Date: 2011-04-09
From: Silar Bald Shelter

To: Cold Spring Shelter
Miles today: 12.1
Weather: scattered clouds

(In which I find trail magic and finally set up my tent)The rain clears up shortly and sitting still proves to be harder than hiking, though I manage to stick with it. On the trail hiking becomes your occupation, pastime and identity, and when you stop it leaves a void that is not easily filled.Where-in-the-Blazes shows up in the shelter after the rain. He has a smile that stretches across his face and is one of the most good-natured and cheerful people I've met on the trail. We talk for a bit and it turns out that he hiked 500 miles of a northbound hike in 2006 and summited Denali in 1998. Lemur shows up later. I had started reading his Trail Journal before he started hiking and started hiking the approach trail earlier on the same day as him, but I hadn't gotten a chance to meet him until now. Lemur has a small, slender build like mine, a military-style buzzcut and little facial hair, making him look even younger than hi actual early twenties. Lemur bring news of the folks I met early on the trail. Danimal apparently now goes by Gun-Runner, and Trilobite, whatever she may call herself, is still often known as Packing Heat throughout this part of the trail.Just after sunset Where-in-the-Blazes' fiance Hebgb (Heebeegeebee) shows up for a surprise visit. She's an instant hit around the shelter, bringing fresh fruit for everyone, and nobody is happier to see her than 'Blazes.* * *I wake up with the rest of the shelter at 6:30am to Fur Elise, played on a cellphone with surprising fidelity, volume and duration, its anonymous owner either not wanting to give themselves away by silencing it or not wanting to deprive us of any part of the song. Despite this shelter faux pas I am in good spirits, and have no difficulty waking up before the sun. Off the trail I struggle to rouse before noon, but on the trail I've yet to sleep past sunrise and have been refreshed every morning.My knee feels a bit better so I strap on my knee brace and decide to try for the next shelter, some 10 miles away. A mile or so in I run into 'Blazes, Hebgb and their friend Jake. Hebgb and Jake have been doing trail magic from a pickup truck, and offer me fresh orange juice and orange slices. This is my first taste of vitamin C since I started, and it's delicious. I've looked in every grocery store so far for the Stretch Island Fruit Co. style 100% fruit strips, but apparently these are not readily available in the south. [Editor's note: Here we can observe Portrait laying the groundwork for future online Yogiing attempts.] 'Blazes and Hebgb are my new role models for how to hike the AT while staying happy and positive.At the stone tower on Wayah Bald, which provides a hazy but still beautiful view, I meet Danimal / Gun-Runner again for the first time since Springer. I spend a second lunch break catching up on people who already seem like old friends. He says that he's never met Trilobite, but declines to reveal the true Packing Heat, saying that she has since gotten rid of her gun and prefers not to be named. So unless I ever get to meet the real Packing Heat, this is perhaps the end of the murder mystery.I let Gun-Runner go ahead so that I can hike at a slow, but semi-reasonable, pace. One point two miles from the shelter I see cars and canopy tents, and sure enough, trail magic! The Burningtown Baptist church group has a grill, soda, chips, and a table full of deserts. If you've never been in the woods for a week, it's hard to understand the magnitude of goodwill that is generated by the sight of a table full of free food. After two bags of chips, two sodas, a peanut butter bar and three cupcakes later, I am stuffed and feeling better about North Carolinian Baptists, the trail and the world in general. Signing the trail magic register, I see that the last time this church group did their annual trail magic back in 2010 it was attended by none other than siblings Inferno and Fast Layne.Up the trail I find that the shelter is overflowing with a group of eight southern hippies known as the Crazy Cajuns. I recognize their trail names from the registries, and find them to be unfailingly polite and friendly. They are the closest knit group I've met on the trail so far and I envy their friendship and easy intimacy. It's six miles until the next shelter, but I have already pushed the limits of a restful knee day, and I want to sit with the Cajuns around their fire, so for the first time on the trip I find some level ground and set up my tent. The spot I find is along the ridge top. It has a great view, but might be awfully wet and windy if a storm roll through. I decide to risk it, set up camp and walk back down to the shelter and the Cajuns.