Davidson Woods

March 1, 2013 - Lee County FL
Anne and Chuck submitted on January 17, 1970
The maples are in bloom and the cypress trees are leafing out. Swallow-tailed kites are appearing in the sky. Spring must be here. Current weather is splendid here even as winter makes a last blast across the Northeast.

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BLOG TITLEBLOG CONTENTThe maples are in bloom and the cypress trees are leafing out.  Swallow-tailed kites are appearing in the sky.  Spring must be here.  Current weather is splendid here even as winter makes a last blast across the Northeast.  I dropped off daughter Elley at the airport this afternoon.  She bought a stag-horn fern at a farm and wrapped it up in preparation for freezing temperatures in NYC.  We enjoyed her company this week.  I gave her a first tour of the Everglades region and took her for a canoe ride down the Estero River into Estero Bay to Mound Key.  Today all of us took a ride to Sanibel Island, taking the wildlife drive and stopping along the causeway between Sanibel and the mainland.  Even Mom and Dad got out to sit at a table there, watch dolphins surfacing and listening to a chorus of fish crows. Mom is doing very well and making her way about using the walker.  Anne took Mom and Dad to the farmers’ market yesterday while Elley and I were paddling.  We are making pool visits a few times each week.  With no company next week we hope to maintain a gentle pattern and catch up on chores.  Dad reminds us to be cheerful and enjoy desserts.  Mom provides encouragement in all we do.  The weather is near perfect with lows of 55 and highs of 75 and the sky a pale blue dome.  We have much to be thankful for during our last two weeks here.  Anne and I will depart with a changing of the guard to see if spring’s fingers have begun to reach Pennsylvania.  I hope so!
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February 5, 2014 - Fort Myers FL
Anne and Chuck submitted on January 17, 1970
This morning is cloudy, breezy, warm, and very humid in south Florida. Yesterday, Fort Myers had the highest temperature in the 48 states. How that contrasts to home where it has been another frigid week with snow and ice. Anne and I made our jog this morning, but almost didn’t. Dad and Mom were awake and up.

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BLOG TITLEBLOG CONTENTThis morning is cloudy, breezy, warm, and very humid in south Florida.  Yesterday, Fort Myers had the highest temperature in the 48 states.  How that contrasts to home where it has been another frigid week with snow and ice.  Anne and I made our jog this morning, but almost didn’t.  Dad and Mom were awake and up. Mom came home yesterday more or less against medical advice.  She would tolerate the nursing home no longer.  Anne and Mary Helen assisted her into our low car and brought her home.  I stayed here with Dad and our new aide, Rose, a sweet Italian American woman.  The aide who came the last two weeks left, her resignation a bit of a mystery. I went downstairs to meet the ladies upon their arrival in two cars and with baggage from their two-week stay at hospital and nursing home.  I brought Mom up in the wheel chair and took her directly to the back porch where she sat with Dad and said a rosary.  We adjusted the furniture to provide better passage even though we want Mom to be using the walker as much as possible.  Her recovery is coming along, but she still has pain and fear of falling that make it hard for her to navigate.  She becomes short of breath when walking which adds to the challenge.  A physical therapist will come today to make an assessment and prepare a plan for ongoing visits in the coming weeks. The afternoon and evening went well, but Mom went to bed a bit early last night.  Both Dad and Mom tend to drift into taking short random naps between periods of activity and so have less desire to maintain a defined bedtime or sleep many hours at night.    We caretakers who do tire in the evening and want a long sleep at night find this somewhat stressful.   Hopefully, some routine will become established over time. Mom’s return yesterday was exciting.  Today is celebration of the 70th anniversary making more excitement.  We began the celebration with a Sunday style breakfast. Several guests will stop in this afternoon.  Calls were made letting them know that Mom is home.  Originally the party was to be at the nursing home, but Mom’s early departure changed that.  We will pick up the cake at Noon.  Cake and soft drinks will be served.  Various flowers decorate the apartment for this event.  Therese’s ginger cookies are a hit, especially with Dad.  There is fresh sourdough whole wheat bread with sunflower seeds and wheat germ.  The chef thinks it came out a bit heavy and cake-like with the additions, but it sure tastes good.  The sugar was honey, and that always adds to a bread’s popularity.  Supper will be pork and slaw as requested by Dad.  We endeavor to make the most of this great day but also take breaks so as to avoid too much activity.  Tomorrow will be more relaxed with time to truly settle in to being at home together.  And, it will be another mild day in southwest Florida.  We count our blessings.
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January 30, 2014 - Lee County
Anne and Chuck submitted on January 17, 1970
It is a dark and stormy day in Fort Myers. At 58 degrees the snowbirds are shivering outside. Very few are venturing forth. It is 71 degrees inside the apartment, brr. I spent much of this rainy day preparing a long overdue annual plan. Anne and i will likely make an RV cruise along the coast from Jersey to Carolina this spring to see this season’s bird migration along the Atlantic coast and seek out rails.

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BLOG TITLEBLOG CONTENTIt is a dark and stormy day in Fort Myers.  At 58 degrees the snowbirds are shivering outside.  Very few are venturing forth.  It is 71 degrees inside the apartment, brr.  I spent much of this rainy day preparing a long overdue annual plan.  Anne and i will likely make an RV cruise along the coast from Jersey to Carolina this spring to see this season’s bird migration along the Atlantic coast and seek out rails. Our time here is in disorder as a result of Mom Woods unfortunate fall and broken hip.  She seems to be recuperating well from this serious injury as a result of prompt surgery and her inherent strength.  Daughter Mary Helen has spent every night since her injury with her first at the hospital and now at the nursing home.  Mom Woods is already plotting an escape from there.  She coplains the occupational therapists are working her too hard.  That could be good if it improves her mobility so as to get up and down and walk from bed to wheel chair and toilet.  She now walks hesitantly and must do better when she comes home.  We’re hoping that she will be ready by the end of next week. We will celebrate Mom and Dad’s 70th Anniversary at the nursing home.  Plans are being made.  Friends of Dad brought and shared supper with us last evening.  We will enjoy “superbowl Sunday” with the Davidsons.  Anne mostly drives Dad back and forth for visits with Mom.  I have been doing much of the cooking.  We haven’t been able to get out too much, but Dad took all of us, except Mom of course, to Pinchers Oyster Shack for dinner on Tuesday night.  We’re trying to keep life fun despite the difficulties.  Anne and I are jogging most days.  I am recovering from my mother’s passing and beginning work on probate, another chore.  We’re catching up on other chores that were deferred during our crazy holiday season, the week of travel here, a week of canoe camping, and last week when Mom fell.  We have paid our bills.  I put off thinking about health insurance for a few months.  When the dust settles perhaps insurance will again be available to me.  I’m sure it will cost more.  I’ll be 65 next year and may wait for Medicare eligibility.  Ugh. We’re happy to be missing the bitter cold at home.  As warm as it is here (even if it seems chilly) it is hard to imagine that it really is freezing at home.  Latitude and surrounding seas provide warmth in south Florida even when snow and ice reach the panhandle and northern areas of this state.  Even when frost fingers into the peninsula the cold does not stay long.  Tomorrow’s high here should be 77 degrees F. The mild climate is soothing.  We do enjoy the weather even if we don’t enjoy the heavy chemical exposure here.  They spray the halls, the lawn, the trees, the bushes, and even the pond.  Little signs are posted but we ignore them on our runs.  We survive.    Florida is always in bloom.  Hibiscus and bougainvillea seem always to be in bloom.  Other flowers appear from time to time  The pelicans, gulls, ducks, ospreys, and wading birds come and go all day.  Great show.
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January 17, 2013 - A Rumble in the Jungle
Anne and Chuck submitted on January 17, 1970
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BLOG TITLEBLOG CONTENTWe, Anne and I, are at Heritage Cove this evening for our winter stay in southwest Florida.  We arrived last Friday after hectic weeks at home preparing for the trip, celebrating the holidays, and enduring the passing of my mother.  We had planned to make a canoe trip into the Ten Thousand Islands region of Everglades National Park before settling in with Mom and Dad Woods.  That trip was inspired in part by my reading of Peter Matthiessen’s novel, Shadow Country, last winter at Fort Myers.  That book spoke of this region of the Everglades that I had never really explored.  Oh, I had spent time along Tamiami Trail and Loop Road, boated a bit out of Collier Seminole State Park, and taken a few boat rides from Everglades City, but I never spent a night in this part of south Florida.  I also have long wanted to paddle the Wilderness Waterway that runs between Flamingo and Everglades City.  I thought the waterway would be a good seven day adventure through the mangrove region of the Everglades where exists a grand mangrove forest variously divided by narrow and wide channels, lakes, and bays.  This is a forest in the mud.  At high tide the forest floor is flooded.  The only “high” ground is at small bands of dunes behind sea beaches and on “shell mounds”  where the Calusa Indians added a few feet of shell fill onto the swamp ground.  This part of the Everglades is a “land” that can be explored only by water.  Originally, I had intended to run the length of the waterway, but time would not allow that this year.  The planned paddle was at one point cancelled.  My mother’s death left us exhausted but it also left us with one less set of responsibilities.  In the end, a six day window opened up between our arrival in Florida and our providing support to Mom and Dad Woods.  So, we decided to make a loop paddle south and east of Chokoloskee.  This old town is situate on one of the largest of the shell mounds.    A fishing and trading community resettled the Indian town on Chokoloskee Island. The campsites in this part of the national park are of three types.  Some our tiny campgrounds upon shell mounds.  Many of these mounds had become homesteads before the creation of the park and bear the names of the former inhabitants.  Campsites are also established among the low dunes along beaches on Florida Bay and the Gulf of Mexico.  A final peculiar type of campsite is provided at locations where there is no high ground.  These so-called “chickees” consisting of one or two roofed platforms with a small dock and porta potty.  They are named for dwelling chickees of the Seminole in the Everglades swampland.  The camping chickees are typically located within a lake or bay.  Our itinerary had us running first southwest through an interior set of brackish bays or lakes, then taking the Broad River to Florida Bay, and finally returning through the Bay and Gulf through some of “the ten thousand islands” back to Chok.  The weather forecast looked good for this.  A cold front would pass while by on Wednesday when we were still in the interior, blow itself out, and then we would skirt the coast safely home.  At least that was the plan. We arrived at Everglades City on Sunday at eight a.m. to pick up our permit at the ranger station.  Fifth in line, we were able to reserve all our desired sites but one, a chickee that was closed for renovation.    Then we continued on to Chokoloskee and procured our vessel at the marina there.  We loaded the boat, set a heading, and started into the maize of mangrove.  Our start was auspicious with good weather.  My only complaint was that the wind was against us.  Later on this trip I would state that the best way to navigate these waters was to determine the direction of the wind and paddle directly into it.  That would mostly have worked on this voyage.  Occasional numbered posts guided us along our way.  The course passed through various bays or lakes, creeks, and narrow channels all lined with a wall of mangrove forest.   The winter here has so far been mild so we expected a few insects.  They met us at Lopez’s Place where we lunched.  We paddled on into the “bloody” Ed Watson place campsite on the first day. At the Watson place the insects, mosquitoes and no-see-ums (Ceratopogonids) drove us to bed when the sun set.  We shared this small clearing with a younger couple from Wisconsin. We found no sign of ghosts at the Watson place.  Rumor has it there were killings there.  Watson’s neighbors didn’t trust him and one day when he went to Chokoloskee a greeting party shot him to pieces.  The motivation was “self defense.”  No charges were filed. On day two we worked our way to the Plate Creek Chickee.  This is a single platform unit and we had it to ourselves.  At least we did until the sun went down and a few thousand mosquitoes emerged from a nearby island and swarmed aboard.  We retreated to the tent and read on a book tablet.  Our trip was going well.  We had really gotten lost only once then shooting into the wrong bite of a bay and not finding the outlet creek.  I studied the chart and found my error.  It is hard to hold a compass heading exactly when paddling a canoe.  One estimates the heading roughly with the compass and map on the floor in front of you and then picks out a landmark ahead along the relatively featureless forest that appears a mile away across a lake littered with islands.  Then you paddle to that location and with luck you outlet is there.  Along the way you will pass various islands, “keys,” and bights along the shore.  A slight error will take you to the wrong side of a key or a point and you will miss your objective.  One can seldom travel in a straight line.  At worst you take a wrong creek or channel that takes you completely off course. On day three we worked our way through stiff wind to the Rogers River Chickee.  The wind had been strong since the start and always against us.  I told Anne that we could navigate by simply pointing the bow into the wind.  The days had been warm and upon arriving at Rogers River Bay we were sweaty and unchanged after three days of heavy paddling.  We struggled at the end of the day to get in early enough to shower.   Arriving to find a young man, Alex, already at the other platform at this two tent chickee, we greeted him, set up out tent, changed into our bathing suits, and gathered a bottle of bay water.  We poured it over each other and scrubbed with “soap towels.”  The water was mild but still a bit shocking.  The bay was only mildly brackish but we rinsed lightly with a bit of the precious cargoed fresh water.  This water was precious for drinking and cooking, but how much better we felt after putting on clean clothes.  We chatted with Alex but retreated again at sunset to avoid having to Deet up our clean bodies. Our plan had been to continue a bit farther and paddle out on the Broad River, but Alex told us that he had heard that the smaller Rogers River was passable and would shorten our trip.  We had assumed at the start that about a three mile per hour speed was practical, but that proved difficult when tides, wind, and waves attacked us.  Alex also had an updated weather report that indicated weather coming the next day.  The front was now a day late.  It could cause us fits along the coast.  I wanted to get to the beach before any passage that would stir up the Gulf of Mexico.  The Rogers River was lovely and we took it on an outgoing tide.  An embarrassing note.   Rogers River is east of the Lostman’s River and my chart ended at the Lostman’s River.  The marina said they had the next chart when I called but not when I arrived.  I should have gone back to Everglades City for another chart but did not want to delay the departure.  So all we had east of Lostman’s River was a map, and a map is not a chart.  Our friend Alex had a chart and I studied the Rogers River on that chart.  I did fine until the river broke up into islands that I did not see on the chart except at the Gulf.  But, I didn’t think we were at the Gulf because I didn’t realize how quickly we slid down the river with its tidal current.  We poked about a bit for a channel I thought should go east when I looked between a couple of keys and saw the Gulf azure and blazing in sunshine outside the maize of mangroves. Our float down the Rogers River was lovely.  The overhanging forest largely sheltered the stream from the constant breeze giving us a lovely quiet time to observe the forest and its creatures.  We encountered white-crowned pigeons there.  This south Florida “specialty” is difficult to find in the winter.  Dolphins breeched in deeper sections of channel.  Our buddy, Alex, spotted manatee too, but we missed them.  How does one miss a thousand pound animal in a small stream? you may ask.  Simple, they are dark, the water is tinted brown, and deposits of leaves and bark in holes are black.  The slow moving manatee disappears there. Entering the Gulf was exciting.  We scanned the inlet and lateral channel that avoided the major contact of the river and the sea.  The delta was similar to others in this region.  The tidal flow makes a delta that is in places mangrove covered.  Waves and tides draw water through the channels and over the bars.  Often waves form or are heightened at the meeting of waters.  In a canoe one prefers to avoid waves, so seeing a side channel I took it and we floated into the open, rounded a bar, and began paddling northwest toward a southwesterly facing point.  The wind was from the north.  Farther out the sea was choppy, but not too rough.  I was glad for that.  We rounded the point and began working along the cape.  About that time our friend Alex emerged from the river.  He expressed an interest in staying close because he was heading south.  We decided to stay with him that evening and beached about a hundred meters from his stop.  Our landing went well until Anne lost her balance upon landing and took a brief dip into the Gulf.  Soon we were ashore and had our tent up.  Anne changed. We walked a mile or so up the beach that afternoon.  It was lovely and saturated with shore birds at high tide.  They were common, sanderling, black-bellied plover, semipalmated plover, piping plover, dunlin, western sandpiper, least sandpiper, and willet, but the thousands of birds provided fine viewing.  They nervously herded forward with us and occasionally flew out and behind us as we progressed along the narrow natural beach.  We passed jack crevalle, goliath grouper (jewfish), and dolphin feeding along the shore.  We had camped on a meadow on low dunes but found a couple of cabbage palm groves providing lovely protected campsites further north.  Next time we will choose one of them for our tent. Back at camp Alex was starting a fire.  I helped and we chatted until supper.  A rudder cable on his kayak had snapped and he made a repair with monofiliment.  I doubted it would hold.  He would have to steer by paddle if it didn’t.  His was a bold solitary voyage.  He had already concluded he would not do it alone again.  Good news for him was the north breeze that would push him towards Flamingo. We, meanwhile faced a north wind.  Another problem was the tide.  The tide ebbed in late afternoon.  The ranger issuing the permit had mentioned that this location had “skinny water.”  Upon our arrival I was glad to find a steeply sloping beach and some two feet of depth.  We thought the tide was mostly down, but the tide charts are not very accurate in those parts.  As the afternoon progressed we discovered that the steeply sloping beach went down two feet to a horizontal mud flat that appeared to extend no farther than Mexico.  We knew we would have to deal with that in the morning when we wanted an early start to make progress before any wind came up.  The insects were not so bad on the beach in the breeze, but still we went to bed early.  One can do only so much in an undeveloped campsite in the dark.  We read from our tablet until sleepy. We awoke at 5:30 in the dark.  The full moon had set.  We dressed and rolled up our bedding before emerging and took an abbreviated breakfast as dawn broke.  Fifty meters of mud flat extended beyond the short sloping beach.  We made our farewells to Alex and suggested he photograph a couple of idiots dragging a canoe across a mudflat.  He may have done that.  At our launch the flat extended about one hundred meters.  Then the canoe floated, but we had to pull it that much farther before we could sit in it.  We tried to steer north and along the shore, but bars kept pushing us farther west.  After a time we beached again.  I dragged the canoe about a half mile before we could resume paddling.  The same thing happened again.  By ten o’clock water was returning, but the wind was rising and coming from the north, our heading.  We were perhaps a mile off shore.  The paddling became more and more difficult.  We cleared the Highland Beach Cape and began crossing the broad delta of the Lostman’s River.  I watched as we paddled in the face of increasing wind and seas.  Finally at eleven o’clock, I spoke to Anne saying that we appeared to be making no progress.  I suggested a retreat.  She agreed. For a full hour we sloshed about parallel to the high seas.  I variously paddled forward and adjusted our balance and heading to avoid being swamped.  Our rental canoe was a 17 foot Grumman freighter.  It was a hog, but it served well under these conditions.  Reaching the beach we found an opening among scattered mangrove, pushed ashore, and hauled the boat up and out of the surf.  I extracted the folding chairs and we enjoyed a relaxed lunch. We did not stay long.  Lostman’s River went northeast, out of our way.  We had a promised return of Friday afternoon to assume responsibilities at Heritage Cove.  I knew we would have difficulty retracing three days of paddling in two days.  Our departure was clean and we almost immediately turned into the mouth of Lostman’s River.  It was calm.  We cheered.  I had seen a group of kayaks at the mouth of the inlet and wondered at their direction.  We didn’t see them during our stop and assumed they had not gone into the Gulf.  Lostman’s River is a tidal channel crossing a series of lakes or bays.  I suspected wind would be a nuisance in these widenings and was correct.  On entering First Bay we again faced that awful north wind and more white caps.  Entering from the south we had to cross to the north and exit to the northeast.  The shortest course would be to the northeast, but the wind and seas would have none of that.  We faced the wind and paddled furiously again.  In the distance along the north shore the kayakers were working east.  We might catch them and learn their course. I was rather certain we were in Lostman’s River.  We were now on the chart again, but remember I did not have a chart past Lostman’s River.  Worst case was we were in a river farther east and most of these streams went east.  That would be bad. Lostman’s River is not on the Wilderness Waterway and has no channel markers of any sort.  That makes navigation difficult even with a chart.  I thought someone in the group ahead might know these waters and save us time.  Stopping at inlets and outlets to study the chart and compass and set and keep a heading take time.  We were short of time. The scenery and day, by the way, were lovely.  The dramatic clouds had vanished with the morning.  The sky was now that milky blue that characterizes high pressure in south Florida.  One could sense but see only in the shaking mangrove branches the tons and tons of northern air that was rolling south around and upon us.  This wind would settle and shift from north to northwest within 24 or 48 hours, but we would have to travel north and northwest over that same period to reach Chok.  Ugh! At least in the bay the seas and wind decline as you cross.  At halfway I no longer feared for swamping, but only as the trees climbed overhead did the wind subside enough that I could change the heading.  The kayakers were taking full advantage of the wind break paddling almost through the swamp.  My slightly more aggressive course allowed us to catch them sooner than later.  As I guessed, it was a guided group.  She confirmed that we were indeed within the Lostman’s River.  They planned to camp at Lostman’s Five Bay and hoped to reach it by 3:30 p.m.  There would be open space there.  We could stay.  That was good news and we considered it.  We paddled with the group off and on the rest of the afternoon.  Our boat was slower than theirs.  Kayaks are better in the wind than canoes, really better boats except that one gets wet in a kayak and can carry only minimal provisions.  Those folks had no folding chairs.  They were from North Carolina and would have made good company that evening.  They were touring slowly.  We paddled firmly at times ahead of the group but in the end with them upon reaching the Lostman’s Five campsite.  We took a break there, rested, used the privy, studied the chart, and chatted with the guide.  She was reluctant to suggest we go on.  It was 3:30 p.m. There was a single campsite chickee a mile ahead.  This was the Plate Creek Chickee where we had spent our second night out.  If occupied we would be severely crowding the legal occupant.  Going there would scarcely get us closer to home.  The next site after that was Darwin’s Place where we lunched on our second day out.  I knew we could make to port from there in one day, but Darwin’s place was 6.5 miles from Lostman’s Five.  The guide suggested the paddle to Darwin’s Place was about two hours but could be three hours in this wind. Going on made sense, but there were a few problems.  First was the wind which continued.  Crossing each bay had been a challenge.  We had, as you can guess from the names First Bay and Lostman’s Five Bay, been crossing them all along on this day.  We would start on by crossing from south to north on Lostman’s Five Bay.  A smaller lake, the waves were not as bad, but they still had to be watched.  Careless paddlers end up with swamped boats.  The wind would definitely slow us down, and we were tired.  I asked Anne her condition and she said she could go on if she had to.  That was not a good answer.  Most important was the sunset.  It was to be at 5:58 p.m.  Day length is longer farther south in the winter, but it is still short in January and the sun drops like a rock below the horizon in this season.  That means it is dark by 6:30.  The moon was a day past full and so would rise early, but navigating island strewn bays is difficult enough in the daylight.  I didn’t know if we could do it under moonlight.  I was tired but refreshed from the break.  It seemed too early to quit.  We really needed to reach Fort Myers the next day. So we pushed forth crossing Lostman’s Five Bay, Plate Creek Bay, Dad’s Bay, and the largest, Alligator Bay.  The wind was against us on each of them, but we had become hardened to its fury and more skillfully plowed forward.  After Alligator Bay we ran some distance along a channel known as Alligator Creek.  Bathed in the yellow glow of sunset the mangroves and amber waters were beaming and lovely.  Each of us enjoyed the vistas along its winding course.  We also enjoyed the break from the wind there.  The wind was now ebbing for evening, but was still a nuisance at every bay.  Alligator Creek opened into Tarpon Bay and while crossing this water the sun slipped behind the mangrove forest and set.  I fretted at this and also that the chart did not show the location of Darwin’s Place.  We had stopped there for a lunch and I remembered it as a small cut out in the mangrove jungle.  It was small and would be easy to overlook in the dark.  I hoped someone would be camped there and burning a light.  I knew we had to traverse a small section of creek and turn into Cannon Bay after leaving Tarpon Bay.  The chart showed Cannon Bay as full of keys.  Our course would be to the northwest between various islands to find another creek that would take us past Darwin’s Place.  I wondered if I could find the route in the darkness. The light was fading fast.  I could no longer make out bights, spits, keys, or channels.  All around was a faint darkness of mangrove forest below a brighter sky.  A star, probably Jupiter, was visible.  Glancing back I saw the moon rising.  This gave relief, but not much.  I turned the canoe so we could see it rise, bright yellow and almost full.  I turned us back on course and Anne made an important announcement.  She saw a reflection and believed it was the next channel marker.  We had not noticed reflectors on these poles before.  That was great news if she was right, and she was.  We passed marker 81 and entered a creek.  Soon we spotted a shining on marker 83 at the entrance to Cannon Bay, our last open water crossing.  This was good, but it was now dark and I could make out no features.  I had placed the compass on the floor in front of me between the centerline and a rib.  I put my headlamp against the compass.  I had turned the compass to provide a northwest heading before setting it down.  The chart was also on the floor, but I could not see that. When Anne announced that we had come into open water I turned the canoe to box the compass needle and we began paddling.  The wind had eased and I thought we could maintain this heading without difficulty, but we had to traverse seven tenths of a mile of island filled water to reach the next marker at the entrance to the creek we wanted.  If we entered the wrong creek we would probably spend the night in the canoe, wet, cold, and miserable.  I have slept only one night in a canoe.  I was dry, the night was mild, and the canoe was empty.  Still it was a miserable night.  Mosquitoes bothered me and the continuous movement and occasional bumping of the canoe against nearby snags kept me awake.  Rolling over was very difficult because the thwarts made it impossible to simply roll over.  I had to sit up to do that.  It would be worse for Anne and me here.  Our canoe was loaded.  If we had to stop in the mangroves we would have to dump gear into the swamp.  Gear would be lost to the tide.  We could make a space to sleep, but we would be crowded and uncomfortable.  We would dry off, but we would be cold.  One or two cold nights follow the passage of a cold front in south Florida.  It might drop only to 40 degrees, but that is cold enough if you are sleeping on a wet metal floor.  The much warmer water in the bay would help, but even 70 degree water is too cold for a water bed. I fretted that I had decided to proceed risking Anne’s and my safety so we could return on time.  Still, I knew I would have been fretting too had we stopped and sat for hours in the sunshine at Lostman’s Five when we could have been making up lost time. I contemplated these things as we paddled blindly across the lake.  The moon rose higher in the sky.  At some point I turned off the light on the compass and looked ahead.  I saw what looked like a passage between two forested keys.  Perhaps, I thought, that is the correct path.  I turned the light back on and maintained our compass heading.  After what seemed an eternity Anne said that she thought she saw the flash of a reflector ahead. Finding the marker was an enormous relief.  We now had a good chance of finding the campsite.  We paddled up to the pole so we could read the number, “86.”  “Good,” I said.  I sat with the map showing the campground, the chart, and the compass.  The chart did not show the campsite.  The smaller scale map did, but locations are not shown accurately.  Darwin’s place appeared to be near marker 87 which should be about a quarter mile ahead.  I added, “The shoreline should force us to turn due north.  We follow the creek and look for Darwin’s Place on the left.” After a minute or two I was about to suggest that Anne begin to turn her head to the left from time to time to look for the cutout into the mangrove forest that would be the campground when a flash of light appeared.  Then another shown and both went dark.  We heard voices.  I called out, “Is this Darwin’s Place?”  My query prompted a humorous response that I can’t remember.  I repeated the question sharply.  I feared we had come across a boat tied up along the channel.  That would help us but little.  Now a calm voice replied with a simple affirmative.  I was very, very glad. I had to call again to ask where we should land.  The response came quickly and a light showed the steep beach.  We pushed in.  The water was calm and there was no need for a careful landing.  Anne climbed out and set the canoe.  I crawled across the gear and onto dry land.  We had left camp twelve hours earlier.  We were sore, exhausted, hungry, and cold with wet feet.  We conversed with the two parties that were there while finding a spot for the tent.  It would be tight upon another but comfortable on a sandy platform of the shell mound.  We began unloading and pulled the canoe above the high tide strand.  I threw the anchor out as well.  I never want the canoe to leave camp without me.  We set up the tent and put on dry socks and sandals.  Then we made dinner and dined.  One camper, his name was Phillip, was a talker.  We maintained a conversation with him all that evening and the next morning before our departure.  We said little.  That evening the conversation continued for a minute or two after we retreated to our tent.  We just said goodnight and it ended. After supper we set up the bedding and prepared to retreat.  There were no insects on this night.  The stars were glorious through the mangrove trees and over the creek.  The moon was spectacular.  Exhausted we climbed into bed.  The night would be cold but we were warm and so happy to be sleeping in our tent.  I reviewed our route on the chart and pointed out to Anne that we would have to cross the wide Chevelier Bay the next morning.  That water had given us fits on the second day when a south wind impeded our progress.  Now we would face a north wind going north.  My rule for navigating these waters was working perfectly!  After that would come more bays and the largest water would be Chokoloskee Bay itself.  On the afternoon of the second day after the cold front there would be a stiff breeze there against us.  We would have to be careful.  Still, we should be able to come ashore by the middle of the afternoon if we were fit to paddle.  I was not certain of that.  I was feeling much stronger after five days of paddling, but I might be sore or injured from this strenuous day.  We would see in the morning how we were.  Meanwhile we enjoyed a pleasant sleep snuggled in a warm bag at Darwin’s Place in the Everglades. Arthur Darwin was the last of the old time residents in the Everglades.  He settled there on Opossum Key in 1945 when 70 years old and died there in 1977 at 103.  His age is uncertain and one report has him dying at the age of 112.  He had no electricity or running water.  Said he liked the place.  Grew bananas for market.  One of his ten children settled in Everglades City, but Darwin was a true hermit.  His tiny block house was demolished by the park service after his death.  The campground there now bears his name. We left Opossum Key at dawn.  Phillip kept up the conversation until we were out of earshot.  He may have continued the conversation after that.  I don’t know.  We reached and crossed Chevelier Bay against a mild but rising breeze.  Good news was that the tide was with us.  The tides in this region are difficult to predict.  They come from the Florida Bay and Gulf of Mexico up the various rivers and through the so called bays and lakes.  Since all the waters interconnect, tidal flows meet at various locations.  These locations are unrecorded and may be variable.  The wind can push water out of the shallow lakes in various directions and so redirect the tidal flows unexpectedly.  The times indicated by the tidal charts are only suggestions. Regardless of the explanation, we were glad that the tidal flow was largely with us on the last day.  In the lakes the tidal direction is a slight factor, but in the creeks the tide can sweep you forward or stop your progress.  On this day it would carry us into the relatively open water of Chokoloskee Bay.  But first we crossed Chevelier Bay, traversed a section of the Chatham River, crossed Last Huston Bay, Huston Bay, Oyster Bay, an unnamed bay (Anne and Chuck’s Bay, anyone?) and Sunday Bay.  Then we slid with the tide out the Lopez River.  We stopped for a brief lunch at the Lopez River campground where we had lunched on the first day.  There the clearly semi-literate, Spanish, Mr. Lopez scrawled “Lopes” on the “tabby” concrete of his new cistern at the end of the 19th Century.  Today his plantation, as the various others, is overgrown except for the small openings maintained as campsites.  Upland trees, including Florida Fish-poison Tree, Cabbage Palm, and Cat-claw Blackbead, grow on this and other shell mounds.  This vegetation contrasts sharply, to the trained eye, with the mangrove forest that makes up most of the swamp forests here. Leaving Lopez Place the tidal flow had stopped and the tide was very low.  We swept past bars we had not noticed coming up the river.  We followed the west shore to our starboard as the river broke up meeting the Gulf.  We were entering the region called The Ten Thousand Islands.  Our route was to the island of Chokoloskee, a large (0.3 square
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Loss From the Mountain
Anne and Chuck submitted on January 17, 1970
My mother, Josephine Strehl, passed away at about 1:40 a.m. this morning. She died peacefully after a day in some distress but without pain or severe discomfort. Anne and I shared much of yesterday with her. Her passing last night was a surprise, but she was ready for death and it came as she wished as she slept. She was alert and caring on her last day. We sorely miss her.

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BLOG TITLEBLOG CONTENTMy mother, Josephine Strehl, passed away at about 1:40 a.m. this morning.  She died peacefully after a day in some distress but without pain or severe discomfort.  Anne and I shared much of yesterday with her.  Her passing last night was a surprise, but she was ready for death and it came as she wished as she slept.  She was alert and caring on her last day.  We sorely miss her. Born on June 17, 1922, mother was a depression era child of Italian immigrants.  A small woman, 5 foot 2, smart and vocal, her Dad encouraged her to attend college for accounting.  Spirited she thought that impractical and became a book-keeper instead and married my father to create a family in Clifton New Jersey.  She was for many years a traditional housewife and home economist.  In the tv shows of that time the husbands gave their wives allowances.  In our home mother gave our father an allowance.  Perhaps the income was modest and at times unsteady, but our family always saved and there was always a summer vacation together.  The family was the foundation and she kept peace with my Dad’s large one and her somewhat smaller one.  Our family made a large leap to south Florida in 1960 where her parents and one of my Dad’s sisters had already settled.  There the sixties rolled by and my sister and I grew up under her tutelage.  We departed for college and she returned to employment.  In the 70’s we were scattered but my meeting a girl in York PA created a vortex that reunited us in the Mid-Atlantic.  When Dad retired Mom gave marching orders and they moved to Pennsylvania.  I blame that not on me but on my children.  Mom knew from experience what a grandmother should provide, and that was love.  She believed in discipline, but that was the responsibility of the parents.  And so, for many years she gave relief to Anne and I and joyful memories to our children.  She also provided community service, in particular providing support for many Veterans’ Day, Memorial Day services. We grieve and mourn her loss.  Hardheaded she felt more and more helpless as the disease progressed.  She was honored by our love and appreciation but told us that the time had come for her to go.  We accepted that but not happily.  We can hope that we may some day have provided as much to the good of the family and to this world as she did.  She was one of a generation that endured the darkness that befell this planet in the 1930’s and 1940’s and built an engine of prosperity that still goes forward to all our benefit.  We give praise and thanks for their good will and honor their passing.
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THANKSGIVING MORNING ON THE MOUNTAIN
Anne and Chuck submitted on January 17, 1970
Little but good cheer to report on this fine morning. The porch is white from a dusting of snow. It is cold and breezy. I made a "Sunday breakfast" of scrambled eggs, toast, and scrapple. The kids enjoy the last item, a Pennsylvania specialty. Alex reported calling out "scrapple" at a demonstration in Facebook where a program was analyzing activity on their server. The map on the screen showed where the word was being used and lit up this commonwealth very nicely. Ah, yes, Pennsylvania, scrapple and pretzels.
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BLOG TITLEBLOG CONTENTLittle but good cheer to report on this fine morning.  The porch is white from a dusting of snow.  It is cold and breezy.  I made a "Sunday breakfast" of scrambled eggs, toast, and scrapple.  The kids enjoy the last item, a Pennsylvania specialty.  Alex reported calling out "scrapple" at a demonstration in Facebook where a program was analyzing activity on their server.  The map on the screen showed where the word was being used and lit up this commonwealth  very nicely.  Ah, yes, Pennsylvania, scrapple and pretzels. I am taking the kids to York shortly for a visit to my Mom.  Laurie will meet us there to share some time with her before returning here for the feast.  Mom had a good day yesterday and we hope today will be another comfortable one.  She had been given scopolamine a few days ago and that made her loopy.  But when it was withdrawn she came out very cheerful and more vigorous just in time for a visit from her brother. Two of my cousins brought Uncle John and Aunt Stella.  We provided lunch from Isaacs, the local sandwhich shop where Alex worked when he was in high school.  It was a grand party during the storm on Tuesday.  They left to return to New Jersey and we rushed home after stopping in Biglerville to pick up a fresh turkey.  At five o'clock, when we turned up Loop Road it was already dark and snowing.  The road, thankfully, was well salted and stoned.  I pulled into our new garage and we gave thanks.  Then we skated across the driveway to the basement door.  Freezing rain had created an icy wonderland. Today is cold but beautiful.  Anne is creating a traditional turkey dinner.  A pie is already on the counter.  I don't look forward to another long drive to and from York, but the woods and fields are always pretty between here and there.  I'm getting to know individual cows and horses. We now feel more residents of Adams County and the Gettysburg area.  We are pleased with the joys of this 150 year anniversary celebration of momentous events that occurred here.  Nearly the entire Pennsylvania government was here at the Dedication Day ceremony on November 19th.  Then a visiting judge, one Antonin Scalia, was pulled up to swear in a group of new citizens at the end of the ceremony.  We applauded at the end of the outdoor ceremony on that cold  and blustery day. We wish all our kith and kin a wonderful Thanksgiving Day.  <img src="http://davidsn.com/drupalnew/modules/contrib/fckeditor/fckeditor/editor/images/smiley/msn/regular_smile.gif" alt="" />
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November 23, 2013 - Chuck’s Mom under Hospice Care
Anne and Chuck submitted on January 17, 1970
There are many phases in life, even separate lives in every lifetime. Mom has been in the final phase of life for a few years, but that has scarcely been a constant thing. She and Dad at about 90 years of age each had diagnosed cancers and the constant nagging of disabilities and pain. Still, they had each other and the joys of children and grandchildren engaged in active lives.

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BLOG TITLEBLOG CONTENTThere are many phases in life, even separate lives in every lifetime.  Mom has been in the final phase of life for a few years, but that has scarcely been a constant thing.  She and Dad at about 90 years of age each had diagnosed cancers and the constant nagging of disabilities and pain.  Still, they had each other and the joys of children and grandchildren engaged in active lives.  Neither wanted aggressive treatment; it was too late in life for that.  But Mom wanted to survive Dad and did.  Then she said she wanted comfort only and to enjoy events that came.  Many did.  The most recent picture to hang on her wall is a wonderful photograph of her seated between us and Elley and Adam at the wedding along the Hudson River.  She continued oral medication “chemotherapy” for lung cancer, but this fall she began faltering.  The medication was changed and the “cancer marker” declined, but so did her weight.  The medication added to discomfort and costs hundreds of dollars a day.  She decided not to continue taking it.  We took her to her last appointment with the oncologist this month.  I happened to have the book of wedding photos and showed it to him.  We thanked him for making her survival for the wedding possible.  He gave her a hug. Last week Mom signed on to hospice care.  This was prompted by peculiarities of our health care system.  Without it the assisted living facility would have to send her to the hospital if she “got sick.”  Still the timing was appropriate.  Her shortness of breath became strikingly more severe that week.  This week she can barely swallow.  The nurses are working on both issues.  Oxygen and morphine assist the breathing.  Steroids and lubricants may help her eating.  Having lost so much weight already, she can scarcely last long without nutrition.  Laurie is coming today and will stay through tomorrow.  Alex and Elley are coming to make final visits.  A cousin of mine may bring Mom’s brother next week.  Of course that is not easy.  Our Thanksgiving feast will go on but the festivities are dampened.  We are already making near daily trips to York. My mother is a small woman.  An Italian American girl of 5 foot 2 (alas with brown eyes) she married 6 foot 2 Dad.  He was smart, handsome, and disorganized.  She was smart too and could manage affairs of life.  They worked together to make a family though neither had a college education.  There were rough spots, certainly, but they held it together and saved enough to retire and move to York when the grandchildren appeared there.  We have shared so much together.  She gave everything for the family and the joys it returned.  We will sorely miss her. Meanwhile, we ask you blessings and hope that she can remain comfortable through the last trial of life.  We hope she rebounds and may see at least a bit of next year, but the rate of decline suggests she will not.  We’ll do our best to comfort her and share her company during the coming weeks.  She got up this morning, good news, and continues to keep us company in this world.  We are grateful to have shared her love.
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A Confused Liberal - November 1, 2013
Anne and Chuck submitted on January 17, 1970
The First Amendment does not permit laws that force speakers to retain a campaign finance attorney, conduct demographic marketing research, or seek declaratory rulings before discussing the most salient political issues of our day.

— U.S. Supreme Court,?Citizens United (2010)

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BLOG TITLEBLOG CONTENTThe First Amendment does not permit laws that force speakers to retain a campaign finance attorney, conduct demographic marketing research, or seek declaratory rulings before discussing the most salient political issues of our day. — U.S. Supreme Court,?Citizens United (2010) I am 63 years old, a registered Democrat, and an unabashed liberal, or I thought I was.  Why then are my views increasingly becoming those viewed as conservative?  I don’t think my opinions have changed that much over the decades, though I must admit experience has made me even more suspicious of power than when I was young. I must also say that I learned early that government benefits typically more benefit the government than the public.  I have always believed in society providing a safety net, but one that hurt when you fell into it.  A net that one would want to suffer no more than a few weeks.  Long-term “welfare payments” become a corrupting influence upon beneficiaries and society as a whole.  There is no such thing as “an entitlement.” I also have always viewed public help of the poor as an ill-fated venture.  When I entered college, I was encouraged to participate in programs to provide services to poor families.  Somehow, we were supposed to impart our wisdom to ghetto residents.  That seemed a noble endeavor, but at 18 I knew I wasn’t supporting myself and could scarcely provide practical advice to urban families.  Time suggests I was wise before my time.  Perhaps my liberality was already obsolete.  I welcomed new experiences, complained of excessive government, and enjoyed sharing my wealth and knowledge.  I profoundly objected to other folks telling me what to do or taking my money for their purposes.  I smoked pot, bought grapes  during the boycott, and thought government welfare programs tended to discourage prosperity.  Today, I twist in the wind.  I support gay marriage, but I don’t believe it can be justified on Constitutional grounds.  I consider our drug laws and the incarceration of so many to be a horrific crime of our society.  I accept but am appalled at the level of government surveillance.  Sure it may make us a bit safer from terrorists, but I fear much more danger from the whims of society. The Constitution is supposed to protect us from the government.  The rag that frames this Nation is a remarkably liberal document.  But the courts provide slim protection.  The U.S. Supreme Court’s 2005 Kelo ruling that governments could, without violating the Fifth Amendment (“nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation”), take property for the “public use” of transferring it to persons who would pay more taxes to the government.  George Will November 1, 2013 The federal government has engaged in practice that would be anathema to the Founders.  They would shrug at our current state and speak of citizens’ responsibilities to limit the breadth of the federal state.  But can there be citizen involvement without free speech? The quotation at the heading raises a particular conundrum.  As a liberal I found the opinion a breath of fresh air, as opposed to the fart that was the Kelo ruling.  Yet liberal government practitioners, news organizations, and activist groups find the Citizens United decision to be anathema and the Kelo decision to be uninteresting.  Conservatives join me in supporting Citizens United (and free speech) and in hating the Kelo ruling.  I was scarcely surprised at the Supreme Court decision concerning the AfCa Act although I found the argument absurd that the law was OK because it was just a tax.  The Supreme Court failed to protect my individual freedom and last week my health insurance company informed me that my policy is ending.  Their “good news” is that the policy will be extended for a few more months with additional benefits (that I don’t need) and a 10% increase in fee.  The President informs me that my policy must have been a bad one.  How liberal is that?  Are liberals fighting this wholesale intrusion into the federal government into the health insurance business?  Yeah, just like they fought to keep the government out of the mortgage and student loan business.  Many want “a single payer health care system” by which they mean the government providing insurance directly.  Perhaps they failed to notice how successful the federal flood insurance program has been.  Does one bad idea lead to another?  I may throw in the towel on health insurance and take my chances until I am 65 when I will be forced into Medicare which was supposed to be a single payer system.  That has worked so well that most folks buy “supplemental” insurance.  The cost of Medicare has been going up so quickly in recent years that I expected it to exceed that of my private insurance in five years.  One wonders how this can be given that Medicare is supposed to be a benefit program.  I’m sure there is an explanation, probably similar to the one for the cost of college going up after the influx of federal money.  I find it ironic that I feel more threat from the federal government now that I am old than when I was young.  Health care runs neck and neck with taxes each year as my largest expense.  I thought I could deal with that, but now I don’t know.  What policies will be available next year and at what cost?  I guess I will find out, but is it illiberal of me to be angry that the government has taken control out of my hands?  I guess I always confused liberalism with a love of freedom.  So, I still call myself a liberal, but find myself opposed to “the liberal agenda.”  My love and trust of people to manage their own affairs and my instinctive distrust of “central planning”  seems to make me a 21st Century conservative.  How sad. Chuck Strehl
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October 22, 2013 - South Mountain
Anne and Chuck submitted on January 17, 1970
We have indeed settled in. So much so that Anne has already plotted a trip to Brooklyn in a couple of weeks. Autumn has arrived and the forest is lovely. We do chores, make weekly trips to York to visit my mother, go to church, and join neighbors and friends in social activities. Great fun.

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BLOG TITLEBLOG CONTENTWe have indeed settled in.  So much so that Anne has already plotted a trip to Brooklyn in a couple of weeks.  Autumn has arrived and the forest is lovely.  We do chores, make weekly trips to York to visit my mother, go to church, and join neighbors and friends in social activities.  Great fun. The new garage gives me plenty to do.  I put up a bunch of shelves and more arrived yesterday.  I am preparing a pulley system to raise the canoe above the car.  The yard too makes demand in fall.  My yard may be a woodlot, but there are still leaves to pull from the porch and the drive.  Today I brought in green tomatoes.  Anne will make green tomato BLT’s tonight.  Interesting. There are financial chores too.  With the stock market soundly up, our savings “assets” must be rebalanced.  That is much easier than in the past.  Last week I sat at the computer, sold stock transferring the receipts to a money market account and making an annual withdrawal from an IRA directly to a cash account at another bank.  Wow!  Wonderful and scary. As an individual not provided health insurance through an employer I have been paying close attention to the new AfCa Act.  I wondered if it could provide any bargains.  While home in September I tried to check out the offerings but none were posted.  That seemed strange because we were supposed to be able to sign up on October 1st. This month all hell broke loose.  I had found a private Pennsylvania health care marketplace and downloaded information on various policies.  In the end I decided that the policy I had makes sense for me.  Insurance has become much more complicated than in the past.  Then there were deductibles.  Now there are deductibles, co-pays, secondary deductibles (called “co-insurance” by the industry), and  “out of pocket limits.”  This means that one’s deductible is the primary deductible plus co-pays and out of pocket costs to the limit.  In short, if one becomes seriously ill and needs the insurance, the cost much exceed the sum of the primary deductible and the out of pocket limit for your liability to end.  For some policies that can be more than $10,000.  That is a bit steep for this boy.  More troubling, the policies pay all of the cost for various procedures, many of them diagnostic, that should be out of pocket.  This will, of course, drive up the cost of such services enormously.  In any case, I decided to content myself with the policy I had. Then last week I received two notices from my insurance company.  The cost is going up and then the policy will end.  How nice.  My calls have received squirrelly answers, but reports suggest that the AfCA Act is forcing companies to shut down the old plans and force consumers into new ones.  Consumer reports suggests waiting a few weeks before going into the new “marketplace.”  I probably have a few months, and I don’t need this hassle!  The AfCa Act was supposed to make insurance more affordable.  Instead, it is costing me my insurance.  Anne has had to deal with this for a couple of years already through Medicare.  I laughed.  I laugh no more. Hunting season has come to the mountain and with it many visitors.  Some day I may join the exercise, but for now I have too much to do in the garage and yard.  I also tend to find it more rewarding to watch wildlife than to try to shoot it.  Some time in the next couple of weeks the golden eagles will start coursing along our ridges.  Anne and I will spend at least one chilly morning at Waggoner’s Gap watching them.  Life is good.
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A Walk in the Woods - October 21, 2013
Anne and Chuck submitted on January 16, 1970
Anne and I walked out of the great Eastern forest and completed our hike of all of the Appalachian Trail on Sunday, September 22nd near the town of Groseclose, VA. It was raining lightly but we were very happy if slightly trail worn after a 15 day and 150 mile walk across eastern Tennessee and western Virginia.

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BLOG TITLEBLOG CONTENTAnne and I walked out of the great Eastern forest and completed our hike of all of the Appalachian Trail on Sunday, September 22nd near the town of Groseclose, VA.  It was raining lightly but we were very happy if slightly trail worn after a 15 day and 150 mile walk across eastern Tennessee and western Virginia.  Our end point was at the end of an exit ramp from Interstate Highway 81 (southbound) where we had begun a section hike in April of Year 2012.  We approached the interchange walking along U.S. Highway 11 for a half mile.  A car approached and stopped.  The couple within asked our situation and we told them.  The car pulled over and two trail maintainers joined us for the last few steps.  When the lady asked if they could do anything for us, Anne said they could take our photo.  So, they threw on their jackets and walked along.  Anne cried a few tears as we reached the style that was our endpoint.  We gave each other a hug and smiled for the camera. This walk was uneventful but included numerous challenges from the weather, wildlife, and the trail itself.  We first had to manage trail logistics after arriving at the Relax Inn after the long drive from home.  This motel is situate a mere half mile from the end point of the hike.  We found it shabby but crashed there as planned.  We also planned to lodge there at the end of the hike, but events prevented that stay. The next morning we enjoyed our Sunday breakfast at the Barn, a restaurant even closer to the end at the highway interchange.  Then we drove to Hampton to leave a food parcel at the hostel there where we planned to stay four nights later during our hike.  It had not occurred to me that Sunday morning would be a poor time to make food drops.  We could find no one at the hostel, but the owner of a nearby laundry/restaurant/computer shop agreed to allow us to leave the package there. We drove on to Damascus, our planned second place of lodging on the trail.  There we found the proprietress of The Hikers Inn at home and happy to take our second parcel.  We realized that our stop there would be very pleasant.  Then we took a final civilized lunch in a restaurant on the Laurel Creek.  We carried out two sandwiches that would be our supper and drove back to the Relax Inn.  We were still preparing our gear when our ride arrived.  He was early and did not rush us.  We checked our packs and loaded them in the van.  We enjoyed a ride back into and then across Tennessee to the North Carolina border near the famous Roan Mountain.  There our driver parked and wished us well.  We put on our boots and lengthened our poles.  We greeted a few hikers were loitering there.  Our plan was to hike a mile and make camp.  Serious hiking would begin the next day.  The weather was warm and humid.  We would just assume not get sweaty.  But, on a hike the trail rules.  No campsites appeared and we walked almost three miles before finding a spot.  We met a father and son making a southbound through hike who told us of the spot within a grove of white pines.  We made camp and enjoyed the sandwiches we had carried from Damascus.  We were already sticky sweaty and not yet used to sleeping that way.  We would be soon. We had planned a short hike for the next day, but since we had overshot our first stop we arrived there at one p.m.  So, we went on and stopped at a campsite along a stream at three p.m.  Two southbound section hiking brothers passed our camp.  We saw no one else on that day.  The weather continued very warm. On Day 3 we planned to stop on a ridge where the map indicated water, but we could not find it.  So, we went on again and camped near falls.  Katydids roared that night.  We learned that the fading of their song came about an hour before dawn.  The silence that followed became our wake-up alarm on this hike. Our hike was going well.  Anne suffered toe blisters.  I was experiencing back pain when the hike started and carrying a 38 pound pack was not helping.  We both suffered with these afflictions throughout the hike.  We each fell a few times but suffered no serious injuries.  One “problem” was that we were getting ahead of schedule.  We were not yet sure how to deal with that, but being ahead of schedule is always better than being behind schedule. On the next day we walked through the gorgeous Laurel Fork gorge.  Along the way we encountered the first bear warning.  We also encountered a bear on that day, a cub in a tree.  It fled but we too were spooked and concerned with the whereabouts of mom.  We never saw her.  Trail signs indicated that a shelter would be closed and hikers were ordered not to camp in the section of trail ahead.  So, we picked up our pace and walked into Hampton TE a day early after a long and tiring hike.  We arrived at the Braemar Castle Hostel which had no problem with our day early arrival.  We walked down the street with our laundry.  I left Anne there and made a 1.2 mile walk to the nearest beer store.  That is where I learned that TE has adopted a stupid law requiring picture i.d. for purchase of alcohol.  I had none.  My license was in my wallet in the car.  The sports wallet I carry hiking has limited space and I had no plans to drive on the hike!  So, I walked back and spoke loudly.  Someone volunteered to act as a bootlegger and illegally sell me the devil’s brew.  The restaurant was near the beer store and I didn’t want to make the walk again.  We had an extra meal on account of our early arrival, so we cooked our own dinner at the hostel and shared conversation with other hikers there.  We called to Damascus and moved our reservation there back a day. On Day 5 we made our planned hike and set up our tent near the Vandeventer Shelter.  A cool front passed over that night and brought a thunderstorm.  In the morning it was breezy and cooler.  We welcomed the change in the weather and arrived at our planned stop at three-thirty p.m.  We went two miles farther finding a campsite near a spring.  On Day 6 was more lovely weather and migrating birds.  So too Day 7 which brought us to the Abington Gap Shelter.  On Day 8 we reached Virginia.  We had completed our short transit of Tennessee.  I joked that it took us ten years to hike across that state.  We had made our passage over Roan Mountain and the Iron Mountain Range as our first distance hike in the South while on a vacation from work.  We walked into Damascus, a very hiker friendly town, a little after one p.m.  We showered at the Hikers Inn while the owner did our laundry.  We dined at The Blue Blaze Inn.  Happily the alcohol law in Virginia was friendlier to strangers than that of Tennessee.  While drinking beer I thought of a way to avoid another stay at the Relax Inn.  We had need of a ride to that motel and back to the trail the next morning.  We had been unable to obtain one so far.  I told Anne that we were a day ahead of schedule and could shave two more days off the hike.  I said that we had planned a “near o” day out of Damascus, leaving at Noon and walking only a few miles.  Instead, we would “slack pack” the next day and walk 17 miles to a road crossing.  There we would get a ride back to town and spend another night in Damascus.  The following morning we would take another ride back to where we had finished the walk the night before and resume our backpack hike.  Making the long day hike would put us exactly three days ahead of schedule.  We would no longer need to make another motel stop and would not need the food packet we had left at the Relax Inn.  We would need to purchase a couple of extra dinners at the outfitter shop in Damascus. Anne had been sipping beer to and said yes.  Alcohol is truly corrupting.  All we needed was someone to drive us.  We returned to the inn and asked the proprietress.  She said that they did not provide rides, but she knew someone who did.  There were complications, but all issues were resolved.  The next morning, on Day 8 we rose early but stopped for a filling breakfast.  The restaurant was on the way.  I checked our distance against the clock all day.  We had arranged to be picked up at 5:30 p.m., but our driver said he might not arrive until 6:30 because of prior commitments.  We made good time and enjoyed carrying empty packs all day.  We wore them only because there was no other way to manage our water.  We both packed bladders.  I had a one liter canteen but no sleeve for it.  But empty packs are light.  We were not sure we were going to make our arrival time until mid-afternoon.  Then we relaxed and cheered at our big-day.  We arrived at our rendezvous point, a dirt road along a cow pasture at 4:15 p.m.  It was cool but dry and we lay down at the little grass parking area and watched the cows.  Our ride showed up at exactly 6:30 and my thoughts of hiking down to town vanished.  We had been passed by exactly zero cars during our two-hour sojourn.   The next morning we hiked with our packs to the restaurant and were finishing breakfast when our wonderful ride arrived.  It was Day 10 of our hike.  We were beginning a stiff hike up some 2,000 feet to near the summit of Mount Rogers, the highest point of Virginia, carrying packs heavy with food.  Our driver told us there was a great water source near the summit, so we went light with water.  That was a very good move. On this day we crossed above 5,000 feet and entered the boreal forest in the Mt. Rogers massif.  We enjoyed the smell of the balsam and complained of its roots that crisscrossed the high country boulders.  We reached the Thomas Knob shelter at the edge of a meadow, gathered water, and chatted with a section hiker who planned to overnight there.  It was about 50 degrees and windy.  Fog was developing.  We continued a few more yards and found a campsite in a small opening where the spruce/fir forest opened into alpine meadow.  This should have been good, but the wind was coming from the direction of the meadow.  Almost immediately the wind began blowing in fog that soaked the trees and our tent.  We wore our ponchos for dinner.  We had more food than would fit in our bear barrel and I had trouble finding a tree that could hang food.  I fell throwing the line but finally raised the bag.  An industrious bear might get it, but I was too cold and tired to care.  We crawled into the tent and kept each other warm.  The morning was cloudy and not quite dry.  We were glad to break camp even if it was a wet camp break.  We descended over tough terrain from 5,400 feet to 4,050 feet on Day 11.  The weather threatened but left us alone and warmed as we came back into what is called northern hardwoods forest.  We made camp near the Old Orchard Shelter out of the high country.  Day 12 would be our rainy day.  We awoke to a shower.  At least the temperature was 62 degrees.  We walked five miles to the Hurricane Mountain Shelter at 11:20 a.m. and arrived in a pouring rain.  We tarried there until it settled into a steady rain.  Pouring rain came again in the afternoon.  We were sad to discover, in the rain, that the shelter we had intended to camp near was no more.   We walked on and were delighted when the rain ceased as we arrived at the Trimpi Shelter about 5:30 p.m.  Gladly the water there was good and easy to obtain.  A 14.1 mile day was over. On Day 13 we and the trail dried out a bit.  We met a curious group of day hikers on this day.  They were planning a through hike made up of day hikes in Year 2015.  We passed the famous and lovely Partnership Shelter and toured the Mount Rogers National Recreation Area Visitor Center.  We finally made camp on a little cross ridge between Brushy Mountain and Locust Mountain.  The site was lovely and we knew it would be the last night of our first complete hike of the A.T.  A weather forecast was posted at the visitor center indicating a 100% chance of rain for Sunday.  That was unwelcome and pushed us a few extra miles down the trail on this Saturday.  There was a chance we could hike out before the storm arrived.  So, we woke early, breakfasted quickly, and broke camp while it was only cloudy.  We made our final ascent over Locust Mountain and began a descent into the Great Valley.  A drizzle came but at 65 degrees we delayed putting on our ponchos.  The trail left the national forest and wound along a narrow trail corridor between farms and woodlots.  The rain came.  We stopped briefly at an old one room school house now part of a pioneers museum.  The trail dropped off a hill, crossed a bridge over a creek, climbed over railroad tracks, and then climbed a last hill.  Highway noise was announcing the end of the trail.  We wound through a few more patches of trees and brush and then stepped up to the shoulder of the highway.  The Relax Inn was across the highway and to the left.  The trail went right.  The rain was heavy now and we were wearing ponchos over our shorts.  We crossed so as to face traffic.  After two weeks on the trail one is not used to addressing 18-wheelers roaring by.  The trail would follow the highway a half mile to  cross the interstate before turning back into the fields.  We would not make that turn.  We had talked of dumping our packs at the car before going to the end but decided we wanted to wear the packs to the end.  That was a good plan and led to our meeting with the trail maintainers a couple of minutes later.  We hummed “Dancing in the Rain” and joked of many things.  The long walk was ending.  We had started this walk on October 15, 1989 at Pennmar with the children with a goal to reach the Delaware Water Gap some day.  We did that and kept on walking until this day almost exactly 24 years latter!
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