Date: 2003-06-17
From: Port Clinton

To: Eckville Shelter
Miles today: 15.4
Weather: overcast clouds

You could see your breath this morning, and that meant good things for hiking. Especially hiking uphill, as one always does upon leaving town.On the walk to The Three C's Restaurant for breakfast, Ben comments that the garages in Port Clinton are detached, old style, away from the house. "That's a concept from the day when the garage was a stable," I say. "You wanted that away from the house."These garages are from an era that had a different sense of space. Same with the sidewalks and curbs, which butt right up to the houses. Now PA Hyway 61 screams right by these residential neighborhoods. Outside the front doors, semi-trucks. The force of their passing feels like violence. The crossroads of two different ages.The rocks of Pennsylvania have not been bad at all so far, no worse than Virginia. I am not naive enough to think it will remain this way. Now that I have seen the rattlers on the rocks, I find myself hyper-alert. No more casual, heedless leaps to the next boulder. Now, there is checking, automatic, unwilled. I find myself back-pedaling at roots and sticks, before the mind even registers "Snake Look-alike". The reaction is instinctive, to the image, and is preverbal. There must be some pretty primal programming in our reptile brain stems.We trudge the steep up, crossing under a bridge. We are slack-packing today, a real treat. It has been a long time. Vern the Outfitter has agreed to take our packs up to Eckville Shelter.At Pocahantas Spring, there is the guardian of the well - Mary Morgan in a backpack. She has come to hang with the thru-hikers, to prep for her own thru-hike next year.She spent the night up here by herself, knowing we would pass her. She is carrying 30 pounds in a Go-Lite pack and feeling every pound of it. The uphills are tough on her. A stop at Windsor Furnace shelter, where Crow's register entry spoke of a visit from a bear last night. Mary saw a lone bear here too, last October, so this must be its haunt.We chatted and walked, Mary often stopping to rest. I knew what was going through her head - that mental checklist of pack contents. What do I REALLY need, and what can I toss? All hikers know this phenomenon. There is no better teacher than a mountain.We had offered early on to carry some of her heavier items. After all, 15.5 miles is a good day's work for a thru-hiker. For a section hiker, it was a big day. And, everyone out here today had been touched by her Trail Magic at 501 shelter. At one point I became chilled. It was a spectacular day, low humidity, soft breezes, sunny skies, on the cool side. Mary could not have picked better weather for hiking. I needed to move a little, so I told her I would wait ahead. Then I jacked it up the mountain slope leading to the spectacular rocky outcrop known as The Pulpit.This fine vantage point offers a vista of several nearby stony peaks, as well as the farm and pastureland beyond. It was clear as plate glass today, and I could see all the way to the far ridge on the horizon. Yes!Just Do It appeared from offstage and asked about Mary. I told him where she was, and he decided to go down and carry her pack up this last big slope for her. I wasn't so sure this was a good idea, but he made a comment about her not hurting herself on the first day.As I waited, two Philadelphians with small dogs appeared. Steve and Seigo were camping nearby, and had hoofed it up here to see The Pulpit. "Amateur hikers, all wore out," joked Steve.Ben and Mary arrive, and the Philadelphians snap our picture on the rocks. The buzzards float on the thermals below. A river of "blue" rock, glacial till, winds through the green of the forest.We lunch on the rocks, in the breezes and sunshine. THIS is what I imagined hiking the AT would be like. Prince William comes by, and he's seen a big rattler today. He used the last of his film to capture it. We take his picture for him standing on The Pulpit.Time to go. It is 2 pm, and we still have miles to go. Ben still carries Mary's pack, which I don't think is a good idea. I take a few items out and put them into my half-empty pack, which I am carrying.Ben takes off and I don't expect to see him again till Eckville shelter. So I am surprised to see him sitting in a boulder scramble."Snake?" I inquire.No, he's fallen in the rocks and hurt his wrist. I ask to examine it, and he lets me. But one wrist looks as bumpy as the next. He seems subdued, and I am worried. I offer to wrap it in my bandana for compression but he declines. He does eat three aspirin though. And then he asks me to help him get Mary's pack on. No way! Mary can carry her own pack. But he says his legs are fine, he'll be all right. He is stubborn about it. You'd have to know Ben to understand why I lifted it up for him. I take out several more items before I do though.I am fretful now, and urge Mary to greater speeds. I am thinking that if Ben goes down to the hospital, I will go along with him. It is hard to navigate the mechanized world afoot, with one arm.My gorgeous, rare blue sky is clouding over. Thunder rumbles. It is going to rain.At 5 pm, in the last two miles, I tell Mary I am going to burn it in to the shelter. B-Rock falls in, right with me, and we charge down the Trail together. I am almost leaping tree trunks near the end. Itchy Foot meets me at the Trailhead. He tells me Ben's wrist is broken, that he came in all swollen and subdued.Damn!And so Ben is off the Trail. Just like that. There is the sobering realization: It can be taken away. Just like that. Like seeing a rattlesnake on the rocks, a certain innocence is lost. It can be taken away, just like that.ItchyFoot says Ben planned to be back out as soon as possible. But without help, how would he navigate some of these tricky places?I am in turmoil. I am able to collect my pocketmail at Eckville shelter, but the news is none too cheerful. AT friend Skeemer warns me about a suspect loose and possibly heading my way, SOBO on the AT. The man crashed into a VT State trooper and killed him, then went on the lam in our area. Skeemer thinks he passed the fellow going SOBO.Later, I learn that the legendary horseman Tom Dorrance, an inspiration and teacher of mine, died last week. Tom was the original American "horse whisperer," and espoused calm and gentle handling of horses. The animals melted under his touch.Suddenly, I feel very far away from it all. I feel like crying. My insides are jangled up. Everything is turning upside down.Mule and Prince Willie are here at Eckville shelter, a roomy shed behind a caretaker's house in a semi-residential area. There is soda and ice cream bars in the outside fridge.To distract myself, I provoke Mule into a round of gear-testing. He has not yet tried to set it up as a tarp. "What if you need to do it in the rain?" I ask. "You don't want that to be the first time."They are worried about getting chewed out by the cranky, bellicose caretaker. They've already been blasted for minor things. There is no camping in the yard, but we're not camping now, are we? I tell them I will take the heat and they agree.And so commences the most enjoyable part of the evening, Fun With Ponchos. We set it up several ways, with Mule posing for each configuration. The whole crew gets in on the merriment: B-Roc, Notes and Carry, Willie, Mule and me.At one point, Notes crawls under and sticks his head through the poncho hood. P.Willie stakes down all four corners. Notes looks like the Incredible Pridrman at the State Fair.Sigh. Well, I guess you had to be there.[transcriber's note: yes, this is the spelling as it came to me from LiteShoe. She blames all spelling errors on the pocketmail. I can usually be creative enough to figure out what word I'm supposed to change it to, but this one stumped me. She claims it's supposed to read "Spiderman." I still like the Incredible Pridrman, myself.]Then, while the merriment was still high, but the poncho was down, the caretaker comes back to snap everyone's picture for the photo register, which was a nice touch. When he does The boys, Mule, Willie and B-Roc, I snap one of my own. "Attitude," I tell them. "I want attitude!" Oh lord, do I get it. I hope Mule never runs for public office. Later, when the caretaker takes our picture, they cheese it up in the background. Funny, high-spirited kids, and I will miss them. They are kicking their miles into gear.Ben calls, and we rush into the caretakers house to speak with him. He sounds amazingly calm and accepting. I would not feel so centered. We tell him we want to help him return to the Trail if he wants to, but he brushes that off. He is very independent, always doing for others but not allowing help in return. Man, is it good to hear his voice!He is going to another doctor in the morning, and agrees to turn his cell phone on at 8 pm. We have no way to call him as yet, but we'll figure something out.Mary's husband Andrew has driven over to see if he could help. Itchy and I tell her we are going to burn out 17.5 miles tomorrow, did she want to drive out with Andrew? No, she wanted to continue on her own. I go to my bunk still worried and guilty about Ben, feeling a little better, but only a little.