Date: 2005-03-16
From: Gooch Mountain Shelter

To: Woods Hole Shelter
Miles today: 11.9
Weather: light rain

3.16.05Day 3A cold wind blows through Georgia9am Departed Gooch Gap Shelter at 8:30, my earliest exodus to date, which still afforded me a leisurely 2 hours to dawdle. Stayed cozy and warm and dry overnight, shielded by the tarp windscreen. The rain performed an orchestral tympanic sonata, drumming on the shelter roof. Fortunately, the precipitation ceased by morning. Amanda reported the periodic sensation of little mice feet, scampering across her sleeping bag in the night, and the little devils raided her toilet paper in their quest to build nests.I decided to hike solo for a stretch this morning. The first time I've really been alone since Amicalola. I definitely cherish the solitude and time for contemplation and introspection, although the company has been unparalleled. But this morning is perfect for refleciton. The world is shrouded in a ghostly mist. Bird calls emanating eerily from the fog. Caucous cries of crows from above. Sounds travel through the stillness, distorting perceptions of distance. Everything is covered w/ a sheen of moisture from the night's storm. Disembodied voices waft amorphously from the fog. Hiking poles clatter ominously on the rocks. And then, the ghostly outline of a shadowy, hulking, hunchbacked form appears out of the mist. Hanging out at Gooch Gap, by the bear-proof trash cans, watching our fellow hikers' faces alight w/ delight, as they learn that they can jettison a few ounces of detritus. Ah, the simple joys of a thru-hiker.7:30pm Well, our string of beneficent weather was too good to last. And, it didn't. A day like today, dampness permeates the very air, and everything that comes into contact w/ it. The fog precluded even the possibility of a view. Oh, we passed by the exposed rock shelves and outcroppings, only to be presented w/ a wall of white. Even I was hard-pressed to recall the outlying scenery. But James rose to the occasion -- 'A river of Cherry Coke, flowing through fields of french fries, as far as the eye can see.' Unfortunately, our (less-than) scenic vistas were abbreviated by the wind. A viscious, biting wind, it's razor-sharp teeth seeking any entry and attacking every inch of exposed skin. And the fog never dissipated through the day -- we had heard two diametrically opposed weather forecasts today: the first predicted intermittent rain, w/ overnight snow at higher elevations (and, whatd'ya know, where are we?); the latter forecasted the fog blowing off by afternoon, leading to clear skies. Well, guess which we all hoped for? And guess which actually happened? Ah well. Despite being cold and wet, I can't remember being happier. Despite not really being able to stop and take breaks, b/c the cold would seep into your bones w/in 2 or 3 minutes. Despite the fact that half of my clothes were saturated w/ water (sweat or rain, take your pick). There's no place I'd rather be. When Break and I, followed shortly by Cuppa Joe, arrived at Woods Hole Shelter -- our first double-digit day, a whopping 11.9! (And yes, Woods Hole is 0.4 miles off the Trail, but the shelter is a nice one, and the side trail is as good as they come -- relatively flat. Just note -- stop for water on the way; you'll kick yourself if you have to backtrack the bloody side trail again. It's nice, but not that nice.) Upon our arrival to the (then) empty shelter, I quickly changed out of my sodden hiking attire -- today was the first time I hiked in my rain jacket the entire day -- and into my remaining clothes. All of them. It was bloody cold. My clothing stuff sack, which doubles as my pillow, was sadly depleted -- all that remained was one pair of socks and a (slightly dirty) bandana. Then, at 3:30 in the afternoon, all 3 of us fired up our stoves and cooked ourselves some dinner. I opted for some hot cocoa, followed by some lovely mac 'n cheese, chased by another cup of cocoa. Our tummies satisfyingly full of warm yummy goodness, we next set about building a fire. Enter Bill, a father accompanying his daughter Whitney and dog Daisy Mae (who just this morning took on a particularly ferocious tree stump. The stump battled valiantly, bu ultimately, Daisy prevailed). Bill is the resident pyrotechnic wiz. He managed to produce a roaring blaze from a few handfuls of sodden twigs. And thus solved the problem of the wet clothes. Break and I hung out by the fire, dry roasting all of our damp clothing, which we would then layer on as it became toasty warm. There's some soothing, calming, bonding quality inherent in a campfire, and the smoky scent that permeates the air. Everyone congregated around the crackling blaze, gloves lanced on sticks and roasted over the fire, the way marshmallows are blackened at summer camps. (Some of the gloves got a wee bit crispy too...) And so, life is good. Tomorrow, I hit Neel's Gap, which means laundry (clean clothes!), hot shower (clean me!), a real dinner, a warm dry bed, a phone call home and to friends, e-mail. Sounds pretty swank, eh?