Date: 2003-03-15
To: Springer Mt
Miles today: 0.0
Weather: light rain

(The night of Mar. 5)Spring(er) is in the air.Today I suddenly had Springer intoxication. I¢ve known all the time that I¢m approaching Springer Mt., the southern end of the A.T., and that I¢m now only 340 miles from it. But today this continuous slow progress towards Georgia changed to something else. For the first time I felt in my bones how close I am to that (in)famous mountain. And I got the Springer fever.For a couple hours I was hiking as if on air. I looked at the mountains on the southeast horizon, and imagined those mountains, which I¢ll climb in a few days, have a view of Springer. Yes, I know. 340 miles is still way too long a distance for this to be possible. And yes, I know that Mt. Springer is an unimpressive forest-covered mountain with almost no views, whose only unique feature is that wooden plaque on top of it, arbitrarily announcing it to be the southern end of the A.T.. But yet, today, I could smell Springer in the air.This sudden change of my mood was due to a couple of reasons. First was the warm weather, which was a complete contrast to the last cold months, and it made me realize that spring will actually appear pretty soon, and that winter won¢t decide to stay on all year long .Then was the fact that the trail in this section was well graded, and for once the trail actually went around a couple of hills instead of climbing up and down them as it usually does. So for once I stopped cursing the trail plotter, and was able to enjoy it.But the biggest reason for my Springer fever attack was that today I met 3 northbounders (nobos) who started hiking from Georgia about a month ago. They weren¢t the first nobos I met, but they gave me the feeling that this trickle of nobos I met will soon become a flood, as all those hundreds and even thousands of wannabe nobo thruhikers are starting their long journey in Springer, just about now.I actually met my first nobos a week and a half ago, in Damascus. They arrived on the second day I stayed in the hostel there, which was lucky, as it meant I had a full boiler of hot water to use for the much awaited shower I took on my first night in that hostel - a shower so long that it caused a substantial decrease in the amount of water, soap and shampoo in southwest Virginia.All three nobos I met in Damascus were interesting guys. First there was Bono, who is a born again Christian. You can usually recognize these guys in shelter registers by the fact they fill a page or so with their favorite quotes from the New Testament. Then they end it with the words "thank you Jesus for suffering on the cross for me". Usually just below this kind of register entry you can find a couple of nasty remarks written by other hikers who apparently aren¢t as devoted Christians as this trail preacher is.But Bono was different. He doesn¢t try to preach in his shelter entries. I actually believe that he hadn¢t any dreams and fantasies that night about stoning me or burning me at the stake, even after I told him my views about the New Testament, Jesus and the Virgin Mary, views which, how should I say it subtly, differ greatly from the orthodox views the Catholic church holds.The other nobo I met in Damascus was an 18-year-old child whose trail name was Rocket. This guy had sewn up, with great skill, all his gear by himself. He also carried every electronic gadget ever invented, including a PocketMail composer like mine, a digital camera, a video camera and a g.p.s. The one thing that he (and the two other nobos) didn¢t carry was maps. Now, carrying a g.p.s. without maps has the same rationale as giving a starving Somalian an expensive set of silverware but no food. I offered to lend him my maps for the next 800 miles north, and he said he¢ll mail them to me when he finishes that section. He then offered to lend me his snowshoes (which he didn¢t need any more)) and I said I¢ll mail them to him when I finish hiking the Smoky Mountains (which is the highest section on the A.T., about 120 miles ahead of me).The last of the nobos I met in Damascus was the flying Scotsman. I¢ll leave you trying to guess from where he came, and I¢ll just mention that he¢s the only guy on the trail who has an accent in English that¢s worse than mine. He¢s a really funny guy. Whenever you talk with him he says aye (instead of yes) and he ends his register entries by writing "if its nae Scottish its cra--p". It appears that Rocket - the kid that¢s hiking with him - is about to be severely traumatized pretty soon. Unfortunately, flying Scotsman is determined to start wearing a kilt when it warms up, and as Scottish people don¢t believe in wearing underwear below their kilt, I have a strong feeling that one of this days, on one of those numerous uphills on the trail, Rocket will see views of a completely different nature than he¢s used to...I enjoyed the company of these guys so much, that when they suggested that I join them for a short section north I actually seriously considered doing this, even though its in complete contradiction to the very nature of a sobo hiker.(Mar 10)Spring is indeed in the air...The last few days were lovely, and in the last weekend I met more than a dozen hikers, which is about the same as the total number of hikers I met in all of January and February. Surprisingly enough, some of them actually knew about me in advance. When I first arrived at the outfitter/hostel in Damascus, and introduced myself as a southbounder, they immediately said. ¢Ah, you¢re Roni, you¢re from Israel, what took you so long?" and showed me the article about me in the Bland Chronicle. The same thing happened in the next hostel in Kinkora, but this time I was shown a different article from a different newspaper about me. By the time I reached my third hostel - Miss Gannett¢s in Erwin, Tennessee, I was told that there was a woman looking to interview me for the local radio. And about half the hikers I meet on the trail recognize me as that "crazy Israeli hiker they heard about, who has been hiking south on the A.T. in winter, eating only honeybuns". Just to set the record straight, I¢m indeed an Israeli and indeed I¢m crazy (there¢s no other logical explanation for me hiking the A.T. in winter) but I do not - as the legends go - eat only honeybuns, although they consist of a great portion of my diet.Unfortunately, I believe that my days in the media spotlight are about to end, as it becomes more and more apparent that I won¢t end my life as a human Popsicle, and that- even with my numerous blunders - I¢m actually going to survive this winter. So the media's interest in me should soon disappear. As they say - fame is a fickle mistress...Roni