Do you yearn for a burn? Or are you cruising for a bruising?
I mentioned I use my watch to gauge progress towards my next checkpoint. If it's 4 miles to the ridge where I'll eat lunch, I'll get there in 2 hours. That's barring any extended breaks and maybe a little sooner if the terrain is agreeable. I'll glance at my wrist, see that an hour has passed, and that means I'm about halfway there. There's a smart little two letter abbreviation of the day of the week on my Casio's face, and that's the only reason I ever know what day of the week it is. Or I know it's Sunday because the post office and everything else in town is closed. Occasionally I know it's 1pm on a Tuesday. Sometimes I'll think, "man, what would I be doing in SF right now?" Probably at work, getting ready for a work meeting at work.
However, sometimes I look at my watch and wish I was back in California. Like 4pm on a Friday. I imagine spinning in my office chair in that sun drenched We work office. I'm probably making plans or making plans to not have plans. Turns out I liked Friday afternoons. The potential of the weekend. The trail is illuminating.
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PT 1
I'm not free of discomfort and I've learned that there is no pain free through hike. Occasional pain is just my life now. The discomfort that visits you on the trail is like a sign spinner you pass in your car, but these signs say things like "upper back knot" and "hip belt acne" instead of carwash or mobile phone promotions.
These signs get your attention. You pass by them in seconds driving down a major thoroughfare, other times you're stuck in a drive through and you watch that sign spin for a while. Sometimes you get a weird ankle thing, and it goes away after a few minutes or miles, just joining your journey for a segment. Am I cruising past this weird new knee pain, or am I stuck at a red light with it? Then sometimes the sign spinner gets in your car and you have to tell the other sign spinners to make room until one gets out. If you talk about your passengers with fellow hikers, you'll realize everyone else has them. Every hiker is driving a minivan full of sign spinners. It's comforting knowing everyone else is dealing with things. I mean, everyone not on trail is dealing with things too, but here you share freely over lunch. Lunch of peanut butter and trail mix in a tortilla.
Diligent stretching and hike management have improved my experience and outlook. I'm recovering faster and feeling strong. I've followed the recipe of consistency to the quarter teaspoon. I have missed one day of doing my complete warm up and recovery routines and that's because it was cold. Cold like 20 degrees in the shelter with a fire ripping. More on that later. I'm eating more fats and really stretching on my lunch breaks. I can finally sit criss cross apple sauce.
Joint health will be my arch companion for the remainder of the hike.
With higher daily mileage, you unlock new levels of overuse, and I have entered the stratosphere of sore feet and heel blisters. Are these a result of my sock strategy? Can I tweak my laces to alleviate some friction? My slightly smaller right foot is the top suspect. My slightly larger left foot is also an appendage of interest. I'm testing a few theories and fortunately I have access to a laboratory where I can run these experiments tens of thousands of times per day. That's rigor.
More adjustments to be made.
I want to get closer to the trail and start to develop habits that will let me cruise to more miles. The state park that houses Mt Katahdin, the final summit, closes in October. If I don't up pace, I'm on track to not complete this hike in December.
Every hiker faces the question "What, in the name of base weight, will you deprive yourself of?" Comfort or cleanliness? Protection? Convenience or function? Fuel (food, gas, electricity)? Each hiker responds differently. The trail is a great teacher and one of its first lessons is want vs need. And what day and time of the week was your favorite.
When you deprive yourself of material possessions on the trail, that means a lighter pack, which reduces joint pain.
Sending things home is something that everyone said would happen, and I couldn't fathom exactly what that would be when I started -aside from microspikes/wool hat post smokies. Now I'm doing it and wondering what else couldn't I fathom, but I'll probably end up doing? I can't fathom so many things! Looking a little closer, I could have fathomed most of what I'm sending home. Shallow fathoming only gifts surprises. If I spent more time in critical thinking mode, there could be fewer surprises. Another lesson from the trail.
I almost sent home my Crocs. I told a bunch of people. I was boastful and prideful in my rejection of these pre fab clogs. Then I hiked all day in the rain (which I enjoy) on my way into Hot Springs and when I was done and wanted out of my trail runners (which were soaked), the Crocs were there for me. Close call.
Other less convenient things that mean "getting closer to the trail" are getting in and out of town more efficiently, and opting for a few more miles instead of a bunk in a hostel or motel with a tv. Snag a shower, chuck in a load of laundry, grab a few snacks, charge your electronics, then hit the trail again.
Here's what got the boot back to Buffalo:
Microspikes
Rain pants
Pants
Half a microfiber towel
A pair of socks and underwear
Down jacket
Wool hat
Total weight returned: 2 lbs, 11 ounces (counting the box I shipped it in, I think)
I'm lighter, smellier, and my knees are much happier.
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PT 2
The smokies is the most visited national park in the country. This came as a surprise due to my West Coast bias. But come on, the granite obelisks, those monstrous trees, and the valley that literally inspired the creation of national parks. California is riddled with gorgeous alpine lakes. I knew I was spoiled while I was getting spoiled, but if Yosemite is Patagonia, then the Smokies are the Amazon.
Walking for 8 hours a day in the Smokies is like being on a live action tv weather map. The wind blows over these mountains like it's got urgent business at the next gap. The "smoke" of the Smokies moves according to these currents and then whatever happens happens. This is one of the wettest places in the country and that wet might be hale, rain, snow, or vapor. Thunder is frequent. While walking on a ridge I heard the whip crackliest thunder of my life. It was coarse, somehow clear, and sounded like it was inside my head. It sounded how lightning looks. This was at 3pm with the sun out. I watched and listened to a rainstorm across the valley. On the night it dropped below 20, it rained then got cold, and that wind whipped through and coated everything outside the shelter in glass. See below:
The next day the sun was shining and ice cubes, full on ice cubes, fell from the trees when the wind blew. Branches were covered in ice at night, heated by the sun, then the ice casings around branches were ejected when the breeze bent the thin tree tops. Then these chunks met me when they plopped right where I was walking. Wild.
I was blessed with blaring vistas. Tightly packed firs border mossy cedar forests with vibrant and dusty greens, ranging from emerald to lime. It looks like where the elves hang out in the Lord of the Rings.
The birds and the squirrels run the park, and unconstrained activity reigns. The sounds, the action. A squadron of finches will perform a fly by right across your nose while you're eating breakfast. The squirrels are smaller but muscular, with a little red, and they will verbally accost you. These pugilists will get in your grill then your food bag if it's left unattended or you look weak.
The Smokies are astonishing. From a back country perspective, it's a more intimate experience than anything I did in California. I'll be back to explore outside the 70 mile ridge I scampered along. My Smokies were serene and tough, and I'm eager to see more of them.
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Progress: Over 400 miles down. Currently on pace for about a 9 month through hike. I will be picking up the pace. More miles means more burned calories, which requires more food and results in a heavier pack -or weight loss. The trail is full of compromise and you make many choices besides which direction to walk, even though sometimes it's that simple. I'd like to keep my latest week's pace (13.6 miles per day) for the next week then dial it up.
Hiking 12.6 miles every day with no days off will yield you a 6 month through hike. It's tricky to set an exact mileage because there aren't camping areas or shelters at every mile, and some stretches are more taxing than others. Anyways, here's my approximate average weekly mileage for these first 6 ish weeks.
I have also completed my foraging side quest. Shout out Mike for telling me to forage for ramps (wild onions). I learned to identify them from more experienced foragers, don't worry, I'm not just yanking random plants from the ground and eating them.
Updates on Gear: Mice ate my sleeping bag in a shelter in the Smokies, one ran by my head. They steal the down for their nests, I don't blame them I'm sure they're toasty. I patched my bag up with duct tape and it's held perfectly. I'm fond of the scuffs on my stuff.
I wonder what I'll miss that I'm sending home? Probably pants once it gets buggy. I'm thinking of getting earbuds once I reach halfway, since I miss music. I do not miss ad reads on podcasts.
Reader Request: From Zach Hyland of Buffalo, New York, "SHOW US THE RASH"
It's gone now! You also missed the splotchy redness I earned from stepping in poison ivy. I'll get you on the next one. I'll put it at the bottom so people can avoid it if they want.
Send more requests! I want to know what interests you.