Date: 2003-06-03
From: Wind Rock Campsite 

To: Sarver Hollow Shelter 
Miles today: 16.0
Weather: moderate rain

I can not believe that it is the third of June an it¢s as cold as it has been all day. When I broke camp this morning the rain from the previous night had subsided. As I was putting my boots on the rain started again and it rained steadily all day. Only once did the rain let up during the first four miles of my hike to War Spur Shelter, through a beautiful blossoming laurel thicket. It was one of those ¢wow, despite the rain it is great.¢ It¢s a good thing I had that thought in the beginning of the day because those sentiments certainly didn¢t last. I stayed at the War Spur Shelter just long enough to change in to my new red skirt that mommy had made for me and sent to Pearisburg. It¢s made of a brushed nylon that dries quickly; this would be its first test. I pushed on to Laurel Creek Shelter another six miles away. By the time I got there I was cold, wet and not feeling at all like hiking any more. I got some dry clothes on, poured out the half pound of water I¢d been carrying in each boot, wrung out my socks (and dropped on liner in the mud puddle outside the shelter), and settled down for lunch and a hot tea. The Constant Comment tea along with my tuna really helped to warm my bones. All through lunch I told myself ¢you can do it,¢ ¢you can make it.¢ I had to do a lot of gearing up to motivate myself to leave this shelter and head to Sarver Hollow, nearly seven more miles away. It worked, I put back on my wet socks and shoes, took off my long john bottoms, but couldn¢t convince myself to take off my long johns shirt and replace it with my wet t-shirt. This was a potentially dangerous move, leaving me with only a dry fleece for my top. When I left that shelter it wasn¢t even raining. The creeks I had to cross were very high and proposed some challenges. At this point my boots couldn¢t have gotten any wetter, but I did want to avoid falling in these rushing waterways. Shortly after the shelter, I saw a southbounder, Just Plain Tom from Alabama.   We chatted about upcoming terrain for one another. He said I was about to head through a couple cow pastures, then up a muddy climb that was like a mountain in Georgia. No problem, I was totally geared up for whatever was coming my way. The rain finally let up (after raining persistantly all morning) as I entered the cow pastures Tom had told me about. I cross one, two, three different ones. Each time you enter or exit a pasture you've got to climb over cow styles. There are different ways to make cow styles - some you walk up an incline, then step over the gate and walk down the decline - others, and more often the case, you climb up like a ladder, then turn around up top and descend backwards. The day was full of them. As I enter my fourth or fifth pasture of the day, I notice that the trail looks wide - generally an indication of hikers moving around pooled water. As I move closer I realize that indeed, the water is high. I tried to go around it, but the whole damned field is a bog. I'm sinking everywhere. Well, when you can't out smart the trail by walking around it, you might as well walk through it. I did, and, went even deeper - at least up to the top of my boot. Now, It would have been fine if it were just water, but it was also mud, and cow patties to be sure. Ugh. Thank goodness for the little bridge ahead. So, I hastily move toward the bridge that will carry me over the brown stream, only to step off on to the saturated ground again. Resigned to my fate, I trudge through. Then, the Mecca appears in front of me - the cow style that will take me to the road. Ah. I make a dash for it, but just in front of the style, as if strategically placed by angry landowners, was a patch that looked like solid mud. In actuality it was a deep section of thick mud and pooh that I sank in to up to the TOPS of my gaiters. As I lept on to the style, I knew there was no way I could come out clean. Others, in the same situation had smeared that mud and pooh all over the ladder I had to climb. I reached the top of that style and looked down to see evidence of another hiker reaching his wits end. A sign on cardboard with thick black lettering: NORFOLK. I had to laugh at the scene. I could easily see how someone would call it a day after this. I still had at least another 5 miles to go before I'd reach the shelter. I climbed down the style, crossed the road, then over another style to the next cow field. As I walked up the hill, I turned back to look at the wasteland I'd just crossed, hoping to watch another hiker's experience. And all I could think to myself is "Are we having fun yet?" Dispite all the icky-ness I was still having a blast. Up Sinking Creek Mountain (the one that was slippery and steep - what a combo) I climbed. There was another funny instance of the day. As I'm hunched over with my nose practically to the ground, I glance up and see the white blaze. This blaze isn't five or six feet up on the tree where they are usually found. This one is about a foot off the ground. Evidence that mud or no mud, this trail is seen from the ground up and even the trail maintainers know that. I hit the junction for Sarver Hollow Shelter after hiking on a windy ridge that was a bit spooky. The fog had given a haunting spirit to the half fallen trees and rock cairns. Everything I passed seemed to look back at me and I hiked with haste so the wind wouln't knock a teetering tree on top of me. The descent to Sarver Hollow Shelter was muddy because of rerouting and rocky. I was so glad to get there, and forced open some space at people's feet so that I'd have a place to sleep for the night. If any friend or family had been hiking with me today, they would have definately come to the conclussion that this sucks! Cold, wet and, at times, miserable. Today was tough.