8. Mountaintop Oracles

This post is particularly unique, as, rather than recount a specific experience, I’ll be introducing a few more people we met on the trail, whom we encountered in circumstances not exceptionally conducive to writing an entire post about the events themselves. Nonetheless, these individuals are prominent characters who come up regularly when Chandler and I discuss the hike, and therefore must be made known in some capacity; such is the goal of this post.

(Due to the abnormal nature of this post—pertaining specifically and completely to people we met—there will be no featured person of the week. I sincerely apologize for any disappointment.)

 

Bushwacker Guy

As the title suggests, the hallmark of these encounters is that each occurred at or near the top of a mountain. The first described here—Bushwacker Guy—was particularly disconcerting as it came to pass at the top of a mountain that seemed especially secluded; then again, that impression could have been promoted by the fatigue of our 20 miles that day. The sun was on its way down and we were the only people at the campsite, thankful for some peace after expending ourselves on what would be the longest day we’d hike. We set up the tent and prepared the freeze-dried spaghetti we’d bought at the hostel. At some point in our preparations to pass the night, we heard movement in the brush on the side of the campsite opposite the side from which we’d entered; it wasn’t long before a man, looking somewhat disheveled in a way that suggested his trip through the forest wasn’t planned, emerged from the trees, the most curious aspect of his appearing being the fact that he had not been using the trail. Chandler and I were a bit put off, knowing that there was no chance of him reaching the next campsite anywhere close to sunset and therefore assuming we’d be sharing camp with him that night.

But we all know what assuming does, and Chandler and I were lucky enough in this case to experience an instance in which my parents’ admonishment (not to assume) proved itself valid. The man made a few comments to us, not least of which being an expression of his excitement at the ‘discovery’ of how much faster hiking up the mountainside is when you don’t use the trail. We failed to share with him that off-trail hiking (bushwacking) is discouraged and, in many cases, prohibited for a variety of reasons—personal safety from wild animals including venomous snakes and disease-carrying insects, the wellbeing of the surrounding area that already suffers enough impact from recreational use, and protection from getting lost in an expansive forest all included—but were all the more unsettled at the thought of sleeping in his vicinity with nobody else around.

Our fears proved to be unfounded when, after our brief conversation, he plunged himself into the brush—still not utilizing the handy trail that many people had so kindly labored to create—on the far side, opposite from where he’d appeared. The sun set soon after, and I wonder from time to time what became of the Bushwacker Guy, from whom we never heard again.

 

Minecraft Kid

The next acquaintance of ours was a boy we encountered at the top of Blood Mountain, at the bottom of which we would find the hostel later that same day. We had stopped to snack and enjoy the view—Blood Mountain is the highest point on the Georgia section of the trail—and were happily conversing with some other hikers (here we met a lady who had been trailing Shirtless, whose nickname she recognized from the trail logs at each campsite, for a good while, and was interested in the information we were able to share about him) when a family with a few young children came up the far side to have a picnic. We were off to the side, seated on some rocks—eating almonds, if I remember correctly—when one of the boys came nearby as he jumped from rock to rock. When he got close to us, he paused for a moment, looked us in the eyes, and uttered words that will be with me forever:

 

“Y’know, hiking is a lot like Minecraft.”

 

And, leaving us with that, he skipped away.

His wisdom brought a lucidity to our struggles and trials that we, without realizing it til that moment, had been grasping for the whole time and repeatedly failed to capture. Without the clarity and understanding that that sagacious child so freely shared, I imagine our hike and the aftermath of it would have been radically different.

Hiking is a lot like Minecraft, kid. It really is.

 

Nancy

Nancy was from Canada. She was already setting up her things when we approached the campsite one cloudy evening. Trying to avoid any sort of intrusion, we began pitching our tent a good distance from the shelter, where she was setting up. After setting up the tent, I went off to use the privy (campsite outhouse) and, upon my return, found Chandler conversing with her. We got into some friendly chit-chat, talked about our respective trips, and eventually all sat down to dinner together. She had a freeze-dried, just-add-water meal; Chandler and I had canned chicken and pre-cooked noodles (with parmesan, of course). We poked fun at our own unpreparedness, laughing as we took out a can opener to open the chicken; it was then that we discovered that the can opener we’d brought had been broken all along. Rather than rolling it around the rims of the cans, as one does with a functioning can opener, we used it like a pair of scissors, punching holes in the tops til they were detached enough to pry off with our knives. This process was particularly amusing to Nancy.

Once the distraction of our culinary inadequacy was out of the way, we were able to get to know Nancy a little better. She was somewhere around 50—it’s difficult to remember because she looked relatively young, but I want to say that she told us she was retired—and her section hike was only a portion of a larger trip she was making, including riding her motorcycle down to Georgia from Canada and staying in some sort of community to relax (I realize that’s absurdly vague—I’ve forgotten the details of what she said) for a few days after her hike. She told us that she’d earned a reputation with the people she’d met for her 50-pound pack, from which she refused to surrender anything she’d brought, and explained that she liked to get an early start and plod along at a very slow but steady pace. She also talked at some length about how pathetic the black bears are in Georgia compared to those in Canada.

We all continued talking while preparing for the night, really enjoying the company. In the morning, we heard the muffled sounds of her packing her things in our half-awake haze. When we finally rose from our tent in the late morning, our friend Nancy was long gone.