Sumwhurs down on the Chattahooch

I have stopped cursing at the mountains.

No, I no longer reach a summit and gasp out such creative slurs as "Fuck you, mountain" or "Jesus fucking Christ". Instead, I find myself calmly pointing out a mountain's flaws, which include, but are not limited to, uphill and downhill.

Had I known a week ago what I know today about hiking, I would be sleeping-in in Cincinnati. It turns out that walking around with the equivalent of a chimpanzee on your back is hard. I did not suspect this the first day out. Indeed, except for the first .9 mile climb to the summit of Springer Mt. which I "slackpacked" (i.e. not a full pack), the first day was mostly downhill. There was a bit of an up around the end of the day, but nothing significant, and I was fresh. I arrived at Hawk Mt. shelter about 3:30 (7.5 mi in 4 hr, pretty good) and met up with some other hikers. We had a grand old time, talking about what it would be like in Virginia or Maine.

And then the second and third days reared their ugly heads.

I am ill-equipped to describe to anyone the kind of shape that I am in. If you have seen my send-off pictures, you can begin to understand, I suppose. (I bought my shirts to grow into, and I am beginning to fit these days, thank you very much). Well, anycase, the second day started off fantastic. I took a wrong turn and hiked up a summit that wasn't on the trail. Then I walked the mile downhill and begin my real 7.8 mile hike. But hey, I made it, even though the last hour was an agony. It was not sleeping that night and trying to keep up with some mile-happy folks on a 12 miler in the cold rain the next day that really sucked. I did not make it 12 miles. I got through ten, gave up in disgust and pitched my tent in a thunderstorm for my first ever solo night in Deliverance National Forest.

Fortunately, the Trail smiled on me just a little. My bag stayed dry (not my food bag though), and I was awakened by a--yes--Trail Angel. Some guy walking south and calling himself Flatfeet gave me breakfast (PB&J, cookies, and crackers). I made a short 7 miler to Neel's Gap where I slept in a hostel during a snowy night. One of the nice thing about Neel's Gap (which is a solitary store/hostel at road crossing) is a tradition called the Shakedown. That's when past thru-hikers tell you what to send home to lighten your load.

Now, ever since the first day, when I was talking about pack weight with some other hikers and found I was carrying about 10 lbs. more than the average, I had been meticulously planning, dreaming and fantasizing about what to send home. I had got maybe 5 pounds off in my mind (so down to about 48-9). At Neel's they were more thorough, so that with full water and 6 days of food I am at about 43. (Oh yeah, that 10 days of food thing is the most preposterous idea I can imagine at this point). But my feet and and back are singing now and in the last three days I did an 11 (through snow), 14.9 (very difficult on the second half--the first 7.8 took about 3:00, the rest about 6:00), and another 10. I got to the bustling metropolis of Hiawasse, GA (8.8 miles from North Carolina) for a Friday night party at the Hiawasse Inn that has given the group of people I know a reputation as the rowdiest bunch of thru-hikers yet.

So, onto the weirdo trail-not-civilization part: The Hikers. I am walking, off and on, with Solace, Kicks the Rocks (KTR), Cupcake, Waker, Jaws, Twinkle Toes, Slow Train, Rooster, Up and Down (a couple), Sassafrass, Walkabout, Rocket, Grits, Buckwild, Zuma (the Georgia ATC Ridgerunner), Sarge, Lieutenant Dan, and Amy (who may have become the Hobbit this morning). I am still Jeff, though there has been much speculation on what I should be called. It's kind of like a primary. Currently, the front-runner is the Sugarplum Fairy. Down was talking about trying to give guys cute names like Fuzzy Bunny and I mentioned, stupidly, Oh you could call someone the Sugarplum Fairy. Then Up said, yeah, we could call you SPF. A chain of events seems to have been set in motion, though I am waiting things out. But now, some of the girls are calling me Sug, and I am thinking of taking Plum or Plums (for the guys-- though I don't mind being called Sug by the females, especially by Cupcake who has the correct Southern accent--it also makes me kind of ghetto and death row). Some of the other contenders are Rambo, a Kucinich that stems from the way I wear my bandanna, the Professor (because I brought too many damn books and know too many damn facts), and my least favorite, Mudbutt, from a spill I took the second day. I shall soon be something, in anycase.

It's a different bunch of folks, mostly about 30-35. Solace and KTR are twins from NH and just about every other state. Solace is a hockey radio announcer and KTR is a real mountain man who actually runs on the trail (which is exceeding difficult). He did a 23 mile day in six and one half hours. Jaws is an older guy with a salty sense of humor who did a Southbound (read: stupid, cold, lunatic) thru-hike last year. The last few days, I have been at about even pace with Waker and Cupcake. Waker is theater technician from NYC, about 29 or 30, and Cupcake is a 35 year old waitress/designer from Raleigh. She came about her name from the grey streaks in her hair--Grits said she was a Cupcake beacuse she was sweet with frosting on the top. There are lotsa other folks, all with similarly disparate and usually interesting backrounds. Lieutenant Dan, an absolutely hysterical army recruiter, who was deciding whether or not to re-up, decided yesterday to leave the Trail, go to college and become a teacher. He'd had a few conversations about education with Sassafrass (high school math teacher), some guy I don't know, and me. Sarge may be everyone's favorite hiker. He is about 68 or 70 and almost totally deaf. He has a hearing aid that does not seem to work, and he wakes everyone up in the morning shouting in perfect geezer pitch things like, "There's about six inches of snow out there" and othersuch. I think a vocal imitation is the only justice that can be done for him.

One thing I have noticed about thru-hikers is that this is not their first entrance in the wide world. Most have lived in scores of different places and a minority have one place they can say they grew up. Everyone is well-traveled, and likes to talk to strangers (everyone else). The hiking is great and I am hourly captivated by some facet of the trail or nature (I am also beginning to like the walking as my legs firm up and my lungs clear out), but I must say that, at the moment, I am most amazed at the bizarro social world of the trail, where there is actually communication through shelter registers and stones on the ground.

It also turns out that I appreciate beer and fried chicken more than I can I ever hope to relate.

Not a preppie, not yet a hippie,
Jeffrey (as yet)