Where are we?

Pictures: http://picasaweb.google.com/jkmuench

Graveyard is busy helping at her church's fundraising fair, so I will do my best to pick up where we left off. I hope people have noticed that there was a post just before "What's in a name," which was just a brief aside to anyone who was curious. I also hope someone is still reading these, as there have been no comments on the four previous posts over the last 2 months.

So we hiked late into the evening for a view of NYC. The trail was long and made longer by the multiple trails running on the same trail. There was the blue blazed trail, which was almost impossible to see in the dark, but also a yellow reflective trail that we could see. The reflectors were a blessing except for the points where they joined and left the blue trail, plus we constantly worried that the trails had parted without our knowledge. They hadn't, and we finally reached our destination. There were no clear skylines or tall buildings poking up as we had expected, but instead a huge dark valley and lights of various concentrations all around it. As we made dinner, we watched flashes of lightning in the distant clouds. After dinner, the storm had intensified and to our right (west) the flashes of lightning were leaving their cloudy birthplace and crashing down in spectacular arcs. The lightning came at shorter intervals as it moved to the east across our vista. These bolts came from far up in the atmosphere, but were so far removed from us that these enormous static discharges made not a sound to our ears. This surreal silent lightshow moved until it was across the darkened valley, and then a monstrous bolt amongst giants flashed down, while an opposing streak shot up through the valley. It was then that we could see that the valley was in fact the Hudson River, reflecting the sky's own fury back at it. These two immortal elements exchanged volley upon volley while two fragile mortals could do naught but gaze in wonder. Meanwhile, in the city, millions of mortals sought shelter from a storm that ravaged Manhattan and dropped countless trees through Central Park. The devastation would later be compared to tornadoes, but on that silent hill, we watched in awe as blinding white bolts flashed earthward and turned rusty red as they broke through the dense atmospheric bubble that surrounds all cities of that size. As we sat, watching hundreds of dichromatic flares flash downward with icy silence, we could not avoid a thought. If we had hiked at any different pace, taken one more or one less shortcut, or given up entirely, we would not have been the trail's only witnesses to what Gravey described as,"The most awesome thing I have ever seen in my life, ever." So I suppose there is a reason for everything, though often not apparent. Even now that it has ended, I believe we hiked our trail and I would not take back a single step. Well, maybe the step that broke Julia's toe, but even that put us on top of that great beast of a mountain on the only 'good' day in to weeks of 'bad' days. And when a good day involves 15 ft. visibility and thick ice formations in a man's beard, it makes a person thankful to not find out what a bad day is. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

We were awakened by day hikers out for a jaunt, but they did not linger at the shelter once they realized it was occupied. Thank you. As I looked around this shelter so far off the beaten path, I recognized familiar designs on the wall. Shelters often bear graffiti, but it's usually crap like: 'Bobby luvs Susie', 'Jordan was here', or 'Troop 25 was here' a dozen times (nice LNT skills, guys) but almost every shelter has a few gems. There was an '08er named The Treat who drew landscapes and cartoons from NC to mid-Virginia. My personal favorite,though, were a pair of NOBOs from our year called UFO and Droid. They were some of the first to set out this year and they were from Brooklyn. That's about all I know. They also built mouse exclusion devices (string hung with a can preventing mice from crawling down to protect food bags) with their personal designs, which were quite cool. This morning, though, I noticed an entire wall covered by UFO. Same design, but instead of 'UFO NOBO 09' there were UFO 01 through 08 plus this years. So this was our artistic trail-brother's (or sister's) hang out. Good choice, UFO.

We made good time that day and in the days following. We kept a good pace because, for the first time in a long time, we had an appointment. The Metro North line has a train stop on the trail that only runs on weekends and we were determined to reach it on time. Of course, things are never as easy as you would think. Thursday signaled the death knell of my hiking pants. Coming around a rock that morning, I ripped a hole in the one pocket that was still intact. Fearing for our valuables, I gave my 12 cents and our $9 Walmart watch to Gravey for safe keeping. (The watch band had broken in Southern Virginia) Two hours later, the watch was gone. I blame the tiny pockets on girls pants, even the outdoor brands. In the woods, form should always follow function. So for the first time since my Dad visited, we needed to know what time it was. Of course the trail gremlins would take our watch. The next day we got an unfortunate late start. A passing hiker told us it was about noon. That meant we had 31 miles to hike in 34 hours. No problem, right? So we set off. The next 20 miles were a blur, but a good-natured one. We reached the shelter before the train station around 3 am, having hiked 21.5 miles. It was destined to be our only 20+ miler, though we would come close in the later part of Maine. Ours was not to be a hike of high mileage days; I have no regrets. Somehow we woke up the next day and hoofed it the last 10 miles through rain showers to a wooden bench by the tracks and huddled under a tarp to stay dry. We had made it our 31 miles in a day and a half with an hour to spare. A cold, wet hour, but excellent for its sheer ridiculousness.
When the train came, we boarded, along with three day hikers from the city. We were not prepared for the air conditioning on board, however, and we immediately put on all our dry warm clothes over our cold, wet ones. We were entertained for this leg of our journey by the conductor ragging on the ticket taker for being Australian over the intercom. "Here comes Crocodile Dundee to take your tickets. Hey, what's a roo-burger taste like?" Hilarious. When we got to Grand Central Station, we were, well, a little overwhelmed. There we stood, in jackets and beanie hats in a 90 degree building, backpacks hung with dirty socks, and me gripping a large wooden walking stick. A young girl of about 14 with braces approached us and asked politely if we needed help. Julia answered in a thick NY accent that we were trying to find the transfer to Penn Station. The girl seemed surprised that we spoke English and said that there was an information kiosk right behind us. Thanks. At least she meant well. I guess she thought we were from the 1600's. As we walked towards the transfer train, people continued to stare at us, even when walking behind a man in a wheelchair with no legs and a bag of golf clubs in his lap. And we're the weird ones. When we got on the sweltering subway train, everyone immediately backed up about five feet. I'm assuming the smell had something to do with it. A girl next to Graveyard asked if we were skiing in the summer. We were as confused as she was, until we realized she was looking at Gravey's trekking poles. "Oh, no. These are for hiking. We walked here from Georgia." A double blink and many turned heads. "You what?!?" So we explained that we had been backpacking for the last 4 and a half months. I overhear a girl say, "That must be why he has a beard." The fact that I have it because it grows out of my face obviously was lost on her. I later realized that her ignorance to men's general ability to do this was not unfounded. No one from Westchester east has a speck of facial hair except for Arabics and some (but not all) homeless people. As we rode the train, I looked out the window and saw a huge alien face on the side of a buiding staring at the train. Underneath was the familiar script: UFO. Good show.

We intended to stay on Long Island for a short time, but a dislocated shoulder interceded. The first time in three years and inflicted very benignly. Ah well...an extended vacation was perfectly acceptable, sling and all.

What's in a Name?

So where did our trail names come from? I can only say, straight from the aether. But here are two things that may give an insight into Graveyard and The PHLO.

First off, The PHLO. When given the name, I was simply told to think about it. Here's a poem found at www.phlo.net. The only other mention was a beverage corporation.

Who can free himself from achievement, and from fame descend, and be lost, amid the masses of men? He will flow like Tao, unseen, he will go about like Life itself with no name and no home. Simple he is, without distinction. To all apperances he is a fool. His steps leave no trace. He achieves nothing, has no reputation. Since he judges no one, no one judges him. Such is the perfect man: His boat is empty.

-Chuang Tzu

As for Graveyard, here is a lengthy description of Oakwood Cemetery that I wrote in 2006. It may provide some insight as well as a history lesson from Syracuse. If you want the full version with color pictures, I have provided the URL.

http://www.esf.edu/writingprogram/hosmer-briggs/Zines/PocketParks.pdf

By: Jess Rumburg
Prof. Hosmer-Briggs
CLL 290
April 13, 2006
Inspired by and dedicated to Jeff Nugent.
The Duality of Oakwood Cemetery
www.shadesofoakwood.com

Jess Rumburg is a student at the State University of New York’s school of Environmental Science and Forestry. He is an undergraduate in environmental science and plans to pursue a carrier as a High School teacher. He is an avid outdoorsman, as well as an active member of the Boy Scouts of America and a Leave No Trace trainer.

The Duality of Oakwood Cemetery

When one thinks of a graveyard, a vast flurry of images and emotions are called to light. Our media and culture have ingrained a portrait of cemeteries in our collective mind that stirs fear and sacred avoidance. It is the setting of so many horror films and the stomping ground for forces not of this world. Only the manliest man would take a drunken dare and walk its hallowed trails at night. And yet there is another side to this piece of Syracuse that many are unaware of. During the day, it is not mourners who occupy its fields, but those out to enjoy a leisurely
stroll. At night its grounds are not stalked by spirits and serial killers, but people without ill intent. The cemetery is indeed a place to mourn those who have left this world, but it is so much more. For many, it is a gorgeous park for dog walking and early morning jogs. To others it is a place rife with history; the final resting place of thirty thousand fascinating lives. To the Universities that border it, the cemetery holds special significance. SUNY ESF uses the wide variety of flora and fauna for many classes and research projects. To those who live in the dormitories, it is their backyard. Whatever else it may be, Oakwood cemetery is Syracuse’s misunderstood jewel.
From the time they arrive in Syracuse, freshmen are warned to keep their distance from the Cemetery. They are told of the danger involved with setting foot on its soil; the armed robberies, the drug deals, the bizarre and terrifying people that one might meet day or night. From the stories told by the campus administration, one expects to look out their dorm window and see mafia stereotypes dumping lumpy garbage bags into holes in the ground.(Muench) There is reason
for the warnings given, though. On the far side of Oakwood from campus there is a rather seedy neighborhood, and strange things have been known to happen within the graveyard, but from literally hundreds of hours of observation over the last two years, I feel I can lay many rumors to rest. During the day, it is very unlikely that any misfortune should befall anyone. Oakwood employs a full-time staff of groundskeepers, and the scariest thing one would encounter is a group of large dogs with an elderly woman in tow. Night is a slightly different story. There is
an inherent risk involved with walking the graveyard after hours. Robberies have occurred, and far worse crimes. For this reason, the person most likely to be encountered is ‘Johnny Law’. Police cruisers often peruse the evening, warding off wrongdoers, most commonly college students. It would be foolish to think that many people in the graveyard at night are up to anything good, but seldom are they causing harm to the living or dead. They simply seek solitude or a macabre social atmosphere, which may be found if one knows the right people. If anything, these late night adventurers are more of a safety measure than a cause for alarm. These strange taphophiles (Webster) cast too many eyes on unsavory doings. Besides, they often travel in groups and don’t take kindly to those who would cause misfortune to others.(Muench) People have said to me that they will not venture into the graveyard, lest they encounter one of the multitude of odd strangers they imagine within. I cannot help recalling at these times the Cheshire Cat’s response to Alice when she told him that she did not wish to speak to mad people. “But it can’t be helped. We’re all mad here. I’m mad, you’re mad.” (Carroll)
People rarely delve into the rich history of Oakwood cemetery, but since it’s opening in 1859, it has accumulated many stories and seen many changes since NYC landscape architect Howard Daniels designed its elegant curves. (Nugent) It’s naming alone was a highly debated topic, but it was finally decided on Oakwood. The newspaper article announcing the decision on August 15 of that year, admitted, "We can't say that we like the title, but it might be worse."(Shades) From it’s beginning, Oakwood has held a rigid policy of environmental consciousness.
After only 9 months in operation, Oakwood cemetery announced that those caught
trespassing would be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. It also announced a $10 reward for anyone with information leading to the prosecution of anyone who willfully injures the trees or causes other forms of malicious mischief.(Shades) This provision was certainly more for the scenic beauty of the grounds and the wallets of its patrons than enacted out of any concern for the plant life and its intrinsic value, but one shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, as it were.
Vandalism has been a constant problem for Oakwood cemetery, but one can’t but feel their reaction was a bit extreme when in 1863 Julia Gallagher, age 15, was locked in one of the buildings for the crime of maliciously plucking the top of a shrub. In addition to this detention, she also was accountable for a fine not exceeding $150.00, or six months in prison, or both.(Shades)
Unfortunately, far worse acts of destruction have been perpetrated without apprehension of those involved. Reports are vague, but allude to prostitution among other things and in 1869, a full time sheriff was appointed to watch the grounds. As one walks the older portions of the cemetery, the damage of vandalism and the wearing of the ages is displayed in the marred and toppled markers. They lend a surreal and eerie quality to atmosphere within the depths of the cemetery, where nothing is visible but expanses of stones paying homage to the dead. The most disturbing example of this vandalism occurred in 1988. A Syracuse University art student was found boiling the skull of John Crouse, father of former mayor John J.
Crouse and founder of Oakwood, in his dorm room to use in a sculpting project for class. He was discovered when a student noticed a foul smell coming from the kitchen of Flint Hall and found the skull in a pot of water. He alerted the authorities, who arrested the student, and made a search of the graveyard. They discovered that several mausoleums had been disturbed over the past several years and also found a second skull wrapped in a paper bag that someone had removed from one of these.(Moriarty) The history of Oakwood holds other interesting tales, although few as grim. Another tale of vandalism has a happier ending. Near the center of Oakwood are buried 231 veterans of the Civil War. For many years, they were watched over by a beautiful bronze cast of a Union army sentinel, and their 231 headstones stood in ordered line, as the men themselves had once stood while in service to their country. In 1951, the sentinel was stolen, presumably to be melted for scrap metal. Also in the fifty’s, all of the white marble stones were knocked over. The markers of these venerable Americans adorned the hillside like a mouthful of broken teeth; their sentry gone and their eternal barracks pillaged by marauders. But there were those who still remembered the soldiers past sacrifices, and in the fall of 1998
the 122nd New York State Volunteer Infantry, a Civil War reenactment group petitioned the National Veterans Administration to replace the headstones that had fallen so far into disrepair. They sent the stones, and members of the 122nd began placing the stones by hand in June of 1999. On Veterans Day 2000, the site was finally renewed and members of the 122nd gathered along with a large crowd of spectators for the rededication ceremony complete with cannon salute in tribute.
So far, the bronze statue has not been replaced, but the 122nd Infantry is
working to raise the $35,000 needed. With the help of some concerned citizens, the hill shall once again be ordained with its sentinel. (Tyler) Not only do people come to Oakwood to mourn their dearly departed, or study the rich history behind the place. Many come for reflection, seeking the solitude and pensive atmosphere.
There lies a place within its bounds that provides this in abundance. It is one of the least known places to casual visitors, but the best loved to those who know of its existence. In front of the entrance to the abandoned church, across the street and up a trail there stands a lion. Its emaciated form stands watch with sightless eyes across all seasons, watching over a boy named Michael Haggarty. The sculpture embodies the dedication to a life lost tragically. In 1974, Michael Haggarty was killed in an automobile accident at the age of 14. In 1981, his younger brother Thomas was an art student at Syracuse University. At his mother’s request, he began to create a memorial for his brother, who was buried at St. Mary’s cemetery in Dewitt. A year later, his 620 pound bronze guardian was completed, but the cemetery refused to allow the memorial, and so Michael’s body was moved to a secluded part of Oakwood. There amongst the trees stands the lion; its haunting face unmovable, forged from a brother’s love. There are many legends as to the nature of the place, but this is the truth, no less macabre or meaningful. Over the years, many have found there own meaning in that place, of the lion and themselves as well.
For me, the Haggarty lion stands stoic vigil for all those not with us, remembering always those who are lost from us. (Shades)

Quiet reflection and study comprise a more traditional side of cemeteries as urban parks.With Oakwood cemetery sharing a boundary with two universities, it also has another side. The free-spirited exuberance of college life stands in stark contrast to the tombs and sanctuaries. The two stand on opposite ends of life’s road, yet they blend with sometimes bizarre, but generally positive ease. The proximity of the cemetery tempers the students with a slight somberness, and they breathe life into its rolling fields. Thanks to them Oakwood is able to serve more as a park
than one would believe. I can only imagine the thoughts of the families come to visit their Grandparents and find hippies playing Frisbee and banging drums in a graveyard, of all places. Let us not point out that they only visit once or twice a year, while the regular graveyard denizens are to be found in any weather at any time of day. Oakwood now finds more use as historical site and a park than as a depository for bodies. Not only do college students enjoy its open spaces, but a wide variety of people can also be found using the cemetery recreationally. The
majority of people in Oakwood who are not students are out walking their dogs, with a handful joggers as well. In autumn, people come for its diverse tree life, which displays spectacular colors at this time of year. The trees in Oakwood represent a broad cross-section of local species, as well as many exotic species, all planted for their ornamental value. This is why ESF dendrology students are able to see most of what they are learning without ever having to travel. Oakwood serves as ESF’s own private tree museum.(Borker) It also has an equally diverse animal population. It is a haven for bird watchers, although the ratio of crows to other birds is badly
askew in the crows favor.(Borker) In addition to these residents, the cemetery provides a habitat for many ground creatures as well. Skunks and deer often come out at night to feed, and a pair of gray foxes have made it there home for the past two years. Toads, mice, bats, squirrels, snakes and chipmunks are to be found as well. One only needs to take a closer look at Oakwood to see that it is teeming with life more than it is haunted by death. Oakwood cemetery is either Syracuse’s most active graveyard, or its strangest park. It is a beautiful resting place for the dead, where families can come to give their respects. It is a backyard and leisure ground for college students. With 172 acres of property, Oakwood is able to accommodate both of these groups. Oakwood cemetery is a valuable part of Syracuse for many
reasons, and few ever appreciate its full scope. Graveyard? Park? Both, and an amazing one at that.

Works Cited
Borker, Abraham. Personal interview. 11 Apr. 2006.
Carroll, Lewis. The Annotated Alice: the Definitive Edition. Ed. Martin Gardener. 2nd ed. W.
W. Norton & Company, 1999
Moriarty, Rick. "SU STUDENT ACCUSED OF BODY THEFT -." Post-Standard, the
(Syracuse, NY) 19 Oct. 1988, Metro ed., sec. News: a1.
Muench, Julia K. Personal interview. 14 Apr. 2006.
Nugent, Jeff. Discovering the Central New York Outdoors. 1995. Part One
Shades of Oakwood. 10 Apr. 2006 .
"Taphophile." Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, 11th Edition. 11th ed. Merriam-
Webster, 2003.
Tyler, David. "Civil War Veterans Honored with Gravesite Rededication." Oakwood Cemetery
Sentenal Project. 10 Apr. 2006 oakwood.html>.

Points of Interest

It is interesting to observe the progression of this blog in retrospect. They show not only our experiences but moreover that which we deemed notable, the detours and people that we have met as opposed to our journey itself. As our trek continued over long months and through varied climates, many of the interesting places and things that we saw stood out less poignantly and simply wove themselves into the beautiful background tapestry of our journey of forgotten places. Moreover, these multitudinous moments of joy and wonder at our world defy all description. To truly appreciate our journey and the motivation behind it, I can only recommend a trip to a mountaintop or secluded monument, preferably one that requires walking at least 100 feet. You don't need to stray far to find hidden wild places, nor is lengthy exposure to the elements required to find peace of mind and a reverence for existence, but it certainly drives the point home. After the Aquablaze, I thanked Lenwood, a lifetime farmer who worked on the property of our friend's friend's cousin's family. He said that it was his pleasure, that we were, "Doing things that needed to be done and seeing things that need to be seen." And he is right, for if people stop appreciating the natural and historic beauty all around them, we surely risk their irreparable loss.

This post is a backtrack of the last two posts to fill in some blanks in the 3rd quarter of the trail. Maryland, my home state was sweet. First, the forest composition was different than when we had last been 'on trail' in Waynesboro. This was great for 2 reasons: it was different than the hundreds of miles we had done in Virginia, and it was the type of mid-Atlantic hardwood that I had roamed like a tyrant in my youth. After a few days we emerged into a clearing with an old mausoleum labeled GATH. We found ourselves in a park called Gathland, after the pen name of an eccentric but successful journalist and war correspondent. On site was a huge stone arch serving as a monument to all war correspondents. There was also a flush toilet and vending machine. Several days later we stumbled across a sign declaring the approach of the Washington Monument. We looked around and were indeed still on the AT. Either this was the most devious reroute ever, or I was about to learn something new. Fortunately it was the latter. Apparently the people of whatever town we were near decided back in the day (early 1800's) to build a sweet stone monument to ol' George. It looked like a three story stone thimble with a rough-hewn spiral staircase through its center to an observation platform that had been used during the Civil War. Understandable, as the view was incredible. The next point of interest was an isolated trailside campsite for backpackers, fully equipped with showers. Maryland, home of the clean hikers. We also got to cross the footbridge over I-70. I had frequently driven beneath it and had always wondered what it was like on either side. It was neat, but this is a mystery I will perpetuate. Sorry. I will say there is road access nearby, as that is where Jen picked us up. At the MD-PA border we met with my cousin Angela who hooked us up with Sheetz Sandwich and water, which we desperately needed at the time. Our meeting point was a place called High Rock. The view was excellent, and it was doubly cool because it was a hang-gliding site. No one was gliding, but there were signs about it and the rules, precautions, and certifications required. Unfortunately there was a direction snafu and the park closed soon after Angela arrived, so we were denied a longer visit.
As for Pennsylvania, yes, the midpoint didn't have quite the same impact for us as others. It was, however, next to a cool 2-story stone wall described as a WW II camp in our book. What kind of camp? No idea. Barracks? Internment camp? Resort-style camp for Generals? More mysteries.

I did in fact eat a half gallon of ice cream in PA. It was delicious and far too easy. Plus, we hiked on an additional 8 miles afterward, and I do believe they were the easiest miles of the trail. I guess 2,300 calories of chocolate-marshmallow goodness is the appropriate amount of food to eat for lunch if you are a hiker. I'll spare you the gastro-intestinal details of that evening, but I will say that there are always consequences of our actions.

We were also blessed from PA to New York with an abundance of blueberries and the odd raspberry bush. Delicious but distracting. True, we didn't need snack breaks, but our pace was cut in half to one mile per hour. The blueberries harbored many cute little woodland creatures and they would often scurry at our approach. As we gorged on fistfuls of berries, Julia called up to me, "Hey PHLO! Come check this out." I walked back and as she got to "I think its a..." A roar/buzz filled the air. I had never heard a Rattlesnake that I can remember, but this was unmistakable and deafening. It was hidden in the brush but i could see a good 3 feet of it, all tapering to the tail, so less than half of it. It was as wide as my calf, which by now equalled a huge snake. We moved on, having seen part of a snake of proportions outside the normal range for that species.

After a ride from the excellent Lynn, we were in Jersey. It was hot, but it was not the cespool of medical waste and burning tires that usually come to mind when one thinks of New Jersey. Supposedly that's only the Newark/Jersey City area, but I had always assumed this was disinformation on the part of the State Tourism Board. There was in fact more wildlife in that area than anywhere else. We did not see the mythic Jersey Devil, but it was a short state and we spent little time there. We did however see 5 bears in three days. First two youngsters who fled at our approach then turned and stood looking at us as we looked back. A non-threatening interaction at the top of the food chain by four creatures observing each other with curiosity and respect. Later we saw a large bear prowling around a SOBO's bear bag, but he also ran off as we closed in. That night we experienced more mosquitoes than I had in my life previous to that point, including the Everglades, huge painful suckers that were relentless in their pursuit of our blood. The next day we were hiking when we heard a loud crash in the tree canopy 40 ft. above our heads. A gigantic bird, we assumed, but when we looked up we saw two black bears in a tree about ten paces off trail. One of the bears forced the other out of the tree and we got some great pictures as he left the tree. To see this and more pics, check out

http://picasaweb.google.com/jkmuench

I'll continue to put that link at the beginning and end of all the upcoming posts, because I can never find it.
Julia already described the meeting with her friends, bona fide hikers now with trail dirt on their shoes to prove it. After they left, we continued up and down MUDS (mindless ups and downs) interspersed with rocky outcroppings. This includes 'The Lemon Squeezer' and the rock obstacle where Julia's second camera died. Things tend to fall out of ones pocket when technical climbing is involved. Ah well, we still had my camera, which was shipped to Long Island by our crack resupply team (aka Mom). We hiked on, running into SOBO's but no northbounders. We also encountered many snack stations in the numerous parks and towns of New York. Bear Mountain was cool, but a high litter area. I picked up 6 empty water bottles, several wrappers and a broken hoola-hoop in the 1/4 mile from the top of the mountain to the bottom. And what was at the bottom? A snack bar and a zoo. Thanks to the zoo, no one hikes the AT without seeing a bear. And there was a Rattlesnake. Much smaller than the first one, but about the same size as the one I narrowly avoided stepping on in New Jersey, which I forgot to mention. I saw it at the last minute and jumped over it. It was quite docile, but we still tried to keep our distance; difficult,as it was in the middle of the trail.

After Bear Mountain, we hiked on, destined to reach West Mt. shelter, purported to have fantastic view of the city. Unfortunately it was .6 miles off the trail and we were once again hiking at night. After a particularly steep uphill, we decided to just keep going uphill and find a stealth camp site. And lo and behold, a blue-blazed trail! And so the trail rewards those who go up. Next followed Julia's favorite part of the trail, which I will let her tell in her own words.

Pictures: http://picasaweb.google.com/jkmuench

New York New YOOOORK!

I broke these up (I've heard these blogs are a little long lol), but I (Graveyard) haven't moved or taken a break, so I'm just going to keep prattling on if you don't mind:)

We got to Delaware Water Gap with 5 days left till my Long Island amigos came to meet up with us - and, as we had already picked the location (a nice, flat-looking stretch just inside NY complete with a water fall and a high point from which you could see the City), we had to hike 20 miles per day every day to kill New Jersey and get there in time. We made it 18.5 the first day, and hiking in NJ was suprisingly beautiful - we were up on a nice ridge. However, in that 130 mile jump east (the Trail swings east for that section, rather than north), the temperature had risen into the 90's, the humidity had grown 10000%, and the mosquitoes had multiplied into the thousands. It was pretty miserable. No matter how much bug spray you slathered on, the mosquitoes would hover inches away from you and the buzzing literally threatened to drive us INSANE!! That night I called my parents, and was quite happy to discover that they had a few days off and wanted to come visit since we were so close:D So, not only did we not have to hike 20 miles a day everyday to catch my friends, but we could escape to the comfort of a real, air-conditioned hotel! I was very happy to see them - this was the longest stretch I have gone in my entire life without seeing my parents! They dropped us off on the side of the road by an abandoned building in Bellvale, NY, where my friends were meeting us.

A few hours later, Jenna (aka Castro), Rachel (aka HardRock), Gail (Mansion), Pacik (Porta-Pond), and Tom (WoodStock) arrived in dress clothes totally unprepared for a hike! But, they were just messing with us lol. We camped behind the abandoned building, Jenna almost cried because of all the bugs but successfully managed not to, Gail successfully scared Jenna half to death, and we called it a somewhat early evening in preparation for the next days hike.

I'll note here that 4 of these people have never been hiking in their lives, let along backpacking. Gail and Tom were the only ones with real packs; the others had school bags. Gail had brought a giant tent fit for 4 people, which we were able to replace with a GoLite we found on the trail in PA. Rachel and Pacik brought only canned goods and the DintyMore microwaveable beef stew dinners. I asked what they were thinking with the microwaveable goods, especially since I had sent them an email containing detailed instructions on what to bring and what not to bring, and cans were definately on the NOT list, and Rachel blamed Pacik, and Pacik said he had a plan. Gail and Jenna brought p.b.&j. and a loaf of bread each and nothing else. And, now that I think about it, I have no idea what Tom ate. I went through the girls' packs and tossed the body spray and other assorted goods they wouldn't be needing - Pacik insisted he needed everything, including his giant knife for who knows what and other such just-in-case gear, and Tom... well... he's done this before, and he's a beast anyway, so I figured he'd chug along all right. We had a breakfast of dry cereal, or, in Pacik's case, a can of oranges and instant coffee, which he promptly threw back up. After he recovered, we set off into the woods.

Tom knew what he was in for... Gail and Jenna seemed to have expected to have their butts kicked... Pacik might have... Rachel, however, certainly did not. I guess she was expecting something along the lines of the nature walks on Long Island. In case you don't know, Long Island is essentially a sand bar, with no hills, let alone mountains. They all walk a lot - Pacik and Rachel just had jobs going door-to-door, requiring 8 or more miles a day. And though I had picked a flat looking section according to our elevation profile, our profile is not detailed enough to reveal, say, hundred or so foot climbs - it shows little bumps at around 200 ft climbs or more. So, we climbed up to the ridge line, not too slowly, but requiring many breaks, and I was quite happy to see that there was a very nice view at the top. The top was the kind of ridge that's made of rocks, meaning that instead of there being a "trail" in the traditional sense of the word, there's some huge boulders and a white blaze at the top of them. So we had to scramble up and over boulders, often climbing strait up for ~10 ft (enough to be scary, but not enough to die - unless you fall of the ridge to your death into the forsests on either side 50 ft below). I think that's when Rachel decided we are out of our minds, and that she was never backpacking with us again. Despite this, she bravely soldiered on to the shelter, 2 miles from where we started. Pacik, still feeling quesy, decided he would not be hiking to the waterfall (2 miles and 600 ft down from the shelter), and Rachel and Tom quickly agreed to stay at the shelter with him. Jenna and Gail decided to get a little more in, especially since we could leave our packs with the others. The hike down was kind of hilarious, because at every steep part they would both say something along the lines of "we are going to die on the way back". But, they made it safe and sound there and back again, and promptly passed out, waking up again a few hours later for more hang time.

Meanwhile, Pacik had constructed his Porta-Pond. Apparently, on an episode of Survivorman or Man vs. Wild he had seen the guy cook a meal in a pool of water using rocks he heated in a fire. He was hoping this would be a microwaveable enough kind of action to work. Well... it wasn't. But it was highly entertaining. They ended up heating their meals right next to the fire, as the rocks weren't heating the water nearly fast enough for their appetites.

The next day we walked back to the road, all escaped unharmed, and my shuttle back to the trail is leaving so peace and love to all:)

Mediocre in the Middle

Sorry to all followers for the long delay! These blogs always take so long to write; it's hard for us to sneak them in:( As you may have seen from Lorri's comment, Jess dislocated his shoulder recently, but it has healed quite well, and we are currently in Maine. But, I don't want to give too much away. Back to Harpers Ferry!

After the Aqua Blaze, we went to Frostburg, MD to visit with The PHLO's family. We spent a week there repairing the boats that we could - one was unsalvegable, but that was because of damage it acquired prior to our use, so we inflicted no permanent damages in the end (although the canoes are quite a bit uglier). Then we went with the Kennedy clan (Phlo's mom's family) to the Outer Banks of North Carolina and spent a lovely week soaking up the sun on the beach:) Although we were a little sad that we had to spend 2 full weeks away from the trail, knowing how far behind that would put us, by the end of the vacation we were very happy to have had the opportunity - my knees finally stopped hurting, and we were back in full-fledged hiking spirit!

Phlo's parents dropped us off in Harpers Ferry at the Appalachian Trail Conservancy Headquarters. We made the mistake of telling the lady in charge just how much we had yellow-blazed (we just did the math, and were shocked to discover that we had skipped 422 miles out of ~1,000 of trail!), and she marked us down as section hikers and not thru-hikers:( As we walked back onto the trail, NOBO Hobos again, the Phlo came to feel very... dissapointed. He began talking about hitch-hiking home, and eventually even threw off his pack in frustration. "If this isn't a thru-hike, what's the point of hiking on?" I spent the rest of the night trying to convince him to carry on - "What, did you do this just to get your name on some list?" "We came out here to live stress-free after college, and it looks to me like white-blazers have a lot of stress" and so on. I had already made plans with friends from Long Island to hike a small section with them, and I sure wasn't going to give up before I got to hike to and in New York New York! I think this fact was what finally convinced him to soldier on.

The AT we hiked onto was a different trail than we remembered. We were, quite possibly, the last northbound thru-hikers - we had already been behind when we finished the Aqua Blaze, and the two weeks with the Phlo's family sure didn't help. There were no thru-hikers, only section hikers, which to a thru-hiker means lots of identical boring conversations - "yes, we hiked here from Georgia" "we carry about 40 pounds when full on food" "yes, we're going to Maine" "I'm from Long Island, he's from MD" and so on. And they all seemed dissapointed that we weren't doing 20 miles a day and that we had skipped sections - I think section hikers like to fantasize that they couldn't possibly hike the whole trail, and seeing us makes them realize that it is possible, so the only reason they won't is because they don't want to abandon their worldly comforts for so long. We started avoiding shelters, and were generally alone. Which was just dandy for us - it was the first time on this whole hike that it felt like just the two of us were doing this journey together, the way we had expected.

The trail in MD was beautiful and short. It was always two people wide, so we could actually walk next to each other and hear each other when one spoke, and it was nice and flat, with just enough hills to keep it interesting. We were able to meet up with Phlo's cousin, Angela, and his/our friend Jen, who live near the trail, though they didn't do any hiking with us. Then we hiked into PA. We knew by now that we were so far behind that we'd either have to hike 20 or more miles per day everyday for the next 3 months to get to Katahdin before the October 15 deadline... or skip more. It became quickly clear that, despite our best efforts, we are not capable of 20 miles a day everyday. Or, I should specify, I can't. The trail in PA continued to be generally flat and beautiful, so it was easy hiking, but we still couldn't manage to get more than 17 miles in a day.

We arrived at, and passed, the AT midpoint with a kind of melancholy feeling of semi-failure since we hadn't actually walked 1,089.1 miles yet, and were greeted by a laminated piece of paper attached to a sign post that said "AT midpoint. Permanent marker coming." The next store on the trail (in MD and PA and NJ and NY, there are lots of these) is the location of the half gallon challenge, were thru-hikers attempt to consume an entire half-gallon of ice cream in a single sitting. I did not attempt, but The PHLO did and succeded after 51 minutes (Heavenly Hash). Instead, I read Hermann Hess's "Wandering", a short book of his reflections on being a nomad in Europe, which may have been the most well-articulated thing I have read about being a nomad, and if you want to understand our motivations somewhat better, I reccommend finding that manuscript.

Next stop of interest was in Boiling Springs, which was a beautiful small town. We stopped at the tavern, planning on hiking out from there. One guy bought us a round, and we ended up having lunch and chatting it up with a lady sitting alone at the other end of the bar. We came to learn that her mother had just passed and that they had enjoyed this tavern together often. After many laughs had been shared, we told her our plans from there - by now, to hike to Duncannon and skip from there to Delaware Water Gap (as we were so far behind, we figured that we would skip the rocky, nasty part of PA rather than have to skip better miles later) - but we had no idea how we were going to accomplish that, at which point she offered us a ride! We're so good at yellow-blazing that we don't even need to stick out our thumbs! We exchanged numbers with Lynn, and made plans to hike on, at which point the bartender told us that there was a resort down the road offering a $25 thru-hiker rate (hard to find this far north), complete with a swimming pool, so we went there instead. Really nice place! The next day, knowing that the stretch out of Boiling Springs was really flat and mostly in farmers' fields, we spent the day watching VHS in the basement of the resort after check out, and then hiked out at 5:30 pm. This 8 mile night hike was incredible - rather than dealing with the scorching sun and no shade in the fields, we instead were accompanied by fire-flies streching for miles, as far as the eye could see. It was magical, and definately the most enjoyable hike through this section.

A few days later, we arrived at the shelter before Duncannon, planning to stay there for the night, when in the register we saw a note from Jen and Ninja that they had been there 2 days earlier, at which point we hiked right into Duncannon and, sure enough, found them sitting in the Doyle, a thru-hiker hostel/bar landmark. They were taking off for Philidelphia the next day to hang out with his sister, and also planned to skip the rest of PA after the short visit. We had a great night hanging out with them, the first friends we had encountered in 2 weeks. The next day we called Lynn and made arrangements for her to pick us up and bring us to Delaware Water Gap, 130 miles (yea, she's awesome)! She said "I hope you don't mind, but I'd really like to stop at Yuengling Brewery on the way, it was my mom's favorite... and I'd really rather take the scenic route than the highway." Well, isn't that just perfect! The scenic route, conveniently enough, also took us right past Columcille, the park The Phlo & I are getting married at next April 17 (heads up!), so Phlo was finally able to see the place I've been dreaming of for so long, so it's official - he loved it! Yuengling Brewery was a dissapointment because they don't serve people who don't take the tour, and the last tour was at 1:30 - who goes to a brewery at 1:30 anyway?!? We went to a local pizza shop and got a taste of Chesterfield Ale anway, their lesser known and quite tasty label, which pleased Lynn because that was her mother's absolute favorite brew. Thank you so much Lynn!!

So the middle wasn't great, but it was great:)

[I can't help but add this note - Lynn told us that she saw a sign in front of someone's house that said "Government stay out of my Medicaid!" Isn't that sick? Don't they see the note on their paycheck - x% taken for medicaid!?! I'm glad we're only getting glimpses of that debate, the frustration of it all might make my heart explode!]

The Epic Conclusion

Here it is, the rest of the tale.

The 7 men switched to the other side, and, with much heaving and ho-ing, were able to free it, and it floated downriver for us to catch (these boats, even when completely filled with water, will still “float” just under the surface – but good luck getting them over a shallow section. or turning them. or going at any speed). With people scattered on shore, and in or near boats that weren't theirs, and full of Dizzy & Dug's gear, we moved the boats downstream, past the ripples after the rapid, for a smoother section of water. Phlo and I both had to paddle canoes alone, which was kind of awesome because we totally pulled it off. Only for 20 yards or so, then we pulled ashore and everyone regrouped with a “what the %*^%&^ are we going to do now?” feeling very permeable in the air. Before anyone could even say anything, a dude on the other side of the river who was painting a sign on his property (“TimeShare $1,000”) yells over “Hey, how you guys doing?” and we all simultaneously yelled back “BAD!!” The Phlo jumped in the kayak and paddled across to see if the guy could let us crash on his property, which he did:) He also supplied us with a beer run (B double E double R U N, beerrun, beerrun), and we proceeded to not talk about what had happened or what we were going to do tomorrow (except for me giving Dizzy & Dug realllllly big hugs and having a momentary freak-out that we had almost killed them because of our fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants wholly irrepressible way of conducting this adventure). Instead, we enjoyed our Fourth of July. Danger Muffin's boyfriend from the ‘regular world’ came for a visit, providing us with music via his car. We had some $7 Wal-Mart fireworks, and I do declare they were the best fireworks I've ever seen. And we had a fantastic evening.

And, somehow, the next morning, everyone woke up committed to continuing on the river. Chinese and The Phlo went with Muffin's b/f to Wal-Mart and got some epoxy to mend the boat, which had somehow come through with only 1 severe puncture wound from the rock it was being bent silly around. We were even able to do some mending on Fail Boat (persuading Jr. to stay on another day, who had been about to give up on the Fail Boat). It still leaked, but it was better. Even DizzyBat was determined to get back in a canoe, even though she was still pretty freaked. We thought the dogs would have no part in it, but Einstein jumped right in without a whimper. We didn't actually get on the river until 3 or 4, partly due to the drying epoxy, partly due to the rain and general dreariness of the day, partly due to the hangovers of near-death, emotional turmoil, and beer. I gave a small talk, including some of the finer points of canoe maneuvering (emphasizing that I am no expert, and taking advice from Floating Home and others), asked them all to wear their life jackets (no one did except DizzyBat – I would have, but there weren't enough to go around; Phlo and I went without), asked everyone to stick together, thanking everyone for not giving up, reminding them that if they didn't feel comfortable risking their lives with us that was completely understandable – and when everyone laughed, I breathed easier, because I knew they knew where we were coming from, and they knew I knew where they stood, and everyone knew, and we were all good. And so we paddled on, and the sun came out, and it was good.
A period of time later, it was a beautiful day, and we were paddling the river (a calm, wide, and deep river today) next to a large flock of geese, which was spread out down this long strait stretch of river. If we got to close to a group of them, they would take off, looking pretty and awesome as they went. So, naturally, we started to chase them. Well, some of us did. And some of us took it more seriously than others. Some of us got four boats to come at one group from all directions, surrounding them and herding them into a steep, muddy embankment. Some of them started throwing paddles in a weak attempt to kill one. Rusty, the dumbest and happiest dog you ever met, took his instinctual cue, lept from Fail Boat, landed in the midst of the gaggle and, with fleathers and birds flying all around him, locked his jaws around the head of one of them and fatally wounded it.
Well, we couldn't just let it lie and die. Wheels bashed it a few times over the head with his paddle, and, if that wasn't enough, (it wasn’t) Phlo slit its throat. Word passed along from boat to boat up the river that a goose was actually dead, which angered some, amused others, but all were agreed: We killed it. We have to eat it. Except the vegetarian of course. Phlo proceeded to cut off its head and drain it, pull out all its feathers (finding out much later that this would have been easier if he had dunked it in boiling water first), and gut it (i.e.: slice open the belly lengthwise and widthwise and let the stomach, liver, and intestines spill out into the river). We made camp not far from there, and Ninja (assisted mostly by Jr., Rusty's owner, and everyone else to one extent or another) roasted it on a spit over a fire stuffed with onions and garlic and covered in a honey-orange glaze. It was delicious. It was a little tough, but, for the first time, I really felt like I was eating an animal – something that had lived and breathed and moved and used its muscles once or twice in its life. It had an impact on me, something that I can't really define – that I saw something alive and, though I had no direct part in it, I then saw it dead and ate it. Crazy I know. Except isn't the world crazy, for eating meat that doesn't move when we've never actually witnessed the death that is necessary for the betterment of our own lives? Should there be a coming-of-age ritual or something, where we kill something and eat it so we understand the true cost of the meat we hold so dear? (The PHLO thinks so)

Day 6 dawned sunny and optimistic. We had our first “portage” - where we must take the boats out of the river and carry them around a dam – coming up in 10 or so miles, and we were confident that this would surely be a 20 mile day. If it wasn't, we would have no longer have any hope of making it to Harpers Ferry by the 12th. We made great time... a few more of the boats had sprung some leaks, but as all boats were, by now, equipped with at least 2 gallon-sized bailers, we made quick work of the troublesome water. People had pretty much given up on keeping their stuff dry (turns out, Wal-mart dry bags don't keep things dry if they're floating down a river), or else had sequestered the important stuff in our coleman dry bag. People were starting to get the hang of the whole canoeing thing. People were having a good time. We got to the portage, and we pulled the boats ashore and paused for lunch. I happened to finish eating first, unusual because I eat slowly, and I happened to wander over to the dam to see just how long this portage was, and there happened to be a canoe outfitter who rents canoes and kayaks to people hanging out with a bus and a 10-boat trailer, and he happened to be a nice guy who immediately threw all his boats off the trailer to come help us move ours. We lifted the boats onto the rack without bothering to empty them of our gear, and as we did so, we got a good look at the bottoms of all our boats for the first time....and the Aqua Blaze was over. Again.
When he dropped us off, he left to pick up some rentees and said he'd be back soon if we needed advice or help. In the meantime, we emptied the boats and flipped them all to inspect. The epoxy, less than 1.5 days old, was all gone (turns out fiberglass bends and pops off the unbendable epoxy). Bendy Boat wasn't leaking because the rock had punctured it so badly that the hole was raised up above the bottom of the boat. Fail Boat had returned to its previous rate of failure. But it got worse. Of our four remaining canoes, one had slashes all along its length (but only through the outermost of 3 hulls), two had one severe gash each that went through all 3 hulls in places, and one seemed reasonably o.k. The kayak was still fine. Though we hardy hikers could carry on in this condition, it seemed entirely possible that we would completely total these boats along the way, a situation we did not want to pass along to our darling BSA council that rented/loaned us these boats in the first place. The outfitter guy owned the land on this side of the portage and allowed us to stay the night. He inspected the damage, said we could probably gorilla tape and move on, but that at this point we were looking at a $210 repair job: the boat with slashes all along the outer hull was totaled before we got it due to UV damage thinning the fiberglass outer hull as a result of it being left sitting in the sun, and he estimated that 1 patch for each of the other 3 wounded boats would cost $70 each. In a sad state, Phlo called Manner, the Man of the Hour, the one who this would come back to bite in the butt if it all went badly. He called his council compadres (i.e.: his boss), and was happy to inform us that the council would pay for damage incurred and that, as long as we stuck around to fix them once we got them back, we could continue on. Hooray! Aqua Blaze On! We bought a ton of gorilla tape (think duct tape, but better), patched the boats as best we could, Danger Muffin rented a kayak from outfitter dude, and we paddled on the next day.

Though full of happiness because we were still on the water, it was by now abundantly clear that we would not be getting to Harpers Ferry by the 12th. Most of us still wanted to make as much progress as possible, but some didn't really care anymore - wasn't all that different from other days, really, because some of our number stopped believing that we would make it to Harper's by the 12th, or at all, from day 1, and didn't seem to have quite the drive to get “as far as we could” as some of the others. Didn't seem to get that the group only goes as fast as the slowest boat. No matter, because the quicker ones took full advantage of the extra time this afforded them to do nothing... or go cliff diving.
We came upon some locals jumping off some cliffs into the river, and Chinese, Ezra, Jr., and Wheels got out and tried for themselves. Everyone escaped from this insanity unharmed except for a copperhead snake. As I later learned, copperheads are poisonous (not to the death, but it'll hurt. a lot.) and supposedly an overpopulated nuisance, and the locals probably would have killed it anyway. But I still don't really get it, and certainly didn't at the time. After everyone had jumped, the locals discovered a copperhead in the trail, which everyone had apparently been walking past the whole time to get to the top of the cliff from the water without getting bit. Upon hearing this, Chinese jumped back on shore to look at it, then picked up a stick to poke it, at which point Phlo calmly pointed out that most poisonous snake bites occur because an idiot person pokes them with a stick, at which point Chinese walked into the woods and got a bigger stick. I thought he intended to poke it from a distance, but then I realized it wasn't longer than the old stick – just fatter. Think caveman's club, cuz that's exactly what this thing was. I didn't understand until he test swung it into a rock, to see how it would hold up under pressure, at which point I said “You're not going to kill it, are you?” He didn't answer, but calmly approached the snake. “Wait, a minute, don't kill it, Don't Kill IT!” Regardless of his motivation or his reasoning, he didn't answer, and he killed it. Caveman style. Bashed it five or six times. And when it was still alive, Phlo put it out of its misery and gutted it, as if we could find a use for a 1.5 ft long copperhead snake. He cut off its head and gave it to Chinese. Phlo dumped the body in the river a short time later, after not coming up with a use for it. I made a few testy comments to him about how unnecessary that abuse of life was, but I think Phlo's silent and clearly displeased processing of its body had a much greater impact on him than anything I said. At any rate, Chinese (in the kayak, having traded with DugOut), paddled up to the front of the line of boats and stayed there (we stayed near the back generally, to keep track of everyone).
Meanwhile, Fail Boat was failing, and Wheels, sick of bailing all the time, decided to get drunk to make the time pass easier, to the amusement of all. The rest of Fail Navy was doing o.k. - only 1 seemed to be actively leaking, but it still wasn't sinking, and the others only needed bailed every once in a while. So while the drunkards and the... uh... lackadaisical... members of the crew made their way slowly through some easy rapids and ripples, the motivated ones pulled ahead and arrived at our next portage, not too far ahead, but far enough that there was no communication between groups. Myself and The Phlo, having guide books in our possession, knew that the guidebook said there was no camping at the portage itself, and it was getting to be that time. Also, Wheels, totally fed up with his bailer, had begun pulling over to every person he saw and asking if we could camp on their land. We got a tip that there was a landowner who might let us stay on the left side of the river, although the portage was on the right side. I tried yelling this information to the group in the lead, but they were too far ahead and couldn't hear. I tried gesturing for them to stop where they were so we could send the two kayaks to check the situation on both sides without beaching the canoes, and one started heading to the left side. Images of shotguns flashed through my head and I frantically gestured and yelled for them to go right or stop, so they went right. So we went left, figuring we could send Muffin over in her kayak after we had scoped it out to find out what the deal was on the other side. No one was home, and the house looked too perfect, and we all thought it might be a summer home, so we figured if no one was home by 9 (it being a weeknight and all), we could probably camp on their river-side, very plush lawn complete with picnic tables and fire pits which was quite a distance from the house. When we got back from the house, Chinese was on his way over in the other kayak. What exactly he actually said or didn't say was later debated by many, but at the very least, when asked if we had a permission to camp on the other side of the river, he would say “yea, we're solid” or other, possibly more or less convincing and more or less “solid” phrases than that. At any rate, he gave most of us the distinct impression that Magma had found a good place and obtained permission to camp on the other side. When we got there, DugOut (who, to his credit, still doubted Chinese's words of solidness) asked Magma if we had permission, Chinese said “yea, we're solid” and Magma blinked a few times and said “yea, sure, if that's what you wanna call it”. At which point I chose to walk away and see how long the portage was and see this camping area for myself. It was totally craptastic and not big enough for all 8 tents by a long shot. Unfortunately, when I turned around Chinese was right behind me, also checking the area out, and I, being pretty pissed off and feeling lied to, started yelling. Don't appreciate it. You lied. This is a democracy, we all need all the info. At which point he said something about making progress, at least he got us to the right side of the river, it wouldn't have made sense to camp on the left and pack up just to immediately unpack and repack on the other side. All good points, we could have easily made that decision together... Demanded an apology, which I think we all know will, at best, get an angry, totally fake apology and, at worst, create an enemy out of a friend. Well, I don't know if it was fake, but it was certainly angry, he said it and stormed away. I recognized the hostility, I recognized my mistake, but I still couldn't hang, so I walked the other way, crying in frustration the way I do. The dogs followed me and cheered me up, and I rejoined the crew, who had begun moving the boats across the portage in a fairly tense manner.
And so, the lying Chinese, the wasted Wheels, and myself, the PHLO, took the walk to ask the local land-owner if we could crash in his back yard. The place was strewn with a variety of eclectic nonsense, little of which belonged in a person’s yard. We knocked on the door, but there was no answer. There were voices inside that could have been a television. Of more concern to us was the chainsaw sitting next to the door and the chaos we could see within the home. I don’t know if our readers are familiar with the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre, but the setting was very similar and guys never survive in those movies. So we walked around the house and found an elderly couple farming out back. We breathed a sigh of relief and explained our position. The gentleman just looked at us with an even expression throughout the tale, nodded that we could stay and muttered his only words. “Don’t tell anyone I let you camp.” Easy enough.
We rejoined the group and Graveyard apologized to Chinese, who said it was a jerk move on his part. She said it was cool and that she over-reacted because she was still pissed about the snake. Which is exactly what I had said earlier when I had chastised him for his deception. But we had a place to camp and were too tired to care about how much info had tweaked. So we all crashed early and awoke the next day, once again full of hope that was destined to be shattered. Again.
We set sail for a convenience store down the river to grab sandwiches and, you guessed it, more cheap beer. But we did not even manage to put a dent in the first frosty refreshment when we came upon a long system of rapids. Much beer was lost, but the rapid was relatively easy to negotiate. We rallied on the other side and waited for the rest of our group. We could see Dugout and Danger Muffin out of their boat, presumably trying to drag it over a low point. We could hear Dugout yelling but it wasn’t till he started gesturing emphatically and colorful metaphors drifted downstream like so much flotsam that we realized there was trouble. Magma and I were in a boat together that day, and paddled at full tilt towards the floundering vessel. Team Magma PHLO reached them with the quickness and ran face first into the scorching language of a distressed Dugout. We dragged the boat to the shallows and drained it by way of our top of the line bailers. I.e. cut up gallon jugs. We found that the weakened boat had hit a rock and there was a hole large enough to put my hand through. We emptied the boat into ours and surrendered it to team DangerDug. We started to walk the boat to a bridge, which was just in sight about 500 yards away. But in our adrenaline jacked state from yet another crisis, Magma and I hopped in the wounded boat and paddled or tails off in a desperate bid to reach the bridge before we were navigating the river in a submarine. We made good time in our empty boat with just ourselves and our beers, but as we reached the bridge, things took a turn. The water had been pouring in at about the rate of a school water fountain, and in a similar arc. By this time, we were over half full and moving rapidly to our destination. As we turned into the landing, the boat listed badly ot the side and Magma bailed in order to avoid spilling his beer. Without his weight in the back, the water rushed forward and I found myself in a rapid nosedive into the current mere feet from the landing. So there I stood, knee deep in broken canoe and waist deep in water, beer in one hand and paddle in the other, surrounded by my fellow lunatic aquablazers. There was a brief moment of eye contact and realization. “Hooray! Good Aquablaze everyone!” And there was much cheering to celebrate the end of the journey, because this time it really was the end. And not a single casualty.
We were now in Luray, well short of our destination, but we had a fantastic time and shared a unique experience that I will treasure for a lifetime. Jr. knew a guy who’s cousin’s family lived in Luray, and by a stroke of good fortune, his friend was visiting. Danger Muffin’s mother was also there and took us to pick up Ezra’s car. Much later, our nomad village was established around a roaring bonfire and there was much rejoicing. The canoes were chained under a bridge and were destined to remain there for some time. I don’t know if there is a god, or what form it takes, but if it is sentient, it must find great amusement in our antics, otherwise we would have all been smote long ago.
My family was nice enough to pick us up the following day and take us all back to Frostburg. There we were nourished and relaxed in style at the luxurious Casa de Rumburg. We even had time for a trip to my favorite place, Flying Dog Brewery, where we got two private tours. Why? Cause sometimes one just isn’t enough. We also got to stop off at my cousin’s home and pay a visit. Over the next couple of days our crew departed with great sadness and promises to reunite soon. And the Aqua Folly was over.
Graveyard and I went to the beach with my family, had a great time, and wrote part of the blog. The rest was written in Duncannon at the Doyle, but that is a story for another time…

Mischief and Mayhem on the High Seas

At 1:45, well fed on shellfish and reclining on a corduroy futon, it is difficult to believe the state of affairs that I found myself in only a week ago. And that pales in comparison to the fateful afternoon of July 8th;a day which began full of promise and optimism. But thats how this whole thing began, and look how far that got us. (Read: a mix of sarcasm and ironic honesty)

Apple Orchard Falls was beautiful. There was an opening in the tree cover on the path, exposing a beautiful valley, reminiscent of Georgia and the Smokies, which opened up to the west, allowing for gorgeous sunsets. We had high hopes of making it to Waynesboro by the AquaBlaze, full of Grandma food as we were and prepared with steaks and a box of wine for the evening (courtesy of Jess's parents). We hiked on... but didn't make it far. Turns out Grandma food and 6 zero days has a leadening effect on hiking legs, and we barely made it 5 miles. The next day, again with high hopes and better hydrated, we set off for 16 miles of downhill... and only made it 8 before Graveyard was literally collapsing and crying in frustration and pain. Turns out you can't even pretend to be a thru-hiker if all you've been doing is hitch-hiking. We split from Jen and Ninja again, who had to go meet Sod Father to return his dog, Blue, to him. After a few painfully slow days, we realized there was no way were going to make the AquaBlaze and hopped off at Glasgow, from which we hitched to Buena Vista. We found our first bar since entering Virginia here, but it didn't serve liquor! And all I wanted was a jack & coke. To our surprise, and the surprise of the bartender, the one thing I wanted was the one premixed malted beverage he had – bottles of premixed Jack Daniels and Coke. We asked if the friendly guy if we could camp in his small lawn (offering small compensation), and he sadly said that even if he gave us permission, we'd be arrested by the end of the night for loitering or vagrancy or public drunkenness by one of the 15 cops in this population 5,000 or less town. He also cut me off after 3 drinks because “no one's gotten busted out of my establishment yet”. Apparently, stumbling on the street is an arrestable offense in Buena Vista. We sat next to a couple who owned a horse ranch of some kind, and the reminisced about how they used to go hiking before their knees gave out and their back got hurt... in other words, before they turned 50. We talked with them for quite some time, and they left us with good wishes for a safe journey. When it came our turn to leave, we discovered that they had paid our bill for us! We camped at the local (overcharged, but we could afford it now because of the kindness of strangers) campground. Next day, we began the 60 mile hitch to Waynesboro. We still didn't have enough time to walk there, as we knew that the boats would probably arrive 2-3 days before July 1 (our scheduled departure date), and there were no more towns between Buena Vista and Waynesboro. And friendly family on their way home from grocery shopping ran us up Blue Ridge Parkway a little ways, and then we sat and waited. Graveyard drew a pretty sign on our Tyvek in the 2 hours that we sat there, and eventually a quiet man on his way home from fishing pulled over to give us a lift. Over the course of the next half hour car ride, we came to learn (among other things) that he was an actor (he's done several appearances on that t.v. comedy with Alec Baldwin and Tina Fey) and that his dream role was King Lear... which, coincidently enough, I was actually reading at that moment, having been inspired by Gnarly (an actor as well, who could quote Shakespeare) to pick up a play I had never seen. We got along with him quite well. Instead of dropping us when he got off the Blue Ridge before Waynesboro, he took us with him to run a few errands, treated us to pizza (! where we finally learned his name was Ray), and brought us all the way to Waynesboro! Wonders never cease. There are two things this trail has definitively taught me – we're all trying to be good, we just don't know how; and to be grateful for the amazingness of the world and of other people. Thanks Ray!

It was the eve of June 28th, a Sunday. We had left the Lutheran basement hostel, closed for the season, where we had unexpectedly encountered our past compadres Gnarley (AKA General Gnarley of the Minutemen Militia) and Boofer, the one who coined my trail name. After our eviction, we bid safe journies to our friends and made our way to the local YMCA. The people there were sympathetic to hikers and provided free showers and a field in which to pitch a tent. It came furnished with a picnic table and well kept Porto-John. What more can a man ask for? In addition to the plush amenities, our site came with a few loco SOBO's (southbound hikers, a wholly different breed) and front row tickets to the Jerry Springer Show. One SOBO from Vermont took an interest in aqua blazing and asked to sign on. That made eleven: the original nine, consisting of Myself, Graveyard, Dugout, Dizzy Bat, Jen, Ninja, Danger Muffin, Ezra, and Goucha; as well as Magma Orphan, introduced to us by Gnarley at the Hostel, and Miles the SOBO. Plus Einstein the dog. This worked out well, as Ryan and Natahan Houeholder were inbound at that moment with five canoees and a kayak in tow. We had also begun a waiting list, with Wheels and Cookie (pus a dog) seeking an end to the tedium of routine and the Virginia Blues, a well documented hiker phenomenon. Many would offer explainations for it, but I maintain its existance as inexplicable. It is around Wheels that an impromptu episode of Jerry Springer arose, also inexplicably. A pair of locals stopped by on scooters and proceeded to drink themselves stupider on cheap beer in large cans, and make small talk consisting mostly of mountain slang and gibberish. This was unusual, but not unheard of, and we tried our best to be polite and represent hiker-kind in a positive fashion. We began to get the impression that all the Neighborhood Meth Watch stickers we had been seeing were not just a budget ploy. Either that or these two gentlemen had been drinking too much of the South River water, and not upstream o' the DuPont plant (makers of such wonderful products as Tyvek, our floor) One of the locals finally left, but a dispute broke out between Wheels and the remaining yocal. He felt he had crossed us and demanded that we 'beat his arse' to make up for it. This went on for some time, since we would do no such thing, regardless of whether he would fight back or not. He finally called his wife, who showed up in a rusted out van with two teen sons and a daughter. This woman was one of the most terrifying and intimidating people I have ever met, and she seemed perfectly willing to give her husband the thrashing he was after. There was a lot of bad noise between the family, culminating in her dragging him away by his collar and their son riding off on the scooter. We could only look at each other, completely at a loss for words.

That night, Ryan and Nathan showed up with the boats and Dugout. They had their share of excitement as well, trying to rig the trailer with a working light system and finally duct taping flashlights to it and wrapping them in red cellophane. We spent the evening catching up and then called it an early night a bit before dawn. Two more thru-hikers pulled in and joined our revelry. They were understandably jealous of the Aqua Blaze and spent a good hour making plans to buid a raft and float along with us. next day we ran errands and were suprised to return to camp and find them sitting next to a large inner tube and plotting to buy several more. We left them to their delusions and made a run to Walmart. While there, we saw a yellow rubber raft for $40 and figured that if they were dead set on tagging along, they would be better off in the raft than in a craft made of tires selling for $20 a tube. And that is how Walking Home and Chinese Tourist (no, he's not Chinese) pirated their way on to the Aqua Blaze. Wheels and Cookie took a more legitimate route. Miles had vanished that morning with all of his belongings and was never seen again. We also found out that our friend Jr. was trying to join our group and had his own canooe, and a dog. This gave us two openings and cleared our wait-list. And that is how the Aqua Blaze grew to 15 people and 3 dogs (Graveyard, The Phlo, DugOut, DizzyBat, Einstein the dog, Jen, Ninja, Ezra, Danger Muffin, Goucha, Magma Orphan, Wheels, Cookie, Chaya the dog, Jr., Rusty the dog, Walking Home, and Chinese Tourist) in 6 cannoes, one kayak, one rubber Walmart Raft and one tube with a cooler lashed to it.

We are not expert canoers. We are not guides or in any way professionals. We did not elect leaders, or elect to call ourselves leaders of the AquaBlaze we organized, but chose the democratic route instead - which, of course, made our progress much slower as all 15 people (and 3 dogs) had to have their say in every decision.

After spending 8 or 9 hours packing up the YMCA, loading and moving the boats, and a brief safety discussion (this is a throw line, please wear your life vests or keep them close), we finally were in position to get on the water and, of course, it started to thunder and lightening. We waited till it stopped and, though it was still raining and it was already 5 p.m., we disembarked. It became immediately obvious that we were in for a long and perilous paddle. After managing to float, paddle and drag our boats downstream for about five miles (the South river being significantly less deep than we had hoped), we made camp across from a cow pasture and ate a huge communal pot of pseudo-Pad Thai. One day down, so far so good. The only casualty was Danger Muffin, who slipped while guiding a boat in to shore and was subsequently run over by said boat. She was soaked but uninjured, but the earlier rain had dashed any hopes we had about staying dry anyway.

We spent the next day dragging our way down the river, keeping our spirits up by reminding ourselves that the South Fork was only 12 miles away. We hoped to make it all the way, but the water was shallow, the 15 of us didn't get all on the water until 12, the yellow raft wasn't really working out (in that we were carrying all their stuff and we were towing them by the end of the day because they couldn't keep up), and we discovered that Jr.'s boat, which he had borrowed from his neighbor's backyard where it was literally growing weeds, had a propensity for leaking. We also were spread miles apart from each other on the river. We didn't make any "rules" before disembarking, so the more... motivated members of our crew departed at least a half hour before the last people, and as they were more motivated, made more progess in less time. Luckily, they thought to stop 3 hours before sunset, so last-in-line caught them right before dark. They told us they had stopped at a seemingly abandonded field to camp when a dude with a shotgun walked up. Yes, literally. He asked (politely) "What are you doing on my property?" They explained we were thru-hikers on an AquaBlaze, and all that entails. He said that he only lets people camp on his property if they ask permission. Luckily, first in line were 2 cute and pursuasive girls and 2 quiet guys (who didn't mention the other 11 behind them), which may have had something to do with the fact that they obtained permission to stay. We took this as a hint and asked for permission from the closest house from then on. Turns out the shotgun was for gophers. Made it about 10 miles down the river.

Next day we established that each boat should be at least in eye-contact with the boat ahead and behind, and made it to the South Fork of the Shenandoah River around noon (didn't leave til 12 again), which was everything we hoped it could be - wide and DEEP! We can actually paddle for longer than 10 minute stretches!! We stopped at Elkton, a small town at the junction of the two rivers, which was also listed in the Appalachian Pages as a possible resupply town. Most of the crew took off to buy beer - a necessary luxury of the AquaBlaze that is simply impossible on the WhiteBlaze - and mending materials for Jr.'s "Fail Boat", while 4 of us waited with the boats. We discussed our current lack of progress, and decided that we would present to the group that we should perhaps set a disembark time of 9 a.m. and have a 7 a.m. wake-up call from someone who is morning-inclined. An hour or so later, some returned with pizza and beer. An hour or so after that, Goucha and Ezra returned from the remaining part of the crew. Apparently, it was quite a long walk to the hardware store and, upon arrival, most of them simply could not resist the mexican restaurant located conveniently next door. Goucha and Ezra couldn't bring themselves to sit down to margaritas with ice and be waited on in air conditioning while the rest of us sat, unknowingly, guarding the boats on this hot, humid day, so they returned to tell us what the rest were up to... and as my blood began to boil, Goucha sat down next to me in the canoe, looked me in the eye, and calmly told me that she and Ezra had been discussing leaving the Aqua Blaze so that there would be room for all. And I, Graveyard (can you figure out where we switched? haha a game!), was furious. Not at Goucha and Ezra, of course, but at the margarita drinkers and, particularly, the pirates. For now they were truly pirating their way into our boats.

Without asking for specific reasons why they were unhappy with our current situation (I could pretty much guess it was the late starts, the lack of progress, and the mexican situation), I told them that I would rather tell the pirates to peace out, it's been fun, but it's really not working out; that we had just been discussing the fact that we need to get up earlier; that the South Fork would be easier and quicker than the South River had been; that I would be so sad to see either of them go; but that, as we have people to fill their places, they do not have to stay, that they should think about what I said and that they should do "whatever floats your boat". Ha. Ha. Ezra decided to stay (I doubt he really wanted to go, except to make room for the others). Goucha decided to go. "Sorry, Gravey, but I've gotta hike my own hike, yano?" I did. She was up and ready to go every morning before anyone else even got up. And I don't think she was a huge fan of people pounding beers with breakfast. But that's neither here nor there. She left immediately; threw her pack on her back and hitched out of Elkton and back to the White Blaze.

And then the margarita-men drifted back. Dugout, Jr., Wheels, and Cookie came first. DizzyBat, who had been waiting with me from the start, got Mexican from Dug, so she wasn't mad anymore and told Dugout that we felt...shafted? Thinking she was mad at him, he got defensive with his female companion, until I interrupted with a few harsh words about margaritas on the rocks and Goucha leaving us and stormed away... well... to a different canoe, less than 5 feet away, but I think I made my point. He shut up, anyway. 10 minutes or so later he snuck over with an apology beer for me, which was more than enough to quench my rage and bring on the guilt for yelling, so I gave him a big hug and told him I was more mad about Goucha, which wasn't his fault, than the margaritas. He was quickly followed by Wheels, who sheepishly muttered "sorry if I made you angry..." like a puppy with his tail between his legs, at which point I couldn't help but laugh, and it was done. Chinese and Walking Home, our friendly neighborhood pirates, arrived next, with Subway for the ones who had stayed with the boats. I (pretty coolly) told them I had eaten pizza brought back 2 hours ago, that Goucha was leaving, but I appreciated the thought and perhaps I'd eat it later. Chinese asked why Goucha was leaving, and I told him what I had told her - that I would rather them leave than loose her - which he took quite well - but as she had opted to leave anyway, one of them got to canoe, hooray:) As I'd been able to say what frustrated me so to them, that was done as well.

We paddled on... didn't make it far as it was already 5 p.m. Walking Home, now alone in Fail Craft (the raft which was now sporting many gorilla-taped holes) being towed by Chinese and Danger Muffin (who had lost her paddling partner), Fail Boat continuing to sink, and the rest of the navy still doing well. That night we pulled up to a field, 2 guys and 2 girls went to find the house that owned it (Wheels could not believe the sweet-heart I unearthed for the job from under my tough-girl exterior, which I found highly entertaining), and we proceeded to drink heavily in the canoes pulled up to shore until dark. Made it about 6 miles down the river.

I, The Phlo (haha, switched again!) was unreasonably distressed after the departure of Goucha. Although I was in no way the leader of this rag-tag mob, I still felt a responsibility for having assembled this flotilla of doom, and the loss of one of our members was saddening, especially because we had only just reached the deeper, swifter waters of the Shenandoah. As we paddled on, I maintained a surly and generally silent demeanor until the end of the day, when we finally beached in a grassy area on the western shore of the river. Group morale seemed low, so we did the only reasonable thing and proceeded to sit in the beached canoes for several hours, drinking warm Budweiser. About halfway through the case of Budweiser, I managed to gracefully, and with much skill, fall into the river, climb out, and eat soggy Subway sandwiches and promptly fall asleep. I awoke the next morning to find that all of my beer had disappeared, and some scoundrel had replaced it with empties. Imagine my dismay (though not surprise) when Graveyard informed me that the scoundrel was... me. But, I was in good spirits, and no worse for the wear, and I even managed to conduct myself respectfully (except for the part where I climbed into the tent wearing all my wet clothes, soaking both our sleeping bags... whoops).

And so we paddled on, 233 years to the day after the signing of the Declaration of Independence. We did the wake up at 7, and were on the river by... 11. Oh, well, progress is progress. Walking Home, Chinese, and Danger Muffin opted to deflate Fail Craft in favor of a 3-person canoe, which worked out surprisingly well. We began the day in good spirits, sure we would accomplish many miles that day, and it seemed that we would... until we encountered our first class 2 rapid.

The thing about not having a professional along is you have no idea what's coming. We knew there was a Class 2 ahead somewhere. We thought it would be easy. No one knew the right path to take through the rapid. No one was wearing life jackets. We came upon two islands; the deepest route was to the far left, the shallowest to the far right, and the center looked like you'd end up dragging your boat. As we spent the first 3 days of our voyage doing that, we naturally thought the deepest route was the safest course. Chinese, “Floating” Home, and Danger Muffin went first, followed by The Phlo in the kayak. The threesome, with their added maneuverability and experience (Walking Home has spent much of his life on the water in kayaks, can't speak for the others, but they certainly always seemed to know what they were doing), made it through fine, as did the buoyant kayak, but they knew it had been a close call. The rapid dropped about five feet, and the clearest shoot appeared to be between 2 rocks about 8 feet apart from each other. However, the rushing water between the two hid the menace at the bottom – a huge rock, right in the center. They barely avoided it, and turned quickly to warn the next boat, but it was too late. DizzyBoat, containing DugOut, DizzyBat, and Einstein, hit it strait on, stopping them dead and throwing Einstein from the boat. The rushing current quickly swung the back end of the boat around, turning it sideways so that the top of the boat faced upstream, thus filling the boat with water, while the strong current rushing into the boat completely pinned it against the 2 sharp rocks they had been attempting to pass between. DizzyBat got knocked out of the boat, sucked under the boat, and out the rapid, thankfully uninjured, though in a state of complete shock. She surfaced to Einstein licking her face and being completely unhelpful, though he was also uninjured. The Phlo hopped out of his kayak near shore and pushed it off towards Dizzy Bat, which she used to steady herself and make her way to solid ground. DugOut managed to keep his seat and got out to attempt to free the boat. Meanwhile, TrioBoat stopped in a shallow part near the center. Chinese and Floating Home left to help DugOut; Danger Muffin held the boat in place and warned incoming canoers of impending doom.... or just take the center instead of the left through the islands. It was too late for Fail Boat; they had already passed the point of no return, but tried a different approach through the rapids, landing them grounded in the shallows farther left than DizzyBoat had approached. On the South River, that was not a problem; just get out and drag. Here, though, the current was much swifter, and it took them quite some time to free themselves. Plus, their sinking boat was full of water.

I was in a canoe with Cookie that day, and as we approached the islands, we could just make out Danger Muffin waving frantically, alone with a canoe and a kayak in the middle of the river. We couldn't really tell what she was signaling, though stop was definitely part of it. We took the center route, as we knew the others had gone left, though we couldn't see all the commotion because of the island in the way. We got through safely. Had to drag our canoe part way, but safely. The others followed us. We got down to Danger Muffin and saw that Einstein, soaking wet, was in the canoe, and turned around to see the boat, completely sideways in the water and being pried out by The Phlo, Chinese, Floating Home, DugOut, and 3 locals who happened to be fishing at the base of the rapid (thank goodness for small favors!), not to mention Jr. and Wheels struggling with their own stranded and flooding Fail Boat. The force of 7 men couldn't move it, so they started detaching the packs (read: all of Dizzy's and Dug's worldly possessions, everything they've needed or wanted for the last 3 months and will need again for the next 3) from the craft and throwing them downriver, where a dazed DizzyBat (now wearing a life jacket) could catch them. With less weight in the boat... they still couldn't make it budge. So they all moved to one end of the craft, and finally all 7 of them were able to force one end up and out of the water and over the rock... leaving the other side pinned still against this very sharp rock, with the current now bending the boat between the two. From my downriver vantage point, I could literally see the boat cracking in two; one long gash running down the side. I mean, this boat was bent. It was done. The Aqua Blaze was over.

To be continued.... (hahaha, it's not over yet)

Pictures!!!

We're in Waynesboro, excitedly anticipating the Aqua Blaze, waiting for the whole crew to arrive.

Here are pictures:) I found out, after creating a gmail, that Google is way more awesome than I previously assumed. You can create a blog, an email, a calander, online documents (like Word or Excel, but accessible to anyone you invite) AND you can post pictures! Lots of them! Quickly and Easily! Without downloading additional software! Hooray:)

Yes, there are a lot of pictures of plants, and, yes, there are a lot of pictures of mountains, but if you scroll through the mountain pics quick enough a lot of them link up to form a panoramic image, so just imagine you are turning your head and looking around.

http://picasaweb.google.com/jkmuench

Photos will continue to be uploaded to this location, but I'll keep including the link at the bottom of every blog so no one who's interested will miss it.

Also, in case anyone missed them, here is the link to some of the disposable cameras I developed that couldn't be uploaded from the Wal-Mart disc.

http://photos.walmart.com/thumbnailshare/AlbumID=130035006/a=90169006_90169006/otsc=SHR/otsi=SALBlink/

http://photos.walmart.com/thumbnailshare/AlbumID=127839006/a=90169006_90169006/otsc=SHR/otsi=SALBlink/


That's all for now, folks. I'm sure we'll have an exciting update post-Aqua Blaze:D

ps - Joe, really appreciated your last comment:)

Responsibility?

After leaving Marion, where Jess's mom dropped us off for DugOut's birthday, we didn't make it very far before Jess got some kind of awful stomach virus. We assume he caught it from a bad water, as he drank untreated water from a stream that I didn't drink from. We had run out of Aqua Mira, our water treatment method, and were almost out fuel (so no boiling our water clean), so we didn't have much of a choice. We spent the day laid up in a shelter. Luckily, the weather that day was pretty terrible, so our tribe didn't make it that far, and we were able to catch them the next day. Upon catching them, we learned that Jen's mom was driving down from PA for a visit. Jess was still feeling ill, so we didn't really move, camping out near Atkins, VA, so that Jen's mom could pick us all up the next day. She brought us to Wythville (ironically, the town my Grandpa Muench broke his hip in, so I had actually spent some time in this town already), and put all of us (Jess, myself, DugOut, and DizzyBat, and of course Jen) up in a motel with a pool for the whole weekend so she could visit with her daughter without worrying about her loosing her crew! By the end of the weekend, DugOut and DizzyBat decided they would take advantage of Jen's mom travelling north and yellow-blaze with her up to Waynesboro so that they could take their time hiking Shenendoah National Park before she had to leave for her brother's wedding in Mexico. They plan on meeting us again in Waynesboro so they can do the AquaBlaze with us. Meanwhile, Jen, Jess, and I got dropped off in Bland and hiked on. The mountains of VA are pretty dull compared with the prior hike. Instead of hiking up 3000 ft in 3 miles or less to be greeted by astounding views, we hike up 1000 ft in 3 miles and then walk a (supposedly flat) ridgeline for another 3, and then find ourselves walking down another hill to a road or a little podunk "town". No views, no reward, but still just as tired. Even when there is a view, instead of being greeted by huge, jagged mountains and impressive green valleys, we only see more flat ridges. Then it started raining, and all reports said it wouldn't stop for a week. We got to a little road tired and wet and stopped for a snack, and threw out our thumbs at every car that drove by just for kicks. Usually this wouldn't result in a hitch, but I guess this woman took pity on our pathetic looking selves, so she brought us to Newcastle, 25 miles from the trail, and treated us to Subway! From there we hitched (our hitch was very nice, and told us of a secret campsite near Apple Orchard Falls) to Catawba, near Roanoke, where Jess's Grandma Rumburg picked the 3 of us up and brought us to her house for showers and delicious home-cooked meals! Jess's parents came down the next day, and we spent the weekend together. Thursday, Russ did us the added favor of picking up a friend of ours (Ninja and Blue the dog) off the trail, who spent the night in the backyard. On Friday, Jen and Ninja got dropped off at Buchannon. We will be meeting them tonight at the secret site near Apple Orchard Falls. We'll be about 90 miles away from Waynesboro, with 10 days till the AquaBlaze, and we couldn't be more excited. 20 miles per day sitting down!!

This next piece is a response to my Grandpa Muench's comment on our previous blog.

We are very glad you have been able to comment on our blog, I know you had been having difficulties figuring it out. I ask, what is a responsibility? It is certainly not responsibility that keep Jess and I together, but love. He hikes much faster than me, and walks away from me multiple times a day, but it is not "responsibility" that gives him pause, it is love. He knows I can take care of myself, and as I am carrying food, water, and the tent, and that the trail is highly populated by friendly people and has shelters every 10 miles or less, he knows that I would be fine if left on my own. But because he misses my company, he pauses and waits for me once an hour or less. We have been hiking with Jen, and now will also add Ninja to our group. She hikes slower than me, but we feel no "responsibility" to wait for her, we do because we want to, because we enjoy her company as well. Since I chose to bring my cell phone and to create a blog, we haven't walked away from the "responsibility" to keep in touch with our family and friends, though I still feel "responsibility" is a coarse word to describe something that I don't at all consider a responsibility, because I quite enjoy keeping in touch with people in one form on another.
So, I would say the only "responsibility" we have walked away from is our civic duty to do something useful for the society that has turned us into the people we are today through the education system and through the norms and values instilled in us through parents, teachers, and friends, not to mention the society that feeds us, clothes us, houses us, and protects us. Despite our criticism of society, we are keenly aware that without this unified "society", there might be warring factions tearing apart the neighborhoods of America, similar to the disunity we see in the Middle East. Because of this "society", some people farm our food, some people make our goods, some people count our money, and even fewer people actually get to make money, but that's neither here nor there. Point being, it is only because of "society", and this division of labor, that Jess and I are able to do this. In fact, it is only because of Jess' Grandparents Kennedy's hard work for their entire lives that we are able to do this, as they are funding this adventure. So we do feel a responsibility to return the favor to the society that they have been a part of, and that we have been raised in and been a part of. However, as we have spent 22 years being raised within the society, we thought the best thing to do would be to walk away from it, for a little while, to best figure out how we can serve society by getting an outside perspective. We do feel, as you may have observed from previous comments, that society has problems, and we hope that we may be able to help them, or fix them, or work with them to lessen them, one day in the future. In the meantime, we're trying to figure ourselves out so that we know the best way for us to go about doing that. Jesus himself walked away from his problems for a time, into the desert, to work out how he could best alleviate the problems of his time, not to mention the period of his life that is absent from the Bible (aged 12-30).
For right now, if we don't like something, we can just pick up and walk away. That's kind of the idea of this whole thing. It's pretty cool, actually, and I recommend it to anyone who feels life's little pressures are bringing them down. With the media bombarding us with fear, and Ashton Kutcher et al. participating actively in the dumbing down of America's youth, and cars and businesses polluting us into climate change and lobbying so that even the most reform-minded leaders are unwilling or unable to force the change we need, it's been nice to walk away. Don't worry. We'll be back.

Love you:) And thanks for the food for thought:)

From the P.H.L.O. (aka. Phantom Hiker Lost Outdoors, aka Party Hard, Live Once)
I hope my previous blog was not taken as facetious. I really do appreciate Doris' comment, their balancing effect, and the insuing dialogue. I never wished to imply that we were walking away from our responsibilities, but rather from situations we found undesirable. We most certainly have the responsibilities of feeding ourselves, creating our shelter, and providing for our personal needs. It is merely my preference and to meet these responsibilities more directly as opposed to the traditional method of working a job and paying others to provide these goods and services. Except for food. Much to my chagrin. But I am in no way claiming my way to be superior or the only right way. I have become very fond of the following bit o' Hindu wisdom: "It is better to live your own destiny imperfectly than to live an imitation of someone else's with perfection and grace." The Bhagavad Gita

Graveyard here, and I approve PHLO's message