Becoming Odyssa - Jennifer Pharr Davis [116]
On the long drive back to Pinkham Notch the next morning, we only made one stop: to buy a new mop stick.
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TRIBULATION
PINKHAM NOTCH, NH, TO MONSON, ME—199 MILES
Pinkham Notch, New Hampshire to Monson, Maine is the most difficult section of the Appalachian Trail. The rugged terrain and harsh climbs will leave southbounders feeling disheartened and northbounders feeling deflated. It is notorious for its bug-infested summers, river fords, slick bridges, and marshy terrain. The weather is erratic and threatening above the tree line, and there are fewer trail towns and resources than in the neighboring White Mountains. More than any other part of the trail, this section feels like untouched wilderness.
I don’t know where New Hampshire came up with the term “notch.” I had never heard it used geographically until I came to the White Mountains. In fact, I’m still not entirely sure what a notch really is. To me they seem like gaps or valleys: they’re found between mountains and they are very tough to hike out of. Maybe that’s the difference. Climbing out of a gap is tough, but climbing out of a notch is excruciating.
The next morning we set out on the trail to try and rise above Pinkham Notch and tame the rugged slopes of Wildcat Mountain. After a few minutes of climbing, we realized that our weekend festivities had left us soft and unprepared for the climb. Unsurprisingly, my body had liked the food and rest it received, and it was not happy about me strapping a heavy, cumbersome pack on my back and climbing up a huge mountain.
My digestive system rebelled against the strain, forcing me to run into the woods every half hour. But the strange thing was, it only felt like I had to use the bathroom, and nothing ever happened. Each time, I was convinced that if I didn’t make it into the woods within a matter of seconds, something really embarrassing would happen, but after spending several minutes behind leaf cover, I would once again emerge without any results.
I told myself it was probably nothing, but after being on the trail so long and having my body systematically break down, I was starting to become a hypochondriac. I wondered if maybe I had a parasite. Giardia is a common condition on the trail, caused by drinking unfiltered water. Diarrhea is the telltale sign of giardia, and everyone says that if you have it, you’ll know. And I wasn’t convinced, so I guess that meant I didn’t have it.
I put myself in the back of the line as we ascended Wildcat. Mooch was directly in front of me, bear-crawling up the mountain.
“Mooch, do you think I have a parasite?”
“Do you have diarrhea?”
“No.”
“Have you shart yourself?”
“Shart?”
“You know, where you think you fart, but more than air comes out?”
“That happens?”
“Oh, believe me, that happens. Think about it. Eating large quantities of food combined with constant physical exertion and a tight pack belt around your bowels. Trust me, it happens.”
“Huh. Well, I haven’t done that . . . yet.”
“Well, then I think you’re fine. We’ve hiked almost two thousand miles. You’re exhausted and tired, and your body is just breaking down. We’re all breaking down.”
What Mooch knew, which I hadn’t learned yet, was that Night-walker was having some embarrassing physical issues as well.
I noticed that Nightwalker seemed cranky and irritable that morning, and he was more eager than usual to hike ahead without company, but because of my condition I hadn’t thought much about it; I was just glad that he wasn