Date: 2005-04-14
From: Painter Branch

To: Hot Springs (No Entry for 04/13/05)
Miles today: 31.1
Weather: clear sky

.14.05Day 329pm Yesterday was the first day that I neglected to write in my journal. But, I had justification -- if I had attempted to write, this journal would have become so unbelievably waterlogged. For it rained yesterday. I spent a solid 14 straight hours, huddled in my tent. (Thankfully my bladder didn't necessitate my typical midnight sortie.) The day began auspiciously enough. The rain from the previous night ceased around 3am, and while the early morning sky wasn't exactly overpowered by sunshine, there was definite hope that the 50/50 forecast of rain might tend our way. So, we trudged up Snowbird Mountain, one interminable uphill step after another. Linux did set an excellent pace -- slow enough for it to be maintainable, but not so fast as to leave us breathless. The Cold War nuclear reactor-looking FAA tower atop Snowbird looked even ore eerie and alien-like half-obscured in the foggy mist. But, when we reached Groundhog Creek Shelter, the clouds broke, blue skies were visible (in small, disparate patches), and the sun even made an appearance. 'Awright' was the universal reaction. The possibility of camp atop Max Patch resurfaced and had me salivating. (Max Patch was my favorite spot on the trail last year, hands down.) Well, not to be. Less than an hour later, the clouds had closed in, and began dropping water on us. First just a light drizzle, then a true downpour. For the first hour or so, I was actually enjoying it -- this was the first real rain of the hike, the first soak-your-clothes -through-and-through. And, I told myself, once you resign yourself to being wet and miserable, it's actually not so bad. My sandaled socks were drenched w/in minutes and yet, conundrically, I found myself consciously avoiding stepping in puddles or mud slicks. It's not as if my feet could have gotten any wetter. Or muddier. But anyway, as I was saying, the first hour, hour-and-a-half, I was fine, enjoying the rain, if not exactly revelling in it. But then, I began to get a little chilled, and started beseeching the sun to shake off these rain clouds. No luck. Then came the cursing of the weather gods. Still no luck. Then, resignation set in. If wet I must be, then wet I will be. I donned my rain jacket (Hah! Sweat-insulater is a more appropriate name.) and proceeded on. The rain actually did let up for about 45 minutes, as we crested Max Patch. Our views were still occluded by fog, but at least we weren't being chased by lightning bolts. (There had been one particularly loud FLASH-BOOM! combination a few miles earlier, which Cuppa Joe reported as being 'right in front' of him. As that is my usual position in our hiking order, I confess to being glad that he had fallen behind while taking a break. But, he sure caught up quickly. "Remember that empty fuel cell I mentioned earlier? That lightning bolt charged it right up. Scared the sh#t out of me.") As we stood on Max Patch, and I fussed w/ my temperamental camera batteries (they didn't like the rain and wet any more than I), I was more than half-tempted to suggest tossing up our tents up there -- the rain had stopped and, conceivably, we could get a sunrise in the morning. But, the decision was made to forge on. And, so we did. We hiked to the site of the new Roaring Fork Shelter, listed as being 'under construction'. We hoped that meant the maybe it had a roof. Or even 4 walls. Heck, we'd settle for 2. Not to be. The rain started again as we reached the "shelter" -- the outline of the base, and a few crosbeams, plus several large piles of lumber. Huh. We looked around for potential tenting sites, finding no palatable ones but several posible (in a pinch) options. (And we were definitely being squeezed.) No one seemed overly enthusiastic about staying, but the next shelter was 4 miles away... Then, the rain began in earnest. We huddled under the most protective tree branches we could find, until Pacman darted off down the privy trail, w/ the brilliant idea of staying there. (Yes, the shelter is nowhere near completion, but the privy is fully functional.) So, the 5 of us huddled under the privy roof, momentarily escaping the rain. But not the cold. I was chilled to the bone. Eventually, Linux, CJ, and Break braved the rain, to erect their trio of tents in a collaborative effort -- 2 people suspend the fly while the other sets the tent up underneath, in theory keeping the inside of the tent dry. In theory. We set my tent up in the same manner. By the time it was up, a large pool of water had collected at the foot of it. On the inside. Sigh. Plus, it wasn't really staked out properly, it was pinched b/t 2 spruces, my perhaps not-so-brilliant idea of using the branches as additional rain protection. But, the limited space led to a loose fly, which led to persistent drips inside my tent. Double sigh. But at that point, I didn't care. I was damn cold. I crawled into my tent, peeled off my sopping wet clothes, threw them outside (they were already fully waterlogged; what more could a night in the rain do?), pulled on every piece of dry clothing I had left -- long john bottoms, a pair of shorts, 3 long sleeve shirts, my fleece jacket, a pair of socks, and my ear band. (My extra bra was used to soak up the standing pool of water in the tent, and my last pair of socks were placed under the drips in the tent, in an attempt to keep my sleeping bag dry.) I blew up my Big Agnes sleeping pad (and thank goodness for it -- that 2-inch thick cushion was the only thing separating me from the well of water imitating the floor of my tent.), unfurled my sleeping bag, and crawled in. I barely moved for the next 14 hours. I couldn't -- there were only 2 positions I could maintain that would avoid the dripping ceiling and the damp walls of my tent. Plus, I was simply too damn cold to even want to move. It took my hands a good coupla hours to fully warm up and stop looking like shriveled pickles. And my feet never really dried out until I started hiking this morning. Cooking dinner was out of the question, so I feasted on 2 Snickers bars and a packet of Captain's Wafers crackers. Yum. How's that for a healthy balanced diet? I wasn't in real danger of hypothermia, but that's definitely the closest I've ever come. And I have no desire of ever going closer. I spent a restless night, crouched in my bag, cringing away from the known damp spots, fearfully checking periodically to see if the bag was getting wet (It remained amazingly dry, all things considered.), trying not to roll into the side of the tent (b/c, naturally, I was camped on a slope). The rain stopped around 5am, and apparently Cuppa Joe took off shortly thereafter; as water-plagued as I was, his experience was even worse. He spoke of a 'river running through' his tent. Shortly before 7, I emerged from my tent, quickly packed up, and hit the trail, w/ Hot Springs as my destination, a mere 19 miles distant. As CJ told Break -- the Mileage Monster was being unleashed. And yes, it was an admittedly high-mileage day. But, the trail was so lush and green. The rain from the past 2 days fed the soil, and the plantlife has thrived. It's so... awesome and vitalizing and humbling, to watch spring being born around you, to witness its daily growth from infancy. The skies were a cloudless blue today, the polar opposite of yesterday's white. Sun shining, comfortable air temps, it was hard to recall the wet misery of the day before. Until I felt my tent. And my clothes. And my pack. And absolutely everything else I own. Today, the entirety of my material possessions were either being worn on my body, or sopping wet. And the 2 categories are not mutually exclusive. So, my first task uponarriving in town was to shed the nasty hiking clothes ('nasty' from sweat, not rain), don the fashionable (and wet) rain gear, and wash everything washable in my pack. Oh, the sweet luxury of putting on clean, fresh-from-the-dryer clothes. Chatted w/ Low Gear and Jake Brake on the veranda of the Alpine Court Motel until dinnertime. Kutsa and Montreal appeared, as if conjured up by our conversation about them -- they hitched in from Gatlinburg, to meet up w/ an old hiking friend. Other hikers witnessed in the streets of Hot Springs (or in the confines of the Padlers Pub): CJ, LG, JB, Kutsa, Montreal, Ninja, Butterfly Moon, Brownie, Souleman, Bear Bait, Socks, Serenity, KTR, Cupcake, Mr. Crumbles, Raindrop, Train, Hairball, Snow Bunny, Bug, Ms Priss, Tree Trunks, Wolfhound, Domino, Phoenix, Hopeful, Bob, Bassline, Touk, Gypsy Lulu.