Fresh out of sympathy...but still inspired

So this week on Springer was a story of contrasts, from both weather and LNT perspectives. It started out with rain and heavy fog for two days, progressing to cold with wind advisories, leading to snow and ice, and finishing off with sun and 80 degrees. I began the week in full rain gear, hat and gloves, and ended with bug bites and a gaiter-tan. Which reminds me of the sage fashion wisdom of my ridgerunning colleague, Razr: "gaiters are not a front-country fashion statement."
Here is a fabulous back-country foul-weather look, from a gentleman hiking a few miles with his son at the start of his thru-hike. Motel rain-gear, courtesy of the ice bucket and trash can.

I was particularly fond of this look, after our experience in Maine during Hurricane Irene, when our fellow hikers sported these fetching ensembles...

Unfortunately, the weekend weather was pretty rough on some of the inexperienced hikers starting out, and a number abandoned the effort on the Approach Trail, prior to even reaching the southern terminus.   I met a girl named Lindsey hiking down to the Black Gap shelter, and I could tell that she was not doing well, trying not to cry. She told me she'd already been crying all morning and was thinking about quitting. She was new to backpacking and had a really tough night, with the wind and cold. I spoke with her for a while, trying to reassure her, telling her how the AT was Eric's first backpacking trip, how we only made 5 miles on the first day, how you CANNOT quit on a beautiful day. And it WAS beautiful--still cold and windy, but at the summit, the other side of the mountain was frosted with ice. White and snowy, sparkling in the sun, and so, so beautiful.

There is a popular saying on the trail--never quit on a bad day. It's easy to want to go home, to a warm, dry place, where you don't have to squat in the freezing rain to pee, to try to fire up your stove in a blowing wind. But if you can walk away in the sunshine? On a mountaintop, with the breeze in your sweaty hair after conquering a challenging climb? Then it truly is time to leave. I don't know what happened to Lindsey, if she called a ride from the parking lot at the summit and forfeited her dream, or if she somehow found that little extra bit of energy and spirit to go one more step and then, one more day. I just really hope she did.

When I did arrive at Black Gap shelter on the Approach Trail, I found plenty of detritus from the departing hikers. There were four guys on their first overnight trip eating in the shelter, with food all over the place. Now, you experienced hikers understand that eating in the shelter only adds to the mouse population therein. So I very gently recommended that they not do so and sweep out the shelter. They grabbed the broom, moved their stuff, and started picking up trash for me, all around the campsite. There was an abandoned tent (more on that later), that they dismantled and helped me pack. It was hilarious--it was a crappy, tiny, yet ridiculously heavy little tent, made by "Lake & Trail." One of the guys pointed out that it was a perfect choice for backpacking--so versatile! Appropriate for camping on trail OR lake, if the need arose! And yet, about 7 pounds of sheer hell in your pack on an 8 mile uphill climb.

Speaking of things you don't want to carry uphill for 8 miles: the 8x9 foot car camping tent/monstrosity also ditched at Black Gap. Really? At what point did that seem like an even remotely good plan?

I heard reports of at least 2 piles of discarded stuff, including a sleeping bag, on the Approach Trail. Turned out to belong to a woman who left the trail after that first bad night, strewing evidence of inappropriate gear choices in her wake. Yet her complete ignorance of "pack it in, pack it out" was mitigated by a group of guys also starting out on their thru-hikes. Even though one of them was carrying a 60-lb pack himself (get thee to Mountain Crossings and get some gear advice!), they picked up all her droppings, divided them up, and carried them up to Springer, where I took them.

Full Of It (new trail name) enjoying some kale
chips after hauling someone's discarded
gear up the Approach Trail.

Hardass with his 60-lb pack.

Gear selection gone wrong: a razor is bad enough,
but eyeshadow? Seriously?

Pancho likes to joke that I bring home a new tent every week. Of course, I should qualify that by saying that none of them are worth a damn. This was truly a banner haul, though. Two tents, a sleeping bag, and three tarps. Then, as I was unloading it all in my driveway, preparing to create a little montage of what not to pack, I realized that one of the tarps was not only enormous (10x15! for real!), it was wrapped around--you got it!--another tent. Now, when I'm talking tents here, I'm talking completely-useless-for-backpacking, ridiculously heavy, Walmart pieces of crap. I also call them Jewish tents, and do NOT go all #CancelNachita on me for some sort of inappropriate commentary. It's just that these little tents have no actual rainfly, just a tiny scrap of fabric that clips on the top, bizarrely resembling a yarmulke. Not only are these tents unbelievably difficult to set up, they would be completely worthless in truly bad weather. It took me and Pancho a crazy long time to set up the giant car camping tent, and we are both pretty darned experienced and more intelligent than most. Honestly, trying to set that thing up in perfect weather in the comfort of my driveway made me want to ditch it on the side of the trail, too, much less factoring in wind and rain. 

Giant car camping tent in front. The roll next to the sleeping
bag contained tent #3. 

Ginormous tarp on the left, with the brand new green tent it
contained above. The little blue bit on top of the tent in the back
is the yarmulke-fly.

After I spread all this stuff out and weighed some of it, I had a tiny meltdown. Though I suspect the giant tent belonged to weekend warriors, people actually tried to thru-hike with this other stuff. Seriously. There is an unbelievable amount of information available--much of it free on the interwebs--about this trail, about what to pack, about the weather and conditions, about the terrain. To come out here with stuff this heavy, this difficult to use, this completely insufficient for the conditions, is mind-boggling. I have basically run out of sympathy for the people who quit on the first day and leave their absolutely stupid choices for me and other hikers to clean up, simply because they were unwilling to do some research. I'm also still amazed by how many people I meet who are using their gear for the first time. Trying and failing to get their tents up or tied down sufficiently in the high winds that are the norm on top of Springer. Unable to get the brand new stove lit because they didn't bother to try it at home. Carrying the guidebook, but not having read any of it. Or carrying parts of the guidebook, but not the GEORGIA part. Guess where we are? Hello?

Happily, there were some gorgeous days, some awesome people, and some amazing acts of kindness and responsibility this week. Otherwise, I might have been overwhelmed by the dumbassery.

Back on my beat

Two weeks ago, I hit the trail again as the Caretaker at Springer Mountain. The flood of thru-hikers has begun, spurred on by the beautiful weather that has finally arrived. It's a stark contrast to last year, when the first half of March was bitterly cold and snowy.

My home away from home...

The view inside...

and out.

Once again, I'm amazed by how unprepared people can be when there is such a wealth of information available--and free information, at that. On the first day of the season, I ran into my first "no way in hell does he make it to Maine." A young kid huffing and puffing up the Approach Trail, wearing jeans and flannel, carrying an enormous pack with random items tied all over the outside. It is a particular peeve of mine to have stuff dangling off a pack. I usually only have my camp shoes strapped outside, unless, of course, I'm burdened by an especially large load of trash. But generally speaking, if you can't fit it all into your pack, you've got too much. So back to the kid--when I asked him how far he was heading, he said something that I eventually interpreted as "Katahdin." Dressed all in cotton (it kills! ditch it now!) and not actually knowing your destination--maybe additional research was in order.

Best of all, I ran into this kid again the next day, and he asked the question I get almost daily: how do I get your job? Well, for starters, I told him to get some new pants. We actually had a nice conversation about his career goals and how he can explore some options on the trail. Hopefully, he made it to Mountain Crossings at Neel Gap, for a pack shakedown and some wicking materials.

On the non-newbie front, I spent a lovely morning hiking with Pa Burt, whose wife and grandson dropped him off to begin his third thru-hike. He has his entire high-school class following his adventure and cheering him on.

Pa Burt

Unfortunately, the first week also brought some of the usual dumb-assery. In one of the shelters I found a big pile of index cards with this helpful note:

Let's go through this again, people--everyone is carrying too much at the start. You may think you're being all thoughtful and helpful, leaving your unwanted, excess crap, but NO ONE ELSE wants to pick up more stuff to carry. This isn't a swap meet out here--no one is going to say, "Hey, index cards! Now THAT'S what I should have brought instead of this electric razor!" (And yes, I met a kid last year packing a razor) Sadly, I'm pretty sure I know who left the cards. One of the shuttle drivers dropped a guy off who said his nickname--and subsequently, trail name--was "3x5," due to his constant use of index cards to keep himself organized. I met this guy, too, and he didn't seem like a thoughtless jerk, but I guess you can't always tell from first impressions. And another thing 3x5 needs to learn quickly--this is NOT trail magic! This is laziness and lack of preparation. Hopefully, he'll figure out the difference.