A Maker's Mark of 30 miles

Part 1

I have had trouble with the last few entries of the blog because I find it hard to write about all the things that happen and go through my head while on the trail without making a novel out of it. Seems to me the compression of all these experiences in a few short paragraphs takes away from immediate experiences and convolutes what I want to portray. So in the hopes turning over a new blogging leaf and, perhaps, even finding my voice, more noteworthy daily occurrences will be at the forefront. I’d like to thank a friend and luminous blogger in their own rite for the gchat discussion about the subject whose own experiences can be found at http://faildatedc.blogspot.com/.

With that said, I’d like to tell the tale of my 31.2 mile day. It is the most miles I have been able to log in a 24hr period and a very eventful day. Although I had been doing some big miles throughout the Shennys (Shenandoah’s), I had only reached 29 miles so breaking the 30 mark was a hefty feat I wanted to reach before hitting rocky and mountainous terrain past PA but also because I knew I would get off the trail again soon and possibly “get soft”.

As you can imagine the preparation for an endurance challenge of this sort takes planning and preparation. There are some who are able to hike throughout the day without stopping for lunch or long rest times, they eat gorp and snacks all day, stop only to refill and drink on the go without slowing down for hours on end. There are even stories circulating about doing 50 miles a day (Fasttrack) or holding a steady 30+ miles per day (James, he like to hike barechested) but I am not one of that sort. I like to cook an extra batch of rice, tuna and fajita seasoning the night before, make some burritos for the long day ahead and organize my thoughts to be mentally prepared for the physical onslaught I am about to bring on. So, on this particular night of preparation, I found myself alone in the shelter which was probably because the Half Gallon (of ice cream) Challenge was only a few miles away and most everyone pushed ahead to gorge. Newly lactose intolerant from lack of dairy on the trail, I did not consider putting myself in digestive peril, enough said.
My day began early after a thunderous night of rain which woke me to disco lightning and boombastic bass; these are the nights, and there have been many, where you are thankful to have a roof over your head. Walking down the trail was made tricky because of the late night downpour which left all the overgrown bushes and shrubs hanging in the path and soaking my pant legs as I passed by so I put my trekking poles out in front to knock down any major accumulation. After a short time I was walking on a paved road again, a common occurrence since getting out of the larger national forests of the south.
I came to a farm which had been recently converted to a hostel but held much more history and transformation than I could have imagined. This Park/Campground used to be known as Pine Grove Furnace where there once stood a large mining kiln for production of iron ore, an intricate bi-lateral maze of railroad tracks, a large workforce and a plain view of the southern countryside…more precisely, a lookout point from the barn to safeguard the underground railroad. Although I did not see it, those who stayed at the hostel and with whom I hiked with that day, told me of the hidden rooms by the furnace, small trap doors leading underground, and the history of this unassuming barn.
I had caught up to a new friend named Stuff Sac at Pine Grove who was also attempting to do a 34 mile day so we hiked along for a time telling stories, passing the ½ way mark of the AT and describing other hikers we had met along the way. Stuff Sac was a skinny lad but one that did not stop, so before long he pressed on while I had lunch. I would not see him until I arrived at the Doyle 2 days later where he told me he was able to keep his 3mph pace and make his designated shelter by nightfall. In contrast, I would barely break my marker and it was well into the night.
During lunch, a group of 3 older gents passed by who were friendly enough to chat for a second although the skies were looming with dark clouds and bad intentions. They all worked either as pilots of air tower controllers and 1 had married the sister of another. No matter. I would see them again and they were good fellas.
After they left and I had eaten my pre-made burrito, I got to my feet slowly and caught the glimpse of a 4 leaf clover. I picked it and looked for more. There was another not too far away. I have had some pretty “lucky” days on the trail where my records held to 6 four leaf clovers but this proved to be a drop in the bucket at the end of the rainbow. I was able to find 8 and had to tell myself to stop looking down because every time I did all the regular 3 leaf clovers were a blanket with 4 leaf clovers popping out of them. I swear I could see them clearly, 5 feet away; it was incredible. Of course the beauty of this is I have no idea how much time I spent looking for the clovers. I may have thought they were everywhere but I did move around the humungous patch quite a bit.
All good things must come to an end. I suited up, found another clover as I was leaving and left in on the little rock steps I had had lunch on. It was past noon, the sky was still gray, I was not even half way done.