Today brought to you by the color green

April 2, 2014 / jim fetig / 6 Comments

Maupin Field Shelter, Va., AT NOBO mile 837.0, Tuesday April 1, 2014 — Got myself vertical at the crack of dawn knowing I had a big day in store.

I wanted to hike 20 miles today to reduce tomorrow’s haul from 22 to 18. That sets up an easy jaunt into Rockfish Gap/Waynesboro where this adventure kicked off last September 24.

Today was the last of the trail candy – a dandy mountain called The Priest. I understand there are others nearby in the genre named the Bishop and Rabbi.

An unusual rock formation atop The Priest may account for its name. The adjacent shelter is known as a place where hikers confess their sins in the shelter log. Unfortunately it was both fairly new and soggy. Nothing salacious and I couldn’t write in it. Another “Oh fer.”

Unlike the weather forecast, the morning started cold and cloudy, but around eleven everything changed. Today’s temp on the trail eventually reached a whopping 75 big ones!

Concurrently the wow factor kicked in. At an overlook I noticed for the first time that GREEN was visible in the fields. Old Man Winter you can vote against green all you want, but your gloomy brown and white can’t hang on much longer. You’re outa here dude. Wow.

Shortly thereafter I stumbled on a familiar face in the form of two hikers, Tracy McG, who thru hiked last year, and her sister are hiking all the way in the form of a double “flip flop.” They started at Harpers Ferry headed to Georgia. When they reach Springer Mountain, the southern terminus, they’ll flip to Mt. Katahdin, Maine, the northern terminus, and head south to Harpers Ferry for their finish.

All in all, it was a fine day.

Can you believe it?

March 26, 2014March 26, 2014 / jim fetig / 13 Comments

Buena Vista, Va., AT NOBO mile 802.6, Wednesday March 26, 2014 — Taking a weather zero (mileage) day off. The prevailing winds on the AT are from the southwest. Today a stiff wind is ripping from the northwest and I’d be walking dead into a subzero windchill. My mamma didn’t raise a fool.

Tomorrow I’m planning to slack pack about 15 miles back to Buena Vista. The advantage is twofold. One, it solves a distance problem that enables me to avoid hiking a 20-plus mileage day my second day out. Two, I get another night indoors and the free breakfast that comes with it.

Slack packing is when hikers are driven a distance down the trail and hike back to their point of origin. I so doing, they empty their packs of tents, sleeping bags, food and other nonessentials for a day hike. First aid, rain gear and water about everything that goes along for the ride.

The moving is faster ’cause the load is much lighter. I’ll still have to contend with six inches of melting snow, e.g. slush, but I’ll take that bet.

Got a huge surprise last night when I prepared to shower. A tick was noshing on my leg – as in locked on tight. It was too large to be a deer tick, the Lyme Disease vector. Nevertheless, I was a bit dumbfounded. During the past month, the overnight temps have been above freezing only twice. Moreover my base layer is skintight so the little sucker really had to work to get there. Could it be that Spring has sprung and nobody told us?

At the moment I’m soaking up lunch at the Bluedogart Cafe complete with a slab of that heavenly bee sting cake. Turns out that it’s homemade by a local Amish lady. Butch, the owner, is holding down the fort at his favorite roost.

Transitions and Contrasts

March 12, 2014March 12, 2014 / jim fetig / 1 Comment

Trent’s Grocery, Bland (indeed), Va. March 10 — The seasonal change is about to burst forth. The signs are everywhere. We’ve been seeing fresh bear scat all week. They are around and about. Nearly every plant is preparing to bud. Today I saw a butterfly and a water doodle. Could mosquitos be far behind?

What a day of contrasts. The sides of mountains facing away from the sun – generally the north sides – we’re freezing while the southern exposures cooked. Our high temp on the trail today ladies and gents was a big 72F. Let’s hear it for the weather service.

So there I was wearing a Columbia Omni Heat shirt. For the uninitiated, this winter clothing line features Mylar micro dots that reflect heat back toward your body. I can testify that this technology is a working miracle. Only it over achieves at high ambient temps. Not wearing any tomorrow. Nope. I am not. Tomorrow’s forecast is the same as today’s.

Of course, this early in March, way too early to count our weather chickens. Sleet and snow rear their ugly heads again Wednesday and Thursday.

We’re tenting on the back lot of Trent’s Grocery – grill, off sale beer and hardware emporium. In our honor, the proprietor hasn’t opened the shower or laundry facilities. He’s waiting for the last freeze. He did let us clean up in the store restroom. That’s the one with the out of order sign on the door, except it’s in perfect working order. What a guy. Their hamburgers = A+. Just know before you go.

Earlier in the day we passed a place where seven deer carcasses had been dumped along the road. Just after that the forest floor had been burned. The trash and liquor bottles around the deer and the fire suggest a correlation of deviant behaviors, but I am not so certain. Appalachia is so poor that many families have to poach deer in order to eat. It does not necessarily follow that they engage in other irresponsible activities. It’s a hard life here.

We also saw an interesting suspension bridge.

Tomorrow it’s the famous yoga enshrined, organic and granola encrusted Woods Hole Hostel. There’s only 16 miles and a healthy climb between us.

Are we there yet?

March 1, 2014 / jim fetig / 6 Comments

In October, the weather at White Blaze number 1 was a harbinger of temperatures to come – The ambient air temp registered a unseasonal 17 F frosted with a stiff wind.

_____________________

When 2014 rolled over on Father Time’s odometer, the annual blossoming of the Appalachian Trail (AT) commenced as hikers slowly began pollinating north Georgia’s Springer Mountain. Each new arrival swelled the cavalcade expectantly streaming northward. From a few in January, each successive month bears witness to new hopefuls joining the annual rebirth and migration.

From Springer, they follow the nor’ easters stormy track for 2,185.3 miles – all the way to Baxter State Park in central Maine. Their ultimate hope is to hug that battered placard atop Mt. Katahdin. Undeterred, they willfully ignore the overwhelming odds against their success. Historical evidence suggests that least three of four of us will be unsuccessful.

As a family strung out over the miles, individually and together we hikers navigate a unique ribbon of reality. It twists and turns in a slow motion parallel universe to I-95 which, just a few miles east of the AT, rages relentlessly northward in the direction of our common destination. We are confident in our slower but equally determined pace, and fortified by our greater peace of mind as we leave civilization in the rear view mirror.

For the next several months we inhabit a migrating colony of free-range hikers. Our feral existence is defined by day-by-day adventures all our own. That’s how our story unfolds.

The class of 2014 has done all the preparation possible. From now until Katahdin, for any chance of success, each of us needs luck, and above all, the courage to keep on keeping on, no matter what challenge comes our way.

Feet to brain, “Say what! “

Not one of us is an island. The support of family, friends, the trail community, complete strangers, and those who read our journals is a necessary condition of success.

The long march for the Class of 2014 is finally underway in significant numbers. If we have the physical stamina, enough luck to avoid major illness and injury, and the mental fortitude to repeat the first stride five million times through ups and downs, snow, rain, mud, heat, humidity, ugly rocks, injuries and blood sucking insects, then we too will claim the high ground and tag that weathered scoreboard almost 2,200 miles north of white blaze number 1.

My hike is highly unconventional, although not originally planned that way. On September 24th I started a 13-day, 160-mile practice hike from Waynesboro, Va to Harpers Ferry WVa. It was so much fun that I did not want to waste it. So, I decided to get down to Springer Mountain and start northward as soon as I could.

With my friend Mary “Hey Man!” Manley, I took the on-ramp to the northbound hiker super highway on Oct. 24. Mary plans to resume her hike from where she suspended it in about a month from now. I know this tough cookie is going to make it all the way.

As I crunched my way forward on the snow and ice-crusted trail as the days darkened, I heard of three NOBOs hiking ahead of me with the intent of driving on to Maine unless weather drove them off the trail. Reports are that one left the trail in Damascus just prior of my arrival there. I have no word of the others.

Now it’s my turn to rejoin the class. The administrative tasks related to my mother’s passing are complete, the taxes filed, and all the rest.

My official return to the trail is Wednesday. High octane drop boxes packed with calories were mailed last week. During the interim, I’ve been working hard at Fitness Together. The plan is Katahdin or Bust by July fourth – give or take. Fingers crossed.

As always, armchair hikers are welcome to enjoy the rest of the journey.

Sisu – Making tracks

Humor does not diminish the pain – it makes the space around it get bigger. – Allen Klein

“The most certain way of ensuring victory is to march briskly and in good order against the enemy, always endeavoring to gain ground.” Fredrick the Great

A version of this entry was previously posted on Trail Journals.

Worst Case Scenario

January 5, 2014December 28, 2017 / jim fetig / 7 Comments

Winter Wonderland

The range of winter weather in the southern Appalachian Trail and mountains ranges from pleasantly mild to bitter cold with heavy snow.

The Great Smoky Mountain National Park is both noted as the home of the highest peak east of the Mississippi (Clingman’s Dome – 6,643 ft.) but probably more so for its terrible winter weather. Just this week a group of ill-prepared hikers required rescue from the cold and snow. http://www.weather.com/video/hikers-rescued-in-snowstorm-42994?

With facts like these in mind, I re-evaluated my winter kit over the holidays.

When I left the trail to celebrate Christmas with my family, my basic sleeping system, due to my distance runner’s stature, was based on a woman’s Sierra Designs woman’s dry down 25 degree bag supplemented by “puffy” down booties, pants and two down jackets sized to fit inside one another.

I am a warm sleeper and reasoned that the sleeping bag was good to at least 20 degrees F in my case. With the booties, pants and jackets I figured that I could get to -10 F comfortably. A zero degree night of borderline comfort proved me wrong.

So, I resurrected my zero degree 70’s vintage, but weighty, Holubar sleeping bag . Holubar was bought by North Face decades ago, for the record.

Please don’t misunderstand. I adore winter hiking and camping. To be redundant, it’s unique and there’s nothing like it. To be selfish, this week I spent four days on the AT and guess how many other hikers I saw? Zero! The AT was mine alone for that time. Not a human track anywhere.

I enjoy company on the trail, but those who have thru hiked during the crowded traditional hiker season may appreciate what it means to have the trail and the woods, not to mention every shelter and privy all to one’s self. It’s an amazing experience and privileged access to a treasured public accommodation not to be lightly dismissed.

When I hit the trail on Tuesday, I knew that the weather forecast for Thursday and Friday was ominous. As I ‘misunderstood’ it, the chance of rain on Thursday was 40 percent with an 80 percent chance of snow on Friday. The bottom was supposed to drop out of the thermometer Friday night. I was only slightly off.

Knowing it “might” rain on Thursday, January 2, I prepared appropriately. When I bounded away from Thomas Knob Shelter, I was ‘armored up’ in rain gear including waterproof mitten shells and my new (and third) pack cover was battened down with a cat 5 hurricane in mind.

What foresight, if I do say so myself. Ever seen a cow urinate on a flat rock? That’s how the rain let loose about five steps after I jumped out of the shelter door!

Bam!!! I was swimming in the soup. The volume varied, but the precipitation didn’t let up all day as my boots squished steadily southward across White Top Mountain in the direction of Damascus. The going was slow.

Here’s the good news and bad news. First the bad. The temperature all day hovered around 32 degrees. The ground remained frozen. As proof, I nearly crashed and burned crossing a gravel parking lot glazed with a hidden layer of slick black ice. On the positive side, my rain gear and base layer did their jobs. I arrived in camp in very good shape considering.

I had hoped for a 24 mile day. If I could do that, I’d be in Damascus by noon Friday and home Friday evening. That was not to be. Oh well, flexibility is a key to happy hiking.

At 4:30 p.m. I made Lost Mountain Shelter. The temp was dropping and the rain was just beginning to mix with snow. With my quota still six miles away, I realized that I’d be night hiking yet again. This time with early darkness caused by the cloud cover, it would mean almost three murky hours in sleet and snow.

The decision to stop for the night was a no-brainer. I was fatigued from the previous two tough days. Given the day’s rain volume, who knows how heavy the snow might become. Headlamps penetrate snow no better than car headlights see through fog. The trail bed was icy in spots. Check dams can form frozen skating rinks in winter. Not safe. Time to check my ambition at the door and brake for sanity.

Good decision. The shelter was clean and in good repair with convenient amenities thanks to the local trail club volunteers. The spring and privy were handy. The setting was aesthetically pleasing. It doesn’t get better than that on the AT.

It also was nice to have extra time to settle in. I wouldn’t have to cook or set up my bedroll by headlamp. As the curtain of darkness smothered the landscape, my appetite was satiated and I rolled into my sleeping bag. It was around 6 p.m. Hiker midnight is a relative condition… set at any time you want if you’re solo.

Since the previous two nights bottomed out in the low 20s, I expected the trend to continue because my understanding was that the super cold would arrive overnight on Friday. By then I could now anticipate being comfortably ensconced once again at Crazy Larry’s. Accordingly I chose to wear fewer layers and not don my down pants or booties. I did, as I habitually do, tuck into bed with me a liter of water, a butane canister and a pair of mittens. Since it was time to change socks, I put on fresh liners and socks.

I fell asleep almost immediately. When I winked out, rain drops were still tapping the shelter’s tin roof. In time nature called. Without glasses I glanced at my watch. I thought it read 5:30 a.m. I felt like I’d slept through the night. That would be a record. As I parked my glasses on my nose to confirm the time, I realized it was only 9:30 p.m. Oops!

The weather was calm. The rain had stopped. Not much snow was falling. The temperature was moderate. I plugged in my iPod to a vintage radio playlist and drifted off to an episode of “Richard Diamond, Private Detective.”

Ever imagined what sleeping next to a thousand-car freight train at full speed sounds like? That thought jerked me awake around 11:15 p.m. as the wind howled and trees cracked and groaned. Thank you Benton MacKaye for imagining shelters built like military bunkers.

The snow was swirling like icy diamond dust as it sprinkled my face with surrealistic pin pricks. I cinched down the opening to my sleeping bag to the size of grapefruit. My nose was colder than I could remember it being for a long time, yet my body was toasty. Back to sleep.

The wind kept blasting away. Falling branches and trees served as multiple alarm clocks trough the night. My exposed nose-o-meter sensed remarkably lower temperatures. What layers should I wear tomorrow if this continues, I worried? That the next day’s destination, 18.5 miles away, was Damascus was the saving grace. With that in mind, I reasoned I could gut through most anything.

A sudden silence awakened me around 5:30 a.m. The driving wind stopped like Mother Nature flipped a switch. Check. The front moved on. One problem solved. Extreme wind chill was out of the wardrobe and safety equation. Amen!

Knowing I had big miles to go, I was up and moving well before six. As I stumbled to the privy in rock hard boots, the light powdery snow squeaked and crunched. Oh oh. It’s colder than I thought. Snow doesn’t make that sound unless it’s 10 F or colder.

The thermometer on my pack read -15 F. The bottom had fallen out a day earlier than I expected. In spite of all that, I was comfortable through the night without the benefit of my full kit. The added tonnage on my back paid its dividend.

Think about it. At 4:30 p.m. the previous evening, the rain had soaked all my exposed equipment. My pack straps, nylon webbing, including my trekking poles, had been thoroughly dunked. How about my rain jacket and rain cover? Oh boy!

I’d hung my gear up in hopes that dripping and some evaporation would occur before everything froze. As every professional manager knows, hope is not a method. By morning everything was crunchy to say the least. What an understatement.

This is the worst case scenario that I have seriously worried about since contemplating a thru hike. What happens when hikers get soaked right before the temperature crashes to a dangerous level? At -15 F, skin freezes on contact with any material that rapidly conducts heat. Frostbite and hypothermia are clear and present dangers. You can be serious trouble before you even know it.

Fortunately I have profited from previous soakings. In those cases, luckily timed town stops saved my bacon as I slopped thoroughly waterlogged beyond imagination into Erwin, Tenn. and Damascus, Va. This time, the cargo compartment of my pack was dry inside and out. The base layer I was wearing dried out because it was only damp with sweat. The waterproof mitten shells worked. For redundancy’s sake, back up gloves, mittens, socks and a base layer were in the ready rack if need be.

When it is seriously cold, everything takes at least twice as long. After unzipping my sleeping bag, I slipped on my glove liners; then my mittens. You never want bare skin to touch anything. When I needed dexterity to stuff cargo sacks or manipulate zippers and the like, I took off the mittens. When the task was complete I jammed my hands back into the mittens until they warmed up again. Only then did I attempt the next task.

The valve on my NeoAir was frozen shut. Why not? Breath is full of water vapor. Only bare hands could wrench it open. That smarted.

Once the pack was set, the real adventure unfolded. Everything that had been exposed to rain was stiff and solid. Think of a pack harness forged of wrought iron. Board-like straps didn’t slide in buckles. The frozen-solid rain jacket stood up by itself. The straps on my trekking poles which had been hung on a peg resembled rabbit ears…

Fortunately, I always loosen the laces on my boots before bed. If I had known just how cold it would get, I would have put them inside my sleeping bag. Thanks to the thick dry socks, my feet never got cold in spite of wearing icy boots. Walking saved the day. Gaiters kept the snow off my socks and out of my boots.

The snap, crackle and pop sounds of Rice Crispies echoed off the walls as I struggled into my gear. Had you been there, you would have had to pardon my occasional “french” expletives.

The shelter faded behind me around 8:30 a.m. Not bad considering. As the day unfolded, body heat thawed the equipment, the straps loosened, and everything ultimately began to fit properly.

The day’s high hovered around 5 above. My water bottle even got slushy inside my jacket. That NEVER happened at -20 in northern Minnesota! I had different and a heavier outer layer then which may account for the difference.

The day and trail itself were awesome. Brilliant sun reflected off a snow frosted landscape. The tracks on the pristine path read like a story book with Br’er Rabbit and his pals eluding foxes and bobcats. Wild boar and deer made their separate grocery shopping trips. Guess what? No bear tracks. That was a surprise.

I’m home now in preparation to fly with my daughter to Colorado on family matters. I can’t wait to get back on the trail. As for future weather? We’ll see.

A Christmas Reward

December 26, 2013December 26, 2013 / jim fetig / Leave a comment

This holiday break was a gift for sore legs in more ways than one.

It is the third long break to occur during my hike. I didn’t plan it that way. The calendar just intervened on its own like a deus ex machine to save my bacon, or at least that part of my anatomy that is analogous to the part of the pig where we find bacon.

Maybe my trail name ought to be something like “Well Rested, Days Off or Hardly Hikes.”

Nevertheless, being home is a treat. Let’s see, there’s hot water on demand and porcelain, the fridge doubles as an endless food bag, and best of all, the shelter is warm when I wake up no matter the outside temperature! Central heating. What a concept!

In contrast, there is the honey do list, regular chores, family matters, holiday shopping and far too many impatient drivers. I do live in the Washington, D.C. region where “everyone is entitled and special” after all.

Do I really have to go back out in the cold? You bet, so start getting your head and backside ready.

Of course, I knew the facts of thru hiking life the day I returned home. In fact, I was motivated. I started running on the first day just to maintain my cardio fitness, but I put off the dreaded gym as long as possible.

My wife’s mother taught me to make nisu, a traditional Finnish braided holiday bread that is smothered in cherries, nuts and frosting. We enjoy it on Christmas Eve. This special treat takes forever to make because it has to rise three different times during the course of its preparation. http://www.thefreshloaf.com/node/4168/finnish-nisu-aka-pulla.

I used to get up at 2 a.m. so that the nisu could be ready in time to unwrap presents on Christmas morning. But, once Santa’s alias became obvious to every household member, we shifted the presents and the bread to Christmas Eve so dad could get a few extra winks.

This year, while the nisu was rising and Sisu was contemplating its stratospheric caloric richness, I slipped in a trip to Fitness Together in Bethesda, Maryland where I train. By doing so, I rationalized that I could discount the calories in advance.

By the time my training session was over, I knew the next day was going to hurt. Hiking doesn’t work your body much above the waist. Of course, that’s the part that got tortured the most.

As Christmas day opened, this hiker hobbled out of bed like a geriatric pretzel permanently bent and twisted into a shape not found in nature. I felt like a human sacrifice. However, a generous dose of vitamin I, some gentle stretching, and an extra hot Hollywood (very long) shower combined to enable basic locomotion and upright posture.

The best part came later. I limbered up enough to zip off a five-mile run and topped my usual time for the course by better than a minute and a half per mile! The exercise and weight loss gods at long last had rewarded my offerings.

In a short while, I’m going back to the gym. Dread the thought, but will love the run to follow.

BTW, the way the weather forecast is racking up, it appears I’ll be back on the trail when the calendar flips to a new year. Since I usually go to bed early, I won’t miss much. I’ll just celebrate at hiker midnight rather than when the clock strikes.

The ponies of Grayson Highlands will be the scheduled highlight. Can’t wait.

Three Keys

November 22, 2013 / jim fetig / 3 Comments

One last post before I return to the trail after Thanksgiving.

So far three keys to successfully hiking the Appalachian Trail have jumped to mind after 400 miles. They are fitness, field craft and luck. These are in addition to the discourse in Zack Davis’s excellent book http://appalachiantrials.com/. Yes, Zack, I made my lists. Thank you for that.

When I left the trail at Davenport Gap (Standing Bear Farm) and shuttled to Hot Springs to meet my wife, my body was pretty well beaten up. In the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, all hikers are required to sleep in shelters. Stealth camping in between is forbidden largely due to the high volume of hikers. In addition, the wild hogs and bears which have learned that backpacks are analogous to picnic baskets would significantly complicate stealth camping. The hogs are aggressive and unafraid of humans. As a consequence, night hiking i strongly discouraged.

The distance between shelters dictates the distances you have to hike each day. Most often, I would reach a shelter around two or three in the afternoon, too early to stop hiking – especially after it turned cold. Having to make the next shelter before dark meant bearing down, digging in order to produce the physical effort needed to “git ‘er done.”

Ironically, it seemed like the second shelter was always five to eight miles away – up hill (both ways)…

Before the Smokies, I was physically in good shape thanks to the ample number of camping sites between shelters. I’d hike until it was about to get dark, then stop and pitch my tent. Georgia features gentle, well-maintained trails. The trail becomes significantly more eroded on the north side of Standing Indian Mountain and onward in North Carolina. The Nantahala Wilderness is steep. Some would say “brutal”- just sayin’.

Word about the obvious, any time a section of trail has been tagged with a name, be aware that you may feel some discomfort. The Rollercoaster and Jacobs Ladder are memorable at the moment. The former because it was 90 degrees and I had 21 miles to make. The latter because it’s steep and came at the end of a long day. I am already dreading the words associated with “notch,” even if they are a 1,000 miles away.

After Nantahala and the Smokies, defined by multiple 15 – 18 mile days, my left knee was getting sore and my right (severed in 2008) Achilles tendon and calf muscle were very sore. I was developing pain (neuroma) in my left foot as well. I was overdue for a couple of zeros, or an aptly timed break for Thanksgiving.

Sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good, as the saying goes. I definitely got lucky with the timing of the Thanksgiving holiday.

What I learned from the first 400 miles is that fitness is a double edged sword for me. While being especially fit (strength and cardio) enabled comfortable hiking and significantly diminished the psychological impact of steep terrain and long miles, it also enabled me to overdo it a bit.

Observing others on the trail who were less fit engendered an appreciation for its intrinsic value. There are hikers who “suffer” through steep stretches, the weight of their packs, and long days because they are not as fit as they could be. My distinct impression is that hiking yourself into shape is an option with higher risk than preparing in advance. The sweat in the gym paid off.

Knowing the little tricks of the trade can be invaluable. Whether we learned them from our family, Scouting, military service or by other means, knowing what to do and how to do it also mitigates psychological stress. Whether dipping water out of a shallow source with a plastic bag, keeping your water inside your jacket and using narrow mouth water bottles on freezing days, or placing your tent footprint under your sleeping pad to block floor drafts on shelter sleeping platforms, every little trick of the trade counts.

There are a million tricks of the trade, and I don’t purport to know them all. But knowing how to use light weight layers to stay warm and dry, to make field expedient gear repairs, to maintain personal hygiene, first aid, to stretching, to bring the right equipment, to properly adjust and carry your pack, to pitch and strike a tent in the rain, to sleep comfortably, to build a fire when it’s wet, to read the weather, and to anticipate challenges contribute a lot to eventual success and psychological balance.

BTW, my pack weighs 30 lbs. with five days worth of food. I’m dumping the Kindle, and some small items that might equal a pound. I’m adding a Jet Boil with a smaller fuel cartridge, warmer clothing and snowshoes, and a third auxiliary battery which will up the weight a bit. A light weight four-season tent will be purchased and added when I return to the trail after the December holidays, though the plan will be to try and camp at shelter sites through the winter.

The rest of it is luck. I tripped on a rock at one campsite and did a face plant in the dirt. If it had been a rock upon which I landed, the outcome could have been more than a humorous non-event. My weather has been exceptionally clement. Of the 36 days of my hike so far, only five have been defined by rain, or snow. I happened to be zeroing in Hiawassee during a sixth. Yes! My bear encounters have been benign as nearly all of them are, and so it goes.

My hike will resume on or about Dec. 1 for the 226 mile trek from Standing Bear Farm to Damascus, VA. I’m expecting to take 15 – 17 days with no zeros and three town (nero – near zero miles) days for resupply, shower, laundry and a beer. After that, it’s home for the Christmas and New Year holidays with a prompt return to the woods thereafter.

The magic ratio rules the day

November 21, 2013 / jim fetig / 4 Comments

Numbers tend to govern our lives, even deep in the woods while hiking the Appalachian Trail. Obviously there was too much time on my hands, or I wouldn’t have started thinking about them.

The most apparent use of the numbers 2 x 6 is the White Blaze. Two inches by six inches, there’s no navigation without them. The white blazes are the central focus of every day. Gotta have ’em and have to find them.

Unfortunately, it seems to be universal that there aren’t enough of them. The blazing is very inconsistent throughout the trail. I can’t tell you how many times I and others have spent trying to figure out directional changes or if we were on the correct route when another trail overlaps with the AT. Let’s not talk about twilight, night or certain sun angles. Is there a white pain shortage?

Blazing is the responsibility of volunteer trail supervisors – folks who accept responsibility for routine maintenance of specific sections of the trail. Unlike thru hikers, they are familiar with their territory. They don’t arrive clueless, tired, hungry, thirsty, with the sun in their eyes, or in the dark of night.

Once my thru hike is over, I’m scheduled to become a trail supervisor in Shenandoah National Park. Trust me, I’ll walk my trail section both directions, at all hours of the day and night and try to put myself in the shoes of unfamiliar hikers trying to find their way.

The two by six magic ratio also applies to shelter space. That’s about what you get in a crowded shelter. Measure your inflated air mattress. It’s close.

Someone asked me about my daily routine. It is dominated by 2 x 6. Beyond white blaze navigation and sleeping space, a space two feet by six feet is the area upon which I concentrate while walking.

On the AT, people rave about the views. They are the exception. Most of the time is spend head down, surveilling a moving chunk of trail two feet wide and about six feet long. The primary objective is to avoid falling or injury.

There’s a lot to look for depending on the time of year. Consider rocks – loose and otherwise, slippery exposed roots, leaf litter, holes, snakes, giant piles of bear scat, terrapins, steps, blow downs, ice, mud, and other hazards. Hikers see the AT in rolling 2 x 6 chunks whether they want to or not.

In describing my day, I don’t know whether to start in the morning or evening. Each time of day is a bookend and a logical beginning or an end. Weather and the amount of daylight are big schedule drivers, making this time of year roughly equivalent to hiking in early March.

Normally my first wake up is at 0430. Naturally, it’s too cold and too early to get up. I usually doze until 0530 or 0600. Definitely by six I’m up and moving. First thing I pack my gear – tent, sleeping bag, air mattress etc. The last item in the pack is my down jacket.

I have both a system and a fixed routine that never varies. If you’re familiar with Six Sigma, you’ll automatically understand why. Consistently repeating a strict routine and having a highly organized system for packing prevents mistakes like leaving stuff behind. The added benefit is that gear is organized in order of priority of use and grouped by type. For example Rain pants, jacket, hat, and pack cover are in the middle outside pocket where I can get at them RIGHT NOW if need be.. Gaiters are in one side pocket. The opposite one has water and three light weight clothing items to be added as layers when I stop or get cold. I also made a water holster out of a net bag.

I’ve given up cooking hot breakfast coffee, cocoa, grits or oatmeal. When it’s very cold, I need to get moving to generate heat. Consequently I chuck three or four granola bars, Cliff bars, snickers, Builder Bars or their equivalent into a side pouch and get moving by 0700 which recently has been first nautical twilight.

This I borrowed from my Army days. I normally walk 20 – 40 minutes before stopping to adjust what I’m wearing, eat, drink and settle in for the day. By then I am warmed up, know what to wear for the day (generally much less than most would think), and have a feel for the trail. This also is when I double check my trail guide to confirm my hiking plan for the day.

As the day unfolds, I tend to snack around 10, 2 and 4 (remember the old Dr. Pepper commercials?). I stop to take photos whenever the opportunity presents itself, and sometimes will spend 20 minutes on a sunny lunch. Otherwise I’m motoring along.

Almost from the outset, I could average 12 miles per day. More recently that’s been upped to between 15 and 18. I’ve done a few 20s, but really have not needed them and don’t plan to make them a habit due to the cumulative wear and tear they seem to generate on my body.

I try to reach my camp – stealth site or shelter – by 5 p.m. That gives me an hour to settle in and eat. Can’t wait for the days to lengthen so I can actually hike much later or earlier if desired.

First thing I get water and figure out how to hang my food and throw the rope if necessary. Then, I dawn my light weight layers and down clothing to conserve heat. Following that step, I set up my tent and bedding so the down has a chance to loft. I cook – the usual: Generally Mountain House dehydrated meals, Knorr pasta sides, or Ramen noodles. I normally add spices and make decaffeinated tea or coffee. After I’m done eating, I put everything away and hang my food bag with my cooking pot and trash bag inside.

While eating, I study my Awol Guide and plan the next day paying particular attention to the location of water sources, the trail profile and alternate places to camp depending where I am between 2 and 3 p.m.

Then it’s time for bed. The night I slept at Tri Corner Knob shelter in GSMMP, I reached the shelter around 4:45 p.m., got water and followed my routine. By the time dinner was done, it was pitch dark. I slid into my sleeping bag and checked my watch: it was 6:15!

“Whoa!” I thought. I quietly enjoyed listening to the wind and woods for a couple of hours before breaking out my iPod nano which I use mostly to listen to pod casts or vintage radio dramas at night. I generally sleep hard for about four hours, then cat nap until around 0430 when the daily routine begins all over again.

Exciting. Not really. It’s all about ratios, time and daylight over and over again.

The fun comes from what you serendipitously see, hear and find, and from the people with whom you can share your experience.

SOBO is the loneliest number

October 17, 2013October 17, 2013 / jim fetig / Leave a comment

I met a lot of SOBO (Southbound AT hikers) during my recent two week hike on the Appalachian Trail. But with the exception of the large Millennial flash mob at Pinefield Hut, they were few and far between.

As I met southbounders along the trail, they were eager to talk and enjoy a little company. We always exchanged the usual trail intel – water sources, was Shenandoah allowing thru hikers to pass through, trail conditions, etc. Yet beyond that, they all said theirs was a lonely hike. They just didn’t see that many people.

It was always best to meet up with SOBOs at shelters. Then we had the time to enjoy each other’s company. Usually they were by themselves. On two occasions, other than the flash mob, there were two or three. At Gravel Springs I ran into a thoughtful young man on a post high school gap year. Joining us was a PhD student in cultural geography and his Spanish girlfriend from Madrid.

On that evening and again at breakfast, we had stimulating discussions about books we’d read in common, what America was like in comparison to expectations, and we exchanged a few quips in Spanish. BTW, the American standout was the abundance and types of wildlife. Think real black bears in the wild – no bars, no barriers, no zoo. Very cool to a European.

Mostly I encountered about one SOBO per day, usually a day apart from one another. I’d always tell them who was ahead of them and how far. A couple of them said they were trying to catch up with people. The encounters with hikers whose blogs I’ve followed was especially sweet.

Southbounders have a certain advantage. Weather tends to be better, especially once they’re out of New England. They get to avoid most of the heat, insects and the worst of the cold weather. The shelters and hostels aren’t crowed either.

There’s one thing nobody figured on. Everybody said the trail magic ended as soon as the last NOBO bubble past them by. It was like nobody cared anymore. They were alone. SOBO and solo. I was saddened. They were missing the best parts of the AT experience.

Sisu – Making tracks.

The Benefit of Fitness

October 13, 2013January 27, 2021 / jim fetig / 1 Comment

Thirty-seven lbs. in a 40 liter pack – ugh!

Visions of history’s great force marches gnawed at my mind as I set out on my last training hike. This hike was deliberately designed to test my limits.

I constantly reminded myself that my efforts and challenges were a cakewalk in comparison to the distances both armies frequently marched during the Civil War on some of the very ground upon which I was walking.

The suffering and horror of Bataan or Napoleon’s retreat from Russia were beyond imagination or reasonable comparison.

In this context, my hike was easy. Why, I pondered, do so many people physically succumb and drop out of their thru hike attempts? I learned some about why that happens and would like to share it with you.

The test I created was a simple worse case scenario. I would hike 160 miles in two weeks carrying my full winter kit and 14 days worth of food. While knowing resupply was easy, I chose to be self-contained and heavy on purpose, just to learn how my body would handle the stress of the extra weight.

In the beginning by total pack weight was 37 lbs. That wasn’t a monkey on my back, it was a full grown gorilla! Jane Goodall would have been proud. As I ate the weight down I expected some relief, but Mother Nature had other malevolent ideas.

I ate weight, but Momma Nature countered by turning up the heat. As I basted in my own sweat, my mind played games with my head. I obsessed about and deeply resented the useless weight imposed by my winter base layer, the 20 degree sleeping bag and the now useless puffy down jacket. My clothing bag came to weigh as much as a black smith’s anvil. Thank heaven there were no hiker boxes around tempting me to off-load a little superfluous mass.

As it was, I pushed to finish one day early in order to beat a tropical storm. Doing that involved three consecutive 15s and one 20-mile day in 88 – 90 degree temps. Good training for summer weather I thought – fortunately minus most of the blood sucking insects.

The good news is that the time spent pushing myself to near nausea in the weight room with my trainers at Fitness Together paid off in spades.

This hike was harder than imagined, but thanks to my weight training and running, strength and endurance were never issues. In fact, I was able to keep pushing hard at the end of several painful and frustrating days.

Age-imposed limitations are the bad news. After it was over, three full days elapsed before I could even contemplate resuming hiking. The message there is that I essentially gained nothing by force marching for 13 days. Zero mileage days actually gain time in the future.

Today, one week after finishing, my knees are still sore. The extra weight in my pack conspired with rocky downhill slopes to impose maximum stress on them. Trekking poles helped some, but not enough. I vowed that my total pack weight will never exceed 25 lbs. again, no matter what, when or why.

As the hike wore on, small aches and pains asserted themselves. My calves wanted to cramp no matter how much I drank. A muscle in the middle of my back decided to go on strike. My triceps got sore from pushing and lifting myself up with my poles. My glutes staged 60s-style protests. I developed a stiff neck from sleeping the wrong way. Joy was everywhere.

The object lesson is that a zero (rest day) about every fifth day would be optimal. Zeroing at least once every seven days is mandatory for me. Otherwise, my body will start rapidly breaking down. Good to know now while there is still time to plan before the main event begins.

Without the extra fitness level, I would have been screwed. It is good to know, however, that I am able to push as hard, far and fast as necessary if need be. It’s not too late for anyone hiking in 2014 to get in better shape. Training hikes help, but weight training, boot camp fitness or cross fit under the supervision of a coach/personal trainer can impressively improve your odds of success. Think of it as insurance.

The reason I suggest coaching, if you can afford the investment, is that most folks profit from the expertise they offer and their ability to maximize the benefit of your workouts. For months mine have been specifically designed for hiking and they paid off. For example, box jumps with weights are perfect training for high-stepping up stone steps and over ledges or big boulders.

And now some breaking news. Plans have changed for my next training hike. Roadrunners often train on the same course upon which they will race to gain familiarity. I’m hoping this rule of thumb applies to hiking.

On October 25^th class of ’14 member Mary “Hey Man!” Manley and I will begin hiking the 165 miles from Springer Mountain, Georgia to Fontana Village, North Carolina. She’s a recently retired nurse. We’ll travel at her pace and on her schedule. After reviewing “Baltimore Jack’s” notes, I think about five days worth of grub is the most I’ll ever need on this stretch.

Not sure how it will go, but we’ll let you know how two retired folks do and will share what we learn from our individual age, gender and hiker perspectives. You can follow Mary’s blog on WordPress and Trail Journals.