Becoming Odyssa - Jennifer Pharr Davis [8]
Not wanting to look foolish without a form of water treatment, I stood back and waited for the young man to finish before I attempted to draw my water directly from the source. As he stood up to leave, I caught a glimpse of his face. Curly black locks escaped from the red bandana on his head. The lower half of his face was lined with a week’s worth of coarse stubble ending right below his full cheeks. He glanced up and met my stare with hazel eyes, then smiled.
“Hi, I’m Matthew.”
“I’m Jen.”
“First night on the trail?” he asked.
“Yeah, my friends and I are thru-hikers, but we’re hiking this section south, regrouping, then heading north.”
“Cool. In that case, maybe we’ll meet again farther up the trail.”
When Matthew left, I quickly gathered my water and then turned on my headlamp to hike back to the shelter. My brief exchange with Matthew flipped a switch within me. Matthew was the first person I had met on the Appalachian Trail, and that made the hike feel real. It was reassuring to meet a complete stranger and immediately feel connected by a common goal. Plus, I had called myself a thru-hiker—in the present tense. I liked the way that sounded.
Back at the shelter, I set up my stove and eagerly placed my pot of murky water and Velveeta Shells and Cheese on top of the burner. The outside temperature was well below freezing, and my dinner took longer than I expected to cook. As I stared at the still water, waiting for it to boil, my fingers grew painfully numb. After fifteen minutes, the water was steaming but still not bubbling, and I impatiently decided that the noodles had soaked long enough. With shaking hands, I picked up the pot, drained off the brown water, added the orange goo, and awkwardly stirred the sauce around the glob of noodles.
I filled my spork and brought it to my mouth. Crunching down on the first bite, the concoction tasted like Easy Cheese and eggshells. I could only stomach a few bites before my decreasing dexterity and sensitive gag reflex caused me to surrender. Still hungry and not knowing what to do with the leftovers, I shamefully returned to the water hole and slung them into a nearby bush. I submerged the pot in the puddle to try and remove the orange crust cemented inside the pot. I was sure that this was not the proper way to clean camp dishes, but I was too embarrassed and too cold to find another solution.
Ready for bed, I threw my food bag and dirty cooking equipment into my pack and placed it against the shelter wall, then I squeezed my foam pad and sleeping bag between Sarah and Matthew.
“Night, Jen,” said Sarah.
“Good night,” I answered. Then, looking at the empty sleeping bag beside her, I asked, “Where’s Doug?”
“He’s putting our food bag up on the bear cables. He should be back any minute.”
“Oh, all right. See you two in the morning.”
I had seen the metal bear cables hanging from a tree near the shelter, but I had no clue that I was supposed to use them to suspend my food.
I thought about my pack full of food and dirty dishes leaning up against the side of the shelter. It was completely accessible to shelter mice, or, even worse, bears. I really wanted to see a bear on the trail, but not my first night, and not because I had done something wrong!
I was frustrated with myself for not knowing how to cook, how to clean my pots, or where to hang my food. The simplest everyday tasks were complicated on the trail. Even drinking water, finding a place to change clothes, and spitting out my toothpaste had become obstacles. I felt unprepared for my first night and overwhelmed by the thought of spending months on the trail.
I tried to fall asleep, but I couldn’t stop shivering, and the wooden floorboards beneath me were too hard for me to find a comfortable position. I laid on my left side until my hip hurt, then on my back until it ached,