The Funny Side of War... For the Sick and Demented

While writing about the trail, I have also just released my first book about the lighter side to my time in the military and if you know a veteran that could use a laugh or just want to learn what its like yourself, it's sure to bring smiles and chuckles! If the link below doesn't work you can go straight to Amazon and search for the title, "The Funny Side of War." Many thanks, I look forward to continuing to write about thru hiking the trail last year and good luck to everyone this year!!! Mat



http://www.amazon.com/Funny-Side-War-Sick-Demented/dp/1478755709/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1434357622&sr=8-1&keywords=the+funny+side+of+war&pebp=1434357642100&perid=5D9F8DE6B67C4D489DA1

The Fifth Hiker

          After a quick one night stay at the awesome and relaxing Green Mountain House in Manchester Center, Vermont, owner Jeff Taussig was kind enough to drop me back off by the trail on route 11 and 30.  I had studied the Doppler radar online at his hostel and hoped that the big green mass of cold precipitation wouldn't hit me that day.  Just 10 minutes into my hike that green blob paid me a visit.  As I made way to Stratton Pond, there were warning signs that the pond had swelled and covered the trail.  I was to follow the ribbons sporadically placed on trees instead of the usual white blazes.

            The trail turned into a stream with the current coming at me as I fought to get to the Stratton Pond Shelter for over 10 miles.  The temperature was cool and the rain was colder.  Every drop felt like hail and I had a new kind of rain for Forrest Gump to talk about.  "And there was big ole angry cold rain, Jennaaaaay."  I immediately stripped down all of my clothes at the shelter and changed to avoid hypothermia.  There were two other men bundled up and not going anywhere fast.  I dried off, changed socks, had a snack and waited for the rain the stop.  It kept coming with stronger winds.

            I didn't have time to only do 10 miles that day.  I mentally pumped myself up and headed up Stratton Mountain as the two men shook their heads in disbelief.  I climbed 1,500 more feet in the stream covered path to reach the pine covered peak.  There was a calm at the top that I didn't expect, but it was nice not to have a howling wind, evil rain and a liquid current constantly coming at my aching body.  The path turned to soft pine needles as I passed the firetower at the top with a spiderweb of trails going in several directions.  I found my white blaze on a tree and smiled.  Charlie Mike.

Fire tower atop Stratton Mountain

            The stream started back up as I descended Stratton and headed 7 more miles to Story Spring shelter.  The rain stopped for a short period and then came back as a sprinkle.  The trail was still flooded in most parts and my feet ached from being pruned for most of the hike.  I did get to see a tiny, bright orange lizard the size of my thumb. 

"Don't step on it!" an old man hollared while standing near it with his family.

"Ok," nice to meet you too there, Assclown.

I finally arrived at the shelter after hiking over 21 miles in the cold, wet and wind.  The shelter was supposed to be able to fit 8 people, but I saw that the five hikers already there would make 6 a more realistic number.  Now, I've been bitching and whining about this day for a reason.  I was exhausted and miserable and knew I had to get up early again and repeat it.  Keep that in mind as I approached the shelter's inhabitants.

"Hey guys," I said to the group.

"Hey man," one hiker said.

 

Where the fifth hiker met 'MERICA!

Hiker etiquette says that upon seeing a weary hiker come up to you, you should offer some space for that hiker to rest.  This group was smoking a lot of weed so I just helped them figure it out while they were in their slower state of mind.

"Mind if I crash here for the night?" I retorically asked.

"Oh! Yeeeeah mannnn, come on in," the same hiker responded.

            On the right side of the shelter, a hiker had hung a hammock diagonally over 4 other hikers.  A fifth hiker was on the opposite side against the wall so I could fit between the hammock and the fifth hiker.  Nobody was moving the random collection of clothes and gear that were in my way.

"Is it ok if I move this stuff over a little?" I asked.

"Uhhh, that's not ours."

            At this point I realized the mystery fifth hiker was not with the others and I found it strange that although he was awake reading a book, chose not to chime in.

"Excuse me, man. Is all this stuff yours?" I redirected my questioning as I stood there shaking from being cold and wet.

No response.

"Excuse me, hiker in the corner. May I slide your stuff over so I can come in and dry off?"

Nothing. The other hikers just looked as my rage boiled over.  This is when things got real for the fifth hiker.

"HEY! HIKER IN THE CORNER OF THE SHELTER INSIDE HIS NICE, COZY, DRY AND WARM SLEEPING BAG WHO'S READING A BOOK WITH HIS GLASSES ON!!!"

The other hikers all flinched and stared at the fifth hiker as I grabbed a pair of his sandles and threw them at him.

"MOVE YOUR SHIT OVER RIGHT FUCKING NOW!!!"

            That wasn't very mature of me as I could have simply moved his stuff over quietly, but I am a man of principle and he wasn't trying to help a fellow hiker.  His lack of action for another human being was unconciable to me and he had to know that.  My aggressive approach got results though as he put his book down, grabbed all of his remaining items and rolled over facing the wall.  He created the awkward situation of sleeping next to a crazy ginger-bearded person after essentially being a dick.  He didn't move the rest of the night and when I left in the morning he was still in the exact same position.  I was fired up after this so I was a little extra boistrous with the other hikers for a while for intimidation purposes.

"Hey man, you wanna hit this bowl?" the same friendly hiker asked after my tirade, knowing I could use a way to relax.

"Thanks man, but I'm going eat and get some sleep. I apologize ahead of time for waking up so early."

"No prob, man, we're not gonna be able to hear anything! Haha heeeee! Night mannn."

"Night guys!"

GROSS

Before continuing on with this part of the adventure I really need to warn you that it's not for the faint of heart.  It is disgusting and might make you gag.  To my family... trust me and don't read this.  And also I love you.  You have now been warned.  If you continue... I do not apologize.

....................................

            I was so close to the end of the dreaded rocky state of Pennsylvania where even locals can be found cussing at the jagged terrain.  I had a nice and easy day with mostly down hill or flat areas when I hiked into Pine Grove Furnace Park.  It was about the half-way point and a pretty big milestone for thru-hikers.  My water supply was done and I needed to grab some at the first chance I got.  I reached an open field with some hard structures with a modern technology known as "plumbing."  Right away I saw a water fountain and went to fill up.

            There was some green-ish residue on the spout of the fountain and I was curiously looking at it when I thought, "Eh, it has to be healthy if it's at a park."  I filled up and went towards the Pine Grove General Store.  I put my pack down on a picnic table outside of the store when an older woman walked up to open it.  Perfect timing!  I went in and ordered a burger sub.  While I was waiting on that I scoured the store for absolutely nothing healthy.  I took two trips to the counter while cradling snacks.

"Roughly" the half-way point!

            This is the place where thru-hikers try to join the "half-gallon club," which entails eating a half-gallon of ice cream at the half-way point.  I had a lot of miles to put on and knew it would slow me down with stomach pain so I "wisely" bought just a pint of vanilla.  After munching on a big bag of ruffles-like chips, I dove into the ice cream.  Half-way thru the pint I took a bite out of something nasty.  The bottom half of the ice cream was crystalized and looking pretty bad.  So what did I do?  I took two more bites because it's supposed to be ice cream damnit!

            Luckily the sub was brought out as I discovered the bad ice cream.  I didn't want to make a big deal out of it so I just trashed the ice cream and ravenously destroyed the sub.  As soon as chow time was over I stretched and limped off to the trail until my feet went numb again and I could jog.  I ran into a group of really cool guys at the Quarry Gap Shelters, but decided to keep going a few more miles to a road that took me to Fayetteville, PA.

            When I got to US Route 30 by Caledonia State Park I turned right and headed towards an Italian place to eat about .3 miles away.  Of course it was closed due to a family emergency.  Luckily my cell had service and I called a local motel to see about getting a ride to their place.  A size large woman in a beat up mini-van, white tank-top with yellow stains and really long chin hair pulled into the parking lot to pick me up.  In 3.2 miles of driving she decided to tell me her issues with her man while listening to country.  Awesome.  I focused on the soothing voice of Timmy McGraw.

            Upon arrival at the motel, I found that you could negotiate the price.  The man told me it was $53.  I told him, "No, you said $50.  You must be thinking about the tax," to which he replied, "No, it's $53 plus tax."  I just looked at him for a second and he finally said, "I'll cut you a deal and call it $50."  Thanks GUY.  After tax it ended up being about $53.  As I walked to my room, I saw the obese woman that gave me a ride in my peripheral vision going into her room where there was a toddler.  As the door was closing she lit a cigarette.  What?!  People still do that to kids?  I get to my "non-smoking" yet smoke drenched room, shower and walk to a Dollar General for some microwave Chef Boyardee for dinner.

            I'm finally back in my room icing my left foot and ankle, pigging out, watching Family Guy, talking to my girlfriend on the phone and then drift into a food coma.  The next morning I caught a ride with nasty pants and gave her some cash before taking off into the woods.  I kept running into the guys from the day before because of taking breaks and different paces.  We cheered each other on, but cheering each other on was about to take a turn for the worse.

            My stomach was churning from the moment I woke up, but I didn't pay much attention to it.  Shortly after passing one man I had to drop my pack and run into the woods with a trowel and eco-friendly baby wipes.  I dug a hole as quickly as possible to release whatever was in my belly that wanted out. 

"Hell yeah man, get it done!" laughed the hiker I had just passed.

            It's always nice to get encouragement as you're about to give birth to an angry demon child.  So there I was, bare-assed and squatting over the hole when it came out of me like a water pump.  I'm not even exaggerating.  Like a fucking water pump that decided to take control of when the fluids were coming out of my ass.  When I thought I was done... oh no, you're not done yet and out came another pour.  Holy shit, my legs were quivering.  What the hell was wrong with me?  I had to inspect the remnants.  New trail name: "CSI."

            First of all, I missed by about a foot.  Uncontrollable gushing.  Not even like a spray or splatter, but just a straight up pouring of GROSS.  Chef Boyardee was definitely there, no where near being properly digested as macaroni noodles were all up in the crime scene.  Everything else was being absorbed by the ground.  To the surrounding inhabitants of those woods, you're so welcome for that.  I wiped my burning ass, pulled up my pants and off I went.  Off I went and every 30 minutes I would repeat what had just happened.  Twelve times in all.  Was it parasitic giardia from the water fountain?  Was it the crystalized ice cream?  Or was it the son of a bitch Chef guy... Chef what's his name... BOYARDEE!  What has he done to me?!

            My ass was chaffed and bloody and even the wet wipes couldn't bring me pain relief.  Keep in mind that this is on top of the normal day-to-day struggles of putting in big miles.  I was obviously dehydrated, but every time I drank something... "Oh, time to water the plants again... from my butt!"  Is that poison ivy?  Aw screw it.  I even ran into the same group of guys at the Tumbling Run Shelters.  One of them kindly gave me electrolyte tablets to try and hydrate as another one was smoking weed from a bong he McGuyver'ed with a Smart water bottle.  Again, great guys.

            My wet wipe supply was running low, but luckily the privy at Tumbling Run had some toilet paper AND hand sanitizer... and also hundreds of insects.  I told the guys about the TP and sanitizer then hauled ass towards the Mason Dixon line.  I ran into them again on PA Route 16 where all 4 were hitching a ride to a mythical fried chicken place called, "KFC."  I just wanted to get to Pen Mar County Park, get to a pharmacy and find a place to stay so I chose not to go with them. I took a quick smoke break to collect myself on the side of the road before knocking out the last few miles.  The guys were picked up and they waved and cheered as they went to the glory of "KFC."  I was running on empty.  Charlie Mike.

            Pen Mar was atop a giant hill that overlooked a valley where a civil war battle took place.  It was a beautiful sunny day so I found a spot in the grass.  I sat down to call possible places to stay and just enjoyed a great view from in front of the grand stand that had an American flag in front of it.  'MERICA.  I was dehydrated and scared to eat or drink, so I smoked to quench both thirsts.  I had to enjoy this view... I had to take in the sight and enjoy not shitting angry, spicy piss out of my ass. 

Pen Mar County Park... Civil War battle took place in the valley there. #historynerd

After my little moment at the park, I got in touch with an awesome older lady from the "Nostalgic Dreams B&B."  She immediately picked my stank ass up and took me to a local pharmacy.  Best service ever.  Probably because they wanted to hurry me out so I didn't scare the locals with the stink and overall hobo look.  A woman asked me what I wanted.

"Wet wipes, snacks for nom noms and some anti-diarrhea pills... for just in case... you know," I murmured.

"Sure! Got it all. Just follow me. Oh yeah here's the best stuff!" she belted as I, for some reason, thought the whole store was curious about my bowel movements.

            I got back into the nice lady's truck, went to her house/B&B and met her husband, who offered me a home cooked meal.  I declined because I knew exactly what I needed.

"Do you guys have any pizza delivery places? I appreciate the dinner offer, but I am jonsin' for some pizza."

            They laughed and gave me the number.  Then the lady showed me my room, which they dubbed, "The America Room."  Everything was decked out with patriot pride and I may or may not have cried while getting a freedom boner.  I showered, took the anti water pump pills and tested them out with pizza and coke.  A war immediately broke out in my stomach that the pills ultimately won as I only leaked onto the local habitat once the next day.  Holy solid poo, how I've missed you.

This is no joke the "America Room" and I slept very patriotically dreaming of bald eagles that night.

Doctah Jones!

Snakes... I hold the same opinion as Indiana Jones when it comes to snakes and that isn't a very pleasant opinion of the slithery creatures that sometimes hold a venomous nibble.  I encountered several black snakes that are for the most part, harmless.  They do carry bacteria in their bite that can become hazardous to your health without treatment, but they are in no comparison to the dangers of a rattle or copperhead snake bite.  Both of which I had run-ins with.

Most little critters along the way in the north were fun to look at.  I saw bright red or orange lizards the size of my thumb, foot-long green garden snakes, black snakes, salamandors and even that territorial squirrel that screamed at me provides funny memories.  My first encounter with a rattler was actual while I was in the military helping out border patrol agents in New Mexico and Texas.  It was just a baby about 2 feet in length that somehow found its way to a concrete road.  It was way more scared of us than we were of it as it slithered down the street away from us shaking it's little ass off.  On the trail, I found myself in the snake's elements where they weren't quite as scared as that young rattler on the Mexican border.

I was in New Jersey approaching the Delaware Water Gap with temps in the high 70's and low 80's when I unknowingly waltzed into rattler alley.  Who the hell thinks of New Jersey when it comes to rattle snakes?  Not THIS guy!  The rocks on the path were awful so I had to keep my eyes focused on the ground for EVERY SINGLE STEP.  It was mentally exhausting and frustrating.  This led me to become complacent to my surroundings, thinking all the dangerous stuff was back in the more northern states.

As my careful maneuvering turned into a temper tatrum stomp I would occasionally look up to enjoy the view from the ridgeline I was on.  Then I heard something I'll never forget.

"CH-KA, CH-KA, CH-KA, CH-KA, CH-KA, SSSSSSSSSSS, CH-KA, CH-KA.... CH-KA."

            My view went from the valley below to between my legs.  The rattler end of the snake was between my feet and how I didn't step on the bastard is beyond me, but it saved my life.  The rest of the body hooked around the front of my right foot and 4 feet behind me was the head of a very irritated rattle snake starring right at my calf muscle, which had become quite "meaty" by this point in my trek.  It was lined up for an easy strike!  For some reason I just kept moving, but at a much slower and careful pace.  The snake just looked at me and decided I was going to get a pass on that day.  After a few more seconds of it claiming territory by starring me down, it slithered off the path.

            The night before I made nice with an Australian and his American pal.  I knew they were behind me by about 10 minutes so I waited to warn them.

"Hey guys! There's a 4 to 5 foot rattle snake that I pissed off to the right of the trail.  It's half yellow and half black towards the rattle end," I hollared from about 50 feet away.

"Daaamn, thanks bro!"

            Charlie Mike.  That got my adrenaline going a bit and off I went, passing by people and warning them as they warned me of various monster rattle snakes in my near future.  The snakes aparently liked coming out onto the rocks when the sun was out to warm up from chilly nights.  Luckily that one was the only one I saw that day even though they were swarming the area at random times according to the many hikers that showed me pictures of snakes up to 6 feet in length.  I got lucky as hell that day as I literally ran into the Delaware Water Gap that bordered New Jersey and the dreaded rocks of Pennsylvania.  And no, the trail never touched Delaware.

            The only other venomous snake I saw was in Tennessee.  I had just made an intense climb and took a break.  I started back on the trail and went downhill very quickly.  It was early fall and the path was completely littered with multi-colored leaves, making great camoflauge for snakes.  My steps became big lunges with a good pace when I glanced down and saw a snake head pop up and hiss at me.  After about 5 feet I hit the breaks to see exactly what it was.  It was just a 2 foot copperhead with the distinct checkered markings.  Another near miss and yet another pass by a killer snake.  My luck had to be about up.  I guess as long as you don't actually step on the little guys, they won't attack?  In any case, I thank you... you nasty, slithery bastards.

Got Ginseng?

I was low on food as I descended Leigh High Gap in Pennsylvania, which is the scariest portion of the trail south of New Hampshire for a guy with vertigo.  A town was nearby, but I was always in a rush to get to the finish with what little time I had allotted myself.  I stubbornly and foolishly crossed over the highway and started up the south side of the gap after a quick smoke break to collect myself after stressing about falling off a small cliff.  About 100 meters into my climb there was a white plastic bag hanging from a tree branch next to the trail with something inside of it.

The bag contained a styrofoam cup with a lid on it.  Somebody had left food!  Trail Magic.  Thank God.  I looked around and saw nobody waiting for the poison to kick in to take advantage of my sweaty, stanky, sexy self, but safety first... I just tossed it in my bag for later.  I found a spring at the first shelter I came to and filled up.  As I peaked the ridge, the path became all spiky looking rocks and utterly miserable for hiking.  I looked for alternate paths and found that everything off the trail was way worse.  Charlie Mike.

After a couple of miles on the ridge I could hear the sound of a gun shooting very sporadically.  As a combat veteran my senses were on high alert, but common sense told me it was probably just a hunter.  The more I walked, the closer the gunshots sounded.  Then I could hear chatter.  The chatter got louder as the gunshots were probably an annoyance to any conversation.  This allowed me to get close without immediate detection.  What animal has evaded these hunters with apparently no aim?  I came around a turn in the trail and was startled at what I saw.

"Eh main, you seen any ginsaaaang?" a sweaty, size large man asked as I froze.

            There was a pale, red headed, freckle faced girl in her 20's about 150 meters away and between us was the doppelgänger of the bad guy from "Summer of Sam."  He had a nice looking unholstered silver pistol with no actual holster in sight.  He was just flinging it around shooting at random things.  Along with a psychotic look, apparent itchy face and rotting teeth the girl had a plastic bag with what looked to be cooking utensils.  I couldn't figure out the bag of utensils at that moment, but suspected meth was a part of their diet and gun safety didn't look like it took priority over that diet.

"Some what?" I asked

"Ginsaaaang."

            Now, I'm from the suburbs and I thought he was trying to say ginseng, but without subtitles I really couldn't be sure.  Even if he was trying to say ginseng, why would he ask me that?  I thought you bought ginseng at a GNC store or some shit.  I decided to play dumb, but at the same time act like I knew what he was talking about as well as replicate his accent to hopefully build a rapport and not get shot in the face as there was nowhere to go but straight at him.

"Naw main, not seen any that in some time... sawry."

"Aight then, no troubles."

"I surrrre hope ya'll find some up in these parts."

"Thankya main. Say, where you goin'?"

"Geoja."

"Oh, well gewd luck with all that."

"Thankya main! Ya'll take care naw."

            How about those skills?  As I passed the man and looked at his eyes, his pupils were dilated and he looked out-of-it.  I raised my shoulders so my pack would cover the back of my head and hopefully he would miss if he decided to search for ginseng in my brains.  You never know what you're going to get with a couple of tweaking meth heads and a pistol.  The female was next and she was just staring out into the woods with her jaw dropped and on the verge of drooling.  This was the scariest run-in with humans that I had on the entire trail. 

I moved faster and faster trying to create distance as their voices faded.  Eventually I crossed over a dirt road where I saw a black SUV they were probably driving and continued the fuck on at good pace.  Soon after the road, I came to a clearing with a couple hundred meters worth of a boulder scramble.  I seriously doubted they would come this way and I felt safe again.

Two girls were headed in my direction as I jumped from boulder to boulder.  I warned them of the creepers and recommended they proceed with caution.  I tried to translate what the man had said to me until one of them figured it out.

"Oh! They're trying to crop ginseng. It's a really expensive root you can find around here during like... a two week period in the year."

            I'll be damned.  So in order to make ginseng that you purchase at a GNC store, you have to use ginseng root.  The bag that crazy girl had was full of cropping tools.  My shameful dumbass sensors spiked and I just smiled.  The girls were grateful for the warning and assured me the next shelter was only a few miles away.  On I went to that shelter, started a fire as it began to sprinkle and I opened the styrofoam cup.  I had no idea what kind of food it was, but I could make out some kind of bean and rice mix.  I devoured it, had a smoke and had to sleep real close in the small shelter to the annoying hikers that came in late.  They bragged about having rum, but didn't want to offer any.  How rude!  It's hiker etiquette to offer booze... ESPECIALLY LIQUOR TO A THRU-HIKER IN PAIN YOU SONS OF BITCHES.  Another day gone and the mental boost of Harper's Ferry couldn't come soon enough.

Bears on the Priest

            Going thru my home state of Virginia was awesome.  Friends and family came out to surprise me along the way, the trail was significantly easier than the northern states and I was hitting between 22 and 34 miles a day.  As I approached a popular climb dubbed, "The Priest," I knew it would be the first time I had been above 4,000 feet since New Hampshire.  I figured I was in good enough hiking shape to easily make the plateau.  The thing about the Priest is that its elevation change is over a very short distance.  Time to feel that burn!

            I took a quick break at the base of the mountain to eat lunch and get ready to kick ass.  A local hiker was there with his playful dog waiting for another buddy to day hike to the North.  We chatted a bit and off I went to climb the Priest (insert inappropriate Catholic joke here).  I had a lot of energy at the beginning and moved quickly, but as I was about 1,000 feet below the finish, my energy was sapped in the humid air.  I couldn't get there fast enough.  Like every other climb I just gave myself a time limit so I could mentally have something to look forward to; i.e. "Keep moving for another 30 minutes and you're done, Bubba," I'd say to myself for motivation.  My Dad would call me Bubba when I was a kid if he knew I was hurting, but couldn't stop whatever endeavor I was focused on.

            After an hour and a half I made it to the top and went on from there.  My legs were like jello and my left ankle was still screaming at me from when I awkwardly rolled it to the inside back in Massachusetts.  I found a shelter with a nearby water source.  A couple of men were already there setting up tents.

"How's the water source?" I asked.

"Haven't found it yet, but the source on the other side of the trail is bone dry," one replied.

"I'll check out the next source and let you know."

"Thanks."

            I took my water filter system and took off a tenth of a mile downhill where the water was at a trickle.  I grabbed the biggest, cleanest looking leaf I could find to jam it in where the trickle came from in order to increase the flow.  It took a while, but I was able to grab my 2 liters and head to the top. 

"Any luck?"

"A little. There's enough to get what you need."

            As I sat in the shelter preparing to eat and then sleep, "Sky Chicken" came stomping in.  She was a SOBO that I had met a few days earlier and there weren't many of us on the trail so I naturally got excited to see a familiar face.  She was continuing on at the end of one of my hikes when I met her.  She was a thin, brown haired retired Air Force pilot from Texas with a "don't mess with Texas" accent.  I believed that she was carrying way too much weight in her pack, but if you made it to Virginia then I have no business offering advice.  She was one tough lady.  Her pack weighed 40 lbs, she was putting in 15-20 miles a day and back in New Hampshire her hip popped out of place.  Sky Chicken didn't even know it until she fell and heard it pop back into place!

"You again!" I hollered as she came into the campsite.

"Yeah I'm still kicking!"

            We exchanged stories with the guys at the campsite on physical ailments and she offered me an unfamiliar drug in the form of a pill that would help with my pain-stricken swollen ankle.  I saved it for the next day or until the pain was too much to handle.  I THINK it was tramadol, but don't quote me.  The next morning I woke up on the Priest's plateau (insert another inappropriate Catholic joke) and hit the trail just before sunrise.  It was cold enough to see my own breath and the fog was very dense.  I could only see about 50 feet in front of me as the fog-enclosed air got a little lighter. 

            Now... there were times in Virginia when I could walk down the trail early in the morning and literally startle a deer that was sleeping just a few feet away, so it was normal for me to hear rustling of the leaves as an animal scrambled away.  That particular morning I heard a different noise.  The trail beneath my feet was soft and rich with soil.  It felt fucking amazing on my battered feet.  I wasn't singing or talking to myself like I normally did so I knew my presence would go unnoticed by the local animals.  I was just enjoying my surroundings...

"Thump, thump, thump, thump."

Hmmm, I must have somehow scared off a deer.                                                   

"Thump, thump, thump, thump."

       That must be a fat deer.  I had never heard that kind of morning scramble before.  I slowed down to listen closer.  The thumps were getting closer and I saw the leaves on some large shrubs or small trees shake as something moved towards the trail down the mountain in front of me and to the right.  I stopped dead in my tracks.  It was two black bear cubs!  Awwwww!  So cute.  They were just playing around in the woods.  Then reality set in.  Where the hell is momma bear?!?!  The two cubs still had no idea I was 40 feet behind them as I froze. 

"Ka-THUMP, Ka-THUMP, Ka-THUMP, Ka-THUMP"

       THERE SHE IS.  Moments after the cubs arrived, momma bear came flying UP the mountain from the left side of the trail.  She crashed thru everything in her path as she hit the trail and looked at the cubs as if to say, "Don't leave my sight ever again!" and the cubs bowed their heads at the matriarch.  Momma bear arrived on all fours not realizing a human was still only 40 feet behind her babies as the fog danced around me helping to cloak my presence.  She stopped moving with her hind parts aimed at me.  Momma bear then cocked her head to the right and I saw her crinkle her nose as she sniffed the air. Ohhh no, no, NO.  The fog hid me from sight, but nothing could hide my stank.  She looked in my direction, turned around and stood up on two legs.  HOLY FUCK.

       I was under the impression black bears rarely got over 6 feet tall, but this momma bear towered over me even being downhill from my location easily reaching 7-8 feet tall.  Her front two legs were bent inward much like a "tough guy" before a fight.  After seeing momma bear move up the mountain with such velocity and size, I realized then that I could not outrun or out climb this beast.  What the hell am I supposed to do?

       Some hikers had run into bears and tried to look bigger by holding their arms out while they screamed.  This seemed like a good idea if it was a bear all by itself, but in my case I had to think about how that momma bear had to protect her babies and a skinny human is an easy target.  Sooo what did 'MERICA do?  I looked as docile and non-threatening as possible.

I literally just looked around like I was lost while keeping an awkward eye on the bears...  didn't even make a sound.  I was thinking that if I looked like I didn't pose a threat, I would be fine.  However, if she showed any ounce of hostility towards me, such as a growl or forward movement, I would have no choice but to unstrap my pack while simultaneously running and screaming at the bear without hesitation to instill fear.  Oh hello psychological warfare.  Then I would unsling my pack to throw at her as a distraction so I could hopefully stab her in the FACE with the dull trekking pole while she fought off the flying pack.  Instead of thinking about the consequences of challenging a bear, I had to focus on being the Alpha male and kill this motherfucker.  Moment of truth.  It's about to get savage.  Here we go...

Awww give 'em a hug!

        Aaaaaaaaaand nothing.  She just sniffed the air again while on two legs and for a split second I saw her eyes widen as she was finally able to make out my silhouette.  Momma bear immediately went back to all fours and took off down the trail away from me with her two cubs en tow.  Thank God.  Wait a minute.  I still had to go that way.  It was then that I remembered a sign from one of the northern states that recommended hikers to "Make happy noises like sing songs or talk loudly to yourself" in order to give a bear warning that you're coming.  Bears are typically not going to hunt humans and run at the sight or sound of us.

        Off I went down the trail singing my own hits such as, "Heeeeey, heeeey little bear, please, please, pleeeeease don't eat my little ass," and "Nobody wants to eat a scrawny human! Hey... ho... hell NO!"  TRUE STORY.  As I sang my super awesome songs, my adrenaline was jacked as I saw the bear tracks in front of me.  The soft-soiled trail was destroyed for about 3/4 of a mile until they disappeared down the mountain and to the left.  Safe then?  Probably.  Slow down?  "Hey... ho... hell NO!"  I popped a few tramadol pills and holy high batman... the rest of the day was a breeze with all smiles.

Grey Wolf - Riff Raff

           I was in the 100-mile Wilderness at the end of a long day when I reached a sign that said the shelter was inconveniently placed atop a very sharp drop off.  A pathetic and murky water source was at the bottom.  All I could think about was getting my gear off and not put it back on until the next day, so without thinking of the logistics I climbed the steep hill.  Looking back down the small cliff made me realize I should have filled up at the bottom.  Damn it.

            As I slid 100 feet back down to fill up, Smurf walked up and I warned him about the hill.  We both filled up and headed back up.  There were two older men at the shelter and a trail repair crew camping off to the left.  One old man was massaging his feet with toes bent and curled in every direction.  He was frail... and SO old.  He looked at least 75.  How is he alive out here?  The other man was hiking his final state of the AT after doing a state each summer.  Fourteen years of work and I felt like an asshole for trying to do it in 3 months.

Looking haggard while resting by a cold stream for lunch.

"Wooah, hey guys. I know it's late, but I just got this euphoric runner's high man," the stoner hiker said as he approached the shelter.

            I don’t think it could be a runner’s high when you’re not running.  I think he was just high.  He called himself Grey Wolf.  He was a hilarious nuisance to everyone on the trail.  Grey Wolf had disgustingly dark greasy hair and a face flush with bad decisions during puberty.  He was probably in his mid to late 20's and wearing a shirt with the number "69" on both sides.  The shirt was like a jersey with "Riff Raff" on the front and "Grey Wolf" on the back.  Grey Wolf showed up right at dark and proceeded to dump all of his gear all over the shelter to rummage thru much like a monkey rummaging thru his own feces to see which piece its going to throw at you. 

"Ohmmmm yeah this is the stuff maaan, carbs," he moaned as he ate as loudly as humanly possible. "I'm putting in big miles so I have to eat."  Thank you, John Madden of hiking. Your ideas are rich with intellect. Fuck tard.

            Grey Wolf ate his meal, lit a joint and told me about Rif Raff even though all I did was offer him some Tylenol for his hurt feet.  Rif Raff?  Apparently it's a group of hikers that take hiking verrrry seriously.  So much so, that they're kind of nasty to people that aren't into it like they are.  Another hiker, Iceman, would later tell me they were a ridiculous attempt at a hiking gang.  Ha!  I'm learning so much about the popularity of the trail and I just started.  Never thought I would hear "hiker" and "gang" used in the same sentence.

            As I got ready to crash, Patrick (Freight Train) came up to the shelter looking exhausted.  He was a 19-year old from New York City who weighed 260 lbs and was carrying a pack with too much weight.  Combine that with the hiking and you have one extremely dehydrated man.  He looked down the hill where the water was and the mere thought of walking more just crushed his spirit.  Patrick didn't even want to eat.  He just wanted to go to sleep.  I talked him into eating and gave him my water claiming that I'm "over hydrated" even though I hardly had any.  He needed it more than me and I knew I could make it to the next water source in the morning a few more miles south. 

            As we all finally got some shuteye, Grey Wolf had other plans.  He kept rummaging thru his gear with a bright light on.  After 30 minutes he took all of our stares as a hint to at least turn the light off.  He just turned it from a white light to a red light.  Not a big help in a small shelter.  Grey Wolf eventually calmed down from whatever he was high on and went silent.

            Every couple of hours thru the night ole Grey Wolf would awaken, light a joint then a cigarette... with the red light on.  I don't even know if it was weed he was smoking.  I've smelled weed before and whatever he had smelled like burnt shit.  Maybe it was meth.  His teeth were rotting and it looked like he itched the hell out of his face.  Who knows... I just wanted to get some sleep.

            Grey Wolf's behavior continued until 4 in the morning, when his alarm went off and he decided to get on the trail.  The alarm was Darius Rucker's cover of the song "Wagon Wheel."   I left shortly after he did since I was already up and the old farts were sawing some serious logs.  About halfway thru the morning I came up on someone sitting Indian style in the middle of the trail.  The trail is only wide enough for one person.  Who would block the trail?  Yep, it's Grey Wolf.  He was picking at his feet.

"Oh heeeey maaaaan, am I in your way?"

"Nah, you're good," as I scrambled around him.

            The guy couldn't even find me.  I walked right past him and he was talking to me with the Stevie Wonder head sway trying to figure out where this voice was coming from.  I hauled ass and hoped to not run into him again.  Not so lucky.  I would see him at another shelter on my last night in the 100-mile Wilderness.  It was pouring outside and hikers were coming in.  We fit 8 dudes in a shelter made for 5 or 6.  Grey Wolf's habits continued.

            We all woke up to "Wagon Wheel" as Grey Wolf lit something funky then a cigarette and off he went.  An hour later he showed back up.

"Did you forget something?" I asked.

"Noooo maaaaan I think I went the wrong way."

"Oh, well the AT South is right there."

            Now, everyone gets turned around at certain spots, but if you mess up from a shelter... I have to wonder how you even got your pants on in the morning.  I pointed right at the trail and Grey Wolf looked at it, then looked in the wrong direction, then the AT south, then back at me.

"Thanks maaaan!"

            And off he went... in the same, wrong fucking direction he just came from.  I never saw Grey Wolf after that day.  If I had to guess, I would say he got lost and then consumed by the elements all the while hallucinating that he was cuddling with a lynx.  Ohhhh Grey Wolf.

SPOOKED!!!

           There were a few times on the trail I was a little concerned for my safety, but only one time did I legitimately get the heeby jeebies.  I was hiking somewhere in Virginia when this all went down.  Big miles were easier at that point.  It was cloudy all day and I decided to sit down right on the trail for lunch.  There was a shelter nearby, but I didn't want to waste any time getting there.  As I sat and started to shiver, as I did everyday during lunch because I had the worst luck with weather, I heard hooves impacting the ground behind me in the direction of the shelter.  This noise was joined by what I can only describe as a hillbilly lingo.

"Am I in your way?" I asked the Santa-looking man on the first horse.

He squealed, "Nah, yew gud feller."

            I didn't know if that was the man or the horse that responded, so I just remained still and observed as a scraggly old woman on a horse followed without saying a word or acknowledging me.  Her horse's eyes were very wide and it looked scared.  Last in line was a man who looked punier than I did.  Most of his teeth were gone and the ones that were left had rot around their bases.  He was wrinkly, but I think he was younger than he looked as a result of not aging well.  And by not aging well, I think he smoked two packs a day since he was 5.

"Yew all by yasef?" Santa asked.

"I am."

            Why did he ask that?  Why did I TELL him that?  They didn't seem threatening, but something was just offsetting to me.  I eyeballed them as they went out of sight in the same direction I had to go.  Not wanting to lose sight of them, I moved as quickly and quietly behind them to make sure I wasn't about to get ambushed by the descendents of the Donner Party or be a part of the Deliverance sequel.  Their tracks went onto a side trail perpendicular to the AT south so I was in the clear... for now.

            I kept moving at a good pace until it was time to stop for a snack.  At this point of the trail I had it down to a science.  Well not exactly.  I just took the Forest Gump approach and ate when I was hungry, stopped when I was tired, etc.  I came upon a shelter directly on the trail.  Convenience is always nice.  It was called the War Spur Shelter and it looked ancient.  I put my pack down on the picnic table next to a journal that hikers used to communicate with each other, grabbed some wet wipes and went to the privy.

            The privy was decrepit with much of the wood rotting from the bottom much like ole Jebidiah's teeth.  I opened the door and as I was about to take one step in...

"FUUUUUUCK! FUCK! FUCK! HELLLLLL NO!" I yelled at the top of my lungs.

            There was a large spider dangling a few feet above where I wanted to sit down, juuuuuust waiting for me all like, "Hey friend, come on in and sit riiiiight here. It's safe (wink)!"  It resembled a brown recluse, but I wasn't aware they were "danglers."  Times must be tough for killer spiders to be hanging out in the shitter.  This wasn't the first time a spider ruined my image of safely going #2 in a privy and it was the last time I attempted to use one. 

I was so startled that I jumped back and slammed the door.  I walked into the woods to do my business and then went back to the picnic table to have a snack.  I sat on top of the table and faced the shelter standing only a few feet away.  As I ate, I looked at the journal that was placed inside a large zip-lock bag.  I noticed a hand written note was placed onto of the journal so I read that first.  Paraphrasing:  On August 25 (estimated and it was only a couple of weeks before I got there) two southbound thru hikers came here and saw a man hunched over the picnic table facing the shelter. 

Wait a minute.  I'm sitting down facing the shelter.  My eyes widen.

The man was deceased with no sign of a struggle.  His glasses were on the table and his stove was set up as if he was about to eat.  The two hikers went back to a road and contacted a ranger before moving on. 

As I realize I'm sitting in the same spot where there was a dead guy, I read an additional note beneath the original that looked like different handwriting.

"We are the family of the deceased hiker from August that was found here.  We just wanted to see where he passed away doing what he loved."

I slowly stopped chewing my snack and realized I hadn't been this spooked since I discovered a mass grave in Iraq.  How did he die?!  Was it that bastard spider in the privy?  Was it the hillbillies on horses?  Should I avenge him and kill the spider?  What if the spider is a ninja?  I don't want to fight a ninja spider.  I'm outta here!  I packed my things and got out of there as fast as I could... completely creeped the fuck out and randomly spazzing by flailing my arms, shaking my head and grunting, "eh.... ew.... ah."  Nothing like a cloudy day with creepy hillbillies, possible ghosts and ninja spiders.

Day 2: Part 2

Grains and oats lunch by a raging river en route to Abol
Bridge... only place the bugs left me alone thanks to the
breeze coming off the water... AWESOMENESS

             The trail is marked with white hashes called, "Blazes."  They are typically 6 feet up a tree and they are 2 inches wide, 6 inches in height.  Sometimes they were accompanied by white arrows if there was a fork in the trail or road.  And sometimes, locals ignored the fact that hikers were trying to not get lost in the woods and would draw white arrows for out-of-town truckers to know where to turn.  Well shit, fuck, damn... that doesn't help my situation when I'm trying to find my way now does it?! 

I left the Abol Bridge Camping area, crossed a bridge on a concrete road remembering that my ginger bearded buddy said, "Yeah, the trail is over the bridge and to the left."  What do I see after I cross the bridge?  A white blaze on the back of a road sign with a white arrow pointing to the left.  Well geeeeee whiz, I guess I better go left.  A mile later I had not seen another white blaze and if you go that far without seeing one, you need to go back.  AWESOME.

Oh but hang on a second, Mat.  BREAKING NEWS:  Your breakfast burrito wants out and it wants out now.  I saw a privy about 50 feet off the road and ran to it.  I opened the door and it had at least 100 of those giant mosquito-looking things with the bigger wings.  NOPE.  I backed up to see if they would leave the privy or if I was just going to have to drop trough in the woods.  I noticed someone had left a spray can next to the toilet so I'm thinking, "Sweet. Bug spray!"  Negative.  As I jumped in to grab the can and the burrito was about to say hello to the back of my pants, I saw it was febreze.  Really?  Out here?  Fuck it.

I sprayed the nasties with a cloud of flowery death.  They laughed, but moved enough for me to sit down.  Oh, sweet baby Jesus.  I came out looking like a drunk Doc Holiday searching for a fight.  I later learned those privy invaders were actually mosquito killers and harmless to humans.  Can we find our way to the trail now?  I hiked back to the sign of lies and heartbreak to find a piece of the arrow was now dangling in the breeze.  Tape.  White tape.  White tape that happened to be 2 inches thick, much like the blazes.  Hmmm.  I must calm down and charlie mike (continue mission).

Abol Bridge Campground (shot from the bridge going south)

As I self-debated on how much further the trail entry point would be, two haggard-looking older men popped out of the wood line a quarter mile down the road about 100 feet apart.  Yahtzee.  As the first man came near he asked where Abol Bridge was and if there was food.  I directed him and he assured me the AT south was right behind him and we parted ways.  Day 2 was a real dozy and I have a long way to go before Sun down.  I found a shelter shortly after entering the forest and decided to rest as another hiker came up from behind.

"Thru hiking?" he asked.

"Yeah, you?" I replied.

"Yeah, what's your trail name?"

"I don't have one yet. You?"

"Smurf. I wore too much blue when summiting Katahdin."

"Ha! Gotchya."

Smurf and I chatted a bit about gear and then I took off, telling him I wanted to get to Rainbow Lake to camp.  Rainbow Lake would become the ultimate mind-fuck.  I hiked for several more hours trudging thru thick, dark mud, tree roots that seemed to grab my heavy feet and of course I was escorted once again by those needle-nosed air savages.  I must be getting close as hour 14 of hiking approaches.

I could now see the lake.  I could hear people’s voices.  That must be the campground!  The trail goes straight to the lake then takes an abrupt turn.  Now I'm walking beside the lake.  Then I'm going away from the lake and up another muddy, rooty, mosquito infested hill.  Then back towards the lake.  Then away.  Then back at it.  Then away.  Now the Sun is sinking and I keep snaking to and from the lake.  The voices fade.  Where the HELL is the Rainbow Lake Campground? 

I'm looking for signs, tents, human fucking beings, it's getting dark and now clouds are rolling in.  I go towards the lake, then away, then I start to whimper.  Yes, I whimpered for the first time since I was 5 years old.  Sand was all up in my vagina.  I'm carrying way too much weight to be going more than 20 miles in the mud.  Charlie mike, Mat.  Get there.  Maybe I should just pull over on the side of the trail.  Oh wait, I can't because there's a foot of mud in every direction.  Thanks a lot hurricane Arthur.

I finally find a clearing with a hill that's not completely saturated.  I keep going.  Why?  Because I'm from the suburbs and I'm under the impression that a campground will have a sign or an iron grill or SOMETHING.I go a little further and realize I'm either lost, Rainbow Lake Campground doesn't exist or.... it was that fucking clearing.  I backtracked... again... and set up my tent.  Another man came in to camp and was followed by Smurf.  Yeah, this has to be Rainbow Lake.  The trail around the lake resembled the "Swamp of Sorrows" from the Never Ending Story.  Only add mosquitoes.

It was a race to set up my tent to avoid another down pour from that bitch, Mother Nature and another onslaught from the skeeters.  I jumped in my tent and zipped up.  I can finally rest.  I thought the day would never end.  Raindrops hit my tiny tent.  I eat more grains and oats.  My heart rate is still jacked after an hour.  Why won't my heart rate slow down?  I know I'm stressed, so I breathe deeply.  Still pumping too fast.  Is this what a panic attack feels like?  Maybe it's because my head is on the downside of the hill?  No.  My body is trying to heal.  I haven't worked my body this hard in a long time.  I fell asleep to the thump of my heart, wondering if this adventure would get easier at some point. 

In those early days I feared the worst.  Failure.  I was doing the trail at a fast rate to raise awareness and money for the Wounded Warrior Project in honor of my brethren and the Ovarian Cancer Research Fund in memory of my Mom.  I had a tracker that sent my location to a website.  A lot of people were watching.  A lot of people were invested.  A lot of people were counting on me.  Failure wasn't an option.  Mom always said during her fight, "Tomorrow's a new day."  Those words brought comfort... and hope... and that's all a man with an evil ginger beard needs.  Charlie Mike!