Finally, my collection of hardcover books from Golden Gryphon is complete! For many years I lacked just one novel, Sheila Finch’s The Guild of Xenolinguists, published in 2007 by Golden Gryphon Press. This was number 52 in their 62-book hardcover series, which ran from 1997 through 2010. For many years James Turner was their editor, until his untimely death in 1999. After his death, the publisher remained in business only a few more years, finally folding in 2017, although the last hardcover appeared in 2010. In that time they managed to publish 62 hardover books, and a few softcover editions. Each hardcover bore a number, and for many years #52 has been absent from my collection. Until now.
Jim Turner, for many years, had been an editor at Arkham House, where he oversaw some great books, including several collections that were more science fiction than horror. Maybe Arkham House wanted to see horror instead of SF, and Turner left. Maybe there were other reasons. Still, after his departure Arkham House floundered and then went dormant. I think it was their loss that he left, but our gain that Golden Gryphon published so many great books by fantastic authors. Several authors had multiple books published by Golden Gryphon, all in a similar format, with out-of-this world covers.
Finch’s novel has been somewhat hard for me to find. Several copies online are listed for $50 or more, but I found one recently for around $20, and it even was signed. I waited for the book on tenterhooks. Would it be in decent condition, or would the spine lean or markings made inside the book? Would it be a former library book, or have someone’s bookplate? When you buy online, these are constant worries. For the most part, I have been been happy with online purchases, but a couple of times I have not received what I expected. Once, I thought a book was an Arkham House edition, but it was under the Mycroft Moran imprint, and there was a glued-in bookplate. Two other times, the books were shrink-wrapped, and arrived with spotting on the top pages. Since then, I have been wary of shrink-wrapped books from the 1990s, at least by that publisher.
However, Uncle Hugo came through, and I’m thrilled to finally have a complete Golden Gryphon hardcover collection. I’ve read most of the 62 books by the publisher (63 if I could a trade paperback edition of a Joe R. Lansdale book). Those that I haven’t read now get added to my To Be Read list, which already is massive.
I’m thrilled to have this collection of books finally complete. Now I just need to figure out a way to shelve them properly, since they span two and half rows in a bookshelf. Someone once asked me why I group my books in a certain way. There is no set order. In some cases, I group together all books by a writer. In others, by a publisher. The top writers usually end up on eye level, and the lesser ones at the bottom of the bookshelf. But, I keep moving them around. In this case, all Golden Gryphon books are grouped together, spanning two and a half rows on a bookshelf, and ordered alphabetically by author.
A trio of FPW books, one more in the Author’s Choice Monthly series from the early 1990s by Pulphouse Publishing, and novella by Lucius Shepard.
The Void Protocol, F. Paul Wilson, Forge 2019. Bought at near list price, this is the third book in a trilogy that started with the novel Panacea. It’s been a few years since I read Panacea, so I know little to nothing about this series. For many years I didn’t even know it was a series, as none of the follow-up novels appeared any local bookstores. Then again, with fewer options out there, at least where I live (even in one of the ten largest cities in the US), finding a copy from some authors in a local bookstore seems almost impossible. I’m not sure if I need to first re-read Panacea to get into the second and third installments. Hard to believe it’s been just a few years since I read Panacea, as I remember virtually nothing.
The God Gene, F. Paul Wilson, Forge 2018. The second book in the trilogy with Panacea and The Void Protocol. I list them out or order as this is the order in which they arrived. Although I ordered The God Gene and The Void Protocol on the exact same day, they arrived nearly two weeks apart. Such are the vagaries of the United States Postal Service, I guess. An avid collector might have gone with the Gauntlet Press editions, but since I already had the Tor Forge copy of Panacea, I went with the mass market hardcover editions to make my set complete. I have several limited editions of FPW’s books, but I’m not super picky.
Mirage, F. Paul Wilson and Matthew J. Costello, Warner Books, 1996. Many years ago (possibly back in 1998 when it first was published and we had a decent selection of bookstores, before the internet and economic troubles crushed so many of them), I read Masque, the other collaboration between Wilson (not Abbott) and Costello.
Somehow, I never could find a copy of Mirage, a medical thriller was written before Masque. This year I finally gave up on seeing it in any used book store and bought a copy that I saw online (see above quest to acquire all F. Paul Wilson novels). This copy is signed by both Wilson and Costello. Not something I’d reject, and maybe even a bonus, plus the book’s in a great condition. Having read the first couple chapters, so far it comes across quite strongly in Wilson’s voice, although I think I can detect a difference when Costello takes a turn.
Since I recently discovered that there were a handful of F. Paul Wilson books published that I’d missed upon their initial publication, I’ve become determined to find and acquire those missing books. After these three F. Paul Wilson books, I think only four of his solo novels remain that I need to find, as well as some collaborations and other appearances.
I also picked two non-FPW books, one I’d been looking for a long time, and another that was an impulse buy.
The Father of Stones, Lucius Shepard, Washington Science Fiction Association, 1988. Lately, I’ve been reading some of Shepard’s early stories, and so I’m now keeping an eye out for titles that I don’t have. This small volume was an impulse purchase. Released in an edition of 500, this copy is number 112, signed by Shepard and slipcased. I’m sure it’s been collected somewhere in some other volume (or volumes) of his short stories, but in the meantime this was an attractive book, and sometimes you need to leave room for the simple stuff. It’s just one story, much like The Scalehunter’s Beautiful Daughter (and it’s the same size of that story when it published as a stand-along book).
Wong’s Lost and Found Emporium and Other Oddities, William F. Wu, Pulphouse Publishing, June 1992. This book is #28 in the Author’s Choice Monthly series from Pulphouse Publishing, and the second to last in the that series. It’s one that I hesitated to buy. Not because I didn’t want it, but when I started accumulating the author’s choice monthly series, I went for the unsigned paperbacks. By mistake, I bought the Charles de Lint book in hardcover. Then I bought a second in hardcover, as I could not find any copies of the paperback. I also could not find copies of William F. Wu’s book in paperback, so when I found the hardcover at a reasonable price, I thought, “Why Not?” This is strange, as far more paperback copies were supposedly printed than the hardcovers.
Maybe I’ll end up switching the 25 paperbacks in my library at some point with hardcover editions. Or, maybe the set remains uneven. Nevertheless, I now lack only one book in the series. So far, the copies I’ve seen of that title are ones with prices well outside my allotted budget. Will my collection come to a halt at 28 out of the 29 books? Perhaps. After all, how can I call myself a haphazard collector if I acquire all copies in this series?
It’s interesting that Pulphouse changed the formats of its covers. Most of the books featured a prominent portrait of the the author, with some background illustrations. For the second to last and last books (Wu and Suzy McKee Charnas), there was a drastic change in the cover. And then, after those two books, the series folded, and the publisher essentially collapsed.
Could someone pick up a similar project? probably not. A monthly series with books in this format is hard for any publisher and editor to sustain. Borderlands Press, with their Little Book series, might be the only small press publisher out there who dares follow a similar format. While Pulphouse released the books in three states—paperback, hardback, and leather—each in fewer copies, Borderlands limits itself to a single format, and usually 500 copies (with a handful of exceptions). And they’ve been doing this for 20 plus years.
Blood Mountain is not a bad climb going north-bound. The descent, however, is the nightmare part of the trail.
I awoke early, around 7am, feeling somewhat refreshed. I can’t say that I slept well, as I tossed and turned all night, which is usual while camping. I broke camp quickly, stuffing all the items into the backpack rather than folding them neatly as before; I would later repack properly at the hotel. I collected my bear canister, which appeared untouched. My attempt at breakfast failed, as I could not hold down even small amounts of food. I figured that with less than four miles to hike, I could make it with just water, as solid food that day didn’t seem to work. The other campers nearby were quiet, so I tried to pack up my gear quietly as well.
The final hike up Blood Mountain proved fairly easy, and I reached the stone shelter at the top in short notice. I didn’t stop there, but as I walked passed the shelter I saw the female hiker who’d passed me right before Springer. She was packing up her gear, and didn’t see or didn’t notice me as I walked passed the shelter. At this point, anyway, I was still tired and didn’t feel particularly sociable.
The view at top of Blood Mountain was obscured by trees. There were gaps here and there, but I didn’t pause or walk around the site. Instead, I followed the white blazes on rocks and trees, and eventually these led me downward. I crossed expanses of rock, paused now and then to find the trail, and then it became a matter of bouldering downhill. At times the trail became less rocky, but the descent was for the most part tricky, rife with rocks and roots, and it took me longer than I expected. At one point, where the AT intersected with some other trail, I had to pause and search for a white blaze. Shortly after that confusing moment, I encountered a trail runner. I was surprised, as he was older than myself. He mentioned that he’d just cut through a large fallen tree. We talked for a while about the trail, and how it was poorly marked. He lived nearby, and volunteered regularly to check the trail. I bid him farewell, and continued downhill.
Eventually I saw a road, and then a sign announcing the other side of the Blood Mountain Wilderness. Neel Gap lay ahead. I’ve head people refer to it as Neel’s Gap, as well as Neel Gap. A tarmac road intersects the gap, just like Woody Gap. On the other side is Mountain’s Crossing, a store that stocks food camping items. They also have a hostel. Apparently 25% of thru-hikers quit here.
I crossed the road, reaching the tree where many thru-hikers give up and toss their boots and shoes. As a section hiker, and having only brought one pair of shoes, I kept my shoes on my feet. I ascended some stairs, then I dropped my pack outside the building and walked inside. The place looked like a mix of a mini-REI and a tourist trap. There were t-shirts, hoodies, gee-gaws, food, shoes, and other camping gear. I bought two Cokes, took them outside and gulped down the first one. It was 9:30 in the morning, and I was exhausted. I drank the other Coke more slowly, then walked around the store once more. I bought some magnets for my wife, went outside. Someone offered me slice of pizza, but I didn’t think I could eat anything. However, after a while I reconsidered, and realized that I needed to eat something. I bought a small packet of chips and a Sprite. Shortly after consuming both, I threw up, which was far from my proudest moment.
I walked around the building, trying to get back to normal. I placed my slightly used gas canister in the hiker box, along with a lighter. Maybe someone would benefit from those items. Eventually, the thru-hikers who’d camped at Lance Creek showed up, one by one. I greeted the ones I knew. Then, two of the women I’d met at Springer showed up. The other two in their party had quit at Woody Gap and had returned to their starting point in Helen, Georgia. The two remaining hikers planned to continue onward to Unicoi Gap. They’d also been the ones that I’d heard arriving near my campsite at the base of Blood Mountain. Props to them for continuing. They were from Florida, a place as flat as my own home base, or maybe flatter, and had hiked relentlessly up and down each mountain.
At Neel Gap I contacted my shuttle. When I first booked the shuttle, I’d asked them to pick me up at 1pm, as I thought I would camp at Woods Hole Gap, and also that it would take me a while to hike up Blood Mountain. They were dropping off another hiker around 11am, so could get me two hours earlier than planned. I hung around Mountain’s Crossing, and thought about all the ups and downs of the trail, how I had failed to embrace the suck, and how guilty I felt for complaining along the trail. Shortly after 11am, the shuttle driver arrived. It tool an hour to drive back to Amicalola Falls State Park. My car was covered in detritus from the trees. I drove back to the visitor center, dropped off my parking pass, and headed toward the conference on Lanier Lake.
Along the way, overcome by hunger, I pulled into a strip-mall, where I found a pizza place. I ordered more than I could eat, took the rest with me, and got back on the road. At the conference center, I spread my camping gear over one bed. Over the course of a few days I slowly organized the gear into my backpack for the return flight.
Would I change anything? Yes. I should have taken longer breaks, and worked more on my food intake. I now know that the Appalachian Trail involves a lot of ups and downs. And I mean a lot. Every “gap” listed on the map means an up and down, or a down and up. This is something that reading blog, books, etc. will not teach you. Watching videos on YouTube is no substitute for the real thing. There is a lot of climbing. At least I was lucky with the weather, as it never rained nor snowed while I was on the trail. It was hot, however, which I didn’t expect for this time of year.
Will I go back? I hope so. I really want to complete Georgia. I want to hike the northern part of Virginia. When? I have no idea. Maybe in 2026, as I tend to plan out things a year or two in advance, and 2025 already has specific goals. Will I complete the entire trail? It’s 2,100 miles or more. Hiking 40 mile sections at a time will not get me there, not with the years that I have left. So, I highly doubt that I will even hike a quarter of the distance. That doesn’t bother me. The trail crosses 14 states. I might walk three or maybe four of the states. So be it.
If you hike the Appalachian Trail, either as a day hiker, a section hiker, or a thru hiker, take a moment to marvel that this trail exists. To anyone who walks the AT, where it’s a mile or the entire distance, take many moments to pause at the fact that this trail exists. I count myself lucky to have been there, even I walked less than 2% of the trail.
I awoke early, packed up, and was on the trail before the trio of thru-hikers broke camp. They were all young, maybe mid-thirties, and highly motivated, so I figured they would pass me at some point during the day. Today’s goal was Woods Hole Shelter, at the foot of Blood Mountain, just over 12 miles from Gooch Gap Shelter. It would prove a tougher day than the one before, but also a highly rewarding and emotional day.
I rejoined the AT trail in good spirits, and although the trail still went up and down, for a long while it actually followed a contour line along a mountain. I stopped at a clearing with a great view, chatted with another hiker, and we took each other’s photos with the view as a background. Familiar hikers passed me. I passed some of them. There’s a section on Blood Mountain where bear canisters are required. A quartet of thru-hikers (three from Gooch Gap Shelter and one other) planned to camp just outside the bear canister zone, at a campsite called Lance Creek. They worried that the limited number of tent sites would fill up, and considered options slightly beyond that area. I carried a bear canister, so I didn’t worry about locations.
Slightly before the halfway point, I encountered the thru-hiker who wasn’t keen on close neighbors. He mentioned a rumor of trail magic ahead on the trail. At this point I had started to flag, and in a moment of despair told him that I expected all trail magic gone by the time I arrived. I think I expected a single cooler with soda cans, nothing more. Instead, as I reached Woody Gap, a location with a paved road intersecting the trail, I saw a professional-looking sign announcing trail magic ahead.
It turned out that a pair of older women who had hiked the trail years ago each year drove down from Indiana (I think, as I can’t exactly remember their home state). They handed out hot dogs, chips, cookies, other snacks, and sodas. I was briefly overcome with emotion as I thanked them. All other hikers who reach that site thanked them and asked if they could donate money, but were refused. I ate my hot dog, a bag of chips, and drank my soda. Nothing tasted as great as that brief meal.
After lingering there an hour or so, I lifted up my pack and entered the Blood Mountain Wilderness. My goal the for day lay just over five miles away. I would prove a difficult five miles. Much of it was uphill. The heat pressed down on me. Twice I reached a creek, where I rested and poured liters of water on my head. One of the thru-hikers headed for Lance Creek passed me, as did two others.
Eventually, I reached Lance Creek, where I saw three hikers had sent up tents. I waved to them and told them I was continuing onward, as it was early afternoon. When I reached the plateau right before the last climb up Blood Mountain, I saw the sign for Woods Hole Shelter. It lay 0.4 miles downhill, away from the trail. I grimaced, then started down the trail. After around a tenth of a mile or so, I stopped. I really didn’t want to walk 0.4 extra miles each way, especially uphill the next morning. I consulted my map and saw there was a campsite up the hill. Returning to the plateau, I dropped my pack and rested for a while (a euphemism for collapsing on the ground and resting my head on the pack). Another hiker arrived, and asked about the shelter. I pointed down the hill, warning him it would be a bit of walk. He decided that was not an issue, and departed down the hill. After a while, I picked up my back, tossed out a few curses, and continued up Blood Mountain.
Shortly thereafter, I reached a creek, where I once more poured several liters of cold water on my head. Feeling invigorated, I started my ascent up the steep hill. To my surprise, only a short distance away I found the listed campsite. I dropped my pack, and made an inventory of my water. Two of the water bottles were empty. I had around four miles to hike the next day, and for the sake of hydration insurance I took those empty bottles down the hill and filled them up at the creek. Back at the campsite I put up my tent, taking many breaks. I tried to eat something, but my stomach at this point couldn’t handle any food. Two hours of sunlight remained, and that light pointed directly at my tent. I gathered up all smellables—food, toothpaste, sunscreen, etc—into the bear canister and wedged it between some branches up the hill, then crawled into my tent and tried to rest.
At some point during the evening I heard a coyote, then some female voices. Other hikers had found the same camping area. Each tent pad in that campsite was far enough away that I never saw them, but I heard them for a while talking and then greeting another late arriving hiker. My goal at this point was just to get some sleep. A couple of hikers that I’d encountered a mile or so before the start of the true ascent of Blood Mountain said it wasn’t a bad climb on fresh legs, so I thought that a night’s rest would help. It turned out that was true, at least for the climb. My fourth day consisted of less than four miles of hiking, so I knew it wouldn’t be another long day. I also had a deadline of 1pm, when my shuttle would arrive to take me back to my car. I worried about the uphill, but it was the downhill that would prove the hardest part of the day.
After the “approach trail,” which apparently not all thru-hikers take, I went another three or so miles to Stover Creek Shelter. My total distance hiked for the first day was ca. 12 miles. At Stover Creek, I set up my tent, then made my major mistake of the hike, one I would repeat one more time: I failed to eat dinner. Instead, I crawled into my tent around 6pm and just tried to sleep, despite sundown still two hours away. Even though I wasn’t tired, I felt that I needed the rest, and also I didn’t feel hungry enough to heat a freeze-dried meal. Nor did I think of a snack at this point.
One of the things I learned in my over 500 miles of hiking along various trails is that consistently I fail to properly fuel while hiking. I lose my appetite somewhere along the trail, and I struggle to eat solid foods, either power bars nor rehydrated food. I eat sparingly, and pay the price near the end of the day. This is far from ideal, as hiking multiple miles in one day meals that calories are burned, and the body needs to be replenished. I probably also do not drink enough water, although I made an effort on this trail. I carrier three liters of water, and refilled my water bottles often along the way, using both a filter and purifying tablets. The days were hot, and I made myself drink fairly often as I walked. Still, I probably didn’t drink enough.
First day, not so bad, I thought. I camped where I planned to camp. The next day, I planned to hike to Gooch Gap Shelter, another 12 or so miles from the Stover Creek Shelter. I woke up early, packed up my tent and gear, ate a breakfast bar, and set out on the trail around 8am. At first, I took it slow, enjoying the green tunnel and silence, until I was passed by another hiker. Then I re-evaluated my pace and went from a stroll to something faster. Another mistake. Hike your own pace is the key. However, from now on I measured myself against this hiker’s pace, as we would leapfrog each other time and time again in my days on the trail. This shadow of mine was a thru-hiker, around twenty years younger, and quite motivated. Along the trail I’d encounter at least five other thru-hikers, plus some section-hikers like myself. They each had amazing stories behind the reason for hiking the AT. Had I known about the AT in my early thirties, maybe my life would have been different.
Nothing prepares you for the AT (or probably any long distance trail). Not watching multiple YouTube videos. Not reading blogs and hiker diaries. Not reading many books about thru-hikes and attempted thru-hikes (I’m looking at you, Bill Bryson). I’ve hiked in Big Bend, Bryce Canyon, northern New Mexico, in Nevada, plus various locations in Norway. Most of the trails in these location have moderate hills, or one big climb. Not the AT. The AT is an almost constant up and down trail, at least in northern Georgia, with each mountain interspersed with “gaps.” After while, when I saw a sign announcing a gap a few miles ahead I groaned, for I knew this meant a big downhill and then a big uphill, again and again.
After Three Forks there was a waterfall. I plowed onward and uphill, bypassing the Hawk Mountain Shelter and campsite, then Hightower Gap, Horse Gap. Somewhere along here I took a break by a creek, where the four women I’d met on Springer also were taking a break. They’d hiked from Springer to Hawk Mountain their first day, and were planning to hike as far as they could over the span of five days. We chatted for a while before I headed back on the trail. And then, Sassafras Mountain. This was a brutal climb.
After resting at the top of Sassafras, it was downhill to Cooper Gap, where I took a long break to eat and recuperate. Next, I crossed a creek, with a sign pointing to a campsite just north of the creek. My goal was Gooch Gap Shelter, so I kept walking. The last mile was tough, and I started asking out loud, “Gooch Gap, where are you?” I crossed another creek, where two older hikers were filling up on water, and then, finally, Gooch Gap Shelter.
I found a vacant tent pad, set up my tent, and worked on making dinner and filtering water. After another 12 mile day I was exhausted, but I forced myself to eat a freeze-dried meal that I heated up. I’m not sure what it is with these freeze-dried meal packets, but they tend to overstate the amount of water needed. They’re also designed for two portions. Instead of a nice meal, it was more like semi-soup, but I ate half before I gave up. The day had been hot, 85 degrees F. Where I’d pitched my tent the sun shone directly on it, and I had more than two hours until sunset. I tried to sleep, then took a break to visit the privy. I’m not sure if people just can’t handle public toilets, but it looked gross, and I had to close my eyes to do my business. Then, back to the tent and solitude. The thru-hiker I’d camped next to at Stover Creek was there, but he strongly hinted that he didn’t want a close neighbor, so I’d set up my two pads below his tent. Another thru-hiker camped between us, and they chatted a long time. I found my noise-canceling headphones and enjoyed a brief moment of silence. Finally the neighbors stopped talking, and I managed to fall asleep. At some point during the night, a third thru-hiker had pitched his tent next to the first one, so he ended up with a close neighbor anyway. As for the night, I woke up multiple times to snoring from the nearest neighbor. Good times.
I used to like Twitter. Now it’s called X, and I via a browser I no longer appear to have the ability to post anything. Is it the network? is it the tool? I don’t know, but it’s becoming less and less a place that I visit. I like Musk’s stance on free speech, but the tool is become less and less usable since he took over. I’m close to quitting that app, just as I deleted Zack’s app a few years ago. At least, here (for now) I control what and when I can publish my silly thoughts.
On April 14, 2024 I took my real first steps on the Appalachian Trail (aka the AT).
Well, ok, I’d walked a few yards on the AT in the past—in the same location—once in ignorance and once deliberately. This was at Harper’s Ferry, in 1998 and 2023, the former before I knew anything about the AT, and the latter just to tell myself that yes, I had trod on that path. I never expected to be on that trail again for many years, if ever, due to work commitments.
I learned about the Appalachian Trail around 2017 or 2018, and then almost by accident. My son was in Boy Scouts, and I was planning some hiking trips with a goal to hike some trails in Philmont, one of the high adventure locations in New Mexico. I read a great deal about hiking and proper gear, and in that reading I came across a blog by an Australian who’d completed the Triple Crown, a feat of long-distance hiking in the USA that included the Continental Divide, the Pacific Crest Trail, and the Appalachian Trail. At almost the same time, my company had a couple of off-site meetings north of Atlanta. Right after the second meeting, I learned that the southern terminus of the AT was around an hour’s drive from that location, and vowed if I ever had the opportunity to return that I would at least visit that location.
In the meantime I watched lots of videos from people who hiked the AT, read books about the AT, and the trail at that point became almost a personal holy grail. I didn’t think I’d ever complete a “thru-hike,” as that required five to six months, but I wanted to at least hike part of the trail. Also, in the meantime I hiked a lot (over 500 miles in five years), but always with a group. My son and I hiked part of the Colorado Trail (only 29 miles). We hiked around Lake Georgetown (north of Austin), several locations in Big Bend (the state park and national park), a few places in Norway, Utah, Nevada, and even a long trek in Philmont. Yet, never had I hiked alone.
That all changed in April, 2024. When my company announced the 2024 off-site would take place back in Georgia, I made my plans. I would take four days to hike 40 miles, from Amicalola Falls to Neel Gap. Then, a shuttle company would take me back to Amicalola State Park, from which I would drive the hour to the off-site meeting. A perfect plan. Or so I thought.
I arrived in Atlanta two days prior to the hike, drove through heavy traffic from their airport to REI—an outfitter store—where I picked up a gas canister and some water purification tablets. The next day I bought some food the at a couple of grocery stores (Aldi and Lidl, which don’t exist in central Texas). Then, the day before the hike, I drove to Amicalola State Park. This is the location where hikers who are planning to go the whole way pick up tags marking them as thru-hikers. It’s also the start of the “approach trail” to the souther terminus, which is Springer Mountain, over eight miles away. I sorted out a long-term parking pass with the staff, walked up the trail to the top of the falls, and checked into the Lodge, and hotel up the hill from the park. The weather looked great, according to my map the trail didn’t seem difficult, and I looked forward to the next few days.
Little did I know that things are different on the AT, especially when carrying 30 plus pounds of gear, food, and water on your back. Little did I know how much the trail goes up and down, vs. up to stay there before a final descent.
The “approach trail” stretches for over eight miles, and much of it involves going uphill. I learned that much of the AT itself involves a lot of uphill, and a lot of downhill. I’m not sure which part is worse. I started out early in the morning, after a quick breakfast at the lodge. Here I grabbed some lightweight jam packets to use with my peanut butter packets and pita break for lunches. Then I drove down the steep hills to the visitor’s lodge, parked my car, and headed to the visitor center buildings.
I was delayed slightly while i debated whether or not to attend a session from one of the park rangers. Since they were busy with thru-hikers, I gave up after half an hour of waiting and started up the trail. I didn’t need to register, since I was only hiking 40 miles. I also had the 10 essentials, as well as filters, water purifiers, and a bear canister. No “noob” on the trail here…. The approach trail usually goes along the river toward the falls, but part of that trail was closed, so I took an alternate route. I’d climbed many of the stairs near the falls the prior day, so it didn’t bother me to skip that part.
The sign indicating the trail to Springer warns hikers that it’s a long trek, an average of six hours. I did it in far less, but the finally climb up Springer almost did me in. At one point I paused at a rock a few hundred meters near the top, next to another hiker. For a moment, I felt like I blacked out, as I heard nothing of his comments. Meanwhile, a young woman with an accent that sounded German passed me, with perhaps a scornful glance. To her this hike was nothing, but I had at least thirty years on her, and I hate cycling/walking/running uphill anyway. Scorn mean nothing at that point. Still, after a while resting on a rock, I gathered myself and walked up the remaining short distance to the official start of the AT.
At the top of Springer I encountered some other people, a mix of thru-hikers, day-hikers, and section-hikers like myself. People took photos, marveled at the location; to some it was the start of a major adventure. I ate snacks, including maybe the first Kwik-Lunsj on the AT—a Norwegian chocolate that I’d brought with me for this occasion. Then, it was a matter of a short hike down to the parking lot, and continuing onward along the actual Appalachian Trail
