A WALK IN THE WOODS by GILLYLEE RATED FRT

The Hundred-Mile Wilderness. Which trail hiker can resist the allure of that name? Gordon and Alan couldn't.

I have to give credit to Bill Bryson, author of 'A Walk in the Woods', (Publisher: Black Swan; New Ed edition 1 Jul 1998) and hope that he doesn't mind me using that book title for this story.

I also have to give credit to my husband and two of his brothers who, many years ago, hiked the whole Appalachian Trail and were willing to share a few of their food related trail stories.

With all my thanks to SamW for her help.

When it was Gordon and Alan's turn to take a break from International Rescue, it surprised no one on the island that it took the brothers, so close yet so different, some time to decide on what to do and where. What they finally decided upon, though, was a surprise. They were going to hike the Appalachian Trail.

Alan agreeing on something as slow moving as walking and Gordon willing to do so as far from his beloved oceans as the Appalachian Mountains? That took the others some time to get their heads around.

Of course, hiking the whole trail was out of the question, that would simply take too long. So both men pored over maps, surfed the Net and at last decided on the last part of the trail. Or the first part, depending on where one started the hike. From Mount Katahdin, through the Hundred Mile Wilderness to Monson, Maine.

More poring over maps and surfing the Net followed, for everybody and the trail guide said: This part was nothing compared to the rest of the trail. Not to be undertaken unless you carried enough food to last at least ten days and you were fit as a fiddle. Here you were completely on your own, no roads, no houses, no nothing.

Getting together their gear also took time. They had, or rather International Rescue had everything a trail hiking camper would need. Lightweight, sturdy, interchangeable parts, state of the art. A little too state of the art -- it would certainly raise eyebrows along the trail. So they had to settle for the 'normal' lightweight hiker equipment.

But finally the hot June day came that Gordon and Alan shouldered their backpacks and started walking.

Very early on Gordon and Alan discovered they had a different tempo while walking. It had nothing to do with training, condition or anything like that. Gordon just took larger paces and therefore was, relatively, faster. And as nothing is more trying than walking faster, or slower, than the tempo that suits you best, it was Gordon who took the lead. Every few hours Gordon would wait for Alan to catch up and then they would eat something, discuss the next leg of their walk and settle on where they would stay the night. Gordon would also wait for his younger brother when he got to a more dangerous place. There was safety in numbers after all. Like yesterday's river crossing... the map -- not a very good one, they agreed on that (they were tempted to contact John in TB5 and ask him to guide them along the trail, more than once) -- had insisted this was the place where the river was fordable. But before they were even a third of the distance across, the water had risen to their necks. And it was still icy cold and fast streaming. It had taken all of their skills to get themselves, their belongings and another hiker, who had arrived while they were there, across. They'd had lost one of their packs with food in the process, though.

When setting up camp for the night Gordon and Alan had quickly fallen into a routine. Gordon filtered water; Alan selected a suitable tree to hang their food in and dug a hole to bury their waste. Gordon pitched the tent and checked that nothing edible had been left among their belongings, Alan cooked.

Food. Neither brother was exactly a glutton, but they liked their food. However, here in the woods where they had to carry everything they needed on their backs, food was scarce. And certainly after the loss of the food parcel that contained the freeze-dried, self heating when reconstituted with water, food Kyrano had developed many years ago. All that they had left were energy bars, noodles and raisins. Gordon and Alan had debated then whether to call for help, but decided against that. They preferred a little hunger to the ragging they would get from their older brothers if they found out. An energy bar and a handful of raisins for breakfast, more raisins for lunch, with noodles, energy bars and raisins for dinner. Monotonous to say the least. Though Gordon had to give credit where it was due... Alan tried to bring some variation to the meals by one day throwing the raisins in with the noodles and the next day adding crumbled bars. And last Sunday he'd surpassed himself by creating a real Sunday dinner treat. Noodles with raisins and crumpled energy bars.

Gordon's stomach was rumbling as he threw their sleeping bags into the tent and heard Alan call out.

"Dinner is ready, come and get it!"

"Coming!" he yelled back and began to undress.

Walking naked over the campfire where an also nude Alan poured the coffee into chipped enamel mugs, Gordon began to laugh.

"Thank god there are no bears on the island," he chuckled and had a sudden vision of his grandmother cooking. Or Kyrano. Or Tin-Tin. He forced himself not to dwell on that imagery.

Alan handed him his plate -- noodles and crumbs today, saw Gordon to his delight, since that meant raisins for dessert -- and said: "Gords, let's hope that back home you won't automatically drop your pants at mealtimes."

Out here in the wilderness with bears and other hungry animals it was good policy to keep the food away from the campsite. But personally Alan thought the 'change your clothes after cooking and eating' rule was taking precautions to an extreme. An extreme only worrywarts like Scott would follow. On the other hand, armed with only their Swiss Army knives, the tent poles and, between them, one spoon and one fork, it would be wise to be cautious. Especially as worrywart wasn't with them. Alan felt sure that if anyone could fend off a bear attack with only a spoon it would be Big Brother.

Only problem was, they didn't have any spare clothing. They'd mailed a parcel with two sets of clothes to Monson and boy, would they be glad to lay their hands on that! For the sake of travelling as light as possible they'd just brought one pair of clean underpants and one pair of socks each. And one of those socks was currently in use as a coffee filter since the day Gordon had slipped and gone head down while wading through a river, thus soaking the paper filters they brought. Of course that had to happen on the one day it rained from morning to night, so they had not had the chance to dry those filters, and by the time the sun had come out again the next morning, they were hopelessly stuck together and unsalvageable.

They weren't sure who first had the idea of cooking and eating in the 'altogether'. But they agreed it worked like a charm. And after the second evening, they'd stopped bathing before having their meal. That was just a waste of precious resting time. After they'd finished their meal they would wade into whatever body of water was available on the camping site, taking with them the pan, plates, mugs and silverware. Bathing and doing the dishes in one move! How economical with your time could you get? But without discussing it they both knew that this had to be kept from Grandma and Tin-Tin. It would take a special type of woman to appreciate it. And neither Margaret Tracy nor Tin-Tin Kyrano were such women.

Then came a day, about halfway through their trip, when after a few hours the footpath suddenly narrowed to little more than a small ledge clinging to the mountain slope. Burdened with their bulky backpacks, Gordon and Alan were glad to find many tree roots and limbs to hold on to. Slowly they edged forward.

"Oh no." Gordon stood suddenly still.

"What?"

"Mountain lion. Back off, Al."

"Can't be a mountain lion, Gordon."

"Why not?"

"Mountain lions don't live in the east." Alan was glad he had a good head for heights. Fumbling for a handhold behind your back, on a small ledge, with a big cat in front of you would otherwise be a little unnerving.

"How do you know that?"

"I read about the trail hazards, remember? This is not a natural habitat for mountain lions."

"Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I don't think this animal read that book, Alan."

"Isn't it a bobcat, Gords?"

"Excuse me, I do know the difference between a mountain lion and a bobcat!"

"Well, excuse me, how would I know how much you know about land animals? Is it still there?"

"No, it just hailed a cab! Of course it's still there."

"You know what we need now, Gordon?"

"A gun?"

"A transporter. Ever seen that series? Star Track?"

"Star Trek, Al. It was called Star Trek."

"Whatever. And even if you had a gun you couldn't use it. It's a protected species."

"I wish I was, too."

"What?"

"A protected species." Still they retreated. "Johnny, beam us up," muttered Gordon.

"Scotty."

"What?"

"It's 'Scotty, beam us up' in that series."

"Whatever. I would settle for 'Grandma, beam us up,' right now. What do we do in the meantime?"

"Unless you can outrun it on this ledge -- back down slowly. Don't scare it, Gordon."

"How about it scaring me? Are you still backing down? If I bump into you and stumble, that beast will attack."

"Is it still there?"

"What do you think?"

"I'm thinking, what if we have to back down all the way back to Katahdin?"

"Any more useful remarks, Alan? Oh!"

"What?"

"Pussycat is settling down for a nap."

"Oh great! Hey, shall we try bypassing the critter? We just need to climb up a little and..."

"We could, if we had our climbing gear. Or if Virgil was here with his oversized tadpole. Or if we didn't have these backpacks. I think, Al, we just have to wait till Tigger here finishes his beauty sleep."

And in the end they just had to do exactly that. Backing down to where the path broadened, they sat in the hot sun till a rested mountain lion passed them, only pausing to stare for a moment at their sunburned faces.

It was another hot June day. As far as they could trust the less than reliable maps, they thought they were near the end of the trail. Or maybe not, as the low looking, but rugged mountain they were now climbing wasn't on the map. For miles they'd trudged along the trail with no other thought than putting one foot before the other and then repeating the process, and then Alan bumped into Gordon's back.

"What?" he said.

"Civilisation," breathed Gordon.

They'd arrived at the Monson, Maine trail parking lot. An hour later they'd hitched a ride with a couple of workers from the town's largest industry, a furniture making factory, to the town itself. They'd made it!

Margaret Tracy ran and tried to hug both her grandsons at the same time. "Why didn't you tell us you were coming home now!" she said as she almost disappeared in Alan's bear hug. "I wasn't expecting you till tomorrow. I was planning something special for dinner, but now..."

Gordon's kiss knocked her glasses askew. "Anything you cook tastes great, Grandma," he said. He followed her and his brother to the kitchen where family and friends raised a welcoming chorus. "You lost weight, kiddo." "Welcome back, son." "Oh, Alan." "No close, uh, encounters with ah, Ursus?" "Had a good time, bro?"

Gordon sat down and, like Alan, tried to answer all questions and remarks the same time. "Not as much as I would've if you'd been doing the cooking, Scott. Good to see you again, Dad. Hi there too, Tin-Tin. Only a mountain lion, no bears, Brains. Virgil, I'll tell you about it later."

Virgil's elbow landing between his ribs made Gordon become aware of Kyrano standing next to him holding out a dish.

"Noodles, Mr. Gordon?"