Date: 2003-03-10
From: Tray Mt. Shelter and beyond, to Blue Ridge Swag

To: Dicks Creek Gap and the Blueberry Patch
Miles today: 7.2
Weather: clear sky

Day TenCool temps this morning, but not so bitterly cold. A rosy sunrise shapes up to the east. Beautiful, but - red in the morning, sailor take warning?Heather and Andy join me with their coffee. They are in their 20s, and a pretty together couple. They have new Trail nicknames - he is Fly-By-Night, since he is a pilot, and she is Smooth Navigator. I hope they will forgive me if I still think of them by their given names. Andy, clean-shaven at the start, is letting his beard grow for the hyike and has a good start on it now. We talk about how time slowly loses it's town meanings out here, though the work ethic still persists - they speak of feeling "behind" despite the fact we have seven months or more. We also talk about Ted, and how he died living his dream. Heather noted that the events of 9-11 caused her to start the AT this year, and not put it off. This, I think, was a silver lining to this nation's tragedy. People immediately reached out for connection, and rethought their lives. For some, the momentary pause actually took hold.Though there is much pressure in college to get right out and get a good job, Heather noted, and she actually did that for awhile, she chose to question the hamster wheel for this transition point in her life - no kids, no mortgage. It's a whole lot easier not to question this pressure and just go along with flow, we observed. Not that there is one thing wrong with throwing oneself fully into the nine-to-five if it pulls ones' chains, especially if there is family to support. Still, there were a lot of folks hard at work, doing "the right thing" (whatever that is) on 9-11 who never expected a jet liner to plow into their office. How many had ever taken time to walk "their AT", whatever that might have been? How followed their hearts to work that day, and died with no regrets other than leaving loved ones behind?Well, such are the thoughts around morning coffee on the AT... we blame Ted for this.I start off first, figuring their young legs will still outpace me. The sun is nice but the wind has a knife in it, so I drape my wool scarf in various configurations of protection. People have laughed at a scarf on a hiker, but I find it very handy.A pileated woodpecker sounds its primitive jungle call. It always makes me think of monkeys. Though I have only seen one of the large, red-headed birds this trip, I figure there are pileateds aplenty out here. I hear at least six or seven call each day.The walking is easy, and I scarcely noticed Kelly Knob, but this time around I tackle it early. I think a mountain's difficulty is proportionate to how the feet and mitichondria ("the powerhouses of the cell..." Biology 101) are feeling that day. At this point, my feet have six gift miles in them before they start complaining.Hark! A sign for Deep Gap Shelter. I run down to the quite lovely shelter (deck and sidelights) for water, a snack and a quick check of the register to see where Pack 31 is.Rats! The efficient Georgia Trail Maintenance Club has struck here too. The register is brand new. There are only entries from the last few days. It would be splendid if the could leave the old one around for a month, so folks could check up on the news ahead. Perhaps the GA club is worried about the old registers being used for kindling. A note to that effect might deter that outcome. On thye AT, thye shyelter registers are thye equivalent of the newspaper.Anyway, I see a note from Sumbman, just a few days ahead, also wondering about Pack 31 whereabouts.When I get back to the Trail from checking the shelter register, I wonder if Andy and Heather had passed. I was hoping to hitch into town with them, a solo hitch not being one of those bridges I wanted to cross just yet. I need more attitude than that, and I have been somewhyatsubdued lately.About a half hour ahead, I meet Gizmo, one of the last SOBOS (southbounders). He started last summer in Maine, and took his time over the winter, which he said was "awesome, actually."Southbounders are a wealth of information, esp. THRUHIKING southbounders. First I ask about my friends - no, he hadn't seen them, so they were still behind me.Then I ask about the Smokies - no snow, except a few inches at the highest elevations. Of course, that means nothing for me - everything changes in the mountains , especially in a few weeks - but it was nice to imagine.After lunch, I emerge from the woods to the road at Dick's Creek Gap. I am a little nervous about the solo-hitchhike-into-town thing, so decide to wait for Heather and Andy when - what's this? More Trail magic!It's Dale America, who I know from the Georgia Ruck, and from the AT-L hiking list. Dale thru-hiked last year, and regaled me with tales of his bout with Lyme's disease in Vermont. He was hating life then, but antibiotics put him right.He has a grill set up, and feeds me two hot dogs and a soda and chips. Then he puts out is grill and packs me around town to look for a hat. Let me tell you, don't lose a hat in Hiawasee, altho someone later tells me the hardware store has winter hats still. I ended up with a chic, black angora number more suitable to main street than the AT, but it IS warm.We also swing by the supermarket, and I pick up a cake and ice cream to bring back to the Blueberry Patch hostel. After all, tomorrow is my birthday!I make some calls, and then in comes the crew: Zeus, Swift Sandal, and a friend from Hawk Mt. - the gregarious Mickey One-Sock. Behind them are Heather and Andy.They make me leave the room, then call me back. They have lit wooden matches for my birthday candles. What a hoot! We eat cake, laugh and journal the evening away, and Lennie, the owner, returns my laundry, sweet, clean and folded. Gary, Lennie's husband and former thru-hiker himself, fills the furnace with wood. We retire to the bunk beds made from varnished limbs. The door latches are even made from stout blueberry shrub wood. It has been a loverly respite.Tomorrow - my birthday - I plan to leave Georgia behind and camp on the NC state line. Hello Tarheel state!Seems a fine way to celebrate.