Date: 2005-05-19
From: Parent's Home

To: Parent's Home
Miles today: 11.6

9:42pm - All The Way HomeLast Tuesday I started by leaving a note for the others in the shelter. I guessed that they were going to be a few hours behind me, so I asked them to leave a message with my Dad if they couldn't make it to the VA 603 crossing by 5:30. You see, we had a plan... a slackpacking plan. My Dad would pick us up, we'd slackpack 23 miles on Wednesday, and continue on our way Thursday. Unfortunately this plan required a rendezvous that I wasn't sure everyone could make.Still I wasn't going to let such minor details get me down. I was near Mt. Rogers and the Grayson Highlands - one of the most gorgeous places I've ever been. I planned to take my sweet time and drink in every drop of scenery. After all, I had nine hours to hike thirteen miles.It didn't take long to reach the day's highlight. Before I even reached the Grayson Highlands I came across a herd of "wild" ponies grazing upon the open, wind-swept fields. These ponies were introduced in the mid-seventies to keep the balds bald, and since then they seem to have grown quite comfortable with the constant stream of human visitors. They trotted right up to me and started licking my pack and arms. I was a walking salt lick, a role that would eventually bring me my first trail injury. An overzealous pony mistook a finger for a carrot and left me with a few teeth marks. Another group accosted my trekking poles, attempting to lick every last morsel of salt off the grips. I bet that's the sort of damage not covered under warranty.After growing fearful of being nibbled and licked to death, I continued on. If you've never been to the Grayson Highlands, stop reading this and either take a quick road trip or do an Internet search [editor's note - you can find the official site here: http://www.dcr.state.va.us/parks/graysonh.htm ] I've heard the area described as "fairy tale landscapes" and I can't improve on that term. The open, craggy vistas need to be seen to be believed.But like everything else on this trip, it was over too quickly. My biggest complaint about the Virginia Highlands is that the trail only passes through eight or nine miles of them. I lingered at the Scales, a corral on top of Pine Mountain, unwilling to slip back into the woods for a few moments more. Procrastination, however, sometimes pays off, for it was there that Crazy Legs and Low Bridge caught up to me. It turns out that they were only camped two miles behind me, just shy of Deep Gap. Professor Nutbag, though, was a different story. He was rumored to have camped at Buzzard Rock on the other side of Whitetop - a campsite that would require him to do twenty miles to reach the pickup point. We wrote him off as a lost cause and left a note that we'd return for him at nine that evening. Twenty miles by five thirty just didn't seem possible through a land littered with views, vistas, and ponies.A little shy of the trailhead I spied a familiar face sitting on a log. My Dad had hiked in with a backpack full of goodies. We walked with him to the road crossing where Phoenix lay in wait. After some snacks and drinks we left for the Hauver Hostel sans Professor.That turned out to be a big mistake. Just before sitting down to eat, the phone rang. As we suspected, the Professor couldn't do twenty miles by five-thirty. It took him until five forty-five. I popped the new Springsteen CD into the Jeep's player and went on a retrieval mission, dropping some beer off for the hikers staying in the Partnership Shelter on the way off. It was odd - I only recognized a single hiker, Dirty Harry, and I had only met him briefly while zeroing at Fontana Dam.My Mom had made a fantastic lasagna, which was much appreciated by everyone, including Crazy Legs who dislikes noodles. Go figure.The next day Phoenix drove us to the trailhead with significantly lighter packs. I even opted not to bring my camera - a first. We flew the twenty three miles to Partnership, passing gorgeous ravines, ridges and meadows along the way. We even saw an old school bus abandoned in a field. Eight hours later we reached the shelter and called for a ride. When I said we flew, I meant it.The evening was pretty subdued, but highlighted by BBQ chicken and a fantastic waldorf salad. We also made a late night grocery store and Walmart run to stock up. Though exhausted, I didn't get to sleep until just before 1am.A bright idea came to us the next morning: why don't we slackpack another 11.5 miles to Atkins, pick up our packs and hike a few more miles? Arrangements were made and we again took to the trail severely under burdened. Nobody complained. We easily rolled into Atkins by mid afternoon and made a beeline for the Dairy Queen. Both my Dad and Phoenix met us there. My Dad joined us while we ate some burgers and blizzards (don't worry Mom - Dad only had a coke) before returning to work. It was then that our resolve broke down. Crazy Legs opted to get a motel room, and Professor and Bridge soon followed suit. I figured I'd hang around for the afternoon and head out to the first shelter in the early evening. A lazy afternoon and a nap changed my tune. I hadn't realized just how tired I truly was. When Phoenix mentioned she had to pick up her boxes from my house, I jumped at the chance. A third consecutive night in my bed sounded about right.My parents were out and I gave them a mild scare when they returned home. They weren't sure who was roaming around inside the house! Once my identity was established, their tone shifted to pleasant surprise.Tomorrow I'll return to legitimate hiking. Really, I will.