When we were in Carlisle last weekend, Stan passed on a message from my parents, who I THOUGHT were going to North Carolina for vacation. Instead, they decided come to Eastern PA and camp with us and help us out with some slack-packing.* Unexpected, but cause for celebration. We had them meet us at the Doyle, a famous, historic bar and hotel in Duncannon, PA. The owners are what you would call "hiker-friendly," and it's a place that a lot of thru-hikers stop because of the good prices and the fact that it is literally right on the AT. The owner of the Doyle called my parents "the P's" - a term we found quite amusing.
The first night, we camped near the confluence of the Juniata and Susquehana Rivers. In the morning, we set out across the rivers to Peter's Mountain, while my parents packed up their gear and our packs and headed for Lickdale, PA in their car. The day started out sunny and warm. Peter's Mountain offered some nice views of the rivers, the eerie experience of acres of tree cover eaten by gypsy moth caterpillars, and a few unexpected run-ins with some trail friends. By mid-afternoon, however, the skies were beginning to darken and we heard the sound of thunder, echoing through the valleys. A brief thunderstorm drenched us, but we were nearly dry by the time we hit the much-feared rattle-snake den, which is in a large boulder field that the AT crosses. Hikers who had passed through before us left notes on the trail with ominous warnings. We proceeded cautiously, but didn't see anything, assuming they took cover during the storm.
Just when we were nearly at the edge of the ridge, about to head into the gap to end our hike for the day, the clouds swirled up again, and this time, I knew the storm would be worse. I took off at a trot, leaving M behind, as thunderstorms do not panic him as much as me. I was just beginning the switchbacks when the rain began to fall. It rained harder and harder all the way down the hill, until I couldn't see anything out of my glasses, my clothes soaked through and heavy. But who cared? My parents were waiting at the bottom in a warm car, waiting to whisk us back to a campground with hot showers!
The rains did not let up for the duration of the evening, but we strung up our tarp over the picnic table, back at the campground, and had an enjoyable dinner, nonetheless. We even had wine! My parents have a huge tent, complete with a screened porch, so we had a comfortable sleep.
The next day, we slackpacked again, with a similar storm brewing in the afternoon; however, it did not hit us so hard, although surrounding areas got a lot of rain. This hike was about half aggravating rocks and half soft and level footpath. During the first few hours, we could hear little else beside the fighter jets and weapons being fired at the nearby military reservation. It was quite a racket. During the afternoon, we passed through many areas that had been heavily mined, as well as the ruins of an abandoned mining village. We ended up drinking very little water that day, to avoid having to fill up at one of the bright orange streams that crossed the trail, not being certain about the cause of the orange water.
On Thursday, we said goodbye to my parents, since they wanted to head for the Delaware Water Gap. We'll be there next week sometime.
*Slack-packing, or hiking without a backpack, can happen when you have some nice friends or relatives who drop you off where the road crosses the AT, and then pick you up down the trail at another road crossing. Sometimes thru-hikers even pay outfitters or shuttle services for this pleasurable way to enjoy the outdoors. Often the idea is to "pick up miles" or hike farther than possible with a big pack. Without my Gregory Deva on my pack, I am overcome by the sensation of floating through the woods. I leap from boulder to boulder with nary a care. The word "trudge" disappears from my daily vocabulary.
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