have seen any actual animals. The bears had been on my mind during the entire trip. Not so much a fear as an anticipation. Finally, moments away from the end of our trip, on a leg that I had thought we would not even travel until just moments before, we had seen the bear.

We drove the rest of the way to Waynesboro feeling just a bit more satisfied with our trip for having made this sighting. When we pulled into the Inn's parking lot, it was completely dark. We stepped out of the car and were once again stunned at the wind. Having taken off most of our layers for riding in the car, we were getting chilled in a hurry as we transferred Tim's gear to his car. We said hasty good-byes and I turned the car east for Charlottesville. Clyde and I agreed to seek a Burger King and satisfy that trail-induced yearning for "civilized" food with the best hamburger known on the planet: a Whopper. At the Burger King, I used a payphone to call Whitey, who sounded terrible. She had gotten sick, herself, and had almost no voice. I told her we were running later than we'd intended, we certainly wouldn't be home for supper and I gave her my latest estimated time of arrival. She said she didn't want to keep me on the phone long because she knew the longer we talked, the longer it would be before we got home. It definitely sounded like the weekend had not been as much fun for those who'd stayed home.

When we got home, the children were all nestled snug in their beds, no doubt with visions in their heads of their no-good, goof-off daddies coming home to relieve the mommies who were nearing the end of their respective ropes. Our wives hugged us, somewhat reluctantly. Not because they didn't love us or because they were mad at us but because we were offensive. Smelling. I mean, we smelled bad. When you smell as bad as we did, hugs are mainly for show. No one really wants to hug someone who smells that bad. I bet, had the other guy and his wife not been in the same room, either one of us, having come home alone, would have found waiting for him a clear path to the shower, perhaps with the water already running and steam permeating the bathroom air. So, the first order of business was to take a shower. Check that. The first order of business for Clyde was to peel off his shoes and socks and get down to blistered and skinned feet without screaming loud enough to wake the sleeping children. During his cleanup process, Clyde found a tick that had lodged itself into the flesh on the inside of his upper arm. There was a nasty little circle of white surrounding the tick's insertion point. And that was surrounded by another, slightly larger circle of red. I suggested antibiotic ointment and a bandage to keep it from getting rubbed off. I think we were all a little concerned about the tick since we didn't know how long it had been there and all knew about the nastiness of Lyme disease and other ailments sometimes contracted from tick bites. The deer tick was an especially well-known offender and we had seen enough deer to know there were likely to be more than a few of these buggers in the SNP.

We found, with some amusement, that the flowers Clyde and I had ordered for our wives from the Inn at Afton had arrived with a slightly altered message. The one I had carefully read to the foreign-born florist over the phone was, "Dear Hiking Widows and Orphans, Thanks for allowing us to come out and bond with the bears." However, the card that came with the flowers read, "Dear Hicking [sic] Widows and Orphans, Thanks for allowing us to come out and bound with the bears." Not only was it a little bit wrong, the handwriting made it additionally difficult to read. Kim and Mary Jo had initially thought it read, "sound with the beans." Clyde and I found this to be a very believable alternative.

Total day four miles walked (including connecting trails): 11.7
Average speed for day four: 1.46mph

Total trip miles walked (including connecting trails): 46
Average daily speed: 1.49mph

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The next day, Clyde made up the rest of our trail apples into a similar fried sauce. We varied the recipe a little by peeling them, cutting them into small cubes, adding some cinnamon and a little more water to get a saucier consistency. But mostly, they were done the same way. I fixed a double recipe of my favorite pancakes and we served the apples to our families over the pancakes. After this, our guests spent what was left of the morning packing. Then, we made a trip into Old Town to allow Clyde to hunt for some Birkenstocks at Montague & Sons. He had told me during our last day on the trail that he wanted to get some. I knew exactly what he was talking about. After coming off last year's walk, I had worn my own pair as often as I could whenever shoes were called for (hey, in Alabama, you can get by going barefoot pretty often). They have the advantage of not touching any part of your heel above the sole. Which was pretty much everywhere my blisters had been last year and Clyde's were this year. The LTC suffered one final trail malady in the shoe store: young Katie fell into a store display and hit the middle of her forehead on the edge of a vertical glass shelf support. She got a pretty good bruise and the skin was broken, too, so it bled a little. We had time to go back to our house for some first aid, which included a bright green, circular bandage, and then had to see our guests off for their drive to Baltimore-Washington International airport.

Lessons Learned Summary
Here is a top ten list of some lessons learned that occurred to me while writing this trip report

Top Ten Lessons Learned on the LTC 2000 SNP Trip
10. Take enough food. Or at least make sure Tim brings some for you. And repackage everything in brand name zipper bags prior to the walk
  9. Don't just say, "Somebody bring a camera." Bring one!
  8. You haven't really weighed your pack if you've weighed it pre-cheese.
  7. Zip-off pants legs are great.
  6. Synthetic underwear is even better.
  5. But make provisions to wash your grundles every day, whether they need it or not.
  4. If you don't, Neutrogena Norwegian Formula hand cream works great on more than just hands!
  3. Don't forget to put new, fresh batteries in your flashlight before you go. AND take a spare pair.
  2. Since you've remembered to bring spare batteries, you can use your light to take your food bag down from the bear tree. Moonlight is for more romantic pursuits.
  1. Always carry butter and brown sugar; you never know when you'll happen by an apple tree. Hmm, maybe I should pack some cinnamon and nutmeg next year.

Action figures
When Kim and I wed in 1995, we had two cakes at our reception: the traditional bride's cake, and the increasingly popular, thematic groom's cake. We had decided that my most-enjoyed, hobby-type activity was backpacking and chosen that as the theme of the groom's cake. My cake was made in the shape of a "mountain," with brown, chocolate icing and featured a trail, along which a plastic action figure, complete with backpack, was walking. My imagination ran away with me the other day and I came up with the following idea: if we were to make action figures to represent us on this trip, the ad copy would probably read something like this...

• Robo-Spanky - with kung fu "pudding patrol" grip and "bum knee" limping action.
• Grouchy Grundles - with bow-legged walk; pull the string and hear him say, "Man, that really galls me!"
• Uncle Blister - with tenderfoot, realistic "blisterlimp" movement, and real moleskin.

Epilogue
I began writing this report about two weeks after coming off the trail. By that time, I'd nearly forgotten about the "injury tally" which I'll provide here, as well as I know it, simply for my own archival purposes. I feel certain that I came away from this particular hike with the least severe complaints. My Achilles' tendon felt tight and I assume it was inflamed. It continued to be irritated whenever I walked, especially by shoes with a higher collar, for almost the entire two weeks following our trip. The "ground-down grundles syndrome" was greatly relieved by a shower and a fresh change of underwear but the results were evident for several days following the trip. I discovered when I got home that two other places that I'd felt were receiving some wear on the trail needed a little attention: I had lightly skinned the top of the middle toe on my right foot, simply from all the walking in boots that were getting awfully close to being broken in; and I found that my watch, which had been on my wrist for probably 96 hours straight, had rubbed a large, painful, $17 blister on the knobby, outer bone of my left wrist. All told, these complaints weren't too bad and as I write this, they are almost a faint memory. I have not yet heard how Clyde's feet are faring but I can guess, since my blister experience from last year, while not as extensive, was of a similar nature. He's probably able to wear something other than his new Birkenstocks by now but, since he's a Ph.D., why would he want to? Nor have I heard anything new on the tick bite, but Mary Jo recently assured Kim that, if they need it, the tick is in the freezer (scientists!). As for Tim, he has informed me that he has been seen by his family doctor and his "medical mystery tour" is ongoing. I hope the coming year will find everyone fully recovered and having forgotten their pains well enough to want to go on another trip next fall.

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Mark "Grouchy Grundles"
From the LTC outpost in Alexandria, VA
December 1, 2000

  LTC | Trips

Originally posted on Dec. 18, 2000.
Proofed, edited, and nitpicked ever since.
Sound file added 12/27/00.