Date: 2011-05-20
From: Grace Lutheran Hiker Hostel

To: 4.5 miles before Pinefield Hut
Miles today: 28.7
Weather: broken clouds

(In which I enter the Shenandoahs and see my first bear)In the morning we are woken bright and early at 7am by Marge, a chipper and friendly church volunteer. After we regain consciousness and eat a little breakfast (free food courtesy of the hostel), we help clean and set up the church basement for the day's church events. As we work we chat with Marge about our adventures and about the hostel. "I think that this hostel is great thing to do," I tell her, "but I'm curious what the church sees as the primary benefits of it." She pauses to consider before answering. "We aren't out to convert anyone," she says carefully, "but one of the missions of the church is outreach. This hotel is one example of that; the lunch for the homeless that we put on is another." I nod, having expected a similar answer but glad to have it articulated for me.To treat kindly those who have no immediate or direct way to make their gratitude known is, I think, a good investment -- if not an easily measurable one in economic or political returns, then at least toward longterm stability and growth. I think about the goodwill generated just in the time that I have been at the hostel, and imagine how many people the church affects in all of their programs.I think of the marked contrast between programs like the church hostel and the way governments and corporations so often treat people, and decide that one of the failings of democracy and capitalism is that neither's system of accounting is subtle or farsighted enough to keep track of why it's a good thing to be kind, generous and respectful toward those who do not currently have power or influence. I think of all the stories I've heard on the trail from foreign hikers who had bad experiences with US immigration when getting their visas to enter the country. Because the result of treating these visitors badly is not immediately visible in loss of revenue or elections, it slips through the cracks of the system. But I think that if there's one thing we can learn from the success and longevity of organized religion, it's that small acts of kindness, consistently applied over time, are not just the right thing to do, they are in one's own long term self interest.* * *The hostel closes at 9am so that the church can be used for its regular business. Though Waynesboro seems like it might well live up to the hype, having already eaten, resupplied and rested, I feel little need to stay. I catch a ride back to the trail by a trail angel who takes half of us who were at the hostel, the other half deciding to zero and stay another day. Shortly after getting back on the trail we enter Shenandoah National Park, which has all of the regulations of most other national parks, and the tourists as well.Being Friday there are not yet the crowds that might appear in the weekend, but I do meet more day and section hikers than usual. One hiker, a clean shaven man with close cropped hair and an army backpack, is taking a break when I meet him. "You look like you've done some hiking," he tells me. "I'm still new at this. Do you know what I should do about water?" At first I think that he's out, but then I look down in astonishment at a giant five gallon container nearly filled to the top.His name is Kenneth and is in the army ROTC, I learn, taking a three day hiking trip on his summer vacation. He wasn't sure how much water he'd need over the three days, so he decided to be safe and brought the full five gallon container in addition to his three liter camel back and chemical water treatment tablets. Most hikers only carry one or two liters at a time I tell him, and fill up at the springs and stream listed in their guidebook or maps, rarely more than ten miles apart. I convince him to dump most of the nearly forty pounds of water, but once he has emptied a little more than half of it he is so pleased by the reduction of weight that he sees no need to dump the rest.I look at his standard issue army gear, including a huge, cold weather sleeping bag, and I whistle and shake my head. "That's hardcore, carrying all of that," I say. He chuckles. "You mean that it's stupid, and you're right. Hardcore would be carrying a pack like that," he nods toward mine. I tell him about the upcoming shelter (or hut, as they're called in the Shenandoahs), and before I leave I urge him to dump some more water. The encounter reminds me of the first few days of the trail, the wide variety of people and experience levels, and the often difficult if entertaining lessons hikers would learn about what not to bring with them.Before the first hut I hear a rustling and turn to see a black ball of fur twenty or so feet off the trail in the bushes. As soon as I see it, it disappears into the underbrush with surprising speed. Though I didn't glimpse its face or features in the three or four seconds I saw it, its size and color leave no doubt in my mind that it was the first bear I've seen on the trip. Though anticlimactic, I console myself with the fact that at least the brief sighting did not result in the loss of any food.* * *I stop for dinner and socializing at the hut, but since I still have a few hours of daylight left I decide to hike on. Tenting is much more restricted in the park than on the rest of the trail, but there are at least more campgrounds. When I reach the first as the sun sets, I learn that tenting at these campgrounds costs fifteen dollars. Having tented for free all trip, I am loath to pay for the privilege and keep hiking.By a picnic area I pass a group of seven children in traditional Amish attire, the girls in dresses and bonnets. The youngest, a girl around five years old, wields a crooked stick like a pistol. When she sees me she turns and runs up the trail toward the other children. She stops short of them, and when I pass her I say, "That's a dangerous stick you have." She gulps, then responds in a small, brave voice simply with "Hi." Perhaps scaring small children is one of the signs that I've finally started to become a thru-hiker.Up the trail I hear more rustling, and this time see the actual head of a bear sticking up from the bushes. This bear is somewhat bigger, a bit bigger than the largest dog I've seen, and is less easily scared. I stop and carefully take my pack off to get my camera, and the bear stays there, poking its head around in search of food. I watch it for several minutes before it gets spooked or bored and runs away into the trees.I look for a suitable camping spot as the light fades, but can't find anything a sufficient distance from the trail and any road or water source. Soon it is dark, and with the dim light of my headlight finding a legal spot becomes impossible. My two options are to camp close to the trail, risking a hefty fine, or push through with several hours of night hiking the six miles to the next hut. For the next two miles I can't even find a trail-side tent spot, but when I do it is already 10pm and I decide to stay and tent, hoping that I can wake up early enough to be gone before any rangers arrive.The spot overlooks lights in the valley below, and off in the distance I can see small bright lines of cities, resting on the horizon like cruise ships on a distant ocean. When the moon rises bright and yellow over the cities I am glad that I have stopped, and wonder how many other people have appreciated this beautiful and forbidden camping spot.