This Appalachian Life

I have boldly braved a forest fire to be here today. The last 10 miles of woods into town were charred black from a controlled burn that was a complete surprise to me. Hand written warnings at the shelter read, “THE WOODS ARE ON FIRE!!!!” For some reason the Tennessee trail workers decided that the best time to set the woods ablaze coincided with 1,500 backpackers taking up residence in those exact woods. To be fair the fires were mostly out by the time I arrived, but I digress.

I have walked almost 340 miles now and owe partial credit to Ira Glass of This American Life . It is my favorite radio program, he is always entertaining and since I can’t watch “Lost,” I have to fill the void. To honor this man I have decided to structure this post like an episode of This American Life, but with an Appalachian twist.  In this post I will reveal the seedy underbelly of the Appalachian Trail and the intricacies of trail etiquette in three acts. Act I: No Nuts For You; Act II: Murky Waters; and Act 3: To Squat or Not!

Now you may not realize, but hikers operate by a set of trail manners.  They’re not quite as codified as the rules that govern high society, but an understood code of conduct none the less. For example, it is not offensive to fart next to someone without warning, or blow your nose by clogging one nostril with a finger and blowing out the other (snot rocket), or even to burp righteously if one were to ingest enough food to require a belch. It is however inexcusable not to yield right of way to an uphill hiker when passing, a personal pet peeve of mine. The following tales address some of what I like to call “Backwoods Etiquette.”

Act 1: No nuts for you

One amazing aspect of the Appalachian Trail is how information is transmitted over great distances. At every shelter is a “Shelter Register” where hikers, camping or simply passing through, sign in and can check to see who else has signed. Often hikers leave notes to friends behind them, information on dry water sources, dangers, obstacles ahead/behind and words of encouragement for other hikers. Many people post cartoons, funny anecdotes or even poems. It is a remarkably efficient and effective system. To send word ahead, one simply finds a faster hiker and gives them a message.  Abusing this system is an unthinkable offense, yet one has.

I came upon a post by Worldwide the other day who criticized hikers for writing GAME (Georgia to Maine) after their entries as almost every thru-hikers does. He claimed that it was presumptuous and technically incorrect for one to write ME when one has not yet reached Maine and should write GA2? instead. Well I was shocked and offended by this inaccuracy. I know where I am and where I am going for the most part and find the business of a question mark laughable. GAME is really a declaration of intent not an exclusive club. More than this, I am appalled that a hiker has assumed ownership not only over the trail, but of the English language. Needless to say Worldwide is not well liked and has made many enemies. Retired at the age of 38, he likes to believe he has 60 years of life experience which he is eager to share. He has asked people to leave shelters whom he didn’t like and boasts about doing 50 mile days balking at simple hikers can who only do 10. But he still claims that having thru hiked already, he’s just out here for the people. Well the people disagree.

My friends Sparky and Stubby informed me that recently they were approached by an older woman offering peanuts. They politely declined but suggested that she offer the recent arrival (Worldwide) some nuts, to which the woman replied, “I don’t think so, I don’t give my nuts to just anyone.”

Act 2: Murky Waters

Another character I met goes by the name Blue Water. Do not let this name fool you: when I met him it was at Standing Bear Hostel at noon and he was already falling down drunk, insulting everyone around him.  He was in the company of friends of mine, and while I thought it odd that nice people would adopt a belligerent alcoholic into their circle, I kept my mouth shut. I found out later from my friend Snowflake that he was a creep. She told me that waking up one morning she found him glaring down at her, “I’ve been watching you sleep all night,” he said.  She and her group have been trying to escape this man for weeks and had succeeded only to find him at the hostel having hitch-hiked to catch up with them. He is rumored to be hiking the trail, a task that seems beyond his abilities, to avoid paying child support, and worse he is not the only one. I have heard many stories of hikers out in the woods escaping child support.

Though a lot of these situations are largely speculation I’m certain that Blue Water has a young daughter and is not interested in keeping contact. One night he and I stayed at the same shelter and stumbling up in a drunken stupor he proclaimed that my bear bag was shoddy and would surely be devoured by a hungry beast. I happen to pride myself on my bear bag engineering and was very offended. I promptly went to bed to avoid interacting with such a dubious character. The next morning I found everyone’s bear bag hanging right next to mine. Untouched and in one piece.

Act 3: To Squat or Not

The information superhighway that is the AT let me know three days in advance not to camp at a particular shelter because of squatters. I, of course, was curious to know who would voluntarily remain for multiple days at a mouse infested, uninsulated, three walled structure. I found out soon enough. These were three punk kids who had been staying at the shelter for over a week, though were quick to tell me, “Yeah, uh, we just got here today.” Ha, lies. They were camped out in front of a pile of garbage and litter was everywhere. Even the privy was filled with litter which is especially disgusting because it is the job of some poor unassuming forest ranger to pick out the litter from the privy, sorting garbage from the mound of poop. To pass the time, they had been self-tattooing and had black images all over their arms and face including three dots under their eyes.

My friend Muffin Man said that the three dots means they have either lost someone they loved or have killed a man. I am hoping the former. They had made a fire of nothing but plastic containers after burning the pages of the shelter register for fuel. Wearing jeans and cotton t-shirts they were completely unprepared for the elements. This was bad. Most hikers hiked past this scene sensing danger. The few who camped around the shelter almost all had encounters with bears. The bears, smelling the mound of garbage from miles away came every night to raid bear bags. Three guys from Cincinnati had each of their bags ripped from different trees all in one night and had to hike 18 miles without food to get to town, having previously only hiked 10 miles a day at most. They were in very high spirits when I saw them mostly because they had the foresight to remove their pot from the food bag before the bears arrived. They punks were reported and I have not heard anything since.

In spite of these people I have met many wonderfully interesting friends, but as attrition continues, and the normal people return to their regular lives, only the crazy remain. Onward, ho! ‘Til next week I am Newt with This Appalachian Life.