On my way home from the hike that wouldn't happen, I called my son to let him know I was on the way back. What he said next was so shocking to me that I momentarily forgot the migraine pounding in my head with each turn of the wheels.
"Yay, now I can go with you!" he exclaimed.
What? The Scout who hated every step of his first backpacking trip earlier in spring? Wants to hike on the AT?
I'm adding this post way, way post, post script so I'll keep it short: Two weeks later we went on the BEST vacation we have ever had...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kaEMUf3VE3I&feature=youtu.be
(Bear with me while I figure out how to embed the video. Getting back to this blog after a serious hiatus.)
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Sunday, June 9, 2013
Springer has Sprung
I camped on top of Springer Mountain, Georgia. And with
months of planning and preparation behind me and 9 days of hiking on the
Appalachian Trail ahead of me, the wheels fell off the bus atop
Springer Mountain…
At 3,780 feet, I camped—but I did not sleep. I popped my Big Agnes Fly Creek UL2, blew up my air mattress, crawled into my 23-degree down bag and listened to the wind, the airplanes approaching the Atlanta airport, drips from the earlier rain off the leaves, and at 3 a.m. a pair of barred owls. All while the headache that started before even reaching the mountain gradually got worse.
I was cozy and actually fairly comfortable: on my air mattress, in my bag, in my tent, under a pine tree, on the mountain. Not one bear poked its head in, not even to munch on my head, which was covered with the beanie hat I used as a coozie for my chicken dinner. As I lay awake, head throbbing, I imagined I must have smelled like a chicken and dumpling burrito…
And as I lay awake, I wondered what the hell I was going to do after a night of no sleep with what appeared to be a worsening migraine. How was I going to hike 10 or more miles Saturday? How was I going to function? I had a lot of ibuprofen in my pack. A lot. Vitamin-I, backpackers call it. But no amount of Vitamin-I would get rid of a migraine.
I listened to the wind in the trees on Springer Mountain and lamented about my head. Damn, damn head. Backpacking on no sleep with a migraine wasn’t the great adventure I had been planning. Should I commit to three days and call for a shuttle at Neels Gap if things got worse? Should I go back to town? Should I go home? Should I try to hike, and ruin my adventure as well as the other three women’s?
I knew what I had to do, I knew what the right thing was to do. And it wasn’t easy. I had to take my migraine off the mountain. Early in the morning some birds started to sing, and listening to them start their day gave me something to do while I waited to call our shuttlers, Joyce and Sally. At 7:15 I called, embarrassed, defeated, sad, head pounding. Joyce and Sally were great. Sally was soon running some hikers out to the trailhead and would pick me up. (She dropped off three nice looking backpackers. Figures.)
I broke the news to my new friends, broke up a pop tart and ate it, and broke camp—broken hearted. I started the mile hike back to the trailhead. “I’m not going to cry, I’m not going to cry…” I told my jackhammering head. I didn’t, really, just whimpered and cursed, maybe I shed a tear or two, cursed some more, and wiped my nose on my fleece. I heard a wood thrush and a pewee. The trail is beautiful really, and I took my time and enjoyed what little of it I was going to see. The woods were cool and moist, the flora lush and varied and interesting. The trail was smattered with rocks, but in a good way: a platform here, natural steps there. Should I go back? Should I stick it out? Having plenty of experience with migraine, although not much recently, I knew there was no way.
Something fluttered into a small sapling a foot in front of me. I stopped. He paused, watching me but not afraid. The little chestnut-sided warbler hopped along the branch, crossed the trail, hopped along another branch, then he flew. Now that’s got to be an omen for a birdnerd, I thought. Knowing I couldn’t stay for this adventure today and it couldn’t be an omen to turn back, I decided it was an invitation to come back. As I continued along, I began to think about what lessons I had learned in my short time on Springer Mountain and how I could soon use them to carry out my adventure:
1. Do not drive all day by yourself and sleep on the ground that night.
2. Do not drive all day, not drink enough water, and sleep on the ground that night.
3. Do not drive all day, get to camp at dark, and expect to SLEEP at all at night.
4. Do not attempt do items 1-3 before your prednisone has worn off.
5. Do not get poison ivy from your son’s scout gear two weeks before your big backpacking trip so you don’t have to take prednisone.
6. There is far less poison ivy on Springer Mountain than in Zaleski State Park (in Ohio).
7. AT Shelter privies are generally much nicer than Scout Camp privies.
8. Springer Mountain shelter and camp are much nicer than I expected.
9. Packit Gourmet chicken and dumplins smell a lot better than they are.
10. The privy is not a bad place to dump your Packit Gourmet chicken and dumplins.
11. It really does take 1-1/2 hours to get to the trailhead from Hiawassee.
12. Bear cables are great, easy to use, and you should use them.
13. You can’t take a flash photo on top of a mountain at dark with the fog rolling in.
14. Joyce and Sally rock, and 1-1/2 hours go by really fast with great conversation, even when your head is about to explode.
15. People who come up to you on the Appalachian Trail and ask where the nearest restroom is will never stop seeming really stupid and making you laugh no matter how bad you feel.
16. The trail will still be there when your head is fine.
I’m not gonna lie, my drive home sucked: head pounding, sun blazing… Like the knight storming the castle in Monty Python’s “The Holy Grail,” in each shot running but in in the next shot actually farther and farther away from the castle until, finally, he’s standing at the castle wall.
Just before I reached the castle, I called my son at his dad’s to let him know I’d be home. Originally, this was supposed to be our adventure, but then a conflicting Scout trip hit the calendar. Last week he told me he didn’t like backpacking. Yet, as I loaded my car the other day to head to Georgia, he said, “I want to go!” The first thing he said to me when I told him I was almost home: “Yay, now I can go with you!” I can’t wait to hear what he has to say. My one night on Springer Mountain, there was a mom at the shelter with her about 9 year old son. Saturday morning they excitedly headed north on the trail. I’m skeptically hopeful.
I spent the day in my castle, nursed my head, popped the tent to dry, and unloaded my pack onto the living room floor hoping my gear will be back in the pack soon and headed back to Hiawassee to set out on my adventure.
All I can think of to say in closing: To Be Continued.
At 3,780 feet, I camped—but I did not sleep. I popped my Big Agnes Fly Creek UL2, blew up my air mattress, crawled into my 23-degree down bag and listened to the wind, the airplanes approaching the Atlanta airport, drips from the earlier rain off the leaves, and at 3 a.m. a pair of barred owls. All while the headache that started before even reaching the mountain gradually got worse.
I was cozy and actually fairly comfortable: on my air mattress, in my bag, in my tent, under a pine tree, on the mountain. Not one bear poked its head in, not even to munch on my head, which was covered with the beanie hat I used as a coozie for my chicken dinner. As I lay awake, head throbbing, I imagined I must have smelled like a chicken and dumpling burrito…
And as I lay awake, I wondered what the hell I was going to do after a night of no sleep with what appeared to be a worsening migraine. How was I going to hike 10 or more miles Saturday? How was I going to function? I had a lot of ibuprofen in my pack. A lot. Vitamin-I, backpackers call it. But no amount of Vitamin-I would get rid of a migraine.
I listened to the wind in the trees on Springer Mountain and lamented about my head. Damn, damn head. Backpacking on no sleep with a migraine wasn’t the great adventure I had been planning. Should I commit to three days and call for a shuttle at Neels Gap if things got worse? Should I go back to town? Should I go home? Should I try to hike, and ruin my adventure as well as the other three women’s?
I knew what I had to do, I knew what the right thing was to do. And it wasn’t easy. I had to take my migraine off the mountain. Early in the morning some birds started to sing, and listening to them start their day gave me something to do while I waited to call our shuttlers, Joyce and Sally. At 7:15 I called, embarrassed, defeated, sad, head pounding. Joyce and Sally were great. Sally was soon running some hikers out to the trailhead and would pick me up. (She dropped off three nice looking backpackers. Figures.)
I broke the news to my new friends, broke up a pop tart and ate it, and broke camp—broken hearted. I started the mile hike back to the trailhead. “I’m not going to cry, I’m not going to cry…” I told my jackhammering head. I didn’t, really, just whimpered and cursed, maybe I shed a tear or two, cursed some more, and wiped my nose on my fleece. I heard a wood thrush and a pewee. The trail is beautiful really, and I took my time and enjoyed what little of it I was going to see. The woods were cool and moist, the flora lush and varied and interesting. The trail was smattered with rocks, but in a good way: a platform here, natural steps there. Should I go back? Should I stick it out? Having plenty of experience with migraine, although not much recently, I knew there was no way.
Something fluttered into a small sapling a foot in front of me. I stopped. He paused, watching me but not afraid. The little chestnut-sided warbler hopped along the branch, crossed the trail, hopped along another branch, then he flew. Now that’s got to be an omen for a birdnerd, I thought. Knowing I couldn’t stay for this adventure today and it couldn’t be an omen to turn back, I decided it was an invitation to come back. As I continued along, I began to think about what lessons I had learned in my short time on Springer Mountain and how I could soon use them to carry out my adventure:
1. Do not drive all day by yourself and sleep on the ground that night.
2. Do not drive all day, not drink enough water, and sleep on the ground that night.
3. Do not drive all day, get to camp at dark, and expect to SLEEP at all at night.
4. Do not attempt do items 1-3 before your prednisone has worn off.
5. Do not get poison ivy from your son’s scout gear two weeks before your big backpacking trip so you don’t have to take prednisone.
6. There is far less poison ivy on Springer Mountain than in Zaleski State Park (in Ohio).
7. AT Shelter privies are generally much nicer than Scout Camp privies.
8. Springer Mountain shelter and camp are much nicer than I expected.
9. Packit Gourmet chicken and dumplins smell a lot better than they are.
10. The privy is not a bad place to dump your Packit Gourmet chicken and dumplins.
11. It really does take 1-1/2 hours to get to the trailhead from Hiawassee.
12. Bear cables are great, easy to use, and you should use them.
13. You can’t take a flash photo on top of a mountain at dark with the fog rolling in.
14. Joyce and Sally rock, and 1-1/2 hours go by really fast with great conversation, even when your head is about to explode.
15. People who come up to you on the Appalachian Trail and ask where the nearest restroom is will never stop seeming really stupid and making you laugh no matter how bad you feel.
16. The trail will still be there when your head is fine.
I’m not gonna lie, my drive home sucked: head pounding, sun blazing… Like the knight storming the castle in Monty Python’s “The Holy Grail,” in each shot running but in in the next shot actually farther and farther away from the castle until, finally, he’s standing at the castle wall.
Just before I reached the castle, I called my son at his dad’s to let him know I’d be home. Originally, this was supposed to be our adventure, but then a conflicting Scout trip hit the calendar. Last week he told me he didn’t like backpacking. Yet, as I loaded my car the other day to head to Georgia, he said, “I want to go!” The first thing he said to me when I told him I was almost home: “Yay, now I can go with you!” I can’t wait to hear what he has to say. My one night on Springer Mountain, there was a mom at the shelter with her about 9 year old son. Saturday morning they excitedly headed north on the trail. I’m skeptically hopeful.
I spent the day in my castle, nursed my head, popped the tent to dry, and unloaded my pack onto the living room floor hoping my gear will be back in the pack soon and headed back to Hiawassee to set out on my adventure.
All I can think of to say in closing: To Be Continued.
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