Date: 2011-04-20
From: Elmers Sunnybank Inn

To: Jones Meadow
Miles today: 22.2

(In which I leave Elmers and tent in the rain)Meals at Elmers are a social affair, and I am disappointed when Elmer announces that he cannot attend breakfast like he usually does, since he must drive to a doctor's appointment. This does however give Dan, the friendly staff member who greeted me so early the previous morning, a chance to tell us his story.Dan tells a tale of hitchhiking out of upstate New York, working in a candy factory ("they only made mints -- the dry crumbly kind that nobody really likes"), and landing at Elmers, where someone who is idealistic and willing to learn how to do whatever needs to be done can find a place to stay. The tale comes with a twist when we find out that just the day before -- after I first met him -- Elmer and one of the guests at the hostel helped him receive a scholarship to train in Washington state to become a Wilderness First Responder.In the hiker box, the free take-it-or-leave-it collection of cast off and reclaimed hiker gear and food, I find a half-full bottle of shoe-goo, and manage to join the parts of my shoe back temporarily together. The shoe-goo works surprisingly well, and I'm almost sorry to have already arranged for replacements in Erwin. I had been perversely curious to see when the entire sole, no more than a couple of millimeters thick in some places, would finally wear through.My feet, which had been blister and pain free all trip, have finally started to become sore, though only on the top of each foot. These seem like strange muscles to ache, and only when I am examining my shoes before gooing do I think to loosen the laces, and am rewarded with instant relief. Having comfortably worn the same lacing for the past two years, my feet have apparently swollen from hiking over two hundred miles, as feet have been reported to do. The shoes themselves still seem to fit well, having had extra toe room before, and I am not yet forced to upgrade to a larger size like some hikers.It rains throughout the morning, and as I am lingering on the back porch to delay hiking, I meet Oompa for the first time in over a week. Oompa is soaked but in good spirits as he hikes up to the hostel, and I learn that I had unknowingly passed him in one of the previous towns during one of his zero days. Hot Springs has been a veritable reunion for hikers, and I get to see Curmudgeon, Mule and Shiver, Where-in-the-Blazes and Arrow again while I am there.I finally take the first and most difficult step of the day, out from under the dry porch and into the rain. I find the warm rain much more pleasant than the cold rain, and am almost glad for it walking uphill, as usual, out of town. The rain eventually stops, the weather becoming hot and muggy and then finally overcast and breezy, near perfect hiking weather.I stop to visit a viewing tower off the trail and am surprised to realize that, despite the clouds, once I get above the trees there is an impressive view, easily the best since the Smokies. After a rest and a snack, I come down and see Sam-I-Am and Origami cooking lunch not far from the tower. I tell them about the view and try to convince them to walk the hundred yards to go see it, but Sam-I-Am assures me that they are fine where they are. I am astounded, as I have been before, by how people who hike a hundred or more miles a week can be unwilling to walk a few extra yards when they are not marked with white blazes.Curmudgeon stops early at the first shelter so that he can meet his wife the next day. He plans to spend a couple of zero days with her, so I say goodbye for the time being, though I think it a safe bet that we will see each other again on the trail.The last shelter that I can reach before nightfall has only three other occupants, not counting the flies that swarm and land on any exposed skin. Two of the hikers are talking on cell phones, one exasperatedly repeating the same information over the poor connection. The third misunderstands the first several things I say, so I talk more loudly, unsure if I am being rude.I cover up with my jacket and long pants, but still the flies pester. I am not yet tired and have an hour or more of daylight, though this is not enough to get me to the next shelter and the weather is supposed to be wet again by tomorrow. Annoyed with the flies and getting the sense that I would not make any new friends that night if I stayed, I decide to hike on, aware that I might be making a mistake.I hike uphill to the summit of Camp Creek Bald. I have been wanting to camp on a bald ever since I saw Snowbird, the first bald on the trail, but am disappointed to find that, so far as I can tell from the trail, Camp Creek is not bald at all, being fully forested with no obvious places to tent. I keep walking, aware that my options are dwindling but willing to night hike if necessary. I have postponed dinner, wanting to make the best of the remaining light, but this makes hiking a tiring activity, especially uphill.I reach a small campsite, near water and far enough from any summit to be out of lightning danger, and decide to stop to eat and assess my options. I savor a bagel with cheese and Pringles and as the light fades, I go to retrieve my headlamp, but am distressed to not find it in its usual bag. Hoping that it was simply forgotten in my sleeping bag, where it often spends the night, but fearing the worst, my priorities quickly shift from food to setting up shelter while I can still see.I hear a crack of thunder as I pull out my tent, and I have the ominous feeling that I may learn a Life Lesson or two before the night is over. When I have set up my tent and rolled out my sleeping pad, I unstuff my sleeping bag and shake it, but no headlight falls out. Returning to my food in the dim dusk, I check the side pockets of my pack, and am greatly relieved to find my headlamp in one of them. Having been generally meticulous about gear organization, I resolve to be especially careful with the headlamp.A few drops of rain begin to fall and I decide to skip brushing my teeth so that I can hang my food bag as soon as possible. With the help of my headlamp and in the partial protection of my rain jacket, I get my bag hung in record time and make it to my tent just before it begins to rain in earnest. I haven't yet tried my single-walled tent in the rain on the trail, but for the moment I am glad for whatever protection it might offer, and keep dry as I stay up to write.