Dispatch from Troutville, VA -- September 21, 2004

Beloved Readership,

Sorry about that previous teaser of the same subject. Computers are stupid and unpredictable, somehow managing to think I wanted to send an empty text box to over a hundred people. That's the difference between thinking and computing.

I'm going to have to be brief here and just record whatever is fortunate enough to come to mind in the next half hour or less. I'm splitting a ride out of this unforgiving Interstate crossroads in about that time.

Troutville-Daleville marks about half way through VA and just over 2/3 of the whole trail. There was a shelter on the trail during my hike yesterday 725.1 miles from Springer Mtn, GA, my southern terminus. The baker's dozen of hikers who are in my general orbit these days all highfived each other and let out Rebel yells such as "Git R Dun," and "Yeeeeeaaahh c'mon!"

Virginia so far has been my favorite state since northern New England. I'm back in real mountains, but unlike the north country, the Trail down here is smoother, more even in grade; the climbs, though overall quite long and sustained, are switchbacked such that even 20+ mile days have become pleasure cruises.

I'm sure those of you who have televisions and who live in the parts of the world where your fellow human beings chatter obsessively about the weather noticed that in the course of the last three weeks or so my area was hit by two hurricanes. Frances and Ivan. Frances hit while I was in the Shenandoah National Park, bringing at least two full days of unrelenting, winddriven rain. A certain foursome of hikers I was with opted to get a cabin up in the park, but failing that, got a lifesaving ride from a friend of one of them down to the outskirts of Waynesboro. The following days of hiking were amazing. Blowdowns everywhere; limbs and whole trees. Further, Frances dumped so much rain that for the next few days the mountainsides were awash. Everywhere we went there was water just coming down the mountain, no streambeds about it, just cascading right through the forest. On the plus side, water was not an issue and has not been since then. All of VA's crystal clear, delicious springs have been flowing generously. The water is generally so good that I'm treating only one out of every ten liters I drink.

Ivan was the more recent disturbance, but he proved to be an immense disappointment. Locals had told us all to find somewhere established (i.e. not just a roof, but preferably something with four walls) to stay in for at least a day. The minds behind the weather channel were forecasting 10-20 inches of rain over this last weekend. We had an afternoon of heavy winds and rain, but total accumulation was only 2 inches or so. Fortunately, earlier hurricanes had also thinned out much of the weaker limbs so I didn't worry too terribly about the already astronomically minute chance of being killed by a blowdown. Laugh, but, as long as the odds are, it weighs on my mind when big oaks bend like yew.

Virginia has been refreshing on the wildlife note. Since southern PA, pileated woodpeckers have been as common as crows in the forests, and for those of you not in the ornothological know, pileateds are as big as crows.

Big, stupid deer everywhere. Trout streams here and there. Bears, of course. Migrating warblers and thrushes. The forests are oddly silent; all the songbirds are migrating, so silent.

I'm going to have to write an addendum to all this because I have to go right about now, and there is definitely a lot to report.


I shaved my head among other pleasures at a hostel run by an Amish fossil of a man named Rusty. At night we soaked in his woodburning hottub, played wiffle ball, and I have to go now for real.

Me, Bjorn the Windsock