After my meeting with Billy Goat, and a longer than normal rest period, I continued south on the AT.

I was well fueled, and felt well rested, though I had only hiked between seven and eight miles.  When I would do dayhikes, my feelings of fatigue only showed themselves after twelve or thirteen miles.  Admittedly, during those stretches I typically carried a lot less weight, and my pace was typically a bit over three miles an hour.  Given the pace I was going this particular day,  I wasn’t worried about the fatigue factor.  I was taking my time, walking not too quickly, but purposefully.  I gave myself a bit of a buffer, since it was my first time hiking with a much heavier pack. I committed to slowing my pace, enjoying every moment of the trek, and not trying to reach the shelter as quickly as possible.  At my pace I was maintaining, I figured I had enough time to dawdle, veer off the main path to catch a few vistas, and arrive at the shelter well before dark.

We all know what happens to best laid plans…..

The few miles after the shelter went by steadily.  No major leg fatigue affected me, and I immensely enjoyed my no-time-restriction approach to this hike.  Then, around five miles after leaving the first shelter, the first signs of soreness, and slight pain, began in my shoulders.  The excess weight I was carrying made its strongest efforts to pull my body towards the dirt and rock on the trail.  The muscles in my back and shoulders tensed and held, resisting the urge to slouch and bend to the mass upon my back.  I pulled the shoulder straps high, and tight, shifted the pack slightly, and powered on.

But the further I went, the more the burden of the pack affected me.  My pace began to slow, and my hamstrings and quads started to tense and quiver with the pressure.  The weak and sore feeling in my shoulders had become a semi-intense pain.  The soreness and fatigue gravitated downwards, fortunately skipped my lower back and abdomen, and made itself a permanent home in my upper legs.  I knew my calves were next as I approached Wind Gap with dread.  I knew there would be a substantial descent, what worried me even more, was that I knew a climb would come soon after that.  Though I’m in pretty good hiking shape, the newfound aches and pains as a result of the extra weight worried me.  I’ve never had a wavering of resolve during any previous hike, but this day, I truly felt it.

I completed the descent into Wind Gap, and crossed the paved road, stumbling into the switchbacks that meandered up the five hundred foot ascent.  Shedding all pretense of pride, I will freely admit, that I took several breaks going up this rise.  My feet were staring to hurt, and I knew several blisters awaited where my skin was rubbing raw.  The backpack I carried didn’t feel like it was supported in any way, It truly felt like I had simply slung a bunch of barbell plates on my back and chosen to walk a long distance.  I felt like my trapezius muscles were being pinched and crushed. I continued to climb, little by little.  My brisk pace from earlier in the day, was now replaced by a very deliberate, tentative, sedate, tread.

I achieved the point where the climb tapered, and the trail continued forward with only moderate elevation changes.  But this was little solace.  The light in the sky had begun to dim, and I knew I still had almost four miles to go.  I pushed forward, as my body continued to fatigue and break down.  I took a few more necessary breaks, where I removed my backpack, and flung it on the ground, to give my frame some relief.  I continued to slow, and after another two more miles, I can truly use the word shambling, to describe my pace.  I drank of my almost seven pounds of carried water, to reduce the weight in my pack, but the damage was already done.  I thought about the things I could get rid of, so I could lighten the crushing load on my body.  I even came to a point, where I actually had the thought, “I really don’t know if I can do this.”

I wanted to lay down, I wanted to rest my body.  The idea of walking another mile and a half was almost spirit-breaking.  But where was I to go?  I didn’t have a tent.  I committed to making it to the shelter, and at this point, I had no other choice.  I put all other thoughts out of my mind, except for left, right, left, right, follow the blazes, keep moving forward, ignore the pain.

After an undetermined time, and as the sun almost fully conceded to the darkness, I encountered two late night hikers heading North.  I asked them how far it was until the shelter.

“Oh it’s really close!  We just came from there. No more than ten minutes away.”

I felt a rush of blissful optimism.  The day’s journey was to come to a close shortly.  With all the enthusiasm I could muster at the time, I thanked them for their precious news.

The next stretch seemed to take forever.  I don’t know if the pace they were maintaining allowed them to come from the shelter in ten minutes, or if I was simply that broken, but the walk to the shelter seemed to take an hour.

When I finally saw the signs for the shelter, I smiled, inside and out.  I was so unbelievably happy that relief was imminent.  I was optimistic that there also wouldn’t be anyone at the shelter, and that I would get a peaceful nights sleep, which would restore my aching frame. I hobbled down the adjunct path from the AT towards the shelter, heard voices, and in the last remaining minutes of daylight, saw the flickering of a small fire behind the trees and plants that surrounded the three-sided wooden refuge.

It would appear that I would be spending the evening with a few fellow hikers. In spite of my weariness, and want for a peaceful uninterrupted evening, I mustered all my charisma, and prepared to meet my shelter-mates.

I would find that meeting them that evening, was one of the best things to happen during my hike.