Becoming Odyssa - Jennifer Pharr Davis [49]
When I had a good-sized herd around me, I heard someone behind me. Knowing that Moot was nearby, I assumed it was his shadow cast beside me, and I was surprised to look up and see a non-thru-hiker.
Or, at least, he looked like a non-hiker, but when he introduced himself as Red Wolf, I began to wonder.
“I was a thru-hiker last year,” he quickly explained.
“Really? You did the whole trail?” I asked in awe.
His voice lowered and he sheepishly replied, “No, I should have. But I reached Virginia and missed my girlfriend so much that I got off the trail, went home, and proposed. We were engaged for a month before I found out that she had been cheating on me with my best friend while I was on the trail.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I mumbled, not knowing what else to say.
He waved away my concern and continued, “I have two more semesters at Appalachian State University, and after that I’m going to start hiking the trail again—and next time, I’m not getting off.”
Red Wolf then explained that he was at Grayson Highlands today for two reasons. One was to record the sound of the ponies for a school project. That was why he was drawn to my drove. Apparently, he had been trying all morning to lure them with carrots to no avail. I gave him some Twizzlers, and he had better luck.
The second purpose of his outing was to provide trail magic to thruhikers. As Moot approached to see who I was talking to, Red Wolf told us he had stashed some food farther down the trail, and that he would be happy to hike with us and show us where he’d hidden the goodies.
When we arrived at Red Wolf’s hidden cooler, I was impressed with the wide range of treats that he had dragged out to the trail. From the blue Coleman, he began to pull canned vegetables, fresh fruit, and donuts. We dug in, stuffing our faces with the treats until he interrupted us.
“I almost forgot,” he said, extracting a half gallon of chocolate ice cream from the cooler. “I had it hidden at the bottom to keep it cold.”
It took me less than five minutes to polish off half of the container, and I would have kept going if Red Wolf hadn’t interjected.
“Hey, I could probably slackpack you guys tomorrow if you want.”
Slackpacking meant carrying a light backpack or daypack with just the supplies needed for the day, and having someone drive the rest of your gear to a road crossing farther down the trail. I had never done it, but the thought was enticing.
I knew from an earlier conversation that Moot was opposed to slackpacking, as some hikers are. Those opposed believe that having someone else carry their gear for a portion of the hike will discredit their thru-hike. I respected those folks and understood where they were coming from, but after hiking five hundred miles with my sadistic pack digging into my shoulders and making my fingers go numb, I had no qualms about handing over my gear.
“I would love to slackpack!” I said.
Moot quickly agreed: “Yeah, I’d be up for it, too.”
What? Mr. High Ideals had told me just this morning that he didn’t agree with slackpacking, and now, a few hours later, he jumped at the chance? I should have called him out on it, but I was so shocked that I couldn’t say anything before Red Wolf asked us how far we wanted to go.
I took out my Data Book, looked at it for a minute, and then, staring directly at Moot, I said, “Forty miles.”
I didn’t like it when people contradicted themselves, and during our conversation about slackpacking, Moot had also said that he didn’t like the idea of doing high-mileage days. I had no problem with high miles, but until two days ago, thirty miles had seemed above my limit. I don’t know if it was my desire to test Moot that made me say forty miles, but I didn’t really mean it.
“Oh my gosh, you guys can totally do forty miles!” Red Wolf shouted.
I looked at him, and he was grinning from ear to