Barefoot Sisters: Southbound

by Lucy Letcher;Susan Letcher

  I tried to relax and take in the beauty of the place, with its view of a sharply cut valley and distant mountains under snow. All day, though, wisps of cloud collected in the sky, twining and thickening into bands along the eastern horizon. Worries gathered in the same way at the edges of my mind; I knew the weather wouldn't hold.

  For once, thankfully, the warning in the clouds was wrong. The snow held off as we crossed Round Bald and Jane Bald, broad open summits with rhodo dendron tangles on their lower slopes, and the dark fir forests of Roan Mountain itself. It was strange to stand among fir trees again. The forest looked like my father's backyard in Maine, with the same scent of crushed evergreen needles and snow, the scent of winter. But here it was an island of trees, a tiny remnant floating above the gray seas of deciduous forests. I tried to imagine the time when fir trees covered the valleys, too, perhaps fourteen thousand years ago, when the glaciers last rolled down over the continent: an eyeblink in geologic time, but longer than the entire written history of our species.

  Isis

  he ten of us packed like sardines into tiny Clyde Smith Shelter-not the first time we'd fit so many hikers onto such a small sleeping platform, nor even the most crowded we'd been, but the closeness was wearing on everybody's nerves. Hope and Joy complained stridently about having to sleep endto-end, Mary snapped at them, and Faith began to fuss.

  "Let's hike out. Night-hike," Badger said to n)e and jackrabbit, as I carefully stirred our pot of beans and polenta. "That way everyone will have enough room "

  "Hike to where?" I asked. "The next shelter's nine miles from here. That's as far as we hike in a day now."

  "Yeah, it is, and I'm sick of it,"jackrabbit said quietly. "Nine miles. Fuck! There was a time when we could hike twice that in a day. Barefoot."

  Badger studied his Data Book. "I think I'll hike in to Erwin tomorrow. Want to come with nie?"

  "How far is that I asked.

  "Twenty-four. Or maybe I'll just hike the twenty to Curly Maple Gap Shelter."

  "I'm up for the twenty, at least." jackrabbit's voice had an edge to it; she was challenging inc to offer any resistance to the plan.

  "Are there balds?" I asked Badger.

  "One. A wonderful one, Beauty Spot. You can see the whole ridge of the Roans from it. When I crossed it in spring, there were blackberries blooming at its edges and white wood anemones coming up through the grass" He noticed my worried expression. "It's low altitude, and the trail's well blazed. Even if it's snowing, they'll be safe"

  "Okay," I said. "As long as we wait for the Family once we get to town. I want to stay together through the Smokies. We're the last of the sobos. We have to look out for each other."

  I didn't add how much I'd miss the Family's company-the sound of the children's voices singing in the night, and the way they raised both fists and shouted the third verse of "Wade in the Water": who are all thocc children dressed in blue? ... Must be the people gonna make it through! Sharing our tea and cookies with Mary made it seem like a party every evening, instead of just another excuse to add calories to our diet. And sharing difficult decisions with Paulthe only member of our group who resisted hypothermia better than I dideased the burden of added responsibility I had felt since the onset of winter.

  The cold took a much greater toll on jackrabbit than it did on me. Her weight dropped rapidly between town stops, the skin of her face drawing tighter over her cheekbones, so white it looked translucent beneath the faint dusting of freckles. She lost the feeling in her hands and feet every day after our lunch break, for half an hour if the weather was relatively mild, and for hours at a time if the temperature was in the single digits. A few nights back, when we reached Overmountain, I'd stepped into the shelter to find her crouching against the wall, shivering, still dressed in the thin sweaty clothes she'd been hiking in. She looked up, not at me, but somewhere over my shoulder. "Oh ... I was supposed to get water, wasn't I?" Perhaps out of fear, or perhaps because I was in the first stage of hypothermia myself, I answered sharply. "Forget it. I'll do it. Just get in your sleeping bag, okay? And put your hat back on, while you're at it!" Alone at the spring, I wept. It terrified nie to see my sister so helpless. And myself-I'd always thought of myself as a gentle person. What would become of us, if we went on alone?

  If we got ahead of the Family, it seemed likely that we would be alone for the rest of our hike. Badger's month with us was almost over. Lash had called Harpers Ferry at Christmas, and found out that seven southbounders had come through since we'd been there-Dave, Cutter, and two couples and one other man we didn't know. By the time we left Kincora, though, separate rumors had reached us that each of these people had gotten off the Trail. We hadn't heard anything from Lash in a week and a half; it seemed that he, too, must have quit. Heald had told us that he was planning to skip the Smokies; dogs weren't allowed in the park. Also, he'd gotten caught there in a winter storm during his first A.T. hike and run out of food and dry clothing. In desperation, he had recorded a last message to his family on the video camera he was carrying, before an unexpected break in the weather had allowed hint to hike out. If he'd already hitched to the southern end of the Smokies, he would be two hundred miles ahead of us-not much chance that we'd catch up to him again. As for Black Forest, his brief, profane register messages indi- cited that he was over a month ahead of us, on target to catch his plane to Hawaii. Americans: I do not litre your ivinter. It is fuckin,q cold. Germany is much better.

  That night at Clyde Smith, I dreamed that we hiked to the top of a mountain and found Black Forest standing at an overlook, frozen solid, one arms raised and pointing to the south. In the bitter predawn, as we huddled in our sleeping bags eating granola, I told jackrabbit about my dream. She picked up the register, wrote a quick message, then handed it to me with a wink. January 23, 2001. The last of the sobos slept here, I read. Many are cold but feu' are frozen.

  "There are two things you won't like about this stretch," Badger told us. "Little Bald Knob, which is neither bald nor little. Straight up, turn ninety degrees, and hack down almost the same way. After that there's Unaka. It's even higher, and, like Little Bald, the summit's wooded. Other than that, it's a pretty easy twenty-the last four miles are almost level."

  He was right about Little Bald Knob: a steep uphill without switchbacks, made even more grueling by the deep snowdrifts that lingered on the north slopes of the mountain. The unpleasant little climb did nothing to dampen our spirits, though. Seven miles behind us, and the sun still in the east! I had forgotten how good it felt to use the full length of my stride. When the trail, which had been so straight on the uphill, wandered back and forth across the level ground at the summit, I joked that we were the famous archeologists Georgia and Carolina Jones, discovering the Lost Switchback Burial Ground.

  "Yeah, and for our next adventure, we should search for the Tomb of the Tennessee privies!" jackrabbit responded. Suddenly she burst into song:

  Laughing, breathless, and ridiculously out of tune, I joined her on the modified chorus: "Shovel snow, dump your load ..."

  By the time we reached Unaka, I felt a bit less enthusiastic about our plan to hike a twenty. Hiking fast used different muscles, and some of mine were really beginning to ache. Badger had gone on ahead of us. I didn't know when we'd see hint again; he'd mentioned that he might hike all the way to town if he reached the shelter early. While I thought I had a twenty in me, I knew I wouldn't make it twenty-four, especially if another, even larger version of Little Bald Knob stood in front of me. Jackrabbit and I were running low on water. I was kicking myself for not boiling more the night before. Badger had told us of a spring on the north side of Unaka, but we hadn't found it yet. I should have known better than to trust a spring in winter; we'd probably passed it already, buried under ice.

  The trail wound slowly upwards. among thickets of rhododendron with their leaves barely curled in the still, bright air. I started reciting "The Lady of Shallot" in my head to make the time pass:

  Sudd
enly, I realized that the song of running water wasn't only in my imagination. Around the next bend, the spring gushed out of a metal pipe and splashed across the trail, before disappearing under a thick sheet of ice. I filled my bottle, drank, filled it again, and drank another liter, feeling my knotted muscles become supple as the water seeped into them. We took all that we could carry, in our bodies and our packs: eight or ten pounds each.

  A mile later, we reached the summit of Unaka. Black-barked spruce trees grew close together, their trunks rising like pillars into the sun-flecked canopy. Their sharp, clean perfume filled the chilly air. Here and there, a golden birch splayed its limbs across the backdrop of spruce boughs like a dancer caught in mid-twirl. As we started down the southern slope of the mountain, we crossed a small meadow where clumps of fine yellow grass showed through the melting snow. Off to our right, in another open space, I thought I saw an ancient, gnarled apple tree, its bark stippled with woodpecker holes. I could almost smell salt in the wind that had begun to rise; this Southern mountain was so similar to the islands of Maine's coast. I turned to say something to jackrabbit, but found that I couldn't speak around the lump in my throat. She looked up at me, her own eyes bright with tears.

  "It's just like home, isn't it?" she said.

  Five minutes later, we were back in the drab southern winter: mile upon mile of leafless beech trees standing in the snow. Through the thin web of their branches, ahead of us and to either side, we could see ridges the same shade of gray. Even the sky had clouded over, quickly, as it often did in the mountains.

  We caught up with Anonymous Badger at the edge of Beauty Spot. He stood still as a wild animal, waiting between the trees. Only his long black hair, flickering in the wind, allowed nie to spot him at a distance. A few snowflakes swirled down from the darkening clouds, and we hurried across the bald, with the blue crest of the Roans towering over us like a wave about to break. For the rest of the afternoon, the three of us walked in silence, as fast as our aching legs would carry us, our heads bent to watch the trail. We crossed a burned forest, where blackened rhododendrons shook their dead, leather-colored leaves with a sound like chattering teeth, climbed a small ridge, and came down into a wide gap between the folds of the ridgeline. Four miles to go; the trail stretched smooth and even ahead of us, skimming the edge of a wide west-facing valley. Then the sun shone out below the clouds, flaming on redbrown fallen leaves where the snow had melted and shining in the lacy branches of a young hemlock. For a moment, the whole forest turned the color of autumn; I felt as if I could warm my hands in that light. I stopped to take a picture, and Badger vanished up the trail ahead of its.

  That night at the shelter, he found the husk of an enormous, burned-out candle, at least a pound of paraffin. He broke chunks of it into an empty tuna can, added strips of cardboard from a cracker box and white gas from his heel bottle, and touched his lighter to the edge of it. A toot and a half of flame leapt from the small container. It kept burning high and bright through the evening as he added more scraps of cardboard and candle wax. Late in the night, when I had curled up between him and jackrabbit, ready to sleep, he still sat staring into the flames. I wanted to catch his attention-he would be leaving us in a few days, and I loved him a little, hard as I had tried to keep my emotions at bay. I lifted my head from my folded fleece jacket and whispered his name. He didn't seem to hear me. The fire mesmerized him, and in its shifting light, he looked like a traveler from another age, a thousand years distant. Not foreign, but ancestral: a memory encrypted in the blood. Those evebrows, that began glossy and even as a single paintbrush stroke, then thinned to a delicate herringbone pattern at the outer edge, were the same eyebrows I had seen on the frozen faces of Inca mummies, gifts to the lightning god, in a .A'atiorr'rl Gro,'raphic article at Kincora. His golden skin, smooth as glazed pot- terv, and his half-shut eves, full of reflected sparks, brought to mind the colors of cave paintings in Southern France. I could place him everywhere, in history and in space, except here, beside me, within reach.

  I remembered when he had taken his shoes off, leaving Vandeventer Shelter. I'd followed his bare footprints in the snow, pretending I was tracking hint-but by the time I reached the next shelter, he and Lash had already hiked to town. When I least expected to find him, he'd be waiting at the edge of a bald, his hair streaming out like a banner, but wherever I looked for him, he eluded me, walking ahead, turning his eyes toward the fire. I thought that I might shout his name, if I had the strength to do so, and still he wouldn't hear me. I closed my eyes and fell asleep instantly. When I woke the next morning, he was gone.

  jackrabbit

  e came into the town of Erwin early in the day. A light snow fell, softening the edges of the mountains that framed the town. Traffic sped past on a four-lane highway across the river. In the distance, we could see the glowing signs of hotels and gas stations at an exit. Anonymous Badger wrinkled his nose in distaste as we came out of the woods onto the road.

  "I don't like this town much. Everything's made for cars, so spread out it takes you an hour to walk anywhere. The only good thing in Erwin is Miss Janet."

  "Oh, yeah. I think we net her at the Gathering"

  "She's a trail angel. The sweetest woman you could ever meet. I hurt my ankle just outside of town here in '99, and she invited ute home for five days while it healed. We've got to give her a call."

  We found a room at the Holiday Inn at the edge of town, near the highway. The sound of traffic canie through the window, even with the curtains drawn, an incessant rush and hula. I took a shower, then washed our dirty clothes and sleeping bag liners in the hotel laundry room.

  Miss Janet met us that evening at a pizza place a quarter mile from the hotel. I recognized her instantly when she came through the door, a rotund woman with reddish-tinted hair and a wide, friendly smile.

  "Isis! Jackrabbit! So good to see y'all! And is this Anonymous Badger?"

  Badger nodded. "Indeed"

  "Hi there. It's been way too long!" She settled into a seat across from us. "I want to hear all about y'all's adventures out there."

  We recounted our experiences in the last few months, from night-hiking into Harpers Ferry to crossing the Grayson Highlands. When we mentioned catching up with the Family, Miss Janet's eyes lit up.

  "Do y'all know where the Family is now? I've been dying to meet all of 'em."

  "They're a day behind us. They'll probably be in town tomorrow. We're planning to stick around and hike out with them;" Isis said.

  "No! They're coming here? Tomorrow?" She pursed her lips. "I'm leaving town for the weekend. There's a hiker gathering up in Pennsylvania that I go to every year. I just can't miss it. It's called the Muck"

  "Ruck?" Isis asked.

  Miss Janet smiled. "It's supposed to be an old English word. It means, 'a gathering of disreputable people"'

  "Sounds like my kind of place," I said.

  Miss Janet pursed her lips, thinking. "I've wanted to meet the Family for so long, but I just can't miss the Ruck .. "Then a mischievous gleam came to her eyes. "There's only one way around it. Y'all have got to come with me!"

  "Come with you to Pennsylvania?" I asked. "How?"

  While the Family took showers and washed their clothes the next day, I spent the morning at the hotel desk with Miss Janet, calling all the rental car companies in the county. Finally we found a van big enough for the twelve of us-Badger, Isis and I, the Family, Miss Janet, and her youngest daughter, Kaitlin. We left ]]lost of our gear at Miss Janet's house and strapped into the back of the monster vehicle. At about 3 A.M., after driving all night, we found ourselves in the parking lot of a familiar tall mansion-the Ironmasters Youth Hostel.

  All the bunks were full, so I slept under the piano. I awoke too early to the sound of footsteps on the hardwood floor just beside my head. Dawn light was threading through the windows. It took me a moment to realize where I was; I caught myself automatically scanning the area for rhododendron leaves to judge how much clothing I sho
uld wear, before I realized that I was indoors. Right in front of me, I saw a pair of well-worn hiking boots. A familiar face peered down at me from a great height.

  "Good morning, jackrabbit! I should have thought you guys would be here ... I )id you sleep well?"

  "Stitches! How are you Feeling groggy, I blinked the sleep from my eyes, scooted out from Under the piano, and sat up.

  "Good, good! Come and get some breakfast, and tell me about your hike." She ushered me into the kitchen, where a crowd was beginning to form around the tall silver Coffee urn. The counter in the center of the room was piled high with donuts, muffins, bread, fruit. "Jackrabbit, have you met all these folks? This is Mother Hen, and Wyoming Skateboarder, and heady .. . Wood Elf ... Sandpiper ..:'

  The crowd in the kitchen had the easy, relaxed feeling of a group of hikers at a shelter; it seemed like everyone there had known each other for years.

  "Jackrabbit, of the Barefoot Sisters?" Ready asked. She was a tiny blond woman with a cherubic face.

  "Yeah. We're not barefoot any more, though"

  "Are you still on the Trail?" This was Wyoming Skateboarder, a thin, graybearded nian with a droopy hat and coke-bottle glasses.

  "Yep.

  A sort of sigh went through the group, and people's faces assumed bittersweet expressions of nostalgia.

  "So where exactly are you guys on the Trail? And how did you get here?" Stitches asked, pouring coffee into a travel mug.

  "We're in Erwin ..."

  "Miss Janet," Stitches shook her head, smiling. "I should have known."

  "Mornin', y'all," cane a playful voice from the doorway.

  Stitches laughed. "Speak of the devil."

  "That's `angel,' if you please," Miss Janet said, her eyes sparkling.

  "I don't know how you do it, Miss Janet," I said. "It's seven o'clock in the morning, and you've got your hair and makeup perfect already."

  "I don't know how y'all do it," she said. "If I was out on the Trail this mornin', I'd have to fetch water and boil it up myself before I could have my coffee. Somebody pass me a mug, if you would ... Thank you! And I honestly don't know how I'd ever get along without my makeup"