Thursday, May 25, 2017
Despite my best efforts, my sleeping bag seemed this morning to be even more wet than before. Or if it wasn’t wetter, it certainly wasn’t any drier.
The morning was a chilly, breezy 50 degrees F, with only a hint of sun in the sky. When I crawled out of my tent the air seemed just breezy and sunny enough to at least be worth an attempt to dry out my sleeping bag and quilt.
| Weather | Partly sunny, cool and breezy, then light rain and clearing overnight |
| Trail Conditions | A lot of water and mud, occasional rocks |
| Today's Miles | 14.2 miles |
| Trip Miles | 608.5 miles |
So after I took down my bear bag I used the rope to stretch a clothesline between two trees, and hung the quilt and sleeping bag to air them out. Then I ate breakfast and took my time to pack up.
Before I started hiking, three hikers passed by. One was Bird, whom I hadn’t seen in several weeks. He told me he planned to hike 30 miles today. That seemed a tad ambitious to me, but I didn't tell him that.
Another hiker who walked by was carrying the largest hiking staff I had ever seen. It was ridiculously tall, taller than she was, and she was a tall woman. She was so proud of it she made it her trail name, Inasias, which she said was short for "It's Not A Stick It's A Staff”.
I'm not making that up.
Juan Gone also stopped by for a chat. He seems to be a fast hiker, but also a kind-hearted person, so though I'd like to keep up with him I don't expect I will be able to do that.
After he left I decided I should get going, even though my sleeping bag and quilt weren't much drier than before. I finished packing and I finally got started hiking at 9:20 a.m.
The sky wasn't clear and the sun wasn't bright, but it was far better weather than I had seen for a couple days.
The trail was dappled in sunlight, which was a welcomed sight.
Nevertheless, there wasn't yet enough sun to dry out the trail. There were several stretches that were nothing but mud.
After only about five miles of hiking I came to a stream. I needed to stop for water, and though it was a little early I decided to also eat my lunch here. As I was finishing, Stick in the Woods came around the bend. When he spotted me, he said, “Hello, friend!”
It’s funny how words like that can disarm you. When I first met Stick a few days ago, I was a bit stand-offish to him. He seemed at the time a little too talkative for someone I wanted to be around.
But when he said, “Hello, friend,” I forgot that. I was glad to be his friend, even if I barely knew him.
We had a nice chat as I packed up my lunch and water, then we continued the conversation as we walked down the trail.
As we walked, Stick and I discovered we had several things in common. Among them, we had both been boy scouts in our youth and had been leaders as adults. We had two sons who were Eagle scouts. Our spouses were educators. In fact, we both had the same last name.
Stick also told me about his hobby of model railroading. He is very intensely involved in that, and has done a lot of research into the East Tennessee and Western North Carolina Railroad, which he's used as the basis for his models.
That was interesting to me because I had hiked over some of that railroad's original road bed several days ago.
When we came upon the number 600 written in sticks to mark the 600th mile of our hike, we congratulated each other and took each other’s picture.
Shortly after that, Stick decided to stop for lunch, so I said I’d see him down the trail and continued on.
A small stream that crossed the trail was flowing well because of the recent rain, so much so that large sticks had been laid across it to make it easier to cross.
A couple hours later Stick caught up with me again.
By this time the trail had climbed up a ridge on a series of switchbacks. There weren’t many views from here, except for where a power line was cut through the trees.
It began to rain again as we continued over the ridge.
Then the trail made a gradual descent before reaching a large meadow near the bottom of a valley. The trail followed along the edge of the meadow until it reached Kimberling Creek.
It's called a creek, but it was as wide as many rivers and required a large wooden suspension bridge to cross it.
The construction of the bridge was much like others I have seen while backpacking in Colorado and elsewhere on U.S. Forest Service land. It swayed as we walked across.
On the other side of the creek we reached Virginia Highway 606. It was narrow with no shoulder, so Stick and I stuck close to the side as we walked about a half mile to Trent’s Grocery.
As we headed down the road, Stick turned back to me and asked, “How did you get your trail name?”
My answer was similar to how I have described it on my about page. When I got to the part about home brewing, and how specific gravity was a measurement taken in the brewing process, Stick excitedly turned to me and said, “I’m a home brewer too!”
This was just one more thing we had in common, but it was the thing that cemented our relationship. Within minutes, Stick had invited himself to my house next summer. Though maybe caught a bit off-guard by his immediate camaraderie, I was fine with that.
Trent’s Grocery is not so much a grocery store as it is a gas station, convenience store, diner, bait shop and hunting outfitter. The owners also allow hikers to camp in the back of their lot for only six dollars, and that includes free use of their washer and dryer.
We ordered cheeseburgers and potato wedges for dinner, and also bought a few soft drinks and snacks.
By the time we finished dinner the rain had mostly stopped. We headed over to the camping area, which was a flat, grassy area surrounded by an odd assortment of old, dilapidated camping trailers. It didn't appear that anyone had camped in any of them in many years.
Only one other hiker was there when we arrived. His name was Subway, and he said he was a retired police officer from a small town near New York City. Stick and I had a pleasant chat with him as we set up our tents.
Reflecting on the day, I realized I had learned something today. I learned it is too easy to misjudge a person.
Then again, perhaps I misjudged myself. Perhaps I can and should lower the barriers I sometimes put up around myself.
Either way, it seems I’ve caught an interesting ride. Let’s see where this goes.
The first thing I remember knowing,
Was a lonesome whistle blowing,
And a young-un's dream of growing up to ride,
On a freight train leaving town,
Not knowing where I'm bound,
And no one could change my mind, but Mama tried
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