Date: 2004-06-10
From: Road Crossing near Bland, VA

To: Will He Stay or Will He Go?
Miles today: 12.1

This morning in Bland, VA, I obtained a ride back to the trail from Zip Off and Kato. They had spent the night in town after having parked one of their vehicles at a location near the trail further up north. Prior to hitting the trail, I purchased a couple of six inch sub sandwiches and stored them in my backpack; they added weight to my load but provided me with a tasty supper to look forward to.Today, it became increasingly evident that my feet are having problems. There are red spots on my skin which I suspect are related to hiking for too long with wet socks. These spots are a source of irritation. Sometimes I feel a soreness in my right heal. The middle toes on my left foot are sometimes numb, with a tingle like sensation. I do not know the reason for this numbness. Is it a circulation problem caused from sleeping in a hammock with my feet slightly elevated? Is it a nerve problem, a result of my toes pressing forward in my shoes when I make steep descents? At midday, I came across Susan, a hiker of college age who had stopped for lunch. She had been one of the occupants in the overcrowded shelter two nights ago. I stopped hiking and joined her. Zip Off and Kato caught up, shrugged of their backpacks, and sat down to eat. Another hiker named Goose, a man in his twenties, also arrived and joined us. It is rare to encounter so many hikers at one spot on the trail between the shelters. I usually eat my lunches alone. Today, it was nice to have some company.Near the end of our meal, a cool breeze passed through the woods and the sky became somewhat darker. This shift in the weather, a precursor of a possible thunderstorm, resulted in an abrupt end to lunch. Kato was the first one to get up and leave, followed by everyone else. We had been eating lunch at a location only a few miles away from our destination, the Jenny Knob Shelter, and we did not want to get soaked during our final push to get there. Goose stated that he would be staying elsewhere tonight.At 2:30 p.m., I reached the shelter. This particular time of the day was early to stop hiking, but a rain storm was imminent.The shelter was occupied by a middle aged man with his teenage son who were hiking for a few days. The man was lying on his sleeping bag. The boy was lounging about and seemed bored. I greeted them. The boy replied with a sullen nod to my greeting.Soon, Zip Off, Kato and Susan arrived. After that, a section hiker named Slow Train rolled in. He is a former thru hiker who is 69 years old. The shelter was getting crowded.It rained lightly during the middle of the afternoon and eased up for a while. Then during the early evening, a heavier rain ensued. We sat inside the cramped quarters, conversed with each other, and ate our suppers. The two sub sandwiches I had packed in were soggy from some slices of tomato that had saturated the bread with wetness.To our collective chagrins, another hiker showed up. This middle aged man stood beside the picnic table, removed his backpack, and surveyed the crowded interior of the shelter. We looked at him, unsure of his intentions to either move in or hike on.There is a tradition on the Appalachian Trail that hikers should make room for each other in crowded shelters. But this custom does not mean that the occupants of a crowded shelter will immediately clear a spot for a late arriving hiker. What happens is a brief interlude of indecision. The arriving hiker sizes up the scene and decides whether or not to continue hiking, or to erect his tent, or move into the shelter. Inside the shelter, the occupants, some of them resting on sleeping pads¢their established turfs¢await the decision of the new arrival, hoping that he will either move on or decide to sleep inside his tent. If the new arrival announces his intention to sleep in the shelter, the occupants will then adjust the positioning of their sleeping spots and make room for this person.This evening, the brief interlude did not follow the usual script. The new arrival announced in a loud tone something to the effect, "I'd like to sleep in the shelter, but I don't have to. I could use my tent."He repeated this statement a few times. Inside the crowded shelter, we awaited his final decision. But the hiker kept on voicing his indecision.In the meantime, another hiker showed up! I wondered how nine people could possibly squeeze into this shelter. That question was no doubt on the minds of the other occupants. I announced my intention to move out and string up my hammock; this would open up some space for the latest arrivals. The middle aged man at the picnic table¢Mr. Indecision¢thanked me for moving, then repeatedly asked if I was sure that I wanted to move out. He said that he could still sleep outside the shelter, although he would prefer to sleep inside of it.My sense is that some of the people regarded my decision to move as an act of sacrifice. To the contrary, my decision was based on personal preference. I wanted to move into my hammock rather than sleep in this can of sardines called a shelter. It would have been impossible to sleep with my feet stretched out with another hiker curled up near the front edge of the floor. Besides that aspect, the whole scene in general was dreary. There were crammed bodies lying about. Just above us, grimy backpacks, stuff sacks, and damp clothes were hanging on nails and hook like contraptions.The rain stopped during the evening, but droplets of water will probably fall from the trees during the entire night. They land with a tapping sound upon the rain fly above the hammock. A mist of humidity remains in the air keeping my clothes damp and making for a clammy and grungy feeling with the sleeping bag covering me. But it will be more tolerable sleeping inside this damp hammock than attempting to sleep inside that jam packed shelter.