[at-l] Punchbowl to Waynesboro - day 3

["W F Thorneloe, MD" <thornel@ibm.net>]

Day 3 10/18/99 Monday

Over night, the wind blew west to east as a cold front met a hot date with 
Hurricane Irene. The Nomad shook, inflated, and deflated. The vestibule was 
lowered, but the wind broke the clop and threatened to tumble the tent as 
the Vestibule became a sail. I pulled the vestibule thru the door, tied the 
grommet to the zipper of my sleeping bag, and rolled over to await the dawn.

The tarp blew, but nothing was lost. The dawn was red as the wind began to 
abate, but clouds east rushed south and solidified.

We ate quickly and I left a bit earlier after discovering a post in the 
middle of the Hog Camp field. The post had a single word "Spring," and 
pointed east and toward a protected cove and pure protected spring. This 
was the source of the creek that Ben and his father had found.

*** Note to self - Hike high, camp low. ***

The walk begins with a growing awareness of bad weather brewing, and 
distance combining to foul my plans. Today was feared to be more wind plus 
rain. Last night's gales were now blustering 10 to 15 mph. My Coolmax shirt 
did not dry out. I was warmed only by the possibility to see some views off 
of Tar Jacket Ridge.

After a quick couple of Poptarts, I decided to get gone and hit the trail 
by 8:15. A light fleece, a vest and shell covered my bones. Quickely I 
became sweaty and cold as I walked up Tar Jacket Ridge, and admired its 
puzzle block rocks. I shed a layer as Ben and Roger caught up near Salt Log 
Gap. They planned to stay at Sheeley - Woodworth shelter, but I hoped to 
hump it as close to the Priest shelter as possible. This might salvage my 
schedule before bad weather.

Clouds loomed, blowing East to West. Occasionally western blue sky hinted a 
cold front was about to pass. It would mist, but just a little.

I left Ben and his father to explore the "problems" of wolf Rocks and 
trudged on.

Sheely Woodwort is a neat shelter with a very new privy. For once I can 
attest that it is good to be the bottom of the heap.

I left a note in the register. I notice that this and the register at the 
Priest are "personal registers." to be mailed out of state. I don't think I 
like this idea.

Water seems in scarce supply on the trail after S-W. I failed to pump up at 
twin springs. I found the spring near Porter's field near the forest 
service road. The Pepsi cups helped mark the spot.

With a freshly pumped 4 liters of water bulging my Platypus's, I gamely 
walked on toward the Priest. Fish Hatchery Road welcomed me with a sign for 
a 1.9 mile stroll to the Montebello Pot Office. I passed up the opportunity.

Up the hill to Spy Rock I went. Somehow, my legs and breath were weaker and 
I stopped more often in that 1/2 mile. Spy Rock was a sash - no view unless 
you climb the rock and time dictated other plans.

I began meeting a clump of cheery sweet smelling Southbounders with light 
gear. Oz, Minne Me, John bones and others were booking it to the Hatcher 
Road. It appears many had stayed at Rusty's, a through hiker's haven on the 
Parkway. At least one of this group was taking that first bite of the 
forbidden and impure fruit - slackpacking.

They were off on their ways. I was still plodding as darkness gathered. 
Just beyond Crabtree Farm Road I found a small campsite, large enough for 
me and my little Nomad. My legs could go no further, even in hope of less 
than 1 mile to the Priest shelter.

I cooked, hung up my bear bag, set the tent and hunkered down feeling quite 
alone. The sky was clear with breeze. The night awoke me with loud animal 
calls - a bobcat in hear, a complicated verbose owl, the last of the 
Moheeckins?

Who cared? I had walked 13.6 miles, my longest ever!

OrangeBug
Atlanta, GA
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