When things go wrong: Animals

We were two days out from Amicalola State Park, nearing the top of Springer Mountain and the official start of The Appalachian Trail, deep in the whispery shadows of the Chattahootchee National Forest, when the iodine water purification tablets we had brought along began to wreak havoc on our stomachs. It was a long hike back to the car and safe drinking water, two days if by leisurely, well hydrated stroll. The water bubbling from the fabled mountain springs was as clear as tap water but every water source we'd encountered had a sign posted nearby that warned against untreated water. We only had enough fuel for our meals so boiling water was out of the question. We were paranoid, low on water, delirious and dehydrated with iodine poisoning and we were in the middle of nowhere. In other words, we were fucked.

A common theme that comes up when talking about the Appalachian Trail, and spending time in the back-country in general, concerns the risks and dangers associated with the enterprise. The woods are, after all, a scary place. There is a reason that all of our folklore and fables cast them as foreboding domains of evil spirits and monsters. In those old stories, when people wandered into the woods, they were seldom likely to come back out again. People are afraid of the wilderness because it's primitive and it lacks all of the conveniences and safeties of civilization—in fact presents the very antithesis to the concept of society and civilization.

Nature calls

It's easy to get wrapped up in the paranoia of the wild, especially when considering spending an extended period of time there. After having encountered my own fair share of crises on the trail, I can safely say that a little preparation goes a long way towards peace of mind.

But you will still encounter people asking you about bears and snakes and making you all paranoid again.

So, what's a novice hiker to do?

For your conveniences and reading pleasure, I present to you some of the common dangers and misconceptions of the back-country. This will be a multi-part series, where I will focus on animal encounters, common preparatory mistakes and weather related dangers, as well as a few other little nuggets of paranoia to chew on next time you find yourself out in the woods.

So let's get to it.

In our first installment, we will talk about When Things Go Wrong with: Animals. It is a mistake to go into the back-country thinking that you are going to be stalked by a bear. The thing to remember about all animals is that we usually frighten or intimidate them. More often than not, this makes them run away. Occasionally, this makes them aggressive. That is when you want to be prepared. People are equal parts fascinated and terrified by wild animals. We scream over spiders and try to lure bears into camp for a photo opportunity. In reality, the risk of running into trouble with animals is, like all other back-country dangers, directly related to you level of preparation.

But let's be honest here for a second, who wouldn't want to stumble upon a bear (from a safe distance, of course—preferably from the other side of an electrified fence or plexiglass view-port) and observe him plumping himself on spring berries in his bucolic meadow abode long enough to snap a picture for the folks back home? Isn't seeing wild animals one of the reasons people like to venture into the woods? Granted, there is a difference between snapping a few photos of a dew-covered fawn and using your camera as a last-line-of-defense projectile weapon against a ravenous, charging grizzly. There is a fine line between luck and fate and sometimes even the greatest amount of preparation cannot prevent tragedy.

That being said, there are ways to protect yourself from these situations. Hiking in the eastern US, bears and snakes are the most commonly feared back-woods assailants. In reality, ticks and mosquitoes are probably to be more feared because of their growing abundance and tendency to carry nasty little maladies. DEET is sadly the most effective weapon we have against West Nile, Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, Lyme disease, and a host of other extremely unpleasant and downright dangerous ailments. While I think it is fool hardy for any hiker to leave without a can of DEET product in his emergency rations, I don't recommend using DEET unless the bugs are a serious problem. The dangerous chemical can have a negative impact on the environment and you. In tick season, stay on the trail and wear long sleeves and pants tucked into your socks. Avoid hiking after the rain to cut down on mosquitoes. Common sense goes a long way.

But what about the animals that aren't dissuaded by a sticky layer of insect repellant?

Black Bears are common on the AT, especially in the National Parks where they know they can get food. For the most part, the bears are a nuisance and nothing more, providing a hint of danger for backpackers—nothing like the paranoid terror that would be associated with hiking through Grizzly territory out west. Black bears are generally shy towards humans. Attacks are rare and usually revolve around the bear trying to get the hiker to relinquish his food stores.

Serious black bear attacks usually only occur out west where the species grows larger and generally more aggressive. Much research has been done on what drives a bear to attack and how to avoid the situation. In the case of black bears, a great deal of conflicting information exists concerning what you should and should not do if a black bear does decide to rage on you.

Some research has suggested that playing dead only works with grizzlies, who are known to lose interest in prey that doesn't fight back (which is, I think, rather sporting). Black bears, on the other hand, like to keep chewing whether you're pretending to care or not. However, cases of black bear attacks where the victim did in fact play dead and survive provide evidence to the contrary. There is enough contradiction to keep you indoors for the rest of your life.

Wish you were here

Two things are for certain with black bears: never climb a tree and never, ever run. Black bears are excellent climbers and should you decide to escape by climbing a tree, the bear will happily climb up and retrieve you. And of course, you should never run from any charging animal. Which is bland advice for me to be writing from the safety of my bedroom. As Bill Bryson notes in A Walk in the Woods, “Take it from me, if you are in an open space with no weapons and a [bear] comes for you, run. If nothing else, it will give you something to do with the last seven seconds of your life.” The obvious lesson here is—run if you must but know that you have just signed your life over.

The whole topic of bears is very interesting and raises a lot of questions and concerns. I have yet to spend a single night in a tent without thinking, at least once, that a growling bear was just outside with dripping maw and claws. The reality of the situation is that bears are wild animals and as such, they are unpredictable.

To avoid bears, it is best to make a lot of noise to announce your presence and avoid startling any nearby critters. Out west, in places like Yosemite and Grand Canyon, back packers are required to carry their food in bear canisters, which are metal or hard plastic cylinders with smooth surfaces that are virtually impenetrable for bears. It is considered standard practice almost everywhere for back packers to hang their food bags at night from a tree at least twenty feet above the ground and ten feet from the tree trunk to dissuade bears and racoons. Food and strong smelling items should always be kept down wind from camp at least twenty yards (or further if possible)

Cougar: In Florida, we call the smaller subspecies Panther. They are also known as Mountain Lion and archaically as Catamount. If you see one of these majestic creatures, consider yourself lucky. Sightings are exceedingly rare, as all wild cats are commonly reclusive. There have been reports of attacks out west by the beefy northwest mountain lions, but these are rare and are usually against children, pets, or small or elderly people hiking alone. In the Eastern US, the animal is officially declared extinct, though reports of sightings persist. The chances of being struck by lightening are probably significantly higher than being mauled (much less eaten) by an Eastern Mountain Lion.

Snakes: I always walk with a stick not just because it makes me look like a bad-ass wizard but also because my stick is my primary defense against snakes. In this day in age, where most hospitals carry anti-venom, death by snake bite is rare.

Still, snakes are a real danger in the back-country. I use my stick to reach into dark places or turn over logs or rocks. If a snake is in the trail, I either give it a wide berth or use the stick to gently guide it in the other direction.

In general, it is always a good idea to shake out shoes, clothes, and sleeping bags before use to avoid getting surprised by snakes or bugs looking for shelter.

The most poisonous snakes in the Eastern US are the Cottonmouth Water Moccasin, The Coral Snake, and the Diamondback Rattlesnake.

Cottonmouths are known to be aggressive and will stand their ground. It is best to give them plenty of space as their venom is particularly damaging to flesh (amputations are not uncommon in bite victims). 

Cottonmouth

 

Coral Snakes are uniquely colored, timid and small snakes that pack an extremely potent neurotoxic venom. Always remember some variation of the saying: Red to yellow—kill a fellow, red to black—put it back. Bites are extremely rare, only a few per year on average. The problem is that the bites are so rare, anti venom for is no longer going to be produced because of the cost for synthesis. So--in particular avoid these guys. 

Rattlesnakes, and Diamondback Rattlesnakes in particularly, are magnificent to behold in their natural environment. They are aggressive but not particularly fond of people. They announce their presence by shaking their tail which is made of keratin, the same stuff as your finger nails. The smaller Pygmy Rattlesnake is common in Florida but it's diminutive rattle is so quiet, it is often mistaken for rustling leaves. I've almost stepped on them while they are sunning themselves in the trail. The Pygmy's venom is not produced in large quantities so it is not particularly dangerous, although the bite is necessarily unpleasant. 

Smaller Eastern Diamondback

Pygmy Rattlesnake

 

Other Concerns: Coyotes are increasingly becoming a presence in the Eastern US. Personally, I have seen and/or heard several in the central Florida area within the last few years and I also encountered their haunting call one pitch-black night in the Southern Appalachians. However, encounters are rare and they are not known to attack humans.

Another frequent presence in the back-country is the feral hog. Especially in the south, these invasive, destructive, often ill-tempered animals are known to display aggression when cornered. The most dangerous situation involving a hog would likely be related to the height of his tusks in relation to your femoral artery. Hog attacks are rare though outside of the hunting world and deaths are almost unheard of. The animals are surprisingly smart and seem to know enough to avoid humans.

Speaking of which, since we are talking about When Things Go Wrong with: Animals, let's consider a very commonly encountered animal: humans. It is best to rely on your instincts when it comes to encountering other people on the trail. If a situation makes you uncomfortable, move on. Don't tell strangers where you are going or how many people are in your party. I personally have never encountered any trouble from other people on the trail but it would be foolish to not consider the dangers associated with human attacks on the trail. More often then not, trail heads or trail parking areas are the most unsafe. I'm always a little leery when returning to the car of muggers or something of that nature, particularly when hiking near highly developed areas.

That about does it for now. Tune in to the next post for When Things Go Wrong with: Common Preparatory Mistakes (like bringing iodine as water treatment for an extended period of time when one or more members of your party are allergic to iodine...fun!)

Walkin'

In our previous entry, we discussed thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail. I offered my intention to hike the entire trail in one calendar year (known as thru-hiking) as well as a brief personal background on my experience with the trail so far. In this update of The Thicket, I want to continue this theme with a general discussion of the some of the Eastern long-trails and little bit of an overview of backpacking.

The Eastern US, while certainly not as outdoor friendly as the Western US, has a a surprisingly large selection of extended hiking trails, most notably those that traverse through the Appalachian Mountain chain. Of course the most well known is also the longest. At once a primitive tribute to nature and a grueling race against the seasons, the Appalachain Trail, or AT is a federally designated National Scenic Trail, controlled by Uncle Sam but owned and cared for by the People.

But the eastern US is home to numerous long-distance hiking trails designed specifically for strolling, tramping, and otherwise roughing it:

THE BENTONMACKAYE TRAIL: Benton MacKaye was the New England forester who originally envisioned the Appalachian Trail as a footpath “for those who seek fellowship with the woods.” Over the course of planning and developing the trail, the AT became something somewhat different than MacKaye had originally envisioned. From Bill Bryson's A Walk in the Woods:

“A hiking trail was only part of MacKaye's grand vision. He saw the AT as a thread connecting a network of mountaintop work camps where pale, depleted urban workers in the thousands would come and engage in healthful toil in a selfless spirit and refresh themselves on nature. There were to be hostels and inns and seasonal study centers, and eventually permanent woodland villages—'self-owning' communities whose inhabitants would support themselves with cooperative 'non-industrial activity' based on forestry, farming, and crafts.”

The grandeur of MacKaye's vision was never seen to fruition but the basic idea behind the trail was present. MacKaye worked for the Department of Labor and was tasked with creating projects which might help to improve moral during the industrialized 20's. His idea for a scenic footpath was originally published in Journal of the American Institute of Architects in 1921.

The AT and the BMT are closely related in history and in location. The BMT runs closely to McKaye's original intended starting point of the AT, running through “some of the most remote back-country in Georgia, Tennessee, and North Carolina, including eight federally designated Wilderness and Wilderness Study Areas,” according to the Benton MacKaye Trail Association website.

Federally designated wilderness areas are particularly cool because they are supposed to remain largely untouched—no roads, no logging or agriculture, nothing but a thin slice of dirt path winding through acres and acres of unspoiled nature. This also means no cell reception, no easy access for rescues, and no way out other than by the trail. The disconnect from civilization can be exciting, refreshing, and to some, terrifying.

The BMT is listed as “nearly 300 miles” though the entire trail length is variable. The BMT loop can be combined with the AT and several other long trails to make almost 500 miles of hiking. These other long-trails include, but are not limited to, the Mountain-to-Sea Trail and the grandaddy of them all, the Eastern Continental Trail which stretches all the way from Key West, Florida to Cape Gaspe, Quebec, Canada and combines the Florida Trail, the BMT, and the AT, as well as others to make a 4,400 mile hike.

THE LONG TRAIL: The original long-trail, creatively named The Long Trail can be found solely in the state of Vermont, running 272 miles from the Massachusetts state line to the Canadian border along the crest of the Green Mountains, a branch of the Appalachians.

Generally credited with being the source of inspiration for MacKaye's AT, the LT is considered the oldest long-trail in the United States. The terrain is more rugged than the southern Appalachians, passing through all of the major summits in the Green Mountain Range.

The LT has about 70 shelters, which is 69 more than...

THE FLORIDA TRAIL: The Florida Trail, or the FT is in my home state and actually peaks over towards the coast not too far from where I live. In fact, the sunshine state's footpath travels through the proverbial backyard, mostly unnoticed in the face of other attractions like the beach and the whole smorgasbord of theme parks and Touristlandia-glitz.

Like the AT, the FT is a federally designated National Scenic Trail, though portions of it do not fit this designation. Founded in 1966, the FT is still constantly in a state of geographic flux. Changes in trail location make last year's guidebooks obsolete. The distance between resupply points is often long and road walking along incomplete sections of trail are sadly frequent. The most distressing aspect of the FT though is that many sections of the trail cross through land in which hunting is allowed during prime hiking season. The prospect of being target practice turns many hikers away from the FT. In the 2000's, the sections of the trail in the Ocala National Forest gained ill-repute when several campers and hikers were mugged on the trail by drifters. A concerted effort has been made by the forest service to control this problem though.

My dad and I ventured into the Juniper Prairie Wilderness near Lake George and enjoyed a few days of relative solitude, except for the usual crowds at Hidden Pond and Juniper Springs Recreation Area. Dad was particularly interested in reports from other hikers concerning a gathering of Rainbow People up north in Hopkins Prairie. Several of the younger thru-hikers that we met at Hidden Pond expressed interest in seeing the gathering first hand. 

 No cell phones beyond this point.

Most long-trails have their share of detractors so it is unfair to lambast the FT, particularly because it is a treasure of our state's natural heritage, one which is graciously cared for by a legion of devoted volunteers. A long weekend spent following the orange blazes through the explosions of palmetto will not soon be forgotten. There is a unique and personal joy in traversing through one's home state by foot and I can easily see the charm of such an idea.

I suffered much debate over traversing the FT's approximately 1400 miles. But the experience lacked something for me. Staying within a single state for the length of the hike seemed anti-climatic, in a strange sort of way. Plus--

Who can resist the call of the mountains?!

The Appalachian Trail is a federally protected footpath, closed to all but those who travel by their own two legs (this includes horses, though it didn't always). The trail is specifically designed for hikers. Water sources and shelters are relatively frequent. Road crossings (important difference from road walks) and trail towns for resupply are also frequent, allowing the hiker to carry less supplies than someone thru-hiking the Pacific Crest Trail or the Continental Divide trail, in which resupplies sometimes aren't for a week or more.

The AT is heavily used, with usage statistics growing each year. Still, the failure percentage for thru-hikers is remarkably high—a testament to the trail's difficulty. An example: from 1930 to 1960 (keeping in mind that trail construction began in 1925), only 22 people are recorded to have thru-hiked. In 2012, 508 completed the trail out of the approximately 2500 who left from Springer Mountain.

Despite the numbers, it isn't uncommon to go days without seeing another human.

Some might hear these facts and shudder with primal fear—alone...in the woods...for...days?! Is this guy crazy?

Perhaps. 

Hopefully the coming blog entries will shed more light on this question

SO STAY TUNED!

The Appalachian Trail: A Statement of Intent

Some years ago, in a fit of dejected depression caused by a sour relationship, I perused my local library's travel section in search of a book to distract my troubled mind. I don't know what it was that I was looking for exactly, I can only remember thinking that I'd been had by the one who stole my heart and my only concern was finding solace in that most sacred of youthful coming of age rituals: travel.

That's when I found Bill Bryson's A Walk in the Woods. Published in 1998, Bryson's hilarious travelogue is a love letter not only to the Appalachians but to the country of his birth. Having spent several years abroad, Bryson was returning home to find his country drastically changed since his departure, now filled with sedentary, obese, impatient tribes of people ruefully referred to in the rest of the world as Americans. 

Settling in a small New England college town, the celebrated humorist and journalist discovered a dirt path not far from his house which traveled across the spine of the Appalachian Mountains from Georgia to Maine. 

 

The first OFFICIAL white blaze on the Appalachian Trail, found on the top of Springer Mountain. What lies beyond?

So began his quest to travel the great American footpath.

I devoured A Walk in the Woods in a fit of ecstasy, marveling over the concept of a long trail. Growing up, my family would often spend long afternoons in our quiet Florida beachside community, walking along the shoreline or in the trails of the nearby state parks. The idea of an extended, really really long trail was foreign and quaint to me, like a relic of a bygone age.

Like Bryson, I became hooked by the concept of the Appalachian Trail. For the past few years, I've watched the Spring arrive with a sense of longing. Every year, as the last of the snow fall melts from the Georgia mountains, the thru-hiking season begins, usually lasting until around September or October. 

Starting before the Spring green has even set, a legion of hikers begins what will for some be the greatest quest of their lives. For most, the trail will laugh at their unpreparedness, their machismo, and their naivety. They will not make it to the end. But for the twenty or so percent of hikers with just the right amount of drive and luck, the end will come at Mt. Katahdin in Baxter State Park Maine, after having traveled through fourteen states and close to 2,200 miles (the trail distance changes wildly from year to year and source to source, but considering how much walking you actually do, I think 2,200 miles is actually a very, very low estimate of how far the average thru-hiker travels).

At the gates in Amicalola Falls State Park, Georgia. I do not recommend attempting to hike in sandals.

A year ago, I had the pleasure of finally stepping onto the trail myself. I will recount this story in a later blog post, but for now, I will offer that this brief glimpse did not sate my curiosity—it only served to tease me all the more. You can only hike so far in a weekend, but always the next white blaze is calling from around the corner. There is an overwhelming urge to see that next blaze and the one after and the one after. When I returned home, I immediately began planning my next trip.

For some time, I have been debating with myself whether or not a thru-hike was in the cards for me. I now know that I will never be completely satisfied unless I try.

 At the Black Mountain Shelter.

THUS:

I hereby proclaim my intention to thru-hike the Appalachian Trail in the Spring/Summer of 2014.

This blog will from henceforth be a chronicle of the preparations that I make over the coming year. I will carefully outline every detail, from the history of the trail and the region it inhabits to the technical aspects of preparation and actual hiking. I will explore my reasons for wanting to hike. I will outline details like gear choice and financial planning. By this time next year, I will be preparing to depart for Springer Mountain. This blog will be my journal, offering updates and anecdotes from this epic quest which I have begun.

SO STAY TUNED!

 There is an immediate elevation gain of almost 1000 feet to the top of the falls. The steps are the last known location of my pride.

 Dad posing for a photo in front of Amicalola Falls

 Looking out from the top of the Falls

Life After Books

So we've lost books.

You've probably seen this coming for a while now. It's hard to deny the grip of technology. This is a blog after all. I'm being broadcast into the world via said technology. I, and that is to say this blog, am dependent on technology.

But what does that mean?

I was speaking to a friend not long ago about reading. He informed he that he didn't much care for it. Apart from the initial reevaluation of our friendship, I felt sad. I asked him why and his answer troubled me even more--books are old--if it's important, it will be on the internet.

So I learned two things from our conversation: 

1) My friend does read, but only what is on his computer.

2) Books are endangered species. 

I've known this for a while. I've worked at a library. I've seen that an overwhelming number of patrons are not checking out books. They're using the computers. They're checking out movies and music. 

Books are old. Books are heavy. They hurt your eyes. 

THEY'RE BAD FOR THE ENVIRONMENT.

Valid points.

But, damnit--I love books. I love holding books. You don't have to plug a book in.

etc., etc.

It's gotten to the point that society is driven by technology. Our lives are accompanied by the machines in our pockets. 

I may sound overly critical. 

Don't get me wrong--I'm all for technology. That machine in my pocket has saved my skin quit a few times, thank you very much.

But are we losing something to this technology? Some primal ability, some patience--maybe a few seconds off the attention span? 

It's harder to agree on what that lost thing is. I suppose it might be something different for everyone. 

And here I probably sound a little sentimental, because--well--it just seems appropriate. We are talking about the end of a major medium of information. How can you not be a little sad? Books have been boss numero uno for centuries. And by books here, I of course am referring not specifically to the hard-bound fiction/nonfiction novel of the last two hundred years, but rather the instilling of information via ink onto a surface of parchment, usually composed of wood pulp, the possession of which (as in, holding the "book") instilling within the possessor a feeling of personalization, not only with the information presented, but also with the media it is presented upon.

I'm finished with college. Perhaps this is a tad over-dramatic for that reason. I can't help but feel like the reading and writing I do from now on will be for my own sake and not for the approval of a class or GPA. There is a certain responsibility to the craft that can be found in this new part of my life. 

So that may be it for books, but there are more chapters yet.

This pleases me

Well isn't this just like Christmas? A new Griz' album and it's just fan-damned-tastic

But, hold up a minute there Mac, cause that's not all you're gonna get.

I was bummed to hear that the chances of a new Department of Eagles album are low, at least anytime soon. But holy cannoli! Daniel Rossen, of DoE and Grizzly Bear fame has a solo EP out now.

Yeah. I'm just thrilled senseless over here, folks.

A Space For Rent*

For so long the vacant

domicile, which

discerning eyes

do scrutinize

has sat

alone.

The walls that echo

cold and damp

sturdy for your

picture frames;

waiting. 

New light blasting

away moldy

history, melting

dust, clearing

space.

A space for rent

rent or own

ask the bank

Its your new

home. 

*poetry: not my best form of artistic expression.

Realism VS. Irony: FIGHT!

In our first class for Fiction II last week, the professor encouraged us to speak up about what kind of stuff we write. This took me aback. I wanted to say Satire with gusto but apart from the fact that someone else beat me to it, I was a little troubled by the fact that I don't actually consider myself a satirist. I don't think I'm familiar enough with the Great Modern Way to adequately lampoon it. 

So I was stuck there in the back of the class experiencing my first real crisis as a writer. 

What the hell do I write?

I've been working on a novel for a few years now that feels satirical but that almost seems too quaint of a description...like I'm either bastardizing it or being way too ambitious. One or the other.

I know, right? You can see how this difference is ghastly and confusing to someone who is still unsure whether or not they even deserve the title "Writer" with a capital "W."

Over the summer I had the extreme fortune of stumbling upon a copy of Cathedral by Raymond Carver. I'm not saying I love the realism but I do find a bit of comfort in the simplicity and directness of his plots. Carver didn't mince words or bother with glided edges, like a Hemingway on food stamps. This was real life in snapshots. And it caught a lot of people's attention apparently.

But then, who doesn't love Irony? Maybe it is a vulgar cop-out to lean on the concept but it's just so damn fun, especially when it works really well. I guess that's the English major in me--the one who derides criticism but still can't help analyzing and breaking down. I get a cheeky sort of pleasure out of out deconstructing particularly thorny ironies.

And so I come back to the challenge that has been working over in my mind since that first class meeting. What do I write? 

Every writer's style changes consistently with time. It's unavoidable. But two ideals as opposite as Realism and Irony seem to have no place in the same cannon. But...as has happened before...I might be wrong.