Date: 2003-04-27
From: Troutdale, Va.

To: Partnership Shelter
Miles today: 14.5
Weather: scattered clouds

Troutdale Baptist Hostel to Partnership shelterYoung Daniel, son of one of the Baptist church principals, arrives at 7:30 am to take me back to the Trailhead. They didn't want me to have to hitch. Really kind of the church hostel. I'm in a rush, so I stuff my headlamp in my Moonstone's jacket's zip pocket, instead of its usual spot in the top lid of my pack.On the Trail, it's a bit nippy, so I keep my jacket on to hike. I love that jacket, it's been a perfect piece of gear. During the first climb, I warm up enough to take it off and stash it beneath my pack's top lid.On the stretch before Racoon shelter, I meet Trail Frog going south. She is meeting family in Troutdale, and is walking down to meet them.Shortly after, I meet four SOBO section hikers, and we greet each other pleasantly. Early birds, we are. A brotherhood.Between Racoon shelter and Trimpi shelter is High Point mountain, our main climb of the day at over 4000 feet. The trees still aren't in leaf up here, except for the highbush blueberies, shrubby remnants of the Ice Age. The oaks, in fact, are barely showing buds. "Can't fool an oak," an old friend of mine used to say. Let's just say an oak wouldn't send its winter gear home before Pearisburg. I follow their lead. I'm keeping my 20-degree bag another week.The walking is cool and nice, and the sun is out for the first time in a while. I can tell it will be really hot later in the day.On the backside of High Point, I think to myself how fortunate I'm not going UP this side, southbound. The descent is long.Heh. Heh.When I get to Trimpi shelter, four miles from the Trailhead, I'm feeling smug. I'm making good time in the cool of the morning, and will knock out the remaining ten miles to Partnership Shelter for pizza by 2:30 pm. It's 10 am. My feet might actually survive this day. And then I check my backpack. Oh. No!My Moonstone jacket is gone. I love that jacket.I dump out my entire bag to be sure. My raincoat is still there, under the top lid. No jacket.There aren't many pieces of gear I would walk back over a mountain named High Point for, in the growing heat of the day, and the Moonstone teeters right on the edge.That's when it hits me with a slam - my valuables were in that zip pocket: credit card, debit cards, calling cards, cash money and travelers chex. And one more: my driver's license.Oh crap. I HAVE to go back.I leave my pack at Trimpi, along with a note. I slip my camera into my pocket (the only valuable left), grab my Pocketmail (psychologically valuable) and start back up the hill. Hoping against hope that my jacket would be just up the Trail. The mind runs wild in such situations. I was resenting the extra miles, resenting the climb, resenting the growing heat. Pist. Bad Attitude Shoe. Watch out!I meet Noll, Puff-Puff and Snappy coming late out of Racoon shelter. The jacket wasn't down there, they said. They promised to lend their eyes to the task on their 2.5 mile trek to Trimpi shelter. That left me another 1.5 to the Trailhead. I figured I had to go all the way there, in case there was a note in the Trailhead register. Every rock and root looked like a heap of jacket. Serious wishful thinking here.I was boiling hot and discouraged whenI got to the Trailhead. I hadn't found it. Maybe one of the NOBOS had, or Trail Frog or one of the SOBO sectioners. They would know the Trail was all headed to the famous Partnership shelter, and certainly drop it there.Wouldn't they?Now it was noon, and hot. I was absolutely back at my starting point with a full 14 miles to go. With 8 miles on them already, my feet were starting to protest.So was my mind. Do I have to go home to NC to get a new license? How would I do that? I don't know where any of my ID is (somewhere deep in the black-hole 10x10 locker). How do I collect my post office mail drops without ID? What if my dad gets sick, and I must fly home?I lost cash too, and debit card. I have a money drop in Pearisburg, how do I claim that? Lost without plastic or folding green in America!Climbing over High Point for the third time will do that to the brain.I finally got to Trimpi at 2pm, along with Bubbaluga and the black dog Iwo. I hadn't taken water, not planning to walk so far back and, dehydrated, I down an entire quart.Two pm, four official miles down, 12 walked, ten more to go. My feet are beat to crap. Ouch!I left info in the register and offered a reward. My feet and attitude were so bad I considered just stopping here for the day. But perhaps my jacket was at Partnership.Despite my sulky slog towards the shelter - now I was into berating myself for my stupidity - the beauty of the countryside managed to penetrate my awareness. In particular, the striking yellow-green of the baby leaves against the deep, cloudless blue of the sky moved me from my self-involved funk, and I snapped a few photos. Around seven, I was wondering if my feet would make it. They were in serious rebellion, despite copious internal applications of ibuprofen. (To hell with stomach lining!). Ever step was extremely tender. And then, the famous Partnership shelter looms through the rhododendron. This is the shelter at which you can order pizza. Yes, they deliver. Hikers have been talking about it since Damascus. It is huge, clean, new, with a picnic table and a large overhang, even a porch swing. Even a solar shower. There are flush toilets up at the Ranger station, and a soda machine. Hiker nirvana. And no jacket. Every one asks if I found it. I order a calzone.After food, I get on the phone and start activating the support teams. Carolyn back home will check on the driver's license issues, and the credit cards. Hammer the trail mantainer calls a local maintaining camp, Konnorock, and mobilizes cash and moral support. Dave Hicks, an internet friend who lives near Pearisburg, offers any help I might need. The hikers, too, are great.Noll gives me a 15 minute calling card his dad gave him.Notes brought his stove up to the ranger station where the phone is, and made me Hot Chocolate.Trail Frog offered sympathy and a bad superman joke. Puff-Puff loans me her headlamp. The SOBO "180" promises to look on his way south.I feel better when I hang up. And perhaps the rangers have my jacket in custody. I will check first thing in the morning.And then, the calvary shows up - a truck from Konnorock camp. Jason, an ATC crew leader who I met back at Siler Bald shelter before the Smokies, gets out and opens his wallet. "How much do you need?" he says. Dan Hammer has guaranteed it, and that's good enough for the Trail maintainer guys. That's the Trail for you. It's a linear small town, and when one of their own is in straights, they turn out. Although restoring all my ID and cards will be expensive and a hassle, my mood lifts. I feel wonderfully supported. It will all be alright in the end.The sky is very dark and crammed with stars, on the way back Notes points out a satellite and several constellations. Later he sees two shooting stars and calls out: Iwo barks. Joe, a hiker, has eaten so much he throws up. Everone stays up late, talking, extracting slivers, looking skyward, doctoring mangled toes.Balance is restored to the world.