The Road to (and from) Damascus

Friday afternoon, I drove northwest into the mountains.

I wanted to do a 2-night backpack on the most famous of American footpaths, the Appalachian Trail (AT). I decided to start my trek in "Trail Town, USA," the sleepy hamlet of Damascus, Virginia. The town provides free long-term parking just yards from the trail.

Following the directions on the Web site, I called the Damascus Police Department, and the friendly desk officer jotted down my information.

The drive up was beautiful; the only thing that bothered me was that I might have started a little too late. I'd intended to arrive just early enough to hike out of town a mile or so and set up camp in the woods before sundown. Well, I almost made it!

From the parking lot (elevation 2,000 ft), I followed the trail back through the picturesque downtown, then along US Highway 58 for a short distance before heading up into wooded hills. As the light was fading, I went only as far as the first likely ridge, then scampered up it to what I hoped would be a flat top.

I was in luck, and managed to find a good spot among the Fraser fir, scotch pine and oak trees. I set up a bear bag system, set up my tarp and made coffee before twilight faded out around 6:45 pm. Elevation: 2,450 ft.

I could just barely hear the highway down below, and an occasional barking dog from the houses outside town. In the dark, I cooked and ate dinner, tried to drink a little vodka but decided I didn't want any, hung my food and then crawled into the sleeping bag around 8:00 pm.

The night was clear and mostly still. I'd pitched the tarp to fend off a west wind; but one of the drawbacks to ridgetop campsites is the increased likelihood of multi-directional upslope breezes. I woke several times to what felt uncannily like someone blowing on my face--if someone's breath could be 20° F! But otherwise, it was a quiet, restful, long night.

I got up around 7:45 am, boiled water for tea and grits, ate, drank my tea, packed up and headed out from camp around 9:45, a bit later than I'd wanted, but not too bad. The biggest time-consuming pain in the ass was de-icing the frosty tarp, but I saved a little time when I realized it's faster to scrunch up the tarp and then shake it out than to methodically scrape it, section by section.

On the way down to the trail, I stopped for a few moments to watch, high overhead, as about five crows tried to chase off a turkey vulture by "buzzing" it and making a lot of noise. The turkey vulture ignored them and continued to circle gracefully with seeming effortlessness.

The well-designed, easy-to-follow trail ascends steadily around a ridge, through a forest of laurel, evergreens and a variety of deciduous trees. I saw a few downed trees that appeared to have been pawed thoroughly by bears fairly recently, but otherwise very little evidence of wildlife.

Around 2,800 ft, the trail reaches a ridgeline, then ascends steeply for a bit before cresting around 3,100 ft and descending as steadily as it ascended. A little snow remained in shady spots, but mostly the trail surface was dry with lots of rocks.

The trail drops down to a creek, and Highway 58, around 2,250 ft. I filled my water bottles from a side creek, then I passed a couple of retirement-age fellows dayhiking just before crossing the road around noon.

For the next couple of miles, the AT parallels the Virginia Creeper Trail and a large creek (small river?). The trail climbs and dips as it hugs the east side of the valley before diverging from the Creeper and climbing steeply up a big hill.

I had deliberately done no research, so that the trail would be a complete surprise. I'm not sure this was the best plan. I found I still had expectations, but, since my knowledge of the area was sketchy, my expectations were way out of proportion to reality. Result: dissatisfaction.

I knew the trail north of Damascus entered the Mt. Rogers National Recreation Area, then crossed Whitetop, Virginia's second-highest mountain at 5,520 ft, before passing close to Virginia's highest mountain, Mt. Rogers (5,729 ft). So I wasn't surprised to see those familiar peaks across the big valley as the trail started climbing; but, as the day wore on and the peaks didn't seem to get any closer, I began to feel let down.

In fact, the trail meanders among many ridges and valleys as it zig-zags its way up to the high country; Whitetop is something like twenty trail miles from Damascus, Mt. Rogers another eight.

After leaving the creek, the trail switchbacks steeply up a rocky hillside, providing increasingly long vistas of the big pastoral valley. I found myself sweating in the afternoon sun, even after removing my jacket. I passed a couple of well-bundled young guys, backpackers, coming down the hill. They told me the trail "turned a corner" shortly ahead, and that after that I'd be on the colder north side of the hill.

The trail keeps switchbacking up, until topping out around 3,750 ft just below the top of the big hill. From there, it does turn north, contouring down to a saddle, then switchbacking up a shorter ascent to an exposed ridgeline, then following the ridge down and finally back up again.

It was indeed cooler on the north side, and again, I saw a dusting of snow in shady spots. For some reason, I started thinking about General Public's 1984 album All the Rage. I was surprised how much I remembered, and also surprised how well songs like "Never You Done That" and "Where's The Line" fit with the landscape and my mood.

As I descended from the rocky top of the exposed ridge, I passed a group of about ten Boy Scouts and two adult leaders, taking a break. Their huge packs and cotton clothing suggested a cold night ahead.

Aside: I've been studying "ultralight" backpacking methods for the past few years, and I've started using a lot of the techniques and gear.

A few examples:

• I used to carry a fairly lightweight tent; including the groundcloth, it weighed almost 5 pounds. Now I use a tarp, which, including groundsheet weighs about half as much.
• My old synthetic fill sleeping bag weighs 4 lbs; my new down bag weighs 2 lbs.
• My old open-cell foam, "self-inflating" sleeping pad weighs 2 pounds; my new closed-cell pad weighs 5 ounces.
• That pad also fulfills the function of a frame in my new Gossamer Gear G4 pack, which weighs 1 pound; my old Lowe Alpine Contour IV weighs a ridiculous 6.5 pounds.
• I used to carry a gasoline stove (and fuel) and a stainless steel cookpot, weighing in at almost 5 pounds total. Now I carry a homemade alcohol stove, and cook in a one-liter aluminum mug; including fuel for up to twelve meals, and a cozy, my complete kitchen weighs less than 2 pounds.

My pack for this trip, fully loaded with food, fuel and water, weighed 24 pounds, not "ultralight" by a purist's standards, but considerably lighter than what I used to carry a couple of years ago.

I learned a lot of this stuff from WhiteBlaze.net, an online gathering place for Appalachian Trail thru-hikers (and wanna-bees like myself).

After I passed the Boy Scouts, the trail dipped to a saddle, then rose again, following a ridge up to its tip. I saw a perfect campsite just at the point where the trail turns right to begin switchbacking down the hill.

I wanted to finish up early enough to ensure getting back to Damascus by a reasonable hour on Sunday. Now it was 3:00 pm, pretty early to stop for the day, but then again...I decided to stop. I figured I'd gone about 12 miles. I checked out the site and found the partially-cleared area extended a considerable distance, to well out of sight of the trail. Elevation: 3,470 ft.

I saw several flat places to set up my tarp and a cluster of rocks that would make a good "kitchen." I found many suitable trees for bear bag hanging. I took off my pack, then followed the ridge out to its tip, a couple of hundred yards past camp, and found it descended steeply to Highway 58. Beyond the highway, I saw a smallish lake. I realized I needed water, and that I hadn't seen a stream since coming up from the river valley.

I went back up to camp, set up my tarp, set up my bear bag system, made coffee. I poured enough water for dinner into my cookpot, put on my jacket, grabbed my water bottles, and descended the ridge to the road. I discovered that a trail crossed the road at that point; not the AT, but something called the Beartree Gap trail. On the other side of the road, it led towards the lake (Beartree Lake, it turns out), so I followed it.

Soon it ended at a paved loop trail around the lake. I followed the loop to the other side of the lake, passing a few strolling folks and even a couple of fishermen. The small stream feeding the lake flowed clear and swift, so I filled up my water bottles from it, attracting a curious stare from one stroller, so I smiled at him. He moved on.

After filling up, I made my way back along the paved trail to the Beartree Gap trail, then back across the road and up the ridge to my camp. It was only about 5:30. How nice to have everything done, to be able simply to chill out!

Looking for something useful to do, I dug a "cathole" for my morning latrine (that made life so much simpler the next morning, that I decided to make this part of the evening camp chores from now on).

I washed up, cooked dinner and ate it. I ate some chocolate and drank some vodka. I hoisted up my food. I watched the sun set and saw the clear, pale blue sky fade through shades of red into purple into black. I went to bed about 7:00 pm.

Heeding the call of nature later in the night, I saw a big full moon rising over Mt. Rogers. A few thin, high clouds had rolled in, creating a soft halo effect. The 180° view from the tip of the ridge was huge and majestic. Okay, wow!

Again, upslope breezes chilled me a little, but nothing major. I slept well, with only a couple of weird dreams (not as weird as last week's), and I woke easily around 7:15 am. As I prepared to make breakfast, the wind picked up, becoming a steady 15-20 mph breeze with higher gusts. This made cooking more challenging. I found I had to use more fuel to boil water for tea and grits. Annoying, but no big deal.

The temperature was about 25° F; I looked at my little windchill chart and realized that it really did feel like about -5° F. Okay. I wasn't particularly cold, though. I hadn't bothered to put on my fleece jacket, but I was wearing fleece pants over my thin nylon wind pants, and a thinnish two-layer GoreTex jacket over my longsleeve coolmax t-shirt. With my windproof fleece hat and gloves, I was pretty well-protected.

Aside: In winter, I carry the following extras:

• Windproof 200-weight Polartec fleece gloves and hat (instead of non-windproof 100-weight glove liners and balaclava)
• GoreTex shell mittens
• Neoprene facemask.

Okay, the facemask is overkill, but I'm a wimp about sleeping cold. I hate having to choose between

1. my nose feeling like a block of ice; or
2. tucking my head inside the sleeping bag, thus getting the bag good and wet.

The facemask, which weighs less than 1/2 oz anyway, keeps my nose warm. So sue me if I'm soft.

If it had gotten colder or windier, I could have put on my fleece jacket, put the wind pants outside of the fleece pants, put my GoreTex shell mittens on, and, as a last resort, I could have donned my neoprene facemask and cinched the hood of my jacket closed, until only a thin viewing slit remained. With that gear, I think I could be fairly comfortable sitting around at -20° F--but I'm not that eager to find out.

I was packed and on the trail by 9:15 am. I found, however, that my main joy this day would be in moving faster, and getting back sooner, than I'd expected. Despite being surrounded by so much natural beauty, all I wanted was get home! Take a hot bath, listen to General Public, maybe talk on the phone or check out the Oscars.

Don't ever you go too far away from me girl
(Never you done that)
Don't ever you go too far away,
Don't even think of saying it
Don't ever you go too far away from me girl
(Never you done that)
Don't ever you mention certain words about--No! No!

Up the ridge, down the other side, up steeply to the rocky, windy crest, then down. The sign at the cutoff for Saunders Shelter says 9.5 miles to Damascus...

Take another step, try another play
Maybe another drink would take the edge off

Up around the last climb, then steeply switchbacking down into the valley. Running now--pause to tighten up the pack straps--then running again, just letting gravity carry me down, watching each footfall carefully...

I'm trying not to slip
Trying to get a grip
But each time we kiss, you're the perfect stranger
So they say,
Don't ever you go too far away from me girl....

I stop running when I see another backpacker ahead. He steps aside for me, asks about the trail ahead. I tell him he's got some climbing to do. He has very long hair and a shockingly long beard for someone in his 20s...I should have asked him if he was a thru-hiker...early in the season for it, but...

Tired all day, can't sleep at night
Out of control since you've been in my sight
Day in, day out, it's such a fight
Till you hold me close and say that it's
Ah-ah-alright
Don't ever you go too far away from me, gi-i-irl...

Down, down through the valley, much faster than expected. 11:30 and I'm at the road. Short break then begin the ascent. Moving up faster than expected. Contouring around the ridges, finally reaching the ridgeline. Another break. Yesterday's little bit of snow is gone. Down now, running again, contouring down, finally past Friday night's camp. 1:30 pm. Crows still making noise but I don't see them. I stop running before heading down to 58. Back into town, this time I follow the Creeper when it splits off to the left. About the same distance, but a different view. Crossing Laurel Creek, behind the business district. The town seems asleep on Sunday afternoon. Mostly cloudy now. Over Beaverdam Creek. Turn left at the junction. Follow the oddly-gravelled AT past the park with its bandstand, past the replica trail shelter and its prominent "No Camping" sign, under the "Welcome to Damascus" sign and there I am at the car. 2:15 pm.

A pretty good hike, even if all I wanted from it was for it to be over. I drive home a different way, going 20 miles out of my way for a favorite Chinese buffet. Ah! Rice, chicken, seafood, vegetables.... Yum!

Then home, a warm bath, hang all my gear to dry and air out. Talk on the phone, watch a little of the Oscars, check out the sleet/snow/rain mix outside, listen to a little music....

(Never you done that)....

Discord

I'm listening, for the first time in about 20 years, to General Public's 1984 album (CD, whatever) All the Rage.

Anyway, when I tried to play along on the guitar, I realized they'd used European tuning, different from American tuning. To play along, I'd have had to re-tune my guitar, then tune it back to American when I was finished. I decided it was just too much trouble.

No wonder it's so hard to achieve global consensus on major issues--we don't even agree on what an "A" is.

Patience

We didn't "Free Arash and Mojtaba."

From the BBC:

An Iranian weblogger has been jailed for 14 years on charges of spying and aiding foreign counter-revolutionaries.

Arash Sigarchi was arrested last month after using his blog to criticise the arrest of other online journalists.

Mr Sigarchi, who also edits a newspaper in northern Iran, was sentenced by a revolutionary court in the Gilan area.

His sentence, criticised by human rights watchdog Reporters Without Borders, comes a day after an online "day of action" to secure his release.

Iranian authorities have recently clamped down on the growing popularity of weblogs, restricting access to major blogging sites from within Iran.

A second Iranian blogger, Motjaba Saminejad, who also used his website to report on bloggers' arrests, is still being held.

On the surface this feels like a loss.

But consider two points:

1. This is just round one.
2. Although the imprisonment of anyone for speaking freely is a shame and a disgrace, if this proves to be a rallying point for future collective action by bloggers, then a larger victory can be won than simply the freedom of two bloggers. This could go down as the moment the blogosphere began to know its own strength. (For a rough historical analogy, see what the Hetch Hetchy fight did for environmentalism almost a century ago.)

Have a good weekend. I'm off to the woods again. Yay, me!

Free Arash and Mojtaba

From the Committee to Protect Bloggers:

THE COMMITTEE TO PROTECT BLOGGERS ANNOUNCES ITS FIRST CAMPAIGN: Free Arash and Mojtaba

Let’s show the world what the blogging community can do when it unites.

Two of our own are in prison. Bloggers Mojtaba Saminejad and Arash Sigarchi are being detained by the Iranian authorities. (See below for their stories.)

Here’s what you can do.

First, download the "Free Mojtaba and Arash" banner to your blog and link it back to this post. No one in the blogosphere should be unaware of Mojtaba and Arish.

(Thanks again to our member Alan for this banner.)

Second, if you are in the United States, contact either the Representative at the Iranian Interest Section of the Pakistani Embassy or the Ambassador to Iran’s Permanent Mission to the United Nations. (Iran has no embassy in the United States.) Here is the contact information.

Dr. Mohammad Javad Zarif
Ambassador and Permanent Representative to the Permanent Mission of the Islamic Republic of Iran
622 Third Ave. New York, NY 10017
Tel: (212) 687-2020 / Fax: (212) 867-7086
E-mail: Email the ambassador

Iranian Representative
Embassy of Pakistan
Interests Section of the Islamic Republic of Iran
2209 Wisconsin Avenue, N.W.Washington, D.C. 20007
Email the Interests Section

If you are outside the U.S., as many of you will be, you can contact either the Permanent Representative to the United Nations or the Iranian ambassador in your own country.

Because distinct, individual messages are more effective than form letters, we will only provide suggestions.

• Be respectful. Bloggers are known for speaking their minds with a minimum of preciousness. But you are writing diplomats, not other bloggers.
• Make reference to Article 19 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Iran is acting in defiance of this global standard.
• Write a letter in addition to an email. It will amplify your voice and come on, your printer is like three feet from you. Besides, when was the last time you went outside?
• Later, rinse, repeat. Do not just write once and forget about it. Keep on top of Arash and Mojtaba’s stories. Write and email repeatedly. Keep the pressure on.

In addition to your efforts, the Committee will contact both the Iranian Interests Section and the office of the Ambassador to the Permanent Mission. We will report back to you with what we find out.

It’s up to us, no one else. Let’s take responsibility for our own and show the world bloggers are a force.

You know what to do....

I Went

I finally made it to the woods for a four-day, three-night backpacking trip. Solo. Winter. Not just in a wilderness area, but in two wilderness areas. So there.

Actually, it was great, one of the best outdoor experiences I've had so far.

Day One: (Thursday)

I drove up to the mountains, and spent about an hour scouting by car for 1) a good place to ford the West Fork of the Pigeon River and 2) the trailhead for the Green Mountain Trail.

Didn't find the trailhead, though I did find two spots that might have been the trailhead. I did find a reasonable crossing, so I decided to start my loop by crossing the river. Elevation: 3,080 ft.

Crossing the river wasn't too hard, after I accepted the idea of wading a short distance in knee-deep 35° water. Most of the crossing was rock-hopping, with only a little wading. Most of the wading was in swift, but very shallow, water; the knee-deep part was nearly still. But to dip my foot in the cold water, though! I had debated whether or not to bring sandals for just such a crossing, and I was glad to have brought them, to be able to put on dry socks and boots after drying my feet on the other side.

A short scramble up a steep bank and I was on the Fork Mountain Trail. I walked maybe two-tenths of a mile, then went steeply uphill offtrail to an area which looked promising for campsite locations. A short while later, I'd found a perfect spot. Elevation: 3,450 ft. I made myself a cup of cowboy coffee (I know cowboys don't usually drink coarse-ground vanilla coffee, but just call it poetic license), and set up my tarp.

By this time, the sun was fading fast, and the sunny-but-breezy day was giving way to what promised to be a clear, cool, breezy night. A short distance from my little camp, I found a good tree for bear-hanging my food bag, set that system up, then cooked my dinner there and ate it.

Why do dehydrated Thai sesame noodles taste so good in the woods? Life's mysteries... Ah well, I followed that with a little chocolate and a wee dram of rum, then off to bed was I, at the late, late hour of 8:00 pm. It actually does seem late when it's completely dark, when you're starting to shiver a little and the wind is blowing. A warm sleeping bag, out of the wind inside a well-pitched tarp is a mighty fine place to be.

Aside: backpacking in winter involves only three main elements: walking, sleeping, and camp chores. This time of year here, it's light enough to travel by about 7:30 am and fully dark by about 6:45 pm. That gives you 11 hours and 15 minutes. Subtract the time it takes to do the evening camp chores, and you have about 9 hours. Subtract the morning chores, and you're down to about 7 hours. Which is plenty long enough to walk in one day when you're in shape like I'm not.

So, seven hours of walking, four hours of chores and thirteen hours of sleep? Yep, pretty much. Thirteen hours in the sleeping bag, at any rate. As a certified sleepaholic, I think this is one of the hidden gems of winter backpacking.

Day Two: (Friday)

With the wind still shaking the trees outside, I found it easy to be lazy. Eventually, I got up, fixed some tea, packed up some of my stuff, boiled some water for grits, packed up some more of my stuff, then ate the grits.

Aside: they were the worst grits I'd ever eaten. I didn't know why until this morning, when I realized they were quick grits, not instant as I'd thought. Makes a difference!

After breakfast, I packed up what remained, made my way down to the trail, and off I went. 10:15 am. The trail soon turned steeply uphill, following a creek for a little while before leaving it to switchback (still steeply) up to a ridgeline.

Aside: I filled my water bottles from the creek. I don't filter or treat water from streams if I know there's no agriculture, industry or habitations upstream. I've never been sick. I believe giardiasis and similar backcountry ailments are usually caused by bad hygiene, not bad water. Your mileage may vary.

I carry two bottles: one is a standard one-liter plastic soda bottle, the other is a 2.5 liter hydration pack bladder. I made an insulated pouch for the hydration bladder so the water won't freeze. So far, it's worked. I used to carry a nalgene bottle until I realized it was something like 5 times as heavy as a soda bottle. The soda bottle works fine. I keep it inside my pack as my "reserve."

When the hydration pack is empty, I know I have one liter remaining and it's time to find some more water. 3.5 liters is just right for two hot beverages, two hot meals, and seven hours of walking.

Not long after the trail reaches the ridgeline, it turns sharply and follows the ridge until it dead-ends into another ridge, at an old road.

That's where I got a little "confused," if I may borrow from my fellow Tar Heel Daniel Boone. The map indicated that the trail turned sharply south at this point. The old road, (built by loggers over a hundred years ago and now overgrown but still recognizable) went north and south. So I turned right and went south on the old road. For quite a while (at least 30 minutes) this seemed to have been the right choice. Then the road ended at the top of a cliff.

Aside: trails in wilderness areas aren't supposed to have blazes or signs, so you have to be at least fairly good with map and compass to get around (or travel with someone who is). Many states totally fudge the no-blazes-or-signs rule, but North Carolina plays it almost entirely by the book. They do make exceptions for the Appalachian Trail (AT), and the Mountains to the Sea Trail (MST), but even along those routes, blazes and signs are scarce through wilderness areas.

I looked for something that looked like a trail heading south from the cliff, but there was nothing. I looked left off the trail; I looked right off the trail, but there was nothing. Okay, maybe that faint trace to the left was something. It led uphill, which was more-or-less in line with what the map indicated. I knew it wasn't the trail, but now I knew the road wasn't the trail, either, so I hoped the trace would lead me to the trail faster than backtracking would.

Clearly, I reasoned, I should have turned left on the road. It would have gone north briefly before curving south. It should now be paralleling this route, and if so, it would be uphill from here. So up the trace I went. Soon the trace disappeared, but I continued on the same compass bearing and to my delight, a few minutes later I came to an old road! Yes!

The road went north and south. I went south again. Makes sense, right? Guess what? About five minutes later, the road ended at, yep, a cliff. I looked left. I saw a path. I followed it to a Really Good View. Where it dead-ended. I backtracked. I looked right. I saw a steep descent along the top of the escarpment with no trail (or even trace) evident. Hmmmm....

I headed back along the road, past the trace, past a huge tangle of fallen trees (apparently years old, not an encouraging sign) until I came to a second old tangle of fallen trees, at which point I decided my best bet was to backtrack all the way back to the trace, back down the trace to the old road, back along the road, past the trail junction--and see where that got me.

Since I did have a good spot for it, before I headed down, I quickly triangulated my position, using two of the area's more famous high points as reference points. (I hadn't done this exercise in a long time; I found it reassuring that it came back so naturally.) I found I was approximately at the point where the trail turned 180° from north to south. Great.

So I backtracked to the trace, then back to the other old road, then back 30 minutes to the trail junction. And beyond. This did seem more like a trail and less like a road. After about 5 minutes, it curved around 180° to head south. After a few more minutes, it came to a very familiar old tangle of fallen trees. What the?!? I worked my way around the tangle and sure enough, I soon came to the other tangle and from there to the cliff edge. Again. Great.

I reflected that there were many good campsites here, and that getting back to the car would be no problem, unless the river rose significantly, but the weather was not-a-cloud-in-the-sky sunny. So, I reflected, things could be worse. I took my lunch break. I enjoyed the view and the warm sun. I snapped a few pictures.

After lunch, I backtracked the road, looking carefully for any path, however faint, that might diverge from it. Not long after the second tangle of trees, I found it: a faint, but distinct path, almost impossible to spot from the other direction. It skewed off from the road and headed to a different spot on the cliff--where it made a steep, but fairly easy, descent. Then it led south onto what appeared to be the main Fork Mountain ridgeline. Success!

The rest of Friday's hiking was easy, up a well-designed, easy-to-follow trail to the top of Birdstand Mountain and finally onto Fire Scald Ridge, where the fire scars are gone, but a huge grassy meadow remains. After a brief scout for a good campsite on the trail ahead proved futile, I decided to make camp in the meadow. Elevation: 5,220 feet. I set up my tarp in a flat space between two trees on one side of the meadow, and cooked/ate/hung my food on the other side of the meadow.

The site was open to the southwest, so I had a great view of sunset and a nice, long twilight. Still, I was in the sleeping bag by 8:00 pm. I had wandered for over 2 hours; I'd covered a grand total of 6 miles of my loop so far. For a final insult, I realized I had only 16 oz of water, so I wouldn't be able to cook a hot breakfast in the morning. Oh, well, nothing for it but to sleep. Soundly.

Day Three: (Saturday)

Who needs a hot breakfast, anyway? I got warmed up by de-icing the tarp. I'd expected a windy night, but instead it had been mostly still. The temperature had fallen to 15°, not too cold, but cold enough that I wasn't in any hurry to get up. Fire Scald Ridge was between me and the sun, so while the rest of the visible world bathed in sunlight, the meadow stayed shaded until well after 8:00 am. A heavy frost had coated the tarp in a thick film of ice, so I put on my waterproof mitten shells and scraped it off by hand. This was a pain in the ass, but it worked.

While I waited for the sun, I ate my trail food: sesame sticks (spicy, of course) and a gorp mix I've been eating since I was a Boy Scout, raisins, honey-roasted peanuts and M&Ms. Washed down with a single swig of water. Yum. I was packed and on the trail by 9:30 am.

The trail follows the shady side of Fork Mountain, ascending gently through a world coated in moss and frost for about a mile and a half, until it junctions with the Ivestor Gap trail just below Ivestor Gap. Just before the junction, I came to a small, but vigorously-flowing stream, where I gratefully filled up my water bottles.

At the Ivestor Gap junction, I left the wilderness and entered the Pisgah National Forest. After taking in the huge view, I headed south in bright sunshine along the somewhat-famous Art Loeb trail, which ascends steadily to the top of Tennent Mountain (6,040 ft, it has a great 360° view), then descends a little before ascending again to the top of Black Balsam Knob (6,214 ft, it has an even better view--and a good deal of wind).

Here I took some pictures, and a quick lunch break, ducking down behind the summit rocks for a break from the steady wind. I put on sunscreen, and donned my shades, and checked the map. I was amazed to see that I'd already walked as many miles as I'd covered the previous day! I saw that most of the rest of today's walk would be either almost-level or downhill.

With a spring in my step, I made my way along the trail, across a fire road, through a beautiful "enchanted forest" of balsam fir, up slightly, then turning west on the MST, skirting a dizzing cliff line above the Blue Ridge Parkway. A few thin clouds began to slide in from the west.

Having heard the view was spectacular, I decided to make the short detour to Devil's Courthouse. I passed a stream on the way and was surprised by an older German couple as I
filled my water bottles again. They asked me about my previous night; I asked them about the weather forecast. They said it was supposed to rain late Sunday, which was the same forecast I'd heard Thursday.

As the sky clouded over, I followed the MST as it meandered north of the Parkway through a diverse forest, around the side of a minor peak, and then steeply down a valley beside a swiftly-flowing, cascasding stream to cross NC Hwy 215 where the stream joins Bubbling Spring Branch.

I formulated a plan A, a plan B and a plan C for Sunday. Plan A would be to follow the MST into the Middle Prong Wilderness Area, to the "old and obscure" Green Mountain Trail, and along that back to the car. Plan B would be to follow the MST just a bit further to a trail I'd hiked last year; it would make for a shorter, easier walk back. Plan C was to walk 10 miles down highway 215.

Having formed the plans, I started singing to myself, something I do fairly often on long solo walks. A large German Shepherd dog startled me in the middle of "The Happy Wanderer" (corny, I know, but it's such a good walking song that it keeps popping into my head when I fall into a certain rhythm). The dog belonged to a young, heavily-bundled couple, with whom I exchanged friendly greetings. I wandered happily across 215 and into Middle Prong Wilderness.
The MST crosses Bubbling Spring Branch, parallels the road briefly, then heads west, ascending to the foot of Mt. Hardy, which I'd considered climbing if time had permitted. I decided I didn't have time to climb it if I wanted to make it out of the woods before sunset on Sunday.

Saturday was almost done. It was late afternoon, I'd covered a lot of miles and now I just needed a good campsite. I passed a meadow, then another, but it was still too early to stop. I passed a wonderful area of Balsam fir, then just before it was time to stop, I passed a marginally-acceptable site in a small clump of trees at the top of short, sharp hill. I went ahead a little further on the trail, but seeing no good sites, I ended up backtracking to the hillside spot. I'd traveled over 12 miles today. Elevation: 5,180 ft.

The site was a little small, which made setting up my (fairly huge) tarp a little tricky. There was exactly one human-body-sized flat place, so that's where the groundsheet and sleeping pad went. I had coffee, then dinner. The only good tree for bear-bagging was, unfortunately, just a few yards away, but I'd eaten my dinner well away from camp, so I wasn't too worried. By 7:30 pm, I was on my way to sleep.

Day Four: (Sunday)

I woke with a start around 3:00 am. Something hitting the tarp! Okay, not a bear. Rain? Sleet? It turned out to be rain mixed with sleet. Lovely.

I managed to get back to sleep, but I had bizarre dreams. In one of them, Johnny Depp and Benecio del Toro were trying to kill me. They had rifles and were chasing me around the Arboretum on the UNC-Chapel Hill campus. I kept taking cover behind trees, benches--anything to deny them a clear shot. Finally, Depp had me cornered. I charged him, grabbing the rifle barrel. We wrestled with it and he managed to get the muzzle into my mouth. Before he could pull the trigger, I got it out of my mouth. I was stronger than he was, and was able to put the the muzzle into his mouth. I saw his finger tightening on the trigger--he was going to kill himself! I pulled the muzzle out of his mouth and, with a defeated air, he released the rifle in disgust and slinked off. His hair had become tangled and ratty; his face was blue--not blue like a dead person, but blue like a smurf or like Krishna.

The dream, and a stronger burst of rain/sleet woke me up around 5:30 am. Why would Johnny Depp want to kill me? Why would he want to kill himself? What an odd dream. It still doesn't make sense, but it is really weird to me that I had the dream on the morning of the day Hunter S. Thompson shot himself (Depp played Thompson in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas; his co-star in that was Benecio del Toro). Just plain weird. I had another odd dream, too, involving people I know so I'm not going to discuss it.

Could the campsite have had some kind of psychic resonance? I don't really believe in such things, but I don't think I'll ever camp there again!

I woke to a "crystal palace" of icy limbs and icy everything else around 7:30 am. I decided to skip the hot breakfast again, to just get on the road as soon as possible. Literally the road--Hwy 215, I decided, was the only sensible plan given the weather. By 8:30 I was on my way down the MST. With my instep crampons, traction wasn't an issue, but without them, I think I'd have had a very hard time.

Walking ten miles along a paved highway in cold rain sounds horrible, but I enjoyed it. The rain settled into a steady drizzle and there was no ice underfoot after I reached the road. I hardly saw any cars. I considered trying to flag one down, but decided I'd come for a walk, so I might as well have one! I enjoyed the views along the road, as it followed the creek until it was joined by enough other creeks to be called a river.

I made really good time. I'd expected to go something like 2 mph, but instead I went something like 3.5 mph. Towards the end, I found what I'm fairly sure is the Green Mountain trailhead. I reached my car about 3 hours after leaving camp. I'd walked 10 and a half miles today, making over 28 total. I would have liked to have made a longer loop, but the difficult routefinding on Friday had shown me the wisdom of contingency planning. Similarly, I'd have liked to have walked the Green Mountain trail, but it'll be there another day.

My main "goals" were to get outdoors for 3 nights, to walk a long way in nature, to see beautiful things, to stay out long enough to synchronize myself with the rhythms of nature. And to make it back alive and well.

Mission Accomplished!

Astute readers will note

If you're paying attention, you know that I should be freezing my butt off somewhere in the NC mountains right now. Instead, my butt is parked in front of a computer.

That's right, I still haven't gone.

Damned weather forecasts! Today was supposed to have brought rain (it didn't).

See, rain in winter is Very Bad. It can kill you, as in dead. It's much worse than snow for creating hypothermia. This is why I HATE North Carolina winter weather. Even in our highest mountains, it's been warm enough this winter that most storms have produced rain. After the storms, it cools down, say to about 10° F, and it gets windy. Result: instant hypothermia--just add hiker. Alternate scenario: it snows, but then it warms up dramatically. Then it cools down again. Result: ICE.

Joy, oh joy. Why can't it just get cold and snowy and then stay that way until, say, May or so? This seems to work fine for New York, Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine. They get one mud season, we get about ten. Ah, I shouldn't bitch. At least I don't live in Florida.

I'm going tomorrow. Damnit.

Time Machine

Today's headlines are about what I'd have expected when Bush became President in 2001.

Here are a few from Yahoo's Top Rated Stories:

• Study: War on Poverty Sees More Hungry, Homeless

  Despite a war on poverty that began more than four decades ago, the ranks of the hungry and homeless in the United States are increasing even as government funding declines, a study released on Tuesday found.

• U.S. Interceptor Missile Fails to Launch in Test

  President Bush's planned ballistic missile shield suffered another setback on Monday when an interceptor missile again failed to launch during a test of the U.S. missile defense system.

• War budget request loaded with extras

  The Bush administration asked Congress on Monday to provide $82 billion to cover unbudgeted costs in the global war on terrorism, but the request includes funds for a long-planned military reorganization and for activities such as tsunami aid that are seemingly unrelated to terrorism.

• Study: Homeless Shelters, Food in Demand

  Many homeless shelters and soup kitchens faced with more requests for emergency services are turning people away because they lack the beds, food and money to meet the demand, says a survey from an advocacy group for low-income Americans.

• AP: Donor Was Promised Ambassadorship

  A big Republican donor goes to his governor and senator, saying he was told by President Bush's chief fund-raiser he'd be getting a plum ambassadorial appointment but it wasn't delivered. The senator takes his case right to the top of the White House.

Of course in early 2001, I'd have been, like, "Dude--global war on terrorism? Tsunami aid? WTF!?" But poor people getting shafted while Republican cronies and pet, half-baked military boondoggles are well-funded--I mean, no surprise.

Well, I'm not here to Bush bash. I have nothing against him as a fellow human being, and as Howard Dean pointed out recently, we aren't going to win back the hearts and minds of our countymen if we're only against Bush and not for anything of our own.

So what are we for?

Personally, I'm for social justice, for preserving and improving the environment, and for shrinking the gap between haves and have-nots.

Can we build a big tent with that?

Blogging for Popcorn

Stone Mountain (the North Carolina one) was great. Mom, dogs and I all had a great time Saturday. I took a bunch of pictures and eventually I'll do something with them.

The weather was at least as rotten as the forecast yesterday and today, and I feel good about NOT HAVING GONE on my extended backpacking trip. I'm going tomorrow. Really.

Not much to report. Valentine's Day and my love's so far away. Still, I do feel warm and fuzzy about the whole thing.

I might as well just admit it: I've watched more movies in the past couple of weeks than I think I watched all last year. Well, a lot of movies anyway. I'll try to list them in no particular order.

- Traffic
- Strangers On a Train
- The Fog of War
- 21 Grams
- Knife in the Water
- Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl
- Leaving Las Vegas
- A Boy and His Dog
- Better Off Dead
- My Big Fat Greek Wedding
- Do the Right Thing
- The Guys
- The Fortune Cookie
- A League of Their Own
- Sayonara
- Mr. and Mrs. Iyer
- High Noon
- American Beauty
- Grosse Pointe Blank
- A Shot in the Dark
- Real Genius

I'm sure I missed a few, but you get the point--a LOT of movies.

I'd seen several of them before, and I was at least as surprised by my reactions to some of the ones I'd seen as I was by my reactions to the ones I saw for the first time. In particular, I was surprised how little I enjoyed A Shot in the Dark, when I'd remembered it as hilarious, possibly as the funniest movie I'd ever seen. 21 Grams and The Guys both surprised me positively, both with their emotional power. I was further surprised to learn that The Guys was made in 2002, too close in time to its subject, I'd have thought, to make such an eloquent and appropriate movie.

And Ian, having finally seen Real Genius, I agree with you that it's a great film. Just think how different my life might have been had I seen it when everyone else did. Okay, not very different. Never Mind. But why didn't I see it then? Probably I had it confused with Weird Science.

Maybe it's appropriate that I also learned how to make real popcorn a few days ago, REAL popcorn, you know, the kind that tastes like butter--because it's actually slathered in actual butter?

Popcorn! Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to watch Unforgiven.

The Simple Joy of NOT GOING

I didn't go backpacking because the weather forecast sucks: temps just above freezing with rain and strong wind, followed by temps well below freezing and stronger wind. So I'll go for a day hike today at a nearby state park with the dogs (nice weather today), and Tuesday I'll go deep into the woods.

Briefly

Just to clarify briefly before I hit the road, the 9/11 attacks were terrible crimes. The fact that the US government and Western corporations have also committed great crimes doesn't change that, or even mitigate it. It does explain the 9/11 attacks though, and give a roadmap to preventing future violence against us. What goes around, comes around--and every single US citizen with the vote is guilty to some degree.

On the one hand, Ward Churchill's tone and language do little to bridge this country's gap between left and right. He pisses people off by speaking bluntly and dramatically. On the other hand, had he used less provocative language, we wouldn't be talking about this. In his recent speech at CU, Churchill says we should thank Bill O'Reilly, Ann Coulter and the other conservative pundits who attacked him, for bringing attention to him and his ideas. Similarly, we should all thank Ward Churchill for starting this conversation.

Now, to the woods.

I'll Jump Right In

Since this web log picks up where my first one leaves off, I'm won't risk boring you with a lengthy intro. I'm here to discuss events in my life that I consider worth remembering, and events in the larger world that merit further examination.

As to the former, tomorrow I go for a 3-night/4-day solo walk in two wilderness areas in the North Carolina mountains. I'd planned to start today, but the likelihood of 100+ mph winds tonight convinced me to put it off one day.

As to the latter, I just watched about an hour of video of Ward Churchill speaking at the University of Colorado in Boulder, clarifying remarks of his that have inflamed an explosive controversy. For now the video is available here, but that's probably only for the next couple of weeks. The text is available here.

Much about Mr. Churchill invites controversy. He claims to be a Native American, and to have seen combat in Vietnam, but the American Indian Movement (AIM) denounces him, and I've seen a few conservative challenges to his military service. I don't know the facts, so I'm not going to judge.

His credibility isn't the issue here, anyway. Analysis, not factual assertions, put him in the recent spotlight. It comes down to two words: 'little Eichmanns.' That's how Churchill referred to the corporate employees who died in the World Trade Center towers on 9/11; he compared them to the Nazi functionary Adolf Eichmann. In his own words:

I said...that the "technocrats of empire" working in the World Trade Center were the equivalent of "little Eichmanns." Adolf Eichmann was not charged with direct killing but with ensuring the smooth running of the infrastructure that enabled the Nazi genocide. Similarly, German industrialists were legitimately targeted by the Allies.

Churchill asserts that American corporations and the US government commit crimes against humanity comparable to those committed by the Nazis. I find it hard to refute the point. Over the years, we've overthrown democratic governments, we've propped up repressive regimes, we've enforced sanctions and we've waged wars. In so doing, we may have killed more than the Nazis killed. I will offer the qualification that the Nazis were intentionally trying to eradicate an entire race of people, just because of who those people were, while the great Western military/corporate juggernaut kills in the processes of making money, and of creating conditions favorable for making more money. So--the Nazis meant to kill; we didn't/don't mean to kill, but mistakes are made, shit happens, and people die. Still, he's right: the US government and American corporations have a lot to answer for.

Churchill also claims that the employees of those corporations (he calls them 'technocrats') are as guilty of the same crimes as the companies they work for. This is a lot harder to swallow. Are employees responsible for the actions of their employers? Given the level of conglomeration in today's business world, and the pace of mergers and acquisitions, can employees even reasonably be expected to know everything their employers are doing (or even who their employers are)? In this age of downsizing and outsourcing, can workers afford to be so choosy as to refuse, or walk away from, a good job?

Churchill makes a strong distinction between the towers' 'technocrats' employed by major corporations--wittingly or not, active parts of the mechanisms of empire--and the "children, janitors, food service workers, firemen and random passers-by" who were also killed in the attack. He points out that the US military certainly would have considered the Iraqi equivalent of the WTC (and its technocrats) to be legitimate military targets; innocent people (e.g, firemen) killed in such an attack would have been written off as collateral damage.

He's right again about that.

He sums up with this:

The bottom line of my argument is that the best and perhaps only way to prevent 9-11-style attacks on the U.S. is for American citizens to compel their government to comply with the rule of law. The lesson of Nuremberg is that this is not only our right, but our obligation. To the extent we shirk this responsibility, we, like the "Good Germans" of the 1930s and '40s, are complicit in its actions and have no legitimate basis for complaint when we suffer the consequences. This, of course, includes me, personally, as well as my family, no less than anyone else.

Yeah, We the People, right? Technically, we're responsible for all the actions of our government--after all, we elected 'em.

So, this is my new blog. I'll try to make it worth your while to drop by. Oh--about the name: it was the first thing that popped into my head. I'm not a 'warrior' in any hawkish sense. I'm willing to stand up and fight, if necessary, for what I believe, but I'd rather win without fighting. Still, Warrior of the Woods--has a nice ring, doesn't it? And the acronym: WoW!

Enough for now. Time to pack for the woods. I should be back Monday or so.