[at-l] ocr felix and Lizzie

Wed Jan 28 10:11:15 CST 2009

This morning I've been trying out an OCR thing that came with my scanner. I
thought it would be fun to do the test on an old ATN magazine and I went to the
"Ministry of Funny Walks" page from May/June 2000. I thought some on the list
might like a dose of Felix this morning. 

Here in the Boston suburbs we're having yet another snow storm. Prior to this
one we were already at 108% of the usual seasonal snowfall, with the mid-winter
date still approaching, making it likely that we're in for a near-record year.
The 5 foot banks of snow along the streets say the same thing. --RockDancer

***************************************************************************
Lizzie

Felix J. McGillicuddy 

She had never heard of the Appalachian Trail, let alone hiked it. That didn't
stop Lizzie from taking to the footpath like a child to a swing set. She set out
on her first section-hike with her eyes wide open and her ears pinned back.
There was no stopping her. 

"Hold on, Lizzie," I yelled. She looked back briefly, then continued up the
Trail. She paused idly to pick some bark from a tree trunk. When she heard me
getting close, she turned and ignored me. It was obvious that she intended to
stay in front of me this afternoon. 

The more I thought about it, the more I liked it. We were making pretty good
time this way. Plus, I didn't have to be involved in one of the countless
one-sided conversations that had become a major part of our relationship. 

She hurried along in front of me, sometimes wandering several feet off the
Trail, and, as I followed, I couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was.
Every trailside noise caught her attention, and she investigated it eagerly. As
soon as she heard my footsteps, though, it was back to the Trail and staying in
front of me. 

You see, I had angered Lizzie. Actually, I had angered her twice. During lunch,
before we had even hit the Trail, two things happened that more or less ensured
that I'd be watching Lizzie from a distance. They may sound trivial now. But, at
the time, to Lizzie, they were pretty important. 

First, while filling our water bottles, I had turned the spigot on too suddenly.
Water spurted out with such force that it knocked the bottle from my hand and
soaked Lizzie. Then, while eating, I didn't offer to share my food, figuring she
had enough of her own. For crimes as minor as spraying a little water and not
sharing a can of tuna, I was condemned to an afternoon of hiking alone-an
afternoon of being forced to watch my sexy hiking partner from behind. She
played the game pretty well. 

I knew, however, that, within a few tenths of a mile, we would be at Pine Swamp
Branch Shelter, one of the mousiest lean-tos along the A.T. This, I figured,
would be my chance to gain her favor again. This would be where she would forget
about tuna fish and remember me as the guy who is always looking out for her. A
true friend. 

The only time she would let me near her was when her attention was captured by a
pileated woodpecker. I don't think she'd ever seen a bird that large from so
close. The woodpecker looked like a chicken dancing on the side of a poplar
tree. She was first startled by it, and then by me. When she realized I was
standing next to her she flinched and hurried off again. 

Her pace picked up once she saw the shelter. I stopped to watch her enter the
structure, making sure everything was okay. I could see her looking our night's
resting-place over with a keen eye. Every corner, every cranny, was checked. 

"How's it look?" I asked as I walked in. 

She glowered at me and walked around the corner to the woods behind the shelter.
Clearly, she didn't feel like talking, so I got our bedding ready for the night.
I could hear her walking around in the leaves. I wondered what she was looking
for and if she'd find it. I gathered firewood from the woods around the shelter.
I would occasionally see her walking around, looking under the bunks, or in the
cracks of the rocks, checking for mice or anything else. She didn't know I was
watching her, but she still made me smile. 

As darkness settled in, so did paranoia. Every noise got a wide-eyed look. She
was still pacing around, silent as ever, as I lit the fire. The flames turned
the shelter walls orange, with warm light dancing around. 

She sat on the bottom bunk on the opposite side of the shelter. We both watched
the fire flicker and pop. I watched the reflection of the flame in her eyes. She
was so beautiful. 

"Well, I'm going to bed," I said as I put the last of the wood on the fire. I
got into my sleeping bag and got comfortable. I lay and considered her for a
while. Her eyes moved back and forth like a kid watching fireworks on the Fourth
of July. She looked at every movement, stared at every shadow, noticed every
noise. 

I was just dozing off when she got into bed. It seemed like it took her forever
to get situated. But, then, it always does. Finally, she snuggled up against me.
She started purring when I reached out and scratched her head. She touched my
lips with her paw. 

I knew she couldn't stay mad.

Felix J. McGillicuddy is a 1999 thru-hiker from the wilds of southern Indiana.
His columns appear here regularly, when he is not out hiking. 

Appalachian Trailway News May/June 2000 p. 31

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