Date: 2013-05-08
From: The Hiker's Inn, Damascus, VA

To: Luther Hassinger Memorial Bridge, stealth camp
Miles today: 13.0

I just want to start out by saying THANK YOU to everyone who has signed my guestbook, FBed, text messaged, emailed, called, sent smoke signals and telepathic messages. I'm alive and doing wonderfully! Thank you for your kind words of encouragement and positive thoughts. I haven't been anywhere near internet connections AND electrical outlets. Hence, the lack of updates. I hope to get this journal up-to-speed in the next day and half! So where were we?........I slept so well in my comfy bed with three comfy, fluffy pillows. I snuck out of my room around 7 and headed down to Mojoe's. I still had some updates to do, and I knew they had blueberry pancakes and coffee. I placed my order and chatted with the other patrons. I was intimidated when giant stack of 5 plate-sized pancakes with fat, juicy blueberries were placed before me. In my former life, there was no way I could eat two of these, much less five. I took a deep breath and begin. Crazy Larry showed up, as did Paul, Pirate, Mike, Bill and a few other locals that I had met over the course of the last few days. We all chatted while I ate. I came to realize how much I'd come to like Damascus. I understand why people find it hard to leave. Suddenly, I realized that three pancakes were gone, not a crumb left, and my stomach was just starting to register. Hmmmm..... I folded my napkin and asked the barista to take it away. I finished my Trail Journals updates and bid them all farewell. They wished me luck. I stopped by the post office to mail off Mother's Day cards. I stopped by Matt's store to say good-bye to him, and then I headed back to the Hiker's Inn to settle my bill and set off. Neither Paul nor Lee were there, and I realized that we had never discussed room rates (nor did I ever fill out any paperwork to check in . I wrote them a note and left some money with Bitter Goat. He'd cover me if I owed more. The trail has proven to me that people are good and trusting and usually rise to the occasion when given the opportunity.I set off, and honestly the trail was pretty nondescript. The woods were quiet except for the symphony of bird songs, flowing water and the occasional drizzle/downpour. There weren't many thru-hikers on the trail. Perhaps they had left out earlier. The trail followed along and above the VCT. Occasionally it would climb away from it. I saw the little community with the caboose community center from high above. It was overcast all day, with brief periods of fog. I passed a group of hikers who were part of Warren Doyle's Appalachian school. Some of them were planning to thru-hike in the next couple of years. I was excited for them. The trail led back down to the VCT, and I was amazed by how drawn I felt to it. I wasn't ready to say good-bye. I wanted to stop and do yoga on the trout fishing platforms overlooking swirling pools of churning water. But it was getting late and I was vying for Lost Mountain Shelter. As I was crossing the Luther Hassinger Memorial Bridge, I could see dozens of perfect, potential campsites under the trees below. I was torn. This was my last chance. What to do? I stood on the bridge and looked down into the trees. I decided to keep walking. At the end of the bridge, the trail cut left back into the woods and down beside the bridge. I could see a trail that would lead me to the campsites. I stopped again. It started to rain. I had my pack cover on, but no rain jacket. I looked down the AT. The rain came down harder. I stood there. Was this a sign to go or to stay? I stepped off the trail, if I was to camp here NOW was the time. I darted through the trees, hoping the thick vegetation would hold off the rain, but the leaves and needles were already saturated so the rain fell through. I stopped under the train tressel, thinking that would provide shelter. But the water filtered through the slats in the boards. I ran to a flat area under tall expansive pines with two rivers merging at the point in front of me. The area showed no obvious signs of recent flooding, at least not that I could tell. With rain coming down in sheets and soaking through my clothes, I quickly laid out my ground sheet and tried to set up my tent. I threw the rain fly over the top to try to keep the inside of the tent dry. Deep water puddles formed on top so quickly, I would have never imagined. I tried to keep them from leaking into the body of the tent. Finally, I got the tent up and unzipped the fly. Despite my best efforts, the inside of the tent was flooded. I pulled my pack inside and pulled out my towel to try to wipe up the puddles. I was soaked to the bone. I sat inside the tent and listened to the rain pound on the roof. Ahhhh.... I was out of the weather. I felt smug. Until 5 minutes later when the rain stopped altogether for the rest of the night. If I had just waited it out, only I would have been wet, my gear dry. Sigh..... The weather game is a hard one to predict. But at least I have another night on the Virginia Creeper Trail.