Date: 2006-03-11
From: Springer Mt. off of Forest Rt. 46

To: Hawk Mt. Shelter
Miles today: 7.6

3-11-06Springer Mountain, GA to Hawk Mt. Shelter7.6 milesBasic Instructions for hiking the Appalachian Trail:1. Put on a massive pack.2. Hike to the top of Springer Mountain.3. Take a step on the northward bound trail.4. Repeat step 3 bajillion times until you are at the top of Mount Katahdin in Maine.Hello folks,I am writing to you from the gloriously beautiful "Hiker Hostel" located at 7693 19N, Dahlonega, GA 30533 on March 13, 2006. How I got here is the subject of the next journal entry...3-10-06 to 3-11-06Oh great, wonderful day is here! The day to start the trail! The two day drive down from New York was not bad, especially when we took an alternate route proposed by moi to get down to Georgia from some county and state roads. We got off of Rt. 40 and successfully navigated our way through North Carolina and Georgia. The countryside was gorgeous, rolling mountains and forests, and we crossed the AT twice this way. The second crossing was near Blood Mountain, where the Walasi-Yi is located. In Cherokee, Walasi-Yi means "giant frog" or "frog place" because the native Americans who lived there believed that a giant frog lived in that gap and therefore stayed out. Nowadays, it is the only part of the Appalachian Trail that goes through a building, a building which is the world¢s best lightweight outfitter, Mountain Crossings, and a hostel to boot. We spent an hour perusing and drooling over various gear. Mom bought an Appalachian Trail fleece. We left Walasi-Yi and made it the rest of the way down into Dawsonville, and were promptly confused by the fact the town had no Best Western, where we had booked our stay. We soon realized there was a New and an Old Dawsonville, the Old being where we were at, probably historic, and the New being the blaring chain of hotels and restaurants located about 6 miles away from the Old. There we check in to the hotel, and then I feasted on a delicious dinner of fresh bread, a salad, spicy cheese-stuffed shrimp, a sweet baked potato topped with cinnamon and butter, and a blue cheese encrusted filet at the Longhorn Steakhouse. Oh yeah, and two of the biggest Sam Adams I've ever seen. It was absolutely delicious! Thanks Mom!Returning to the hotel I was so stuffed I could only lay there in agony as I talked to my girlfriend on the phone. The Pitt game was on and I watched that for a bit for falling into a deep sleep. Springer tomorrow!3-11-06What I consider odd about this day is that the short poem I wrote in my last journal entry was exactly like how it was on our first day hiking Springer. "Vast worlds of mist" encapsulated the weather perfectly, the mist being so dense it was dripping off the trees onto us. It was light ascent up the .9 mile trail to the top of Springer Mountain, we chose to leave our packs back in the car. Why carry them now when I will for many moons later? It was also a solemn ascent, a goodbye to my late brother, as March 11th would have been his 21st birthday, and to my mother, who took time out of her job to drive me down here and who I have been living with for the past four months. The mixture of excitement and sadness bubbled up like bittersweet champagne as we ascended our first peak of the trail.Greeting us along the trail was an orange salamander, one of the very few animals I will see over the next few days. Greeting us at the top was a previous thru-hiker and part of the Georgia ridgerunners, Roger. We took the obligatory photos near the two AT plaques present on top of the mountain and conversed with Roger for a bit. I think he thought we were just day hikers because we didn't have our packs on. As we started walking down the trail back to the car, I started, realizing I had forgotten to do something. I ran back up the hill and reached into my shirt, pulling out a hand-blown glass canister that hangs around my neck. Out I poured a bit of my brother's ashes onto my out-stretched hand, where they were then scattered over the first AT plaque. The rest I carry with me, until they will find their home on Katahdin.We made our way back to the car and took our burdens from the car. My mom and I held a small service for my brother in the woods with some incense and a prayer, or a sutra as fellow Buddhists would call it; I would rather be buying him shots today. But this is the reality of our world, tragedy knows no bounds.Goodbyes were had in the parking lot, my mom repeatedly giving me advice on things such as not touching the poison ivy when I'm out in the woods and about my pack adjustments. It was silly in its triviality, but the advice was just a cover for another "I love you." Pictures were taken, and Uncle John shouldered out packs and headed down the dusty trail, setting off into the unknown. My mother chased us for a bit, snapping photos, yelling more goodbyes like a banshee.The trail was relatively smooth, with gradual change in gradient, and in great shape. I believe they maintain the first few miles as thus to give you a false sense of security for how the AT might be the rest of the way. We trekked through vast tunnels of rhododendrons, by hillsides, and over a few streams. Meet a bunch of locals camping at Three Forks, talked to a fellow about my age with a big ax and a set of piercing blue eyes before continuing on our merry way. No other wildlife sighted on our short hike.Entering the Hawk Mountain Shelter area around 2PM with 7.6 miles of the AT under our belt (8.5 for the day if you count the hike up Springer Mountain), we decided this would be the site of out first night on the trail, wanting to take time to get accustomed to hiking this much weight and maintaining minimal blister status. A few high school kids were there doing a weekend hike and we chatted with them. As we sat around camp, munching various food stuffs, more and more people arrived at the shelter area and set up camp. It was becoming a regular AT Woodstock at Hawk Mountain Shelter.A few people of note: Brad, a thru-hiker, with his cousin Bill, who had both brought backpacking guitars to play along the trail. John, a twit who I don't think I will like but I will see. A married couple, Jen and Scott, and their thru-hiking friend Cindy, they seemed like nice, friendly folk.I dined on about a pound of pineapple coconut couscous that night, good stuff, but I made huge portions based on everyone's advice that I'll need two pounds of food a day- seems like way too much right now. Used my Sierra Zip wood stove, got my alcohol stove coming soon. Getting dark now and all are in bed, I'm still beaming it around with my headlight and pen and journal. Time to hit the sack, missing my girlfriend (Shanae) like crazy.So that folks was the end of my journal entry but not the end of the night, not at all. There was actually a rather interesting unfolding of events that occurred shortly after. There I was, brushing my teeth, using my dentifrice powdered toothpaste for the first time and doing my nightly deeds, when all the sudden I here this noise out in the woods, a rustling off in the direction of the trail. Already nervous about bears, what with bear cables swinging right next to the shelter and our cooking smells permeating the area, I feared the worst. With everyone else in bed, I gripped my knife, ready to defend the shelter. The noises got closer and closer, so I searched the trees with my headlamp like a police copter. It was past 8 o'clock, and very dark, with a dash of moonlight, and I didn't see any other light bobbing in the trees, so now I knew it must be a bear. My muscles grew tense, ready for action. Then I heard the characteristic clankity clank clink of trekking poles and thought, "A bear with trekking poles? By god, they were smarter than I thought!" Slowly a figure came into sight, it was.... it was... a large bear -sized old man huffing and puffing like the midnight train. I quickly relaxed, then becoming thoroughly irritated with this old man's late night intrusion into our quiet shelter area.I spoke to him with quick, brief language, trying to mask only slightly my irritation, and told him I was going to bed. This underlying suggestion that he be quiet with his activities, went unnoticed as he proceeded to huff and puff (like he would blow our shelter down) for one hour: he set up his bedding, lied down and huffed and puffed, hung his pack on a nail, lied down and huffed and puffed, and acted like he was currently experiencing a cardiac arrest (I almost asked him if he needed help). This was all followed by him retrieving his edibles from his pack, and then munching on them for an half an hour while lying down. The food was left there right beside him as he huffed himself to sleep, leading me to entertain such bear mauling nightmares for the rest of the night. My fears and the snoring trio (Uncle John, Huff n' Puff, and either Brad or Bill) left me with a grand total of four hours of sleep come morning.