Damascus, VA: Pit Stop #2 (459.5 miles)

   Wow! How the times flies by! It has been more than a month since I have been able to update. As you can imagine, computers with internet come few and far between. I have so much to say, so let me start 4 weeks ago, just before I went into North Carolina.
    I left Hiawasee in the morning after a large breakfast of eggs, hash browns, and a half-dozen pancakes topped with the farms own home-made blueberry syrup. I resupplied out of Hiawasee with 3 days of food- 2 dinners, and 3 breakfasts + lunches- to take me all the way to Franklin, NC. The trail took a much different character as soon as I crossed the GA/NC line. I was met with 2 consecutive 750 ft 30% grade climbs. Grade is the angle the trail is inclined, so the higher the percent, the steeper. And usually on the trail, in order to alleviate hellish climbs, the trail maintainers will create switch backs. Switch backs trade off steepness for length. Rather than climbing straight up a ridge for .5 miles, you can make a switchback zig-zaging up the mountain to make a 1 mile climb. The good folks in North Carolina will have nothing of those, so I just climbed straight up. But once that was over, the trail eased out on top of the ridgeline. I was privilidge to watch the "Super Moon" rise on top of Standing Indian Mountain- along with a fire and a long poem recited by a hiker named Cheap Chardonnay that begun, "Strange things have been done, beneath the midnight sun..."
   The hiked big days into Franklin, an 18 mile day and then a 19 mile, because the trail leveled out to some extent and the terrain was easy. Not much to note of Franklin. I hitched a ride into town with a woman from New York City who drove down to North Carolina for therapeutic breathing classes. I resupplied for another 3 days to get me to Fontana Dam- the gateway to the Smokies. Although the ride in and out of town was long, I still was able to hike 15 miles that day to Wayah Bald. There I had my first experience with cowboy camping. On clear nights, when you know it will not rain, one can sleep out in the open. I slept in the grass in the cold win, with my sleeping bag head completely cinched, leaving on my eyes and nose poking out into the world to feast my eyes upon the rich starry sky.
  The next day took me less than half of mile before the NOC (Nantahala Outdoor Center). I decided to take a nero (near-zero) into there and spend the night in the bunk. I am glad I did because that night there were was a tornado down in the valley! I spent the day relaxing down by the river, watching kayakers paddle, and caught up on my journal.
   The next night was a tremendous 7 mile up hill back up the mountains. I must attribute my success to the half-dozen hard boiled eggs that I brought along with me. That night I tented further down the trail and woke up to snow!
    THE GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS NATIONAL PARK
   The park was easily the creme de la creme of the southern Appalachians. The trail spends most of the time upwards of 5,000 ft- peaking at 6400 at Clingman's Dome. I trail became far more strenuous with bigger climbs, harsher weather, and slippery terrain. I hiked out on my 5th day, and 4 of those days were rain. The hikers a week before got snow, and the hikers a week after got snow as well. I was on a off week. But despite the grim conditions, the Smokies are the last untouched forests in the South East. I spotted two white tail doe in the first 5 miles of the park. And since they do not allow hunting, the doe have no fear of humans. On my third day, I saw a lone coyote slinking his way back into the woods. The third day is the day there was no rain, and it made up for everything. The ridge walks had long long views. I could watch the thick clouds amble on through the valleys and engulf the lower peaks. (I will have pictures up hopefully tomorrow!)
   I must mention Gatlinburg. Imagine the Ocean City boardwalk: the Ripley tourist trap, mini-golf, airbrushed t-shirts, fudge and funnel cake. Now put that in a country town with the sublime backdrop of the Smoky Mountains. I only spent a few hours there getting food. It made me miss home.

NORTH CAROLINA/ TENNESSEE
  All good things must come to an end. I descended back into the regular state parks at meager elevations of 2,000 to 3,000. But it also meant that Hot Springs would be only 3 days away; the famous Hot Springs home of the therapeutic spa and baths- a shining beacon of light and hope after the weary hiking in the Smokies. But before I could get there, I was hit by the surprise April Fools' Snowstorm. On the 31st, I walked over Max Patch, in good weather is one of thru-hikers' favorite spots on the trail. But when I went over it, the weather did not let me see farther than 20 feet with a harsh wintery mix stinging my face with gusts of 40 mph. And the next morning there was 3 inches of snow, and a chilling cold. Snow makes for slow hiking because the ground is very slippery and the trail is harder to locate if there are not well blazed sections. But I managed to trudge through the snow to Hot Springs. The baths were stellar and cheap.
   But only 2 days after leaving Hot Springs, there was another snow storm! That day put me over Big Bald. I swear I felt like I was walking on the planet Hoth. The wind was so strong I could lean into it. But after building a big fire, I warmed up a bit. I resupplied in Erwin, TN off of extra food other hikers left behind in commons we call Hiker Boxes. Think of a Take a Penny- Leave a Penny, except with ramen noodles and instant mash potatoes. After leaving Erwin, I summited Roan Moutain- the last mountain over 6000 until I reach New Hampshire- a sweat pouring, exhausting climb.
  After a stroll over long, beautiful balds south of Roan, I stopped in at the famous Kincora $4 hostel, run by the illustrious Bob Peoples. He is a trail legend, known for his dedication to the trail as a maintainer, and his annual Hard Core Maintenance Crew who have, in the past, put up shelters in a day and a half. He is a good man. I curled up in a chair with a blanket by a wood stove for some hours.
  Following Kincora is a 50 miles section of trail known as the "Tennessee Super Highway". It is 50 miles of flat, gentle, ridge line walking straight into Damascus, VA. I did 17 miles the first day, but yesterday, I could not hold back and I walked the full 33 miles into town. I saw my first bear last night too! I was only 1.5 miles outside of town, and the sun had just set over the mountains, but there was still enough atmospheric light and light from the room to see. I heard a grunt and looked ahead of me. I saw 2 glowing eyes about 25 feet away from me, and a big silver body. The bear, once he saw me, galloped into the woods to the right with heavy steps. I did not have my headlamp on neck, so I just started to sing "Swing Low Sweet Chariot" as loud as I could, while I ran my butt into town. And now I am here. 3 states down, only 11 more to go!


I send my love to my friends and family back home. I will be in Damascus today and tomorrow. There is supposed to be an awful storm with 70 mph winds coming in tonight. So give me a call! If you don't have my number it is 443 614 2397. Love you!

First Pit Stop: Hiawasee, GA

Howdy there! I am writing this in the Hiaswasee Public Library in beautiful Georgia. The south seems to have been affected by an unseasonable warm streak. 84 degrees at the end of winter! I warmth makes for comfortable hiking. Although, since the leaves have not come in yet, the sun shines right through the tree. I caught myself a little sun burn on my lips and nose. It is my 5th day of hiking. I took a 5 mile nero (that is a near-zero; a zero day is when you do not hike at all) from Adiss Gap on the outskirts of the Tray Mountain Wilderness, up 1000ft in 1 mile, and down into Dicks Creek Gap. Then, hitchhiked 3.5 miles down the road to the Blueberry Patch Hiker Hostel-- a donation based hostel run by a christian husband and wife-- with showers, laundry, bunks, and a beautiful view into the country framed by the tall blueberry bushes, goats, and burros.
My hike started on Monday morning after a 12 hour Amtrak train ride from DC to Gainesville. I met my shuttle at 7 am in the morning outside the train station. His name was Eric and he hiked the AT in '04. He was a nomadic sort of guy, living out of his van. Every year around hiker season(mid-march to mid-april) he would come out to Georgia and give some hikers a lift. It was a 2 hour drive to Springer mountain. I started hiking at about 9. I made it up to the top of Springer and signed my name in the first trail log. Springer is the southern extreme of the AT, and for north-bound hikers such as myself, the beginning of the trail. It was cold and the morning fog had yet to be burned off by the sun. That first day I hiked 15 miles, staying at the Gouch Mtn Shelter. The shelter was crowed (of course) so I set up tent near-by. It started to rain in the middle of the night. I woke in the morning to find the bottom half of my sleeping bag wet. I had set up my tent in what had become in the middle of the night a puddle. So the water seeped through the bottom lining and soaked my sleeping bad and everything else on my bottom tarp. I now had an incentive of necessity to get to the Mountain Crossing at Walasi-Yi because they had a dryer. The reason for my rush is that if a down bag stays wet too long, it clumps together and looses all its insulating function. It had continued to rain all that night and well into the day. I was hiking faster than I normally would, robbed by all the vistas by the thick fog and rain. That day put me over Blood Mountain, an old site of a bloody battle said to have made the ground run red. But I made it to the dryers and just in time too, because that evening a church group was serving a free dinner. Lasagna, vegetables, and quite possibly the best pecan pie I will every have, seeing that it was made by a gentle, church-going southern mother.
Since the rain, the past 2 days have been warm and easy. Wednesday was 17 miles, and Thursday was 13 respectably, evening out to my 15 mile avg.
I have not seen any animals larger than a squirrel. I saw few field mice, chipmunks, warblers. It sounds sometimes like there are the nocturnal critters outside my tent, opossum and raccoon, but I do not trust my ears enough to discern them from the sounds of the wind against the leaves.
Believe it or not, I do not have a single blister. My choice to wear running shoes was the best choice I made. The views are beautiful. The fresh mountain air is making my lungs larger. My knees are a little sore, but nothing a few ibuprofen cannot handle. I will be in North Carolina tomorrow afternoon considering it is only 9 miles down the trail.

Got my back pack today!

This beautiful little guy, weighing in at 2lbs 7oz will be accompanying me on my adventure through the heart of America. With my sleeping bag and my tent, my base weight is shy of 8lbs. I really like the structure; it fits on my back well. All I need now are clothes and a stove. Then comes the much larger task of organizing my resupply itinerary of food. This will be the blog I will use on the trail to give everyone a heads up as to how I am doing.

MARCH 13th! A one-way train ticket to Gainesville, GA from DC.

I am cautiously excited for The Tempest. It is my favorite Shakespeare play. But as movie adaptations of Shakespeare go, they can be underwhelming-- see Romeo+Juliet. The director, Julie Taymor is best known for the Broadway production The Lion King. She has some experience with Shakespeare as well, directing an stunning rendition of Titus Andronicus, Titan. But what worries me is that too much of a focus of the spectacle of the play. The Tempest is one of the more magical and supernatural of the plays, and is a great opportunity for a director with an eye for cinematic visuals to play around. I am looking forward for what she chooses to do with the banquet scene. But what worries me is her previous film, Across the Universe. This Beatles' musical, despite interesting set design, costumes, and psychedelia, lost all of it power and meaning by terrible casting and contrived writing. I think it is a good choice for her to work upon the foundation of Shakespeare's verse and story.
My favorite character, Caliban, is being portrayed by one Djimon Hounsou. The fish-man always holds a place in my mind when I think of primordial morality. Along with other great simple men, Benjy for The Sound and The Fury, Caliban always gives me a way to think about the morality of the depraved man. He recognizes himself and divinity, pain and pleasure, the self and other. He has an inkling of the concept of private propery-- or rather he understands the pain of being robbed, but is unable to give an account of why. His ultimate sin, the attempt of the rape of Miranda, does not invoke any remorse. He is the man without shame. And neither pride. "Any print of good wilt not take..." But by the end of the play, he seeks grace. How can this creature receive grace if his soul cannot receive the mark of the good? Does Caliban have a soul? 

Glory Glory

The Battle Hymn of the Republic has been utilized by men of all minds and opinions as a rhetorical device to sway the hearts of the masses. Preachers preach it.  Martin Luther King recites it alongside his case for non-violence. It gave Steinbeck a title. Labor morphed it into a rally chant. But what I find to be the most deplorable use of the melody appears in the movie American History X. I will not reproduce it here, but it was written by one Johnny Rebel and he calls it "The White Man Marches On." It essentially calls for a massacre of the black, jewish, and oriental people. But what I want to draw attention to is that the Battle Hymn derived itself from a song called "John Brown's Body". It was a popular song with the Union Troops in praise of the abolitionist John Brown.

At first glance, I found it to be funny that this ignorant and hateful songs origins lies in a anthem in praise of its antithesis. John Brown is famous for his raid on Harper's Ferry, predating the Civil War and cited as one of the, amongst many, catalyst of the Civil War--or as the south refers to it, the War of Northern Aggression. Brown's folk legend comes with baggage though, as his attack lead to a conviction of treason. I believe this fellow Johnny Rebel, though unintentionally, created a rather astute commentary on the extremism of the ignorant-- the passionate folk who demand action rather than thought. Compare his contemporary abolitionist Frederick Douglass--who had the larger impact on the movement?  Douglass provides a case for his sentiments. His account of his own slavery needs not a treatise--those who read his Narrative see the plight of slavery intuitively. But Brown was a white man who was never in the bonds of slavery. He was a foreigner to the movement and to Virginia (which included Harper's Ferry). Is John Brown an American Hero or a man of Treason?

This also brings up a discussion I had with friends a while back, trying to define the American folk virtues. Brown is immortalized is song along with other men of questionable character and of low deeds: Tom Dooley, Stagolee, Hollis Brown. Folk songs tells us that we ought a buck up a find new love, when those we do love are gone: Clementine, Casey Jones. What does the American Folk repertoire reveal about the virtue of the American character?

June 6th - Harper's Ferry, WV

 John Brown's body lies a moldering in the grave,

 John Brown's body lies a moldering in the grave,

 John Brown's body lies a moldering in the grave,

   But his soul keeps marching on.                       

      My father and I drove to West Virginia three weeks after school had ended. A frantic three weeks-the first week I spent in Annapolis with those whose planes and plans were delayed. We played chess, listened to the Leadbelly Pandora Station, and tried to entertain one another–to some success. The last two weeks at home were a vague hibernation, punctuated by frantic attempts to plan my trip.

     My logistics were supplied by a trip to a hunting outfitter outlet, Walmart and Food Lion. The outfitter had little offer, and what it did was overpriced. I bought: 2 Nalgenes, (which I would leave behind in Palmerton); a pack cover, or what could be called a water-resistant garbage bag with a brand name (not water-proof–there is a difference. It is like stainless steel. Stainless steel just stains less often than regular steel.); a bottle of camp shampoo, which I mistook for all-in-one camp suds; and a water pump. At Food Lion, I bought roughly 20 pounds of food, with amounts to about two weeks of food. 5 pounds of that was solely oatmeal. I learned the subtle shame and frustration that comes with hanging a food bag the size of a toddler from a tree. From Wal-Mart, I bought the item that brought me the most amount of ridicule, embarrassment, and weight. “Coleman is the world’s leading manufacturer of camping gear and outdoor equipment, including tents, lanterns, stoves, coolers and sleeping bags.” It doesn’t mention this, but it is also the cheapest. So I bought the smallest Coleman Stove. This behemoth used the ubiquitous green propane tanks in order to cook. This Coleman stove was an monument to my haste. With any forethought and research, I could have avoided my grave mistake.

     To say the least, I was under-prepared and over-packed. My pack weighed roughly 55 pounds. I want to explain something briefly. My knowledge of hiking can be attributed to a 3 day trip with friends over spring break and a 42 day outdoor troubled boys’ program when I was 15. The boys’ program was in Pisgah National Forest, North Carolina. Briefly, the program believed it could cure boys’ of their addictions, depression, and anger by returning them to nature. It was a fantastic program, it really saved my life, but it was woefully underfunded. All of the money had to spent on insurance. Imagine 6-10 high-risk teenagers playing with fire and hiking on ridges. So with no money for the actual program, we were outfitted with hiking gear circa 1950. External frames, a seat belt sash ,a sleeping bag and a tarp. The night before I left with my dad to go to WV, I was optimistic. I had carried 55 pounds pack when I was younger, so why would it be any different now? Most of my hiking gear was leftover from this program: My backpack, boots, sleeping bag, and sleeping mat (This is a treasure of mine that was hanging in my apartment living room for a while).  I had no idea the pain I was about to get into.

     It is recommended that your backpack weigh 15-25 percent of your body weight. I was approaching 35%. I did not care though. I was riding on the pure excitement and anticipation of adventure. I was about to walk to New York. 350 miles. One month. In the mountains! That is 5 States! West Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and New York. That is one of the benefits of youth. I can make rash decisions, err, and pick myself up. The young body is still fresh and it can be beaten. It is the same impulse that sends my friends to war. We see a brief glimmering of nobility or truth and we throw ourselves into the depths of greater things, be it nature or war. Although, I am young enough at times, in dangerous lapses of thoughtlessness, to forget the sacrifices and  the consequences of serious thought and action. And when I must bear the burden, the vitality of youth displays it’s power. Hiking is all material. The burden is literal. And the objects of the life of leisure–which allows for philosophy–have weight.

     My father and I parked in the State Park just south of Harper’s Ferry. I stretched next to the car as he went to buy a parking pass. I looked at my pack. I tied my stove and my water bottles on the outside because they could not fit inside. It was hot. It would be hot all summer. And dry. My father returned without a pass. June 6th was National Trails Day, so parking was free. We set out on the trail that lead to the Appalachian Trail. We started to walk down a hill and then my stove bag swung around my pack into my face. I sounded like a tool box falling down a hill. We reached the Appalachian Trail itself and a freshly killed deer blocked our paths. I started my hike in a cloud of flies.