Date: 2004-05-28
From: Eastern bank of the Susuquehanna River

To: First Steps
Miles today: 10.1

I¢ve been planning this adventure for months and I told lots of people about it. It seemed each person had some tidbit of advice for me they heard along the way, with each telling me what I should do or bring. Me being me, I paid attention to each and every caveat. Some I disregarded, many I took seriously. I had the philosophy I¢d be better off bringing something and not needing it than not having something I needed, so I prepared for every hypothetical situation anyone could present.         It only occurred to me on this day that not a single one of these people have ever stepped foot on the trail. I¢m not sure who¢s more to blame for my situation: them for presenting themselves as experts about something they knew nothing about or me for believing they were. Farewells and Other Empty ThreatsOnce again, I was too excited to get a good night¢s sleep. Once again, I fell asleep just in time to wake up early. I¢ll cut through the part where I eat crisp bacon and airy waffles to the part where Grandma expressed her concerns for my safety. Specifically, she wanted me to call her every night. I personally couldn¢t see the point in calling a woman with poor hearing from a point with poor reception when I had a limited battery. (To be fair, my mom was worse - she insisted I take a global positioning system. Of course, her idea of a hike is wlaking to the mailbox.)         Grandpa saw things my way. Grandma pulled out her trump card: ¢Do you know how many people have been killed on that trail?¢        ¢Seven,¢ I answered. ¢Nine if you count those two girls murdered in Shenadoah who weren¢t really on the trail.¢ Not bad, really, when you figure there have been millions of people on the trail since 1925. Statistically, you¢re probably in more danger sitting at home reading this than you would be on the trail.        Grandma countered.¢ What about those two people who were just murdered right near Duncannon?¢        Grandpa fielded this one. ¢How long ago was that? That was about 15 years ago. They caught the guy who did it and sent him back to prison.¢        Like my mother, Grandma feared that something could happen, therefore something would happen. Maternal figures are always so caring. If I may make a reference to Greek mythology, I¢ll bet Cassandra¢s children didn¢t think she had special powers.         Grandpa and I headed out shortly afterwards. We stopped at an outfitters on the way to get the first map I¢d need, the one leading from Duncannon to Sawarta Gap. Unfortunately, this map was only sold in a pack along with all the other state maps, including the area south of where I was going, and a state guidebook, so I ended up having to buy six maps to get the one I wanted.         We drove to the eastern bank of the Susquehanna River, just as a hiker in a blue shirt was crossing the bridge. Grandpa dropped me off. I threw on my pack, forcing my knees not to buckle. My trip began with a farewell wave. Slow LeadfootThe white blazes led me up Peter¢s Mountain through a zigzagging path. I was already feeling worn out by the time I reached the top. I passed a few day hikers with their beaming smiles and water bottles in one hand. I walked through a living forest, stepping over slugs and millipedes as the symphony of a thousand cicadas echoed through the hills.         Yep, that first mile was really something. I never realized how long a mile is until I walked one, uphill, with more than 50 pounds of weight on my back. Sweat poured off my brow as my canteen got lighter.         Then I heard voices behind me. Two hikers came through the trail, their light aluminum poles swinging in front of them like two extra legs. They passed my like cross-country skiers going past a tree.         I plodded on. It took me three hours to clear three miles to the first shelter. Sitting there, at a table outside the simple structure, where the two hikers who passed me: Sugar Daddy and Moonpie. The man with a blue shirt was there too. His name was Hillbilly.Hillbilly¢s Tutelage I never realized how little I knew about hiking before I took this trip. Sure, I had spent a lot of time camping, but camping and hiking are very different things - almost as different as driving a car and NASCAR.         When camping, you can take anything you want. You don¢t have to worry about carrying anything, because all you have to do is put it down when you make camp. You can pretty much bring as much as you want.         I made the mistake of packing like I was going camping, not hiking. I had loaded up with a tent, a couple of books, and as much food as I could cram into a framed backpack. Sure, I had the foresight not to bring some thing suggested, but overall I took just about everything everyone else suggested, from bug spray to a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20. My overstuffed pack included a tent, three changes of clothes, a hooded sweatshirt, a rainjacket, two books for leisure, way too much ... even a spare journal. I packed everything but the water filter, which I forgot at Grandpa¢s. Read carefully and you¢ll be able to get a better idea of what extemporaneous items I brought by seeing what I left behind.         It¢s not that I hadn¢t heard of ultralight packing; I just heard about it way too late, when I was about a week from setting out. And when I did hear about it, I reacted to it the same way Bill Bryson reacted to it when his partner, Katz, suggested going untralight. For those who didn¢t read Bryson¢s account in A Walk in the Woods, his reaction was similar to Dustin Hoffman¢s in The Graduate when that guy said, ¢plastics,¢ only angrier.         The three hikers talked about ... well, honestly, they spent a lot of time talking about poop. I¢m not kidding. Moonpie and Sugar Daddy went on like my maternal grandparents, describing their movements. Moonpie even went into a whole one-woman monologue about how to treat impacted feces in the field, complete with depictive hand gestures.* She actually had experience doing this with some kids she was watching as a camp counselor.         They left, going off into the woods with effortless grace like ... uh ... damn. Simile fails me. The next time I see people moving effortlessly through thick foliage, I¢m going to say they were walking like Moonpie and Sugar Daddy.         After Sugar Daddy and Moonpie took off Hillbilly told me a bit about myself. This was the second time he was doing the trail; on his first trip, he had a 50-pound backpack himself. The trip practically ruined his knees. This time, he was going ultra-light, carrying under 20 pounds of gear total.        Hillbilly told me the key to ultralight packing is to get rid of everything you don¢t use everyday. Since I was stopping at Port Clinton, he suggested I get rid of anything I didn¢t use everyday up to that point. Also, he said I shouldn¢t use two things if one can serve two functions - for example, it was pointless to carry a bowl and a cup, since you could just drink from a bowl. He taught me a few more tips about trail survivla; those will come up later. If not for him, I probably wouldn¢t have made it.         I rewarded him for his advice and lightened my load at the same time. I gave him the bottle of Mad Dog.Into the EastI was a few miles down the road before I realized I forgot my sunglasses on the trail. I had those shades for almost a year. I very nearly turned back. A pair of sunglasses that haven¢t been broken or lost in that long are pretty valuable. However, I couldn¢t bring myself, physically or mentally, to turn around.         In his book ¢A Walk in the Woods,¢ Bill Bryson gives a second-hand account of a few ¢giggly¢ women from California who wanted to hike the whole trail but turned back after four hours, saying ¢I wasn¢t what they expected.¢ I had originally laughed at the story. Now I was close to imitating it. This wasn¢t what I expected either. It sure as hell wasn¢t what I was so excited I could barely sleep over. I was tempted to turn around myself.         No, I told myself. I can make it to Port Clinton, at least. I worked too hard for this. I told too many people about my plan. I had to at least try. But why? What was I trying to prove? Hillbilly did a nice job of showing I didn¢t know jack about hiking. Physically, I was already falling apart. Mentally, I was bored and second-guessing myself. Even if I could go the distance, what was the point? What was I doing other than wasting my vacation time.         I was wondering this when I reached Table Rock. I looked out over the forested folded mountains, the undeveloped wilderness in an excessively productive 21st century. I looked at the shadows that creased each and every tree. I looked at the small farmhouses popping out among the forests.         Somehow, they mountains seemed to speak to me. They were just begging me to conquer them. Those Guys Again        I had to clear seven miles to reach the next shelter, and I made it just before sunset. I had managed to clear the distance in four and a half hours - not bad. Sugar Daddy and Moonpie were waiting, along with a kilt-clad skinny with a thick beard. His trail name was Haiku.        The three of the were thru-hikers. They started the trail separately a thousand miles to the south at Mount Springer, GA. They had been on the trail for more than two months, and still had more than two more months to go. Put bluntly, they were unlike any other people I¢ve ever met, yet they were by no mans unpleasant company. Oh, and they spent yet more time talking about poop when they weren¢t talking about other hikers they met. Since I had little to say about ... doing what bears are famous for doing in the woods and didn¢t want to look any more naive than I already did, I kept to myself. * I wish I took pictures. It was almost like she was demonstrating Eagle Claw Kung Fu.