Date: 2005-03-16
From: Gooch Mountain Shelter, GA

To: Wood's Hole Shelter, GA
Miles today: 11.9
Weather: light rain

And... she's back! Day Four: In which Jess trudges through the sleet, fantasizes about carbonated beverages, debates the insulation factor of pudding, and narrowly avoids setting all of her belongings on fire: A cold day. A long, and cold, and wet day. Scholar, Cuppa Joe, Mike, Amanda, James and I left the shelter in the morning and were joined shortly by Daniel Bailey, who I recognized from Trailjournals. We walked, and walked faster, and walked some more; it was too cold to stop for more than a few minutes at a time. Lunch was the odd handful of gorp.We stopped for a few minutes on the summit of Big Cedar. Visibility was nonexistent. The gray haze started not ten feet from where we stood. "I swear," said Scholar weakly, "this view is really good." I looked blankly into the mist. "We'll close our eyes," said Amanda. "Describe it to us." "Rivers of Cherry Coke," said James, "as far as the eye can see. Mountains of pizza." I ate some gorp. We kept walking.By the time we hit Wood's Hole, I was exhausted, and soaking wet, andextremely cold. My knees were starting to hurt, which I wasn't pleased about. I knew Neel's Gap was only another four miles out, but I didn't care. I was done for the day.Scholar and I arrived first, and Cuppa Joe rolled in soon after that. Bill and his daughter Whitney and their dog Daisy Mae were there too, out on a weekend trip. Daisy Mae spent half an hour barking at a dead stump. (Gotta get your kicks in somehow.) Daniel Bailey arrived a few minutes ahead of Eric, the Weatherman, an ex-Marine who carries a barometer with him and is liable at any moment, regardless of the weather, to tell you with a long face that the pressure is falling. Several section hikers were there as well; and we gathered, eventually, that James and Mike and Amanda had decided to push on into Neel's, lured by the promise of Cherry Coke.I ate hot food, and set about trying to dry off. It was more difficult than anticipated. In my zeal to do away with unnecessary pack weight, I'd brought raingear, two T-shirts, a fleece jacket, one full set of long underwear, and a pair of shorts with me. This arrangement will work fine once the weather warms up, I'm sure, but I'd been wearing almost everything the entire day, and all my long clothes were soaked. It was sleeting out, and the temperature was falling, and I had a dry T-shirt and a dry pair of shorts.I said I wished I'd stolen the sweatshirt someone had left at the last shelter. Scholar said if I had I'd just have been whining the whole day about having to carry it, like I whined about my extra pound of instant pudding (picked up from the same shelter.) I said no way cause you can't wear pudding. Scholar said I COULD; it'd keep the bears off HER. I said I don't think pudding insulates very well.Then Bill built a hugeass fire. I've never been so happy in my life. I danced in front of it, holding each soaked piece of clothing out one at a time, adding a layer every time something dried. I was a bit crazed. Cuppa Joe kept diving at the flames whenever I got a bit overzealous in my clothes-drying endeavors. "You're gonna burn everything you have up in smoke," he scolded, waving a pant leg away from the fire. Then he went to bed, and I melted a hole in my rainpants. Oops.Weatherman had been having difficulty with his hammock and was hoping for a shelter spot. There were already six people in the shelter, and it was a bit cozy, especially with everyone's gear, but it didn't seem to me that it would be prohibitively difficult to make room for one more.I realize there are entire schools of thought out there about appropriate shelter etiquette, and woe betide she who pisses off a shelter Nazi, but it was twenty-eight degrees out and sleeting rain. I wouldn't have wished a rodent out on a night like that. 'Of course we can move over,' I said, but two of the other shelter residents said, "I need space," and wouldn't budge. Weatherman shrugged and laid out his sleeping bag on top of the picnic table, rigged a bivy sack over it, roped the whole thing down against the wind, and climbed in.Ten minutes later someone started snoring, loudly. I wadded the hood of my fleece jacket into my ear. It didn't help. Weatherman's voice floated in from atop the picnic table: "Somebody whack that guy." I wanted to.