Letter from the Trail

By by John Kalb | Monday, April 15, 2002

Editor's note: At the end of last term, Review contributor John Kalb '03 informed us that he was going to spend the next six months hiking the Appalachian Trail. John is probably the nicest guy on the staff, so we were sad to see him go, but, at the same time, we were immensely impressed. Hiking the trail is no small feat—something that someone who doesn't hike (like myself) really can't fathom. The following is the latest correspondence we have received from John.
—JLS

Hi From Hot Springs, NC,

So here's the highlight reel:

The day before I reached Fontana Dam, which is at the gateway to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, there was a huge thunderstorm, and mud splattered onto all of my stuff under the tarp I was using. I bought a tent the next day. I woke up dirty but not too wet. I packed up in the rain and left at around eight A.M. I felt really bad all morning, but managed to push myself six miles before eleven, when I stopped for lunch with the Cooperstown Kid and Mooch. I was hungry because I had skipped breakfast, so I cooked some chili. I was kind of impatient, and I put in too much alcohol in the stove. It tipped a little, and I set myself on fire. I stopped, dropped, and rolled.

A couple of people were talking about doing twelve miles in the afternoon to get to Fontana Dam, so I decided to try to do the same. I figured that I was on the Appalachian Trail by choice, so why not push myself a little? I fell down twice in the rain that afternoon in the mud, but I made the twelve miles to Fontana Dam. I was tired, annoyed—I had vowed to go to church, as I had been saying some not-so-nice things about Someone out on the trail—and otherwise just worn out. Luckily, there was plenty of room in the shelter—called the Hilton because it has toilets and showers nearby and because it's big—with only a fisherman from Tennesee and a guy named Malice there. I went to sleep quickly, skipping dinner. About an hour later, five cops with flashlights came in and made Malice put his hands on his head and climb out of bed. It turned out that he had sold a joint to the 'fisherman from Tennessee' and the 'fisherman' had reported this to his superior officer. After half an hour of whining from Malice (fortunately, he didn't talk to me until the very end), they carted him and his stuff off to jail. It turned out that he had been harassing female hikers, howling at the moon, building bonfires late at night, throwing rocks at shelters, and jumping up on shelters, among other things. They finally busted him on drugs.

So after taking a day off to resupply, go to church, eat a lot, and do laundry, I headed into the Smokies. The first day was just getting up to altitude, but on the second day, I went through all of these beautiful fields on these balds. The third day was foggy. I went over Clingman's Dome, the highest point on the trail and hiked eighteen miles into Newfound Gap, where I hitchiked (first time) into Gatlinburg, TN, the weirdest town on earth. If you've ever been, you know what I mean. I can't explain it. The second half of the Smokies was just wild. It really felt like I was out in the wilderness for the first time on the trip. There were these beautiful ridgewalks. The only problem was that nothing was marked.

I ventured upon Mountain Moma's, where EVERYTHING is misspelled as a joke (I hope), but it's not funny. The other weird thing is that alcohol and cussing are verboten, but they have ads for every brand of tobacco product I've ever seen.
I left, and it was thirty-six miles into Hot Springs. This was the first time I had done consecutive long days (twenty-one miles the first and fifteen the second). After Newfound Gap I was moving a lot faster. I had struggled to hit 1.5 miles per hour on any consistent basis before that, but now, I consistently hit at least two, with bursts at three, which is good for a hiker.

Anyway, I've gotta get out of here: ten miles until the first
shelter out of town.

Take care,
John

Letter from the Trail

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