Date: 2018-03-13
From: Gooch Mountain

To: Lance Creek
Miles today: 8.4
Weather: light rain

It was a cold morning and believe it or not I wasn¢t the last out of camp. I drank a breakfast concoction of watery oatmeal, instant coffee, a pack of hot chocolate, and a packet of sugar - all mixed together. That fueled a first part of the day¢s hike which I cannot conjur in my memory, but it led to spectacular views to the east on Preaching Rock.I met a hiker from England with a thick Scottish accent on the rocky outcrop. We had an enjoyable chat about English author, Bill Bryson¢s work (A Walk in the Woods), and his own hiking excursions through Scotland, of which he implored me and my wife to visit.It was all downhill from there, both literally and figuratively. It got much colder, the blisters on my feet were getting worse by the yard, and fatigue was setting in.  One awesome surprise, however, was Trail Magic set up at Woody Gap. There, the sun was shining and a kind middle aged man set up a table with food and beverages. There was a campfire with chairs set up to warm by (chairs are items we all take for granted), and a delicious pot of goulash - all free for any hiker who wanted to partake.  And I did.By the time I made it to Lance Creek, all the tent sites were occupied and I had to scrape off an uneven wet place by a creek, off to the side of the camp trail. If a rain came, I¢d surely be washed down the hill in my miniature nylon Noah¢s Ark.Lance Creek is the last stop before the infamous Blood Mountain.  People camp here because bear canisters are required on Blood Mountain.  Hardly anyone opts to carry their food in a bulky bear canister.One very nice gender neutral fellow who was a Marylin Manson look-alike, with every sort of body piercing imaginable (from my home state), packed in a six of Scottish beer. He offered, and it was a hard decline for me, but in this cold weather and with my tightening bladder, I thought it best to abstain.This fellow was one of the nicest and most polite personalities I¢d met on the trail to date. Best not judge a book by its cover.Within a couple hours there was a tenement city built - tents and hammocks spaced about a foot apart. I was in the middle of a raucous bunch of humans, the type that were erased once in history by a worldwide flood. They had filthy vocabularies and various artificial forms of dealing with the cold, all of which I have no desire to partake in. It was like being in the inner city in the middle of the Chatahoochie National Forest. Bare trees made it nearly impossible to find a private place to poo on the hillside megalopolis. But after a good hike around the bend, I dug my first cat-hole and let her rip. The hole wasn¢t deep enough because the ground was frozen. So I covered the fertilizer with a big flat rock, white toilet paper peeking out the sides.Later as I went to hang my bear bag, I encountered a group of strolling minstrels, the pink clad Fuchia among them. The group of five were were walking the camp trail singing to the tunes of a ukulele that was packed in by a bearded hiker with dreadlocks. Strangely, the group stopped and serenaded all the hanging food bags on the camp bear lines. I have to say that the folk songs were very well played and it was all quite entertaining. Later, I passed by my neighbor sitting on a log burning and inhaling something he held cupped in his hands. I nodded and said goodnight, and he squeaked back the same with lungs full of who knows what.It was a cold miserable night.  I buried myself so far down in my sleeping that I looked like a tennis ball in the bottom of a tube sock.  To make matters worse, I smelled like a geriatric patient in a second rate nursing home.