Date: 2012-04-04
From: Nantahala River

To: Swim Bald
Miles today: 4.4

April 4, 4.4 miIn the morning we all helped clean up the beer cans, rolled up our mats and reattached them to our packs, then gloomily stepped outside into the fog. A few idiots wanted to take group photos. I don't remember who I stood next to or what I looked like but I did have my pack on, ready to hike. After three or four cameras exchanged through hands for about five photos each, one of the guys made a jibe about ¢rotton tomatoes,¢ thumbing at Sunshine who was all dressed in various shades of faded red. Admittedly, she did look pretty silly. The red t-shirt didn't at all match the red of her shorts, and the color didn't flatter her skin tone, her hair, or her figure. But the group voraciousness towards her annoyed me, even if it was to my social benefit. I was just the temporary upgrade for their leader, I figured, and I secretly plotted how I'd ditch them all. If you're alone, you are the Alpha. You're it, you're the island, the country, the determining gaze. What's an Omega? And why would anyone ever need one on a hike like this? ¢We'll probably leave the Wolf Pack in the dust within a few days,¢ Thin Timber prophesied. But he didn't deliver any more of the ¢good water¢ from that day forth. Instead, as we walked slowly on, he was full of little fables like the one about Hot Wheels.¢He was a guy who said he needed help. He was low on food and money. So I agreed to give him some of my resources, you know?¢¢Yeah,¢ I mumbled. ¢That was big of you.¢¢I thought so too. Anyway, it turned out that he was only using me, that he was a drug addict trying to support his habit.¢Jesus Christ...¢It was a pretty messed-up experience,¢ he concluded. ¢Makes me not want to trust anyone.¢Me too, freak. Maybe if you didn't dose people unawares, their intentions wouldn't be derailed.¢You speak of this...incident...as though it happened a long time ago,¢ I said. ¢When did you start the trail?¢¢March 11th.¢Great. This guy is going to slow me down.But really, neither of us was more motivating than the other that day. When my resentment lessened, I listened to him talk about his past job as a youth councilor. And he helped me swat away the huge, frightening flies whenever we stopped to take a break. I was a little afraid of Thin Timber, but I still had a level of confidence, even during my worst days on the trail, that everything would work out in my favor, that nobody would hurt me. And if they did, oh well.After we discussed the PCT for an hour, 'Timber led me down a steep, grassy slope to the right of the trail. He said he was hoping to find a ¢blue blaze¢ section or detour down there but all we found was spongey, poor turf and a black widow spider. ¢That could take out the both of us¢ he observed, pointing at the spider dangling from a thread. ¢Yes, it could,¢ I lazily agreed. I wasn't on his level, I couldn't talk to him when I was feeling the weights of the present moment. I appreciated nothing. I noticed nothing. And I didn't care.I stepped in human shit while leading our way out of what I thought of as a completely unnecessary detour. Over the next mile my tenuous grasp on a positive attitude slipped and I didn't feel like walking with Thin Timber anymore. Incredibly, all that time, we'd only gone a total of three miles. I blamed him for yesterday and for today. I was too tired to race ahead of him so I opted not to move at all and patiently wait for him to disappear. I occupied a rock and told him I was staying. He said he would keep walking and I nodded in stony indifference.¢It's better to keep your legs warmed up and moving in the middle of a climb,¢ he said. ¢Uh-huh.¢¢I'll see you at the top?¢¢Uh-huh.¢ He continued up the trail, which had gotten quite steep and scarce on footholds. Instead of rock it was hard-packed, cakey dirt, sloping down in very steep mounds. There was no easier way, even if I felt like bushwhacking, for the sides of the trail were wild with twisting, prickly brush. The moon came out while I sat there, I stayed so long on that rock. I admired the jet black contrast of the naked tree branches compared with the pretty, darkening blue of the sky. I heard the cries of the Wolf Pack down below me, and I grimaced in recognition but remained, silent and immovable until they suddenly burst through, in a que, from the arching bushes and darkness of the trail below me. When they saw me, I startled them. I'd been sitting there, as a statue, without my flashlight or anything. Frozen. I wasn't ready to join them, despite Cass' invitation, so I waited out their train on my rock for what I assumed was about forty more minutes.I barely made it up to Swim Bald I was so exhausted. There I found Thin Timber camped near the only possible tent spot. I felt as if he were barricading my way or tricking me because the torturous path only continued straight up after the rare piece of flat ground we stood on. I was practically forced to stay there with him. The Wolf Pack was there too, and they lingered making sport of what Thin Timber described as ¢his fire.¢Thin Timber came over to me and tried to strike up a conversation. ¢They're like little kids. The fire will blaze up all the sticks they can find, and then they'll move on.¢And that was supposed to be comforting?There was literally nowhere else I could go. I was fading fast. He'd caught me. Giving voice to my protest would have been a waste of my energy, so instead I leaned towards the blaze, mouth agape, lidded eyes dull. I didn't respond to Cass when he tried to talk to me. I could tell he was simply unnerved by my playing effigy.¢Are you that tired?¢ Thin Timber asked me from across the fire. But I was unresponsive. A stolid, forward, subtle threat. A modern statue with a subtext: STOP. If a giant thorn could stand up and fly horizontally across the ground separating you from it, then glint there quietly, right next to you, it would be me in that moment. Eventually The Pack moved on. Thin Timber stayed and helped me set up my tent.