This is my original Appalachian Trail journal from 2001 (Edited for grammar).
It includes additions that were written sixteen years later (in 2017). These are in italics.
Saturday, April 07, 2001
Goose Creek Cabins
Today’s Miles: 0
Trip Miles: 39.3
I did absolutely nothing today. I thought I’d just let the feet heal up.
The couple from Boston was out of the cabin all day. I wish I could have continued on up the trail.
I originally didn’t even plan on spending one night down here off the trail from Neels Gap, let alone a few days! Ugh. Don’t get me wrong, Goose Creek is a wonderful place to stay and I definitely recommend it as a first stop. It’s just that I’d rather be hiking. Everybody that I started with is moving on, and the weather cleared up too.
I didn’t leave the cabin at all. It’s best not to mess with socks and shoes (Bringing them within the vicinity of my oozing feet, at least). All my gear is dried out, and I made the phone calls home. My parents were glad to hear that nobody has made me squeal like a pig.
I ended up turning on the TV, and the afternoon was lost to movies. Before I knew it, Julia and I had sat through the second half of Wag the Dog, followed by Primary Colors, then The American President. TNT must have had some sort of themed weekend or something with political movies, and of course they had to show commercials for the Springsteen concert special that was debuting on TV tonight (The Madison Square Garden concert from July 1st 2000, which I attended). AARRRGH!!! If this place only had HBO! Bruce would have given these Georgia mountains the biggest, loudest, rockin’ and a rollin’ that they’ve ever seen!
Everybody’s telling me that it’s best to take the time off early in the trip to recover. I’m sure they’re right, but it’s already so frustrating to be stuck in one place. I just keep staring blankly at the horizon, shaking my head, looking down, and saying “stupid feet”. I may be dumbfounded-ly stuck here for a few days.
At least I’ll have good company while I’m here. I just can’t get over all of the fantastic people I’m meeting already out here. I’m staying tonight with Tighe and Carrie, a great young couple from Boston that were here last night too. Tighe’s a huge baseball fan (Red Sox!). There’s also Julia, a nice bicycle mechanic from Portland, Oregon. (Anybody who’s job has to do with bicycles is cool!) She gave me some Neosporin for my feet. Thank you!
The last guy here tonight is Dean, again, terribly friendly. He’s lived all around the east. He had the biggest smile on his face when he came out of the shower. “That was the best shower of my life!” I hear ya Dean. I’m beginning to think that everything on this trip is the best of my life.
You should have seen the twisted grimaces on these people’s faces when they saw my feet. I don’t mind. I had Coke and frozen pizza, and now I get to go shower.
Sunday, April 08, 2001
Goose Creek Cabins
Today’s Miles: 0
Trip Miles: 39.3
A woman named Kristie has been stuck here for nearly a week because she blew out her knees. She was once an EMT back home, and she kindly took a look at my feet today.
“Ooh…those are infected,” she said.
Great.
That’s the last thing I wanted to hear.
“You’ll be here at least through Tuesday.”
Lovely!
She cleaned them up a little, right then and there for me. Then JM (The shuttle driver) took us into town and I picked up a handful of first aid stuff and other goodies. He’s been sidelined here for a little while too, and is working-for-stay by driving the shuttle and running errands. He says I’ll get his job when he gets back on the trail tomorrow. Ha!
And for today’s big news – he and Randy gave me my trailname! From this day forward, I shall be known as “Duct Tape” on the Appalachian Trail. I think it may just fit. They surely think so.
I met yet another hip person that I’ll be rooming with tonight named Randy. I felt an instant friendship with him, probably more so than anybody else I’ve met so far. We talked about a lot of things throughout the day, from the simple tinkering with the gear in our packs, to all of our hopes about the days ahead – like walking into the late summer evenings where the shadows are long… mostly daydreaming about warmer, more pleasant summer weather. It will be a little sad when he moves ahead tomorrow.
We all went to dinner at an AYCE (All You Can Eat) buffet in town called The Cookie Jar. I had three full plates of fried chicken, turkey, ham, green beans, carrots, mashed potatoes, biscuits… mmm.
We spent some time at the main lodge building at the end of the day, just kicking back and relaxing. At one point, JM just started laughing out of nowhere. I turned to him as if to inquire about what, and he said “Life. I feel closer to it here already than I ever have anyplace else.”
“That’s the idea,” I said.
“I think you’re right,” he said, “That must be the idea”.
We smiled. That just about says it all, folks.
In the morning I was moved from the modern Wolf Creek Cabin up the hill down to the main cabins at the lodge. The others that I’d stayed with there pressed on up the trail. I met Randy and he seemed to be a kindred spirit. He talked a lot about some time he’d spent studying wildlife in Gnome, Alaska.
We’d never do much hiking together later in the trip, but we ultimately ended up exchanging a few emails in the ensuing years. He’d eventually assume the trail name of “Freebird.”
I got to know JM the shuttle driver on this day too. He and I and Kristie were the fixtures at Goose Creek for the week, with our various injuries. He said he was an aerial photographer by trade and that his wife’s untimely death drove him out on the Appalachian Trail.
In this entry I threw around the words “work-for-stay” and “hostel.” Many towns along the Appalachian Trail have hospitality-oriented places to stay overnight that specifically cater to backpackers, called hostels. Most are compromised of a shared bunk room and a shared common area. A handful of these places offer work-for-stay opportunities, where you’re allowed to do assigned chores in exchange for a free night’s lodging. JM was taking advantage of such an opportunity at Goose Creek.
And so it was that I was sitting on a bench outside a cabin with Randy on sunny day. I was in a sour mood, stewing over my own stupidity that led me to destroy my feet. We were killing time, waiting for the shuttle to Blairsville for dinner. I was showing off my gruesome feet, and once again telling the story of how I managed to tear them up so badly. Afterward I leaned forward, rested my elbows on my knees, shook my head, and muttered “Duct Tape” in disgust, self-pity, and self-ridicule.
The proverbial lightbulb went off over our heads. I got a trail name.
Monday, April 09, 2001
Goose Creek Cabins
Today’s Miles: 0
Trip Miles: 39
I’ve now officially spent more nights here at Goose Creek than I have on the trail so far. That’s just wrong! Oh well, there isn’t much I can do about it.
This place has wooden screen doors. That alone makes the stay here worth it. Do you know the ones that I’m talking about? They creak ever so slightly when you open them, and then slam with a heart-quenching “thwack” when you let go.
The wooden screen door is the very essence of a place like this. It lets you into the lodge, where you’re greeted by the friendliest, most down to earth people you’ll ever meet, a stuffed lion, moose heads on the wall, a crackling fireplace, a piano, and so much more. It lets you out to the long, wooden front porch where the fresh mountain air slaps you right in the face. There you can have a seat on the idle rocking chair or porch swing and marvel forever at the stack of firewood, a pond and geese, an American flag waving and dancing in the breeze, clear blue skies against a mountainous wilderness, and men coming and going in pickup trucks with stars and bars bandannas, talking of leisure, fishing, and usually nothing at all. And the wooden screen door always slams behind them.
There is a register book from this year and last year, signed by many eager thru-hikers that have passed through. I recognize a number of names in it, although they may not recognize mine.
I’m constantly swept up in the grand history behind what I experience on this trail. The history of the people of last week, last month, last year, and the last fifty years. The trees and rocks and dirt may whisper their stories to you. Their stories of hope, anguish, exhilaration, pain, and triumph. Or, rather, a tree may appear to you as purely just another tree… just as rewarding.
What draws people back to this trail, I think, is that it’s such an intense microcosm of all those good things in life. It’s the ability to experience those things deeply, without the hassles, ties, deadlines, and stresses of life in the real world. But what brings people to the trail in the first place? Maybe it’s the occasional wooden screen door and porch swing.
This was a great moment. I spent the better part of the day on the porch swing in front of the lodge, idly writing up this bit of temporary wistful-ness by hand in my notebook.
All truth. There was the smell of chopped wood, dead campfire, and mountain air. Pickup trucks came and went. The confederate flag flew. The screen door slammed. A dress waved, or maybe it swayed.
Tuesday, April 10, 2001
Goose Creek Cabins
Today’s Miles: 0
Trip Miles: 39
I don’t think I’ve ever spent so much time on a porch swing. It’s another fantastic, warm, serene day here in Georgia. There’s nothing like sitting here all afternoon, exchanging pleasantries with everybody that comes by. I’m asking folks if anybody knows how to play the piano inside, so maybe they could play Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” for me, but I’m not having any luck.
I’m so yearning to be back on the trail, but I couldn’t have chosen a better place for these unfortunate circumstances to happen. It’s given me another opportunity, early on, to slow down and re-evaluate my perspective of this journey, while in the thick of it and away from the ties of home. Things like this tend to happen for a reason out here, like how Kristie found a pair of perfect flip-flops in the hiker box*, just when I needed camp shoes to help my feet heal. They call it Trail Magic. I hope tomorrow is not too soon to continue on my way.
There is a lone girl here at Goose Creek, only about seven years old. One day she was shooting basketball hoops in a sundress, barefoot. The basketball was seemingly huge to her, and the hoop was equally high and out of reach. She looked up as the hoop towered above her, probably wishing she were big enough to throw the ball all the way up there.
It seems that we aspire to do grown-up things when we’re little kids, and then when we’re adults, we dream of being kids again. There must be a moral to that somewhere, but I’ll leave the idea open. I just know that hiking the trail is one of those magical, fine lines between the two – a child’s type of adventure in a grown-up world.
Most of the places that hikers frequent in towns along the trail have what’s called a *hiker box.* The hiker box is simply a pile of junk that hikers have chosen to discard that somebody else may find useful. They usually contain a whole lot of oatmeal, partially spent fuel canisters, tarps, trowels, old shoes, and that sort of thing. People ditch so much stuff at the south end of the trail in Spring that it’s said some folks have completely outfitted themselves from the hiker boxes.
Wednesday, April 11, 2001
Goose Creek Cabins
Today’s Miles: 0
Trip Miles: 39.3
The way we so easily forget the little, pleasurable things in our memory can be scary. Growing up, I used to walk to this place called the South Mall all the time – most often with my friend Eric. Like clockwork we’d walk down 33rd St., maybe cut through somebody’s lawn that provided a shortcut to the mall parking lot, and get pizza at Dino’s. Then we’d browse through all the stores, hang around at the arcade, give the store managers headaches, and lounge around in the office chairs at Staples after the mall was closed.
Sometimes after Staples closed we’d walk all the way to a place called the Superior Diner. On way we’d check out the new cars at the auto dealers, along a strip of road known as the “Auto Mile.”
At the diner we’d get cups of coffee. Coffee’s a big deal when you’re a young teenager.
The cigarette-vending-machine in the lobby of the diner was even more of a big deal.
Sometimes on the way home, we’d stop behind our old elementary school. We’d sit in the playground in the dark, and sneak a few cigarettes. We’d often talk about what we thought life would be like once we got to high school.
Anyway, 33rd St. is lined with lamp posts. As we’d stroll along, a funny thing used to happen. Some of the streetlights would go out as I got close to them, and then they’d light back up after we’d continue farther on down the road. This used to happen to me everywhere, often, and even when I was alone.
Years later, sometimes the streetlights in my town would go out as I’d drive down the road. We agreed that I must have some sort of weird magnetic force-field or something.
I raided the All-You-Can-Eat buffet in Blairsville tonight. It was no match for the mighty stomach of Duct Tape (uh-oh, I’m referring to myself in the third person). I had four, count them, FOUR full plates of food, plus dessert. ONE plate! Ha, ha, ha. TWO plates! Ha, ha, ha. THREE plates! Ha, ha, ha. Four! FOUR plates! Ha, ha, ha. I love to count!
I think I had room in my stomach for a bit more, but I didn’t want to get too much of a reputation with the other hikers! They were kidding about changing my trail name to “Hoover.” I’ve even been off the trail for a few days, so who knows how much I’ll be eating when I come straight out of the woods!
“Grandpa” (Trail-name) and I caught the brilliant sunset while we were waiting for the shuttle driver to come around the front of the restaurant. I remembered that you don’t really have to be on the trail to reap many of the benefits – you just need to carry that trail mentality. I’ve got to keep that in mind after I finish this in the autumn.
After the sky had grown quite dim, I strolled over to a little stone wall to sit and watch as the sparse traffic passed through the quaint town circle. When I sat down, the dusk instantly became even darker. I looked up. Sure enough, a street lamp directly above me had gone out. A little thing like that, the smallest memory from home, can really make your day.
Thursday, April 12, 2001
Goose Creek Cabins
Today’s Miles: 0
Trip Miles: 39.3
My feet are taking forever to heal! Have you noticed? Forever! I need to hike!
Keith Bailey, the owner here, said that once he had blisters so bad that he had to work in only his socks for three weeks! Three weeks! I don’t have three weeks! Heal, I say, heal you lousy bums! ARRRRGGGGHHH! That’s it! That’s it, I tell you! I’m back on the trail tomorrow, like it or not!
It’ll be as if I’m beginning my whole hike over again. The group I got to know during my first days must be in North Carolina already. I’ve gotta ramble on.
I’ve given up on writing all about every single interesting person I meet. There are just too many. But of course I’ve got to rattle off a few names I haven’t mentioned yet – Dharma Bum, Ghostrider, Sugar Mountain Mama, Grandpa, Dolphin Boy, Ken, Bert, Never Alone ’99, Pee Wee Pam, some others who’s names I’ve forgotten, and Hawkeye, who left us nearly a full case of Miller High Life that he had sent himself in a maildrop! Thanks Hawkeye! (This part of north Georgia is a “dry” county).
I can’t go on enough about Keith Bailey, owner of Goose Creek Cabins. This guy has the hospitality of a saint. When he and the other regulars (Like JM and Kristie) wish me well, after knowing me only a few days, I know that they truly mean it. That goes a long way.
I’m gonna keep it slow when I hit the trail tomorrow. I’ve learned my lesson. I took in all the advice in my planning, absorbed it, and went out and did the opposite anyway when I began my hike. How stupid! No more.
…There was another long-term guest here at the lodge, an older gentleman whose name has escaped me. It may have been on this day that I was talking to him. He’d began the Appalachian Trail from Springer Mountain, made it here to Goose Creek Cabins, and chose to end his trip here and call it quits.
He had a nice walking stick, and insisted upon giving me the stick to carry to Maine.
I’d began the trip with my own stick, but I lost it up at Neels Gap. He said if he wasn’t going to walk to Maine, maybe at least his walking stick could.
I still own that stick, even now… sixteen years later in 2017.
Friday, April 13, 2001
Goose Creek Cabins to an unnamed campsite north of Neel’s Gap
Today’s Miles: 2
Trip Miles: 41.3
I awoke this morning to the sound of pouring rain. Man, I thought, it would really suck to hike in this rain, but I really want to get out of here today. I rolled over and went back to sleep.
A little later JM came knocking on the door. “Good morning!” he shouted, over the pouring the rain. “Do you know what today is? It’s Friday the thirteenth!”
That would be just my luck. It’s Friday the thirteenth and raining on the morning that I’m finally ready to leave Goose Creek. I knew it! The weather was beautiful and unseasonably warm all week long while I sat on my butt. I said to everybody, “Watch. It’s beautiful now, but it will start raining when I get back on the trail.” I got just what I asked for, I guess.
Defeated now by the pouring rain this time, I told everybody that I’d stay another night. I dejectedly hung around the cabins and debated my foot treatment for the day.
Eventually a funny thing happened. The rain stopped. Patches of blue began to poke through the gray, overcast sky. The sun shone through. Before I knew it, it turned into one of the most beautiful days yet. I thought it was too bad that I committed to spending another night here. As funny as it sounds, I could hardly bear the thought of another night in a bed!
And then it dawned on me – I didn’t have to.
I’m hiking the Appalachian Trail.
I’m self-sufficient, and free to come and go as I wish.
On a whim I packed up my gear, checked out with Keith (God bless him and all the Goose Creek people), and soon enough I was on my way up the trail, northbound. It’s sad to part with these people and places that I have come to know, because I don’t know if I’ll come this way or ever see them again. I do hope to see JM and Kristie up the road.
So that’s how I came to be tented out all alone on this high, breezy ridge in Georgia. It was a gorgeous, late evening stroll up from the gap. I hiked in my flip-flops. FLIP-FLOPS! I plan to do so tomorrow too – hoping that I don’t break any toes. Tonight is the first time that I won’t be using my rain fly. I’m looking forward to some star gazing from my sleeping bag.
I see this day as a turning point in the trip. Holed up at Goose Creek for so long, I was well on my way to becoming a statistic – one of the many, many people who’d give up on walking to Maine before even leaving Georgia.
The night before, I’d finally felt that my heels had recovered significantly enough to begin walking again. I was all ready to go, only to be thwarted by a pouring rainstorm. JM came to check on me in the cabin because he was going to be my ride to the trailhead at Neels Gap. It was so comical the way he announced that it was Friday the thirteenth, soaked to the bone under his rain jacket.
After the weather cleared in mid-afternoon, getting started again didn’t come easily. It was so late in the day that when I checked out and settled up with Keith, he offered to let me stay another night at no charge. It was a personal breakthrough for me to realize I could begin a “day” of hiking at 3pm, a sort of first acknowledgment of my comfort level on the Appalachian Trail, my new home.
For some brilliant reason or other that I don’t recall, it never occurred to me throughout the week to buy a new pair of shoes. I’m stubborn. Maybe I didn’t want to throw away the $200 that they cost so easily. Vasque Sundowners were “the best,” right? So what if they were too big, maybe they’d magically start “working” soon.
Regardless of my reasoning at the time, they were just too damn big. So big that they still rubbed on my heels. So big that I chose to hike up out of Neels Gap that evening in flip-flops. So big that I tied them to my backpack and carried them, where they swayed and dangled with each step… a lot of good those shoes did me there, on my back.
I didn’t make it very far that evening, but just far enough to get some forward momentum going again.
I was still hiking the Appalachian Trail.
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