EARLY 1000 MILES from Springer Mountain, Ga., Ann and I are close to the halfway point of our walk to Maine. Here at the headquarters of the Appalachian Trail Conference we received a hero’s welcome yesterday. Our pictures were taken for the 1994 thru-hikers’ album, and we enjoyed celebrating with our friends.From its conception in the 1920s, the ATC has been the guiding force behind the establishment and maintenance of the Appalachian Trail. We particularly wanted to thank them for the tremendous job the maintaining clubs did this year clearing the damage from last winter’s ice storms. Not long after we started our daughter read an article in the New York Times stating the Appalachian Trail was impassable in Virginia. Entire mountainsides of trees had been leveled by the ice storms. One hiker commented it looked like a tree cemetery. By the time we came through the trail was largely cleared. One maintainer we met from the Natural Bridge Appalachian Trail Club said his club had been out every weekend from February to May with chain saws. We often counted as many as 25 chain saw cuts in a 10 yard segment of trail. The best part of the trail continues to be the people. This week we met Johnny O., age 79, from California. After hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, he started the Appalachian Trail last year, but had to drop off to have knee surgery. He ignored his doctor’s advice to have a replacement knee and is back on the trail again this year going strong. We go off the trail every week or so to wash clothes and buy groceries. Although we are hiking 2100 miles, we go to great lengths to avoid even a short road walk into town. We certainly wouldn’t hitchhike, but we’ve learned to stand next to the road with our backpacks, preferably near a stoplight or intersection where the traffic slows down. With Ann in front we wait for a pick-up truck, make eye contact, and point in the direction we are going. They usually stop, and we climb in the back with our backpacks. Last week we went the three miles into Front Royal, Va,, washed our clothes, bought groceries, ate ice cream, and were back on the trail within three hours. Wildlife has been abundant olong the trail. We see deer almost every day. Other sightings include a red fox and a ruffled grouse pretending to be injured while her young scattered. The diamondback rattlesnake scared us, though. We heard his warning rattle before we saw him. He was lying across the cliffside trail, five feet long and as big around as your arm. I thought about passing behind him. One step and another warning rattle sent me back. We warned a group of day-hikers approaching from the opposite direction. One man started throwing rocks at the snake. Then he poked at him with a long stick to get him to move. But instead the snake coiled itself, ready to strike, squarely in the middle of the trail. While this was going on, a small boy from the other group scampered down the rocks well below the snake and came up on our side. Now a man with a handful of rocks against an eastern diamondback rattler with two poisonous fangs did not seem like a fair fight to me. So in the interests of good sportsmanship we followed the example of the small boy. We gave the snake the trail. After all, he lives there. We were just passing through.
