Barefoot Sisters: Southbound

by Lucy Letcher;Susan Letcher

  "Makeup can be dangerous on the Trail," Wyoming Skateboarder said earnestly. Everyone laughed, but he protested. "No! Really! On my '98 hike, I knew a guy who wore cherry-flavored lip gloss ..."

  "That's not makeup!" Miss Janet said through the renewed laughter.

  "No, but seriously. It was winter when we started, February, you know, and this guy had a real problem with chapped lips. So he picked up some lip gloss at Fontana Dam. The only kind they had there was this cherry-flavored stuff. The next night, up in the Smokies ..." he let his voice grow quiet, and we leaned in to listen. "I was right next to him in the shelter. I woke up in the middle of the night to this blood-curdling shriek! I turned on my headlamp and looked at him ... the guy had a mouse hanging from his lip!"

  "Eaugh!" I could picture it all too clearly. "I thought it was going to be a bear attracted to the scent. But a mouse, getting bitten by a mouse ... oh, that's gross. I don't even want to think about that."

  Miss Janet laughed, a warm booming sound that filled up the kitchen. "I'm glad it's y'all out there and not me"

  "Yeah, the mice can be pretty had," Ready said. "In '99, 1 hiked with a guy who was really scared of them. He didn't let people know it, though, 'cause he didn't want anybody to think he was a coward. One night, down in Georgia, there were a bunch of us packed into a shelter. Just as we all lay down to sleep, a mouse dropped out of the rafters and started running everywhere in the middle of people's stuff. This guy just kind of pulled his sleeping bag over his head and curled up in a ball. Then all of a sudden he jumped straight up into the air-the mouse had run right into his sleeping bag!"

  When the laughter died down a bit, Ready winked conspiratorially across the circle. "Oil, but the best part of it was, when he jumped out of his bag, he was completely naked!"

  "Haim," Miss Janet said. "Maybe thru-hikin' wouldn't be so bad after all."

  After breakfast, I found a quiet place to sit down and collect my thoughts. I still didn't feel entirely awake. In the foyer beside the bunkroom, a table under the window held stacks of photo albums from past years' hikers. I leafed through them, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and sipping the fourth helping of strong coffee from my camping cup. Book after book of similar photographs-strong, thin, tanned men and women grinning for the camera at overlooks, views of distant lakes and mountains. I saw stark granite mountains I didn't recognize, sandwiched between photos of the familiar soft shapes of the Appalachian range. 71cis must be what the I47iites look like, holier you can actually sec them, I realized.

  I drew another album toward me and opened it at random. It was a page of closeups of spring wildflowers. Reddish-brown trilliums, tiny yellow-andpurple violets, and the exotic creamy white blossoms of mayapples. In the lower right corner was a photograph of dwarf irises, looking soft and ephemeral. In that moment, I could not imagine a more powerful expression of hope than those delicate purple petals with the light coming through them. Somewhere underneath the snow, down on the slopes of the Southern mountains, even now these flowers were waiting. 9laybc I'll hike till I sec a divarf'iris, I thought..'llayhc then! I'll Ire able to turn around and go home. I stared at the picture for a long time, imagining all the cold hillsides opening out with life.

  A man sat down at the far end of the table. I glanced up at him and smiled, noting his lined face and serious gray-blue eyes. "These pictures are awesome;' I said. "I )o you know who took them?"

  He smiled, though his eyes didn't lose their grave expression. "I did."

  "Wow. Very impressive. I'm jackrabbit, by the way."

  "Spur." We shook hands.

  "When did you hike?"

  "Ninety-nine and this past summer. I'm hoping to get out there next year, too, with my wife. You might have met her-Ready."

  "Yeah, I met her this morning. Sweet woman."

  "She's wonderful," he said with a sudden shyness.

  "Hiking three years in a row, that's dedication."

  He laughed softly. "Hiking through the winter, like you guys, hats dedication."

  "Or pigheadedness, depending on your point of view."

  Miss Janet's daughter Kaitlin came running up to the table, pink in the face and looking flustered. Her pale blond hair stuck out in all directions. "Jackrabbit, where's Isis?"

  "I don't know, Kaitlin. I have no idea where she ended up last night. The last thing I remember is dragging myself under the piano there. What's going on?"

  "Hope and joy are lookin' everywhere for her" Kaitlin lowered her voice and gave me a mischievous look that reminded me of her mother. "Wherever Isis is, Badger is too. We've got to create a distraction. Come on!"

  I gave Spur a sheepish smile and excused myself. Kaitlin intercepted Hope and joy at the bottom of the stairs, before they could search the upstairs rooms. "Hey, guys! I think she's in the bunkroom!"

  "She's still got her sleeping bag pulled over her head, though," I said. "She must be tired! Let's not wake her tip." There was a blue sleeping bag on one of the bunks that looked a little like hers; I hoped it would be enough to convince the kids.

  Hope and joy paused at the foot of the stairs and peered into the semidarkness of the bunkroom. "Are you sure that's Isis?" Hope said. "Well, where's Anonymous Badger, then?"

  Kaitlin and I exchanged a rueful glance: so much for Hope not realizing what they were up to.

  "Hey, guys, I've got an idea," I said. "It's perfect weather for a snowball fight. Let's go outside!"

  It was a bright, clear morning, just below freezing. The snow packed well. We hid behind trees and lurked around the corners of the building, lobbing snowballs at each other. Hope and joy raced across the lawn, shouting. John and Joel came running outside to join the fray. It seemed that most of Joel's snowballs were intended for Kaitlin, and when she turned around to chase him, he blushed scarlet.

  "I'm tired of fightin',"Joy said, leaning on the picnic table and brushing the snow off her jacket. "Let's make snow people."

  We all rolled the wet snow into balls. I helped Joel and Kaitlin stack them.

  "Hey, let's make a funily!"John said. "Let's make us!"

  "Good idea!" Joy stopped rolling the ball she was working on, a lopsided one about half the size of the others, and dropped it near the largest snowman. "This can be Faith.'

  We decorated the snow people with chips of bark, small rocks, grass and fallen tree branches. Snow-Paul got a bristling beard of spruce twigs, and Snow-Faith had flyaway blond hair made of grass and gray pebble eyes.

  "We've got to make Isis and jackrabbit, too," Hope said. I braided tufts of grass for our hair, and John found some pieces of bark that looked like my old brown hat.

  The real Isis came outside as I was shaping mounds of snow into bare feet at the base of her snow effigy.

  "Isis, where have you been?" Hope said, with a note of older-sisterly exasperation in her voice. "We couldn't find you anywhere!"

  Isis gave a broad smile. "No need to worry. I was ... sleeping in."

  The Ruck passed far too fast. We reminisced with many other hikers, telling our stories again and again. In the evening, we sang "Dig a Hole" for the assembled crowd. The Family joined in; all the children marched in place and swung their arms in rhythm. The hikers cheered loudly when we finished.

  "Bravo! Bravo!" Spur called from the front row. "You've got to sing that at Trail I)ays!"

  "We just might," Isis said, and I nodded, grinning.

  I had to laugh, thinking of how the Trail had changed me. Seven months ago I had marched across a stage in cap and gown to pick up my college diploma. At that point, if someone had told nee that I'd be singing about privies in front of anyone, I would have thought lie was nuts. And now we were contemplating singing the song for an audience of hundreds. I'll never be able to run for office, I thought, but that'< probably a good thine. This is a lot wore jitn than politics.

  We drove back to Erwin late on Sunday night. Miss Janet dropped off Anonymous Badger at a truck stop in Virginia. He planned to meet some friends there and st
ay with them for a while to look for a job. Half-awake, I watched him take his pack from under the seat and sling it over his shoulder with an easy grace.

  "Until we meet again," lie said. Isis took his hand for a moment and held it, hard.

  "Safe travels," I whispered sleepily.

  He turned and vanished into the empty parking lot, and we pulled back onto the highway. I looked over at Isis, half-expecting to see her crying, but her eyes were dry. "It's okay," she said. "I wasn't in love with him."

  "If you weren't in love, what was that?"

  I could just see her smile in the light from the passing cars. "'Seeking fellowship in the wilderness,"' she said.

  Back in Erwin, Miss Janet invited us to her home for the day while we sorted out our gear and prepared to leave town. She lived in a small onestory ranch house at the edge of town, with a slightly overgrown hedge of roses and brambles. A huge trampoline took up most of the lawn. The children headed straight for it as soon as we had unpacked the van. It was warm in the valley; the snow had melted over the weekend and the dry grass of the lawn was bare.

  Isis, Paul, and I went with Miss Janet to the car wash, where we scrubbed and vacuumed the rented van before returning it. At the agency, we climbed into her battered gray Toyota minibus. The rear seats had been torn out, and the back of it was covered in thick shag carpet. Piles of cushions were stacked against the wheel wells. Trail neaps and photographs of hikers plastered the ceiling. Strings of Mardi Gras heads hung in all the windows, and a large sign reading this min brakes for hikers was taped to the rear windshield.

  "Welcome aboard the Shaggin' Wagon." Miss Janet said cheerfully. "We almost could've fit all of us in here, but I didn't want to take those kids around without seatbelts. Besides-" she patted the steering wheel "-I don't know how many more miles this old girl has got in her."

  Miss Janet ferried us across town to resupply. When she picked us up at the market an hour later, her eyes were sparkling. "I've got a big surprise for y'all. Just wait till you see .. " We pressed her for details as we loaded hag after bag of groceries into the back of the van, but she wouldn't say a thing.

  Back at the house, we found a crowd of unfamiliar people sitting by the trampoline in the backyard. By their well-worn clothing and slim figures, I could tell right away-they were hikers! I jumped out of the van almost before it stopped moving, eager to meet their. Was it possible that other people had hiked through this crazy winter? For weeks now, I had been convinced that we were entirely alone.

  "Are you guys sobos?" I asked, hardly daring to believe it.

  "Yeah! I'm Tiny Tint;" said a tall young man with a bushy blond beard. "Wait a sec! You're one of the Barefoot Sisters, aren't you? You remember I )ave, the guy you hiked with at the Pennsylvania border?"

  "Yeah, you know him? What's he up to? Where is he:

  "I don't know what lie's doing now, but we hiked together for a couple of weeks in Virginia." Tiny Tim gave a wicked smile, dimples showing through his beard. "You guys had us running trail to catch up with you, with everything you wrote in the registers .. "

  "Oh boy," I said ruefully, thinking back to the messages we had written just after Lash and Black Forest got ahead of us near Rusty's. "We didn't think anyone was actually behind us to read that stuff. Sorry ..

  "Oh, are you jackrabbit?" asked a wiry man with a short-trimmed blond beard and intense hazel eyes. "'Last of the sobos,' eh?"

  "'The few, the proud,"' said a slim red-haired woman across the circle.

  "'Many are cold, but few are frozen "' Tiny Tim chortled. "Man, we've been trying to catch you guys for months!"

  "I had no idea ..

  "Evidently!" the hazel-eyed man said. "But we should introduce ourselves. I'm Big Ring. This is my girlfriend, Granny Gear" He put his arm over the red-haired woman's shoulders, and she smiled and gave a little wave. Both of them were extremely thin, I noticed; Big Ring looked like a stick figure inside his hiking clothes, and all the bones in Granny Gear's hands were visible even from a distance.

  Isis came up with an armload of groceries and introduced herself. I watched Tim's eyes measuring her.

  "I'm Spike," said a petite woman with horn-rimmed glasses and closecropped dark hair.

  "And I'in Caveman," said a tall, clean-shaven man with dark brown eyes.

  "You don't look much like a caveman;" Isis told him.

  Spike gave a gloriously melodious laugh, and Caveman turned to look at Isis. "I like caves." lie said in a carefully measured tone that was equal parts righteous indignation and bafflement. Somehow, it was hilarious. Tiny Tim began to laugh, and soon we all joined in. "I am very fond of spelunking," Caveman continued in the same tone, but his composure began to crack. In a moment be was laughing along with everyone else.

  "Hey, come on, the Barefoot Sisters are here!" ,John's voice came from inside the door. He ran out, followed by a hiker who looked strangely tamiliar; he was tall but stocky, with curly dark blond hair that fell across his broad shoulders. When he smiled, his blue eyes flashed behind thick lashes.

  "Hey, I'm Yogi"

  "I remember you! I haven't seen you since New York. It was at the RPH Shelter .. " I fell silent for a moment, remembering the day that Highlander and Companero had left. "I thought you'd be far ahead of us by now."

  Isis put the groceries down and crossed her arms. "You know, Yogi, we were kind of niad at you for a while, after Companero ran off ahead to hike with you."

  Yogi shook his head. "We didn't hike together long. That dude, after he got going, he just didn't stop" He gave a rueful little smile. "I couldn't keep up with him."

  "So where have you been all this time? How on earth did we pass you?" I asked.

  "Well, I got off in Blacksburg to spend Christmas with my fiancee, Tina. Then I got the flu real bad, and before I knew it, six weeks had passed. I almost didn't get back on the Trail. But I ... I had to, you know? Even with the snow and everything. I had to cone back out here."

  I nodded, understanding completely. Even when I knew I wouldn't be able to complete a thru-hike, given the two hundred miles I had missed in Vermont and Massachusetts, I'd felt the same compulsion to return to the Trail.

  "Yogi!" Hope came tumbling out of the house and launched herself at him. In one smooth motion, he hoisted her up to sit on his shoulders.

  "Long time no see. How are you, little lady?"

  Miss Janet stood on the porch with her hands on her hips, surveying the crowd as if she were the matriarch of our motley band. She had produced a case of beer from somewhere, and she handed out cans. "Y'all enjoying the party?"

  "This is the best surprise we could have hoped for," Isis said. "Is there anything we can do to help you out in return?"

  "Seeing all of y'all happy is enough reward for me," Miss Janet said, beaming. "There is something y'all could do, though. That hedge of roses at the edge of my yard has got all kinds of brambles in it. The girls and I just can't seem to get 'em out. I think there's some leather gloves in the shed over there ..."

  "Say no more!" Tiny Tim sprang into action. He found a few pairs of ragged gloves, and soon Isis, Tim, Yogi, and I were pulling blackberry vines from between the thorny red branches. We uprooted the plants and untangled the steins with ferocious energy, laughing. The air smelled of dry grass and sun. In that moment, it seemed that everything that had happened to bring nle to this point had been worthwhile: the days of hunger and pain and cold, my despair at being left behind time after time. I was here, with the sun resting warm on my shoulder blades, surrounded by friends old and new. I was here, and it was enough. I couldn't imagine leaving the Trail.

  A little boy on a bicycle wobbled past in the lane. "Hey, hiker trash!" he called out cheerfully.

  "Hiker trash!" Tim cackled. "Hiker trash, that's us!"

  A thought had been growing in my mind for a long time now. It7iat ifwe didn't leave the Trail in GeorE'ia? 117:at if u'e just turned around and beaded back to .Maine?

  "Hiker trash has too much fun," I s
aid to Isis. "Let's yo-yo"

  jackrabbit

  he air was still warm the day we left Erwin. Paul had fallen sick, and the Family decided to stay in town for another day. The rest of the sobos were leaving, though. Isis and I hiked out with them. We would wait for the Family in Hot Springs, the next Trail town.

  The first night out, we stayed at Bald Mountain Shelter, in a grove of twisted beech trees at the end of a long ridge. Big Ring and Granny Gear had already reached the shelter. They sat in the back, wrapped in their thick sleeping bags. Their packs, I noticed, were enormous, almost the size of Paul's. Big Ring had a pair of heavy aluminum-frame snowshoes strapped to the outside of his pack, although there hadn't been enough snow to use them for quite some time.

  "Hey, guys," Granny Gear said. She was so bundled in her mummy bag that her red hair barely showed around her thin face.

  "Hey, Granny Gear." I still couldn't get over the non sequitir of her name. I tossed down my pack and sat beside her. "Tell me, how did you guys get your trail names? I mean, Big Ring has no rings of any kind, and you're definitely no granny."

  She laughed and started to answer, but Big Ring took over. "It was in Andover, at Addie's place," he said. "The town was full of bikers, and there wasn't room in the restaurant for everybody. We crammed into a table with six or seven of them, and believe me, these were big guys. At first they were making all kinds of snide comments about hikers, and you know, I couldn't take on the whole gang, so I just kept quiet. And then Juliet-Granny Gearand I ordered our food. We ate about as much as the rest of the table put together." He chuckled and shook his head. "Then they gave us a little more respect. They started asking us all kinds of questions about the Trail. We told them about trail names. They decided to give us biker names. Apparently two of the gears on a bike are called Big Ring and Granny Gear, so that's what we became"