Posts
All Comments
Just a heads up, and it actually has nothing to do with cartoons or the 90's, but there will be some exciting posts to look forward to over the next couple months!
Our backpacks are frozen. We awake, hesitantly, to an icy, 17 degree morning, and can hardly believe our eyes as we stare through the semi-dark at our frost-bitten packs glued to the picnic table.
Our first order of business is clear to all. Time is against us, so we run up the trail, anxious to catch the sunrise from the Priest Mountain's exposed summit. We arrive to a pristine abyss of creeping clouds, the sun's lucent, neon glow soaking through the white horizon. Mountaintops emerge from the sea of clouds, rearing their rocky zeniths and ancient crowns. We stand in silence. It seems a fitting climax to our epic adventure, this sunrise of champions.
Eager to reach the last mountain, we embark down the trail, our boots crunching through half-thawed ice. Vapor issues from our mouths as we march through the cold. The first mile of our hike consists of mostly downhill terrain, and my knees begin throbbing like the day before, only severely multiplied. I lean on my trekking pole for support and try altering my gate, but the pain shooting through my knee caps is wrenching. Due to my unexpected handicap, it takes longer to reach the Crabtree Meadows fire road than expected. There, we meet Robbie's father, as planned. A history buff (and our shuttle back to our cars), he will hike the next 3.8 miles with us to Spy Rock, which received its name during the Civil War for the Confederate Troops that used its exposed summit as a lookout post. It is a mountain much revered in Virginia and one we have anxiously awaited.
By now I am concerned about the state of my knees, but I'm too prideful to sit this one out. I take some Aleve and wince through the pain, following my companions up the trail. It only gets worse, though, as we close in on the peak. I worry about the return journey, knowing for every southbound step I take on the Appalachian Trail, I will have to retrace just as many north. After what seems like a painfully long time, we ascend a splinter trail and climb the rocky slope to the top of Spy Rock. And it truly is a sight to behold, a 360 degree vista of the surrounding mountains and valleys. At first, we take it all in, impressed beyond our expectations. At an elevation of 3,701 feet, it is easy to see how the Rebel army would have utilized this spot as a lookout station; the valley lies in plain sight below. While the temperature has risen since daybreak, the winds are fierce on Spy Rock. Strong gusts whip our jackets and numb our faces. No one sits still for long, lest they freeze to the rock face.
It is finally time to leave. The view from Spy Rock is a fitting end to our trip, coupled with the morning's sunrise. But it is a long way to hike for an injured man. My knees are in terrible shape, grinding against the cartilage beneath my knee caps at every gesture. I feel weaker with each step. Like mini bursts of lightning, pain echoes through my joints. Something has got to give, and, today, it is my pride. After sharing my plight with the guys, they promise to get me back safely, and I trust them. They will bend over backwards to help me. Sure enough, the next hour and a half are some of the most painful in my recent memory. At times, it takes Sleepy Time holding me up on one side or Moses offering me his trusty staff so I'll have an extra 'leg' to lean on. With their help, I survive the ordeal.
We rise at dawn. The air is fresh and cool. Sunlight pours through the roof of the forest. Beads of condensation roll down the nylon fabric of our tents. Squirrels forage for food and retreat at the sound of our voices. The day is new, and we are ready to embark on the toughest leg of our journey.
The Priest Mountain, a sentimental favorite from my Scout days, is not to be considered without earnest forethought. By ascending the peak southbound on the Appalachian Trail, hikers embark on a 5-mile trek with nearly 3,000 feet in elevation gain. The switchbacks are as endless as the mountains, themselves. The terrain is punishing: steep, rocky, and unrelenting. Sleepy Time (Tim Bob, for those who have forgotten) and I, having accomplished this task before, do our best to prepare Robbie and Brett for the challenge that lies ahead.
"Sit down, stop crying, and drink this water," we say.
I try to ignore it and take a painkiller. Robbie and I ease off our backpacks and rest for a while, soaking in the purple hue of a winter, mountain sunset. To the east, we observe Three Ridges. We are humbled by its severity and amazed we have made it this far. From the very edge of the mountain - his personalized hiking staff firmly planted - Robbie surveys the land. With his grizzly facial hair and strong pose, he looks, oddly enough, like Moses at the parting of the Red Sea. I envision a massive stamp slamming on Robbie's manila file with a resounding thud: TRAIL NAMED.
There is little time to spare, so Moses and I return to the trail and hike a mile further, where we find our friends at the campsite chopping firewood. It is only fitting, since I bestow Robbie with his trail name, that Tim Bob do the same for Brett. And it so happens, during our absence, Brett apparently "split a friggin' tree in half with a huge rock," or so Tim Bob says. So Brett - now Hammerhead - proceeds to build a miniature log house out of kindling, and Sleepy Time lights a bundle of tinder. Cold and tired, we are all anxious to gather round the campfire. There is much to be done: dinner to make, tents to set up, bear bags to hang. But for now all anyone can do is loaf next to the fire, entranced by its incandescent glow.
"Time to get up, Tim Bob," I say, to which my quick-witted friend moans in reply, "Noooo...I want sleepy time!" thus sealing his trail name for all hiking adventures to come.
Starting off right, we ascend Bee Mountain, which spans roughly a half mile, before taking a short dive down the other side. Because we do not expect to descend so quickly, we are puzzled, but, soon later, we lumber up the northern knoll of Three Ridges and take our first break at the top. As we wind up a steep switchback, we can see the forest opening ahead. We step out of the woods and onto a massive rock precipice overlooking Three Ridges to the east and the Priest Mountain to the west. It is both daunting and exhilarating to catch a glimpse of the landscape we must still traverse. Three Ridges is aptly named, and my heart thumps at the sight of its barren and jagged downward slope. Over the course of the day, we will gain - then lose - altitude. Already I am not fond of downhill hiking, since it puts a lot of stress on my feet and knees. Little do I know how bad it can really get...
Towards the end of the day, we arrive at the Harpers Creek Shelter. Tired from a long (but good) day of hiking, we find comfort that evening in a warm campfire, some hot chocolate, and the melody of the mountains after dark. But knowing that the hardest leg of our journey awaits, we retire early. Tomorrow, we descend Three Ridges and climb to the summit of the Priest Mountain...
After nearly driving off an icy bridge, passing an odoriferous skunk, and a mountain lion, we arrive at Reeds Gap off the Blue Ridge Parkway in Nelson County, Virginia. It is nearly 10 pm and "mountain dark"...which, for those who don't know, means "eerie dark." And, as if we haven't been through enough just in getting here, the howling wind is numbingly cold. We - being Tim Bob, Robbie, Brett, and myself - are the only souls out here. We have come all the way from Newport News to venture along the Appalachian Trail, to test our skills and resolve, to see if we have what it takes to last on the trail for a few days, 3 and a quarter, to be exact. Tonight we have a short hike, headed south bound through the Three Ridges Wilderness. Our goal, simply put, is to hike until we find a suitable campsite. The real journey will not begin till day break.
It is funny to think how quickly our situation has changed. One minute we are sitting in a warm car, listening to the radio. The next, we're lumbering up an icy trail with stitches in our sides and watching our breath waft into the darkness like vapor. I dig in with my one trekking pole, using its sturdy hold to propel me up the trail. After some slips and falls, we reach flat ground and have an easier time maneuvering over the slick ice. And a mile into hiking, we make camp in a clearing off the AT. By the time we settle down in our warm sleeping bags, it is 11:30. Exhausted, we close our eyes and rest in preparation for tomorrow...
These are the thoughts I often turn to when I reminisce on the adventure that transformed my life. In December of 2005, I was a junior in college and still bent on my high school dream of writing a novel. Long ago, I had worked everything out in my mind. I would write a story of unparalleled inspiration, tearing through traditional expectations, and, upon graduation, I would already be a best-selling author. I felt it was my purpose. My primary aim in life seemed the fulfillment of this dream. But it was getting harder to accomplish as I became distracted and confused. To make matters worse, I was losing interest. As I desperately clung to my teenage aspirations, like a sailor to the mast of his sinking ship, I became frustrated...then angry. Why had God led me down this path only for it to end in failure? I felt defeated and lost. I had spent so much time and energy... and for what? What was I supposed to do now? By the end of 2005, I was distant from God, unsure of His faithfulness and unsure of my relationship with Him. Little did I know, He was never far.
One day, I got a phone call from an old friend. "I think it would be really cool to get the old crew back together for a camping trip on New Years," said my friend, Rich. "We'll hike to McAfee's Knob and spend the night. It'll be like old times." The idea of spending some quality time with my old friends, The Nightwalkers, interested me more than the idea of backpacking, but it was more than enough for me to commit. I had not camped, let alone backpacked, in a long time. I didn't know if I'd be up to the challenge, but Rich assured me it wouldn't be a difficult hike, and everyone would be out of practice. And although the hike was a little tough - since I was way out of shape - it ended up being totally worth it. We reached the Appalachian Trail shelter ahead of schedule and made camp, our Scout skills resurfacing as if we had never lost them.
The next day, we shouldered our day packs and began the climb to McAfee's Knob, Roanoke, VA's most photographed landmark and Appalachian Trail hot spot. Again, I struggled but succeeded. We reached the Knob, and I stood, amazed. Only once in my life could I remember a view such as this. While staring across the wintry, Virginia valley, I realized how much I had taken for granted, and the ache of my heart told me what was missing. In this moment, I found myself caring more about the present reality than any fictitious moment I could create. The granite cliffs were real. The drifting clouds were real. Me, standing on the mountaintop... real.
My life has changed in many ways since 2005. God has fostered in me a great love for the outdoors. I care very deeply about peoples' interaction with nature, especially America's children, and I want to share my appreciation for God's splendor, depicted perfectly through Creation. And I still write, only now with a different purpose.
We have journeyed to the AT near Waynesboro, Pennsylvania, this hot and stifling June weekend, for a backpacking adventure for the sake of documenting it in the local newspaper Matt writes for, The Record Herald. So far, we have traveled roughly 5 miles over rugged terrain, stopping once for a water and snack break, where we encounter a deer-fox, meaning we cannot tell the difference. Matt and I got off to a late start, so this is as far as we'll go today, and it is just as well, because literally minutes after we pitch our tents, dark clouds close in above us and unleash a torrent like we've never seen before. Forced to take shelter in our respective tents, we wait out the storm. But it only gets worse as darkness descends, and we start to worry not only about flooding but being struck by lightning. One lightning burst after another flashes across my tent, sending tremors through the ground strong enough to wake the dead. Just when we think it can't get any worse, a streak of electric energy slams into the earth a mere 50 yards away. It is so strong and startling, Matt and I howl in enthusiastic horror - enthusiastic because it's kind of cool, horror because we could die. After the weather's final and most violent demonstration, the rain dies down, and we can finally relax.
We wake early, eat a semi-decent breakfast - depending on who you ask - pack up quickly, and hit the trail ahead of the hot temperatures we'll later endure. Already, though, it is disgustingly humid, thanks to the rainfall the night before. Our shirts cling to our skin like paper mache'. We press on, covering a lot of miles. Over the course of the whole trip, we will hike somewhere between 12 and 15 miles. Early on, we cross several streams and train tracks, leading us to Penmar Park, a notable destination along the way, offering a stellar view of the Pennsylvania countryside. There, we rest and recharge, eating a typical "trail lunch" of crackers, summer sausage, and trail mix. During our hiatus, we speak with several hikers, who warn us of the rocky terrain ahead. We should have paid closer attention.
Later, Matt and I stagger up the mountainside, plagued by the intense heat and humidity. To make matters worse, we are nearly out of water (and there are no more streams to be found), and, indeed, this is one of the rockiest trails we have ever set foot on! The elevation gain is unbelievable, and we feel the pull of our packs as we ascend, one tired foot after another.
Matt, better off than me, makes sure I get enough rest and even shares with me what little water he has left. By now, it's really hot out. We are close to High Rock, our next destination, from where we will supposedly have another mile and a half to go. But when we arrive at High Rock, a massive boulder jutting out of the mountainside, we make our decision.
While our backyard exploits fail to merit a hit show on the Discovery Channel, we are pretty sure Bear Grylls would be proud of us. We have endured a freak lightning storm, life-draining humidity, painful terrain, and dehydration. And we have lived to tell about it! If you are looking for a challenging adventure, head to the foothills of Pennsylvania. The Appalachian Trail is waiting.
After the final installment of "Portrayal of America," either tomorrow or the following day, you can look forward to an exciting tale of adventure from the Appalachian Trail in Pennsylvania! This true story tells of severe elements, such as sweltering, humid conditions, torrential downpours and epic lightning storms, and last, but not least, near death from dehydration! Stay tuned!
Camp T. Brady Saunders
Accomplishment 
Origin
Out of sheer boredom, I found myself perusing my old word documents this evening and stumbled upon a college essay I wrote my sophomore year. The assignment was titled, "Portrayal of America," and I chose to write about the Boy Scouts of America, being fresh out of the program and a proud Eagle Scout. Anyhow, my writing skills are not that developed yet, but I think this is a pretty cool treatise on the Boy Scouts as an organization...how it came to be, what it stands for, and what it has to offer the youth of our nation. While all of the events depicted in the article are real, I took the creative liberty of changing names and details. Here follows Part I... 
They split into their patrols – each with its own unique name – and the designated cooks gets to work on the meal. However, some boys are less prepared than others. Those who have not brought along the proper equipment mope around, kicking small rocks and stirring clouds of dirt. No one has been cheated here. It is their own fault if they’re unhappy. Some of these boys are learning self-reliance the hard way. No one is required to help them, but someone always does out of kindness.
