Historically,
blue was the color associated with St. Patrick in Ireland. The color is still represented today in many
places such as in the coat of arms of Ireland, the team colors of the University
College of Dublin and the plume or hackle of the tall bearskin hats of the
Irish Guards regiment of the British Army, as well as many other places. The “wearing of the green” began during the
middle 1700’s as local converts to the Christian faith wore shamrocks or
ribbons of green on their clothing to signify their faith. Over the years, the shamrock and the wearing
of green on St. Patrick’s Day evolved into a celebration of Irish ethnicity as
well as a Catholic feast day. Today,
well over 34 million Americans can trace their heritage to Ireland and I am
proudly one of them through the McAlister clan of my great-great grandmother,
Ezamiah McAlister.
This
past St. Patrick’s Day was definitely more blue than green for me. I awoke to the sound of voices outside my
tent at the Blue Mountain Shelter on the Appalachian Trail. I could tell from the amount of light in my
tent that the sun was already shining brightly in a blue sky and it was going
to be a beautiful day. Beautiful as far
as the weather was concerned anyway.
I had
stumbled into camp about 6:30 the evening before very exhausted from the 7.3
mile day that was supposed to be an easy hike.
For the most part, the majority of the day was relatively level terrain
and the weather was pleasantly warm with only a few wispy clouds high in the
sky. Pleasantly warm unless you’re
humping a 30 some pound pack over the mountains which is much more pleasant in
cooler temperatures.
All
was well though and the biggest concerns of the day were trying not to get
sunburnt along the way and keeping the gnats and flies away from my face. There’s no doubt that after my second day of
not showering and not wearing deodorant, I smelled worse than a cow in the
pasture and I began to wish I had a tail to swat the pests away as I continued
along the trail. Still, the bugs were a
minor inconvenience and it really was a beautiful day.
That morning, the 16th, I had awaken with my usual morning stiffness in my lower back from the arthritis I have there, but with a couple of tablets of vitamin I (ibuprofen) and some stretching and movement to get things lubricated, usually within an hour, I’m up and running normally. So, I continue my packing and trying to loosen the ole bones, but when I get down on my knees to roll up my mattress and then my tent, I suddenly find myself gripped with shooting pain across my lower back that paralyzes me into a worshipful bow to an unknown god. The cramp releases shortly and I shake it off thinking to myself, “Whew…I’m glad that passed. Thank Goodness this will be an easy day”. And an easy day it was, that is, until the last mile and a half to two miles as I began the climb up Blue Mountain.
Now,
I don’t want anyone to get the wrong impression about Blue Mountain. It isn’t especially steep getting up to Blue
Mountain from the south side as compared to say, Wildcat or Sassafras
Mountains, although there are some steep sections. It is one of the top 20 peaks in Georgia and
tops at 4,020’ with the shelter being not quite at the top of the mountain. The climb from the lower points in the area
or the known prominence of the mountain is around 700’. No, what makes Blue Mountain so tiring to
climb is the rocks.
Rocks
add a different dimension to hiking. Aside
from the jarring impact to the knee joint as each step pushes back on the body
and gives no cushion to the weight landing on it, there is the labyrinth of
pieces, large and small, that must be accurately negotiated. I was actually a little surprised that it was
taking more time and increased caution to cross this path considering that many
times the rocks were almost lying flat like a makeshift walkway that someone
forgot to level. There were many areas
that I found myself climbing upward over rock “steps” that varied greatly in
height and alignment. Dispersed among
the rocks were trees and their gnarled roots that provided another twisted
obstacle to gyrate my foot around or over rarely with enough room to plant my
entire boot down on a solid surface.
All
the while that I was intently focused on each foot placement, my pack pushes
ever so slightly on my back like a bully threatening to knock me off balance.
My
mind would wander back to my youth and remember days long gone by in which I
bounded over similar rocky paths with the surefootedness and speed of a
mountain goat. I smile when I recall my
mother calling from behind me, “You better slow down or you’re going to fall”
and the youthful confidence I had that allowed me to seemingly float over these
obstacles.
Now,
I find myself echoing my mother’s words to myself, “Slow down…watch where you
step…be careful.” There was absolutely no
way to rush over this twisted rock pile of a path as I carefully planted each
trekking pole and foot to ensure that I didn’t twist an ankle or trip over a
protruding shard to come crashing down on the unforgiving surface.
My
easy day was not ending so easily and I was getting more and more tired. Where was the shelter? It couldn’t be too much further. It felt like I had been climbing for a long
time and at my last mile marker check on my map, it should have only been a
little over a mile to the shelter. Was I
really moving that slowly that I hadn’t covered the distance yet? You try to judge your speed and distance with
the time that passes, but it varies greatly with the terrain you’re on.
With
my water and strength running low, I finally came across the next water source,
a piped spring on the left side of the trail.
I dropped my pack to refill my bottle and sat there exhausted. After swallowing some refreshing coolness, I
looked up the hill and find the evening sun glowing off the roof of the shelter
above. FINALLY, I’m done for the day…just
another 100 yards and I’m done.
Smiling
faces of new friends warmly welcome me to our home for the evening. They see that I am spent and quickly volunteer
to help set up my tent in the blustering wind and Junebug even makes a run back
to the spring to fill my other water bottles.
Trail camaraderie is amazing. I
make myself a quick meal of noodles and vegetables and the warm liquid helps me
feel better in the cold wind that has picked up speed in the evening
hours. We witness a beautiful sunset and
I begin to settle in for the night.
As I
approach my pack which is leaning against a nearby tree and bend over to pick
it up, I’m suddenly doubled over with pain.
It felt as if someone had decided to use my lower back for batting
practice. I fight back the tears that
want to come and hope that no one is watching.
These are the moments that test your resolve to complete the trail. You have made promises to family and friends to be careful and to do your best not to get hurt. You know that you will endure varying levels of discomfort on this journey due to the physical, environmental and emotional challenges involved. You must listen to your body and know the difference between a temporary discomfort and when it is time to throw in the towel and leave the trail. You consider the time and effort you’ve invested into getting where you are and weigh the costs of continuing.
The
back spasm passes. I finish unpacking,
hang my food bag, visit the privy and go straight to bed. I know that I plan to get a shuttle in Unicoi
Gap just about 2.5 miles away and mostly downhill the next day. I’m taking a short day and heading for The
Blueberry Patch hostel hoping that my rest there will alleviate my back pain
and fighting back the mental fear that I might not be able to continue my hike
if the pain and spasms continue.
So, after
the usual tossing and turning of the night accompanied by gusting winds and the
endless sweating inside the down sleeping bag and shivering with chills from
anything hanging outside the bag that makes you wonder if you might have a
fever, I awake to the cheerful voices outside my tent and catch someone
mentioning that it is St. Patrick’s Day.
Quickly I do a mental inventory of my belongings to see if I have
anything green to wear. Ah, yes, my
Mountain Hardware fleece beanie is olive green; not the most festive of greens
to be sure, but green none the less.
Good, that’s covered.
I sit
there a few minutes longer trying to wake up to the point of being sociable and
begin the typical morning processes of changing clothes and donning shoes to
take care of nature’s call. It occurs to
me that for the first time in 10 days, I didn’t wake during the night to
relieve myself which is great on one hand, but also probably meant that I was
slightly dehydrated which is not so good.
Again, I pick up on some of the conversation outside my tent. I hear someone mention Sir Packs-A-Lot and a vaguely familiar male voice responds. Could it be? Is Sir Packs-A-Lot outside? I certainly don’t want to miss the opportunity to meet this A.T. celebrity. I finish dressing quickly and crawl from my den and sure enough, there stands Bob Gabrielsen, Sir Packs-A-Lot himself!
Turtlestone
cheerfully greets me and comments on my green beanie being appropriate for the
day. Everyone is hurriedly preparing to
leave camp and we say our farewells and see-ya-laters, as I am taking my sweet
time nursing the stiffness and knowing I don’t have far to go. I get a few minutes to chat with Bob alone and
snap a picture before he and Next Wind take off down the trail. I call The Blueberry Patch to discuss
arrangements for a night’s stay and I call for a shuttle driver to meet me in
Unicoi Gap. I am alone for a very few
minutes at the shelter before Paranoid and another gentleman arrive. We chat briefly and I finish packing and head
out.
Blue
Mountain is slightly deceiving. From the
shelter it looks like you are on top of the mountain, but it’s a false
top. Further down the trail the mountain
again rises, so you have to climb more before you start the 1050’ descent down
the other side. Thankfully, the descent
wasn’t quite as rocky as the ascent and by 12:30 I reached Unicoi Gap.
There
are several hikers hanging around the parking area including Sir Packs-A-Lot
and Next Wind who I am very surprised to see there because they left so far
ahead of me and are much faster hikers than I am. As I approach, Bob proudly announces that
they called for delivery pizza from the nearby town of Helen, Georgia. I inform him that I will be waiting for a
shuttle into Hiawassee to go to The Blueberry Patch hostel.
Within
a few minutes, the delivery driver arrives with two large supreme pizzas and
two 2-liter bottles of soda. He gets out
explaining that this is the longest delivery he has ever made and that the only
reason he agreed to do it was that years ago he had been a boy scout and had to
hike a week on the Appalachian Trail. He
said he remembered what that was like and was pleased to bring the pizza. Then he insisted on taking a picture of the
hikers with the pizza and said he would be posting it to Facebook.
Ironically,
when I arrived at The Blueberry Patch hostel, it was painted green.
