“Whoever conceals their sins does not prosper, but the one who confesses and renounces them finds mercy.”     –  Proverbs 28:13

“In one long glorious acknowledgement of failure, he laid himself bare before God.” – John Grisham, The Testament

Day 79

With the taste of leftover Boy Scout spaghetti still lingering in my mouth, I broke camp and headed north. At mile 818.2 I crossed the north fork of the Piney River, an area one hiker accurately described as a Yoda marsh. Described, he did.

I was initially surprised by the large number of day hikers on the trail today, and then I remembered it was Memorial Day weekend. I spoke with several of these clean, smiling people with Fannie packs and answered several questions about my hike. I also passed most of them on the uphills. This provided a small boost to my ego which had taken a hit earlier in my journey when I was passed by a woman and her wiener dog. Along with thirty other people, I stopped and scrambled up the scenic Sky Rock at mile 822.8.

By mid-afternoon the rain started to fall. Rather than take on Virginia’s steepest descent in the rain, I ended my 14.3 mile day at The Priest Shelter atop Priest Mountain. I was joined in and around the shelter by an assortment of hikers, including Hawaii, Clancy and his dog Findley, Spaghetti Legs, Gamel, and Pantry. The Priest is one of the more famous shelters along the AT because it is a tradition for hikers to write confessions to The Priest in the shelter log book. As the rain fell, I blew up my air mattress in the shelter, got out of my wet clothes, and began nibbling on and sharing the dried, salted green peas I’d purchased from the Amish Cupboard in Buena Vista. I started to wish there was an Amish Cupboard near my house, and then I remembered my house is on wheels and I can drive and live near an Amish store whenever I want.

I spent the next hour reading confessions from the log and writing several of my own. Other hikers confessed to things like…

– Not digging their cat holes 6 inches deep
– Getting another hiker’s Nalgene “pee bottle” out of a hiker box and using it as their drinking bottle for a month
– Not liking certain other hikers…even hiding in the woods to avoid them
– Not believing in God
– Not having showered or brushed their teeth in several weeks

I added my own dozen confessions, including…

– Attempting to smell southbound women hikers as they pass by just in case they’re wearing perfume
– Never having voted for a Democrat, or anyone pro-choice, my entire life (actually proud of that)
– Fishing without a license in various states along the AT
– The only time I can recall cheating on a test was a music test in 8th grade at Caesar Rodney Junior High School. One of the questions was a series of musical notes written on the chalkboard, and we had to figure out the song. While the teacher stepped out of the room for a second, a fellow student hummed the tune and that gave me the answer. That’s bothered me since 1978. I’m letting it go now.

Later that evening, I had a good chat with Hawaii, a mid-20s guy from…well, you can figure it out. We began by torturing ourselves by naming the food we most crave. His number one craving was duck, a food introduced to him by his Chinese girlfriend. I went with the Victoria’s Filet Mignon at Outback with the horseradish crust on it…with a Blooming Onion, bread and butter, a loaded baked potato, and salad. I’m counting that as one item…deal with it. We also discussed why, according to him, older people tend to complete the AT at a higher success rate than the younger, fitter crowd. His theory, and experience from hiking with many in their 20s, is that there are 3 main reasons:

1. Younger hikers tend to let their egos go wild and make unwise decisions about mileage, causing injury. They go for too many miles, too soon, and their bodies don’t play along. Older, wiser hikers generally have aged, less fit bodies to work with, and yet they know how to get more out of them without injury.

2. Younger hikers tend to run out of money, and that is often the result of vast sums of money spent on beer in trail towns.

3. Many (but not all) younger hikers begin the trail not having experienced many hardships in life. They may not have experienced the kind of physical and emotional challenges (serving in combat, dealing with loss or loneliness, etc.) that harden and toughen those who have. While I agree with Hawaii’s perspective on this, there are certainly exceptions. I have met millennials out here who are as tough as nails, having survived domestic violence, horrific war wounds to the face, and other hardships much more daunting than anything I’ve been through.

As I laid there in the shelter with rain falling outside, I thought of a few more confessions I should have made. I relieved myself too close to Ottie Cline Powell’s memorial, and for that I am truly sorry. I also might have loudly spoke an inappropriate word when I landed on my back and elbow at Dismal Falls.

Before dozing off to sleep, I coughed up a dried, salted Amish green pea onto Hawaii’s air mattress. I must confess to reaching over, picking it up, putting it back in my mouth, chewing it some more, an then re-swallowing it. I’m not proud of what I did, but when it comes to confessions, I guess we rarely are.

Fob

“Therefore let anyone who thinks that he stands take heed lest he fall.” – 1 Corinthians 10:12

“The righteous person may have many troubles, but the Lord delivers him from them all.” – Psalm 34:19

Day 57

Today was the first of two consecutive not especially good days on the AT. Some days are just like that. When you hit a wall, physically and/or emotionally, you just have to grind it out and keep your head up.

Just a couple of miles into the morning hike, I took a side trail .3 miles west to check out the beautiful Dismal Falls. The scenic waterfall and the surrounding campsites may very well be the best water-based place to camp on the AT thus far. On my way to the falls I saw Dawn, aka Slim Rim, hiking out and we chatted briefly. At the falls I had the place to myself. I set my pack and trekking pokes down, ate a snack, took some pictures and video, took care of some business, and then decided to check out the place. Specifically, I wanted to walk along the edge of the water and look for fish. And that’s when it happened. As I nonchalantly walked around some large, wet, flat rocks, not really paying attention, my feet slipped out from under me and I went airborne, landing flat on my back! Actually, my back, butt, and right elbow all hit at the same time, with my elbow bearing the brunt of it. I was in immense pain and was somehow embarrassed, even though no one else was around. It was my first fall on the AT, at mile 610, and it happened on a side excursion with my backpack off. I felt very thankful that I didn’t crack my skull. If I had, instead of my blog, you might be reading my Fobituary.

I gathered myself, felt around for damage (bruised elbow, muddy shorts, dislocated ego), and then continued northward. It was an overcast day, with occasional showers, and I walked alongside various streams and crossed bridges throughout the day. In the afternoon my feet started to ache all over. They became especially sensitive to stepping on sharp rocks, which happens hundreds of times throughout a typical day. On top of that, the elbow pain from my fall worsened and I wasn’t able to push off on my right trekking pole during climbs. As a hiker who relies heavily on forearms and trekking poles for power and balance during climbs, this is a problem. I felt like someone had popped me in the elbow with a hammer.

On top of of the physical pain that afternoon, I felt really sad that I was missing my son Kyle’s and future daughter-in-law Laci’s college graduation. Realistically, to hike the trail I had to choose between their graduation today or their wedding the following weekend and the wedding won out. Although they understood and supported that decision, I felt terrible about it. They had both had such remarkable college experiences. It’s one of those family sacrifices you have to make to hike the AT, and emotionally it hit me pretty hard. Exhausted, bummed, and in foot and elbow pain, I had simply had enough and just stopped in my tracks. Time to set up camp. It had been a tough 17.1 mile day, mentally and physically. As I sat there cooking Chili Mac, Dawn and then later Conductor and Whistler (aka Mowgli) passed by and asked how I was doing. I said, “Fine, thanks.” I lied.

Day 58

“My life before the trail was often a bit white-washed, as if someone had trimmed the peaks and valleys from each day. The trail has brought a vivid color back to each day, both in good and bad ways. The reality is that you can’t have the highs without the lows out here.” – Slice, aspiring 2016 thru-hiker

It was a restless night of sleep because I’m a side sleeper and every time I rolled onto my right elbow the pain woke me up. As I crawled out of my tent that morning to retrieve my bear bag, pain shot through both of my feet. It was the sorest I ever remember them being. I brought my food bag back into my tent, ate a pop tart, and sat there rubbing my feet. I then remembered that it was Mothers Day, the first one since my dear mother passed away. I’m not much of a crier (ENTJs tend not to be all that emotionally expressive) but I laid back on my air mattress and had my first good long AT cry. It was a combination of thinking about mom, missing my wife, missing graduation, nursing an injured elbow, and dealing with foot pain that made it difficult to take even a step. Of my 58 days on the AT so far, I had reached my lowest point. I took a few Advil, poured out my heart to God, and then wrote a poem for my mom.  Writing has always been therapeutic to me as it allows me to unscramble and process my thoughts and emotions.  Prayer has a similar effect because I know God knows my heart and struggles and is ready to give me whatever I need to get through the day.

I eventually pulled myself together and counted my blessings. I am an immensely blessed person and I wouldn’t trade lives with anyone. Still, just like the AT, life has its peaks and valleys and I was in a temporary valley. I thought about people and families I know courageously dealing with cancer and brain injuries and other things far worse than the sadness and foot pain I was experiencing. I realized I simply needed a break from the trail and, fortunately, a break was coming! All I needed to do was hobble 11.1 miles along a flat, and then descending, section of trail into Pearisburg. So that’s what I did.

Conductor caught up with me and we hiked together for the last few miles. He is one of my favorite hikers and I’m glad our paths have crossed several times. As a guy who previously thru-hiked the AT several years ago (and had an injury-riddled failed attempt last year), he has tremendous credibility in answering trail questions. He does that very humbly and only when asked, so he doesn’t come across as a know-it-all. We both are retired military and love the AT, so there are always plenty of things to talk about. After hiking into Pearisburg, checking into the motel, and showering (separately), we headed across the street for some great Mexican food and more conversation. He really lifted my spirits, as did the motel manager who offered to do my laundry for free.

That evening, after a hot bath, my feet were feeling a little better so I decided to walk to the other side of town and attend worship services at the Pearisburg Church of Christ. I arrived a few minutes before 6:00 p.m., the start time according to my google search. No one was there. I called the number listed as the contact person to get more information and got no answer. Oh well. I hiked back to the motel, stopping at Pizza Hut along the way for some pizza and salad.

My original plan was to take a zero day in Pearisburg on Monday, and then rent a car and head to Alabama on Tuesday for the wedding week activities. While sitting at the Pizza Hut, I decided to accelerate that by a day because I missed my wife and family, and an extra rental car day would be less than an extra night at the motel.

I decided to keep my day early arrival a secret to Lil Jan, and just told our friends, the Diamonds (with whom she’s staying) about the plan. In just a matter of hours, I had gone from the valley of pain, exhaustion, and sadness to the mountaintop of anticipation in seeing my wife, other family, and friends. I needed rest, a break from hiking and some normalcy.  I needed my family. I needed to be a part of the wedding festivities. I needed some extended time on the mountaintop. And God was about to pour out all those blessings on me big time.

Fob

“Into each life some rain must fall.”     –  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

“The best thing one can do when it’s raining is to let it rain.”     – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Day 51

Light rain, particularly on a warm, muggy day, is a refreshing thing on the AT. Heavy rain and rain that lasts for several days gets old pretty quickly. It makes everything more challenging…the trail can become muddy (or even turn into a stream), the hiking pace slows, rocks become slicker, and visibility drops making the “money” views not so grand. For wearers of glasses, your choices are to take them off and have blurred vision, or leave them on and drive in the rain with no windshield wiper. While the contents of a well-packed and covered backpack can mostly stay dry, the same cannot be said for the hiker carrying it. You end up soaked to the bone by the rain and by your own sweat forming under any attempts to cover yourself with rain gear. Wet socks/feet make you more susceptible to blistering. If it’s rainy and cold, the misery factor increases as does the chance of getting sick.

Four upsides to all this: 1) water sources will be more frequent and reliable; 2) you appreciate the sunshine that will eventually appear so much more; 3) overcoming shared rainy misery bonds hikers; and 4) like other AT challenges, overcoming extended rain makes you a tougher, more resilient person.

Day 51 was a rainy day. My approach was to wear very little (shorts, sometimes a shirt, and boots), spend time in prayer, think positive thoughts, and keep moving. Near a stream at mile 540.1, two rabbits hopped by alongside the trail. That didn’t lift my spirits much but here’s what did…Trail Magic! The historic Lindamood School, part of the Settlers Museum, is a one-room schoolhouse from the 1890s. A local Baptist church stocks it with free food, drinks, and supplies for hikers. It would have been magic enough to simply have a place to get a break from the rain. All the goodies inside were a much appreciated bonus. Yet another church group letting their light shine on the AT!

After a short, rainy 6.2 mile and day, I decided to stop in Atkins and dry out at the Relax Inn. After checking in, my first stop was the delicious All-You-Can-Eat buffet at the nearby Barn Restaurant, a hiker favorite. By mid-afternoon the rain stopped and I was able to lay out my wet tent and boots in the parking lot while I did laundry. Since the laundry room was next to my room, I was able to put all my clothes in the washer and then sprint to my room wearing just a towel. As I entered my room, I noticed a trellis on the far side of the parking lot that would be a perfect spot to hang my tent. Not seeing anyone around, I grabbed my tent and ran across the parking lot in my towel. After hanging it and beginning the return sprint, I looked over and Princess Grit was entering the parking lot. She yelled, “Is that you, Fob?” and I yelled back, “Never heard of him!” and ducked into my room.

That night Buddah Jim, Princess Grit, several other hikers and I ate at a Mexican restaurant attached to, appropriately, a gas station. Buddah Jim told me all about his work at a psychiatric hospital. Based on his description of some of the patients, I believe most aspiring thru-hikers would feel right at home there.

Day 52

Before leaving the motel, I picked up a couple of items from the hiker box, including some beef jerky. A few miles after crossing the I-81 underpass out of Atkins, I reached mile 547.275…the one quarter mark on the Appalachian Trail! Later that day, near mile 556, I saw my 6th harmless AT snake.

At mile 557.3, atop Brushy Mountain, I started getting hungry and remembered the beef jerky I had picked up from the motel’s hiker box. That sounded good so I reached into the package, pulled out two pieces, and stuffed them in my mouth. Instantly, I knew something was wrong. They tasted like wet cardboard that had been sautéed in bacon grease. I gagged for a moment and then swallowed them simply for the calories. A little while later, I commented on the disappointing beef jerky to a fellow hiker. He looked at the package and said, “Dude, you’re eating dog treats!” I couldn’t believe it! There was no mention of dogs or pictures of dogs on the package. There were some Spanish phrases on the package, but nothing about perros (dogs). Later, I complained to Conductor about the misleading labeling. He asked who made them and I told him Gravy Train. He told me Gravy Train is a well-known dog food company, so the package really doesn’t need a warning label stating, “These are dog treats.  Not to be consumed by hikers.” And yet, having stuffed the bacon-flavored cardboard in my mouth, I would say it does. They were so bad, in fact, that I’m not even sure our dog, Mandy, would eat them.

As I ascended Lynn Camp Mountain, I saw and got video of AT Snake #7, a black snake. I checked the forecast and saw that heavy rain was due to hit in about 30 minutes. It was time to descend the mountain in full beast mode. I kicked it into high gear and made it to a pretty campsite right on Lick Creek with enough time to pitch my tent, heat up some instant potatoes to accompany my Mike n Ikes, and hang my bear bag. Then, with the sun setting and a light rain beginning to fall, I caught my second AT fish using a piece of Slim Jim. I would have used some beef jerky for bait, but Gravy Train is really just for dogs.

Fob

“A good character is the best tombstone. Those who loved you and were helped by you will remember you when forget-me-nots have withered. Carve your name on hearts, not on marble.” – Charles H. Spurgeon (1834-1892), English Preacher

Day 43

Sadly, my reunion with Lil Jan had come to an end, and she drove me back to the Shook Branch Recreation Area. Her parents (MawMaw and Papa) and sister and brother-in-law (Carol and Scott) were in the area visiting Janet’s other sister and decided to stop by and hug my neck. It was great to see them if only for a few minutes. After saying our goodbyes, and giving Lil Jan a final kiss, they departed.

One thing that will help take the sting out of saying goodbye is a bit of…Trail Magic! Yes, right there at the Rec Area a group of 2015 thru-hikers had reunited from different parts of the country to set up a magnificent cookout. I knew it would be special because those who have hiked the trail know just how to serve up some magic. Among many possible options, I went with a bacon cheeseburger, chips, soda, and dessert. I sat there for 30 minutes picking their brains about their experiences and what to expect as I head northward. So, I want to give a big shout out to Rock Boat, Forward, Jeopardy, Doc, Klank, and Poboy for the conversation and the magic. (I would learn later that Forward is friends with Karen King, a church friend from our Virginia days.)

One of the last things said to me by Rock Boat was, “There were lots of good and bad things that happened on the trail, but I only remember the good stuff.” His comment gave me something to think about as I headed out for the beautiful, several mile long hike along Wautaga Lake. Did he actually forget the bad stuff that happened on his thru-hike? Or, was the bad stuff, in the context of the overall hike, eventually considered to be part of the good stuff? For example, was the hike through a thunderstorm (considered “bad” at the time) ultimately considered part of the “good” because he had overcome it, survived, and developed a closer bond with other survivors as a result? In James 1:2-4, James writes, “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” I’m trying to take these verses to heart and really apply them out here. I’m trying to find joy in the thunderstorm, the foot/toe numbness, the homesickness, and other trail trials, knowing that God will somehow use them to make me a more mature and complete person and Christian. Overcoming some “bad” stuff has already increased my trail perseverance, resolve, and “bad” tolerance levels, and a goal is to have that translate back in the real world. I want to more consistently find joy in the seemingly good and bad, and know that God will use both to mold me into the man he wants me to be. I also want to have a much higher percentage of bad stuff…daily annoyances, perceived slights, inconveniences, traffic jams, cold showers, etc…be small stuff that I don’t sweat.

As I hiked along the lake, I passed the Wautaga Lake Shelter that has been closed due to bear activity. I also passed a 1/2 mile long section of the trail which had burned in the recent forest fire (arson suspected). Later, a group from the Centerview Church of Christ, where I had worshipped the preceding Sunday, passed me from the other direction. It was great to see David Irick, one of their ministers, and other familiar faces, out on a day hike. We spoke for a few moments and David was kind enough to give me my first Yoo-hoo chocolate drink. Later, near Wilbur Dam Road, I enjoyed one final parting gift from the Centerview congregation…a cooler full of Throwback Mountain Dew!

After a fairly easy 9.1 mile day, I stayed at the Vandeventer Shelter with a gorgeous view behind it. The shelter and surrounding tent sites were full that night, with a cast of characters including 5-Star, Odysseus, and NesQuick (my hiking buddy from the Great Smoky Mountains Bubble). There was also a rather odd fellow (section hiker) who said he and his fiancé had been robbed of their food and money while getting water at a shelter a few days prior. Then they had a big fight and were now hiking in opposite directions, even though they were “on their way to Texas.” I wondered if he knew the AT doesn’t go through Texas.  He had no food, no stove, his phone was dead, and he never got out of his sleeping bag. This all seemed rather bizarre to me. Although he didn’t ask for any help, the aspiring thru-hikers passed around a large ziplock bag at campfire that night and filled it with snacks for him. That night, I did my best to find joy in the loud snoring of the hiker right next to me in the shelter. Maybe his snoring kept the mice away.

Day 44

I awoke and immediately had two things working in my favor: an early start (6:50 a.m., to get away from Sir Snores-a-Lot) and a relatively flat topography ahead. This had the potential to be a big mileage day, although that’s rarely my goal.

At mile 444 I passed the Uncle Nick Grindstaff Monument. According to his tombstone, he was born December 26, 1851 and died July 22, 1953. He lived as a hermit on Iron Mountain the last 40 years of his life, and his tombstone reads, “He lived alone, suffered alone, and died alone.” For more on his life and story, check out… http://appalachiantreks.blogspot.com/2012/07/uncle-nick-grindstaff.html?m=1

As I descended Iron Mountain, I looked down at my sweaty right forearm and noticed my first AT tick walking along it. I brushed him off and spent the next mile running my fingers through my hair and checking various body crevices. I fear ticks and the diseases they carry more than I fear snakes and bears combined.  (Although a combined Snake-Bear would be fairly intimidating.)

At mile 447.3 I began a peaceful, scenic walk through a pasture. Out here on the AT, I love how God can just flip a switch and send us from mountains to pastures, from wind to stillness, and from shady laurel valleys to sunny ridges in mere moments.  If you don’t like the scenery, keep hiking and wait a few minutes. Halfway across the pasture I stopped and visited with Mountain Man, a rare southbound hiker. We exchanged trail notes and our beards posed for a selfie together.  Later, I came across a metal cage full of…Trail Magic!  I had a soda and a snack, courtesy of the Girls in Action, a 4th-6th Grade mission group from the Nelson Chapel Baptist Church, Mountain City, Tennessee.  I hope my fellow hikers and I don’t just see and appreciate the magic, and the Trail Angels, but also the faith in Christ and desire to live like Him that motivates much of it.  In other words, I hope they receive not just the Mountain Dew, but ultimately the Gospel Message that can really change their lives, and mine.

As I descended Locust Knob, I met a couple from Johnson City out on a day hike.  They have hiked local AT sections and other area trails for the past decade and have set up numerous off-trail secret campsites behind rock formations and other barriers for their own use.  He asked if I noticed the two mating butterflies floating around about 30 yards south.  I told him I had, but wasn’t sure if they were mating or just holding hands. He asked, “Did you notice they were two different species?  That’s just wrong.”  I suggested maybe a third species would result, but that didn’t satisfy him.  He also told me the green plant I had been seeing in abundance all day long was a May Apple.

After a 20.2 mile day, I stealth camped near a spring at mile 456.1. A short time later, NesQuick (who is having serious foot issues) and Dawn (aka Slim Rim, from Vermont) joined me and tented nearby. As we ate supper (for me, that meant Mountain House Pasta Primavera with 2 Parmesan cheese packets), she asked about my family and I bragged on my sons for a few minutes. She replied, “That’s really cool. I hope my dad talks that way about me when I’m not around.” I hope he does too.

Fob

The Voice From My Pack

Woke up this morning, felt the weight of my heart,
Didn’t feel like hiking, didn’t even wanna start.

It’s been just nine months, but the pain feels so real,
Some wounds do persist, some hearts never heal.

A pouch with her ashes, a voice from my pack…
“Keep hiking son, I’ll forever have your back.”

My dear mother loved me, and my sisters too,
Hearts as big as hers, there just are so few.

But no phone calls today, or sweet cards to sign,
No flowers to send, to this precious mother of mine.

A pouch with her ashes, a voice from my pack…
“Keep hiking son, I’ll forever have your back.”

I don’t call the shots, didn’t hang the stars and moon,
But from my vantage point, God took mom too soon.

Guess he needed an angel, and she fit the bill,
He’ll put her to work, but I miss her still.

A pouch with her ashes, a voice from my pack…
“Keep hiking son, I’ll forever have your back.”

So I’m hiking the AT, hike most every day,
Told mom I would do it, she told me she’d pray.

I know mom’s in heaven, but today I shed tears,
We just have her ashes, and memories to hold dear.

A pouch with her ashes, a voice from my pack…
“Keep hiking son, I’ll forever have your back.”

Got out of my tent, and laced up my boots,
What’s in store today, mom?…probably more rocks and roots.

One step at a time, in the snow and the rain,
With mom in my backpack, we’ll make it to Maine.

A pouch with her ashes, a voice from my pack…
“Keep hiking son, I’ll forever have your back.”

At Katahdin’s summit, I’ll see mom’s smiling face,
I’ll kneel to the ground, where her ashes I’ll place.

Our journey will have ended, as mother and son,
But she’ll remain in my heart, I’ll still miss her a ton.

A pouch with her ashes, a voice from my pack…
“Keep hiking son, I’ll forever have your back.”

I thank God for her life, and all she means to me,
Our moms are so special, I think you’ll agree.

If your mom is still living, I so envy you,
Tell her you love her, cards alone just won’t do.

To the pouch with her ashes, to the voice from my pack…
“I’ll keep hiking mom, and never look back.”

I love you, Mom! Happy Mothers Day! Now let’s go climb that mountain together…

Fob

“Dedicate some of your life to others. Your dedication will not be a sacrifice. It will be an  exhilarating experience because it is intense effort applied toward a meaningful end.” – Thomas Dooley

Day 36

I awoke and quietly got ready in the loft as the University of Florida students snoozed nearby. On the other side of them was Lost Gear, an African-American, retired Marine who was doing a 3-day section hike with an eye toward a thru-hike with fellow Marines some day. He was out of water and didn’t have a filter, so I hooked him up with some filtered water and enjoyed our brief conversation.

I then climbed the incredibly scenic Little Hump and Hump Mountains. As I climbed, I started channeling my inner Secret Life of Walter Mitty. I imagined being Mitty (played by Ben Stiller) as he climbs the Himalayas in search of Sean O’Connell (played by Sean Penn), who is on a summit photographing a rare snow leopard. Halfway up Hump Mountain, I stopped for a selfie. I glanced at it and asked myself, “When did you join the Taliban?”

Later on, I met a hiker named Chopper who got that name from having to be medically airlifted to a hospital while hiking. They told him he had drank plenty of water, but not enough electrolytes. He was a huge proponent of putting electrolyte tablets in your drinking water while hiking, and I’ve been doing so ever since. At mile 390.1, Doll Flats, I left North Carolina for the last time on my AT journey.

After a 9.2 mile day, I arrived at US 19E (Roan Mountain) and hiked .3 miles west to the Mountain Harbour Bed and Breakfast/Hiker Hostel. Upon arrival at the hostel, Hightop and his dog were kind enough to share their pizza with me. Sharing the hostel with us were Bevo (from Austin, Texas), Not a Bear (has a black backpack that sometimes other hikers mistake for a bear), Ptarmigan (named after a Colorado hiking club…and a bird), Morning Lori (from Maine), and Cactus (from Dallas). Cactus got that name by falling on a prickly pear cactus while hiking in the hill country of Texas. The cactus needles stuck into him all over his rear end and thighs. In severe pain, he dropped his shorts and underwear and bent over so that a friend/fellow hiker could pull out the imbedded cactus needles. Unbeknownst to Cactus, once all the needles were gone, the “friend” continued pulling out his butt hairs for several minutes, as others looked on smiling. That’s just wrong.

At the hostel parking lot I ran into Lost Gear, the Marine I had shared a loft with. He offered me a ride into town, where I picked up some groceries at Redi Mart and had a filling steak supper and peanut butter milkshake dessert across the street at Bob’s Dairyland. Needing a ride back to the hostel, I approached a young local guy filling up his pickup truck with gas and asked him for a ride. He agreed but said he’d need to clear out a spot for me. We walked to the passenger side and the seat was filled with what appeared to be his life possessions…pictures, glasses, clothes, thermos, lampshade, etc. I helped him move the stuff to the bed of his truck with his other possessions, and felt bad that he was going to this trouble for me. During our 5-minute drive, I learned that he and his girlfriend had just had a fight and that she had kicked him out, along with his stuff. He said, “it was all my fault,” to which I thoughtlessly responded, “probably so.”

Day 37

By far the best thing about the Mountain Harbour Hostel was the optional, $12, all you can eat breakfast buffet. That’s about six times what I normally spend on breakfast, but I’d have to say it was the most satisfying breakfast I’ve eaten in my 50 years. Watching ravenous, hairy, rough-looking hikers walk up the stairs from the hostel to the up-scale B&B to line-up for breakfast was quite the sight. Like ornery 7th grade boys lined up outside the principal’s office, we were anxious, fidgety, and drooling just a tad. We finally were allowed in where we devoured a simply magnificent breakfast. I ate and ate and ate some more, and drank at least 20 cups of orange juice, cran-Apple juice, and coffee.

In my desire to attend worship services whenever I’m in a trail town on a Sunday, I did some Google-ing and eventually stumbled on a potential lead…Tom and Sandra Johnson from Roan Mountain, Tennessee and the Centerview Church of Christ of Elizabethton. I called them and explained my situation and they graciously agreed to pick me up at the hostel, take me to church, and then deliver me back to the trailhead. That’s what you call a very sweet couple and a very successful phone call. My brothers and sisters in Christ were so kind to me. The services were uplifting and they invited me to the front of the line at their potluck luncheon! While Catholics are known for rosary beads and Jews for the menorah, members of the churches of Christ can do casseroles better than anyone! Romans 12:13 reads, “Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.” My heartfelt thanks to Tom and Sandra and the rest of this church family for your warm hospitality!

I got back on the trail at 2:20 p.m. and was able to get in 9.2 miles of hiking. At mile 396 I passed a scenic wilderness cemetery and regretted no other hikers were nearby to tell my cemetery joke to…”Did you know none of the locals are buried in that cemetery? Yeah, it’s because they’re not dead yet.” At mile 398.5 I took a short blue blazed trail to get a picture of Jones Falls. At 399.2 I began a nice section along the Elk River, the longest riverside hike to date. I stopped for a moment and pulled my first ramp out of the ground, wiped the dirt off of it, and ate it. Ramps are delicious wild onions that can be eaten raw or cooked with Ramen noodles or pretty much anything. They trash your mouth out, but that’s not really an issue out here. At mile 400 I stopped to take a picture of a mile 400 milestone that someone had left. On the one hand, 400 miles seems like a long way to hike. On the other hand, I’ve gone less than 19% of the AT, so there’s a lot of work left to do.

That night I decided to sleep in the Mountaineer Shelter, a rare 3-level shelter. I was joined in and around the shelter by Black Bear (from Maine), SpongeBob, Sunshine, and OutStanding. As I prepared to climb up to the second level, I noticed shelter graffiti which read, “Brooks was here. So was Red.” Just for the record, so was Fob.

Fob

“Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable.” – Sydney J. Harris

Day 34

After a long, miserable night, I crawled out of my pungent tent, removed my nose plugs, and took a deep cleansing breath. I had survived and had learned a valuable lesson.

Powered by Darn Good Chili after shocks, I began the climb up the enchanting, extremely cool Unaka Mountain, which would turn in to my favorite forested summit hike of the first 400 miles. Half in Tennessee and half in North Carolina, it featured dense spruce and hemlock forests, grassy patches, and fog and mist. I kept expecting Frodo Baggins to emerge from behind a tree, on his way to destroy the One Ring in the fires of Mount Doom. Near a campsite at the summit, around mile 355, I stopped to take care of AT Business #4…at the recently named Darn Good Patch.

I descended Unaka Mountain and then began a series of ups and downs, including the picturesque Little Bald Knob. After a 13.9 mile day, I rolled into the Clyde Smith Shelter with Tetris, Mumbles, and Old School. After the noises coming from my tent last night, I was surprised Tetris and Mumbles let me stay in the shelter.

Old School is a dentist from North Carolina who recently moved to Tulsa, Oklahoma. He began a thru-hike attempt last year, going from Harpers Ferry to Maine, and then heading southward from Harpers Ferry. Unfortunately, severe winter weather ended his bid, so he’s back this year to finish his hike to Springer. He got the trail name Old School because most of his hiking gear is from the late 70s/early 80s. In fact, he said he went into some museum along the AT that showed a sampling of hiking gear by decade, and several of his items were in the 70s and 80s cases. Around the campfire, he not only answered questions about brushing and flossing, but a series of questions about what we should expect in New Hampshire and Maine. He said the AT in those final two states is every bit as tough as hikers make it out to be.

Day 35

I awoke and added a Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pie to my usual pop tart breakfast lineup, because today we would climb the massive, 6285 feet, highly popular Roan Mountain.

Roan Mountain can be divided into two sections, divided by Carvers Gap. Hiking from the south, the first section features Roan High Knob Shelter (the highest backcountry shelter on the entire AT) and the peaks Roan High Bluff and Roan High Knob, which are blanketed by a dense spruce-fir forest. Tollhouse Gap lies between these two peaks and features the Rhododendron Gardens, the largest of its kind in the world. The climb up to the summit was long, hot, and taxing…and the climb down was covered in foot-jarring rocks. Aside from the amazing Tollhouse Gap, I preferred Unaka Mountain over this first section of Roan.

As I descended the mountain towards Carvers Gap, I was tired, hungry, thirsty and my feet and left knee ached. It had been a beautiful, but rugged, several hours of hiking. I thought maybe…just maybe…there would be some magic at the Gap. And there was! Like angels sent from heaven, Haynes and Janice Miller from Bluff City and the Tri-County Church of God had set up a magnificent Trail Magic stop. Janice had been a life-long blood donor and that was an important part of her Christian faith and community service. Unfortunately, she suffered a stroke last Fall and her doctor told her she could no longer donate blood. He said she could find new ways to give her time and her money, so long as she didn’t donate blood. After doing some research and thinking about needs in their community, it dawned on them that perhaps they could serve the AT community as Trail Angels. They did research on things hikers crave, and this was their first day as Trail Angels. They nailed it! Comfortable chairs for multiple hikers…check. A variety of ice cold sodas…check. Grilled hot dogs with buns, homemade chili and mustard…check. Asking if the hikers are ready for another hot dog…check. Homemade brownies…check. A variety of bags of chips and sweets (like Ding Dongs)…check. Hand sanitizer and napkins…check. Trash bag for hikers to unload their trash…check. Good conversation and knowledge/advice about the upcoming towns and section of trail…check. Sufficient cold water for hikers to drink and fill their bottles…check. It was pure bliss and entirely changed my attitude and disposition for the day. The only thing missing was Haynes offering to give me a foot bath and pedicure, but if you’ve seen my feet, you know that’s a bridge too far.

With a full belly and a smile on my face, I continued on toward the second section of Roan Mountain known as Grassy Ridge. It is the longest stretch (7 miles) of grassy bald in the Appalachian Mountains, featuring Round Bald, Jane Bald, and Grassy Ridge Bald. And guess what else it is? Our new champ! Yes, I would place this section as my favorite section of the AT so far, surpassing even the section north of Spence Field Shelter in the Smokies. If you want to take the family on a day hike of the AT, park at Carvers Gap, head AT north toward the Balds, and thank me later.

On Grassy Ridge Bald I stopped and visited with day hikers Erik and Belle from Milwaukee along with their dogs, Bo and Gabe. We (the people, not the dogs) discussed my thru-hike attempt, and they suggested I pose for an “REI photo” on a rock ledge…so I did. I then took photos of them doing the same.

As I descended the Balds, I hiked along with another hiker previously mentioned in a blog, but I’ll protect his identity here. He asked if I had heard the rumor at Carvers Gap that a section hiker was bringing PBR (Pabst Blue Ribbon) to the Overmountain Shelter that night, and whether I drank alcohol. I told him I had heard the rumor but didn’t drink alcohol.  He asked why not.  I told him it was for a variety of reasons related to my faith, family history, and really just wanting to set a good example and have credibility with the many youth groups I’ve led over the past 2+ decades. I have many friends and family members who drink socially, I just think my life will be better off in the long run without alcohol and the baggage that often comes with it. In short, I don’t need it.  I get enough of a buzz hiking the AT, living in an RV, and being married to Lil Jan.

He then asked how long I’d been a Christian (was baptized in frigid waters at Dover (DE) Church of Christ on Christmas morning, 1977…age 11) and whether I had been raised going to church (yes). He told me he had an interesting story to share with me about his faith, but would save that for tonight’s campfire (he is a much faster hiker and was ready to accelerate). Sadly, that didn’t happen, but perhaps I’ll run into him again down the road so he can share his story with me.

After a 15.6 mile day, I stopped at Overmountain Shelter, a true AT classic. The shelter is a converted barn with a stunning view, the best shelter view on the AT. The barn appeared in the 1989 movie, Winter People, starring Kurt Russell (a widower) and Kelly McGillis (the unwed mother he loves). The area also has historical significance, as it was traveled by the Overmountain Men, frontiersmen who took part in the Revolutionary War. They are best known for their role in the American victory at the Battle of Kings Mountain in 1780.

I chose to sleep in the loft out of the wind, rather than down below to view the sunrise. Just when I thought there would only be a few of us up there, ten college students arrived, members of a recreation/hiking club from the University of Florida. I explained that I was a Tennessee Volunteer fan, an aspiring thru-hiker, and an Overmountain Man, and there would be no Gator chomps or Florida fight songs in the loft or by the campfire that night. They agreed.

Between conquering Roan High Knob, hiking the stunning Balds, devouring the fantastic trail magic, conversing with hikers and angels, and sleeping at the famous Overmountain Shelter, I would say Day 35 was my all-around favorite day on the trail so far.

Fob

My Favorite Trail Things

By:  Sir Fob W. Pot

Written:  At midnight at Kinkora Hostel, mile 418.2, with apologies to Julie Andrews

To:  All my fellow hikers…Keep hiking and never give up on your dream!

Switchbacks and privies and gaps with Trail Magic
Hitchhiking, hostels, Gold Bond for butt rashes
A trail town buffet that is all you can eat
These are a few of my favorite trail things…

Tortillas for dinner, with oatmeal cream pies
Nose ran so much that it drowned 2 black flies
Took Vitamin I for the pain in my knee
These are a few of my favorite trail things…

‘Twas cold in the Smokies, could not feel my fingers
Eight servings of chili, the pungency lingers
Met Lumpy, Ron Haven, and Bob Peoples too
These are a few of my favorite trail things…

Chorus:
When the bears bite, when my tent leaks,
When I’m feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite trail things
And then I don’t feel so bad

Hiked 400 miles, every blaze, not a cheater
Map must be wrong, I’ve gone one centimeter
A family of field mice now live in my beard
These are a few of my favorite trail things…

Read Dave Miller’s AWOL, like it was the Bible
Slept in a barn’s loft, And it all felt so tribal
When I need water, I give Sawyer a squeeze
These are a few of my favorite trail things…

I pee in a bottle, at midnight and later
Eat spuds with my Ramen, and poop ’em out later
Katahdin is calling, I’ll hike til I’m thru
The AT is one of my favorite things…

Chorus:
When the bears bite, when my tent leaks,
When I’m feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite trail things
And then I don’t feel so bad

Fob

“As human beings, we are the only organisms that create for the sheer stupid pleasure of doing so. Whether it’s laying out a garden, composing a new tune on the piano, writing a bit of poetry, manipulating a digital photo, redecorating a room, or inventing a new chili recipe — we are happiest when we are creating.” – Gary Hamel

Day 31

I began this thankfully warmer day with a 1200-foot climb up to the incredible Big Bald, every bit as scenic as Max Patch. After taking a few photos, I descended toward Bald Mountain Shelter and felt nature’s call. As I approached the shelter, I asked a fellow hiker if there was a privy. He told me no. Bummer. So, for the 3rd time on my AT journey, at mile 325.3, I found a nice secluded spot behind a tree on a hill to take care of business. Upon returning to the shelter, that same hiker said, “Oh yeah, there is a privy…just found out. My bad.” Seriously?! Before departing, I renamed the area Mount Unnecessary 90 Degree Angle.

Just after noon, I descended into Spivey Gap and discovered some…Trail Magic! Yes, Trail Angel Bob was serving drinks and goodies, and my Coke and Twinkie hit the spot.  Thanks, Bob! A couple of hours later, I came to No Business Knob Shelter and visited with Poptart, SpongeBob, and GungaDan, who had stopped for the night. Poptart, a fellow Air Force retiree, was having the common hiker problem of too much food based on unnecessary or poorly timed food mailings. I ended up trading some of my tortillas and pepperoni to him for some of his excess electrolyte tablets and Gatorade mix. Lewis and Clark would have been proud of me.

With my legs feeling good and a trail town just ahead, I decided to push on. After hiking a personal best 20.8 miles, I arrived in Erwin, Tennessee and took a shuttle over to the Super 8. This economy hotel beat out camping by the river or staying at a hostel, because rain was in the forecast and I wanted a hot bath. As I was doing laundry, I noticed a hiker box, where hikers leave items they don’t want/need for others to have for free. In retrospect, I made one really good selection from the hiker box, and one really bad one. The good one was an unopened bag of Epsom salt, which I would use in three hot baths over the next 36 hours, much to the pleasure of my aching feet. The bad choice was the package of Bear Creek Country Kitchens Darn Good Chili Mix, 9.8 ounces, 8 servings. I’ll come back to that later.

After doing laundry, cleaning (back-flushing) my Sawyer Squeeze water filter, taking a shower and bath, and cleaning my cookware, I walked to Erwin’s Huddle House restaurant, adjacent to a gas station. I feasted on a rib eye steak, 2 eggs, hash browns, bread, water, and Mountain Dew. It was marvelous! Not wanting to walk further to the grocery store in Crocs, I got the few crackers, energy bars, and Ibuprofen I needed at the gas station, then returned back to the hotel. I then called my wife and both sons to check in and get updated on their lives. It was great to hear their voices and know they are doing well. I dozed off for a Super 8 hours of sleep.

Day 32

I began my zero day with the hotel breakfast, specifically a waffle, cereal, and several cups of coffee, milk, and orange juice. I then took another Epsom salt bath, blogged, and got caught up on the news. As a bit of a news junkie, I’m surprised I haven’t missed daily dosages of news, and I certainly haven’t missed politics and election coverage. I care about elections and world events, but hiking the AT consumes most of my physical and mental energy. Television wise, I’ve only missed watching some March Madness tournament games and watching Survivor with my wife while eating a big bowl of buttered popcorn. Oh, and I miss watching sappy Hallmark movies with Ken and Syndi Butler and saying “see, I told you so” when they invariably kiss at the end of the movie.  I finished off my day at McDonalds, where I consumed a high calorie large double quarter pounder with cheese meal, 10-piece McNuggets, and hot fudge Sundae. Lil Jan told me I need to eat more, so I’m just following orders.

Day 33

I packed up, caught a shuttle to the trailhead, and began the long climb out of Erwin. The first few miles featured several streams, springs, and footbridges surrounded by mountain laurels…really a pretty section. As I continued the climb, a 2700 foot elevation gain, I really felt the heat and the weight of my fully loaded, post-trail town backpack. Sweat poured off me and I was drinking a liter of water with electrolytes every 2 hours. Once again, I was glad that I had lived, trained, and ran in Florida for several years before my thru-hike attempt. That doesn’t make it easy, but you learn how to deal with and adapt to the heat by being out in it a lot.

At Beauty Spot Gap, mile 353.9, Tetris, Mumbles and I stopped for some…Trail Magic!  Brother Tom, a Trail Angel, hooked us up with some coffee, lemonade, and snacks.  Thanks, Brother Tom!

After a 12.3 mile, mostly uphill day, I tented at the base of Unaka Mountain, along with two twenty-somethings…Tetris (former auditor for the Department of Education in New York) and Mumbles from Lexington, Kentucky. Given the exhausting day and and my belief that my pack was too heavy, I decided to eat the heaviest food item I had. After reviewing all of them, the winning contestant was the previously mentioned (Day 31) Bear Creek Country Kitchens Darn Good Chili Mix, taken from the hiker box at Erwin’s Super 8. Weighing a whopping 9.8 ounces, and featuring three kinds of beans and a blend of spices, it seemed like a perfect choice.

Folks, the devil is always in the details. Fine print matters. As a sat there on a log, at the base of Unaka Mountain, starving and licking my salty face, I read the instructions. I noticed that it called for 7 cups of water, a 6 ounce can of tomato paste, and a simmer time of 20-25 minutes. Realistically, none of that was going to happen. That is why it was in the hiker box. That is why, if I could live Day 33 over, I would have violated Leave No Trace principles and chucked the Darn Good Chili Mix into the forest for the ants and squirrels to deal with. But no, not Fob! I was going to be creative, to adapt, to take matters into my own hands. I intended to eat those 8 servings of chili on my own terms, following my own instructions. Translation: all 9.8 ounces of the Darn Good mix, only 2.5 cups of water, no tomato paste, and just 8 minutes of simmer time. For you cooks out there, including my brother-in-law Scott, warning sirens are now going off. I had no clue. I was a stupid, exhausted, hungry hiker. And I was about to create what Hispanics call Chile Bola De Fuego Nuclear…the highly toxic Nuclear Fireball Chili! My creation smelled terrific, but was thicker than a DQ Blizzard made with 10W-40 motor oil and the brown sugar cinnamon pop tart sawdust at the bottom of my food bag. You could set fence posts with this stuff.  To make it just juicy enough to swallow, I added my final three packets of Tabasco sauce. If this were a movie, the scary music would be starting now.

As I slowly ate, a process that took 40 minutes (about 5 minutes per serving), I ignored the warning signs, including a mountain-shaking belch after every third or fourth bite. I was a hungry long-distance hiker, this was my own recipe, and I was going to eat it. All of it.  In retrospect, I was being Fobstinate.  As Tetris looked on, that’s exactly what I did. He remained silent, but had a concerned, “Is he really going to eat all that?” look on his face. A closer friend would have intervened.

(TMI Alert: Sensitive readers should bail out now.)

I finished off the last of the eight Darn Good servings, said good night, and crawled into my tent just after 9 p.m., hiker midnight. At 9:05, my stomach made the sound of a mother grizzly bear mourning the loss of her cubs.  I rolled over onto my stomach on the appropriately named air mattress. My opening salvo was a burst of about nine trouser clouds, as if to announce the arrival of royalty. I heard giggles outside and laughed myself. Then came a 7-second long, high pitched squealer that sounded like someone letting air out of a ballon. I had become a human fart app!  I could fart at will, but much more so when not willed.

Moments later, the partially cooked, partially digested, Tabasco-coated beans in my large intestine began colliding at high speeds, like atomic nuclei. My bowel matter was fusing quicker than I could say Darn Good Chili, and the highly charged particles were converted to photon energy. In other words, I had inadvertently created a nuclear fusion-powered wind tunnel in my digestive track. If I hadn’t donned my emergency travel Depends, escaping Darn Good beans would have been ricocheting all over the inside of my tent.  By 10:30 p.m. when I stopped counting, I had farted more than 220 times. Not just any farts…Darn Good ones.

As embarrassing as the noises were, that wasn’t the real issue. Pungent doesn’t begin to describe the smell in my tent.  I was nesting in a Chernobyl I had created.  Each time I raised my behind, I buried my nose further into my clothes bag. It didn’t work. Do I suffocate in my clothes bag, or die from toxic fumes?  What would they write in my obituary?  I considered opening the tent’s zipper to create a backdraft, but that could invite mosquitos, mice, and other creepy crawlies. (Although technically only the American cockroach could survive in such a toxic environment.) As the minutes passed and the salvos increased in frequency, intensity, and pungency, I became desperate. I didn’t want my thru-hike attempt to end this way. And desperate times call for desperate measures. In times like these, I ask myself, “What would Larry Alexander (my AT mentor) do?” And that’s when it came to me! I reached up with two hands, pulled both earplugs out of my ears, reversed them, and jammed them up my nostrils! Problem solved! Bear Grylls ain’t got nothin’ on Fob!

Fob

“We can’t expect people to act like Jesus when they don’t know him.” – Rachel Elizabeth Johnson

Day 30

I awoke to yet another cold morning and decided I was about ready for Spring to kick in. I heard from a fellow hiker, who heard from a foot guy at an Outfitter, who probably heard from an African witch doctor, that it takes 300 miles of hiking for your “hiking muscles” to form, and 600 miles for your “hiking tendons” to do the same. Having just hiked 300 miles, I was anxious to see if I noticed any difference in my hiking stamina.

After a few miles of downhill hiking, I saw a sign posted on a tree. It told hikers not to befriend or feed any dogs that they were about to see, and to even throw rocks at them if necessary. Apparently some dogs that lived there had followed some friendly hikers northward and never returned. It wasn’t five minutes later, as I approached a foot bridge over a creek, that I saw a pack of dogs barking and charging toward me from a distance. I have been bitten twice by dogs in my life, while jogging in Prattville, Alabama and Swansea, Illinois. I wasn’t about to be bitten again. Testing out my new 300-mile hiking muscles, I made an adrenaline-fueled 50-yard sprint for the footbridge, crossed over it, and spun around in a defensive position with hiking poles extended. My former colleagues at the National War College would have approved of this rarely used, single troop phalanx formation. As the sound of the pack of dogs drew near, the voice in my head said, “Spartans, prepare for glory!” The pack of six dogs arrived seconds later, barking ferociously at me from across the narrow creek. Their leader was a dirty poodle, flanked by a couple of schnauzers, an old hound dog with a limp, and two ugly mutts. I ran from these sorry misfits? Not a single Pitbull or German Shepherd or Doberman. I stood up, stared at my adversaries, and shouted, “Shut your pie holes, you sorry bunch of losers,” then turned and hiked on.

I climbed 4541-foot Lick Rock with a guy named Orange Pacer. He got that name due to a tendency to mix in a little vodka with his orange Gatorade. It helps him “set just the right pace”. I have no doubt. Later, I met 2 sweet ladies from North Carolina out on a section hike. They dream of hiking the AT someday and I told them to go for it. At Sams Gap, one of the ladies gave Orange Pacer and me her last two homemade chocolate chip cookies! Where there’s a gap, there’s often magic!

As I climbed out of Sams Gap, I was feeling pretty good about my stamina and 300-mile leg muscles. Then, from out of nowhere a young, blond, highly attractive gal zoomed passed me with a weiner dog in tow. I don’t mind being passed by a woman, especially one half my age wearing amazing, woman-smelling deodorant. But having a weiner dog with four 3-inch legs blow by you…totally demoralizing! If I had been carrying a bottle of mustard, I’d have squirted it down the length of his back as he went by. So much for having my trail legs.

After a 14.9 mile day, I tented with about 15 others at Low Gap, mile 321.3. There was good and bad around the campfire that night. The good…I met Cambria who not only is from my birth state, Delaware, but was born in the same hospital at Dover Air Force Base!  Since leaving Delaware at age 12, I’ve never met anyone from Delaware, much less from the same hospital where I was born. We shared a few stories and she brought me up to date on the football rivalry between Caesar Rodney and Dover High Schools and other important matters. It was great to meet her and talk to her.

Not so good around the campfire…the pot smoking, which was accompanied by heavy cursing. Several in this group were dropping F-bombs like a common adjective, with the frequency that most people would use the word “the”.  Drug use and cursing are really not compatible with my Christian faith. I don’t do it and I don’t like being around it. I also find it incredible, and a bit sad, that in an environment like the AT, with amazing sights, sounds, and sensations in every direction, that that’s not enough for some. They need additional artificial stimulation to enhance the experience, be cool, or perhaps escape something. I’m not judging them…God handles that and I need to worry about the planks in my own eyes. However, it’s my belief that the empty space in their lives that they are trying to fill with drugs can only be filled by a relationship with Jesus Christ. Such a relationship would likely do wonders for their vocabulary as well.  I didn’t make a scene or go all “campfire preacher” on them. I did decline their offer of drugs, and retired early to my tent where I said a prayer for them.

Like the rest of society, the AT has its good and bad.  Fortunately, my experience to date, including interactions with other hikers, has been overwhelmingly positive.  Positive interactions with attacking dogs…not so much.

Fob