Skywalker--Close Encounters on the Appalachian Trail Read Free Page A

hear the distant roar of the Shenandoah River. Greatly relieved, I bounded down the steep descent into Harper’s Ferry, frequently veering off the trail, whose blazes were almost invisible in the enveloping darkness. Improved morale, however, didn’t change the fact that my feet had gone from consistent pain to indescribable agony as I continued stumbling over rocks and roots and screaming in anguish.
    In total darkness I finally reached the river and highway and luckily saw the path to the steps of the bridge leading over the majestic Shenandoah River. Following the AT blazes that run across the bridge, I saw a Comfort Inn and called my sister. “She’s already gone out in the car looking for you,” her eleven-year-old daughter informed me.
    “That was stupid,” my sister barked out the second she found me. Then she called my mother in Georgia who gave me a much more comprehensive lecture on my stupidity.
    That night I had to drag myself up my sister’s stairs. The next day my two big toenails were black and blue (I would eventually lose them), and I spent most of the day in bed, while six inches of snow fell outside. While it was encouraging that I had been able to go 19.7 miles in one day—with a backpack—it was also a glimpse into what a mess a person could get into with poor judgment. And it was sobering to think that this was what I would be doing on a daily basis, followed by spending my nights out there.

     
    On the way home from Virginia to Georgia I stopped again at REI in Atlanta. Dutifully, per Warren Doyle’s advice, I exchanged my tent for a tarp and my boots for some mid-cut trail shoes. But I had no idea if I was actually making the right decisions.
    I began the homestretch of preparation by moving into my mother’s house in Macon, Georgia. Having always been too thin for my extreme height, I was desperately trying to gain as much weight and strength as possible as quickly as possible. My mother was feeding me prodigiously and I was drinking high-calorie, enriched drinks. Finally, I was able to get my weight to 212 pounds, the highest of my life. And while I have never been an impressive physical specimen, the months of training at Gold’s Gym had me in the best condition of my life.
    The real possibility of bear encounters was another concern that loomed in the recesses of my mind. To the great amusement of friends I even visited the dancing bear act when the circus came to town. I wanted to see how their bear trainer handled the two bears. Fred, the male, was much larger than Ginger, and the trainer gave him plentiful helpings of honey after the acts. But all I could think was that if I see one of these enormous mammals out in the woods alone there wouldn’t be a fence between us, and I wouldn’t have a bottle of honey handy either.
    After it was over I sauntered over by the trainers to chat. “Do you have any suggestions about how to respond if I see a bear on the Appalachian Trail?” I asked.
    “A wild bear, you mean?” she clarified.
    “Well, yeah, out in the woods, in case I run into one,” I stammered.
    “Gee, I don’t know,” she said to my disappointment. “It’s probably best to stand up on your tiptoes and wave things in the air to make yourself look more fearsome. That, and try talking to him if he starts approaching you.” I was hoping for something more reassuring than her answer. Was I really going to stand on my tiptoes and wave something at a bear, or would I just follow instinct and hightail it?
    The final big item on my shopping list was a sleeping bag. REI didn’t have any seven–foot-long down sleeping bags, so I ordered one named “the Ponderosa” from Western Mountaineering in California for $438 . At that price it had better keep me warm!
    The sleeping bag arrived on March 26 which meant everything was in place to leave as planned on April 1. But there was one problem. I didn’t feel ready. I called several friends to see if anybody could be convinced to