Date: 2013-03-19
From: Deep Gap Shelter

To: Blueberry Hostel
Miles today: 0.0

Hiked 3.9 miles into Dick's Creek Gap. I rushed out of the shelter before daylight in order to get to the hostel as soon as possible. I walked along the highway for about a mile, trying to hitch hike. A Green Jeep Cherokee pulled up and it was Gary Poteat the owenr of the hostel picked me up, he had just sropped off a load of hikers at the trail. Cinammon and Camel were already at the hostel with two other peopl. I got a spot in the hostel and began dissassembling my pack. I took all of my smelly, gross clothes and Gary washed each of our individual loads.We spent the day resupplying in Hiawassee, ate lunch at Daniels Steak House, All you can eat Country food. The all you can eats out here is one of things you look forward in every town. On average we burn 4000-7000 calories a day while you are hiking up mountains with anywhere from 30-45 pounds on your back. It is nearly impossible to carrying enough food to balance out the equation, so you are always in a negative. This is the first time since I was a child that I have absolutely no concern about calories or the amount of food I put into my body. In fact, I find myself in the grocery stores looking for items that pack the most bang for their buck.The Blueberry Patch Hostel is a Christian Ministry run by a couple. Gary was a thru-hiker in 1991. We asked him if he was giving back to the hiker community. He said he did it because it was his duty as a Christian to give to the lords people. He paraphrased a verse from the bible (Matthew maybe), "he asked the Lord when was it that I clothed and fed you Lord and He said when you clothed and fed my people you did the same to me." The Blueberry Hostel is a small room that looks to have been a garage at one point that've added an expansion on to. One room is a common room with a stove, refridgerator, wood stove and a table to eat at. There is Appalachian Trail nostalgia all over the walls and quotes from Robert Frost and the following poem.THE LAW OF THE YUKONbyRobert William ServiceThis is the law of the Yukon, and ever she makes it plain:"Send not your foolish and feeble; send me your strong and your sane --Strong for the red rage of battle; sane for I harry them sore;Send me men girt for the combat, men who are grit to the core;Swift as the panther in triumph, fierce as the bear in defeat,Sired of a bulldog parent, steeled in the furnace heat.Send me the best of your breeding, lend me your chosen ones;Them will I take to my bosom, them will I call my sons;Them will I gild with my treasure, them will I glut with my meat;But the others -- the misfits, the failures -- I trample under my feet.Dissolute, damned and despairful, crippled and palsied and slain,Ye would send me the spawn of your gutters -- Go! take back your spawn again."Wild and wide are my borders, stern as death is my sway;From my ruthless throne I have ruled alone for a million years and a day;Hugging my mighty treasure, waiting for man to come,Till he swept like a turbid torrent, and after him swept... the scum.The pallid pimp of the dead-line, the enervate of the pen,One by one I weeded them out, for all that I sought was... Men.One by one I dismayed them, frighting them sore with my glooms;One by one I betrayed them unto my manifold dooms.Drowned them like rats in my rivers, starved them like curs on my plains,Rotted the flesh that was left them, poisoned the blood in their veins;Burst with my winter upon them, searing forever their sight,Lashed them with fungus-white faces, whimpering wild in the night;"Staggering blind through the storm-whirl, stumbling mad through the snow,Frozen stiff in the ice-pack, brittle and bent like a bow;Featureless, formless, forsaken, scented by wolves in their flight,Left for the wind to make music through ribs that are glittering white;Gnawing the black crust of failure, searching the pit of despair,Crooking the toe in the trigger, trying to patter a prayer;Going outside with an escort, raving with lips all afoam,Writing a cheque for a million, driveling feebly of home;Lost like a louse in the burning . . . or else in the tented townSeeking a drunkard's solace, sinking and sinking down;Steeped in the slime at the bottom, dead to a decent world,Lost 'mid the human flotsam, far on the frontier hurled;In the camp at the bend of the river, with its dozen saloons aglare,Its gambling dens ariot, its gramophones all ablare;Crimped with the crimes of a city, sin-ridden and bridled with lies,In the hush of my mountained vastness, in the flush of my midnight skies.Plague-spots, yet tools of my purpose, so natheless I suffer them thrive,Crushing my Weak in their clutches, that only my Strong may survive."But the others, the men of my mettle, the men who would 'stablish my fameUnto its ultimate issue, winning me honor, not shame;Searching my uttermost valleys, fighting each step as they go,Shooting the wrath of my rapids, scaling my ramparts of snow;Ripping the guts of my mountains, looting the beds of my creeks,Them will I take to my bosom, and speak as a mother speaks.I am the land that listens, I am the land that broods;Steeped in eternal beauty, crystalline waters and woods.Long have I waited lonely, shunned as a thing accurst,Monstrous, moody, pathetic, the last of the lands and the first;Visioning camp-fires at twilight, sad with a longing forlorn,Feeling my womb o'er-pregnant with the seed of cities unborn.Wild and wide are my borders, stern as death is my sway,And I wait for the men who will win me -- and I will not be won in a day;And I will not be won by weaklings, subtle, suave and mild,But by men with the hearts of vikings, and the simple faith of a child;Desperate, strong and resistless, unthrottled by fear or defeat,Them will I gild with my treasure, them will I glut with my meat."Lofty I stand from each sister land, patient and wearily wise,With the weight of a world of sadness in my quiet, passionless eyes;Dreaming alone of a people, dreaming alone of a day,When men shall not rape my riches, and curse me and go away;Making a bawd of my bounty, fouling the hand that gave --Till I rise in my wrath and I sweep on their path and I stamp them into a grave.Dreaming of men who will bless me, of women esteeming me good,Of children born in my borders of radiant motherhood,Of cities leaping to stature, of fame like a flag unfurled,As I pour the tide of my riches in the eager lap of the world."This is the Law of the Yukon, that only the Strong shall thrive;That surely the Weak shall perish, and only the Fit survive.Dissolute, damned and despairful, crippled and palsied and slain,This is the Will of the Yukon, -- Lo, how she makes it plain!Gary and his wife are some of the kindest people I have ever met and I am glad to have met them. In the morning they made a full breakfast of pancakes, sausage, hash browns, southern biscuits, eggs and coffee. They asked us to join hands and then prayed that God protect and help us on our journey.We caught a shuttle into town to the budget in and One-Eighty joined us to split a hotel room four ways for the next evening to avoid the cold.