YING IN MY sleeping bag with my back propped against the big logs of the shelter wall, I’m listening to the rain on the tin roof. This shelter is our first with a skylight, and the evening glow gives just enough light for writing.
YING IN MY sleeping bag with my back propped against the big logs of the shelter wall, I’m listening to the rain on the tin roof. This shelter is our first with a skylight, and the evening glow gives just enough light for writing.We hiked 11 miles today from Groundhog Creek Shelter, a beautiful stone structure also built by the Carolina Mountain Club. Lunch, cheese sandwiches on pita bread, was served on the summit of Max Patch, a beautiful grassy bald with a 360-degree view of the surrounding mountains. Afternoon clouds formed as we descended, but we got to the shelter before the rain started. We had hot bean soup on arrival. The main course was homemade vegetarian chili, dried before we left home, sealed in a Zip-Loc bag, and mailed with other supplies to a post office along the way. A candy bar and hot tea completed our meal. We have had the shelter to ourselves the last two nights. Previously, life on the trail has been very much a social affair. Five family members, including our son Laurence, accompanied us to the summit of Springer Mountain, Ga., for the ceremonial send-off. As we completed our round of picture taking, another group arrived. I introduced Laurence as “Fairhope,” who hiked the trail in ’92. “Fairhope! You’re Laurence McDuff. I followed you all the way up the trail in ’92 and read every one of your register entries. I’ve been wanting to meet you for two years.” “Weathercarrot,” or Greg Walter from Yardley, Pa., was hiking the trail again, and we were immediately famous as “Fairhope’s” parents. For the most part we hike alone during the day, but the shelters bring people together at night. Kindred sprits quickly become fast friends. Registers in each shelter serve as a communications media. Through the registers and hiker grapevine, we keep track of our friends ahead of us and behind us. We can usually predict who will be our shelter companions for the night. All through the Smokies they were “Hope” and “Blueberry Bill,” a newly married couple from Maine. We hiked five days in icy trails through snow a foot deep, which transformed the mountains into a winter fairyland. Bill taught us to turn our water bottles upside down so the lids wouldn’t freeze. We avoided stiff, frozen boots by placing them in a sack in the bottom of our sleeping bags. One magical evening two deer came to our shelter, nibbling the grass in spots where the snow had melted. The next morning all was covered with another six inches of light, fluffy powder. Night brought clear skies, 14 degree temperatures, and beautiful moon shadows on the new-fallen snow, which gave a “luster of midday to objects below.” After 3½ weeks on the trail, we have covered some 260 of the 2,150 miles to Mount Katahdin in Maine. Tomorrow looks like rain, but we stay warm and have at least the illusion of being dry in our Gore-tex parkas and Thermax tights. And we’re headed for our first trail town — Hot Springs, N.C., and Elmer’s Inn. I can feel the hot bath in the claw-footed tub now, imagine sleep in the old antique bed, and taste the good vegetarian cooking. Life is good!
