[at-l] Sieving Tin
South Walker
southwalker at windstream.net
Thu Dec 24 10:42:41 CST 2015
> . I had hiked 22+
miles many times. I just never realized I wasn't afraid of doing 22+ miles.
I fully understand this comment. Like Felix I was amazed one day to realize
that I could hike whatever mileage I wanted to on that day or any other day.
And also like Felix I don't remember when the realization came. I wish I
did. It was a pivotal moment in my hike.
Merry Christmas to the list.
South Walker
mega1999
-----Original Message-----
From: at-l [mailto:at-l-bounces at mailman.backcountry.net] On Behalf Of Felix
J
Sent: Wednesday, December 23, 2015 5:41 AM
To: at-l
Subject: [at-l] Sieving Tin
(disclaimer: I know this is AT-related and about a
hike...my hike.....and....oh, never mind....)
Roaring Fork Shelter 12/22/98-12/23/98
Sometime during my conversation with my psychologist
shelter-mate he asked me what my plans for the next day
were. I told him that I was probably going to Davenport Gap
Shelter, which was where he'd started his section hike 3
days earlier. He said, confusedly, "That's 22 miles." I said
"Yeah, I know". And it was at that moment that I realized
that I had become a pretty good hiker. It is a wonderfully
liberating feeling to know that you can hike 22 miles or
more if you want to. and, that you don't really have to know
it until you're doing it. I liked that. I had hiked 22+
miles many times. I just never realized I wasn't afraid of
doing 22+ miles.
The next morning (12/23) he got up and left early. I talked
to him from the comfort of my sleeping bag. I finally got up
and left at around 9ish. Almost the second I left the
shelter it started drizzling. It was raining steadily by the
time I started up Max Patch. The winds picked up, as usual.
The Smokys were now clearly visible. Clearly visible in the
sense that I could see that they were socked in. It was an
incredible feeling to be looking at those mountains knowing
that the next day I would be entering the Granddaddy of them
all. As I climbed higher on the side of Max Patch, the winds
and rains increased. Then, as I was 50 yards from what
appears to be the summit, Brother Cain's "Fools Shine On"
rockin' my head-setted world, "BEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!
ERRRRR!!! ERRRRR!!!! ERRRRRRR!!!! This is a warning. The
National Weather Service has issued a Severe Winter Storm
Warning for all of Western Carolina and Eastern Tennessee."
I could not have been more "Western Carolina and Eastern
Tennessee" as I was standing on the state line. What a rush
to be standing on Max Patch, looking at the Smokes, and hear
that kind of weather report, while watching it get ready to
happen. Incredible.
I picked up the pace considerably after that. I stopped for
a break at Groundhog Creek Shelter. I was freezing, wet.
Again, my hands, fingers and arms couldn't work the way
they're supposed to. I knew I was either staying there, or
getting out of there soon. Too cold for standing around. I
headed up Snowbird in a steady, heavy rain. I almost
regretted leaving the shelter until I remembered that I
could try to get to Mt. Moma's instead of Davenport Gap
Shelter. "Hmmm, cheeseburgers" I thought. Cheeseburgers,
indeed. I trudged on. It was a little after 4:00 when I
crossed under I-40. When I got back into the woods, the
clouds and rhododendrons made it look much later. When I got
to Davenport Gap, it was dark. I stood on the gravel road,
cold rain falling, Smokys mere feet in front of me. "Felix"
said the cheeseburger. "Yes?" I replied. "Go to the light,
boy". As I walked down the muddy road, I could feel the
magnificence of the Smokys to my right. I could smell them.
It was wonderful.
I walked what seemed like 6 hours in that rain and fog. It
was only about 45 minutes, though. When I could finally see
the lights of Mt.Moma's through the fog, I was happy. I
walked in the door at 15 minutes 'til 6. Every eye in the
place was on me. A long-haired, long-bearded, soaking wet
hiker walks in an hour after dark? He's crazy. God, I loved
being crazy.
"You got someplace where hikers stay?" I asked.
"Well, there's the bunkhouse," a bewildered woman said with
bewilderment. She said something to the man next to her and
he left the room.
"Go to the pink bunkhouse and I'll get you a plate of food."
"How about one of those Texas Cheeseburgers" I thought.
Well, I liked the thought of it so well that I said it, too.
"The grille's closed. I'll get you a plate of food."
I went outside to wander around the parking lot in the
pea-soup fog and rain. I saw the bunkhouses, but couldn't
tell which one was pink. Finally, the man who had left the
room walked up with a flashlight and space heater and
directed me to the pink bunkhouse. He told me to put on some
dry cloths and come back inside and get my food. I did. I
looked at the disposable cameras on the counter. I could not
buy one. Luck was taunting me. It knew that I had $11. It
knew that my 'room' was $10. It knew that Mt. Moma took no
credit card. I took the single remaining dollar and bought a
Pepsi. I took my Pepsi and a picnic basket of food with me
back to the bunkhouse.
I cuddled up next to that space heater and ate; Ham, sweet
potatoes, dressing, green beans, cranberry sauce, rolls and
the best cupcake I've ever had. Easily, this was the most
special Christmas Dinner of my life. It was in a room no
bigger than 10X10. I sat on the floor. I ate alone. After
dinner, I took a long, hot shower. Life was good. This night
will remain as one of the most special nights of the hike,
and my life.
--
Felix J. McGillicuddy
ME-->GA '98
"Your Move"
ALT '03 KT '03
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