Blisters and rain and bear hangs

We drove up a winding, one-lane Forest Service road for half hour to an hour, curving along a mountain and trying not to look over the edge.  The road was dirt and gravel, and at times it seemed the car didn't want to climb as much as we were making it.  Tami said, "this proves how much we love you," and immediately the tires spun and the engine slowed.  Dad tried to move again up the steep incline but the tires just spun, the car rolled back a little, and the oil and battery lights went on.  The car started to smell.  He tried again.  We sat in panicked silence. 

I was grateful to see a bold black plus painted on the front of an army truck that came bumbling down the road toward us.  They checked the engine of our car, but really we just needed to get into a different position so all four of our tires could grip the road.  We continued to the top of the mountain and finally found our first white blaze of the AT.

The first day went well.  I've been so overstimulated in the past few months that it was hard to register what I was doing.  The trail was beautiful and I was overly excited and sometimes thinking, wait, what am I doing?  We purified water we got from a stream by a shelter and decided to keep moving.  Our initial goal was to take it easy and do about 8 miles a day, but we decided to move farther before making camp.

In order for bears to not "lick your toes while you're sleeping," as fellow hiker Catfish says, hikers set up a bear hang.  All of our food was hoisted up onto a branch with a rope that we then tied to the base of the tree.  That was the most frustrating part of the day for me.  I had expected that setting a line for a bear hang would come easy, as it's similar to setting a climbing line for arborist work, which I did at school.  Then I remember that I never was good at setting lines.  Rain spattered on us just as I finished tying the knot around the tree, and Owen and I ran toward our hammocks.  "See you tomorrow!" he yelled.

I dove in my hammock and squirmed around until I was in a semi-comfortable position and listened to the rain beat on my rain fly.  I looked at my watch.  It was only 6:30.  Suddenly I felt uneasy.  What was I going to do for the next three hours?  I had paper and pen, but somehow three hours seemed like an enormous amount of time.  I had no obligations, no deadlines, no papers to write.  I had the basics: I was full, hydrated, well rested, and dry.  Now what?  Suddenly I felt anxious and lonely, sitting in my hammock with nothing to do but think and wait as the rain continued.

Day two we woke up after getting a solid ten hours of sleep, made oatmeal, and continued on.  We got our first view overlooking the mountains.  We met up with Mad Patter and hiked with him for most of the day.  We were all looking forward to our next water source, which my trail guide said was about four miles ahead.  Our bottles were getting low and for the first time I was worried about having enough water.  We turned a corner and where the trail crossed a Forest Service road was a 400-gallon army tank that said POTABLE WATER.  This was the second time in two days I was happy to see camo.  We yelled, but no one was around, so we filled our bottles and happily continued hiking.  (Apparently the army trains near one of the shelters we had passed.  It explains the helicopters we heard the first night.)

We stopped at the creek.  I had a fabulous lunch of tuna and cheese on bagels topped with raisins.  Everything tastes good.  Again we decided to push on past our mileage and shelter goal so we could get into town early the next day.  With a few miles to go, it started raining.  I pulled on my jacket and trusted that the plastic bags in my pack would keep everything dry, but when it poured and continued pouring, I had my doubts.  Owen went on ahead of me, Mad Patter fell back.  Occasionally I'd see a swatch of red or blue in the trees, and then I didn't see either of them for at least a half hour.  Rivulets of water raced down the trail and puddles formed in flat spots.  Soon the entire trail was filled with rushing water.  My shorts and boots soaked through.  I didn't care that I was wet; it was warm enough that I wasn't cold.  But if my extra pair of clothes and sleeping bag were soaked, I was in for a very cold night.  At least I had my rain fly I could use as a tarp.  I decided there was nothing I could do and splashed through puddles and enjoyed the feel of the water on my dirty skin.  After an hour of telling my feet to move, the rain slowed.  I looked in my bag and found my stuff was dry.  Eventually we met up at the gap and danced in the street when we realized we had a ride to a hotel in town.

Oh, the luxury of a cheap hotel.  We dove in the pool after checking in.  We had towels!  We ate at a Mexican restaurant and I got a chicken and bacon quesadilla with bell peppers and chipotle ranch and lettuce.  I said to Owen, "this is the best thing I've ever eaten."  Haahaha.  We've only been hiking for two days.

So far I've only got a few blisters and my calves are less sore after sleep.  Today we're going to hit the trail and climb the highest peak in the state and then take a fairly easy day after that.  We'll probably be in town again on Tuesday or Wednesday.  After that I think we'll go into town about once a week to resupply our food. 

I'm anxious to get back.  It's beautiful out there.