Date: 2009-12-31
To: New Beginnings
Miles today: 0.0

(Note: I have moved my start date up to around March 7th)The end of the Os, or Aughts, or Zeros or whatever this decade will be known as will be here in just a few hours. Tomorrow we will enter into The Tens decade. Say that out loud a few times and you'll soon feel nostalgic for the silly ambiguity of the Naughties. The Tens - a decade should be more than one syllable. Years from now with my grandchildren on my knees, and I tell them, "Yep, back in The Tens I thruhiked the Appalachian Trail," I am sure one of those little smart asses will ask me if Tin came before or after the Bronze age. The Tins - a decade of malleable metal. Sounds appropriate.So, while we are still part of the "Oh Oh" decade, I'd thought I'd share a short poem I wrote to describe my first ever backpacking trip back in 2002 (well the lines are all short, but the poem itself isn't). We were hiking southbound from Iron Mountain Gap to the Nolichucky River in Erwin.Ode to Brutal MountainOver Unaka Mountain,Goes the Appalachian Trail,Inviting poor, hapless souls,Into hiker hell.Through bare mountain trees,The trail rises swiftly,This hiker starts up,The curses come quickly.¢Freaking rocks,¢¢Evil roots,¢Reaching up,To grab hiker boots.The view is splendid,The company fine,Still this mountain,Is a helluva climb.Life sustaining water,Enough to flood a levee,I dump half the bottle,Too freaking heavy.The broiling Sun beats down,Sweat flows freely,My brain gets cooked,¢Are people speaking Swahili?¢Step by step,Onward I stumble,Seeking the shade,Of a Rhododendron tunnel.Under the spreading branches,Of these mountain trees,I thank the Lord,For their big, plentiful leaves.The shade is refreshing,The coolness divine,But others are following,Time to move my behind.Back beneath the scorching Sun,I come across a trail of stone,Leading up the mountainside,Like some ancient Egyptian tomb.With a snarl and a curse,I stomp up the 12-inch steps,Plundering the energy,Stored deep within my depths.Just when I am sure,I can no longer endure,The stone stair ends,My fear of death - Premature.Better still,The word comes down,Not far ahead,A spring soaks the ground.Like a storm tossed ship,Seeking safe harbor,I summon my strength,And push on harder.Ahead on the trail,Appearing like a desert oasis,Water pours from a pipe,We cool hot faces.With water bottles filled,And a well deserved rest,I shoulder my pack,And push toward the crest.One half mile later,Comes a line of truce,Between winter-dead trees,And a forest of SpruceTrunks of red, towering skyward,Soft, spongy needles, forming a carpet,Cool, spring winds, singing in the branches,A wonderful place, I¢ll not soon forget.But all too soon,The mountain is topped,The trail starts down,The Spruce have stopped.The trail passes through,An old apple orchard,Teasing of long lost fruit,Like some medieval torture.Then a bend in the trail,And a break in the trees,Reveals a heavenly vista,Only a hiker may see.My energy restored,My heart well fed,I enter the switchbacks,They leave me near dead.To and fro, they twist and turn,A trail bedeviled with rocks and roots,I tell you right now,It weren¢t no hoot.Hundreds of feet,In either direction,But just 20 feet,Of elevation correction.Downward spirals the trail,My knee threatens to pop,Down, down, down,¢Will this never stop?¢Then from out of a haze,The botttom does appear,Beauty Spot Gap,Our campsite is near.After a moments respite,We¢re climbing again,Up a wide, grassy knoll,Where I collapse in pain.Looking back at where I¢d been,My heart suddenly skips a beat,I drink in the grandiose scene,Of the mountain I did defeat.My heart swells with joy,At the sight of where I¢d come,¢I walked over that!¢ I cried,Proud of what I had done.The climb was brutal,The Spruce sublime,Though the hike was rewarding,I¢ll pick a smaller mountain next time.So there is my silly poem. I hope to write better entries once I am out there again.