Andrew's Journal: Day 10!

   Okay, skipping a few days because we're about to catch a ride back to the trail from this hostel and I'm running short on time. Fun things happen every day but, they're probably more interesting to me than to the general public, and they're already in my journal. Besides, I'm not sure how much time I want to spend re-writing journal entries.
   It's possible, as I'm coming through towns more often, that it will seem less time consuming to me to re-hash my experience. So many interesting moments, and almost takes as long to write about them as to live them!Well... we'll just take it as it comes, shall we?

Day 10:
Logan Brook Lean-to to Carl A. Newhall Lean-to: 7.2 miles

   I woke up in my tent to the sound of Charlie telling the story of his nights sleep, or lack thereof. Charlie, who we met yesterday, wants to hike the entire 2,200 miles in 100 days and I have dubbed him 'Hundred.' A lot of trail names get thrown around (I'm pretty sure I'm not going to keep 'Bear Bait,' the suggestion of a NOBO who heard my bear story) and I was pretty pumped when this guy said he'd keep the moniker I'd given him. Just over a week into the less trafficked route and I've already given someone a name to live by for 6 mon... well... a hundred days anyway. 
   Apparently one of the ever-present shelter mice fell from a rafter directly onto Hundred's face in the middle of the night. The mouse woke him (obviously), but it was hiker hunger that got him up and cooking at 1:00am. After cooking up his second batch of noodles, this kid was draining his boiling pasta water into the stream and a slip of his hands sent his noodles floating away from him. One of those moments when I had to bite my tongue: ignorant as this kids decision to negatively impact the ecosystem was, if I go off on him, he's likely to stick to the same behavior to spite the raging hippie who told him off. So I try to delicately mention that he shouldn't be doing that, but with no follow up questions about why, I'm skeptical that he took my reminder to heart.
   The northbound section hiker who arrived last night was in busy panic-mode this morning, warning us that every element of the next three days is THE WORST/HARDEST section of the entire trail. All her friends who have hiked the trail have said so, she claims. I try to take this advice with a grain of salt, but it's discouraging to hear nonetheless.
   This morning, Patrick (a 33yo whose parents have dehydrated home grown veggies, mixed them with rice, or couscous, or whatever, and vacuum sealed every individual serving, which they will then mail to him along the trail) shares with us some of his home-made snack bars, and we set out on our hike. As we were climbing the first of today's four mountains, the day started to get grey and Lyss' spirits plummeted. Near the top of White Cap Mtn (the only one of the for that would have a view if it weren't so cloudy)... it started to rain. Luckily, it didn't rain long or hard, but we pushed through the post-drizzle tree-pee without a snack, and settled down between the second and third mountains for lunch.
   In the afternoon another SOBO came up from behind us and introduced himself (with a big smile on his face) as Angry German, or A.G.for short. Caucasian male, haved head, big beard: typical A.T. hiker. He flew by us, but before long we saw him again, sitting with Patrick, who had passed us as we ate lunch and was now chowing down on a store-bought package of beef jerky that a weekend hiker had just given him in an act of hwat we will come to know as 'Trail Magic.'
   Not long after this, Lyss is cry-hiking again. It's an act I've become familiar with, but in my attempt to support her I've come to the conclusion that I'll have to wait before it's good joke-fodder. Suddenly I look up from my focused view of the roots and rocks in front of me because Lyss has fallen silent.
   "Moose," she says, and points.
   Just then I hear a whistle behind me that sounds human, but don't turn because I'm trying to identify this 'moose.'
   Behind us, his bird-whistle having gone unacknowledged, A.G. shouts, "Aah, Hey-Der!!" in a mock northern accent.
   "SSHHHT!" Lysandra 'shushes' him violently, cutting him off. "Moose," she says, pointing.
   I see it now, it's about 40' away, and I drop my pack as quietly as I can while simultaneously grabbing for my camera. The moose moves into the bushes, kind of away from us. Anticipating it's direction I head up the trail & try to snap a photo. When I turn off the trail I've totally lost sight of it, but it's not coming out where I expect it to, so I keep walking through the woods, in the general direction of where I think it's headed. About a minute goes by and, figuring it's gone I drop all attempts at stealth and shout, "I think it's gone!"
   "It's. Right. Here!" Lyss shout-whispers back in my direction.
   Now I'm in a pickle b/c I want to get back over there, and fast, but I know that kind of movement will scare it off. So, suddenly I'm tip-toeing as fast as I possibly can through the woods and when I'm about 20 feet from Lyss and A.G. I saw it.
   I froze, on tip-toe.
   The moose froze, 800 lbs of muscle on spindly little legs, looking like a blackened ham balanced on 4 toothpicks. But it was mostly behind a bush from where I was... so I crept forward. It was enough to bother the moose, who hopped across the trail, light and agile as a deer, right between Lyss and I, then stopped again. Now it's facing away from us, an slowly it turns it's head back to check us out.
   I know it's kind of a defensive stance, or a flight-ready pose. Like it's prepared to run if we do anything sketchy, but it's also still open to the possibility that we're safe. But it seemed, at the time, kind of like it was just showing us it's rear end... then looking back to make sure we saw it. Maybe to gauge the expression on our faces now that our photo-op has been thwarted? Then it walked off after about ten seconds, clearly sensing no threat, but also maybe showing a sense of judgement? Like, 'Okay, you've been subjected to my butt long enough.'
   As the three of us were moving on to the shelter, I decided not to share my suspicions about the moose's intentions. A.G. seems like a nice guy, if a bit full-on. His military experience has obviously impacted his personality: wide eyed, loud speaking voice, and habit of repeating himself, as if not realizing that everyone had heard him the first time.
   The shelter was right around the corner, and after we had been there about five minutes, chatting amicably about outdoor gear and sleep systems, the moose showed up again. Just hopped on by, right around the corner of the shelter. As suddenly as it had appeared, it bolted in to the thick brush, as if startled by us. It crashed down the hill to the river, where we heard a moose-sized sploosh into the water. Then silence.
   The three of us just looked at each other, kind of like after that tree fell, just confirming, that we had all, in fact, noticed the giant moose that had just tried to sneak past our camp unnoticed, then balked mid-sneak.
   Moose got NO tact.
   Suddenly it occurred to me that the idea of a moose teamed up with a squirrel to do espionage really is funny, and I wondered just how many precious years of Rocky and Bullwinkle I've missed out on.
   As the evening rolled on, I keep talking to A.G. about gear and his hammock system. I tell him about a NOBO hiker we met at White House Landing named "Walking Home" - a hippy-looking guy we overheard on his cell phone talking about hiking the 'purest form' of the trail, whatever that means. Walking home had spent big bucks online buying gear made of Cuben Fiber, the newest in high-tech ultralight-weight materials. Turned out he's been a sales rep for Coca-Cola for 7 years and is only going to Grad. school so he'll be more appealing to the company for promotions and other such "advancement" (though I question the term in this context).
   At this  point in my story, one of the two NOBOs who had walked up to the shelter and identified himself as 'Pretzel' chimed in. "Walking Home! HAH! What a joke! I just about saw that guy get his ass beat in a bar a couple hundred miles back."
   What followed was a bit of pretty typical northbound-culture drama, centering around differing A.T. philosophies: How to hike the A.T.

{sidenote: Most people say "hike your own hike" but there are many strong opinions about what a 'real' thru-hike is. Some people want to touch every single white blaze trail marker on the A.T. while others don't give a damn if they hitch-hike 10 or 20 miles as long as they more-or-less walk 2000 miles in the appalachians within 12 months. Still others just come out for a couple weeks at a time each summer until they've seen the whole trail, settling for a series of section hikes. Some insist that you have to carry your life on your back (one guy this summer carried a tent 2000 miles that he never even used, opting for the shelter every night) while others take opportunities to 'slack-pack,' leaving their big pack at a convenient place and taking a smaller pack for the day when they can get their pack again that night. ...you get the point.}

   so the short version of this drama is that walking home paid all that money for a pack that weighs approximately 5lbs before food and water, yet was seriously harsh in  his criticism of a guy who slack packed for an (undeniably) abnormally long section of the trail. The slack packer in question is legally blind. Trail name: Bat. (you can imagine why he might want to carry a day pack when he can)
   By the end of the story, we're all but convinced that Walking Home hasn't been able to embrace the 'Hike you own hike" philosophy. But even though this anecdote might make him seem like the 'bad guy,' I can identify. I mean it's kind of like saying "live your own life." the implication being to let others live theirs. But I struggle to accept the inherent worth and dignity of someone who chooses to work for a giant mega-conglomerate corporation that sells sugar-water to a target market of children and the obese at 600% markup. Seems like a douchy, selfish choice based on a greedy desire for a bigger paycheck. Ayn Rand would be proud. But more importantly, in the time it takes me to puzzle it out (or write it down), I could probably be living my own life and consider my time 'better spent.'

   'Pretzel' seems to have no such hangups and criticizes loudly, but otherwise seems like a likeable guy. Early 20s, red goatee, witty and quick with his words, funny, sassy, and full of opinions,. You know, the type of guy who likes to give people a hard time, and is okay getting one in return. The quote of the evening came when Lysandra came to my 'defense' at one of Pretzel's jibes. I had picked up a rubber chicken (the object of a northbound collective 'relay' to the finish) and Pretzel said, "that's for NOBOs only, get your dirty SOBO hands off of it."
   Without missing a breath, Lyss spat back, "You better watch how you talk to my boyfriend before I slap that little red mouth of yours!"
   We all had a laugh at the quick mouth of my defender, and bedded down for the night.