Date: 2005-03-15
From: Hawk Mountain Shelter, GA

To: Gooch Mountain Shelter, GA
Miles today: 7.3
Weather: light rain

Day Three: In which Jess gets sniffed by wolves, neglects to wear sunscreen, asks for food from the readers, freaks me out with discussion of her toenails, contemplates being struck by mortar, and makes it through the ides of March in one piece: Last night was frosty cold and I wore almost every layer of clothing I'd brought, including my hat and a bandanna pulled down over my face. It was a dry night, with coyotes howling in the not-so-distant distance, and I thought I heard something breathing outside my tent wall a couple of times. I lay still and thought, "aw come on now - go away already - the food's not here -" and though my thoughts themselves likely had little effect on whatever it was, it did shuffle off in the end. Later in the night I rolled into the side of my tent for a while without realizing it, and condensation gathered on my bag. I cursed, then rolled back to center. The bag was dry by morning.Breakfast was hot and much appreciated. Cuppa Joe, with kindness and true to his name, made coffee for anyone who wanted it, I followed it with an oatmeal packet I put together while raiding my parents' cabinets last week - oatmeal, chopped walnuts, dried currants, chopped candied ginger, and a dash of salt. SO GOOD. It won't last much longer, and I'm not sure how readily available candied ginger will be in the far reaches of the southern Appalachians, so I am enjoying it while it lasts. (Feel free to send some. )Scholar, Cuppa Joe, Mike, James, Amanda and I set out from Hawk Mtn. en masse; shortly thereafter we hit the first big climb of the trip, up Sassafras Mountain. It was, as it as been, a relief to realize that despite all the horror stories, it's still simply walking, and still something I can do. I'll only get into better shape as the days go by, and I'm hanging in just fine so far- though the days have, admittedly, been intentionally short. My feet are taped up to high hell, in mirror images - both heels, and the two innermost toes on each foot - and I'd be willing to bet serious cash that that toenail I mentioned yesterday will in fact be departing before long, but all the injuries are topical, and they don't hurt as long as they're taped. Speaking of which: thank God for hiking poles. I am *positive* that without them, my knees would be destroyed by now - and as it is they don't hurt at all. Scholar said, "Think about it. If those poles only take a pound of pressure off your knees with each step, that's still some 5 tons of pressure taken off by the end of the day." Word.Coming down Sassafras, we stopped in Cooper Gap for a short while (I needed to re-tape my left heel, and the others weren't averse to a break.). A ranger passing by told us a woman has recently left the trail, looking for transport back to Atlanta. From his description we figured out he was talking about Just Playin' Jane, the thru-hiker we'd may the day before for a brief minute before she headed out of Gooch. It was startling news, as she had torn out of Springer the day before - fifteen miles the first day. Perhaps there's a lesson there about not pushing too hard too fast, or maybe she's only taking a break and will be back. In any case. "Fifteen percent of attempted thrus quit by Neel's Gap," said the ranger. "That's about one out of seven," said Scholar. We looked at each other. Silently - counting Jane, gone - we tabulated who was left. "Six," said Amanda, and we smiled.They're funny things, those statistics. Certainly the unexpected can always happen, and though I have every expectation of arriving at Neel's Gap in the next day or two and then continuing north, a meteor might hit me between here and Woody Gap, or I might get hit by a stray mortar exploding from where the rangers have artillery practice in the woods nearby. (No joke.) But it is nevertheless easy to forget that whether I make it another two miles or another two thousand has, in fact, no particular bearing on anyone else's chances of finishing, that no statistic is requisite, that they are descriptive and not proscriptive.Later, resting in the sunshine at Justus Creek (my nose is sunburned red now), Mike said, "Did you guys hear about the guy who golfed across Mongolia? Seriously - he had a website. He had a sherpa to carry his clubs for him. He split the country up into 18 holes. Par was, like, three thousand. I think he lost about two thousand golf balls along the way.""Where are you supposed to get replacement golf balls in rural Mongolia?" said Amanda. "It's not exactly as if you can just drop bythe local market and pick up a twelve-pack." "Yeah," I said,"yak-butter tea, maybe, but golf balls?" Cuppa Joe guffawed."I realize," I said slowly, struggling to form the words evenly, "that I have *no business* calling *anybody's* private project pointless or absurd. But still."I'm in Gooch Mountain Shelter now writing this. The ranger says tonight it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall. Wish us dry.Quote of the day: "You just canNOT complain about the trail being a sausage-fest when half of the people you are hiking with are women."Also: I am coveting all the dehydrated veggies people who were more prepared than I brought with them. Yum.Happy 16th birthday Sam!