Date: 2011-04-26
From: Overmountain Shelter

To: Moreland Gap Shelter
Miles today: 27.6
Weather: light rain

(In which I snap a trekking pole and hike in the dark)The rain, surprisingly, holds itself to sprinkles, but in its place comes a fearsome wind. The barn sways in the wind, rafters creaking and food bags swinging, but I stay warm inside my summer sleeping bag.* * *At the barn I meet Cotton, the only other thru-hiker I've met carrying a full-frame SLR. He is, in fact, carrying the same camera and lens that I currently am, the 5D Mark II with the 24-70. He tells me that he's making a project of documenting the hike -- more seriously than I am, shooting only ISO 400 and below for suitability in magazines. He shows me an impressive camp fire long exposure from the night of the trail magic that 'Blazes and others enjoyed so much, but most of his pictures are on different memory cards and not easily accessible. I hope to see whatever finished project he ends up producing.The day starts out with more balds, and the wind is back. Clouds cover the balds and then move on at alarming speeds. Near each summit the winds rage and when I lift my trekking poles from the ground they sing in resonance with the wind. My clothes whip in the wind and I am frequently pushed off course from the trail, but I manage to stay upright the whole time. Despite the winds, it remains quite warm, and the sensation of hiking against such force without getting cold is actually quite enjoyable.After the balds everything settles down, and when I see 'Blazes sitting on a boulder eating lunch, it has become a warm sunny day in the valley. I eat lunch with him and then we hike together. 'Blazes needs little motivation to tell a story, and at my prompting he tells me all about working as a logistics coordinator at the McMurdo station on Antarctica. In his last tour, he tells me, he worked with import and inventory management of supplies. He thinks about how to describe it and finally settles with, "I worked at Antarctica's equivalent of Home Depot." He's worked in Antarctica ("on the ice") for five tours now, each lasting six months, five times in the Antarctic summer and once in the cold, dark winter. As we hike he paints vivid pictures of life on an Antarctic research station, running in the Antarctic marathon and playing at Icestock, the New Year's music festival.While we are talking I stumble on a root and my foot catches on one of my trekking poles. I hear a snap like a breaking branch and know immediately what it is. I look down to confirm my suspicions and sure enough, the lower section of one of my adjustable Gossamer Gear trekking poles has snapped, the two pieces still held together by strands of carbon fiber. There is not much I can do so I put the broken pole in my pack and continue hiking with one pole, glad that my tent only requires one pole for its set up.At some point in the afternoon we are joined by Riverdance, a Virginia native thru-hiker who talks with a faint southern accent. The conversation has idly drifted to space exploration, and Riverdance says, "I have to ask, do both of you think we landed on the moon?" This is the kind of conversation I would normally avoid at all costs, but as trail talk to pass the miles, I find it entertaining. 'Blazes and I admit to not having landed on the moon personally, but believe others have done so in the not-too-distant past. Riverdance professes not to know what to believe, citing lighting inconsistencies in the early NASA photos and the inadequacy of the spacecaft's radiation shielding. 'Blazes and I take the viewpoint that faking the whole thing would be both harder and more impressive than going to the moon, and can't believe that our government would have been so successful at such a monumental task.Talking has once again done its magic, and in what seems like very little time we reach the shelter. Having had company all day -- including walking with two other hikers, a personal first -- I desire some alone time more than shelter socializing. Since there is still some daylight and I have plenty of energy, I decide to push on for a small hostel five miles up the trail. I hike faster than normal, having spent most of the day hiking at 'Blazes' and Riverdance's pace, and it feels good to stretch my legs.The side trail to the hostel is poorly marked, and it is only when I come to a road crossing later up the trail that I realize I have missed my turn. The road should also lead to the hostel, but the guidebook warns that it is private property and contains mean dogs. The next shelter is more than four miles, too far to make before nightfall, and a storm is supposed to roll in at night. Deciding to push forward, I speed up until I am almost race-walking, flying up the trail.I hike through sunset, and when the dusk darkens I keep hiking without my headlamp, not wanting to stop and surprised to realize that I don't need it. While I can only faintly make out the trail in front of me, I never stumble or lose the trail, and I marvel at how little information my feet seem to need from my eyes to do their job. When I finally walk in to the shelter, still without a headlamp, it is 9pm and fully dark. There is room in the shelter, I am greatly relieved to find, and most of the occupants are still awake. It has been a long day, but the tiredness feels satisfying, and I look forward to a short day down to Bob People's Kincora Hostel tomorrow.