To Saunter in a Sylvan Glade

Springer Mountain to Damascus
mile 0 to mile 463.5

It has been 24 days, 21 hiking days, excuse me, walking... sauntering days. I am trying to stay away from the word "hike" it sounds like drudgery... John Muir had some words to say about this:

"Hiking – I don’t like the word or thing. People ought to saunter in the mountains – not hike! Do you know the origin of the word “saunter”? It’s a beautiful word. Away back in the Middle Ages people used to go on pilgrimages to the Holy Land, and when people in the villages through which they passed asked where they were going, they would reply “A la sainte terre”, “To the Holy Land”. And so they became known as the Sainte-Terre-ers, or Saunterers. Now these mountains are our Holy Land, and we ought to saunter through them reverently, not “hike” through them." John Muir.

And so I saunter. I saunter quickly, but I saunter nevertheless.

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I have never hik--- sauntered in the east. The mountains are honestly not that impressive. The tallest mountain in the east is a paltry 6800 feet, which in the Sierras would be a low hill on the way to a ski resort. The mountains in the east are old, eroded, rolling and full of history. Whereas the mountains of the west are jagged and recently glaciated. But If I wanted sharp jagged mountains, why did I go east? This is a different experience. I have walked the Sierras, the Rockies, the Winds, the Cascades, the high and low deserts, Chaparral, arid sub-alpine climates... I have descended through seven major climate zones in 17 miles on the PCT. The east has something different to offer. Gone is the everchanging environment of Southern California. I now stroll in massive hardwood forests in warm wet weather.

The humidity is alarming. The foliage is thick and verdant. Maples and oaks grow tall and lush and often drip considerable quantities of moisture with the slightest breeze. Poison ivy is omnipresent, with leaves ranging from small to massive, but the three adjacent leaves are easy to recognize. I have strode past many of said leave, and have yet to get a rash. The at some times daily rain must wash off the oils. Among the considerable vegetation grow sizable Rhododendrons. I didn't know they grow in forests! I seem to remember that there was one sickly Rhododendron in our front yard growing up. In the east, they tangle into a canopy above the trail. Saunterers pass beneath the shaded thickets in a tunnel. Apparently they will be exploding into color in Virginia. I look forward to it. I also seem to remember the struggling Azaleas beside our house. Here, Flame Azaleas tower almost 20 feet with bright orange flowers. And Mountain Laurels are already in full bloom.

It feels almost tropical. Rain isn't cold, the nights are alive with the chirping or bugs, the mornings are a cacophony of birdsong. I thought I might need an alarm clock after long days and hard sleep, but I do not. At dawn, my eyes open in response to the chorus of forest life springing into action. I am often packed and walking before seven.

It has rained on over half of the days, but my limited rain protection has been enough. I stride confidently in my rain skirt. One has to when wearing such things. My ponch has thus far be unaffected by blustery conditions. My pack has stayed dry.

The intake of calories is starting to ramp up. The first couple weeks are often and adjustment period. It takes a while for the body to realize exactly what is happening and send repetitive "I'm hungry" signals to the brain. Not yet have I faced the mighty half gallon of ice cream. I have dueled and lost twice with a large pizza. But the foot long sub was no contest. I will have to carry more food though now. I am sad that I can no longer get away with carrying less than 12 total ponds on my back.