Date: 2003-03-08
From: Wildcat Mt

To: Blue Mt. Shelter
Miles today: 11.8
Weather: overcast clouds

Day EightThough my mountaintop camp was quiet when I rolled into my tent last night, within a few hours the wind picked up and roared, leading to periods of uneasy sleep. I had forgotten to look up when I pitched my tent. I hoped there were no dead branches above my sil-nylon ceiling.I don't know if it is my decades of working with horses, who are very skittish in the wind, or if everyone feels it, but the roar of the wind induces a gut-level disquiet. It is a primal thing. It keeps a body slightly on edge.Time to break camp before the rains come. I awoke in a cloud of wet mist, visibility 10 feet. Over the morning, the wind scours the mountaintops and blows the clouds back to twenty feet, fifty feet, then finally normal visibility with no views.I pass a campsite with two men in the first mile, but it is so foggy and the wind is so loud that they do not even notice me, though I'm only 12-15 feet away.Despite the roar of the wind, a thrush flutes its melody across the wood. The notes, though single, sound almost as if there is harmony. Someone recently told me the name of the southern thrush that I was likely hearing, and I've forgotten it already. Up north, it will be the hermit thrush that awakens me, a bird pointed out by my -Long Tail friend Suz. More birds keep me company as I walk. A whole flock of robins flow down the Trail as I approach, lighting then rolling downtrail another fifteen feet. They could easily fly to the side, so I wonder if they aren't curious about me.I roll in for an early lunch at Deep Gap shelter, home of some bear problems the last few years, according to Pilgrim. Two week-long hikers from the Midwest rolled in to join me, Maize and Blue, and they cook up something better smelling than my tuna and trail bar.I utter the first few words from my mouth in the past 20 hours: "Hello." They seem dour at first, but I assume they are just tired, as am I. Sure enough, they exhibit friendly Midwesterner behavior as soon as they get some food into them.Glory of glories, the sun has come out, so I fluff out my tent, socks and damp bag to dry. The sound of running water past the shelter serenades me as I jot this.The afternoon is easy walking up a very old, overgrown logging road. I leapfrog the Michigan brothers. The sun scours the land and lifts the spirits. Hot, even. Hard to believe it is winter here, altho that IS the mountains - wait a minute, and it will change.The sun grows so warm, I heat up, and I stick my head under a little waterfall to cool off.This gambit is so successful that the next pool I strip off my hiking shirt and rinse out the underarms. Just the pits, now - I am not yet brave enough to put on an entire soaking wet, long-sleeved shirt. It goes a long way toward quelling the hiker stank, and I feel refreshed. (Anthropological note: after a few days in the woods, one acquires a certain aromatic "patina" that goes beyond mere "stink," thus the use of the more colorfully descriptive hiker term, "stank.")About 3PM, I cross Chatahochee Gap, where water is available. Forget that! Last time I did this section I hiked down there, to see the fabled headwaters of the Chatahochee, the "Deliverance" river. It was half a mile down and VERY steep. The headwater were a little trickle from the base of a rock. Been there, got the bumper sticker. I'll make do with what I have, thanks.Blue Mountain shelter looks to be the destination tonite. That would make it a 12.5 mile day, a bit steep for the feet this early in the game. Though I walk 12-14 mile days when I section hike, I can also go home to heal. This time, I'm in for the long haul.It is tempting to hustle and catch up with my friends, but I made myself a promise to hold it to 10 miles for awhile. Unless you've carried a heavy pack over mountains, it's hard to believe what a difference two miles makes on the 'ol dogs at the end of the day. I vow to take an easy day tomorrow.Good thing too, because by the time I get to the shelter my feet are aching and my Achilles tendons are sore at the heels. It is a sensation I remember from the Long Trail. I expect to hurt, but I don't want to do any damage. The shelter is full of young guys, and a girl. Also a Springer spaniel, Bradley, who chases the mice. Good dog, Bradley!Maize and Blue roll in later, also complaining of sore feet. They joke around, and at dark someone builds a fire. I sleep soundly, and no mice are detected.I sleep soundly.