Sticks and Stones by Diane "Sticks" Harsha

Author:Diane "Sticks" Harsha
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 2021-07-07T01:30:56+00:00

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The year 2014 was exactly half over when next I hiked the AT. Melanie—outfitted with a new backpack, a decent sleeping bag, and properly fitted boots—eagerly accompanied me on an ambitious thirteen-day backpacking trip of some 125 miles from Harpers Ferry, West Virginia, to Duncannon, Pennsylvania.

We drove the eleven hours from Nashville to Duncannon, where we left our car. Our friend Bob—the retired agent living in Woodbridge, Virginia—graciously shuttled us from there to the trailhead in Harpers Ferry. Our goal, on this sweltering morning of July 6, was to reach the Crampton Gap Shelter, some eleven miles north, by nightfall.

We quickly left West Virginia behind as we crossed the Potomac River into Maryland on the Goodloe Byron footbridge (named for a Maryland congressman who was chief sponsor of what is widely known as the “Appalachian Trail Bill” to preserve and enhance the AT). I always think of West Virginia and Maryland, encompassing together only about sixty miles of the AT, as bashful young girls at a party who shyly watch from the sidelines as the more popular and brazen young women, the other twelve states through which the AT passes, chatter and dance.

Starting at scarcely two hundred feet above sea level, we fairly flew along for several miles on a towpath beside a canal once used to transport freight and livestock from the eastern US through the Appalachians to the Ohio River Valley. Melanie remarked that she could walk forever on trails like these.

Well, keep that happy thought, my child. Hard times will come again.

Sure enough, an abrupt, steep, one-thousand-foot climb to Weverton Cliffs awaited us as the Trail turned away from the towpath. Our pace slowed, and we stopped frequently to sip water and catch our breath. Stomach-churning drops to treetops below edge the narrow path, and I turned my eyes beyond to the Potomac River.

The Trail again levels out, and we hiked quietly and peacefully through lush green tunnels until we reached Crampton Gap. There, a rather odd-looking monument known as the War Correspondents Memorial Arch honors news correspondents and artists of the Civil War. It stands on the grounds of what was once an elegant estate. The stone foundation and other remnants of the estate’s original buildings are preserved as part of Gathland State Park. As always, we welcomed the break from the woods and the opportunity to take in a little human culture, no matter how obscure.

We continued north into the woods for scarcely a half mile and reached the blue-blazed trail leading down to the Crampton Gap Shelter. In our eagerness to reach our destination, we fairly tumbled down the steep path to the little clearing that teemed with humanity—a large Trail Family who were about halfway through their four- to six-month odyssey.

AT thru-hikers, as a body, are an amorphous, ever-shifting population. Each year, about two thousand dreamers will step on the Trail at either Springer Mountain, Georgia, or Mount Katahdin, Maine, to begin their 2,200-mile walk. Physical strength, superior knowledge, and technical skills do not necessarily decide who will complete this journey.

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