Date: 2004-05-10
From: Groundhog Shelter in Low Gap, NC

To: Chiropractic Folk Adjustment
Miles today: 13.1

During most of the morning, I hiked without encountering a single person. What a difference it was from hiking in the Great Smoky Mountain National Park, where it was commonplace to meet day hikers or people hiking for several days.Late in the morning, I caught up to a hiker whose trail name is Left Field. (From now on, I will identify all hikers by trail names unless they don't have one.) He is a man from Virginia in his mid to late fifties who is thru hiking the trail. He was resting in the woods near the top of a mountain. I looked up the slope and viewed through the trees what looked like a bald top. I asked him if he knew what lay ahead.He told me that the mountain we were climbing was called Max Patch, and that it was famous. We exchanged pleasantries and I resumed the ascent, anxious to find out why this mountain had a famous reputation.The trees gave way to an enormous bald, much like a pasture that covered the summit at 4,629 feet. As I ascended the bald, the reason for this mountain's fame became evident. The bald offered up a 360 degree view of the surrounding mountains which included the Smokies. There were also some idyllic looking farm lands evident in this stunning tableau.At the summit, three thru hikers in their twenties were breaking camp after spending the night. Talk about the ultimate camp site! Their names were Slider, Leon, and Stubby. They reside in Pennsylvania and speak with a regional accent that resembles the way people speak in the English speaking provinces of Canada. I lingered for quite a while on the summit with Leon. We took some photos.After descending the bald on Max Patch, I inadvertently hiked on a path which was not the Appalachian Trail. This path did, however, lead me back to the Appalachian Trail. I then hiked southbound on the AT to the location where the mix up had occurred; this ensured that I would hike each and every portion of the Appalachian Trail.Later, I detoured to a shelter in order to use the outhouse. By and large, the outhouses on this trip have been tolerable due to some innovative approaches. They are slightly elevated so that the bottom--not the floors but the very bottoms--are exposed to the air, thus dispersing the odor to some extent. Buckets containing mulch or debris from the forest floor are positioned by the hole. The idea is to reach into the bucket, grab some mulch, and drop it into the hole after relieving oneself. Another oddity is that people are encouraged to pee in the woods rather than into the outhouse. I approached this outhouse, or privy as they are called, expecting a tolerable experience. I placed the tip of my hiker shoe on the lid over the hole and lifted it open.It was like the eruption of a volcano. A multitude of flies blasted upwards through the hole with a crescendo of buzzing. I retreated backwards as they dispersed. When the air had cleared of flies, I approached the hole, quickly glanced downward and grimaced. (I think everyone takes a quick gander to know how nasty the situation is). When I was ready to leave, I noticed that there was no mulch left in the outhouse; maybe that explained why this one was so nasty. But there was a rake outside, which I used to gather some debris on the forest floor and drop into the hole. I have mentioned in this journal that unsavory episode because I want to convey the reality of the AT experience.After dealing with the outhouse, I began a steady ascent to my destination, a shelter on Walnut Mountain. The trees on the slope of the mountain were blackened by the effects of a forest fire. A windy thunderstorm blew in and soaked my legs and feet with rain. I felt a tad concerned, hiking at a high elevation, umbrella in hand, with lightening going off around me.I reached the shelter¢it was a small one¢as the deluge of rain continued. A man in his late twenties was sitting inside with his rain outfit on. Apparently, he too had just arrived.He introduced himself as "Seeker." He was a thru hiker doing a flip flop hike. He has been hiking southbound from Harper's Ferry, West Virginia toward the terminus of the trail in Georgia. After reaching the terminus in Georgia, he will begin the second phase of the thru hike from Harper's Ferry northbound to the terminus on Mount Katahdin in Maine.Because his trail name is Seeker, I asked him what he was seeking. He mentioned something about the Dali Lama, and then described his hike on the Appalachian Trail as a "chiropractic folk adjustment." He said that meeting people on the trail was like taking homeopathic medicine.I politely informed him that I was clueless about what he was talking about.In more simple language, sort of, he first stated that people visit a chiropractor in order to correctly align their vertebras. Similarly, here on the Appalachian Trail, he is seeking psychological enhancement, or in a sense, a psychological re-alignment, from the people, or "folk" that he encounters. That is why he coined the term, chiropractic folk adjustment. He added that he enjoys using language in creative ways.The downpour ended and Seeker shouldered his backpack and went on his way. He had a strange way of explaining things, but I agree, or believe, that most hikers are seeking something on this trail. I am seeking an adventure. He is seeking enlightenment from other hikers. It is impossible to not be affected by the experiences on this path between Georgia and Maine.I strung up a line across the front of the shelter and hung out to dry my socks, shirt, and trail walking shoes. After eating supper and performing the usual chores for the evening, I sat down on a log and worked on my trail journal. The black flies assaulted me. A young squirrel with rusty colored fur climbed among the nooks and crannies of the exterior of the shelter. It gnawed on the wood. It behaved as though it lived in the crannies of the shelter. I did not want a squirrel messing with my sleep, so I told it to go away. It did not leave. I stood up, walked closer to it, and waved my bandana toward it. The critter started making an angry noise and jerking its head about, but would not yield. Finally, I waved my bandana and chased it half of the way around the shelter. It leaped upon a branch, climbed a tree, and jumped to another tree. Then, from its perch above the shelter area, it raised a ruckus of indignation with some loud sounds.The bugs have become intolerable outside the shelter. It is time to stop writing and get into the sleeping bag. A final comment: There are mice at this shelter. Oh no.