Date: 2013-03-17
From: Justus Creek Campsite

To: Dockery Lake Trail
Miles today: 8.9

I slept like the dead. The sound of the creek, just a few feet from away, lulled and pacified me all night long. I awoke around 7:30 and joined the guys for breakfast. My hearty appetite from the night before was still sated, so I bagged up the leftover breakfast to pack out. You read about not wanting to carry even an extra ounce if it unnecessary, but now I "understand." I've already been making a mental note of all the things that I plan to shed once the opportunity presents itself. I'm also learning an important lesson of being sure that your boots fit you properly, not just "okay", but FIT YOU PROPERLY. I bandaged my toes again, but realized that I'll need to restock on bandages, moleskin and tape as soon as possible. I dreaded putting my boots back on, but I didn't think that the Crocs would cut it either. Granted, they are far more comfortable, but I'm a klutz to begin with, and hiking in Crocs in a invitation for a broken leg. So I shoved mangled feet into my boots and hobbled around. It felt like someone had poured scalding hot water mixed with broken glass into the toes of the boots and then asked me to walk. The trick is to keep moving. If I can just keep moving, I can distract myself, and it isn't all that unpleasant. My concern isn't so much the "hurt", I can handle "hurt", but it is the unknown. What in the hell is happening down there, and how is this going to affect my hike? I am having a ball. My legs feel fantastic. My knees feel 100%. My lungs feel great. My spirits are soaring. I am LOVING this experience. Seriously, I am exactly where I want to be, doing exactly what I want to be doing. But my toes... I kind of like having 10 of them. They all get along so well with each other. But today, they feel like they are at war with each other.But I'm in the middle of nowhere, and I need to keep moving. At Gooch Gap, I came across two sets of trail angels. One group was offering beer and homemade french toast. The other was handing out apples. It was a little early in the morning for beer, so I opted for the apples. I had the angel put the apple in the pouch above my head. I thanked them and moved on. A few miles later, I came across a church group enjoying the view at Ramrock Mountain. They said they had an trail angel station set up at Woody Gap. They were grilling up hot dogs and giving foot massages. Lovely Once I reached Woody Gap, I gratefully wolfed down a hotdog but turned down the foot massage. My feet were taped and bandaged, so I didn't want to subject them to the horror in my boots. I found out later that there was a physical therapist and medical doctor in their group. A miss opportunity, indeed!I had planned to tent at Lance Creek, but apparently the mandatory bear canister policy had been extended to Lance Creek, and I don't have a bear canister. So I joined an increasing large group of hikers at Dockery Lake Trail impromptu campsite. By the time it was said and done, there were about 20-30 people camped out. We looked like a tent city with our food hanging from bear cables all over the place. The company was good and there were lots of stories shared. I met 50/50, and he took a peek at my feet. He recommended that I seriously consider getting some antibiotics. I think he's right. The toes are only getting worse. :/ So I called my mother-in-law, and they will meet me tomorrow at Neels Gap to take me to the doctor. I had a pity party for one in my tent. I'll admit it, I shed a few tears. I am not ready, even just a tiny bit, to get off the trail. This is not how I saw this playing out. Ninety-eight percent of me feels rock-star. I'm so, so eager to keep going. But the last 2% needs medical attention that far exceeds my first-aid kit. So the last 2% wins... for now.I got myself all sorted in my tent and climbed into my sleeping bag. At about 10 p.m. I sat straight up. I had forgotten the apple in the top of my pack. Shit. I had put everything I could think of that might possibly attract a bear into my food bag, which was now dangling 20 feet above the ground a considerable distance away from our camping area. Rumor had it that the bears were increasingly active in the area, and I didn't want to be the asshole that attracted the bear to our little tent city. I grabbed the apple and put my poor feet into my Crocs and crawled out of the tent. I looked towards the food bag, but I wasn't sure I'd be able to get through the bushes and briars without incident. Instead, I decided that the safest bet was to break the "leave no trace" rule just a bit. I would hobble down the trail about 150 feet. There was a long steep drop off that slopped down into a deep valley. I would throw the apple as far as I could, far away from the campsite and the hikers. I reared back and chunked the apple as hard as I could. Now if I had tried, there's no way I could have hit a tree if I wanted to. But since I wasn't trying, I pegged a tree about 15 feet in front of me. Square on. A good solid hit. Smack! Splat! I stood stunned, realizing that the apple had splattered into dozens of pieces. I exhaled, shoulders sagged. I guess I would be that asshole after all. I hobbled back to my tent and crawled in. The next morning as I was repacking my bag, I found a chocolate bar (thank you, Gwen!) still in the top pocket. What's the saying?, the pathway to hell is paved with good intentions....