Springer Fever
The seasonal affective disorder of any past AT thru-hiker: Springer Fever . It's real, it hits out of nowhere sometimes, but typically around one's start date. For me that would be 16 days from now - April 18th.
What am I doing about it this year?
Reading TJ of course. The added twist this spring is the knowledge that I am going to meet most of these hikers in Baxter, the ones who make it to Maine of course.
As I type this, I'm listening to Takoma Tedd's Song of the Blue Ridge Runner CD. Taken from the writings and poetry of Earl Shaffer I especially like Track 2, "Walking With Spring"; it brings a heartache of tears to my soul. A longing for a southern ridgetop on which to walk again. There is the feeling of falling in love all over again - in love with the trail, the freedom, the peace of walking.
Damn.
And I plan and dream about another dream coming to fruition this June. The Walker's Haute Route. 180 km of walking in the alps from Chamonix to Zermatt. The latter a spot that has held my heart hostage for almost 30 years. Since I first stepped off the train that summer I was 18. Accompanied by a passle of 30 kids, we spent the next 3 weeks of our tender impressionable lives in that mountain haven. We skied, we bouldered, we drank and ate platefuls of pomme frites @ the Brown Cow, we loved, and we learned to live amongst ourselves drunk in the experience of a foreign and beautiful land. I made a life long friend that July, we've been through 3 marriages between us, and the death of his oldest son who so uncanningly reminded me of a boy I loved that summer in Zermatt. Ahhhh.....Selden. After two weeks of skiing on the Plateau Rosa, we packed up and split into 3 groups to spend a week hiking in the Bernese Oberland.
How could I ever be normal again after this freedom? This taste of international travel w/o a parent? Sure, we had "chaperones" in the form of Ted and John, 20 something ski bum types who were our race coaches. Their fraternity like antics at night in the Swiss mountain huts didn't exactly lend themselves credibility as anything more than older versions of ourselves.
So I go back. This time walking there, with the carrot of the Matterhorn dangling in the distance. The few people I have mentioned this trip to are astounded I'm going solo "no guide" "no tour"?
Ahhhh....no.....am I a little too complacent and confident that I can handle this sort of thing alone? I don't think so, it's Europe, it's not even wilderness, sure it's a big hike with alpine size elevation climbs and descents, but I don't see it as that difficult to arrange on your own. Buy my plane ticket. Check. Find a place to stay in Cham the first night. Check. Start walking with Mont Blanc to my back, guidebook & maps in my pack. Stop when you get to the pointy mountain.
At any rate, it's quelling my desire a bit to head to Georgia in a couple weeks. But not by much. A 15 day hike has substance, but it ain't no 6 month thru-hike.
It'll do.
For now.
What am I doing about it this year?
Reading TJ of course. The added twist this spring is the knowledge that I am going to meet most of these hikers in Baxter, the ones who make it to Maine of course.
As I type this, I'm listening to Takoma Tedd's Song of the Blue Ridge Runner CD. Taken from the writings and poetry of Earl Shaffer I especially like Track 2, "Walking With Spring"; it brings a heartache of tears to my soul. A longing for a southern ridgetop on which to walk again. There is the feeling of falling in love all over again - in love with the trail, the freedom, the peace of walking.
Damn.
And I plan and dream about another dream coming to fruition this June. The Walker's Haute Route. 180 km of walking in the alps from Chamonix to Zermatt. The latter a spot that has held my heart hostage for almost 30 years. Since I first stepped off the train that summer I was 18. Accompanied by a passle of 30 kids, we spent the next 3 weeks of our tender impressionable lives in that mountain haven. We skied, we bouldered, we drank and ate platefuls of pomme frites @ the Brown Cow, we loved, and we learned to live amongst ourselves drunk in the experience of a foreign and beautiful land. I made a life long friend that July, we've been through 3 marriages between us, and the death of his oldest son who so uncanningly reminded me of a boy I loved that summer in Zermatt. Ahhhh.....Selden. After two weeks of skiing on the Plateau Rosa, we packed up and split into 3 groups to spend a week hiking in the Bernese Oberland.
How could I ever be normal again after this freedom? This taste of international travel w/o a parent? Sure, we had "chaperones" in the form of Ted and John, 20 something ski bum types who were our race coaches. Their fraternity like antics at night in the Swiss mountain huts didn't exactly lend themselves credibility as anything more than older versions of ourselves.
So I go back. This time walking there, with the carrot of the Matterhorn dangling in the distance. The few people I have mentioned this trip to are astounded I'm going solo "no guide" "no tour"?
Ahhhh....no.....am I a little too complacent and confident that I can handle this sort of thing alone? I don't think so, it's Europe, it's not even wilderness, sure it's a big hike with alpine size elevation climbs and descents, but I don't see it as that difficult to arrange on your own. Buy my plane ticket. Check. Find a place to stay in Cham the first night. Check. Start walking with Mont Blanc to my back, guidebook & maps in my pack. Stop when you get to the pointy mountain.
At any rate, it's quelling my desire a bit to head to Georgia in a couple weeks. But not by much. A 15 day hike has substance, but it ain't no 6 month thru-hike.
It'll do.
For now.
posted by Bluebearee at 9:21 PM
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