¿por que?
It was a cold drizzly evening in October 2004. Having just staggered into Celito Lindos completely soaked, and surely not smelling that great, the Dos Equis never tasted so good, and the warm salty tortilla chips were heaven in a basket. Between my gorging and guzzling, when I actually looked up and registered the expressions on the strangers surrounding me at this crowded table, I realized I had some explaining to do.
I recognized only two faces. At least Scott knew what was up: I was just back from a five day adventure beyond compare. This was my last semester of undergrad at UNC, and true to a senior’s mindset, I had decided to skip a few days of classes to extend my fall break. Hoping to learn more about myself while getting in a good workout, I made my way to Brevard for a solo challenge.
This was to be a completely self-supported endeavor. October was a beautiful time to be playing outdoors. Brilliant fall colors made me feel like I was living inside a stained glass globe. Fond of acronyms, I christened this journey of self-discovery the SAGE: the Southern Appalachian Glow Expedition. The glow was all around me.
The few people who knew of my whereabouts had only a vague idea what my plans were. I had faith that I could complete a 360-mile circuit in 10 days. The route included sections of the Art Loeb, Mountains-to-Sea, Appalachian, Bartram and Foothills trails. Additionally it traversed many trails in Dupont State Forest. My first and only resupply was five days in at the Nantahala Outdoor Center.
I was exhausted at the end of the first day as I lay on the uneven ground underneath my poncho tarp atop an unknown knob waiting for the water to boil on my alcohol stove. My pack was stripped of all but what I thought at the time to be the most essential gear. Yet it still weighed in at twenty pounds with food. That weight, combined with rugged terrain meant that I was on my feet for 12+ hours each day. The days were getting shorter, so night hiking was going to be mandatory.
The next afternoon, I found some delicious apples growing in a gap along the Mountains-to-Sea Trail. This unexpected treat took the edge off a very difficult second day, which concluded unceremoniously with a bivouac underneath an overhang of the men’s public restroom atop Waterrock Knob. I remember having the premonition that this “vacation” might actually become an immense chore.
By the end of the third day, thanks to a long section of road running on the Blue Ridge Parkway, I was back on schedule to finish. But when I took my shoes off at the Mt. Collins Shelter, I noticed my feet were absolutely shredded with blisters. The next day’s vertiginous trek over the spine of the Smokies was not going to be fun.
I limped all of that fourth day and into the night with the goal of making it to Fontana Dam. I was completely spent when, in the darkness, I reached an exposed and unfamiliar summit. The lights of Tennessee flickered below me. At that moment, I felt so small and helpless. I was cold, tired and lost in the Smokies.
I decided to bed down for the night atop the mystery mountain. I woke up long before dawn completely soaked by clouds that had rolled in overnight. I figured out where I was: Gregory Bald, two miles off course. The death march started at 3 AM. I made my way back to the AT and limped southward towards Fontana. In my sleep-deprived delirium, I started to think I could actually make up the distance and get back on schedule.
Collapsing a short ways before Shuckstack, I fell into a fitful sleep as the sun began to rise. When I woke up, I was warmed and encouraged by daylight and started on the final descent out of the park. As I recall, I made it to Fontana by 8 AM. Again I thought if I could regroup and bust out 35 or more miles before dark, I’d be where I needed to be. No. I was injured, no chance. Gone was any hope of continuing this monstrous trek.
I now had to figure out exactly how I was going to get back to Brevard. By car, this distance was a few hours; by foot easily a few days. I didn’t have a car, and I was in no shape to cover the distance on foot. So I stuck out my thumb and started to limp down the road…
Relatively speaking, all the official ultras I’ve run, even the 100-milers, are over in a blink of an eye. And the runners in these races, even as exceptional athletes, are cushioned from the elements they traverse. I do fondly thank back to jovial aid station workers and the welcome smell of late night quesadillas. But these memories cannot compare with the relentless quiet of the night and the smell of wind through the spruce.
Supported organized races are like coloring books while self-supported adventure runs are blank canvases. As Spartathlon legend Yiannis Kouros has said: “Now we are given food and fluids- they even accompany us sometimes. Phidippidis had the same clothes down to Sparta and back again and had to drink from the springs where he found them… We therefore need to appreciate Phidippidis’ ‘exceeding’ which is greater than our own.”
The hitch back to Brevard was quite epic, taking several rides and all of that fifth day to complete. Although I covered less than half the distance of the ambitious SAGE loop, I definitely had the glow to show from this potent adventure. This 2004 fast pack attempt ranks as one of my most memorable adventures. And it’s in this spirit that I look forward to the next chapter…
I recognized only two faces. At least Scott knew what was up: I was just back from a five day adventure beyond compare. This was my last semester of undergrad at UNC, and true to a senior’s mindset, I had decided to skip a few days of classes to extend my fall break. Hoping to learn more about myself while getting in a good workout, I made my way to Brevard for a solo challenge.
This was to be a completely self-supported endeavor. October was a beautiful time to be playing outdoors. Brilliant fall colors made me feel like I was living inside a stained glass globe. Fond of acronyms, I christened this journey of self-discovery the SAGE: the Southern Appalachian Glow Expedition. The glow was all around me.
The few people who knew of my whereabouts had only a vague idea what my plans were. I had faith that I could complete a 360-mile circuit in 10 days. The route included sections of the Art Loeb, Mountains-to-Sea, Appalachian, Bartram and Foothills trails. Additionally it traversed many trails in Dupont State Forest. My first and only resupply was five days in at the Nantahala Outdoor Center.
I was exhausted at the end of the first day as I lay on the uneven ground underneath my poncho tarp atop an unknown knob waiting for the water to boil on my alcohol stove. My pack was stripped of all but what I thought at the time to be the most essential gear. Yet it still weighed in at twenty pounds with food. That weight, combined with rugged terrain meant that I was on my feet for 12+ hours each day. The days were getting shorter, so night hiking was going to be mandatory.
The next afternoon, I found some delicious apples growing in a gap along the Mountains-to-Sea Trail. This unexpected treat took the edge off a very difficult second day, which concluded unceremoniously with a bivouac underneath an overhang of the men’s public restroom atop Waterrock Knob. I remember having the premonition that this “vacation” might actually become an immense chore.
By the end of the third day, thanks to a long section of road running on the Blue Ridge Parkway, I was back on schedule to finish. But when I took my shoes off at the Mt. Collins Shelter, I noticed my feet were absolutely shredded with blisters. The next day’s vertiginous trek over the spine of the Smokies was not going to be fun.
I limped all of that fourth day and into the night with the goal of making it to Fontana Dam. I was completely spent when, in the darkness, I reached an exposed and unfamiliar summit. The lights of Tennessee flickered below me. At that moment, I felt so small and helpless. I was cold, tired and lost in the Smokies.
I decided to bed down for the night atop the mystery mountain. I woke up long before dawn completely soaked by clouds that had rolled in overnight. I figured out where I was: Gregory Bald, two miles off course. The death march started at 3 AM. I made my way back to the AT and limped southward towards Fontana. In my sleep-deprived delirium, I started to think I could actually make up the distance and get back on schedule.
Collapsing a short ways before Shuckstack, I fell into a fitful sleep as the sun began to rise. When I woke up, I was warmed and encouraged by daylight and started on the final descent out of the park. As I recall, I made it to Fontana by 8 AM. Again I thought if I could regroup and bust out 35 or more miles before dark, I’d be where I needed to be. No. I was injured, no chance. Gone was any hope of continuing this monstrous trek.
I now had to figure out exactly how I was going to get back to Brevard. By car, this distance was a few hours; by foot easily a few days. I didn’t have a car, and I was in no shape to cover the distance on foot. So I stuck out my thumb and started to limp down the road…
Relatively speaking, all the official ultras I’ve run, even the 100-milers, are over in a blink of an eye. And the runners in these races, even as exceptional athletes, are cushioned from the elements they traverse. I do fondly thank back to jovial aid station workers and the welcome smell of late night quesadillas. But these memories cannot compare with the relentless quiet of the night and the smell of wind through the spruce.
Supported organized races are like coloring books while self-supported adventure runs are blank canvases. As Spartathlon legend Yiannis Kouros has said: “Now we are given food and fluids- they even accompany us sometimes. Phidippidis had the same clothes down to Sparta and back again and had to drink from the springs where he found them… We therefore need to appreciate Phidippidis’ ‘exceeding’ which is greater than our own.”
The hitch back to Brevard was quite epic, taking several rides and all of that fifth day to complete. Although I covered less than half the distance of the ambitious SAGE loop, I definitely had the glow to show from this potent adventure. This 2004 fast pack attempt ranks as one of my most memorable adventures. And it’s in this spirit that I look forward to the next chapter…
posted by mkirk at 8:24 PM
1 Comments:
Matt,
I enjoyed reading your post. In my little experience with long trail efforts, I have a small sense of what you speak of. Doing an epic adventure unsupported has to be a whole new world. There is much truth in Kouros' quote. A different kind of magic is definitely found on the trails outside of the "racing" experience.
-- Adam
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