My Journey to Freedom and Ultralight Backpacking (12 page)

  The concession stand at Caledonia State Park was open, catering to the people enjoying the large outdoor swimming pool. Fellow hikers and I went over to enjoy some ice cream and fries. This was the beginning of Pennsylvania and I was entering the land of concession stands.

  The first 150 miles of Pennsylvania are really quite nice, often intersecting with old logging roads and following them for miles. There were also a lot of white splotches on trees, resembling sloppy blazes. I found out they are hunting markers. It can be confusing, especially at dusk or in poor visibility.  Many of the shelters have been well kept, several of them just a few years old. The James Fry Shelter, which is absolutely beautiful, has many pegs for hanging gear, 4 large bunks plus a lot of space in the main area. Thru-hikers on a budget take zero days in such places.

  Traditionally, a thru-hiker can celebrate the half way point of the Appalachian Trail by eating a half-gallon of ice cream at Pine Grove Furnace State Park. This challenge is an interesting event, and the notebook on the picnic table contained tips and warnings. After reading the register, I decided I was too old for this shit, and just watched my new young friends chose their flavors, and get out their trail spoons. I bought a hot dog with onions, relish and microwave popcorn to enjoy during their attempt. After the participants were all good and sick, I bought an ice cream cone, then a second one on the way out when I passed the next concession stand. There is way too much easy food on this trail, but by taking advantage of it, one can keep his or her food weight low.
   The trail north of Boiling Springs is mostly level, through pastures, woods and cornfields, then there’s a short ascent to Darlington Shelter, and my evening destination. I brought my leftover pizza with me from town, always a treat in a shelter. The water there, however, was some of the worst I had seen so far, needing to be dipped with a small cup and strained though a bandana. Because of my high mile days, it was early in the growing season, and the corn was only a few inches high.  I have avoided the southern heat, and have been enjoying mild temperatures, entertained by the many small creatures that are well hidden on one side of the trail.  For some reason, they feel compelled to make a mad dash to the opposite side, just as I approach, scurrying as though their tiny lives were in great danger.
   The next day, I hiked 11.6 miles into Duncannon, and paid $15.90 for a room at the ancient Doyle Hotel. There were only three bathrooms, and loads of people there to share them. The fourth floor shower drips into the third floor shower while a bat huddles in the corner. Another third floor bathroom has an old fashioned tub. Hikers need a place to rent, even if it’s old and dilapidated. This is the reason one brings sandals for the showers in town, and to avoid slivers from the rough wooden floors. The tavern down the street was a great place to relax. The Doyle was in transition and no in-house food or drink was available that year. It could be much worse. Trail experiences are meant to be memorable. I will remember this one for a long time.

Games Soloists Play:
Gorp According To Blazes –
Place daily allotment of gorp in sandwich baggie in a pocket. Eat a small bite. Chew slowly. Swallow. Pass 3 blazes before taking another handful. Repeat.
Hiker Factor
- Time how long between human sightings. Some days, it’s about every 3 hours. Sometimes, it is only once a day. It only counts if the person is actually on the trail, not near a road crossing.
No Thought Game –
Time how long between thoughts. No thinking. Each soloist must set his or her own parameters here. “When is the last time I saw a blaze?” counts as a thought for me. The brain is just supposed to register blazes without thinking.
Plan Next Resupply –
Plan both for ounces and calories. Obtain these figures, then divide by days and multiply by miles. Subtract from your age. Add to your IQ. If you don't know your IQ, guess. Be generous. Start over. No ultralighter brings a calculator.
  
While playing my new game
“How Long Does It Take To Pass 100 Blazes?”
I was counting 34, we have 34, 34 and going on 35, we have thirty-fi… when suddenly along the narrow, bramble-bordered trail, came a southbound black bear. We both stopped. We eyed each other. I went into scare-the-bear mode, clanking my hiking poles together. He was not impressed. I called to him, “I need to walk through here.” He nonchalantly turned his head, and took a bite of grass and brambles. I tried negotiation, “Hey, bear, I need to use the trail. I know you do, too.” The bear, apparently amused, looked at me and shook his head.

  Then, I noticed the tagged right ear, and fought back recognition of “Bad-Ass Bear”. The attitude of denial did not work; it was time to give this bear some space. I took several steps back, the bear responded by trotting towards me, my heart pounding faster as he closed in.

  My god, do I jump
quickly into the weeds, and hope he passes by like a day hiker? The gut rebelled at this horrid thought, and I started screaming, “Alright! No more Mr. Nice Guy! Do you want me to rock you? Get out of here!” I stooped and picked up a rock.  All I could find was one that weighed about 5 pounds. Where are all the rocks in Pennsylvania when you really need one?

  Just then, the bear jumped left, off trail, into the weeds. I decided that was good enough. “Attaboy!” I yelled, “I believe in peaceful co-existence, just like you!” I kept talking loudly, watching the bushes, as I edged past. Then he jumped back on the trail; the passage of two beings was done without bloodshed.
 
At the 501 Shelter one may order pizza using the phone at the house next door. The bunks, an assortment of good reading material, a big table, and cold shower outside made this old pottery shop a fantastic stay. A guidebook warned us about the dogs there, but they were tied up. Then the rocks of Pennsylvania really began.
   With a long day, the next stop was the pavilion in Port Clinton. The outfitter’s store is just three-tenths mile off the trail, and sells food, gear, ice cream and cold sodas. Apparently, it has the only phone in town that is available to thru-hikers. There were no pay phones anywhere else. The outfitter asked me to watch his store while he ran another hiker to Hamburg to use an ATM machine. This town only accepts cash. It was near closing time on a Friday evening, no customers. I was too tired to move, so I agreed.  When the owner returned, he immediately counted the money in his cash register, and asked to weigh my pack. With 4 days of food and 12 ounces of water, it registered 14 pounds. He was impressed and probably relieved. Having trusted a total stranger with his life’s investment, while he ran another total stranger to town, he gambled and won.
 
I saw 2 rattlesnakes the next day; one was huge. However, it saw me before I saw it, and thankfully began rattling furiously. I bushwhacked around both of them and did 32.6 miles to Bake Oven Shelter, which was built in 1937. It is small and dilapidated, but other than the lone deer eating and nosing around, I had it all to myself. This trail section, winding up and through rock cliffs, was not funny. I slid into a tree and scraped my arm, from elbow clear down to the wrist. It bled, but I counted myself lucky to have survived in good shape. The rock scramble out of Palmerton was maddening and very dangerous. Not all hikers are 6’ 2”. We shorter people could use a rod embedded in the rock to hang onto every once in awhile. If it had been raining, or my pack had been heavy, I might not have made it.
 

  
I hiked the last 20.4 miles of Pennsylvania (into Delaware Water Gap) by leaving the shelter at 5 a.m. and arriving in town at ten minutes past noon.  This is what is called Power Hiking. Doing big miles, resupplying and heading out the next day. It’s not a matter of trail running, and one does not miss the beauty, trail magic, or animal encounters. It’s a hiking style of continual observation, without resting until arriving at one’s destination.
  From Delaware Water Gap to Massachusetts /Vermont line I carried an ultralight radio with tiny headphones. I loved hearing music, but when it began to rain, the radio had to be put away. Many times, good reception was a rarity, and static was common. One thru-hiker said he carried his radio because otherwise there was too much introspection. That, in itself, is food for thought. The ridiculous chatter and commercials were a distraction, and finally I concluded that for me it was not worth the weight.

  The Mohican Outdoor Center, 11 miles from Delaware Water Gap, was a much better stop than the Doyle Hotel in Duncannon. Food, snacks, and insect repellent were available. There was a phone in the main office. With the thru-hiker discount, I paid $12 for a bunk in a large, carpeted cabin. Plenty of clean bathrooms and showers came with the deal, plus the use of a real kitchen with coffee maker.
  New Jersey reputedly does not allow bear hunting, resulting in a breed of bears so bold they even venture into town. Personally, I had enough bear encounters, and craved no more. I made enough noise, talking and singing aloud in the perpetual rain and fog, to avert any sightings. In New Jersey I finally caught up to Hammock Hanger at the “secret shelter”. The location is discovered by word of mouth. A thru-hiker built it after he completed his successful hike. He wanted to continue the tradition of trail magic, giving back to the hiking community a portion of what he had experienced on his journey. This marvelous cabin had a working dryer, hot shower and electrical heat.

 
Early next morning, I said good-bye to Hammock Hanger thanking her for a great night of girl talk, and hiked to resupply in Unionville, New York. Then I headed to a great little pastry and fruit stand within sight of the trail, just down the road on Hwy. 94, which goes into Vernon, New Jersey. Determined not to continue hiking in the rain until I was stuffed, I ate 3 pastries, two bananas, a waffle ice cream cone and drank 24 ounces of hot coffee.  Great lunch!

  The white blazes took us over Pinnacle and Cat Rocks. After hiking only 12 measly miles, my right knee was already killing me. The blue-blaze trail at the base of these boulders made more sense, but I remained a purist and these choices defined my hike. I slipped badly at one point. The shelter registers recorded the same experience for many others, one guy even swearing over his broken hiking poles.

  The trail from Wildcat Shelter to NY 17 (Arden) is 10 miles
worth of hills and ravines and graded for mountain goats. They made the dreaded Roller Coaster in Virginia look like a bunny hill on the ski slopes. Because of recent rains, water was plentiful.

  The second 10 miles were pleasant, grassy and well graded. I arrived at William Brien Memorial Shelter to find some young men on an overnight trip were already there. When other long distance hikers pulled in, they built a campfire.

A Poem, Commemorating this night:

One by one we stopped there
On a sultry afternoon.
An assortment of AT hikers
That day in early June.

Thru-hiker, sectioners, overnighters
Had a bonfire and evening chatter.
Some cooked, some drank, some horsed around
It really did not matter.

I’m early to bed, early to rise
Asleep before the others,
As smoke from the fire filled the shelter
I prayed we would not smother.
Drifting in and out of consciousness
There on that wooden bunk,
Benumbed from too much Advil
Wasted, like some street drunk.
Then, this scraping, crawling, scratching
Upon the roof was heard,
Too organized to be the wind
Too loud to be a bird.
Exhaustion and darkness claimed me
I could but lay and hope,
Whatever had taken up residence
Was within the human scope.
The sun sought the horizon
I awoke to meet the beast
As I stuffed my gear together
I saw this ungodly feast.
Cookies, chips and salsa
Tuna Surprise left in a pot,
All lay spread on the shelter floor
Overnighters hauled in a lot!
Then down from the roof they clamored
And their heroics must be sung,
Instead of hanging their leftover food
They themselves were hung.

   I enjoyed a lunch at the Bear Mountain Inn, which opens at 11:30 a.m. A very tasty steak sandwich, fries, slaw and about 8 cups of coffee cost $11. Great service and quite posh; one just assumes the mannerisms of a wealthy tourist. Never mind that the clothes you're wearing have seen 3 months on the trail. If you have money, you belong there as well. After a phone call home, it was back to hiking. The Mountain Laurel was blooming in such profusion that a scent of perfumed soap filled the air all day. I camped at the Greymor Friary Ball Park Shelter, offered as a place for hikers in 2002 by the Greymor monks. There was a cold shower, sink, soap, and privy. A nice place, but overrun on weekends with local partiers who left their garbage strewn around for the generous monks to clean up.

   The first day of summer, June 21
st
, is the traditional Hike Naked Day, although not a single soul appeared to be participating. I walked into Kent, Connecticut and met thru-hikers who had been ahead of me. Buck 30, a power hiker, got this trail name because he weighed just 130 pounds. The last time we met in Hot Springs, he was doing laundry with a bath towel wrapped around his waist. He was amazed to see anyone catch up to him. After I bought groceries at the IGA, ate a cheese and bagel sandwich (washed down with a quart of chocolate milk), we hiked out of town together.