The three of us weren't likely to run into anyone, either. We decided to take a layer off. In unison, we slung down our packs and stripped off our tank tops. Although our shorts, bras, boots, and packs covered a lot more skin than most bathing suits would have, there was something vaguely illicit about going shirtless on a public trail that made us almost giddy with delight. First one, then another of us burst into laughter; the sound swirled around us like a flock of sparrows. The humid air, which had seemed so oppressive, now felt like a caress. I found myself delighting in the minute variations in temperature between weak sun and rhododendron shadow, dry meadow and streambank.
A mile up the trail, though, as we climbed steadily out of the valley, I realized that I was still soaked in sweat. We stopped at a stream crossing, and jackrabbit looked at me.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
I nodded. We both bent down and began to unlace our boots. Wading through meltwater streams that cascaded over the trail at regular intervals, and rediscovering the textures of leaf and stone, I felt my feet come back to life after their long confinement. The strange, delightful tingle in the soles that I had often felt in the first five minutes of hiking barefoot lasted a full half hour.
Three miles out of town, we stopped for lunch at Deer Park Mountain Shelter. Lash had left a register there. Slackin' baked in February, he wrote. Is the weather way too hot, or is it just me? Tell inc about your naked hiking' adventures. With illustrations please. At the bottom of the page, he'd drawn a quick sketch of himself wearing nothing but boots, a pack, and his orange hat, holding the register notebook in a strategic location with one hand and making a peace sign with the other. I drew a picture of myself and jackrabbit hiking naked, from the back: two pack covers, like enormous blue potatoes, with our legs from the knees down, our arms from the elbows out, and the tops of our heads just showing at the edges.
In midafternoon the wind changed and blew cold from the northeast. The morning's haze thickened into clouds. We stopped on an uphill to put on a few layers and eat a quick snack. Spike ate only half her granola bar, then sat with her arms around her knees, staring out across the valley. When jackrabbit and I stood up to put our packs back on, she didn't move.
"You to ahead. I want to sit here for a few more minutes" Her voice sounded shaky.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"I'm fine. Just tired." She pulled her knees closer to her chest and bent her neck so that her forehead rested on them. Her shoulder muscles stood out, tense beneath her jacket.
Jackrabbit's eyes met mine. Hypothermia? I knew it could set in quickly, but the air didn't feel that cold. Even with the wind change, the temperature must have been still in the fifties.
"We'll wait for you," I said. I did a few stretches, then bounced up and down on the balls of my feet to keep warm. Spike sighed, uncurled her arms from her knees, and stood up slowly. For the next few miles, jackrabbit and I moved at a snail's pace, waiting for Spike at every turn of the trail. At the top of a ridge, in a clearing surrounded by small pine trees, she unstrapped her pack and lowered it to the ground.
"You guys go ahead. Please."
She hurried toward the nearest pine. Jackrabbit and I walked a few hundred yards down the trail, then stopped. Spike caught up with us ten minutes later, her pale face shiny with sweat. She wore her pack on her shoulders only; the waist and chest straps dangled unbuckled at her sides.
"Flu?" I asked.
"1 guess so."
"1)id you throw up? 1)o you feel any better?"
"Yeah. A little."
I made a quick calculation; Spike's pack, with a four-day resupply, must weigh about thirty-five pounds. Mine weighed forty-five or fifty, so little, compared to the seventy-plus pounds I had carried into the Roans, that I hardly felt the pressure on my hips. Struggling up White Rocks Mountain behind Kincora, with the rain seeping through my duct-taped pack cover and mud sticking to the soles of my boots, I'd felt certain that I'd reached the limits of my body's strength. I was ready to test those limits again.
"Here, let me take your pack," I said to Spike. With jackrabbit's help, I bound it crosswise to the top of mine. I stuck my arms back into the straps and clasped the buckles. Getting to my feet was the hardest part; I rolled my legs around so that I was kneeling, then used my hiking sticks to pry myself up from the ground. Jackrabbit pushed on the packs from behind. Suddenly I was underway again, lurching awkwardly down the hill. Spike's pack stuck out on either side of my head, like the back of an enormous armchair. It bumped into the embankment on my left, and I ricocheted over to the other side of the trail, where the pack bounced off a tree. Behind nee, I heard Spike and jackrabbit's raised voices.
"Stop! Please, don't hurt yourself?"
"Look out for that branch!"
I imagined how I must look, stumbling back and forth under the billowing, amorphous pile of pack covers. Woman Devoured by Monster Amoeba. In spite of the ache in my ribs, which seemed to be grinding against each other with the weight, I felt a burst of laughter welling up inside of me. Spike and jackrabbit's voices paused, and then they started laughing, too. By the time I caught my breath, I had found my gait: rolling, bowlegged and hunchbacked, but I knew it would carry me the three miles to Roaring Fork.
We caught up with the Family at the shelter. They had hiked out a day ahead of us. After a week and a half on our own, I found the hubbub disconcerting. Hope and joy argued over who got the shorter sleeping mat. Joel and John argued over who had to sleep next to "the sick person." Mary read out loud to Faith from a tiny picture book she'd picked up in Damascus. You can't be cats, said the mother cat. You don't know hoii' to meow. So the three ducklings went to the mother horse. We ii~ant to be horses, the three ducklings said. Y u can't be horses, said the mother horse ... I'd found the story depressingly inane the first time I heard it, and by now, its repetitive phrases lurked in the back of my mind like the lyrics of a bad pop song, waiting to ambush me when I was too tired to think of anything else.
Paul poked at something in the firepit, and a cloud of rank smoke drifted into the shelter. I had argued with him about burning trash before. He had explained that back in Maine, the Family had farmed organically, sewn their own clothes, and wasted nothing. In their first four months on the Trail, they'd used cloth diapers for Faith, rinsing them in a basin that Mary kept for the purpose and hanging them on the backs of their packs to dry. When the weather turned cold, though, it got hard to find water for washing. At the same time, it became more and more difficult to carry enough food to replace the calories they expended in hiking. They had gotten rid of their extra med kit, traded their flashlights for Photons, and cut their summer pace by half. Still, it was a delicate balance. Joel carried thirty-five to forty pounds, as much as most adult thru-hikers. Joy, at seven years old, sometimes left town with twenty pounds on her back. Mary, whose body weight hovered between 105 and 1 15 pounds, carried a sixty-five pound pack. Paul took as much of Mary's gear as he could, plus food for the whole family; his pack weighed about eighty pounds in winter. If he had to pack out all of Faith's used diapers, he'd be carrying an extra five pounds by the end of the week. And carrying them to a dump, where they'd either be buried or burned anyway.
I had thought about offering to help the Family pack their trash out, but I knew that jackrabbit and I were reaching the limits of what we could carry, too. Since the beginning of winter, I'd put more and more of our communal gear in my pack in an attempt to ease the strain on jackrabbit's old injuries. Every pound of garbage that I took from Mary would be one less pound that I could take from my sister's burden, one less chance that the Barefoot Sisters would make it to Springer together.
Paul and I had reached a tacit agreement on the subject. Paul burned as little trash as he could, and he tried not to burn it in front of us. When he did, I didn't complain. The Family had its own ways of surviving, established long before we started hiking with them. If I couldn't help, I shouldn't try to judge.
That
night at Roaring Fork, though, I found the smell intolerable. There I was, trying to enjoy a beautiful, natural place while choking on the flames of somebody's garbage. I felt indignant on Spike's behalf, too; noxious smoke wasn't likely to alleviate her nausea.
"Could you, maybe, burn that in the morning, after we've left I asked Paul.
"We have to get an early start, too"
I let out a loud, ungracious sigh. Paul looked up at me, his eyes narrowed. I remembered how formidable he had seemed when jackrabbit and I had first niet the Family, back in I )elaware Water Gap. When he spoke, though, his voice sounded more weary than angry.
"Listen, Isis. I know how you feel about this. When we finish the Trail, we'll try to find a place where we can live like we did in Maine. Buy food that don't come wrapped in half a dozen layers of plastic. Throw out less in a year than most people do in a day. But right now, we can't afford your fancy ethics. I have only so much strength. I can carry my wife's sleeping bag, or I can carry my daughter's shit.'
Spike woke up feeling much better. She decided to wait for Caveman at the shelter, as she had planned. Mary gave her a packet of Gatorade mix, and John and Joel gathered a big pile of firewood to leave with her. Faith tottered over to her and gave her a hug before clambering into Mary's backpack.
Early in the day, jackrabbit and I hiked with Hope, John, and joy, telling them stories in which they were the main characters; the steep stream gorges and lovely hemlock forest we were hiking through served as a setting.
"Once upon a time, three bold adventurers decided to attempt the trek to Max Patch, a bald of fabled beauty."
"I was a princess, okay?" Hope piped up. "With a winter dress made of velvet, and four noble lords to carry my food and jewels"
"And I was a hobbit!" cried joy, jumping over a root.
"What were you, John?" asked jackrabbit.
"I was an Indian. 'Cause Indians really lived here, and they didn't need no trails nor packs nor hostels. If I was an Indian, I'd be the leader, 'cause I'd know how to keep us safe even better than Paul does"
We had to hurry over Max Patch when we finally reached it; a steady, biting wind blew clouds of ice fog across the open space. It was a far cry from the golden field surrounded by waves of soft hills blushing with maple blossoms that Badger had described to us. Instead, the bald had a fierce, unearthly beauty that made me feel as if I was trespassing in an environment too harsh for my kind-a pass in the Himalayas, or rural Norway in a Bergman film. Half of the bald, ending at the path, had been burned recently. On our left, a plain of short yellow grass, the tips of the blades silvered with frost, vanished into the fog. On our right, charred blackberry canes rose out of the black ground like Precambrian water weeds, a fan of ice an inch wide clinging to each stein. Ice rime coated the posts that marked the trail, too; patterns of overlapping crystals, like the breast feathers of gulls, covered the white blazes that we knew must be painted there.
Yogi and Yurt Man caught up with us at Groundhog Creek Shelter that evening. Yogi had picked up a local pop station on his pocket radio, and Faith, instead of crying for "num-nuns" or "story," started stomping back and forth to the beat as soon as Mary lifted her out of the backpack.
Yogi grinned. "You know, most people, if they were just out for a weekend or whatever, they ,vouldn't wanna hear pop music. They'd listen to the wind in the trees and the sounds of nature and all that. But when you're out here six, seven months, sometimes you need a little music" He set the pocket radio on the edge of the shelter and danced around with Faith.
Jackrabbit, Yurt Man, and I had time for a quick game of hide and seek with the older children before night fell. Jackrabbit counted. Joy grabbed my hand, tugging nie toward a large tree.
"I'm gonna hide with you, Isis!"
John disappeared without a trace, his light green fleece becoming part of the pattern of moss on the forest floor. Joel ducked into a thicket of saplings, his blue jacket blending into the darkening air. Hope's silvery laughter drifted back to me as she raced away uphill. I watched the peaked hoods of their fleeces fade into the twilit forest, where frost rimmed each hemlock needle in glittering white, feeling that I had stumbled into a realm of fairies.
Later that night, we sat in the shelter waiting for our suppers to cook. Yurt Man was using an alcohol hobo stove, even slower at low temperatures than our Zip stove had been. He'd lit it ten minutes before I fired up our propane canister, and his water wasn't even steaming yet.
Hope hounded over to check on his progress. "Your stove is so slow, Yurt Man! How can you wait that long for your dinner?" she asked.
"I have patience." He glanced up at her, his dark eyes sparkling. "And options.
-Options?"
He reached into his food bag and pulled out a package of granola. He took a handful, then offered the hag to Hope. "Options. Want some?"
jackrabbit
own in Davenport Gap, at the north end of the Smokies, Isis and I found a van parked by the side of the road, waiting for us. A petite, white-haired wou►an leaned out the window and called to us, "Barefoot Sisters!"
It took a moment for me to place the memory. "Jill?" I asked. "Where's Whispering Bill?"
"Oh, he's right here. Y'all remember us!"
"Who could forget?" Isis said. "You guys helped us out north of Pearisburg, after we were icebound at Laurel Creek. You were the first people we mct for weeks. It's SO good to see you again!"
"Good to see y'all" She got out of the van, and Whispering Bill stepped down from the passenger's side. He was as tall and gaunt as I remembered, with his thinning brown hair in a ponytail.
"I'm so happy we found y'all;' he said in his barely audible voice, grinning from car to ear.
"Miss Janet called us up and said y'all were headed this way," Jill added. "She said y'all were hiking with the Family from the North. Are they still-"
dust then, John and Joy came out of the woods, arguing. They stopped short, suddenly shy, when they saw Bill and Jill.
"I Ii, guys;' I said. "These are some friends of ours. Trail angels. They scant to hike the Trail too, maybe next year:"
In a few minutes the children were chatting excitedly with Jill about what they would find in the next section of the Trail. Joel and Hope came out of the woods, followed shortly by Paul and Mary. Faith peeked out of Mary's pack. "Mumma, who dat?" There was a new round of introductions.
"Great to meet y'all, after all the stories I've heard," Jill said. "Listen, would y'all like to come down to town? We've got plenty of space for you, and plenty of food."
"I could use a rest," Mary said.
"A down day, a town day!" Hope and John chanted, dancing around.
I was torn-it was a beautiful warm day, clear and perfect for hiking. I hated to leave the trail. I wanted to spend more time with Jill and Bill, though, and Isis and I had planned to stay with the Family at least until we got through the Smokies.
"Jackrabbit," Bill whispered. "Didn't you say you play the piano? We've got one in the living room. I'd love to hear you play."
I was the first one in the van.
Bill drove us back to the trail in the early morning. It was overcast and slightly chilly, with wisps of fog drifting through the forest. I felt energized and ready to hike, though. Music, food, friendship, and a good night's sleep on a soft mattress had renewed me. Once again, I marveled at the generosity of people who had been strangers such a short time ago.
At the edge of the Smokies, a fire had recently blackened the hillside. The ground was scorched bare; not even fallen leaves or pine needles remained. The rhododendrons and laurels, usually green, were reduced to charred branches. Mist thickened around us. The whole landscape looked dead, and the damp wind smelled sooty.
John, hiking just ahead of me, stopped in the middle of the burned area and looked around. He spoke in a quiet voice, full of dread. "Are there still dragons in the world?"
Though I tried to reassure him that dragons were imaginary, I noticed that he looked ar
ound nervously as he hiked and stayed closer to the group than he usually did.
The pathway rose steeply out of Davenport Gap. I remembered the elevation profile clearly-six miles of steady uphill. I readjusted my pack straps, shifting the load for the long haul, and started walking. The thick trunks of maples and tulip poplars, with their corrugated tawny bark, gave way to huge hemlocks and spruces. The mist beaded up on their needles and began to drip. Rhododendron thickets closed in on either side of the path, dark green and slick-leaved. Yellow tufts of grass and olive-green mosses lined the edges of the trail. The snow had melted entirely now, except for occasional patches of ice in the path.
Isis and I hiked fast, going ahead of the Family, enjoying the quiet of the woods. Yogi stayed back with the children. I heard him laughing and talking with Joel as I walked on. We had made plans to meet them that night at a fire tower that Anonymous Badger had told us about, up on Mount Cammerer. It's one of the prettiest places on the Trail, he had said. There s room up there to sleep about tuventy people.
I wondered where the other lobos were. Spike and Caveman were still behind us. The rest of them were somewhere up ahead, as far as I knew; I hadn't seen a register for a few days. I hoped we would all meet up again, but there was so little Trail mileage left. My thoughts kept straying to Lash and all the things I had wanted to say to hini that night at the Paddlers Pub.
"Isis, what do you think of Lash I asked.
She laughed. "What do I think of Lash? He's cute, he's charming, but he's not my type. All he wants is some woman to treat him like dirt and dump him so he can write another sad song about it"
"Yeah, you're probably right."
We walked on in silence for a while, and the sound of our footsteps on the gravel path blended with the sound of water dripping everywhere.
`Jackrabbit, you know what you said in Erwin, about yo-yoing the Trail? Were you serious?"
I thought hard. "Yes"
"It's another six months. Another eight, if we go as slow northbound"
"We won't. It'll be summer"
Barefoot Sisters: Southbound Page 52