“It was the best of times, it
was the worst of times.” If anyone’s
still reading Dickens, and I suppose many adults are, one immediately
recognizes that opening line of A Tale of
Two Cities. It somewhat overdramatizes my
experience last weekend on a short portion of the Maryland section of the
Appalachian Trail.
 |
| Overlook at Pen Mar Park with AT sign (mileage posted on it isn't accurate). |
I’d planned a 4-day, 3-nite
trip covering a not-very-ambitious 17½
miles for a long weekend of Sept. 28 to Oct. 1, from Pen Mar County Park near
the Pennsylvania border down to U.S. Rte 40.
Two small mishaps—“the worst of times”—combined to alter my plan, and I
bailed out after 2 nites and 9 miles.
The 1st was a back so painful, for no particular reason, on Saturday
nite that I scarcely slept; the 2d was a painfully bruised 4th toe on my right
foot. If it had been just one of those
pains, I probably would have continued on Sunday morning; but with both of
them, I reasoned that discretion dictated an “early extraction.”
But most of my 2 days on the
trail, Sept. 28-29, were serious, hard hiking thru deep woods—mostly hardwoods
like oak, hickory, and maple with some beech, a lot of rhododendron, and some
scattered pine. There were a couple of
open fields on Saturday, and some very rocky sections. Naturally, there were lots of uphills and
downs; the former seemed more frequent.
Level sections were few and far between, and there were mud and water
everywhere, some of it easy to get over on rocks, some of it easy to edge
around without violating the rule of staying on the worn footpaths, and some of
it only to be mucked thru. In addition, there
were 2 rip-roaring streams to cross besides quite a few little creeks.
And “the best of times” was
the new friends that I made on the trail on Saturday.
Day 1, Friday,
September 28
My hike began at 11:05 a.m.
on Friday with the pleasant company of my brother-in-law David, who picked me
up in Silver Spring and drove me to Pen Mar, then hiked with me for about an
hour and a half before we stopped for lunch.
We found the trail blazes confusing at the 1st turn in the trail; I
expected turns to be indicated as they are in New York (all hail the New York-New Jersey Trail
Conference), but they weren’t.
So we missed that turn and then had to backtrack a hundred yards or
so. Then, as complained of by virginiatrailchristine,
“the trail
turned into a rocky mess. There were large boulders and the trail became very
hard to follow with limited blazes.” But
we found our way thru that (and David had some trouble getting thru it again
when he returned to his car).
 |
| Speaking of lunch, we found this along the trail--looks like what some owl didn't swallow as part of its lunch. |
After lunch (mine was a leftover
chicken salad sub washed down by water), David headed home, I continued solo
hiking but was passed by a couple (at least, I never saw them) on the approach
to High Rock, where I diverted from the trail briefly. I diverted longer at High Rock itself, enjoying
a fine view to the west and north; a good number of other folks, teens, young
adults, and older adults, were doing the same.
I counted 8 cars in the parking lot there.
 |
| Top pic: High Rock. Lower pic: west view therefrom. |
It was 3:00 p.m. by the time I finished
that touristy thing, and my legs were begging for me to stop. My shoulders were doing OK. As usual, I had a heavy pack, probably
weighing in at about 30 lbs., 2 liters of water included. The rest:
one-man tent, sleeping pad, sleeping bag, small hatchet, Mass kit,
slippers, flip-flops, one change of underwear and socks, and a spare lighter
pair of socks, rain gear (being really conservative in view of the sunny
forecast), food, first aid kit, rope, stove and fuel, mess kit and utensils,
and miscellaneous little things like duck tape, notepad, and soap.
Camp at Raven Rock
Shelter
About 4:30, and 4.8 miles from the car,
I reached the short trail to Raven Rock Shelter. The shelter was already occupied by a lone
hiker; I wanted to tent camp farther off the trail anyway. At least 2 tent sites were already occupied
by distance hikers, it seemed. So I took
what seemed to be the last site with a table, as well as a large fire pit. I pitched my tent—having a hard time with the
rocks just below the surface (that’s why I carry the hatchet)—prayed Daytime
Prayer, and prepared my supper: freeze-dried
lasagna and unfrozen green beans with Crystal Lite.
Left me still hungry because I used only half
the package of lasagna, which says optimistically that it serves about 2½
people. I could easily have eaten it
all. But I’d brought only 2 of these
meals for my 3 nites, and I was also mindful of a diabetic’s need for some
restraint. Then I hung my bear bag with
an over-long new rope, which I then extended as a clothesline to air out my
sweaty underwear and long-sleeved shirt—hoping there wouldn’t be a heavy dew
overnite.
 |
| My lodgings before I put up the rainfly. |
Meanwhile, more campers had come into
camp. There was a dad with 2 young girls
whom I invited to come over and use my table for their supper, but they
declined to do so. A troop of Boy Scouts
showed up, about 10 of them plus a bunch of adults. There were others whom I couldn’t make out
clearly from my camp. All in all, the
camp was pretty well populated by a mix of weekend hikers and distance hikers.
At dusk I hiked down (200 ft. down!) a
distance of .3 mile to the spring, which was pumping out plenty of water. I didn’t filter it on the spot, preferring to
hustle back uphill before it got dark. I
was juggling my Sawyer bag, a coffee pot with water, and my trekking pole, and
hoping I didn’t have to bring out my flashlight. (Of course I’d chosen not to bring the
headlamp.)
Then it was time for Evening Prayer and
time to try to start a fire. For the 1st
time in my camping experience, I failed to get a fire going. Even with paper and dry tinder (which I
carry), everything was too wet after all the recent rain.
Except for the Scouts, everyone else in
camp seemed to have retired by 8:00 p.m.
I did so around 9:00 and slept fairly well.
Day 2, Saturday,
September 29
I got up at 7:00; daylight was just
coming over the camp. Already most of
the distance hikers were gone, leaving the Scouts, the dad and his girls, and a
party of young women whom I took to be Girl Scouts as I passed by them on my
way to the privy.
My day began with Mass on the picnic
table; I was happy to celebrate the feast of my patron St. Michael and the
other archangels. Then bringing in the
laundry and bear bag, making breakfast (oatmeal, an orange, and coffee),
praying the Liturgy of the Hours, and packing up in no great rush. I was so slow that it was 10:00 a.m. before I
left camp—still ahead of the aforementioned fellow campers.
Following the hints in the Appalachian Trail Guide to Maryland and
Northern Virginia and the aforementioned virginiatrailchristine, I
sidetracked from the trail at Raven Rock to see what I could see, which wasn’t
a whole lot (westward). Too bad there
were no trails before Raven Rock leading up to the eastward escarpment; I did
meet one middle-aged couple along there, the male half of whom was picking his
way up the rocks to see whether there was a view, but I didn’t stop to find
out.
 |
Top: eastward escarpment on approach to Raven Rock.
Bottom: west view from Raven Rock.
|
While I was atop Raven Rock, I was
passed by the young women whom I’d seen in camp. When they stopped to take a group photo at
the cascade of water tumbling down from the rock, I caught up with them and
learned that they weren’t Girl Scouts but a school group from Alabama who were
hiking parts of the AT in all its 14 states.
Impressive! There were eight
girls and their adult leader.
 |
| The pretty little cascade tumbling down from Raven Rock. |
I trailed
along behind them, which was a good place to be because they were moving a
little faster than I was. I was amused
when one of the girls paused to try to wash the mud off her shoes at a
streamlet before we crossed Md 491—like that was going to be of any use! The trail was just as muddy on Saturday as on
Friday, notwithstanding all the downward drainage taking place—obviously
because a lot of the “downward” was coming from above the trail.
Little Antietam
Creek
Waiting for us on the other side of the
road was Little Antietam Creek, rushing and roaring along with loads of
whitewater. The trail turned left,
upstream. The girls went down to the
creek to get water. I went on ahead and
after several hundred feet came to the crossing, which consisted of a line of
large steppingstones completely submerged in the fast-moving water. The creek was maybe 30 ft. across.
 |
| Looking down the creek from the AT crossing. |
Remembering my bloody
experience in the Catskills, I had no desire to trust my footing to
underwater rocks. I removed my boots and
socks, zipped off the lower portions of my pants, donned my flip-flops (brought
along for just such a need), put my pack back on, slung my boots around my
neck, and edged into the water, which fortunately wasn’t very cold (the girls from
Alabama would think otherwise). I got a
few feet in, knee-deep, dealing mostly with rocks underfoot, and then
slipped. Thank God I caught myself with
my trekking pole in my right hand and my left going wrist-deep onto a rock, so
that I didn’t flop face-down into the drink with my pack on top of me. (After the bath it got, my $20 watch from
Walmart is still functioning fine 5 days later.) From there I was able to reach a sandier
bottom and make my way carefully ashore, where I unburdened my back, dried my
feet somewhat with the little towel from my pack, and put on socks and boots
(but not lower leggings).
About then the young ladies finally
showed up and looked with some dismay at the rushing creek and the
steppingstones. I suggested they removed
their footwear and wade upstream of the stones as I’d done; I forgot to tell
them to tie their shoes/boots together and drape them around their necks. So the teacher went 1st, using the stones,
 |
| Teacher Molly Stone makes her way carefully across Little Antietam Creek. |
and the girls started to follow, gingerly and crying out about the water being
cold. Most, if not all of them, were
using 2 trekking poles, and they were trying to carry their boots at the same
time, and of course balancing themselves and their packs. Then one of the girls dropped a boot about 2
feet downstream of the stones.
 |
Obviously, this wasn't a planned shot--
but there goes the boot as girl in white shirt reaches toward it with her trekking pole.
|
It held
in place for several seconds as she tried to reach for it with her pole—and then it started slowly to float away, caught the
current, and was gone.
Many cries of panic! But 2 of the girls on the north bank started
to run back down the trail to try to catch up with the runaway (floataway?)
boot. At that point I called to the rest
to tie their boots, etc., and apologized to the leader for having forgotten
that. She said she, too, should have
told them. Anyhow, the rest of the girls
crossed without incident, all using the stones.
Then we waited, and by the grace of God the 2 girls returned after
several more minutes, with the soggy boot.
 |
| Restoration Academy crew recuperating after the creek crossing. |
Meanwhile, my right foot didn’t feel
right. I removed the boot and sock and
found the 4th toe turning purple; it didn’t look like it was blistering. I thought it was chafing against the little
toe and put on a band-aid and booted up again.
Then I sat down to eat my 2 peanut butter and jam sandwiches and a
granola bar for lunch, with water.
When all the girls were across the
creek and reshod, they circled up for a prayer led by their teacher. “Aha!” I thought to myself, “their school’s a
Christian school, not a public one.” If
I hadn’t been in the middle of lunch, I’d have joined them.
Slogging Along Behind the Girls
They weren’t saying grace,
however. I heard one ask how far before
they’d take a break, and the teacher said about 2 miles, which one of them
clarified as 2.2 from what her phone told her.
And off they went. I picked up
and followed soon after. Every once in a
while, they’d stop for a few moments. I
knew they were only regrouping, but I was thinking to (kidding) myself, “How
nice of them to wait for the senior citizen to catch up!”
 |
| One of the easier sections of the trail. |
But as the trail ascended, leveled a
bit, climbed some more, I had to stop to catch my breath, and they put some
distance between us. I caught up a
couple of times, but they kept booking along.
Finally, with my shoulders in pain, I had to stop longer and remove my
pack. So they were gone. I hoped I’d catch them at the Ensign Cowell
Shelter.
I continued to splash thru water and
mud where I couldn’t easily sidestep them, or find rocks to step on—generally
trying to keep to the trail, as one’s supposed to do, and not erode its edges
or the forest itself.
4.1 miles after having left Raven Rock
Shelter, after having crossed 2 open fields (one with a lot of cattle in view,
fenced in),
2 roads, various streams (one well swollen but with a plank crossing barely above water, and so easily crossed),
 |
| The plank crossing over the Edgemont Reservoir feeder stream. |
and a stone wall,
 |
| Stone wall with a huge log behind it--fortunately, with good gaps opened in both. |
I came
to another field and had to plop myself down in the grass and take off my right
boot and sock. The toe had gotten pretty
painful. Altho there was no sign of a
blister, I put moleskin on and after my wicking sock and hiking sock an
additional lightweight sock for a bit more padding. It helped.
Just then a middle-aged woman came up, hiking alone. We greeted each other and then hiked along
together, gabbing about hiking experiences, including her hope of really
getting into some distance hiking. It
made the remaining .8 mile to the shelter go much faster. Her name was Amanda.
At Ensign Cowell
Shelter
Amanda kept going while I headed for
the shelter, where the 8 young ladies and their leader were finishing up their
lunch. It was 3:15 p.m. A couple of young guys were there, but they
were about to leave. The women were
getting ready to launch out for another 5-mile jaunt to the Pogo Memorial
Campsite, their day’s destination. But
they were there long enuf for me to get into conversation with “the
Mothership,” as her T-shirt labeled her.
When I observed they seemed to be a Christian school, she confirmed
that; they’re from the Restoration Academy, and her name is Molly Stone. I volunteered that I’m a priest, which
pleased her—we’re both on the Jesus team.
She spoke about the school and the AT program, and I spoke a bit about
DBCR. Maryland is the 4th state on their
list. Since they have yet to do New
York, I offered her info on the AT there via my blog and offered to share my
photos of this hike, both offers eagerly accepted. After I got home I followed thru, and “Miss
Molly” and I got a friendly dialog going.
Not only were the Restoration girls not
Girl Scouts, but in the shelter I overhead one of them remark, a tad
disparagingly, that Boy Scouts go camping and Girl Scouts sell cookies.
I told the girls how amazing they are
to be undertaking so masterfully this great AT adventure, and they need to be
very grateful to Mrs. Stone. Later, I
received a very gratifying note from her that said, among other things, “We thought of you and spoke of you often on
the trail with fondness. Our time with you was such a blessing indeed and we
are so thankful God put you in our path.”
When my new friends were ready to move
on, I offered them the Aaronic priestly blessing (“May the Lord bless you and
keep you….”), which they gratefully welcomed.
And off they went.
I settled into the shelter, then
puddled .1 mile down the trail to the spring, which was overflowing down into
the trail. This time I did filter 2
liters of water on the spot and also brought back the Sawyer bag full. I made a couple of entries in the shelter
log—one for the Restoration crew, one for myself—prayed Daytime Prayer, made my
supper (freeze-dried beef stew—again, half the package really wasn’t enuf—and
some almonds and Crystal Lite); later I had a granola bar. I prayed Evening Prayer after supper, then
used the shelter logbook ball point to jot a few notes in my own pad; my pen
had died after a few lines last nite.
There was a fine fire pit in front of the shelter, but once again
everything was too wet and my attempts at a fire were duds.
Various day hikers went by. Eventually some other hikers, either weekend
or thru hikers, showed up in pairs and went uphill from the trail to the
tenting area. A young dad and his son,
who looked to be about 11, arrived, and I invited them to join me in the
shelter, which they did. Their names
were Jeremy and Jael. Jeremy obviously
had a good bit of experience and very nicely taught Jael how to get supper
ready and other camping niceties. It was
Jael’s 1st overnite experience after a good many day hikes.
At dusk a young couple came into camp,
and we welcomed them into the shelter.
They took the “upper deck.” They
prepared their supper while I read a bit of my magazine (an issue of
Smithsonian) and did Nite Prayer. All 5
of us in the shelter were in our sleeping bags before 9:00 p.m.
I awoke after just a couple (?) of
hours of sleep with my back hurting. It
hurt to lie flat, and it hurt (a little less) to lie on either side. So I tossed, turned, and rolled all nite,
never really getting back to sleep. My
toe was fine if I didn’t move it, but if I flexed it, it hurt badly. That’s when I decided it would be prudent not to push on 5 miles on Sunday, and another 3.8 miles on Monday. If I didn’t leave the trail at Wolfsville
Road in the morning, I wouldn’t have another chance for 8.8 miles at U.S. 40.
Day 3, Sunday,
September 30
Sunday morning looked a little foggy as
dawn edged into our camp. Jeremy and
Jael got up at 7:00 a.m., as they’d planned last nite, intending to be on the
trail by 8:00 with 14 miles to cover, they said. Since I couldn’t sleep anyway, I got up
too. Our up-above neighbors didn’t stir,
and the 3 of us communicated only in whispers.
As they were departing, I told Jael what a lucky kid he was to have a
dad who takes him camping.
I texted Fr. Mike Conway asking for a
pick-up where the AT crosses Wolfsville Rd.
He replied that Bro. Bill Hanna would come for me, leaving Silver Spring
around 8:30.
I didn’t care to celebrate Mass while
they were packing up and using one end of the picnic table to do that and eat a
little cold breakfast. So I made my own
breakfast, same as yesterday (oatmeal, orange, coffee), adding a granola
bar. Then I took up the breviary.
The young couple finally roused
themselves and descended from their perch, did their ablutions, ate a little
breakfast, and packed up. As we talked,
we learned that we live only about a mile apart in Silver Spring along the U.S.
29 corridor. Small world! He was raised Catholic but is no longer
practicing, so I didn’t suggest they join me for Mass. I thought they’d hiked in from Wolfsville Rd.
and said they might take me home; they said that would be fine—but they were
parked 6 miles north. Obviously, I had
no intention of hiking 6 miles since I wasn’t going to do even the 5 on my
original plan for today.
Meanwhile, the folks tent-camping up
above filtered by on their way to the privy and to the bear-bag stanchion,
apparently intent on getting on their journeys.
I think I remember a couple of fresh day hikers coming by already.
So my shelter mates left around 9:00,
and I thought I had a nice half-hour window to celebrate Mass quietly. Wrong!
As I was starting the Creed, Fr. Mike called to tell me Bro. Bill was
already up somewhere on Wolfsville Rd. So
I moved thru the rest of the Mass as quickly as propriety would allow, topped
off my backpack, took a good look around to make sure I hadn’t left anything,
and got moving. My back didn’t hurt at
all, and I felt quite ready to hike; but I knew that feeling wouldn’t last if I
canceled my pick-up.
The trail guide said that Wolfsville
Rd. was .2 mile from the shelter. It didn’t
say that the parking lot was at least .1 mile off the trail!
 |
| Not much activity at the Wolfsville Rd. parking lot. |
Anyhow, I got there before 9:45, and there
was no sign of Bill. Then we started
phoning each other (with bad connections), and I texted him too, about where I
was and where he was. What we didn’t
realize is that Wolfsville Rd. has 2 sections, one between I-70 and Wolfsville,
and another a few miles farther north heading into Smithsburg. All of it is Md Rte 17. He was wandering around the southern section
looking for the street address I’d supplied, which is on the northern section. He hadn’t checked the directions in the trail
guide about going 11.6 miles north on Md 17 from I-70, and I hadn’t consulted
the AT trail map in advance to see how Wolfsville Rd. divided.
But eventually, after much back-and-forth
(in both communications and on the road), Bro. Bill found me, and we headed
home. It was another great day for
hiking, sunny and mild. Good for my young
friends moving on from Pogo Memorial toward Harpers Ferry!
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