Date: 2005-03-17
From: Wood's Hole Shelter, GA

To: Neel's Gap, GA
Miles today: 3.9

Transcriber's Tangent:Before Jess embarked on her journey, my knowledge of trail life was limited to many hours spent playing the Oregon Trail. This was my favorite computer game growing up (rivaled only by that game that mysteriously appeared on Tammy's computer where the player was a computer-animated penis and the goal of the game was to shoot sperm at what I remember as being clouds but which must have been ovaries, because clouds makes no sense. That game was awesome). Anyway, when Jess started emailing me her journal entries, I expected them to look like this: Date: March 17, 2005Weather: WarmHealth: PoorFood: 160 lbsNext landmark: 40 milesA long day today on the trail. Stopped to trade food for ammunition, but the hunt yielded only two rabbits and a deer-- game is scarce. Things were calm for awhile but took a turn for the worse when Stupidhead suddenly died of dysentery. We carved a gravestone for him and moved on. We tried to ford a river this afternoon but lost:80 bullets2 wagon wheels1 wagon axle2 oxenDumbass (drowned)I fear we may never make it to the end of the Appalachian Trail.JessI guess I'm happy for Jess that her adventures have been somewhat less solemn thus far. And without further adieu, I present Day 5: In which Jess indulges in some retail therapy, discusses coconut oil and firearms with a married man, celebrates St. Patrick's Day in style, showers, and starts shaking hands and kissing babies: I might be the only hiker in history to add packweight at Neel's Gap. After the night before the only thing I knew coming down Blood Mountain was that I wasn't about to leave that outfitter's without a sleeping bag liner and a second set of long underwear. In fact, I told Scholar not to let me leave without getting some. She agreed, but no reminders were necessary. It was with vindication and triumph that I descended upon masses of capilene. The triumph and vindication abated somewhat when I hit the cash register with my booty - the long johns, and bag liner, as well as a knee strap and some Superfeet, in the hopes that they'd keep my starting-to-twinge knees from getting any worse - but still, I think it was a net gain.The morning's walk was short and quiet- up and over Blood Mountain, in just as much mist as the day before. I was a short ways behind the others, and walked up quietly, stopping to look at the ice and the way it froze on the mountaintop foliage. Snow fell softly, and out of the mist came the sound of running feet, and then, gone in a whisper, two deer, leaping over the trail and disappearing into the trees, their tails small flashes of white in the fog.Just over the summit of Blood I found Weatherman, who had lost track of the blazes in the snow, wandered a short ways off the path, attempted to retrace his steps, and then decided to stay put until someone passed by. We headed down slowly together - the rocks were steep and wet - and as we walked he told me more than I thought there was to know about both the health benefits of coconut oil ('You may have noticed, well I ain't exactly skinny but I ain't obese neither, and I eat a LOT of saturated fats') and his preferred methods for chasing poachers off his property ('They said, "You don't know who you're dealing with," and I handed my wife the shotgun, called all the neighbors, and said, 'Oh no, you don't know who YOU'RE dealing with.' Hey, sorry for talkin' your ear off.')We made it into Neel's Gap, and Scholar told me, 'You just missed Longhaul by fifteen minutes. He said to tell you to get your ass in gear.' I was perturbed. Longhaul, with whom I have had an extended email correspondence but have not yet met in person, was a day ahead of us. I'd been hoping to meet him. 'He couldn't wait?' I said. 'He decided he had to get going,' said Red Hat, who'd been hiking with him and was minutes away from taking off north herself. 'Send him a message for me,' I said. 'Tell him not to let the mileage monster bite him in the ass on the way out the door.'Scholar, CuppaJoe, Weatherman and I caught a shuttle into Dahlonega with Pittsburgh, who drives the shuttle around the Georgia sections of the AT seven days a week ("I thought about taking a day off a week, like Wednesdays, but hikers don't know what day it is. They'd be standing there at the trailhead wondering where I was.").We stayed at the Hiker Hostel, run by Josh and Leigh Saint, who are wonderful people running a wonderful place to stay. Their hospitality is much appreciated. We lucked out, too - as a Saint Patrick's Day celebration, they offered (along with the help of Old Man and Navigator) a wonderful dinner of corned beef and cabbage and green kool-aid. I ate a large bowl of vegetables and enjoyed every bite. I slept well, too - thanks to Boston and Cubtrax, two hikers who very kindly made room for me so that I could spend the night in a bed and not on the floor. I hope to run into them again.After a shower, and wearing clean clothes, I was resting in the living room when Bramble showed up. He held out his hand. "Bramble," he said. I shook it. "I know," I said, "Break. We were both at Hawk Mountain a couple of nights ago." There was a pause. He looked nonplussed, or perhaps just confused. "Whoa," he said, "you got cleaner.""True," I said."You know," he said, "you could take a man's hand off with a grip like that."