AT notes #5:US 19E to Damascus, VA

4/28

I woke up feeling fine and greeted the cold air, anxious for the sun to pierce into the canadian boreal forest of spruce. The Roan highlands are among the last vestiges of alpine vegetation in the Southern mountains. As glaciers retreated high points like Roan and the larger mountains in the Smokies offered a refuge to plants escaping unfavorable weather.

During my first trip up to the Roan highlands was beset with fog. As we slowly ambled through the grassy mountains, teeming with rhodendron and flaming azalea, we briefy caught misty views of farm land below and valleys extending wide. Walking over the completely exposed and rolling landscape made me think the land resembled the highlands of Scotland. I've never traveled there, but it was just what came to mind.

This morning it was a slow start as my feet felt every twist and roll far beyond what was normal. Still at this point I had no idea something was terribly wrong. And so after we descended from Roan to Carver Gap where the trail led through the rest ofthe highlands I was less than full strength, but well enough to hike a 14-18 mile day from here to US19E and beyond to a campsite.

Again I watched my group effortlessly pull away from me as I slowly walked in this beautiful place: slowly, slowly was the way.When I caught up with the group for snacks everything got very loud. At this point the wide, clear views of the bald mts. had given way to forest still on the brink of spring. The views had staved off the worst of my pain. After eating I was nauseous, and a fever had set in. The remaining 10 miles to the road seemed impossible. I was considering stopping altogether, crawling in my bag and falling asleep. At this point I oscillated between having chills and overheating. Luckily for me Charles and Josie caught up and I conferred with them about what to do.

I asked them to walk with me as I was feeling delirious and extremely fatigued. We decided that stopping still so far from a road crossing wouldn't be a good idea if things got worse overnight. Charles offered for me to tag along with them as they planned to meet with family he had in the area and spend a few nights with them. I knew I needed to get off trail, but the rest was a mystery still.

As the trail began to ascend ever higher my steps became epic battles. Charles and Josie went ahead and promised to wait at Little Hump. In what seemed like hours later I made it to the top where hikers relaxed in the grass of noontime sun and the circus flew kites. Everyone was concerned and we all figured it was something intestinal--very common in the wilds with questionable water sources, and comprimised hygiene.

Josie and Charles were saviors offering to carry some of my heavier items-- indeed this was probably the only reason I made it to the road that day. This was the toughest day I'd had yet on this hike and it was a constant trial. I wanted to take a lot of pictures over this section as it would definitely be a highlight of the trip, but I was too desperate to try. The only pictures from the day are those I took of the Watusi cattle (originating from East Africa). I couldn't not take a picture of these cattle that reminded me of Masailand, as they grazed atop a bald mountain above 5000 ft'

4-29 -- 5/07

That night at Charley's Aunt's House I was unable to eat at all. My muscles were frozen tight with cramps and I battled a high fever until late that night. I awoke after breaking the delusional fever and watched Iron Chef with Charley and Josie.

In the morning I got up to use the bathroom and almost screamed as my right heel touched the floor. In the bathroom I inspected my heel and found a large blister on the back of my heel surrounded by swelling and infected tissue. The infection seemed to be spreading up my ankle and required immediate medical attention.

Luck again placed me in a position where I was just 45 mins from my doctor and friends in Johnson City. I called Heather's Mom, Melody, and she graciously offered to pick me up. It was a Sunday and my doctor and her family were preparing to go to a friend's party. Despite this she agreed to see my ankle. She drew a line around the infeection so we could monitor the progress of antibiotics and told me I'd need to heal for about a week.

And so 3 days after leaving Johnson City I was back with the orders to stay much longer. I can't thank everyone enough for making that time as easy as possible--it was a true blessing.
And so I soaked my feet and drained my blister multiple times a day; I took my meds every 6 hours; I watched a lot of TV; I tossed my shoes and footbeds as they were now full of the same bacteria that had infected my ankle; I bleached my socks to rid them of the bacteria to blame; I took a trip to Damascus (along the AT) where I had shoes sent which I now needed earlier; I ate a lot of good food; I hung out with the Davis' many animals; and I read a great book.

The cause for all of this pain was the miles of water I'd sloshed through 3 days prior. It's important to always take stock of your feet during a hike like this. Wet skin only weakens the skin and allows for opportunistic infections like this one. Since my hike I've read a great deal on foot care and am now a great advocate. No matter where you're going your feet will take you there.

5/08

Melody dropped me off a week later where I'd come off trail. When you take that much time off the dynamics of the trail change quite a bit. All of the folks I'd become familiar with over the last 400 miles were now in Virginia. So again I was alone without a tribe, just like my first day in GA. The beauty of walking like a solitary pilgrim was that your day was completely up to you. Often in a group you steer towards group goals, which I don't think is inherently bad, as it changed my hike for the better in most cases. But now, I planned everything and so there was much more room to explore.

I bandaged my heel really well and said my goodbyes to Melody, hoping to not see her again in this context.
And immediately met this guy, "ballpark," who spoke in a thick bostonian accent. He was from Mass., I would later find out. I was ready to walk alone and in a sense I sunk into an aloof thru-hiker mode for the first few days back on trail as I felt very much a solitary man. My focus was walking and my focus was healing--beyond that I couldn't really feel compelled to devote any energy elsewhere.

Soon after making the walk through misty meadows and sparse pine forests I found myself with my first option to investigate off trail. With a long hike like this you tend to focus on a silly notion of progress: in that each step should be north towards Maine. In that you miss a lot of the blue blazed trails leading off the AT towards waterfalls, ancient trees, landmarks, etc. With all the time in the world I decided to change that and walked to Jones Falls for a rest and some falling water.

From then the day crossed o'er many streams and meandered through endless woods. I walked on and felt the lack of physical strength in my softened muslces that taken over a week completely off--I couldn't even walk on both feet until 3 days before I set off again. I'd hoped to make it to this meadow where Heather and I spent a quiet spring night watching fireflies and stoking a fire. However, it was all I could do to make it to the shelter just 2-3 miles south of that meadow. I settled in at the shelter to care for my feet. Changing bandages and socks was a habit I now took too with great care.

5/09
The next day I woke and set off very early as was my usual habit. I loved walking alone in the early morning; there was something so inspiring about starting the day with the cool, damp promise of something new. I descended softly down to Dennis Cove where I had a package waiting at the Kincora Hostel. When I made it to the road and walked the short distance to the house of the area trail manager/hostel provider I expected to see some new faces. However, no one was there. I waited feeling annoyed because I wanted to make great progress today and needed to pick up my food I'd mailed here. Realizing I couldn't leave without my food I waited and read the logbook to see how far ahead my people were.

It was there that I happened upon this entry. Normally, these books are covered with quick messages and mundane ideas. But,this particular one had this fun discussion of the greek idea of Kairos, as opposed to chronos. Chronos, as relating to time,sets up life like this:

event...................event

The space in between (....) represents the passing of life and time.
So, one living life in such a way is ever-looking forward and backwards to events and their superficial, static meaning.

Kairos is set up like this:
0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Every experience here is a chance to participate, reflect, ask the appropriate questions, and act.
My hike up until that moment was very chronos--in fact I only read that log because I had to wait. Otherwise, I would have breezed through to get to the next destination, the future event. I decided then to change my walk--indeed, I was going to take that time to care for myself, avoiding the injury cycle which is only another form of the painful cycles we put ourselves through.

For the rest of the day I walked with clear intentions to just experience all there was ahead of me. Walking in the Pond Mt. Wilderness with the added supplies of Easter candy, homemade granola, and kind words from my family, I found my into the green wonderland that was my moving picture. With the promise of a sacred spring at the top of Pond Flats I climbed on through the deep hollows and silent ridges.
I was now carrying gatorade powder to help stave off dehydration of which I think I was in a constant state thereof. With full bottles I made my way down and spotted the most beautiful flaming azalea bush. It was flirting with a butterfly as I delicately withdrew my camera and photographed their dance. Spring was indeed full.

Now descending I came to a road which led to Watauga lake. Sometimes it's quite strange to spend the day alone in the wilderness and then quickly descend to a busy highway and a lake full of fisherman and activity--today would definitely qualify. I met this painted horse before I crossed over to the lake.
From that point the trail followed around the rim of the lake and took me into the woods along the bank on the otherside.I could hear some yelling ahead and hoped to not run into any drunk, rowdy folks. However, I found 5 highschoolers celebrating the 18th birthday of their friend in my the path. It seemed as if they were hollering at the boat off shore. I tried to look disinterested, but I was dragged into their party.

They looked at me like I was strange and asked me where I was coming from. I stated, "Georgia,"thinking that they'd probably run into plenty of thru-hikers already. The reactions that followed were of utter shock; they were pretty drunk so I'm not sure how serious they were. They asked to take a photo with me. As we bunched together one of the guys gave me a friendly butt-slap as they took the picture. Immediately I was reminded of highschool as they all called him all the derogatory names for homosexual they could find. I knew I needed to move on so I wished the birthday party the best and set off.

Soon thereafter I found my way to the shelter along the lake. I'd hoped to have a view of the lake from the platform, but we were totally enshrouded in green. I settled in and began chatting with the same folks from the night before.

5/10 The Thirty Mile Day

I felt free. Now in possession of this thing I decided to challenge myself to walk the 40 miles from here at Watuaga Lake to Damascus, VA. The terrain here lends itself easily to 3+mph pace, and is referred to as the "Tennessee turnpike," or the first opportunity to try a long day on the AT since the trail from GA to here is graded far too steeply to allow for this mileage. Well beyond all of that I wanted to do it and my intention was completely personal--this was not for show or display; it was just the right place for it.

I walked too fast at first and I knew it; I ran out of water and started rushing past some new folks, and gradually I settled into it. Eventually it all became this great non-challenge--not requiring masculinity or fortitude, just walking. And so I just kept walking thinking on everything.

And there I came out of the woods, about half-way, to this wide open field atop a serious of gentle hills. I was astounded after all those blind miles of the "green tunnel" to be so shocked by open fields, dandelions, old barns, and so may notches in the grassy hills calling for you to spreadout a blanket and take a nap. But, the sun was hot and bright and my day was still flowing north-by-northeast.
Sometimes in the past I played this number game with what was and is a mile. With the guide book you can always get a fairly accurate idea of how far you've come or how far you have to go --completely chronos. But it's really hard not to do.

During the latter half of the day I wanted to be done around mile 25. Pressing on through the last 5 miles to 30 was no celebratory finish. It was fulfilling in the sense that I could do it. However, the experiment was still very chronos, despite all the peaceful gliding moments that filled my walk.

Now at the shelter in time before the sky dropped I mechanically moved downhill to the water source. I'd begun to cramp as soon as I'd stopped. I found Grey Goose (a familiar older man, who I'd walked with since the Smokies--he made it all the way to Katahdin) and Miles who told me of the many trials he'd undergone. Apparently he was nearly struck by lightning on the same exposed ridge I'd described earlier.

He had sat catatonic on the ridge until some hikers came along and brought him down. And just today he was peppered with birdshot by some blind hunters who mistook him for a turkey. Luckily, he was only hit in the backpack. The hunters ran away. Miles spoke with a police officer at the trail head but to no avail. So seemingly Miles could have been shot and left to bleed to death by these hunters--his life was now twice in jeopardy. I was shocked. He seemed fine. I told him that maybe he should stop hiking, maybe it wasn't in the cards. And that indeed turned out to be his plan anyways--to hike to Damascus for Trail Days and head home afterwards.

5/11
I was excited for today I'd make it to a great trail town, but more importantly to my home state of Va. I looked forward to walking through every bit of the trail through VA and hopefully meeting my parents in Harpers Ferry, college friends in Harrisonburg, and Tim in the Shenandoahs.

The sign marking the entrance into Va was less than impressive like all the state crossing signs I'd seen before. Now in my fourth state, I settled in for the longest state of the hike: VA. Again rain threatened and I quickened my pace to make it into Damascus and find a hostel before it fell down.

There I did the normal town chores: laundry, mail, gear, and most importantly, hot fresh food. I was still very happy with being alone but I started to hang out with Caveman and Miles and some other characters. It was at "The Place" hostel where I met Sidestep with whom I'd later walk out of Damascus.