A Thousand and One Appalachian Tales
part eight
Castles in the Sky
these packs of grand ambition.
With eyes a-wide and life a-glow
and beauty o'erwhelming
we bound from blaze to blaze.-from Did Ed Garvey Sleep Here
©Copyright 02002. Fresh Ink. All rights reserved.
Leaving the awesome splendor of Wilburn Ridge, Pablo, Mom, and The Agnostic Monk, once again ran into the Insufferable Drunken Hog From Hell at the next stile. He told them how he had gotten lost on one of the side trails and only managed to find the white blazes again in the morning. He spent the night just on the other side of a stile separating him from the ponies. He said he would have slept in there with them but was worried he might get trampled in the night.
The morning air was still crisp and invigorating as The Monk looked back at the ridgeline. He began to miss it already. Nevertheless, he continued north.
Continuing on, they entered another patch of Rhododendron, crossed a stream, a stile, and another stream, before quickly coming to a gate marking the entrance to the Little Wilson Creek Wilderness Area. Then, just as quickly, the Little Wilson Creek Wilderness was behind them and they stumbled out onto the open meadow of Stone Mountain (4800 ft). They were not alone and shared the deliciously breathtaking vista with a herd of cattle. Nervously they looked about for a bull but didn’t see one. Still, they didn’t stay long and soon pressed on to Pine Mountain (5000 ft) for a late morning snack. Just in time, Zero showed up and the five of them spent a few minutes catching up. As usual, Zero was delightfully Zero. With him the mundane was made instantly sublime. He dutifully spent several minutes waxing poetic about the glorious details of his most recent bowel movement. It was crude and rude, yet somehow, excruciatingly funny.
After a long gradual descent they stopped briefly at Old Orchard Shelter for water. There, The Monk briefly met Guido for the first time. He would not see him again until Vermont.
From Va. 603 they ascended the Ridgecrest of Iron Mountain (4,320 ft) before descending back into more rhododendron and yet another creek. There, they ran into Trailnameless who was looking for a place to swim. The water didn’t look clean enough for drinking or deep enough for swimming but it sure did look cool enough for a quick dunk on a hot day and things were warming up nicely. Eventually Trailnameless found himself a righteous dunking spot and they left him there as they wandered on to Hurricane Campground. It was still early afternoon so they pushed on to Dickey Gap. There, they made an easy hitch into Sugar Grove for re-supplies. Everything worked out far better than expected and they were back on the Trail within the hour. Then, in a last kick to the end of the day, they pushed past Raccoon Branch Shelter to spend the night at Trimpi Shelter. This was The Monk's longest day on the Trail so far, 21.6 miles.
The next few days melted together. One of the other thru-hikers showed up with a cache of nuggs and a cloud of smoke soon enveloped the Trail. Life was good on the AT.
During this time, The Agnostic Monk found himself once again indebted to Pablo and Mom. Through bad weather and poor planning he wound up a day short on food. He actually liked to hike with at least two days extra food but due to the extra day at Deep Gap and a major miscalculation, he wound up a little short. Thankfully, Pablo and Mom came to the rescue once again.
The Monk continued to hike with them through this area and in so doing became better acquainted with the many facets by which they hiked the Trail.
For example, Pablo and Mom both wore these comparatively small, internal frame packs from Lowe. They looked half the size of what everyone else was carrying on the Trail. It constantly amazed The Monk that so much could come out of so little. They had gear well separated and each carried half the tent, a nice lightweight dome from Sierra Designs. They were the epitome of well tuned, highly efficient backpackers.
However, they did not bring coffee. They could not justify the weight for an item with no real value. Nevertheless, they quite enjoyed the Monk's who always carried plenty. Their meals consisted almost entirely of gourmet Alpineairre freeze dried dinners for supper, fruit and nut Pemmican bars from Bear Valley for lunch and Emer'gen-C Super Energy Booster instant lemon-lime powdered fizzing drink mix which they mixed and drank with water. It provided 1,000 mg, 1 gram, of Vitamin C, as Mineral Ascorbates, as well as a bunch of B vitamins, Potassium, Magnesium, Calcium, Zinc, Manganese, and Chromium, all primed to quickly return electrolytes to the body lost due to perspiration. They hooked The Monk on this wonderful little packet of fizzing drink mix as well. He liked it so much he continues to drink it to this day. Pablo and Mom also regularly left town with a wide assortment of fresh fruits and vegetables which they quickly ate in the first few days out. They were Bushpigs, to be sure, but rarely if ever did they leave town with beer.
Leaving Trimpi Shelter it was an easy hike to Brushy Mountain and Va 16. They reached the crest of Brushy Mountain (3,700 ft) and continued on over Locust Mountain (3,700 ft) and Glade Mountain (3,900 ft) before descending into yet another rhododendron glade in full bloom. They arrived at Chatfield Shelter in the early afternoon. The Monk decided to spend the rest of the afternoon enjoying the fine open spaces of the Trail and catching up on the scuttlebutt in the Trail Register. Many people it turned out missed the ponies, mostly due to rain. The Maineak expressed again his fondness for 24 hour marathon hikes and mentioned the up coming blue moon for the opportunity to hike another one. Trailnameless proved to be reaping the mother lode in the endorphin department by drawing a full page cartoon for his register entry. He proved once again why he won the talent award in Damascus with a witty story set to the tune of some popular folk song long lost to memory. There was more than just skill and talent in those pages, there was pure genius too.
May 29th: they continued on through a much more developed section of Trail than they had hitherto seen so far. They crossed several roads and powerlines and passed by many fences before reaching US 11. There was a motel and restaurant so The Monk used this as an opportunity to call home and check in with his family. Before he left Texas, he mailed home a big oversized poster map of the Trail which his mother and sisters had been using to keep track of his progress.
From US 11, he continued on passing under I-81 and over several more stiles before reaching the Ridgecrest of Gullion (Little Brushy) Mountain then descending to Crawfish Valley for the evening.
The next morning began with an ascent up Big Walker Mountain in Tilson Gap (3,500 ft). The Trail crossed several more stiles before crossing Va 42. From Va 42, the Trail crossed the narrow ridgeline of yet another Brushy Mountain, then nickel and dimed them over Lynn Camp Mountain before serving up the meat and potatoes of Chestnut Ridge. There they were afforded excellent views of Big Walker Mountain and Beartown Wilderness, the most remote and untrammeled wilderness in all of Virginia. Because Pablo and Mom had the guide book, they knew to get water here for the shelter 1.8 miles farther up the ridge. It being early evening they decided to kick back and relax for a while, stay there for dinner, then continue on to the shelter before sunset. They reached the Shelter and the summit of Chestnut Knob (4,409 ft) just as the sun began to set. It had been another fabulous day on the Trail. They watched in silent fascination as the sky passed through all the colors of the rainbow. Then the stars came out.
Day 56 began with a brief descent into Walker Gap before continuing along the Ridgecrest of Garden Mountain (4,052 ft). This was striking for several reasons. To the left was an occasional view of Burke's Garden, an enormous cove on the northern side of Garden Mountain. Apparently, Burke's Garden had a very long history of habitation. Evidence suggests that Indians lived there as long as 7000 years ago. That is, until they were driven out in the late 1700s. Also striking to the area were numerous sandstone outcroppings looking like teeth from the jaws of some magnificent dragon.
After passing Jenkins Shelter and yet another Bushy Mountain, the three little Bushpigs reached Little Wolf Creek for the evening. They were bushed. Luckily no storybook wolves came to give them any trouble.
June 1st: it was a cakewalk to US 21 and 52 where Levi Long was waiting to shuttle them in to Bastion. There was already a herd so it took a few trips. According to the Philosopher's Guide, Levi ran a corner diner and maintained a rustic trailer, and a house outside of town which he used as make-shift thru-hiker hostels. He was quite the thru-hiker's friend. He dropped everyone off at the house and took requests from everyone for beer and munchies from the corner store. He ran and got these while everyone took hot showers, then shuttled everyone into town to the Post Office and Laundromat. Finally, he shuttled everybody back to the house for the evening. When they got back, some people actually had the nerve to complain because Levi charged a fair price for his services. The Monk was shocked. This man had just ran all over town for them and they whined because the beer cost $8.99 and he charged them $10.00. Other's didn't like the rustic qualities of the house. It wasn't given the proper care and maintenance these thru-hikers felt they deserved. It had an abandoned quality that didn't go well with the grizzly beards and haughty sophistication of a few.
The Monk decided to step outside for some air. He wanted to get a better look at the "house" across the street. Actually it was just a turret rising up out of the lawn. As he approached he noticed a man working in a sunken driveway not visible from the road. The Monk called to the man and introduced himself as Düg. The man introduced himself as Irvan Shrader, owner and builder of his unique, one-of-a-kind, underground castle. He was obviously very proud of his home and was more than happy to show The Monk around. It was nothing short of incredible. Lavish in it's attention to detail, bereft of any sense of nearing completion, it was indeed an underground castle in every sense of the word. The Monk could not contain himself. Someone else had to see this. He ran back inside where things remained much the same. He grabbed the few that he could and left the rest to continue their intense preoccupation with everything wrong in the universe. There was an incredible urge to stay and get drawn into the debate. He felt they learned nothing from such towns as Hot Springs where the closing of a shoe factory left the entire town in financial ruins. The real world was not as neat and pretty as the world beyond the windows of their local coffee shops. The real world was moth ridden and more than a little frayed at the edges. That it all doesn't come crashing in on the fairytales of others is testament to the power of man to endure many untold hardships and pain. He resisted the temptation to be sucked into their vortex and escaped back outside with a small cadre of fellow seekers. They made their way across the street and down into the driveway but the garage door was closed and Irvan was nowhere to be seen. The natives grew restless as The Monk knocked nervously on the garage door. Then, the door rolled up and there stood Irvan.
Everyone immediately had questions. Why an underground castle? No one was prepared for the answer. Their audible guffaw was louder than a sonic boom. Well, Irvan explained, the world was coming to an end and he was going to survive it underground in his completely self-contained, self-powered Armageddon proof habitat. Many stood there speechless, waiting for a punchline that never came. So naturally, curiosity turned to incredulity. Well, what would be the power source, they asked. He explained nonplussed that he had long ago invented a means of providing unlimited renewable energy but did not divulge any particulars. He told them he kept everything in his head, lest others steal it from him, like they had stolen his son.
Clearly, everyone thought he was a total loon. But when they stepped inside, some began to wonder. He was an architectural genius, to be sure. The entire structure was cylindrical. At the center was a series of welded and re-enforced 50 gallon steel drums filled with cement. This served as the main support for the structure which arranged the various rooms like steps on a spiral staircase. Many of the rooms were still incomplete. Indeed, the level of disarray seemed so complete that many questioned whether his home would ever reach completion. For example, the walls were huge masterpieces of tiny pieces of cedar glued together in fantastic mosaics. It was insane to imagine the labor that went into a single wall. Only the greatest of craftsmen and carpenters (or someone unemployed for a very long time) could so deftly tile a wall in the manner which was everywhere evident inside his home. The Monk was in utter awe at the thought of all the exact measuring and precision cuts which went into each tiny piece. As they progressed along the tour, it became apparent that they were not the only ones who thought this man stark raving mad. Apparently, so had his wife who long ago left him and took his son with her. It was obvious that the loss of his son was a mortal wound he would not long survive. The sense of tragedy, left The Monk visibly shaken even long after the tour had ended and the group returned to it's home for the evening.
Later he learned he was not the only one unnerved by all they saw and heard. The group stayed up late debating the thin line between insanity and genius. The Monk was left with the belief that there was no such line. As he drifted off to sleep the others continued to discuss the underground castle and it's broken hearted King long into the morning. Was he a genius or was he insane? Yes.
The next morning, Levi began shuttling people back to the Trail and soon The Monk was once again northbound. Minutes later he stopped and was carbo-loading a cold one at Warren Doyle's Bathtub. This was an old porcelain tub set up to fill with water from the nearby Kiberling Creek. According to the Philosopher's Guide this was stocked by the good Dr. Frog. The Monk gave thanks then resumed course. He had to laugh as he reached the crest of yet another Brushy Mountain. From there, it was an easy hike to Jenny Knob Shelter for the evening.
©Copyright 02002. Fresh Ink. All rights reserved.
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