Date: 2014-05-14
From: Doyle's River Cabin

To: Pinefield Hut
Miles today: 7.8
Weather: scattered clouds

Today was a little crazy. We started out from Doyles Cabin, where I pitched my tent on the porch. There were signs of mice in the cabin and I'm having none of that. Cabin may be a stretch for a descriptor. No electricity or running water. Basically, it is a large mouse shelter with wooden bunks for people to roll out sleeping bags and bring in provisions to share with the rodents. After a rough night for one member of our group, we hiked to the road and got rides for him and the lady with the knee injury. But before that, I pulled a Cindy. I left camp last and as usual, spent the first 10 minutes trying to find my groove. Strap too tight. Hiking stick too long. Tighten right bootlaces. About 25 minutes into the hike, I said to myself, "Self, you are doing so much better with this downhill this morning than you did last night!" Uh-oh! If I hiked downhill to the cabin, I should not be hiking downhill out from the cabin back to the road. I had missed the turn and walked an extra 3/4 of a mike before I realized my mistake. The same guide that sat with me during me pity party the night before can running down the path looking for me. I had already turned around, but felt so badly for him. And of course, that meant I added another 3/4 mile climb to the day. After I caught up to the others and we said our good-byes to those leaving us, the six of us headed out and spent the morning hiking through clouds along a ridge. As the sun made its appearance, the trail took us down beside a boulder lined stream that met very bit of my expectations for a backcountry mountain experience. We splashed water on our dirty bodies, sat on rocks in the sun and ate tuna on pita for lunch. Heaven! As we left to hike up away from the stream, I took off a layer and figured we would have a nice sunny afternoon. With more elevation, the weather changed rapidly and we were soon in rain and strong winds. We could barely see the person in front of us and hiked together closely. Now maybe it's just me, but when there's a guide in front and a guide in back and we are all trudging together, it feels like a death march. I'm not trying to be too dramatic. It's not like the Trail of Tears or Bataan. But put four overweight hormonal women in cold and rain with heavy packs and walk us without any clue of where we are, where we are going, or how much longer until we are there, and it's feeling a bit less like vacation and more like prison camp. I mean the guides don't have weapons and we cross Skyline Drive every day and sometimes multiple times a day. But they do have most of the food and, as I considered escape strategies, I could not figure out how to make a meal out of the dried tortellini and couscous in my bag without a fire and pot, which the guides also have. And they have the maps, so for all I knew, the AT would not cross another road until Maine and I did not want to walk that far. So, okay the guides, not guards, were going to prepare our dinner when we got to camp (we had the couscous and veggies) and boil water for our hot chocolate. So, maybe that's not very forced-march or prison- camp like. But in my mind it feels a little unsettling to be herded about. But the march ended at a hut and we pitched our tents, ate couscous, visited the dirty and stinky privy, and put on everything we brought with us that was still dry to try and stay warm. Now it's morning and I have a wet tent to pack. I could have slept in the hut with 9-10 other people, but the huts are notorious for having mice which will crawl over you at night. No way am I signing up for that! So after couscous and hit chocolate, I left the hut and smugly settled into my little tent when I noticed a shadow on the roof. You got it. A mouse! I watched in horror for a hot minute and then timed it perfectly and punched the top of the tent and the mouse. In my mind, at least, it went sailing wildly out of control for at least fifty feet through the air and hit the ground stunned and momentarily paralyzed. I imagine the other mice gathered around it and heard about the bucking orange tent and jointly decided it was best to move on. I put in my earplugs and slept soundly. There are no holes in my tent or backpack and I am going with my sailing mouse theory. So one last note on this wrong-turn, goodbyes, sunshine, rain and rodents kinda day.   Every time we pass hikers, or at least most of the time, they ask where we are from and assume that we are all friends hiking together. I guess we stick out a little among the lithesome hiking set. Our guide always tells them we are with Fitpacking and explains how it's a program to jump start fitness and a healthier lifestyle through hiking. The gaunt hikers look at us with pity or with admiration, but in that "well-you-are-finally-getting-it-together" sort of condescending way and the whole Fitpacking thing was grating on my nerves. So a young couple, lithesome and fit, came up behind us and asked me where we were from. I told them, "We are domestic violence first-offenders on a new hike release program and if we finish this trek we will have our sentences reduced." They had no more questions and put their heads down assuming the hurry hiker posture and walked quickly past our confused guide before he could point out the four fat women that they were death marching along the AT for our health.