Survival Training, pt 2

Since the last post, we'd walked some more, which is rather unnoteworthy since that's all we ever did. In fact, it was far more interesting when we weren't walking. We stopped for a quick lunch in a clearing with a large park map, which gave us the welcome combination of shade and open space. Just then, a man came running up. He had tennis shoes, and was surprisingly spry for his anorexic frame and oversized backpack. He had the beard of a mountain hippy, and an official looking hat. He was a trailrunner for the Potomac Appalachian Trail Club, and it was his job to help maintain the trail and protect hikers on it. Up and down for months on end he’s walk the week-long trail, until he was ready to kill himself. Then he’d get a few months off and do it again. Never met a man happier about his job. He was endlessly fascinating, and we talked everything from bear stories to crazy hiker stories.

You’d think a man like that would be health conscious, but somehow, he worked his way through a whole pack of cigarettes in the time he talked to us. Which, to be fair, was two hours. The company of a third was wonderful, but unfortunately, his job kept him from sticking with us. So we just made our lunch very very long. He told us about a great place to camp, a rock ledge just off the trail with a beautiful view of the valley below, before running off to help whatever animals or hikers were in need. We continued.

Getting to that beautiful campsite entailed walking up a mountain. Doable, sure, but you try walking steep uphill for 4 hours straight on a bum ankle. Even the SEAL, in perfect physical health, was having a hard time of it. We needed something to take our minds off the sheer unpleasantness that was this section of the trail. So we debated. The more controversial, the better. We talked the war (surprisingly, he’s against it), elections (hates Bush, wants Hillary), the environment (global warming bad, drilling in ANWR good), God (he’s vaguely Christians, kinda agnostic) and even abortion (he didn’t like it). I made sure to spend a good deal of time on gay marriage. He was against it, but willing to hear my point of view. By the time we reached the top of the mountain, he relented, admitting he was wrong and vowing to never vote in favor of a gay marriage ban. That alone made the trip up worth it, but the campsite’s sprawling views didn’t hurt none either. The wind was a problem though, so I set up my tent and he set up his tarp, and we hung our bear hangs (food in a sack suspended off the ground) behind us so any bear who wanted our food had to stomp all over us to get it. Then we called it a night.

This is where you came in. After breakfast, I decided to go back down the trail a bit and search the rocky cliffs for Timber Ratlesnakes, which the trailrunner suggested may be there. I clamored all over pointy rocks, stuck my hands in dark holes, leaned over the side of the mountain, and generally ignored my self-preservation instinct again. Such happens when I’m after wildlife.

Afterwards, I need to take a shit. Such a thing is a big production in the woods. See, whenever I’ve gone camping so far, I’ve taken a crap in an outhouse. This time, no outhouse. So I grab my bright orange trowel and walk off into the woods. I didn’t bring my topo map. I found a nice tree, dug a hole at its base, leaned against its trunk and let out a respectable log. I wiped my ass with the biodegradable toilet paper I specifically packed for this event, and dropped it in the hole with my turd. As I buried the fertilizing package at the base of the tree with my little orange trowel, I felt proud of myself, Perhaps I didn’t follow through on my mission of solitude, silence, and self-reliance, but at least I took a dump in the woods.

From here, all that remained was a morning hike to lunch and my exit spot. Only one obstacle stood in my path: idiot hikers. Despite many signs to the contrary, we eventually came across a couple feeding a wild deer. The stupid thing just stood there and ate nuts the man threw at it. I secretly wished it gored him with its antlers. We took our requisite close-up photo of the animal and carried on. We then passed a large Japanese tour group on a narrow ledge, and individually greeted every one of the 20+ overpolite motherfuckers while secretly wishing they’d fall over the side.

I was glad when I saw the sign indicating our impending arrival at the last campground. It meant it was time for lunch. It meant it was time to go. It meant I’d walked over 1/3 of the whole park in only 2 and a half days. I almost didn’t even notice the bear cub near the sign.

See, bear cubs are a problem. They’re cute and fuzzy and harmless, but the mama bear is not. We looked at each other, silent, unsure of what to do. He held out his stick like a club, while I picked up the heaviest rock I could find and wished it were a mace. I started creeping slowly around it, when the SEAL decided it’d be much smarter to yell and scream and throw rocks at it. Much smarter. Terrified, I kept creeping. I’ll let the soldier sacrifice himself; he’s almost 40, and I still have a lot more living to go.

Neither the screaming nor the rocks had an effect. Seems even bear cubs have the ‘fuck you’ attitude all bears in this park seemed to have. But we managed to get away without ever seeing a sign of mama bear. We breathed a sign of relief as we left the trail and made it to lunch without being lunch.

After a pleasant final chat, my traveling companion left me and carried on his own way, as they seemed to always do. I pulled out a piece of cardboard and a sharpie I’d brought, wrote the name of the lot I parked in on the sign, sat down on the ground, and held it up. I hoped for better hitching luck this time. After all, luck seemed on my side in Shenandoah.

I was wrong. I sat for nearly 2 hours. Another long lunch. Not even the ranger that stopped to question my suspicious-looking self offered me a ride. But, good things come to those who wait, and eventually a man stopped for me. He, like his truck, was old, beat up, and dusty. But I welcomed whatever help I could get. Turns out he was nearly as interesting as my Navy SEAL. He was a trucker who’d lived all over the country. He told his life story for nearly half an hour, which was how long it took to drive back to my starting point. Yes, it took half an hour to drive what I’d walked in 2 and a half days, uphill on a bum ankle. I was impressed.

Though, part of that time was due to a bear jam. You know, when people stop in the middle of the road in national parks because they see a bear. It was on a ledge above us. I was glad for my one last opportunity to snap a photo of a bear, being far too scared shitless last time to even think about it. Unfortunately, it was behind shrubs, and I never could get a good shot. Fuck shrubs. Fuck bears.

I got back to my car, and checked to make sure I still had everything. The rest of my belongings were still safely in my trunk. However, when I picked up my laptop backpack, my heart froze. “Someone stole my laptop!” I anxiously tore open the zipper, only to discover the computer just where I left it. I was confused for a moment, until I realized where I’d been for the past 3 days. The 10 pound laptop backpack was practically helium compared to the 40+ pound camping backpack.

Satisfied and slightly smug, I sat down in the driver’s seat, put the car into drive, and drove for four hours. It really didn’t seem like much after hiking for hours on end. I only stopped once, at a McDonalds, to change my shoes, take a piss, and eat a burger. I realized from the looks people were giving me I must’ve seemed like a leper: dirty, smelly, unbrushed teeth and hair, long broken fingernails, pimples, bruises, blisters, possible athlete’s foot, and an odd limp. Mission accomplished, I’d say.