Project Eveningland

5/5/2023 Friday

Things looked slightly brighter in the morning. I was shocked that the patch held! Astounded really.

Last summer when my sleeping pad had a pinhole leak, my friend Joe and I tried to repair it in Leadville. We had the advantage of having access to a bathtub to find the leak, and an outfitter at which to buy Aquaseal, which the pad manufacturer recommends for permanent repairs. We were able to let it cure overnight as well, because I was taking a day off. And it still didn’t work! The pad still leaked slowly and had to be reinflated several times a night. It’s possible there was a second pinhole leak we didn’t find with the bathtub method (submerging a partially inflated pad in a tub and looking for bubbles). I ended up returning it.

This time around, I had a one-inch-long tear, not a pinhole leak. The “instant”repair patches—the ones intended for field use—are only designed for .25 inch holes or smaller. I cleaned the area around the tear with an alcohol swab and let that dry. I put two of the instant patches (they have adhesive) as close to each other without overlapping as I could. Then I broke open a tiny bottle of superglue I carry for repairs. I took one of several circles of fabric included with the pad (meant to be the kind of patch you use with Aquaseal for permanent repairs, so it has none of its own adhesive). I put the glue under this third, fabric patch. It started slipping and sliding on the superglue when I pressed it to the pad. So I took more superglue, circled the whole thing with it, and threw a big strip of duct tape over that. There wasn’t much time to let it set. But it held all night! Didn’t even deflate slowly.

This morning I thought about finding a shuttler or trail angel whom I could pay to bring me a new pad. But then I thought, why? Yeah, the patch could fail—indeed it likely will—and that would leave me quite uncomfortable. Uncomfortable and cold but not dead or in danger. I could use my sitpad and lean back against my pack, like I do when I take a long break, and probably still get a few hours of sleep. Sleeping pads can fail at any time. You just hope it isn’t in a place like the Smokies where there’re few or no exit points.

I was alone at the shelter area this morning. Poppins and her dog were long gone. I ate my cold breakfast and headed back to the trail in higher spirits. My stomach problems persist, but I’m applying a new method today and was able to manage my symptoms well. A longer term solution may be at hand.

What a beautiful day. Just perfect weather: clear skies; mild, breezy conditions. I passed three weekenders who each had a car parked at a small trailhead. This was the endpoint for their four-day hike and they were leaving a car there and then driving the other vehicles to their starting point.

The tread was even most of the day. The trail reached a small lake. There were more firs and pines (let’s not pretend I fully understand the distinction). The smell of pine sap and the warm sun reminded me of Colorado in a heartening sort of way. I reached the 800 mile marker, this one made of large pine cones.

I reached a creek crossing at lunch time and reclined against my pack and elevated my feet on a giant log. On the menu was cheese, a protein bar, a pouch of peanut butter, a bag of crackers, and I can’t remember what else.

The creek was such a relaxing place. I stared up at the high canopy above, its delicate green layers ascending toward a bright blue sky. The last layer of leaves is a brighter green—the sunlight leaks through gently. Thank you for the shade, trees.

The trail reached another respectable creek and followed it for several miles. There were fascinating historical signs about a community of previously enslaved people who had once farmed here, via sharecropping. It is hard to imagine this area being farmed! It’s all new growth forest, so that tracks, but what about all the inclines and rocky soil? Reading about those folks’ homes in this beautiful place makes me pine for my own home. I thought about how wonderful our home is. Clean, quiet, peaceful, with a warm cat purring on your chest. Thru-hiking can make you appreciate home, reminding you of its virtues and the fact that it is not eternal.

I committed another water boner today. If the phrase “water boner” tickles you, just wait until Highcock Knob. Anyway I missed the last water source before a very steep 3.5 mile ascent to Bald Knob (which isn’t bald and also what the fuck even is a knob again? Looks like a bog-standard mountain to me). I had to do the whole climb on less than half a liter, but I’d hydrated well all day so it wasn’t so bad.

It was a near-perfect AT day, the kind of day I think people fantasize about when they say, “oh, I want to do the AT someday.” After 11 years of backpacking including a coupla thousand miles of thru-style hiking since 2019, I’m getting a better sense of how much skill it takes to get yourself in the woods, relaxed, comfortable, healthy (mostly), uninjured, strong, nourished, rested, etc. It can look easy from the outside. It looked easier to me on YouTube than it has ended up being, that’s for sure. There’s a lot they don’t show you, like, for example, shitting your pants. That kind of thing happens out here! They even have a saying about it on the AT which I’ll share despite finding it overly crude: “never trust a fart.”

The side trail down to Cable Gap Shelter is a swooping, gentle half mile or so walk. I don’t mind off-trail shelters as much as I used to. I did 17.5 miles today and feel great, excepting my now chemically-calmed guddyworks. Pray for my microbiome, folks. Pray for it.