July   2011

by Phil Cole       Part 6

Shortly after passing the 1000 mile mark we came to a sign directing hikers to the Blackburn Shelter. Kellyn and I traversed several switchbacks down into the forest. At one point we both wondered if we missed it somehow. We continued further along the path until we came across a large structure that resembled a large estate home. The two story shelter was huge, with a large screened wrap around porch, garage and a series of stone retaining walls. There appeared to be no one there until we had heard some movement inside. I peered into what appeared to be a large kitchen, with dozens of stainless steel pots and pans hanging from the walls. A young girl was in the middle of it all peeling a mountain of potatoes that lay before her on a large wooden table. She looked up, greeted us and asked if we would like a complementary soda. Kellyn and I shed our packs and sat sipping store brand wild cherry soda, while we waited for Penguin. By that time the sun had burnt away the morning fog and we scrounged for lunch. It was slim pickens, for me by that point. I had ate most of my food ration and soon became very interested in what was left of Kellyn’s. “I got some soggy pepperoni rolls and a pop tart,” Kellyn said as he noticed my browsing looks. “Sounds better than a couple pulverized crackers and a half packet of jelly.” We were there for awhile occasionally glancing up into the forest for an incoming Penguin, but saw nothing. We wondered if Derrick said to himself “the hell with this” after walking forever down a steep side trail to the Shelter. As we were getting ready to head back to the tail, out emerged Penguin from the woods, humming a tune I couldn’t identify. We stayed while Penguin rested and then, for the first time this trip, the three of us hit the trail together. It was mid day and we had some 15 relatively easy miles ahead of us into Harper’s Ferry, where Kellie was to meet us. While we walked, I wondered how Kellie’s past five days were touring around Virginia and visiting family in Maryland. I was excited to share my trail experiences with her. The three of us were cruising, probably 3 or 4 miles per hour, which is relatively fast for trail hiking. The trail’s slopes were gentle but somewhat rocky.

The sun filtered through the thick tree canopy in patches of light on the forest floor and Derrick and Kellyn conversed as I began to realize that my journey was nearing an end. I was exhausted but at peace. I think it takes several days to detox oneself from the rush of the daily grind and I was feeling I may have been getting into a groove. I began wondering why must I return to that 40 hour week of deadlines, perpetual critiques, phone calls and frankly, arrogant professionals. It seemed that when one removes oneself in such a drastic way from an environment of criticism, the glancing blows begin to bruise and show themselves.

We had reached a road that indicated that we were within a couple miles of our destination and I decided to turn on my sleeping cell phone- which seemed like a foreign object- and called Kellie to let her know we were nearly there. She told me she would start walking south, towards us and meet us. The closer we got to Harpers, the more worn the path had become from day hikers coming from town. Soon the woods gave way to the vastness of the Potomac river valley and the trail began to switch back swiftly down the slope. The trail appeared to have been rerouted several times due to severe erosion from over use. The side slopes along the trail were stripped bare of their vegetation and have become exposed to the heavy rains, washing most of the topsoil across the trail and down to the river. We had came around a bend to a vehicular bridge that crossed the Potomac. We had reached historic Harper’s Ferry, WV. Although the “true” half way point is just beyond the Pennsylvania border, Harper’s Ferry is considered the “psychological half way point” for thru-hikers and is home to the Appalachian Trail Conservancy; the foundation that raises money and oversees all the individual A.T. districts. It is at this point that many hikers stop. Others might choose to “flip flop“; where a north bounder would leave Harper’s Ferry, fly or drive to Maine, then walk south bound back to Harper’s Ferry for better weather conditions. There’s a little more of a rush on the second half of a North bounder’s journey because Katahdn closes yearly on October 15^th before the major snows bury Baxter State Park.

Kellie greeted us at the bridge and the four of us crossed into town and stopped at our parked car. Kellyn and I ditched our bags in the trunk of the car and the sudden weightlessness was a breath of fresh air to my shoulders all the way to my feet, which were a mess. My prehike size 10 foot had swelled to at least an 11 causing severe irrigation of the outside of both feet. My three smallest toes where blood red and tender to the touch. I again reminded myself that I have done so little and yet have many aches and pains to go home with.

We walked on the trail that skirts along a ridge overlooking the Potomac to Jefferson Rock, a truly majestic view of the confluence of the Potomac and Shenandoah Rivers. It was here that T.J. commented that this vista was “perhaps one of the most stupendous scenes in nature.” We gracefully entered town by a series of flagstone steps that reminded me of an Italian villa, meandering around old stone and brick buildings and down to the cobble stone road. The town was bustling with visitors, reenactors and hikers. We grabbed an outdoor table at a busy pub/restaurant in downtown and ate like kings. After dinner, Derrick gathered his bag and we walked him to the main street.

My journey on the A.T. had ended. Derrick’s was now only half complete. We all shared goodbyes and like a cheesy spaghetti western he walked off into the sunset, north to Maine. 

The End

July   2011

by Phil Cole       Part 5 of 6

I was awoken by Penguin who was on his way out for the day. “Catch you guys on the trail,” he said. “Rock on” I replied in my half-conscious state. By that time more than half of the others had left or were packing up. I slowly gathering my items, which started to feel oddly routine and pack up camp, when Kellyn appeared. “Did Derrick take off,” he asked in a surprised and slightly annoyed tone. “Yup, he’s in the groove….we’ll catch up with him at some point today.” And so the fresh footed Kellyn and I carried onward. It was nice to share some experiences from the past few days with someone with trail experience and who would understand the inside jokes and references to both the trail and days back in college. After six or seven miles into the sun filled day we came across a southbound day hiker who greeted us with, “gonna get a big storm here in a couple hours, f.y.i..” As he passed, I looked up at the clear blue sky then looked at Kellyn and chuckled. Shortly after we ran into Derrick at the Sam Moore shelter. He had been cooking an assortment of items he had picked up at Front Royal. We joined him in his feast and drank iodine-treated stream water. Derrick decided to nap there at the shelter while Kellyn and I decided to continue on. Our destination for the evening was the Blackburn Hostel, which left a fairly smooth 17 miles into Harper’s Ferry the following day. We set forth hoping to bag those eight miles in the afternoon. That’s when the clouds rolled in.

Not two miles after leaving Derrick, it started to rain. And hard. Light clamps of thunder soon followed in the distance, as we scoured up a relentless hillside. The trail quickly became a perennial stream. Our strides grew longer and swifter as the claps of thunder became louder. We both knew about the Bears Den Shelter that sat halfway between the shelter we had just left and Blackburn Hostel. We were going to pass up the Bears Den, but agreed to stop there until the storm passed. I came to the sign that pointed us off the trail and onto a gravel service road. We then came across an unexpected sight; two large stone columns that presented itself as an impressive gateway. Beyond the columns, we saw the Bears Den Hostel; a beautiful split level stone building. In an adjacent gazebo we saw other hikers huddled together, most familiar to me from the previous night. I noticed a sign the said, ” Hikers entrance in back”. We passed through the rear entry into a small foyer filled with muddy boots and mountains of wet gear. Sopping wet, we peeled off our top layers and boots and continued into the building, where we found a group of hikers sitting in lounge chairs drinking Cokes and watching Space Balls. The room was filled with bunk beds, like one would find at summer camp. Kellyn and I joined in on the refreshments and made wet butt-prints in the low woven carpet. “Grasshopper” emerged from another room. He was a quiet yet distinguished older man from South Carolina who’s words poured out slowly in a Jimmy Stewart/ Sean Connery like fashion. “What is this vile motion picture?” he asked. “Space Balls.” someone replied. “Space Balls??…” he muttered and shook his head in disbelief. But Grasshopper sat and watch the remaining hour with the rest of us like it was his brotherly duty. I did, however, catch him fighting back a laugh or two.

After the movie I began to roam around the building-although it didn’t officially open until 4pm. I looked outside; the rain was relentless. Kellyn and I both pondered the idea of putting back on our soaked jackets, boots and bags and continue onto our initial destination, some five miles north. Would Penguin stop at the Bear’s Den or continue on himself? I was torn. Torn until I heard what the Bear’s Den had to offer. For thirty some odd dollars, each hiker received their own personal 12” pizza, one half pint of selected Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream, beverages, a hot shower, laundry and a cot for the night. Immediately after discovering this information, I turned to Kellyn and said, “I got a half pint of cookie dough with my name on it.” He shook his head “yes“, although he was disappointed we had only completed a ten mile day. More hikers began to fill up the hostel. Some were going to have a meal and continue onward while others, like ourselves, claimed a cot, got into comfortable clothes and lounged around like we where on vacation at a mountain lodge. A young couple ran and lived at the hostel for six months out of the year. They offered shuttle services and kids camps beyond catering to wet hunger hikers. The operation was simple and efficient. While Kellyn and I chowed down on our pizzas, in walked Derrick; cool, casual and wet to the core.

After dinner we sat in a living room with other hikers. “Grasshopper“, who turns out to be a political writer, was writing memories of his trip; “Torch,” a twenty something who accidentally caught his pants on fire with lighting a stove; and an older husband and wife from Indiana. They were retired doctors and were very interesting folks. I had learned that they have been staying at the Hostel for several days after she diagnosed herself with Lyme’s disease. “Torch,” said that he too was concerned that he contracted it and was getting checked in Harper’s Ferry. Lyme’s disease, I had learned, was not uncommon among hikers. Spread by the bite of deer ticks, these nearly invisible insects are very difficult to discover. An infected tick can pass the disease on to a human after a couple days of being attached. The disease may attacks the joints, heart, and nervous system of the victim if left untreated. So enough about that. Kellyn and I decided to retire early to our large room of bunk beds on the upper floor of the building. Of the 30 some bunks, 5 or 6 bottom bunks were occupied by hikers. We had a 20 mile day ahead of us, the first five of which was known as the roller coaster, a series of relentless ups and downs. Past that was “smooth sailing” a hiker read out loud to us from his guidebook.

Kellyn and I awoke early and gathered our things, and prepared for our last day on the trail. We had a quick breakfast in the dining area and then returned to the sleeping quarters to check on Penguin. “You guys go ahead, I’ll catch up,” he said. So we thanked our hosts for everything and walked into the cool misty morning. The “roller coaster” was exactly as it sounded, although with no significant climbs it was perpetual ascending and descending. In cross section it looked like a long wavy line with a stream crossing at all the low points. After a couple hours we knew we had reached the end of that section of the trail when we came to the West Virginia border. We were a little bummed that the three of us, all having gone to school at West Virginia University, didn’t share that moment together. That was the second state for me in 75 miles, and would be state # 5 for Penguin. Another bench mark was a mile beyond the WV border; the 1000 mile mark for north bounders. It was simply a small wooden sign nailed to a large oak tree, but I couldn’t image what that must feel knowing you’ve hit such a mile stone, and then realizing you’re not even half way on the A.T.

Part 6 Continues Tomorrow