The goal so far had been to make it to the shelter that would provide water and possibly a place to semi-permanently pitch the tent. It was obvious at that point that I was not going to hike the entire Trail without serious resupplying.
As I struggled to repack the sleeping bag and tent, I told myself today was the day. I was going to use the shelter as a base, storing everything there and hike either side of the Trail from there at a casual pace until I was in good enough shape to go further on the Trail.
The sleeping bag wasn't hard to roll up, but that tent drove me crazy trying to get it back into its case. I could never seem to get it small enough, no matter how I rolled it. And each attempt took energy I could not afford to lose, since I still had no appetite. Finally, in the mid-morning, all was packed. I sat by my backpack, trying to muster the energy to heft it and go on my way, when a group of hikers came through. One thing I can say, is the hikers on the Trail care about each other. If they see you laying down, they'll ask if you're all right, and offer water if you need it. I needed it, and one hiker poured water into my water bag. Not the last time for Trail kindness.
I asked how much further to the shelter, and one replied '4 miles'. I was getting closer, but it seemed strange to me that with all the work I did the day before, I only went 2 miles. Then I saw them taking off down the Trail, and they were walking as if it were a straight and level path, taking the hills in stride. They were all thin and lanky and that makes all the difference in the world.
I finally stumbled up. I figured the easiest way to get the pack on was to be on my side, and slip it in. Getting up was another issue. Once I struggled to my knees, I tried to push myself up, looking for all intents and purposes like a one-year-old learning to walk. My pack often towered above me, about to topple over my head, except for one massive push that propelled me forward and to my feet.
That morning I propelled myself toward the Trail only to discover another bridge about 100 yards away, downhill, thankfully. Under the bridge ran a very active and babbling brook. I took off the pack, scaled the banks and put my boots in the water. I had my water bag with me and filled it gratefully. I drank several times from the brook and even put Fruit Punch mix in to sweeten the taste when I filled it for the last time.
I was really loathe to leave that brook, but there was a road ahead, and I wanted to see if any stores were visible. I did do a recon without the pack, but no stores were in sight, only houses. I did find out later that this was Rte 11, a major highway of its own.
So, disappointed, but no longer disheartened, I trundled on again along the Trail on the other side of the road, As usual, it was leading up. As usual I was collapsing every 100-150 paces. People would pass, ask if I was okay, and I'd say 'Yes, just resting.'
Eventually I came up on the last thing I expected on the Trail - a ladder. The area was fenced off with barbed wire and apparently the only way to get back on the Trail was to scale the ladder. It was a short ladder, but I knew if I tried to cross it with the pack on, I'd kill myself. There'd be plenty of time for that later. I took off the pack, threw it over the ladder where it landed with a thump, and slowly made my way over it. Tired at that point, I took a long break, tried to eat, with no luck, and used the ladder to help me put the pack back on. After much stumbling and resting, I came across a treeless, rolling green field of grass. By rolling I mean I still had to go up to stay on the Trail, but I eventually hit the top to see a steep downclimb ahead of me.
Overjoyed, I steadily made my way down the slope. At the bottom, a small brook ran past it, but it wasn't running very fast or deep, so I did not fill up my water bag.
The next surprise was crossing a bridge to find cows in my way - literally. They sat in the shade at the end of the field, one sitting right on the path. I greeted them warmly, avoided the cow patties, and passed them. I came across another bridge, then a gate that I could pass through. Mind you, I'm still stumbling along and stopping every 100-150 paces.
The next surprise was another road to cross. This was not a super busy road like Rte 11, and crossing it wasn't a problem. What was a problem was the appearance of another ladder, this one less stable that the previous one. I spent some time resting before tackling the ladder, and had several drivers stop and ask if I was all right. I gave them all the thumbs up and 'Resting' line, and then shoved the pack over the ladder, and then gingerly worked my own way across it.
After my rest was over I turned to the Trail again. I found a sign that said 'Private property next 0.6 miles, Please stay on the Trail.' It also said the shelter was 3 miles away. My hopes went up slightly, though I was still disappointed with my progress. How were they measuring how far it was, by the crow flies or how the Trail wound?
The Trail did go on, however, and guess which direction? Up! The Trail became steep, thin and zig-zaggy. One side went up, the other side of the path headed down. I vaguely remembered the zig-zag path from maps I had seen online. The day progressed, slowly. About 3 pm I seemed no closer to my goal than before and my strength was waning.I went to sip from my water to find it nearly empty. Apparently one of the times I threw it over the ladder had released some of the contents. I also found that the cap to my bag had been torn off by branches. The bag would hold no water unless the tube leading from it was held up. I tried to repair it with duct tape, with only mild success. I had no water once again.
At this point I was exhausted, thirsty and hadn't seen any place to get water since the brooks that morning. Something about the situation put me in panic mode. Instead of making camp, I felt the need to press on, leaving behind the backpack that was slowing me down so much, and pressing forward to the shelter, where I would find water. I would come back for the pack later, after I found water and had rested.
I could see a ridge, high up in the distance and prayed that it wasn't where I was headed. One prayer not answered! At first I made good progress, but soon found I was too far spent. I still stumbled, still had to rest every so often. It got to the point, around 4pm, and I collapsed and lay there, almost dead to the world. I waited for someone to come along with a cell phone to call for help.
Someone did come along. His name was Mack. Mack the Trucker. He was a day-hiker just out to get some exercise, and had covered the same distance I had in the previous two days in just a couple of hours. He seemed shocked that I could not move faster.
Yet when I asked for help he did give it to me. He did not call the authorities. He gave me some orange juice and then got me on my feet and walked with me for a while, always ahead, pointing out useful things for a hiker to know, such as what leaves were edible, leaves of the violet and sassafras. He was looking for mushrooms, but I could see none, since I was not wearing my glasses and was too tired to take them out of my pocket.
Mack was an angel in disguise, perhaps. Instead of acknowledging that I was in trouble, he gave me encouragement, he gave me spirit when I really needed it. He even gave me a Trail name: 'Turn up,' because I just turned up on the Trail.
Eventually Mack had to go on his own way, but he left me with a half a bottle of diet soda, and told me if it was God's will that I survive that night, that I would, and if not I'd be in heaven. I'm not sure how encouraging that part was, but I did resolve to go on.
I stumbled on without him, dressed in a long sleeved shirt, a thin jacket, a thin pair of pants, socks and boots. After a time I came across an obvious campsite, strewn with pine needles, which I remembered Mack telling me was good because they were acidic and nothing would grow or crawl there, I stopped there for a little while, but I was determined to make the shelter.
The Trail went ever up. It began to get dark. I had my flashlight with me, really just lucky that it was in my pants pocket. As it got darker I used the flashlight to make sure I was still on the Trail, and could see things flashing past the light - bugs, noseeums. It got colder, gradually colder than the night before. I pulled a wool cap out of my jacket pocket, another lucky break, and pulled it over my ears. When I rested I pulled it over my eyes as far down as it went, to protect against both the cold and bugs, and perhaps to not allow me to see how much trouble I was in. I napped when I could, but the bugs and the cold did not allow much in the way of rest.
Sometimes I wanted to stay there the rest of the night, but then I'd wake up to find my extremities feeling numb and my body freezing up. I got up, turned the flashlight on, and stumbled a bit further. One of those times I even disturbed a bird roosting nearby who squawked and then flew off.
The final drive found me waking and feeling a sense of urgency. It was around 3am. I rose, started forward, realized something was wrong because I was going downhill and then turned around, backtracking, until I found something familiar, two logs open in the middle of the path. I had been going in the right direction the first time. I turned back, my hopes rising with the inversely with the level of the ground. After a few more minutes, I came across a sign. The shelter was only 0.1 miles away! I practically leaped the rest of the way, and in the distance a building slowly came into my flashlight beam. It was a 3-sided building, with a floor made of wooden planks and a place to light a fire with a charred log in it.
Someone else was already there, curled up in a sleeping bag, so I quietly crawled into a corner of the shelter, and lay shivering, yet in relative safety for the remainder of the night.
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