Indian Run

Dedicated to Christine Julia (CJ) Hobbs

“You’re now free mama. Go build that fire so I can come find you in the night.”

This poignant prayer was offered by a former PATC ridgerunner as she posted her mother’s obituary on Facebook. Her mother was a former park ranger who instilled in her daughter a lifetime of love, respect and stewardship for the outdoors and the Appalachian Trail.

My hope is that her mother’s spirit finds its way to every campfire, everywhere, and spreads peace, love and joy in the cast of its flickering glow. May its sparks be our forgiven sins sailing away into the velvet beyond.

Campfires have a mythical place in the American psyche. The romance of cowboy’s chuckwagon fire and the ambiance of an American Indian pow wow fire have served as literary and cinematic window dressing for generations. Norman Rockwell’s “The Scoutmaster” inspired more than one boomer to outdoor leadership.

“The Scoutmaster” Norman RockwellMore recently, campfires have been recognized as a form of therapy. According to Axios, “A growing number of therapists and nonprofits are tapping into the therapeutic powers for fire to help veterans, recovering addicts and at-risk teens.”

“The Scoutmaster” Norman Rockwell

Watching flames dance and sparks fly can be soothing and even mesmerizing as you let reality slip into cruise control and you tune to a better channel. Sitting fireside reportedly can lower blood pressure and boost relaxation. It can also improve your sleep. No doubt fire has served that purpose since the beginning of human history.

One of my “happy places,” as a PATC volunteer, is parking my butt in a chair near the fire at the Indian Run maintenance hut or gathering around the fire at Hoodlum’s September trail maintenance workshop.

Indian Run Maintenance Hut Shenandoah National Park

I love being with like-minded people, imagining the workday’s caterpillar morphing into midnight’s butterfly. Somehow the stress diminishes as my breathing slows. My muscles slacken as the embers brighten and the stories are told, their imagery unfolding in flaming brush strokes.

Writer Terry Tempest Williams described the magic of the outdoors, “Public lands are public commons, breathing spaces in a country that is increasingly holding its breath.” She added, “We stand before a giant sequoia and remember the size of our hearts instead of the weight of our egos.”

The eternal light burns in many forms. May our dear friend’s mother be free now to build that fire. May her timeless spirit be a gift that lights the way for all of us.

Sisu

Standing near the old apple orchard. The saw is for cutting logs used to construct waterbars and check dams. The red pants are Kevlar chainsaw chaps.

Shenandoah National Park, October 17 – 18, 2015 — Remember the secret word on Graucho Marx quiz show “You Bet Your Life?” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/You_Bet_Your_Life I have a new one for ya.

According to the Urban Dictionary, a “lumbersexual” is a Metro-sexual who has the need to hold on to some outdoor based rugged-ness, thus opting to keep a finely trimmed beard. Sometimes their wardrobe includes plaid flannel shirts and leather work boots. Well, this weekend was my best imitation – or maybe was I just testing my latest Halloween costume idea…

This was the final regularly scheduled Hoodlums work weekend of the year. I took a crew of four including myself on my AT section to finish the rehab started earlier this year.

My arrival was timed for dawn plus a few minutes to beat the traffic. It’s peak leaf season the the peepers cars clog Skyline Drive bumper to bumper for all 105 mikes if the park.

This morning it was 28F when those of us who camped at Indian Run popped out of our mummy bags. I slept toasty and warm. Hated to get up but for the warm coffee.

This morning it was 28F when those of us who camped at Indian Run popped out of our mummy bags. I slept toasty and warm. Hated to get up except that the thought of hot coffee twisted my arm.

I spent this morning inventorying all the erosion control structures on my trail. Along its 1.3 mile length, it has 58 waterbars, 45 check dams, 3 swailes, 14 stone steps, 20 feet of stone retaining wall and one stone culvert.

I spent this morning inventorying all the erosion control structures on my trail section. Along its 1.3 mile length, it has 58 waterbars, 45 check dams, 3 swailes, 14 stone steps, 20 feet of stone retaining wall and one stone culvert.

The Appalachian Trail is administered by the National Park Service. it’s budget is based in part on the amount of infrastructure that must be maintained. All 2,189.2 miles of trail are being inventoried by its various overseers like me. I think they are going to count a lot of “stuff.”

Milam apples were the most common type grown in the area. Not sure these are those.

My trail skirts an old apple orchard that was part of a farm when the land was condemned to create the park. You can see were the bears have trampled the vegetation enroute to their Oktober Apfel Fest.

Autumn is slowly asserting itself. The colors are shifting from the the energy of spring toward the reds and greens of the Christmas season. Snow and a quiet winter sleep are just over the horizon.

For more on lumbersexuality see: http://www.thetimes.co.uk/tto/magazine/article4277725.ece

A fork in the road

Yogi said, "When you come to a fork in the road, take it." So I'm following the white blazes.

A timeless spirit

The Secret Word