I am officially finished with 1/3 of the trail! We arrived into camp a little early so there was a lot of time to do nothing. As we cooked dinner I was delighted to see Two Bananas and Hook hike in. I had met them the second night of my thruhike and we had stayed at the same shelters for a few weeks, but I hadn't seen them since North Carolina and was eager to catch up. I thought they were way ahead. That's the crazy thing about the trail: you can be just a day or two behind someone for months and never meet. There are trail registers in every shelter to help you keep track of each other, but not everyone signs them.
I threw my bearbag line up a leaning sapling. I should have taken the tattered remains of another line in the treetops as a warning, the limp string blowing in the breeze, never to be used again. It was such a perfect tree though, and I now considered myself a bear bag expert. After all, I could throw a line with a single toss, set up two different systems, and even untangle a treetop rope jam from the ground. What could go wrong?
I watched as my rope sailed over the branch I was aiming for. Perfect. Except it continued over the tree next to it. Easy fix; just pull the line enough to slip it over the unneeded branch. Except the rock tied to the end (used as a throwing weight) got stuck in the crotch of a branch. It refused to be lower or pulled. I had encountered this before. Solution: throw the other end over the branch and pull from the other side. I tied a rock to the other end, kept a hand on the middle of the rope, and tossed the other end over. I watched helplessly as the other rock wrapped around a small twig 15 feet overhead. I shook and pulled from the middle of the line, but it would not budge.
Twenty minutes later I had only succeed in pulling off a huge branch and making the line catch on another twig. Somehow the little stick held under all the force of pulling. I looked over at my mom desperately, pleading her to come over and fix it. She smiled at me and then kept talking to some hikers. Grr. Ten minutes later she finally came over, claiming she didn't want to embarrass me by making a scene. I was surprised I didn't have the whole camp watching already. She had no solution. If only I could climb the tree and ride the branch down, I was sure it would bend to the ground where we could untangle the rope. If I was alone with friends I would have done that, but I didn't want to put on a show for the entire camp. Plus there was a chance the tree would break and I would fall to my death. A few weekenders noticed my problem and came over to help. I had been at it for 45 minutes so I was ready for anyone to come up with a solution. They decided on climbing the tree. It was executed exactly as I had imagined it: One boy pulled on the rope while the other nimbly climbed the sapling. He rode the branch to the ground where I rushed over and angrily snapped off the twigs, the cause of so much frustration.
It was April in May; once again we woke to rain. Another slow morning. We crossed over a deserted Blue Ridge Parkway several times, enjoying the signs of civilization without the rush and noise. It was strange to see leaf litter on the major roadway, which is usually blown away by cars. It looked like humans had disappeared. For all I knew, they could have. What if we were the last ones on earth? We wouldn't know.
We got up early and I quickly covered three trail miles and an additional bonus mile on the road to get the car from the campground. I drove back to the trail and picked up Lil' Bit to set up some trail magic in the parking lot. This time I would be on the giving end, sprouting wings and donning a halo as a trail angel.
I kept busy flipping pancakes and scrambling eggs on a one-burner camp stove while hikers quickly arrived. I saw some familiar faces (Two Bananas was so excited she ran up and have me a hug) and met many more ("How cool is that," Captain Underpants said, "she's giving trail magic while she's thruhiking."). I often had to explain why a thruhiker was the one giving trail magic. It was awesome to hear others adventures and stories.
Not only the hikers benefit from trail magic. The trail angels also come out filled with the joy and satisfaction that often comes from serving. I was tired by the time the last of the food was eaten and the last hikers left, but satisfied.
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