Mt. Rogers backpacking trip

I have fantasized for years about walking out the door and walking and walking without worrying about turning around and coming back. Walking fantasies have appeared in dreams about alternate careers (mail carrier), but have only been realized briefly in assorted day hikes in Germany plus a few long-ago overnight backpacking adventures in the U.S. At this point, the walking-and-walking fantasy isn't going to become reality unless I make a more serious commitment to it and get in backpacking shape.

My current idea is that I'll head out the door once E has settled comfortably into college, which puts a long-distance walk about 15-18 months on the horizon. That's enough time to hike more, carry more, camp more, and figure out more or less where I'm going.

So let the training commence. In mid-July, friend L and I did a quick overnight trip to southern Virginia, where we hiked a loop around Mt. Rogers, the highest peak in VA (which sounds vaguely impressive until you realize it's only 5,729 feet above sea level and we started at about 3,000 feet). We hiked a little more than 9 miles on the first day, mostly uphill, and about 8 miles on the second day, mostly downhill. We revised our planned route on the second day, cutting off a dip down to the Scales in favor of a stretch on the Pine Mountain Trail (part of the old AT), which turned out to be some of the most pleasant hiking of the trip.

Lessons learned: (1) my 3-liter Camelbak is more than large enough--I barely drank two liters in 24 hours--and (2) next time we should be more serious about carrying dehydrated food, because hydrated food sure weighs a lot. Day 2 was much easier than Day 1, not just because of gravity but also because we had consumed half our food and water.

Day 1:

Proof we were there.

Our first long-distance view.

These woods were emerald green, but my cell phone camera didn't know what to do with that and made the trail purple.

Either this is the highest point in VA, or the highest point is one boulder over. They look about the same.

Wild ponies, hanging out.

Greenery in the greenery

Squashed frog or tree root?

Climbing boulders to get another good view...

...Ta da!

Lichens. Worth zooming in to see.

Apple trees?

We overshot our intended campsite and ended up camping with cows...

...and more ponies.

Well after sunset, a ranger drove by in a jeep and stopped to ask if we had seen a 15-yr-old girl who had been reported missing from the Appalachian Trail for about six hours. After he left, we listened to helicopters searching for her in the dark for about 30 minutes. Then the ranger drove by again and said the helicopters had found her. Whew.

Day 2:

Sunrise to the west of us...

...sunrise to the east of us.

Snack time at Old Orchard Shelter.

My pack. I went for comfort over weight when choosing my pack and sleeping mat, so I ended up carrying about two pounds of pure comfort. I think it was worth it, but I might not think so on a longer hike.

There were rhododendrons all over the lower parts of the trail, but all but a few were well beyond blooming. We should come back in June.

Saturday night dreams

My very first regular church gig was at a Catholic church in Madison, Wisconsin. Until I auditioned, I had never touched an organ. "Church Musician" certainly wasn't a career path I had ever considered while we were lighting the Hanukkah candles at home, but I needed a job and the church needed a capable sight-reader. It was a match made in...well, Madison, but I think I said that already.

The church had three services every Sunday morning, the earliest beginning at 8:00 a.m. In the winter, 8:00 was pre-dawn. So it didn't take long for the dreams to start:

I had overslept: it was 8:40, the first service would be over in twenty minutes. I leapt out of bed in a panic and ran to church, naked, through the rain, striving to move forward even as the wind and viscous air held me back. I arrived inside the dimly lit church just before the final verse of the third hymn. The organ loft had disappeared, and the console was situated in the middle of the mostly empty theater seats (upholstered in burgundy velvet), leaving me exposed (so to speak) as I finally slid onto the bench in my underwear (not sure where the clothes came from, but I was happy to take what I could get). Yet no one noticed my embarrassed entrance: the congregation had their eyes on the altar and their voices raised to Heaven. There was no time to leaf through the hymnal--the second verse was almost over--hurry, hurry! Thank goodness I still had perfect pitch back then. I immediately recognized the key of the hymn, but--oh curse you, you crappy electropneumatic Austin!--the organ was out of tune, a full quarter tone sharp, so that when I joined in on the last verse (timing my entrance so it would be as subtle as possible), the entire congregation took note and turned to scowl at me.

Eventually, I found a cure for the recurring dream. To this day, I set two alarm clocks before I go to bed on Saturday nights: an electric one and a battery powered one. Neither is sufficient on its own, for there's always a risk the power will go out or the batteries will die. The electric clock has two different alarms that can be set independently, and it sits next to my bed. The battery powered clock sits across the room to prevent snooze-button accidents.

Tomorrow morning I will play my first church service since our return to the U.S. It's a rare one-service Sunday. I won't be late until 10:01, and the tail end of jetlag will be on my side. Nonetheless, I know what I'll be dreaming about tonight.