Date: 2009-08-20
From: Great Barrington

To: Mt Wilcox South Lean To
Miles today: 11.7

I made my way back to the trail by 11:15 just as another hiker was getting dropped off at the trailhead. Jaberwocky had started her hike late and so had just jumped up the trail from Harper's ferry to allow her to complete the 600+ miles to Katahdin before it would shut in October before then heading back to fill in the missing miles.Lots of this sort of jiggery-pokery goes on. Sometimes peoples' circumstances rule out what I consider a 'conventional' through hike and as a result various permutations and combinations have sprouted up over the years so that these folks can still call themselves thru hikers (all be it in a somewhat more unconventional manner). It seems widely accepted (and I even start to wonder wether it is now the 'conventional' approach to thru hiking that is actually 'unconventional') but I am dubious about it all. Probably the biggest single challenge to completing a thru hike is managing the time and ensuring that you meet or are ahead of schedule. The challenge to complete all of those miles before the weather window closes in around you. I always think of hikes going from A to B but fewer and fewer people seem to do it that way. I guess I'm just outdated and that common practice dictates that my ideals are consigned to the fringes, an anachronism. Whatever makes it achievable (dare I say easier or more convenient) seems fair game. Sometimes people fall behind and will need to skip some miles in the short term but the cynic in me often wonders just how many of these missing miles ever actually get walked; and whether the individuals involved still make a song and dance about reaching the summit of Katahdin. Do they still pop champagne corks, smoke cigars, take that final kneeling on the sign, hands raised to heaven photograph. But that photograph doesn't represent the final climactic moments on the journey, but just another day. They are the sort of photos you don't see people taking on Clingsmans or Mt. Washington. But then I suppose if you are going to be a thru hiker then you simply cannot live without that end of the trail victory photo on Katahdin, even if its not the end of the trail and its not particularly victorious.Maybe I'm too cynical but it just seems that anything that makes the original challenge easier is acceptable while turning round and saying 'I gave it my best shot but circumstances conspired against me' would represent some sort of failure. If everybody gets a medal then what does it mean? I lament the lack of honesty.But today wasn't all about my grumpy and uncharitable thoughts. It was really about two new acquaintances - the aforementioned Jaberwocky and yet to be mentioned Ted from Lithuanian.After our initial meeting Jaberwocky and I continued to pass each other throughout the day and having skipped the last 500 or so miles she suddenly (and unexpectedly) found herself transported smack into the middle of mosquito hell. The last trail she had known was in Virginia and so there had been none of the steady acclimatisation (and resignation) or the fine tuning of battle tactics (both offensive and defensive) that the continuos thru hiker acquires through New Jersey, New York and Connecticut. None of the ambushes, skirmishes or the battles won or lost. None of the lessons learnt through pain and adversity, and perhaps none of the quiet acceptance that this is all just part of the thru hikers lot.Plowing on regardless, alongside what would otherwise have been a pleasant river and through some flat grassy stuff, I passed a couple of south bound hikers (one from London) and then a little later, a couple of miles short of Tom Leonard Lean-to, I bumped into Ted. I didn't realise it immediately but as Ted's story began to unfold it became apparent that he had managed to dig himself into a wee bit of a hole (not a deep hole but deep enough).The first clue should have been that he seemed disproportionately pleased to see me; wasting no time in striking up a conversation and asking if i was heading North or South?An innocent enough question and usually fairly obvious. However, on this occasion Ted's eagerness was down to a nagging doubt that he might have been going the wrong way! It's a surprisingly easy mistake to make and sometimes surprisingly difficult to recognise and to rectify. You know you are on the trail but often there is little (or nothing) to indicate your actual direction of travel. Ted's heart sank a little as I said 'North'. He had indeed been going the wrong way. Drat, damn and double drat (or whatever Lithuanian's say in such circumstances). At least he knew now and would have a little company while he got back on track.Ted's woes were not merely directional though. He was also battling blisters and dehydration. And it's at times like these that discovering that you have just gone two miles in the wrong direction might have broken a lesser man. As it was the weight of disappointment bowed Ted a bit (a sag of the shoulders, a momentary dip of the knees) but it did not break him. And as we slowly retraced his steps he told his story. A story of hiking being harder and slower than he had imagined. A story of fading light and of arriving at the shelter both late and in darkness. A story of being unable to locate the water source by headlamp and then, in the morning, of finding only an unappealing brown and muddy trickle. A story in which (I think rather foolishly) he chose no water over dubious water. A story of not recognising the trail he had left in darkness but now rejoined in daylight. And a story, as he now knows, of going the wrong way. All that and blisters and bugs. So, while I wasn't exactly his fairy godmother, I was here. I pointed him in the right direction, I shared some of my excess water, I kept him company, but more than that, I enjoyed his company, he was a nice guy and he showed a lot of spirit and yes, I wont deny it, there is a inner glow to thinking that you might have helped someone out along the way.For Ted though there remained one last kick in the teeth when as we stopped by Ice Gulch he suddenly proclaimed 'I am such a loser'. In his tired, thirsty and hurting state he had left his camera case open and now his camera had taken its leave of him. It was a painful blow, an expensive piece of kit, but there was also no going back. In his current circumstances while he wasn't happy, it was a body that, ultimately, he could (and would have to) absorb.We wandered on, crossing a stream, and once again while the water was not pristine it was water and despite his persisting uncertainty there was never any doubt that it would be getting drank. He complained about the taste but he guzzled none the less and then he guzzled some more. And then, standing by the river beneath the hot sun, Jabberwocky strolled up and said 'Hey, did anybody drop a camera'.