12:42am

by TownDawg

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"Hello, did you guys just start? How much farther is it?"

To where, I wondered. To the 4.4 sign? To the beginning of the Goshen Prong Trail? Or did they mean how far all the way back to Elkmont where we had started? We were a good nine or ten miles into the hike when the day hikers showed up, and I have to say they could not have been more stereotypical.

"Where are your hiking boots?"

There is a caste system of sorts when it comes to hiking: day hikers, weekenders, and thru-hikers. For the last two of the three, day hikers are the ones who tend to go out and buy all new equipment from all the right places, and sporting all the right trade names.

"In the river," I announced.

"In the river? What happened?"

Imagine a girl with every hair in place, and done up with makeup and perfectly matched clothes. These are the yuppie hikers, ones who hike to be seen. Ones who hike to be able to talk about how they are green conscious, and love to relate their exploits of how they walked a few miles down some pretty scenery and ate a nice lunch beside a few rocks and a babbling brook. Now take a moment as I described how my hiking boots ended up in the river.

"One step, and then another. The water was rushing down against my ankles and calves, but so far the river looked like it was not going to carry me away. Another step, and a push as I realized I needed to face the current if I hoped to get all the way across. Make every step count, and take your time. This is no race."

It is amazing how a split second can seem like an eternity when your mind is racing. It is even more amazing how quickly the foot headed for the bottom of the river can be swept away downstream so that it never finds solid ground. The strange thing is that I don’t remember hitting the water, nor do I remember getting wet. My hiking partner told me later that she was sure that I was within a moment of being carried off downstream, along with one Leki and one hiking boot."

"It was gone before you even made your first step on the path," she said. "You never even had a prayer. The boot was carried away out of sight before you as much as got a good run on, much less any hope of catching up to it."

The adrenalin was still in my system as I related the entire story of how the hiking boots came to be lost and how I was still going to backpack for five days, even if it meant doing it in "store-bought, catalog orderable, wet sandals with Velcro straps," climbing up and down the ridges of the AT just for fun. The girl looked over at her hiking partner, and then looked over to my hiking partner. She never said a word, but her expression said it all.

"Ummm, you are going to stop him, right?"

Like I said, she never said the words, but we could both read her like a book. My hiking partner remarked that I was "pretty determined" and that we were going ahead with our original plan, sandals and all. The woman backed away as if we both had leprosy. Surely we were not going to do this. I couldn’t make the trip now. It would be insane. No one does this, hiking the AT in sandals. No one. It would just be too dangerous. It was beyond her comprehension, and she made it quite obvious to the two of us without saying a word.

"Come on honey, let’s be on our way. Come on. These people are crazy. These people have lost their mind. Maybe if we just go on and get down to the ranger station we can warn them that there are two hikers on the trail who have gone delirious."

The telltale tugging on the sleeve. The noticeable nudging and coercing. She was ready to get away now, fast. Quickly before whatever disease these two have doesn’t somehow inflict us. Quickly honey, let’s be on our way. In another moment, they were gone. Off to yuppie heaven, off to wherever they end up. A small smugness as we both knew that within a few short downhill miles they would be trying to cross the same stream that we had encountered only shortly before.

I don’t know what happened to them. Maybe the waters had receded a little once they got there. Maybe they saw my solitary hiking boot and took the proper steps to make sure the same fate did not befall them. Maybe they just scampered down the trail as fast as they could to only have an interesting tale to tell their fellow friends and coworkers. Whatever they did, it didn’t matter to the two of us, because we had reached the final mile of our trek up to the intersection of the Goshen Prong and Appalachian Trails.

I was so glad to see the Double Springs Shelter. Twelve miles of our journey and enough great stories to last a lifetime. It wasn’t early, but it wasn’t late either. I think I was numb with the events of the day, but my hiking partner and I managed to get fed, and make small talk with the other hikers who had reached the same place before the night fell. Finally the campsite was dark, and it was time to get some sleep. A few jokes about bears. The regiment of hanging your food by steel cable. The knowledge that if you don’t secure the chain link that fences the front of the shelter you might have a rather smelly and nosy surprise before sunrise. The candle lantern, the sleeping bag. The short goodnights, and then the rest. One day gone, and four to go. As I attempted to fall into slumber, I thought of the day’s events. Who I had seen, and whom I had talked to.

"Any day that starts out this bad is going to be incredible before it is over."

I remember making this comment just as my head hit the pillow. I have to say, I believed it. After all, what else could possibly happen that would somehow shadow the events of the day? There is nothing worse than not having good footwear. It’s what every hiker, every book, every website stresses.

"Good footwear. Sturdy. Try the hiking boots out before you go make a long trip. Make sure they fit. Make sure they are waterproof. If they aren’t, then rub the Snowseal on them until they are."

I had done all this. I was ready. A lot of good all that beeswax was going to do me now. Thank God for Duct Tape. Now if I could just find someone with some.

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