[at-l] And....again...

[Richard Calkins]

Felix:

Memories are really important, and I appreciate you sharing yours.  You will always be an important part of my memories of the trail, with that little phone call you made to a dejected and pitiable through-hiker, sitting all alone in a sad little motel room in Robinsville, North Carolina, hoping against hope that his broken leg wasn't really all that broken, or at least that it might somehow miraculously heal in the coming few days before he would test it by starting up into the Smokies.  But alas....  And yet, hope was not gone.  Six weeks later, I was back, heading up into the Smokies again, and this time, not having to limp painfully back down the mountain, and drag myself across Fontana Dam clinging to the railing for support.  No, this time, I could keep going, and in no small measure it was due to the support of friends and strangers alike that I was able to come back.  

So....thanks for the memories.

Merry Christmas
Longhaul

Oh, and have an indescribably happy new year.

  ----- Original Message ----- 
  From: Felix J<mailto:athiker at smithville.net> 
  To: AT-list<mailto:at-l at backcountry.net> 
  Sent: Sunday, December 24, 2006 8:19 PM
  Subject: [at-l] And....again...


  "The heart is a tender thing.."

  So, eight years ago this morning I got up and went in to Mt. Moma's to 
  tell her
  thanks for dinner and Merry Christmas. She said, "Well, ya better sit
  down and have a cup of coffee." I did. I also had a cup of cake, with a
  little Santa on top. We talked for a while. It was very nice.
  I went outside, to the payphone, and called Pokey. I hadn't talked to 
  her in
  six weeks. Since the day she left the Trail in Linden, VA. It was good to
  hear the old girl's voice. I cried. She cried. She said "You're breakin'
  my heart here." I suppose. I hung up, turned and walked across the
  parking lot in another heavy rain. Emotions were leaking out of my very
  existence (I don't even know what that means other than it was an
  emotional little walk)

  I got my Smokys permit at the Ranger station and Ranger George gave me a
  ride to the Trail. We had a nice chat. His two-way radio kept talking
  about roads being closed and how bad the weather was. Kinda exciting. He
  let me out and said something like "I'm supposed to tell you to be 
  careful, or something. But, I know you won't listen. Good luck." I 
  headed into the Smokys. The Trail was covered with chunks of ice the 
  size of golf balls. I cranked the Walkman and hiked
  on. My thoughts were swimming in the conversation I had had with Pokey.
  I wasn't paying attention to much around me other than the Rhododendrons
  that were hanging down on the Trail, covered with ice.

  I got to Davenport Gap Shelter and stopped for a quick snack and to
  check the register. As I sat there, I heard a God-awful sound. A tree
  had come crashing down just behind the shelter. Actually, it was just
  the top half. But, with the extra weight of the ice, the sound was
  incredible. I thought "Wow!!!" I went back inside the shelter. Another
  crash. I went back outside and did a little closer inspection. It was
  just then that I realized that I was in the middle of a full-force ice
  storm. Every tree was bent, or sagging, because of the extra weight of
  the rain and ice. Trees were popping, exploding. A tree would groan a
  few times, and then, at a point nature chose to be the weakest, it would
  explode and the top would plummet to the ground, ice flying off the
  branches at impact. It was so cool, and scary.

  I decided I wanted out of the shelter. I figured I'd have a better
  chance seeing a tree coming at me from outside. I signed the register
  and headed up the hill. The next few hours were some of the most
  incredible hours I've ever spent. Watching nature do her thing, from the
  inside, was amazing. Climbing through treetops with branches covered in
  ice as think as your wrist, listening as the next top falls 30 feet in
  front or behind you, is an indescribable experience. (That's why I'm
  doing such a poor job of describing it.)

  This went on for nearly two hours. As I climbed higher on the ridge, the
  air got warmer, and the rain remained rain. I could still hear trees
  falling below me. I was glad it was over, but glad that I'd been part of
  it, too. It rained every step this day. I took a break at Cosby Knob and
  not again until Tricorner. The shelter there was a mud pit. It usually
  is. I have a transcribed copy of what I wrote in the register that
  night in my desk. I look at it every now and again.

  -- 
  Felix J. McGillicuddy
  ME-->GA '98
  "Your Move"
  ALT '03 KT '03
  http://Felixhikes.tripod.com/<http://felixhikes.tripod.com/>



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