[at-l] Teip Report (long)

[janl2@mindspring.com (Jan Leitschuh)]

	Tenn. 91 to Dennis Cove Rd.


       	 Oh my, what stinky laundry! It hardly seems fair to come home to this
AND a barnful of horse muck.
         Well, I went anyway. To the mountains. Was draggin' on Thursday and
woke up Friday with a sore throat and a low-grade fever and the general
yucks.  Considered bagging it right then, but our party of four had
already shrunk to three, then - at the last possible moment -  two... I
didn't want to be the trip killer... and the sky was SO bright and
blue... and I wanted to try out my new Moonbow "pack" under field
conditions... 
	There was momentum.
        After moving around a bit, I felt better. I loaded myself up with Kan
Jang. Why the world doesn't proclaim this Nordic remedy from the
rooftops I don't know - it's The Cure for The Common Cold! Yes, I tell
you! Take heed, sneezers!.  
	threw my pack and sticks in the car and went to pick up my lone remaining  partner-in-adventure, local hiking buddy No
Comment.
        Four hours later we tooled up to Kincorra and hooked up with Bob
Peoples for a shuttle. Wife Pat had gone to a horse expo, which was a
disappointment to me - a hikergal AND a horsewoman. Bob and his endless
flow of stories entertained us royally on the way. This man has the most
alive eyes. You can tell here is someone who really enjoys people. 
        After charging way too little, he dropped us off at TN Hywy. 91 with
the admonishment to look out for turkey hunters. "Bow season is over,"
he said. "Now it's muzzle loaders. You'll be fine, though. They are REAL
hunters."
        We slung on our packs and bundled up, because the wind was a bit stiff.
Bob laughed as he saw me putting my vest on backward (it keeps my back
cool and my front warm, and is easy to take off with a pack on. I am
inordinately proud of this discovery). "It's a FASHION statement," I
informed him, sniffing. "I'm stylin' " One day I am going to write an
essay on The Art of Dressing.
        The trailhead held a few empty water jugs, which Bob picked up to
return at a later date. His advice on the dry springs proved invaluable,
as we were not to find a viable spring until almost two miles past 
Vandeventer Shelter, almost eleven miles later the next day. Because of
Bob's warning, we guzzled 25 ounces in town, then packed in another 80
apiece.  It was barely enough. Usually I carry two 20 ounce bottles.
        Being late afternoon, we hustled over the fairly easy climb, past the
hermit Nick Grindstaff's chimney. How do you suppose he did that, living
alone his whole life? I don't feel sorry for him - I think he was onto
something. Maybe Something Big. I just don't know what that is. But I
respect a man who can befriend a rattlesnake. And I can imagine his
reaction at learning that well-meaning relatives had stopped by,  seen
the pet and killed it - the insanity of below come calling.
        We got to Iron Mountain Shelter in great time, and still had daylight
left to cook up some yummy ramen noodles. I  ate more Kan Jang. Three
SOBOs had crashed in the lean-to and offered to make room, but the
night was so dry we set up our kits outside. For any who know them,
Yoda, Swamp Fox and Strider are doing just fine, thank you. They have
not had rain since northern Virginia!
        As is my wont, I questioned the thru-hikers about their gear, the
systems that were working for them, their experiences and how the Trail
was changing them.  They were sweet-natured boys, and generous with
their chat. I was curious as to whether they cooked breakfast in the
morning or jumped to a fast start. 
	They said the shorter days were encouraging them to lie a'bed longer 
in the mornings, and they did not cook then. "Sometimes," said Swamp Fox,
 "I just tear open a packet of oatmeal and eat it dry."
        I was fascinated. Dry! These are the little nitty-gritty details about
life outside civilization that I just love, those telling thru-hiker
nuggets that both repel and compel. "Really?" I asked,  agog. Dry
oatmeal! DRY!
        I used my tarp this night, and the sky was so, so dark.  Little light
pollution here!  I forget how dark it gets, even in the small town I
call home. The stars exploded against this black background, and I kept
hoping to see a shooting star. I saw the Pleaiedes (sp?), the Weeping Sisters I
think they are also called, though I have no idea if this is true - it
was absorbed as a childhood truth.
        It was a cold night, and I slept fitfully. I always need a transition
period upon reentering the woods. Much as I would like it differently,
that's just the way it is. Very late, or rather, VERY early, a  sliver
of moon came out, a big old lazy smile of a moon, lying on it's side;
truly, had it been a cup, you could have filled it up. I'd also
forgotten how good it was to be toasty warm at night but to breathe cold
air.
        The next morning, the chill was still upon the land. Bob Peoples later
told us the temps were in the mid to upper teens. No fever this morning,
or sore throat either. Thank god for Kan Jang, and that restorative
hiking circulation. I downed a few more tablets.
        I decided to cook inside my sleeping bag, but even that seemed like an
effort this morning. I ate a bunch of nuts, and then... tore off a
corner of my oatmeal packet. I took an experimental chew. It... wasn't
bad! Hey! How about that? As I munched my way through the packet and
washed it down with the city water from the convenience store bathroom,
that sense of outdoor bliss finally descended. It had been long in
coming, due to the rush and press of details in getting out of town and
on the mountain.
        I got up when I heard the SOBOs moving around. "Hey!" I called over. "I
just ate my oatmeal DRY!"
        "It was GOOD, wasn't it?"  Swamp Fox was proud of his corrupting
influence, I could tell.
        "I feel like I just crossed some kind of line," I confessed. S/F
smirked. 
        No Comment and I had set a 13-mile day for ourselves, to Wautaga
Shelter. It proved to be an easy first couple of hours, a ridgewalk. I
REALLY love the woods this time of year. As a kid I called these "turkey
woods," where the leaves are all down and you can see the wild turkeys
running around (not that we did). We DID keep our eyes peeled for the
six, count 'em, six  feral emus Bob said hung around Vandeventer. He
said the hiker Raven had bagged one on camera,  then excitedly brought
him the picture saying "I saw the world's largest turkey!"
         Apparently the birds had flown the coop from an old farmer down below,
who had been unable to maintain his fences. The emus had managed to
thrive. It would have been a sighting to remember, but alas! we were not
so graced. We had to settle for buzzards riding the updrafts, which were
far more graceful. It was cool to see them arcing BELOW us.
        So no emus after Bob's build-up, but we DID see the lay of the land,
and how it crumpled and folded into the distance. ( This is what I liked
so much about walking in the spring, before the leaves came out). This
time, there was the added attraction of scads of leaves kicking up
underfoot. Maybe that's why we saw so little wildlife. Well, that cuts
both ways. No bear was gonna sneak up on MY foodbag!
         Day was sunny as could be, with highs in the upper 50s, a light wind.
        About lunch, we landed at Vandeventer. Still no emus. We were making
good time, so I decided to unroll my sleeping bag and have a nap. My
energy was fine, the cold was staying at bay, thank you Kan Jang, but I
was sleepy after my light doze of the night before. No Comment went
about eating his lunch and taking in the view. About a half hour later,
I heard snores from the back of the shelter. He had stretched out on his
thermorest and was out cold in the sun.
        Here we got some of our first views of Watauga lake down below. The
shoreline was stark and exposed, the water drawn down for the winter and
ready to receive the spring rains and snowmelt. It looked as if one
could walk out to some of the islands.
        Lunch had taken the last of the water, so we set out looking for a
spring in earnest, and found one within a couple miles. We tanked up
mightily, then carried our 80 ounces along. 
         No Comment was good company. Easy vibes. He doesn't say much, hence
the name, but our paces were remarkably similar. He also has a low
Irritability Quotient, which makes for pleasant companionship and which
I prize. Truly, I would rather walk alone that walk with bad vibes or
drama. In fact, mostly I prefer to walk alone, and catch up with others
for a meal or camp. But this worked out just fine. Since it ended up we
were walking together, we traded the lead or the "follow" very naturally
and non competitively. This was nice.
        We had tarried a bit long at Vandeventer, so we hustled along to make
Wautaga Shelter by nightfall, which we barely did. Our three SOBOs were
there too, and graciously moved over to let us join them in this tiny
shelter. Good thing, I didn't see many level spots to camp! There was a
small spring still active here.
        After cooking by headlamp, we all retired to our bags.  I downed a few
more Kan Jang and lit a candle stub I'd brought. This cast a cozy glow
about the place as we chatted some more about  the SOBO life. They
teased me about my desire to thru-hike in 2003 "the WRONG way." 
        Strider read us some of the better passages from the book he was
reading "A Walk in the Woods," choice bits like: "Hey lissen! Did you
know there is a town in Pennsylvania that is still burning?"  I asked
the time. Yoda said it was 6:30 pm. Get outta here!!! We were in bed by
6:30? It felt like ten or later.
        I put the candle out after awhile, but failed to doze off. I could hear
N/C tossing around too. The thru-hikers slept like stones, and scarcely
moved till sunrise. 
        The SOBOs were doing a stiff 16 miles that day, better men than me.
Their day included two climbs of over 2,000 feet. 
        N/C and I got a slow start, and I ate another oatmeal packet dry and
cold. My second aberration in two days. Really going bush now. Mother
wouldn't approve, not at all. N/C wasn't hungry, and just ate a handful
of GORP.
        We were planning on a simple nine miles, but there is no such thing as
a simple nine. Think it will be simple and the Pond Wilderness shows up.
I noticed I was dragging on this climb, low energy. I wondered if it was
the cold. Thank goodness going southbound we had a number of switch backs
to help us, but that three miles up was relentless. Give me back the
lovely  miles around Watauga Lake! (We saw the rope swing, but with the
water down the drop looked to be about 50 feet with no guarantee of
hitting the water. Although by then we could have used a bath).
        Heading up to Pond Flats, we met some orange-blazed hunters carrying
rifles. They didn't look like muzzle loaders either! They eyed my orange
shirt and said it was a good thing, as it was deer-hunting season. That
put a new spin on things. Interestingly, we didn't see a deer the whole
trip, in fact very little wildlife besides juncoes and a morning blue
jay. A grouse thundered out at us on the last day, raising my heart rate
higher than the steps out of Laurel Fork Gorge did.
        Anyway, there was also a small spring on Pond Flats, so N/C made a cup
of soup and I ate a pack of tuna, a Kan Jang tab and half a bag of
goldfish crackers, washed down by spring water. This made an amazingly good 
lunch. I had been craving something all morning, and I think it was protein. 
I got my second wind
and a ton of energy after that. My new GearSkin pack was carrying like a
dream, all i could have hoped for. There was no shoulder strain, and it
felt like carrying a cushion. I will do a gear report later.
        Hiking down we heard a whole bunch of shooting. This could be a little
nerve-wracking if one dwelled on it, so I didn't. I couldn't think of
one other thing I could do to ensure my safety beyond what I had done,
and besides, where was I going to go? N/C, who does not care for
hunters, commented that hunting invaded everybody's space in a big way.
        The sun was shiningfrom the west on our long, dry rocky down from Pond
Flats into the Gorge. It was my kind of hiking. I was feeling good now. 
The rocks had an "out-west" feel, and I was also once again getting
adept at walking backward down the steepest slopes.
	 N/C laughed at
first, but as I regained my my "descent" legs, I could outpace the
shorts steps he was forced to take going conventionally. This is a
technique I tumbled onto after hurting a knee on a weeklong hike,
and it really does take the pressure off my feet and knees, giving the
backs of my legs a stretch to boot.
         I invited N/C to try, and he did, but said he wasn't feeling too
stable on the steep, eroded hillside. I will admit, he was stumbling a
bit more than usual. At one point he kicked a leg off the Trail and
fell, gashing a knee. He wouldn't stop to clean it, and just hiked on
with gravel clinging to the wound. Is this a guy thing?
        Before long we could hear the roar of the river below in the Gorge, and
hit the moist refrigeration of the bottom land. What a relief though to
walk on flat ground, another thing I forget in civilization. I just feel
my hip joints let down, and my feet bones flattening into the earth.
Everything turns loose and sinks. Aaaah!
        The water was lower than I had seen it in June, but it is still a
compelling and rocky watercourse, and very talkative. We put our fleece
back on, as the sun, though early, was starting to lower itself below
the rim of the Gorge. We passed a few dayhikers, and I was suddenly
struck by how artificial city folk smell. Not necessarily bad, but
...scented. They left a trail of scent in their wake, men and women. Is
it soap or deodorant or hair gel or what? I am sure we exuded an air of
the natural in return.
        One last small pull up the Trail near the shelter there. N/C as walking
very slowly and cautiously over the rocks now. He seemed to have lost
his spring and pleasure. "Less than a mile now," I assured him. "Do you
want to go to the shelter instead?" He looked at the steep climb up,
some trail designer's idea of a bad joke, and shook his head no.
        We had planned to camp along the huge rock wall beyond the cliffwalk.
At the last rock obstacle course, I urged him to go first, since he had
not been there yet. I wanted him to experience the beauty of the 50-foot
wall and the Falls rather than my backside. But he was strangely
hesitant and asked me to go first. I did, with some concern. 
        He made a small remark about the site being nice, then turned to the
business of setting up camp. I watched him with further concern, and he
said he was just going to have hot chocolate and go to bed. He got the
stove lit and the water boiling, but just sat there. He had changed, and
was well-swaddled with a hat, no shivering. It wasn't hypothermia, but
something was wrong.
        "You're really whipped, aren't you?" I asked. "Yeah," he admitted, and
watched his water boil. I went to his food bag and got his cocoa and
made it, handing it to him. I made an extra portion of my supper, and
put it in his food bowl and encouraged him to eat it, which thankfully
he did.
        Then he stood to get up - and sort of fell backwards against the rocks.
I sprang to help him up. He's a big guy, and in getting up, he fell
again. I was getting REALLY concerned now, but he swore he was okay
(yeah, right). Somehow, we got him tucked away for the night, and I hung
the bear bags and cleaned up camp.      
        I spent a third uneasy night, and to divert myself, looked for 
cool stars or maybe the northern lights. My cold appeared to be gone, and I
felt tired but good (tho it felt like there was a nail driven into both
calves).  Having that protein at lunch really helped me - carbs aren't
enough for my metabolism. After awhile, I fell into a bit of a sleep,
only to be awakened by three LARGE crashes in the brush - then nothing.
What sort of a creature would thrash three times then levitate? This
puzzle kept me awake for hours.
        The next morning  I awoke, so I guess I had dozed. Truly, I have had
better nights in the woods than these last three! N/C was also awake,
and apologizing. He held up his soup cup and said said "This soup I had
for lunch had only 130 calories in it. I just realized I took in only
500 calories or so and probably burned 3,000." He was apologetic, and
thanked me for pushing food at him last night,  but I would have none of
it. N/C is the sort of hiker who would do the same.
        Despite our cumulative wear and tear, we both felt good this Monday
morning. We played around the Falls a bit, then tackled the stone stairs
up. The walk back was lovely and uneventful, though we did meet a
handsome, 50-ish section hiker from Atlanta in a neatly pressed denim
shirt. He said his mother let him off, and would pick him up that
evening on Hywy 321. He carried no water - "too heavy," he said - but
did have  a space blanket. He was pleasant and earnest though, and we
wished him luck.
        About a quarter mile from the Trailhead, we saw two young men coming
towards us, shuffling, in dirty tee shirts, on a weekday. They carried
no packs. They looked bored, and aimless. "'Morning," I called out. No eye
contact. N/C spoke quietly, after they'd passed.
          "We're back," he said.
        We hit Kincorra dreaming of that shower and my word, did it feel
heavenly! Bob sat and plyed us again with his wonderful tales as if he
had all day (which he didn't). He said he wished he had writing ability,
what a book his hostel could tell about the characters that had passed
through. I urged him to carry a little tape recorder and let 'er rip.
Anyone can transcribe; not everyone can tell a story. As I showered, I
heard him get No Comment laughing and conversing, extracting more words
than I'd heard all trip! A genius, the man.
        We tried to get Bob to join us in Hampton for a meal, but he said a
lady was traveling to meet him, she was doing her dissertation on the
Trail and wanted to speak with him. (She would likely soon have enough
material for TWO dissertations). So N/C and I  went to town and ordered
two breakfasts apiece, including the Tater Terriffics (hash browns,
mushrooms, ham, green pepper and onions - Yuumm!), a big glass of orange
juice, coffee, three eggs and bacon and  biscuits with jam and butter. 
        Calorie-sated, we poured ourselves in the car for the trip home. In
Boone, we stopped for ice cream. As I turned in the driveway - and this
is no lie, I have N/C as a witness - there came a falling star.  Is this
A Message? Like Dorothy and Kansas, that there's no place like home? 
        Maybe Nick Grindstaff has the answer to that one. But he ain't saying.
Until then, the backpack stays in the hall.
        
        
        


-- 
========================================
    Jan Leitschuh Sporthorses Ltd.

http://www.mindspring.com/~janl2

E-mail:  mailto:janl2@mindspring.com

========================================


-- 
========================================
    Jan Leitschuh Sporthorses Ltd.

http://www.mindspring.com/~janl2

E-mail:  mailto:janl2@mindspring.com

========================================