Hiking the Appalachian Trail gives you a chance to see the country as few people in modern America do. It was amazing to stand on mountaintops all along the supposedly crowded East Coast of the United States and see nothing made by human hands-not a house, not a road, not power lines. Our views driving along the interstate highways lead us to believe that we are packed in like sardines. This is far from the truth. Its amazing to think that very heart of the developed world is so, well...undeveloped. I experienced the same feeling when I spent a year in India ( 2000.) Based on movies and news reports, I expected the whole country to be overflowing like a festering pickle barrel, but (save for some Calcutta side streets) the overwhelming feeling I had was one of spaciousness. Vast deserts, mountains, plains, and forests with the next tiny town hours and hours away by train. One billion strong, and where the hell were they? I love India for the way it defied all of my expectations-the woods were like that too. Living in the forest was very dream-like:rolling along in the woods, day after day and month after month. Sometimes I felt like I was asleep on the trail and only woke up when I was in town to wash up and get groceries. As the stresses on the body become routine, the mind wakes up to strange possibilities. Because I started in Georgia on February 22 and finished in Maine on October 9, I had the chance to see the sweep of all four seasons. I was blasted by snowstorms in North Carolina, saw the dogwoods bloom in Virginia, walked through forests of poison ivy in Pennsylvania, and ogled the Fall colors on my final climb up Mount Katahdin. Living in the woods also put me in contact with all the animals of the Appalachian mountains. Everyone talks about the Black Bears (the smaller cousin to the Grizzly Bear found in the Western U.S.,) but I saw relatively few during my hike. Great Smoky Mountains National Park is supposed to be crawling with them, but it was so icy when I hiked through in March 2006, that they were still hibernating. Before I went into the park, a guy I met on the trail told me to howl like a hound if I saw a bear in the park, because people in that area hunt bears with dogs and the sound would send the bear straight up a tree. I never got to try out his advice, but this is also the guy that told me that feral pigs were going to eat my toes while I slept. Thankfully, I still have all ten of my own little piggies. Bears know a good thing when they see one and (like deer and moose) use the A.T. to get from place to place. Some parts of the A.T. were were originally animal trails used by the Indians, before they became part of our unusual modern migration. Horror stories aside, bears have no more desire to have a confrontation with you than you do with them. I heard from a few people on the trail that 9 times out of 10, a bear will smell a hiker coming down the trail (not a tough job to get wind of a thru-hiker) and hide behind a bush until he passes by. Encounters usually happen if the bear is surprised or if food is stored improperly around camp. The best areas to see bears on the A.T. are in protected areas where they are not hunted, like Shenandoah National Park in Northern Virginia and New Jersey. The bears I saw in Virgina were at a safe distance and looked cute, playing in a sunny meadow. The one-eared big mama with cub in tow that I saw coming Southbound towards me in Jersey made my mouth go dry and my brain shrivel like a raisin. I took an immediate left turn and dove down the embankment next to the trail, getting scratched up in the process. I guess that I looked too stupid to be a threat, and she passed by without a second look. Its a very primal feeling that comes over you when you have an encounter with a wild animal that is much larger than you are-a spark very low down in the lizard brain. A sparking mind and watery knees. Evidence of an inner darkness. Australopithecus felt this, and I felt it too as I watched an 850-pound bull moose approach me heading south on the on the A.T. At first, it looked like a south-bound hiker dressed all in brown, but I quickly realized what it was. I had seen several moose on the trail starting in southern Vermont- all cows or calves grazing on water plants. Forget cartoon silliness, seeing this majestic beast on that misty morning in Maine was as close as I will ever come to my childhood dreams of seeing a dinosaur. It strolled forewords snuffling and calling, "Buuuu...Buuuu," as I stepped off the path to let him pass. I was near enough to smell his musky odor, but not quite close enough to reach out and touch his fur. He never gave any sign that he noticed me. As it turns out, this was a very fortunate thing. A few days later in the trail town of Monson, Maine I learned that it was rut season and bull moose were apt to exhibit extremely unpredictable behaviour. I am forever thankful that that moose never took a liking to me. I don't think I could live life being know as Bullwinkle's girlfriend. Most thru-hikers run into a few snakes during their hike. Usually they are harmless, but there are are a few places where poisonous snakes are common-notably in Pennsylvania. The whole of the A.T. is rocky, but the trail in Pennsylvania specializes in rocks seen nowhere else an earth. The apple-sized ankle buster. The giant tilting slippery slab. And the razor-sharp boot slasher. A whole symphony of stony pain. All of these rocks provide an ideal home for rattlesnakes. A cool underside for hiding and a warm top for sunning. I was bopping along on a ridge-line in the central part of the state listening to my radio at full volume when there was a buzzing. I wasn't immediately sure if I felt it or heard it-maybe a little of both, like being close to an unusually large stereo speaker. I froze and looked down at an angry diamondback coiled three inches from my boot. I did an awkward one-legged pogo hop backward about 10 feet and stared. The snake glanced coolly back as if to say, "you almost stepped on me, you dumb shit?" Then we waited. The ridge line was extremely narrow with nowhere to dogleg around rattler. 5 minutes. 10 minutes. 15 minutes. The snake settled down again and went to sleep. I tried to sidle past, but the terrible sound immediately began again and I returned to my spot. Then, after waiting half an hour, I decided put some of those famous Pennsylvania rocks to work for me. At first I threw pebbles, but he seemed unimpressed. Then I threw a few slightly larger stones and he began shift slightly. Finally, I whipped a flat rock about the size of a dinner plate at him and it connected hard. My last sight of the diamondback was of its lithe body (now bent like a kinked garden hose) squirting between two boulders. As I continued down the trail and past its home, I imagined revenge and sharp fangs lunging from secret places. White-tailed Deer are a common sight on the A.T. Growing up, my Dad was an avid hunter, so I was more familiar with the sight of them in stew than in person (or...uh, mammal.) In the Spring, there seem to be more deer than squirrels on the trail-crashing through the woods and bounding around every corner. During my first night in Shenandoah National Park, I was stealth camping (pitching your tent next to the trail instead of at an A.T. shelter) in a beautiful little spot in the woods. I was fresh from a couple of days in Waynesboro, Virginia and I was sleeping off a big dinner perishable town food. In the middle of the night strange sounds all around my tent woke me up and I sat up straight to listen. By that time I had gotten used to all to the normal skittering and crunching of the forest at night, but these sounds were very unusual-a leaky tire sound:"Ftttt..."/a farting sound: "Ptttt.../and a little James Brown grunt: "Hunnn..." I switched on my weak little LED reading light and peered out through the little plastic windows at the top of my tent-nothing. I was just about to unzip the door when there were two crunching footsteps just inches away and the whole side of my tent bowed in. Without thinking (and also scared shitless,) I smacked the thing through the thin plastic. There was a tremendous crashing as it backed away. I whipped aside the tent flap to see that I was surrounded by a circle of 12 deer-their eyes silver discs. The amazing thing was that they barely moved at the sight of a confused human blundering around. I hollered like a lunatic and banged my hiking sticks on the ground. They bounced away, but as soon as I settled back in my bag, they were back poking around and holding their strange flatulent conversations. I fell asleep again with them bumping against the tent. When I woke up the deer were gone, and I briefly wondered if the previous night’s events had been a Mountain Dew Code Red-induced hallucination, but I wasn’t more than a couple of hundred yards down the trail when I heard a familiar noise right behind me. In the daylight the doe looked not spooky, but as an advertisement for wildlife management-rail thin with a goofy expression and partly tame from nearly constant contact with humans. She (and many other deer I encountered in S.N.P.) acted more like an abused family dog, than her sprightly cousins I had seen by the dozens outside of the protected area of the park. I’m not saying that hunting should be allowed in the park, but I did get a sense that something was sadly out of balance there. It’s the large animals that many day-hikers come for and hope to see, but it’s the smallest animals that a thru-hiker needs to pay attention to in order to remain healthy on the trail. I never met anybody on the trail that was attacked by a bear, but I met plenty of people who had been bitten by deer tics, mosquitoes, and brown recluse spiders. Deer tics are incredibly small and difficult to find on an unwashed body. They tend to cling to the arms or legs and crawl up to attach themselves in the armpit or crotch, though I saw infection sites on other hikers on the small of the back, calf, and upper chest. The tell-tale mark of lyme disease is a red bull’s-eye at the point of infection. During the late spring and summer months, my last act of the day before climbing into my sleeping bag was to check myself for tics. Lyme disease is a potentially disabling and long lasting illness, but fortunately treatment is very effective if diagnosed early. I knew a few hikers who slowed down or took a week off, after beginning treatment, but continued their hike and went on to climb Katahdin. However, these people are uncommonly tough. I would have been home in a flash (wrapped up in a blanket, eating chicken soup, and watching "Oprah") if I had gotten any lyme symptoms. Mosquitoes are everywhere on the A.T. and a great annoyance in states with swampy trail (that is to say-all of them.) I remember running flat out through one section of New Jersey perused by a cloud of the bastards while spraying myself with a whole can of Deep Woods Off. NJ mosquitoes gulp down bug spray like an energy drink-I might just as well have doused myself with "Aunt Jemima" for all the good it did me. In Massachusetts, before one particularly horrible walk through a swampy area on a raised walkway, I saw a little piece of notebook paper stuck to a post-written on it in a combination of blood and crushed mosquitoes was the warning, “KISS YOUR ASS GOODBYE, MUTHAFUCKA.” One of the best parts of any hiker’s day is getting into camp, pulling off your boots, and slipping on a pair of comfortable shoes (in my case- dollar store flip flops.) But, when you move out Brown Recluse Spiders sometimes move in, attracted by the warmth, darkness, and overall stank. And the next morning,when the spider finds its new home invaded by a 5-headed monster (your foot,) he strikes. The Brown Recluse is a relatively small and unassuming animal, but its bite is feared by hikers because of its tendency to become necrotic. The feet are a hikers most vulnerable area( aren't you glad I didn't say "Achilles heel",) and a tendency to blister or an infected cut or bite can easily end someones dream of a successful thru-hike. Necrotic bites are supposed to be a rare occurrence, but I met 6 hikers while I was walking who had serious foot lesions as a result of a spider taking up residence in their boots. To avoid this happening to you, just give your boots a tap and a shake before putting them on in the morning. I can't end on poisonous spiders, so I'll finish by telling you about ponies. Just about every thru-hiker's favorite section of the southern A.T. is the small piece that runs through Grayson Highlands State Park in Southern Virginia. A Beautiful stony landscape with lots of balds, great views and a nice network of trails-plus a whole bunch of shaggy ponies running around looking like Ice Age leftovers (see photo.) Though technically wild, the ponies are used to people and allow you to get close enough to pet them. I had a magical couple of hours, just leaving my pack by the trail and walking among the herd before pushing on. I was a little surprised to find out later that this park is seldom visited despite being close to 5 states (Virginia, West Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee, and Kentucky.) Grayson Highlands State Park is a true gem and well worth your time. It would be a particularly good place to introduce kids to camping or hiking. One last word-Don't let tales of animal encounters gone wrong discourage you from visiting or enjoying your wilderness trip. There is an infinitely greater chance of getting in a dangerous situation on the car trip to the woods than in the woods itself. For every snake I encountered on the A.T. I saw 10,000 butterflies.
Trail Magic # 4-Animals.
Hiking the Appalachian Trail gives you a chance to see the country as few people in modern America do. It was amazing to stand on mountaintops all along the supposedly crowded East Coast of the United States and see nothing made by human hands-not a house, not a road, not power lines. Our views driving along the interstate highways lead us to believe that we are packed in like sardines. This is far from the truth. Its amazing to think that very heart of the developed world is so, well...undeveloped. I experienced the same feeling when I spent a year in India ( 2000.) Based on movies and news reports, I expected the whole country to be overflowing like a festering pickle barrel, but (save for some Calcutta side streets) the overwhelming feeling I had was one of spaciousness. Vast deserts, mountains, plains, and forests with the next tiny town hours and hours away by train. One billion strong, and where the hell were they? I love India for the way it defied all of my expectations-the woods were like that too. Living in the forest was very dream-like:rolling along in the woods, day after day and month after month. Sometimes I felt like I was asleep on the trail and only woke up when I was in town to wash up and get groceries. As the stresses on the body become routine, the mind wakes up to strange possibilities. Because I started in Georgia on February 22 and finished in Maine on October 9, I had the chance to see the sweep of all four seasons. I was blasted by snowstorms in North Carolina, saw the dogwoods bloom in Virginia, walked through forests of poison ivy in Pennsylvania, and ogled the Fall colors on my final climb up Mount Katahdin. Living in the woods also put me in contact with all the animals of the Appalachian mountains. Everyone talks about the Black Bears (the smaller cousin to the Grizzly Bear found in the Western U.S.,) but I saw relatively few during my hike. Great Smoky Mountains National Park is supposed to be crawling with them, but it was so icy when I hiked through in March 2006, that they were still hibernating. Before I went into the park, a guy I met on the trail told me to howl like a hound if I saw a bear in the park, because people in that area hunt bears with dogs and the sound would send the bear straight up a tree. I never got to try out his advice, but this is also the guy that told me that feral pigs were going to eat my toes while I slept. Thankfully, I still have all ten of my own little piggies. Bears know a good thing when they see one and (like deer and moose) use the A.T. to get from place to place. Some parts of the A.T. were were originally animal trails used by the Indians, before they became part of our unusual modern migration. Horror stories aside, bears have no more desire to have a confrontation with you than you do with them. I heard from a few people on the trail that 9 times out of 10, a bear will smell a hiker coming down the trail (not a tough job to get wind of a thru-hiker) and hide behind a bush until he passes by. Encounters usually happen if the bear is surprised or if food is stored improperly around camp. The best areas to see bears on the A.T. are in protected areas where they are not hunted, like Shenandoah National Park in Northern Virginia and New Jersey. The bears I saw in Virgina were at a safe distance and looked cute, playing in a sunny meadow. The one-eared big mama with cub in tow that I saw coming Southbound towards me in Jersey made my mouth go dry and my brain shrivel like a raisin. I took an immediate left turn and dove down the embankment next to the trail, getting scratched up in the process. I guess that I looked too stupid to be a threat, and she passed by without a second look. Its a very primal feeling that comes over you when you have an encounter with a wild animal that is much larger than you are-a spark very low down in the lizard brain. A sparking mind and watery knees. Evidence of an inner darkness. Australopithecus felt this, and I felt it too as I watched an 850-pound bull moose approach me heading south on the on the A.T. At first, it looked like a south-bound hiker dressed all in brown, but I quickly realized what it was. I had seen several moose on the trail starting in southern Vermont- all cows or calves grazing on water plants. Forget cartoon silliness, seeing this majestic beast on that misty morning in Maine was as close as I will ever come to my childhood dreams of seeing a dinosaur. It strolled forewords snuffling and calling, "Buuuu...Buuuu," as I stepped off the path to let him pass. I was near enough to smell his musky odor, but not quite close enough to reach out and touch his fur. He never gave any sign that he noticed me. As it turns out, this was a very fortunate thing. A few days later in the trail town of Monson, Maine I learned that it was rut season and bull moose were apt to exhibit extremely unpredictable behaviour. I am forever thankful that that moose never took a liking to me. I don't think I could live life being know as Bullwinkle's girlfriend. Most thru-hikers run into a few snakes during their hike. Usually they are harmless, but there are are a few places where poisonous snakes are common-notably in Pennsylvania. The whole of the A.T. is rocky, but the trail in Pennsylvania specializes in rocks seen nowhere else an earth. The apple-sized ankle buster. The giant tilting slippery slab. And the razor-sharp boot slasher. A whole symphony of stony pain. All of these rocks provide an ideal home for rattlesnakes. A cool underside for hiding and a warm top for sunning. I was bopping along on a ridge-line in the central part of the state listening to my radio at full volume when there was a buzzing. I wasn't immediately sure if I felt it or heard it-maybe a little of both, like being close to an unusually large stereo speaker. I froze and looked down at an angry diamondback coiled three inches from my boot. I did an awkward one-legged pogo hop backward about 10 feet and stared. The snake glanced coolly back as if to say, "you almost stepped on me, you dumb shit?" Then we waited. The ridge line was extremely narrow with nowhere to dogleg around rattler. 5 minutes. 10 minutes. 15 minutes. The snake settled down again and went to sleep. I tried to sidle past, but the terrible sound immediately began again and I returned to my spot. Then, after waiting half an hour, I decided put some of those famous Pennsylvania rocks to work for me. At first I threw pebbles, but he seemed unimpressed. Then I threw a few slightly larger stones and he began shift slightly. Finally, I whipped a flat rock about the size of a dinner plate at him and it connected hard. My last sight of the diamondback was of its lithe body (now bent like a kinked garden hose) squirting between two boulders. As I continued down the trail and past its home, I imagined revenge and sharp fangs lunging from secret places. White-tailed Deer are a common sight on the A.T. Growing up, my Dad was an avid hunter, so I was more familiar with the sight of them in stew than in person (or...uh, mammal.) In the Spring, there seem to be more deer than squirrels on the trail-crashing through the woods and bounding around every corner. During my first night in Shenandoah National Park, I was stealth camping (pitching your tent next to the trail instead of at an A.T. shelter) in a beautiful little spot in the woods. I was fresh from a couple of days in Waynesboro, Virginia and I was sleeping off a big dinner perishable town food. In the middle of the night strange sounds all around my tent woke me up and I sat up straight to listen. By that time I had gotten used to all to the normal skittering and crunching of the forest at night, but these sounds were very unusual-a leaky tire sound:"Ftttt..."/a farting sound: "Ptttt.../and a little James Brown grunt: "Hunnn..." I switched on my weak little LED reading light and peered out through the little plastic windows at the top of my tent-nothing. I was just about to unzip the door when there were two crunching footsteps just inches away and the whole side of my tent bowed in. Without thinking (and also scared shitless,) I smacked the thing through the thin plastic. There was a tremendous crashing as it backed away. I whipped aside the tent flap to see that I was surrounded by a circle of 12 deer-their eyes silver discs. The amazing thing was that they barely moved at the sight of a confused human blundering around. I hollered like a lunatic and banged my hiking sticks on the ground. They bounced away, but as soon as I settled back in my bag, they were back poking around and holding their strange flatulent conversations. I fell asleep again with them bumping against the tent. When I woke up the deer were gone, and I briefly wondered if the previous night’s events had been a Mountain Dew Code Red-induced hallucination, but I wasn’t more than a couple of hundred yards down the trail when I heard a familiar noise right behind me. In the daylight the doe looked not spooky, but as an advertisement for wildlife management-rail thin with a goofy expression and partly tame from nearly constant contact with humans. She (and many other deer I encountered in S.N.P.) acted more like an abused family dog, than her sprightly cousins I had seen by the dozens outside of the protected area of the park. I’m not saying that hunting should be allowed in the park, but I did get a sense that something was sadly out of balance there. It’s the large animals that many day-hikers come for and hope to see, but it’s the smallest animals that a thru-hiker needs to pay attention to in order to remain healthy on the trail. I never met anybody on the trail that was attacked by a bear, but I met plenty of people who had been bitten by deer tics, mosquitoes, and brown recluse spiders. Deer tics are incredibly small and difficult to find on an unwashed body. They tend to cling to the arms or legs and crawl up to attach themselves in the armpit or crotch, though I saw infection sites on other hikers on the small of the back, calf, and upper chest. The tell-tale mark of lyme disease is a red bull’s-eye at the point of infection. During the late spring and summer months, my last act of the day before climbing into my sleeping bag was to check myself for tics. Lyme disease is a potentially disabling and long lasting illness, but fortunately treatment is very effective if diagnosed early. I knew a few hikers who slowed down or took a week off, after beginning treatment, but continued their hike and went on to climb Katahdin. However, these people are uncommonly tough. I would have been home in a flash (wrapped up in a blanket, eating chicken soup, and watching "Oprah") if I had gotten any lyme symptoms. Mosquitoes are everywhere on the A.T. and a great annoyance in states with swampy trail (that is to say-all of them.) I remember running flat out through one section of New Jersey perused by a cloud of the bastards while spraying myself with a whole can of Deep Woods Off. NJ mosquitoes gulp down bug spray like an energy drink-I might just as well have doused myself with "Aunt Jemima" for all the good it did me. In Massachusetts, before one particularly horrible walk through a swampy area on a raised walkway, I saw a little piece of notebook paper stuck to a post-written on it in a combination of blood and crushed mosquitoes was the warning, “KISS YOUR ASS GOODBYE, MUTHAFUCKA.” One of the best parts of any hiker’s day is getting into camp, pulling off your boots, and slipping on a pair of comfortable shoes (in my case- dollar store flip flops.) But, when you move out Brown Recluse Spiders sometimes move in, attracted by the warmth, darkness, and overall stank. And the next morning,when the spider finds its new home invaded by a 5-headed monster (your foot,) he strikes. The Brown Recluse is a relatively small and unassuming animal, but its bite is feared by hikers because of its tendency to become necrotic. The feet are a hikers most vulnerable area( aren't you glad I didn't say "Achilles heel",) and a tendency to blister or an infected cut or bite can easily end someones dream of a successful thru-hike. Necrotic bites are supposed to be a rare occurrence, but I met 6 hikers while I was walking who had serious foot lesions as a result of a spider taking up residence in their boots. To avoid this happening to you, just give your boots a tap and a shake before putting them on in the morning. I can't end on poisonous spiders, so I'll finish by telling you about ponies. Just about every thru-hiker's favorite section of the southern A.T. is the small piece that runs through Grayson Highlands State Park in Southern Virginia. A Beautiful stony landscape with lots of balds, great views and a nice network of trails-plus a whole bunch of shaggy ponies running around looking like Ice Age leftovers (see photo.) Though technically wild, the ponies are used to people and allow you to get close enough to pet them. I had a magical couple of hours, just leaving my pack by the trail and walking among the herd before pushing on. I was a little surprised to find out later that this park is seldom visited despite being close to 5 states (Virginia, West Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee, and Kentucky.) Grayson Highlands State Park is a true gem and well worth your time. It would be a particularly good place to introduce kids to camping or hiking. One last word-Don't let tales of animal encounters gone wrong discourage you from visiting or enjoying your wilderness trip. There is an infinitely greater chance of getting in a dangerous situation on the car trip to the woods than in the woods itself. For every snake I encountered on the A.T. I saw 10,000 butterflies.
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