Sunday June 15th- Tuesday June 24th

Distance Covered: 75.3 miles

Miles to Finish: 1640.8 miles

And a couple of days off we duly had, along with a strong crowd of Northbound hikers all a little weary from the previous hike. It was a great opportunity to rest and relax i.e. party followed by swimming at the town pool in the morning and we even managed to catch a movie.

After some frustrating lessons learned and with a two great Outfitters we decided it would be benificial to purchase some new kit and rectify a few maintenance issues. It seemed sensible to be self-sufficient with gear so we wouldn't endure further scenarios of being without water filters, tents and cooking equipment.

Above: A photo of Earl Shaffer, the first guy to thru-hike the trail after the War. He hiked it in 1948 and is the reason the trail got back up and running. Respect.


Murphy's law had been continually at work to challenge us with one member of the group holding the cooking pots and stove, another miles a part with the stove fuel and the water filter awol perhaps states away, rendering our basic survival functions a little haphazard.



Whilst in Damascus we stayed at 'The Place' a Methodist Church free house set up by an old parishener some years earlier. Hords of hikers, cyclists, Christian summer camp groups, school trips and even parties of young offender's (aka 'Hoods in the Woods') drift in and out providing a great platform for an eclectic mix to swap stories and learn from one another about their lives and hobbies.





Just opposite 'The Place' lived a true renegade adventurer and man of the Appalachian Mountains. His name is Jack or '3rd Rock' on the trail. Whilst staying in Domascus he kindly invited us, all of 12 of us over to his pad for a BBQ. He was incredibly hospitable and we spent much time hanging out during our time there, enlightened by some 90's dance reggae.

















On our departure from Damascus and arrival into Atkins, we drifted out and arrived at separate intervals over the 70 mile stretch. Charlie left at dawn and hiked up to Buzzard Rock about 20 miles up the trail. Just before reaching base for the night he filled up water from a free flowing pipe just short of the mountain summit. The water was so fresh and pure that filtering was unnecessary. Mountain Springs seem to cleanse the sole and quench one's thirst like nothing else.

Whilst at the Spring a real specticle of beauty emergerd from a honeysuckle bush. Only a few feet away Charlie's attention was caught by the sound and colour of the beautiful and graceful red-throated Huming bird going about its business raiding the flowers of pollen and insects.

These 'Humdingers' are seriously cool. At 3 and a half inches long they beat there wings between 80 to 200 beats per second, when feeding on nectar they extend their elongated tongues and feed at 12 licks per second and weigh just three grams, less than a first class letter. They also fly non stop for 500 miles across the gulf of mexico on their annual migration to central America and Mexico.













Ready to set up camp for the night he moved on only to be greeted with a wild skidding car narrowly missing a collision. Out stepped three delightful young Damascans. One of the guys had hiked the AT a few years previously and immediately recognised the shabby bearded back packer look, offering their immediate services to lighten the evening and pay forward some much loved trail magic.

They led Charlie to a beautiful camp spot in some conifers equipped with a grand old fire place only a few minutes walk from a spiffing view point for sun downers and promptly cracked open some cold beer. Larger than life people living life to the fullness of fun and frolics. It is such a pleasure to keep meeting such high calibre beings, who costantly lift spirits and share so generously.



Duffy, Paul and Tom hiked out a little after and camped elsewhere. Daunted by the thunderstorms they rested at a shelter for a day. Paul struggled with serious chaffing which slowed him down to a mile and hour at the most. To help him to the next shelter he had to rub the only lubricant he ahd all over the affected area. This lubricant was Canola oil and he he has since been given the trail name 'Canola'.



Shortly before arriving at Partnership shelter Charlie met 'Bear' and 'Grizzly' who were dropped off by none other than Storyteller. He was in a rush but assured us he'd see us on up the trail for some more incredible tales around the campfire. Little Cubit and Lonestar joined that evening at the shelter.

Lonestar reported to have seen countless bears that day and arriving well after dark his last encounter had forced him to climb around a ridge as three large menacing bears had appeared to grow roots into the trail and were not going to budge. He was pumped full of adrenaline on arrival and enticed Bear and Charlie to catch a glimpse of the fury monsters so they ventured back down the trail equiped with headlamps and armed with hiking poles for protection. No sign of the Bears.



On the return ramble a plan was conjured to go running and shouting back into camp so to mess with the others of course who had been less bold and brave to seek out the teddy bears picnic. It seemed however, that the others had been scheming a mischevious plan too and a few steps on, two flashing silouettes burst out of the undergrowth and almost rendered a change of trousers.

That night there were tear jerkingly funny stories flying around the shelter that went on until well after the midnight hour and perhaps a little too loud with respect to the fellow Boyscout campers sleeping in the loft above.








And so payback the next morning was revenge served cold. A chorus of bashing and thrashing of bags, stamping of feet and clunking nalgene bottles dropped from height onto the deck emulated a 50 strong drunk amateur brass band at their finale, all of which was orchestrated at the magical time of half past five.

Another unsavoury noise we had the pleasure of enduring came from one of our own - a violent rustling which had tossed and turned all night. On waking it became apparent Little Cubit sleeps inside an emergency silver/ tinfoil survival bag. When addressed about the offending article Little Cubit flashed her eye lashes, played the puppy and said, "i'm a giant pop tart" and indeed she did look like one much to our amusement and cunningly diffused her conviction charges.

That morning a little earlier than intented the Partnership gang cruised on into Atkins and checked into the motel. Tom & Duffy followed the next day. Paul many hours later due to the horrors of chaffing.