Gotta check this out! A friend just sent this to me. I'm still wiping my sweaty palms on my pants. What a rush!
http://www.gamaniak.com/video/3625
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
B Collision
You know...the road is a dangerous place to be, especially 107 in Mountain Rest. Dana and I were headed to Burrell's Ford for a weekend of trout-fishing and hammocking. We were working our way up the winding mountain road, racing against nightfall and almost to our turn-off when a big black image rocketed into my peripheral. I hit the brakes, thinking I could avoid a collision but alas, I was too late. Our ears resonated with the sound of bumper and fender giving way to what apparently was not an unstoppable force. With my heart punding in my ears, I brought the truck to a stop and watched the reckless teenager spin around in the road and tear back off in the direction from whence he came. We were startled to say the least. "Did you...?" "Was that...?" And yes, it was....a bear.
I'm not sure what exactly started this adolescent bear on his trajectory but he was running out of the woods at a speed I thought un-natural for a critter. He definitely did not look both ways before crossing the street or he'd have seen two glaring headlights "bearing" down on him. Wearing an expression of true bewilderment, he went down with one paw outstretched and spun around. I'm sure our faces carried a similar expression. Astonishingly, he seemed no worse for the wear. When I inspected the truck for damage I was just as surprised to discover little evidence of the impact...other than a smear of mud.
Needless to say, Dana had to summon a little more courage than is usually necessary to walk the 15 minutes in the dark and sling her hammock between two trees. I have to admit I heard echoes in my brain of comments made by friends, "That hammock is just a pinata." "It's just a meat bag for a bear." Our courage and resolve were strengthened, however, by the presence of our trusty trail guide Scooby (who seemed be recovering nicely from the stun of being thrown against the back window of the truck) and Dana's new charge Frodo, a shih-tzu (pronounce it how you like) puppy.
Once the bear bag had been hung and the coals from the campfire had burned down to embers, we zipped ourselves into our pinatas for a cozy nights rest...that never came. This night we discovered the value of a good sleeping bag. We do not own good sleeping bags. We own inexpensive sleeping bags made by Ledge, that provide almost zero warmth. Now, it does need to be said that weather.com registered a 26 degree low in Mountain Rest that night but ours were supposed to be 20 degree bags. They're not. Dana said the only way she could "bear" (okay, I'm done) it was the minimal warmth provided by Frodo. I must admit, I had considered putting Scoob in the hammock with me but thought better of it due to weight, fur and funk concerns. So, around 3:30 a.m. I rose to boil water which I poured into my Nalgene and used as a bed-warmer to cut the harshness of the chill. It wasn't much but I was able to cop a coupla z's before the sun came up.
Sunrise found Dana on the river, landing her limit of beautiful trout while encircled by 8 cute little kids, seven girls and a boy. (Along with their 5 dads they were our neighbors for the weekend.) Not a bad haul considering. Since I slept in every piece of clothing I owned it didn't take a lot of self-talk to convince myself to leave the "comfort" of the hammock, revive the fire, boil water and enjoy a breakfast of instant grits, a toasted peanut butter sandwich and some strong, black sumatra. In the midst of my groggy, morning ritual I was approached from behind by a little girl...one of the 8:
"Hi, my name is Helena. What's your name?"
"Hi Helena, I'm David."
"David? I know who David is. I learned about him in Sunday School. He's a Great shepherd and a Great king. My Daddy's name is Mike. He's a Great Fixer."
"Is that right? What does your daddy fix?" "Oh, he fixes houses and cabinets and dressers. My moma is a Great RSDO. What sort of RSDO are you?"
"Uh, I don't ...I don't know what you...what do you mean?"
About this time Helena's dad walks up with the most genuine grin I've ever seen. It's obvious he loves this little girl. Helena does the introductions and leaves her dad and I to talk. As our coffee lost its heat to the morning chill we discovered we had in common our professions as well as our faith. He invited me to visit the co-op he runs just a few miles from where I work and he used a phrase to describe his wife's employment that clarified Helena's question: She owns an Art Studio...rather than an RSDO. Oh.
Funny thing is I still don't really have an answer. I'm a Great...a great...I'm a Great...big mess, maybe. But something I've learned and maybe you learned in Sunday School...He is Great. And hidden in that is the answer to the other. As Dana and I drove back down the mountain (ever alert for bear), I was grateful for Helena's question posed in perfect Junie B. Jones fashion and the journey I'm on to find the answer.
Thanks Helena.
I'm not sure what exactly started this adolescent bear on his trajectory but he was running out of the woods at a speed I thought un-natural for a critter. He definitely did not look both ways before crossing the street or he'd have seen two glaring headlights "bearing" down on him. Wearing an expression of true bewilderment, he went down with one paw outstretched and spun around. I'm sure our faces carried a similar expression. Astonishingly, he seemed no worse for the wear. When I inspected the truck for damage I was just as surprised to discover little evidence of the impact...other than a smear of mud.
Needless to say, Dana had to summon a little more courage than is usually necessary to walk the 15 minutes in the dark and sling her hammock between two trees. I have to admit I heard echoes in my brain of comments made by friends, "That hammock is just a pinata." "It's just a meat bag for a bear." Our courage and resolve were strengthened, however, by the presence of our trusty trail guide Scooby (who seemed be recovering nicely from the stun of being thrown against the back window of the truck) and Dana's new charge Frodo, a shih-tzu (pronounce it how you like) puppy.
Once the bear bag had been hung and the coals from the campfire had burned down to embers, we zipped ourselves into our pinatas for a cozy nights rest...that never came. This night we discovered the value of a good sleeping bag. We do not own good sleeping bags. We own inexpensive sleeping bags made by Ledge, that provide almost zero warmth. Now, it does need to be said that weather.com registered a 26 degree low in Mountain Rest that night but ours were supposed to be 20 degree bags. They're not. Dana said the only way she could "bear" (okay, I'm done) it was the minimal warmth provided by Frodo. I must admit, I had considered putting Scoob in the hammock with me but thought better of it due to weight, fur and funk concerns. So, around 3:30 a.m. I rose to boil water which I poured into my Nalgene and used as a bed-warmer to cut the harshness of the chill. It wasn't much but I was able to cop a coupla z's before the sun came up.
Sunrise found Dana on the river, landing her limit of beautiful trout while encircled by 8 cute little kids, seven girls and a boy. (Along with their 5 dads they were our neighbors for the weekend.) Not a bad haul considering. Since I slept in every piece of clothing I owned it didn't take a lot of self-talk to convince myself to leave the "comfort" of the hammock, revive the fire, boil water and enjoy a breakfast of instant grits, a toasted peanut butter sandwich and some strong, black sumatra. In the midst of my groggy, morning ritual I was approached from behind by a little girl...one of the 8:
"Hi, my name is Helena. What's your name?"
"Hi Helena, I'm David."
"David? I know who David is. I learned about him in Sunday School. He's a Great shepherd and a Great king. My Daddy's name is Mike. He's a Great Fixer."
"Is that right? What does your daddy fix?" "Oh, he fixes houses and cabinets and dressers. My moma is a Great RSDO. What sort of RSDO are you?"
"Uh, I don't ...I don't know what you...what do you mean?"
About this time Helena's dad walks up with the most genuine grin I've ever seen. It's obvious he loves this little girl. Helena does the introductions and leaves her dad and I to talk. As our coffee lost its heat to the morning chill we discovered we had in common our professions as well as our faith. He invited me to visit the co-op he runs just a few miles from where I work and he used a phrase to describe his wife's employment that clarified Helena's question: She owns an Art Studio...rather than an RSDO. Oh.
Funny thing is I still don't really have an answer. I'm a Great...a great...I'm a Great...big mess, maybe. But something I've learned and maybe you learned in Sunday School...He is Great. And hidden in that is the answer to the other. As Dana and I drove back down the mountain (ever alert for bear), I was grateful for Helena's question posed in perfect Junie B. Jones fashion and the journey I'm on to find the answer.
Thanks Helena.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Welcome to the conversation!
Finally, a functioning blog! As you may or may not be aware aliveadventuregear.com is now no longer just a domain name but a reality. My hope is that this blog will become a place we can meet and enjoy a conversation about our journeys, about our passions and our dreams. You should be able to join the conversation by responding via the comment link to my posts. It's not a perfect system but it'll have to do for now. While you're here, why not visit the website, return to the blog and let us know what you think? Let us know what makes you come alive. We can't wait to hear from you!
Mountain Sports Festival . The Day After
MSF was a blast! Since I'm at my day job I won't post a lot of details but suffice it to say that we met some of the coolest people on the planet and more than a few had a dirt board strapped to their feet! We definitely found some great used gear and got lots of free stuff from vendors but the highlight? Drum roll, please.....
We sold a board! Our very first customer. Woohoo! (His name is Halo. Cool name, huh? Gamers thinking about a name change, aren't you?) Anyhow, Dana got him to pose for a pic so hopefully we'll have all the pics from this weekend up this week. Stay tuned and join the journey!
We sold a board! Our very first customer. Woohoo! (His name is Halo. Cool name, huh? Gamers thinking about a name change, aren't you?) Anyhow, Dana got him to pose for a pic so hopefully we'll have all the pics from this weekend up this week. Stay tuned and join the journey!
Hiking, Barbecue and Urban Cowboys
Last weekend while our boy was chilling at the beach Dana and I hit the trails, sort of. We did some pretty easy stuff in Dupont State Forest which maybe totaled 3 miles but we ended up at Hooker Falls where we played for about 3 hours and talked to a lady from Florida who had come to the area after googling "swimming holes." She and her boys were having a blast right along with us. We stayed in Flat Rock and had some of the best Brick Oven Pizza money can buy at a little bakery in the back of "The Wrinkled Egg," an odd little store right on Main St.. As I was heading in for my pizza I detected a mind-altering whiff of hickory and, not unlike Toucan Sam, was led by my nose to Hubba Hubba Barbecue which is basically in the Wrinkled Egg's backyard. Good smoke, good char. Good stuff. I had the pulled pork, pulled chicken and the brisket. It was all delicious. Notice I made no mention of sauce. That's because it doesn't matter! If it's really barbecue, the sauce is only a distraction and often the enemy of the real deal. (Stepping off of my soap-box)
Thursday, I made the 15 minute drive to the parking lot at Paris Mountain and spent my lunch break hiking the Brissey Ridge Loop. It was 2.4 miles of the best soul-therapy I've had in a while. It wasn't rich in beautiful vistas, but what it lacked in views it more than made up for in peace and solitude. It's amazing how clear Papa's voice is when you remove the distractions, huh?
Friday, I decided to leave at 1pm and spend some time on the Sulphur Springs Loop at Paris Mountain. 3.5 miles is a lot longer than you might imagine, especially in the heat of the day. Still, a rough day hiking...better than a good day at work, right?
Friday night Jo and I enjoyed an exceptionally cool party at Newspring that was a thank you to those of us who host a small group. It was called Barbecue, Bluegrass and a Bunch of Bull. There was a mechanical bull. I've always wanted to try one of those things. I did. 24 seconds I held .. it completed a tilted, 400 mph spin that threw me about 5 feet into the side of the giant kiddy pool it sat in. What a rush! When I clumsily made my way back onto my feet I had bleeding ankles and some pretty intense discomfort in my groin area. After all that another guy beat my time, mercilessly, and received a $100 gift certificate as a prize. Still had a blast. A big thanks to Trevor, Matt, Andrea and all who helped out. I felt appreciated. Still wish I'd won...but I'm not bitter...really.
Sunday morning Josiah and I headed towards Raven Cliff Falls but on the way were led astray by the Gorgeous bald of Table Rock which towers majestically over 276. We decided to hike to the top. How hard could it be? Yeah, that hard. We followed the red blazes to the first bald and assumed it was the summit. After snapping a few pics, I looked behind me and saw a red blaze. "Jo, the trail keeps going." So we kept going. We came to another bald and another beautiful view. This must be it. More pics, more rest...another look over my shoulder...more red blazes. "Jo, there's another blaze." We kept going. Yep, it happened again. Actually a total of 4 times. At one point Jo, said in frustration, "It's all about the journey, my butt!" When we finally encountered the summit and overlooks it was breath-taking. It was also more than a little dizzying. I kept telling Jo to sit down. (He confessed on the way up that as a little boy he had recurring nightmares of falling off of Table Rock.) Yeah, sitting is good. After hanging for awhile with some fellow hikers Carl and John (more about these guys in a later blog) we started our descent. I usually let Jo lead but going down hill my feet sometimes get a mind of their own and I find myself in an all out run that resembles parkour. When this happens I can usually hear Jo yelling, "Wait up, Bambi!" (He says I look like a deer, bouncing off of rocks and trees.) Bambi. Come on. What was Bambi's Dad's name? Anyhow, after ending our 7.2 mile, 5 hour trek we made our way to the swimming area where we indulged in some low and high-dive antics for a couple of hours. Back on 276 we turned our gaze to that big rock we'd just summit-ed and were pretty intimidated by the sheer altitude. Hard to imagine that we were just sitting on top of that.
(Side note: Hiking has given me a monstrous appetite. My metabolism has yet to catch up so I've piled on about 6 pounds in the past 4 days. After a disgusting display of bingeing on crab legs last night I'm scared to get back on the scales.) Said all that to say this: When we came off the mountain we passed this roadside barbecue vendor on 276 who we've passed a half dozen times. This time temptation was just too great. I did, however, limit myself to a half-sandwich. Killer...killer barbecue. He also had whole chickens, cornish hens and baby-backs. So much meat...so little time. Killer, killer barbecue. I'll be back.
Alright. let's put this in perspective. Over the past 10 days I've hiked a total of probably 16 miles (My feet are killing me), give or take. The average AT thru-hiker hikes about the same...every day...for 5 months. A young woman, Jennifer Pharr Davis (Google her. She's hiking with a purpose. Cool stuff.) from western NC is at present averaging about 33 miles per day on the AT...per day! That's insane. If I'm ever going to have a shot at this AT thing I'd better get my flabby butt in shape. Wanna go hiking?
Thursday, I made the 15 minute drive to the parking lot at Paris Mountain and spent my lunch break hiking the Brissey Ridge Loop. It was 2.4 miles of the best soul-therapy I've had in a while. It wasn't rich in beautiful vistas, but what it lacked in views it more than made up for in peace and solitude. It's amazing how clear Papa's voice is when you remove the distractions, huh?
Friday, I decided to leave at 1pm and spend some time on the Sulphur Springs Loop at Paris Mountain. 3.5 miles is a lot longer than you might imagine, especially in the heat of the day. Still, a rough day hiking...better than a good day at work, right?
Friday night Jo and I enjoyed an exceptionally cool party at Newspring that was a thank you to those of us who host a small group. It was called Barbecue, Bluegrass and a Bunch of Bull. There was a mechanical bull. I've always wanted to try one of those things. I did. 24 seconds I held .. it completed a tilted, 400 mph spin that threw me about 5 feet into the side of the giant kiddy pool it sat in. What a rush! When I clumsily made my way back onto my feet I had bleeding ankles and some pretty intense discomfort in my groin area. After all that another guy beat my time, mercilessly, and received a $100 gift certificate as a prize. Still had a blast. A big thanks to Trevor, Matt, Andrea and all who helped out. I felt appreciated. Still wish I'd won...but I'm not bitter...really.
Sunday morning Josiah and I headed towards Raven Cliff Falls but on the way were led astray by the Gorgeous bald of Table Rock which towers majestically over 276. We decided to hike to the top. How hard could it be? Yeah, that hard. We followed the red blazes to the first bald and assumed it was the summit. After snapping a few pics, I looked behind me and saw a red blaze. "Jo, the trail keeps going." So we kept going. We came to another bald and another beautiful view. This must be it. More pics, more rest...another look over my shoulder...more red blazes. "Jo, there's another blaze." We kept going. Yep, it happened again. Actually a total of 4 times. At one point Jo, said in frustration, "It's all about the journey, my butt!" When we finally encountered the summit and overlooks it was breath-taking. It was also more than a little dizzying. I kept telling Jo to sit down. (He confessed on the way up that as a little boy he had recurring nightmares of falling off of Table Rock.) Yeah, sitting is good. After hanging for awhile with some fellow hikers Carl and John (more about these guys in a later blog) we started our descent. I usually let Jo lead but going down hill my feet sometimes get a mind of their own and I find myself in an all out run that resembles parkour. When this happens I can usually hear Jo yelling, "Wait up, Bambi!" (He says I look like a deer, bouncing off of rocks and trees.) Bambi. Come on. What was Bambi's Dad's name? Anyhow, after ending our 7.2 mile, 5 hour trek we made our way to the swimming area where we indulged in some low and high-dive antics for a couple of hours. Back on 276 we turned our gaze to that big rock we'd just summit-ed and were pretty intimidated by the sheer altitude. Hard to imagine that we were just sitting on top of that.
(Side note: Hiking has given me a monstrous appetite. My metabolism has yet to catch up so I've piled on about 6 pounds in the past 4 days. After a disgusting display of bingeing on crab legs last night I'm scared to get back on the scales.) Said all that to say this: When we came off the mountain we passed this roadside barbecue vendor on 276 who we've passed a half dozen times. This time temptation was just too great. I did, however, limit myself to a half-sandwich. Killer...killer barbecue. He also had whole chickens, cornish hens and baby-backs. So much meat...so little time. Killer, killer barbecue. I'll be back.
Alright. let's put this in perspective. Over the past 10 days I've hiked a total of probably 16 miles (My feet are killing me), give or take. The average AT thru-hiker hikes about the same...every day...for 5 months. A young woman, Jennifer Pharr Davis (Google her. She's hiking with a purpose. Cool stuff.) from western NC is at present averaging about 33 miles per day on the AT...per day! That's insane. If I'm ever going to have a shot at this AT thing I'd better get my flabby butt in shape. Wanna go hiking?
AT Approach Trail Part 1
Scooby is a lot of things. Poser is not one of them. I mean that in the most literal sense of the word. While Dana tried her artistic best to get a usable shot he squirmed and shifted, stood up, laid down, rolled over and pulled at the purple leash whose other end was firmly clinched in my grubby. We were trying to grab a pre-hike pic before the two of us (Scooby and I) started our adventure. At 10:17 am, Friday morning we both kissed Dana goodbye (not sure who had the sloppier kiss) and walked thru the stone archway at Amicalola Falls State Park, GA which led into the woods and up the trail toward Springer Mountain. Not officially the Appalachian Trail but a footpath hiked by most who would attempt the journey of 5 millions steps to Maine. At the end of this 8.8 mile hike is the official trailhead of the AT marked by two brass placards and a breath-snatching vista to boot. Our plan was to hike to the top of Springer, dream of the day when we’d begin our five month journey to Maine, and then hike the mile and a half back down the mountain to spend the night at Black Gap Shelter, returning Saturday to AFSP to meet Dana in time for lunch. So we were off.
We headed across a wooden footbridge so long most would call it a boardwalk, crossed the street and back into the woods again. After a surprisingly short walk we popped back out of the woods into a paved area with a “reflection pool.” Apparently the reflection pool doubled as a well-stocked trout pond as evidenced by the busy lines and full stringers of the anglers practicing their art. After a few moments of confusion (We couldn’t find the light blue blaze that marked the trail. Don’t blame Scoob. He’s color-blind.) we realized that the trail was joined for a while by the trail to the falls. We discovered that this first leg of our journey required the ascent of a staircase, 604 steps. The lion’s share of these steps were a steel grid which is effective at helping humans make the ascent; not so much tender-footed canines. Scooby didn’t complain but I could tell he wasn’t a happy hiker-pup. After reaching the top of the falls we crossed even more pavement and finally were able to bid a glad farewell to this last vestige of modernity as we crossed another road and ascended a few timber steps into the wild…or so we thought.
A little over a mile into our journey we reached a juncture in the trail where it was intersected by the bright green blazed trail leading to Len Foot Hike Inn, accessible only by foot, hence the clever name. We stopped at the juncture for a quick snack (home-made chunky monkey style trail mix...mmmmm.) then plowed ahead across a footbridge, yet another road and up Frosty Mountain…and yes, another road crossing. (You just can’t get away from those things). The path led us through several old-growth, hardwood forests where the trees were spaced like 20 foot apart, their combined canopy shutting out most of the sunlight but their leaves illuminated by that light. Soft mountain ferns lined the path. The air was moist, cool and virtually silent. I cannot describe to you the overwhelming feeling of wonder that gripped me while walking through the heart of this almost magical gift from Abba, the Creator God. I choked back the emotion and whispered inept words of gratitude.
Six miles and about 1700 feet of ascent in and the path emptied us into a clearing marked by another placard commemorating the passing of a husband and father who died in a small plane crash on that very spot 30 something years ago. After a whispered prayer for the family left behind we stepped back onto the trail into Nimblewill Gap (Gotta be a story behind that one). As we were carefully picking our way down the slope we encountered a couple of sobos (south bound' ers). They were a husband and wife, Butterfly and Sight-hound. Butterfly had previously thru-hiked the AT and today they were training for an upcoming long-hike in Europe. Very cool people. Seemed to hit it off with Scoob as well. A mile later we started our climb up Black Mountain, rising to 3605 feet above sea level.
A short aside: I have to mention this. I was carrying about 35 pounds of gear, water and food on my back. I encountered several people on the trail who had no gear and many who had no water. The strangest of these was a young, pretty, petite girl in a white sundress and heels…(HEELS!) who was happily, delicately and deftly plodding along with nary a bead of sweat on her perfect brow. What?! Talk about your minimalist hikers. I felt a little ridiculous. It was more than a little surreal.
When we arrived at Black Gap Shelter we followed the sign that pointed toward the water source. Already tired, aching legs led us steeply down about 400 paces to a puddle where we filtered enough water to refill our supply. Legs screamed (Mine. Scoob seemed to be fine) as I drove myself back up the ascent to finish the day’s miles to the top of Springer, scrambling over small boulders at times. When we reached the summit we were surprised to find it overtaken by a large group of hikers from Georgia State. Among those we quickly got to know were Gardner (The Librarian. Think Georgian Ducky from NCIS), Lynn (who tried to explain azimuths, bearings and the sort to me), Ken (I think) who was a middle school science teacher, and like 5 other really cool people whose names I promptly forgot. (Really wish I hadn't. No kidding, way cool people.) Scoob and I soaked in the view for a few moments, enjoying our relative solitude. We lost ourselves in the reverie of one day starting our hike here. After our short break we made our way back down the mountain to Black Gap Shelter., racing against nightfall. The Georgia State crew had already set up camp in the spot I had been eye-balling so I snuck deeper into the woods and hung my hammock. After setting up house, I broke out my camp-stove and made Scoob and I a dinner of Lipton noodles: Alfredo Broccoli for me and chicken for him. Just as I was breaking out the magnesium and dryer lint to start a campfire I got a proverbial knock on my proverbial door. Ducky came over to extend an invitation from the GS crew to join them around their campfire. So I made myself a cup of tea and sauntered over while their dog was doing their dishes. A couple of hours and a whole lot of laughter later I said my goodnights and made my way back to camp. I got a little reading in while the other campers talked late into the night. My hammock is way comfortable; not very soundproof.
cont'd
We headed across a wooden footbridge so long most would call it a boardwalk, crossed the street and back into the woods again. After a surprisingly short walk we popped back out of the woods into a paved area with a “reflection pool.” Apparently the reflection pool doubled as a well-stocked trout pond as evidenced by the busy lines and full stringers of the anglers practicing their art. After a few moments of confusion (We couldn’t find the light blue blaze that marked the trail. Don’t blame Scoob. He’s color-blind.) we realized that the trail was joined for a while by the trail to the falls. We discovered that this first leg of our journey required the ascent of a staircase, 604 steps. The lion’s share of these steps were a steel grid which is effective at helping humans make the ascent; not so much tender-footed canines. Scooby didn’t complain but I could tell he wasn’t a happy hiker-pup. After reaching the top of the falls we crossed even more pavement and finally were able to bid a glad farewell to this last vestige of modernity as we crossed another road and ascended a few timber steps into the wild…or so we thought.
A little over a mile into our journey we reached a juncture in the trail where it was intersected by the bright green blazed trail leading to Len Foot Hike Inn, accessible only by foot, hence the clever name. We stopped at the juncture for a quick snack (home-made chunky monkey style trail mix...mmmmm.) then plowed ahead across a footbridge, yet another road and up Frosty Mountain…and yes, another road crossing. (You just can’t get away from those things). The path led us through several old-growth, hardwood forests where the trees were spaced like 20 foot apart, their combined canopy shutting out most of the sunlight but their leaves illuminated by that light. Soft mountain ferns lined the path. The air was moist, cool and virtually silent. I cannot describe to you the overwhelming feeling of wonder that gripped me while walking through the heart of this almost magical gift from Abba, the Creator God. I choked back the emotion and whispered inept words of gratitude.
Six miles and about 1700 feet of ascent in and the path emptied us into a clearing marked by another placard commemorating the passing of a husband and father who died in a small plane crash on that very spot 30 something years ago. After a whispered prayer for the family left behind we stepped back onto the trail into Nimblewill Gap (Gotta be a story behind that one). As we were carefully picking our way down the slope we encountered a couple of sobos (south bound' ers). They were a husband and wife, Butterfly and Sight-hound. Butterfly had previously thru-hiked the AT and today they were training for an upcoming long-hike in Europe. Very cool people. Seemed to hit it off with Scoob as well. A mile later we started our climb up Black Mountain, rising to 3605 feet above sea level.
A short aside: I have to mention this. I was carrying about 35 pounds of gear, water and food on my back. I encountered several people on the trail who had no gear and many who had no water. The strangest of these was a young, pretty, petite girl in a white sundress and heels…(HEELS!) who was happily, delicately and deftly plodding along with nary a bead of sweat on her perfect brow. What?! Talk about your minimalist hikers. I felt a little ridiculous. It was more than a little surreal.
When we arrived at Black Gap Shelter we followed the sign that pointed toward the water source. Already tired, aching legs led us steeply down about 400 paces to a puddle where we filtered enough water to refill our supply. Legs screamed (Mine. Scoob seemed to be fine) as I drove myself back up the ascent to finish the day’s miles to the top of Springer, scrambling over small boulders at times. When we reached the summit we were surprised to find it overtaken by a large group of hikers from Georgia State. Among those we quickly got to know were Gardner (The Librarian. Think Georgian Ducky from NCIS), Lynn (who tried to explain azimuths, bearings and the sort to me), Ken (I think) who was a middle school science teacher, and like 5 other really cool people whose names I promptly forgot. (Really wish I hadn't. No kidding, way cool people.) Scoob and I soaked in the view for a few moments, enjoying our relative solitude. We lost ourselves in the reverie of one day starting our hike here. After our short break we made our way back down the mountain to Black Gap Shelter., racing against nightfall. The Georgia State crew had already set up camp in the spot I had been eye-balling so I snuck deeper into the woods and hung my hammock. After setting up house, I broke out my camp-stove and made Scoob and I a dinner of Lipton noodles: Alfredo Broccoli for me and chicken for him. Just as I was breaking out the magnesium and dryer lint to start a campfire I got a proverbial knock on my proverbial door. Ducky came over to extend an invitation from the GS crew to join them around their campfire. So I made myself a cup of tea and sauntered over while their dog was doing their dishes. A couple of hours and a whole lot of laughter later I said my goodnights and made my way back to camp. I got a little reading in while the other campers talked late into the night. My hammock is way comfortable; not very soundproof.
cont'd
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Desire
The following is an excerpt from the book Desire by John Eldredge
The Clue 09/16/2009
And I still haven’t found what I’m looking for. U2 There is a secret set within each of our hearts. It often goes unnoticed, we rarely can put words to it, and yet it guides us throughout the days of our lives. This secret remains hidden for the most part in our deepest selves. It is simply the desire for life as it was meant to be. Isn’t there a life you have been searching for all your days? You may not always be aware of your search, and there are times when you seem to have abandoned looking altogether. But again and again it returns to us, this yearning that cries out for the life we prize. It is elusive, to be sure. It seems to come and go at will. Seasons may pass until it surfaces again. And though it seems to taunt us, and may at times cause us great pain, we know when it returns that it is priceless. For if we could recover this desire, unearth it from beneath all other distractions and embrace it as our deepest treasure, we would discover the secret of our existence. We all share the same dilemma - we long for life and we’re not sure where to find it. We wonder if we ever do find it, can we make it last? The longing for life within us seems incongruent with the life we find around us. What is available seems at times close to what we want, but never quite a fit. We must journey to find the life we prize. And the guide we have been given is the desire set deep within, the desire we often overlook, or mistake for something else or even choose to ignore. The greatest human tragedy is simply to give up the search. There is nothing of greater importance than the life of our deep heart. To lose heart is to lose everything. And if we are to bring our hearts along in our life’s journey, we simply must not, we cannot abandon this desire. And so Gerald May writes, There is a desire within each of us, in the deep center of ourselves that we call our heart. We were born with it, it is never completely satisfied, and it never dies. We are often unaware of it, but it is always awake…Our true identity, our reason for being, is to be found in this desire. The clue as to who we really are and why we are here comes to us through our heart’s desire.
(Desire , 1,2)
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The Clue 09/16/2009
And I still haven’t found what I’m looking for. U2 There is a secret set within each of our hearts. It often goes unnoticed, we rarely can put words to it, and yet it guides us throughout the days of our lives. This secret remains hidden for the most part in our deepest selves. It is simply the desire for life as it was meant to be. Isn’t there a life you have been searching for all your days? You may not always be aware of your search, and there are times when you seem to have abandoned looking altogether. But again and again it returns to us, this yearning that cries out for the life we prize. It is elusive, to be sure. It seems to come and go at will. Seasons may pass until it surfaces again. And though it seems to taunt us, and may at times cause us great pain, we know when it returns that it is priceless. For if we could recover this desire, unearth it from beneath all other distractions and embrace it as our deepest treasure, we would discover the secret of our existence. We all share the same dilemma - we long for life and we’re not sure where to find it. We wonder if we ever do find it, can we make it last? The longing for life within us seems incongruent with the life we find around us. What is available seems at times close to what we want, but never quite a fit. We must journey to find the life we prize. And the guide we have been given is the desire set deep within, the desire we often overlook, or mistake for something else or even choose to ignore. The greatest human tragedy is simply to give up the search. There is nothing of greater importance than the life of our deep heart. To lose heart is to lose everything. And if we are to bring our hearts along in our life’s journey, we simply must not, we cannot abandon this desire. And so Gerald May writes, There is a desire within each of us, in the deep center of ourselves that we call our heart. We were born with it, it is never completely satisfied, and it never dies. We are often unaware of it, but it is always awake…Our true identity, our reason for being, is to be found in this desire. The clue as to who we really are and why we are here comes to us through our heart’s desire.
(Desire , 1,2)
To subscribe to this email, create a profile at www.ransomedheart.com/myprofile
See also the Ransomed Heart Podcast at www.ransomedheart.com/podcast
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Just a quick post. Alive Adventure Gear is off to a pretty wobbily start. In addition to coming up against wall after wall with wholesalers due to our "homeless" status (We don't have brick and mortar) I don't have a laptop that I can create the website on. So... for the time being, I plan to make the best of what's available with our Myspace, Facebook and now Blogspot accounts. Ultimately, all of the archives found at Myspace will be transferred to Blogspot due to its easier to use and organize format. Anyhow, we'll keep you updated as much as possible. Leaving for Blue Ridge, GA in a coupla days for some backpacking, trout-fishing and canoeing so I won't be posting until we get back.
Join us on the journey!
boJ
david l.
Join us on the journey!
boJ
david l.
AT Approach Trail Part 2
I woke early to find Scoob curled just beneath me and ready to hit the trail. So we broke camp and snuck quietly out, saying our goodbyes under our breath. Just a short jaunt down the path was another water source I hoped was nearer to the trail. It was and though it was just a silt-thickened trickle, I was able to filter enough to refill our bottles for our journey back. This one trip taught me that a collapsible jug is not a luxury but a necessity. Time to start saving my lunch money again.
On the trip up I decided to chance leaving Scoobs leash off. (He did really well. He, like Jo, likes to lead but he'd wait on me every so often to catch up.) A couple of encounters with more aggressive dogs caused me to leash him back up for the trip down. Let's just say that we descended that mountain in a hurry. Woody Knob was the exception. I hate Woody Knob. My guide book shows almost no appreciable elevation gain. !@#$%^ (Insert expletive of your choice) The book is wrong. It was at this point my attitude turned south. I started complaining to myself and had pretty much decided that I was insane to think I could do this for 5 months straight. Had almost convinced myself to sell all my gear when I had an epiphany: I had started my day au natural (Not naked, naked mind you. That's only on June 21st)...sans caffeine. Oooohhhhh, that explains it. We had run out of coffee and I had been so excited to get on the trail that I'd forgotten to buy any. Pretty much incontrovertible evidence that I’m an addict. Don’t like it but the first step is admitting that you have a problem. Not that I plan to do anything about it.
Now something interesting happened at this point. Earlier in the morning we’d
heard what I thought was a dog. There are some houses in the area. To be expected on a trip of this magnitude (Ain’t it so, Keith?) Once we reached the top of Woody Knob, I collapsed onto a boulder and was trying to catch my breath. Seconds later the dog started up again. Soon his bark became a howl. His howl began to grow in pitch, warble and change. He sounded like he was being tortured. One howl became many. Maybe 8 or 10? They all took up this eerie, haunting, warbling song. No kidding, Scoob stood up, looked directly at me, twisted his mouth to the side as if in fear and said, “Okay, lets go.” (Well, give me a little artistic license here. He may not have actually spoken but his body language...) He literally drug me down the mountain for the next 3 hours.
When we finally arrived in the parking area we laid down on the oh so cushy pavement and rested till Dana arrived. When she did...oh when she did...she greeted me with a hug, a kiss and a 1 liter Dr. Pepper with a cup of ice. My girl! We drove up to the lodge and before I could get out of the truck I caught a whiff of fried chicken. After a hike of any distance I lose all self-discipline when it comes to food. We would have fried chicken and we’d have it soon. Unfortunately, it was 10:45 am and they didn’t serve until 11:30. After scaring the young lady in the gift shop by expressing my primal need for meat, I decided we would camp out by the door until they opened. To the left of our table was a gorgeous view of the mountains, across from me the beautiful love of my life, but to my right...to my right? The buffet. I tore into this enormous chicken breast with such an unbridled fervor that I was drawing stares from people around the room. Mothers hugged their children tighter. Grown me looked on with disgust. I could care less. As the perfectly fried, crunch gave way to the tender, succulent, oh so juicy white meat, my eyes rolled back in my head and I nearly passed out from sheer pleasure. Not to mention the caffeine was kicking in. Now that’s a good day.
On the trip up I decided to chance leaving Scoobs leash off. (He did really well. He, like Jo, likes to lead but he'd wait on me every so often to catch up.) A couple of encounters with more aggressive dogs caused me to leash him back up for the trip down. Let's just say that we descended that mountain in a hurry. Woody Knob was the exception. I hate Woody Knob. My guide book shows almost no appreciable elevation gain. !@#$%^ (Insert expletive of your choice) The book is wrong. It was at this point my attitude turned south. I started complaining to myself and had pretty much decided that I was insane to think I could do this for 5 months straight. Had almost convinced myself to sell all my gear when I had an epiphany: I had started my day au natural (Not naked, naked mind you. That's only on June 21st)...sans caffeine. Oooohhhhh, that explains it. We had run out of coffee and I had been so excited to get on the trail that I'd forgotten to buy any. Pretty much incontrovertible evidence that I’m an addict. Don’t like it but the first step is admitting that you have a problem. Not that I plan to do anything about it.
Now something interesting happened at this point. Earlier in the morning we’d
heard what I thought was a dog. There are some houses in the area. To be expected on a trip of this magnitude (Ain’t it so, Keith?) Once we reached the top of Woody Knob, I collapsed onto a boulder and was trying to catch my breath. Seconds later the dog started up again. Soon his bark became a howl. His howl began to grow in pitch, warble and change. He sounded like he was being tortured. One howl became many. Maybe 8 or 10? They all took up this eerie, haunting, warbling song. No kidding, Scoob stood up, looked directly at me, twisted his mouth to the side as if in fear and said, “Okay, lets go.” (Well, give me a little artistic license here. He may not have actually spoken but his body language...) He literally drug me down the mountain for the next 3 hours.
When we finally arrived in the parking area we laid down on the oh so cushy pavement and rested till Dana arrived. When she did...oh when she did...she greeted me with a hug, a kiss and a 1 liter Dr. Pepper with a cup of ice. My girl! We drove up to the lodge and before I could get out of the truck I caught a whiff of fried chicken. After a hike of any distance I lose all self-discipline when it comes to food. We would have fried chicken and we’d have it soon. Unfortunately, it was 10:45 am and they didn’t serve until 11:30. After scaring the young lady in the gift shop by expressing my primal need for meat, I decided we would camp out by the door until they opened. To the left of our table was a gorgeous view of the mountains, across from me the beautiful love of my life, but to my right...to my right? The buffet. I tore into this enormous chicken breast with such an unbridled fervor that I was drawing stares from people around the room. Mothers hugged their children tighter. Grown me looked on with disgust. I could care less. As the perfectly fried, crunch gave way to the tender, succulent, oh so juicy white meat, my eyes rolled back in my head and I nearly passed out from sheer pleasure. Not to mention the caffeine was kicking in. Now that’s a good day.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Ankle Story
The Curse of King Creek Falls
Once upon a time there was a young couple. They were known as Princess Dana and, well...Dave. (David fell into the ruffian/ street urchin category) Early on in their marriage Dana's father would often regale them with stories (fishing stories, I might add) of catching score upon score of rainbow trout on the River Chattooga in the wonderful land known as Mountain Rest. Rapt with attention, they listened and felt the spark ignite somewhere down deep within them. They believed that they too would find this magical place, Mountain Rest, and like the young princess' dad they would catch score upon score of rainbow. Well, the young couple set out on their adventure and indeed they happened upon this fantastical land of Mountain Rest and though the rainbow were not in abundance as promised, they were certainly there. Weekend after weekend they would brave the elements to reach the River Chattooga by the break of day and though they were met with many trials and not many fish they fell in love with Mountain Rest and soon began to primitive camp there (read "poop in the woods"). They brought their friends and soon had a young ruffian of their own named JoJo. Like his parents JoJo also loved the woods, the river and the land of Mountain Rest. One of their favorite things was to go exploring. One day they discovered a beautiful waterfall that the beautiful Princess Dana, especially, loved to sit under. Most every time they journeyed to Mountain Rest they would hike to this waterfall. Unfortunately the kingdom of the young family was assaulted by the foreign invaders of Mort Gage, Jobs and Ob Ligations. They spent so much time fending off these enemies that they spent less and less time in Mountain Rest till they finally stopped going altogether. 7 years passed and the family began to make forays into the woods once again. On one of these trips they happened upon their waterfall. Unfortunately it was at night and Princess Dana was having a royal meltdown so they didn't get to enjoy it. Several months later the family, joined by their friends Prince Taylor and the Saxons (Yes, those Saxons) returned again to the land they had loved so much. Ruffian Dave (who was now bald but dashingly handsome anyhow) decided to try to find the lost waterfall once again. He we was joined by Ruffian JoJo (who now has Ruffian Dave's long hair), Prince Taylor, the Saxon princesses Karen and her daughter Mary Cat as well as Princess Karen's son, the prince Jay (who I'm pretty sure is actually a ruffian, himself.) Prince Scott and Princess Dana decided to stay on the River Chattooga to try and coax some Rainbow from the waters. Though Princess Mary Cat and Prince Jay were bickering back and forth the trip was glorious. In order to find the trail they had to make their own path through brush and bramble but lo and behold, they did find the trail. Ruffian David was so happy to be in the woods that he trotted ahead of the traveling party, practically dancing down the trail. Upon nearing the waterfall he decided to stop, climb up an embankment, have a drink of water and wait on the rest of the party. Moments later the party arrived and Ruffian Dave grabbed a tree and swung himself down onto his left foot, which instantly crumbled, rolled and tossed him, pack and all, onto the ground. After being helped to his feet Dave and the party made their way to the waterfall, which they discovered was called King Creek Falls. Dave removed his shoe and soaked his injured ankle in the exhilarating waters of the falls. As all looked on the ankle magically swelled to the size of a medieval half-tennis ball. It was amazing. The party thought it best to part ways. Dave picked his way back to the chariot parking area and the rest of the party to the River Chattooga to retrieve Princess Dana and Prince Scott. Somehow Ruffian Jo and Prince Taylor, in an effort to find Ruffian Dave managed to walk the trail nearly 5 times. Ruffian Dave, family and friends, left the land of Mountain Rest earlier than they had planned due to the magical ankle swell but can't wait to go back again soon. Next time Ruffian Dave plans to be a little more careful. In the meantime they enjoy watching the magical ankle change beautiful colors while Ruffian Dave and Princess Dana return to fend off the foreign enemies. I can't help but wonder if King Creek Falls is cursed. What do you think?
Once upon a time there was a young couple. They were known as Princess Dana and, well...Dave. (David fell into the ruffian/ street urchin category) Early on in their marriage Dana's father would often regale them with stories (fishing stories, I might add) of catching score upon score of rainbow trout on the River Chattooga in the wonderful land known as Mountain Rest. Rapt with attention, they listened and felt the spark ignite somewhere down deep within them. They believed that they too would find this magical place, Mountain Rest, and like the young princess' dad they would catch score upon score of rainbow. Well, the young couple set out on their adventure and indeed they happened upon this fantastical land of Mountain Rest and though the rainbow were not in abundance as promised, they were certainly there. Weekend after weekend they would brave the elements to reach the River Chattooga by the break of day and though they were met with many trials and not many fish they fell in love with Mountain Rest and soon began to primitive camp there (read "poop in the woods"). They brought their friends and soon had a young ruffian of their own named JoJo. Like his parents JoJo also loved the woods, the river and the land of Mountain Rest. One of their favorite things was to go exploring. One day they discovered a beautiful waterfall that the beautiful Princess Dana, especially, loved to sit under. Most every time they journeyed to Mountain Rest they would hike to this waterfall. Unfortunately the kingdom of the young family was assaulted by the foreign invaders of Mort Gage, Jobs and Ob Ligations. They spent so much time fending off these enemies that they spent less and less time in Mountain Rest till they finally stopped going altogether. 7 years passed and the family began to make forays into the woods once again. On one of these trips they happened upon their waterfall. Unfortunately it was at night and Princess Dana was having a royal meltdown so they didn't get to enjoy it. Several months later the family, joined by their friends Prince Taylor and the Saxons (Yes, those Saxons) returned again to the land they had loved so much. Ruffian Dave (who was now bald but dashingly handsome anyhow) decided to try to find the lost waterfall once again. He we was joined by Ruffian JoJo (who now has Ruffian Dave's long hair), Prince Taylor, the Saxon princesses Karen and her daughter Mary Cat as well as Princess Karen's son, the prince Jay (who I'm pretty sure is actually a ruffian, himself.) Prince Scott and Princess Dana decided to stay on the River Chattooga to try and coax some Rainbow from the waters. Though Princess Mary Cat and Prince Jay were bickering back and forth the trip was glorious. In order to find the trail they had to make their own path through brush and bramble but lo and behold, they did find the trail. Ruffian David was so happy to be in the woods that he trotted ahead of the traveling party, practically dancing down the trail. Upon nearing the waterfall he decided to stop, climb up an embankment, have a drink of water and wait on the rest of the party. Moments later the party arrived and Ruffian Dave grabbed a tree and swung himself down onto his left foot, which instantly crumbled, rolled and tossed him, pack and all, onto the ground. After being helped to his feet Dave and the party made their way to the waterfall, which they discovered was called King Creek Falls. Dave removed his shoe and soaked his injured ankle in the exhilarating waters of the falls. As all looked on the ankle magically swelled to the size of a medieval half-tennis ball. It was amazing. The party thought it best to part ways. Dave picked his way back to the chariot parking area and the rest of the party to the River Chattooga to retrieve Princess Dana and Prince Scott. Somehow Ruffian Jo and Prince Taylor, in an effort to find Ruffian Dave managed to walk the trail nearly 5 times. Ruffian Dave, family and friends, left the land of Mountain Rest earlier than they had planned due to the magical ankle swell but can't wait to go back again soon. Next time Ruffian Dave plans to be a little more careful. In the meantime they enjoy watching the magical ankle change beautiful colors while Ruffian Dave and Princess Dana return to fend off the foreign enemies. I can't help but wonder if King Creek Falls is cursed. What do you think?
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Foothills Trail, finally Part 1
Well, I guess we see how much sway I hold over my bride, huh? She ain't blogging!Since I have trouble remembering yesterday's breakfast this should be an interesting recap of an event from over two months ago.We chose this section of the Foothills Trail for several reasons: 1. Much of this section runs parallel to the Chattooga river allowing us some primotrout-fishing along the way.2. Being our first "real" overnight hike with gear (Not to mention Dana's first hike with gear or even over 2 miles) we didn't wanna bite off more than we could chew.3. We would end our hike at Burrells Ford where we've camped and fished for 20years...kinda nostalgic.After dropping my truck at Burrell's Ford we made our way in the van to the Nicholson Ford Road Access where our journey would begin. Since we were getting such a late start we planned to hike just a short ways and look for a campsite to start fresh from in the morning. We threw on our packs and I strapped on my 8" Gerber knife just 'cuz it looks cool. Maybe a half an hour down the trail we discovered just such a spot. A peaceful stand of pines within sound of a gurgling creek. We set-up our brand new used tent, stowed our gear in Brandon's tent, built a fire, had a Mojo bar and some water and rested a few moments while the sun went down. It was already getting cold and really dark. I strapped on my headlamp and took off alone to find a spot to hang the food bag. Veteran hikers have taught us a few things about hanging food bags. Unfortunately you could publish an inch thick manual with the advice they give. If it's possible to meet all the criteria for location of tent and subsequent hanging of your food-bag you wouldn't know it by me. So, I do the best I can. I tear out through the darkened woods counting off my steps and trying to spot a tree with an appropriate branch. As I slow my pace I notice a sound as if someone is following me. I turn to find Josiah, Brandon and, struggling to keep up, Dana. Seems as though they were a little uncomfortable sitting in camp alone. More the merrier, right? We found our tree, and after a couple of unsuccessful attempts finally worried the food-bag over the top of the branch and secured the rope to an adjacent tree. A quick jaunt back to camp and we were ready to bed down. Those of you who know me realize that this is the most difficult part of the wilderness experience for me. I don't sleep. I just can't get comfortable. Tonight will be my first night trying out my 18" thick Thermarest (2" actually but it's enormous compared to what most hikers use...and heavy, which is a really bad idea when you consider that in backpacking every ounce matters.) So I rifle through my pack and dig out my copy of Waking the Dead by John Eldredge for something to chew on as I drift into unconsciousness. "Drift" turned out to be an apt description of my sleep as I drifted in and out of a restless slumber which was better than previous efforts but still not what I'd call refreshing. I, of course, was lying awake praying for the sun to come up, end my tormented night and begin our adventure on the Foothills Trail. After a bar and some notoriously bad coffee made with my French-press, we packed up, retrieved our food bag (which survived the night unscathed) stopped for a quick, cheesy, snapshot at the sign and tromped off down the trail. Not far into our hike we encountered our old friend, the Chattooga, who we traveled beside most of the day. We also encountered several other hikers, fishermen and hunters, all of whom seemed to have their bearings and felt confident in confirming that we were just where our maps and trail notes said we were. One guy in particular, who said he'd basically grown up in these woods told us we were just an hour or so away from our destination. "It's all flat and an easy hike." Our already high spirits were buoyed even further at the thought that we were making better progress than we'd imagined. (This same guy told us he'd encountered a hunter who had collapsed from exhaustion as he was chased by a black bear, a hunter who had allegedly had open-heart surgery 10 weeks prior. At this point Dana deemed it necessary to unpack her air-horn and honk it every 90 seconds or so. Nothing like the peace and quiet of the woods, huh?)We eventually passed thru a gentle wooded section known as Simms Field that, were it not for an infestation of gnats, would've been a great place to camp, even for a large group. We stopped to explore, scrambling across the boulder strewn river and snapping a few pictures. We climbed to the top of a mammoth boulder and while we were enjoying the view before us were quickly covered in a legion of lady-bugs. They were everywhere...thousands of them! Really cool stuff. After climbing down we decided that despite the gnat (and lady-bug) invasion this would be an ideal spot for lunch. So I broke out my hiker stove and prepared the golden standard of AT fare, Lipton noodles. I added a little protein by throwing in some vacuum packed chicken breast Brandon's mom had bought for us. Not bad. Not sure I could echo those sentiments after 5 months of eating it every day...but not bad.We discovered early on that the Foothills Trail, for whatever reason, was not blazed out as well as we would've liked, so occasionally I'd scout ahead and come back for the others. One particular section led us directly along the river's edge, hopping from stone to stone. At this point we lost the blazes, I ran ahead, found a blaze and a gorgeous sandy beach across the river from a big rock bluff, adjacent to a deep pool brimming with trout...big trout. We made camp, caught and released the biggest trout I've ever seen come out of the Chattooga, and then enough normal sized trout to have an incredible dinner grilled over a wood fire. We all looked like dirty Gollums, eating with our hands by firelight and sucking our nasty little fingers. "We likes 'em raw and wriggling"...or at least seared and juicy. Daylight found us fishing again, loading Dana's pack with nearly twenty trout and back on the trail by noon-ish to reach Burrell's Ford in an hour or so...or so we thought.
8 Things I Learned From the Foothills Trail
1. You have to get your own guidance. Others can confirm but you can't rely exclusively on their ability to get it right.
2. Don't confuse others with overconfidence in your guidance. You might mess up their journey.
3. You can be extremely passionate and still be extremely lost.
4. Most all foods taste better when you're backpacking. This is not necessarily true for coffee.
5. Often "easy" is a subjective term.
6. Sometimes the trail is most vaguely marked nearest to the most amazing destination.
7. It's usually darkest just before the...greasy cheeseburgers, hot bath and clean sheets.
8. Nothing like an 8" Gerber stapped to your hip to get the respect you deserve!
2. Don't confuse others with overconfidence in your guidance. You might mess up their journey.
3. You can be extremely passionate and still be extremely lost.
4. Most all foods taste better when you're backpacking. This is not necessarily true for coffee.
5. Often "easy" is a subjective term.
6. Sometimes the trail is most vaguely marked nearest to the most amazing destination.
7. It's usually darkest just before the...greasy cheeseburgers, hot bath and clean sheets.
8. Nothing like an 8" Gerber stapped to your hip to get the respect you deserve!
Friday, January 23, 2009
Quote of the Day
"The Rule of thumb for the old backpacking was that the weight of your pack should equal the weight of yourself and the kitchen range combined. Just a casual glance at the full pack sitting on the floor could give you a double hernia and fuse four vertebrae. After carrying the pack all day, you had to remember to tie one leg to a tree before you dropped it. Otherwise you would float off into space. The pack eliminated the need for any special kind of ground-gripping shoes, because your feet would sink a foot and a half into hard-packed earth, two inches into solid rock."
-Patrick McManus, A Fine and Pleasant Misery, 1978
-Patrick McManus, A Fine and Pleasant Misery, 1978
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