Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

It's been a busy summer. Some things I've written about (jury duty and backpacking). Others I have not (boating on Lake Jocassee, kayaking in Charleston, and upcoming trips to St. Louis and back into the woods with the girls). However, we just returned from what we would probably consider our "official" vacation - six days in Mount Rogers National Recreation Area.

Situated between the Smokey Mountains of Tennessee and Shenandoah National Park in northwest Virginia, Mount Rogers is located in Virginia's George Washington and Jefferson National Forests. It was wonderful being surrounded by all those mountains. There was a time when I would much prefer the waves of the beach to the stillness of the mountains but it seems I have changed. Is there truth to that notion that we change every seven years?

We spent the week in a cabin we had rented from the Forest Service. Cheaply priced at $100 per night, it was located a half-mile off the road and surrounded by nothing but woods and mountains. There were no other houses, people, or roads to be seen or heard. The yard was enormous. The kids loved playing soccer, baseball, and whiffle ball in addition to climbing trees and chasing down lightning bugs. Growing up as a kid who was deathly scared of all wildlife, including bugs, I never could have guessed that I would become a grown man who spent so much time in nature. There it is again. Change.

Despite the daily war we waged against the endless army of ants in the kitchen, the cabin was perfect. There were four bedrooms (two upstairs and two downstairs), a spacious living room with a stone fireplace, and enough back issues of Appalachian Trailway News magazine to keep me busy during those much-coveted quiet moments.

But, by far, my favorite part of the cabin was the amazing view from the front porch. Just above the treeline you could make out the sharp  outline of Mount Ewing sitting in the distance. Depending on what part of the day you looked the mountain took on a different color. In the mornings it would be draped in fog and low-lying clouds. Look away, though, and you would be surprised to see it appear seemingly out of nowhere - a faint purple ridgeline almost blending perfectly into the sky. Later in the day it became clearer. Dark green. If you looked carefully enough you could make out each individual tree. And then as the sun began to set it took on a whole new color - black. The mountain changed, too.

Despite a good bit of rain we decided to drive up to Grayson Highlands State Park to do some hiking. When we first mentioned this trip to the Virginia mountains to the kids it was the Highlands we used to really rev up their enthusiasm. That's because the highlands are home to herds of wild ponies that roam freely along the path. When we first arrived at the park it was raining, windy, and chilly enough to make me regret having forgotten my jacket at home. The park ranger warned that the weather might make it unlikely to spot any ponies from the trail. Yet within the first few minutes of our walk they were there grazing on the grass. We made our way along the Rhododendrum Trail eventually picking up the Appalachian Trail which took us to some fun climbing rocks. Soon the rain really picked up and we had to cut our day short and head back to the van. As we walked along the rocky path, Ainsley, who just three years ago stated that when visiting the mountains her favorite part was coloring inside the condo and that she wished the mountain could be covered in carpet, asked about hiking the Appalachian trail.

"Why don't we hike it all?" she asked.

"Because it would take six months," I explained. "We have other important things we need to be doing as well. Like school."

"Then why don't we just hike it during our summer vacation for two months?" she asked.

Mom was quick to answer this one.

"Because I think I might enjoy a couple of days but a whole summer is a lot." she said.

I was amazed by Ainsley's inquiry about staying out in the woods for an extended period of time. She has always been the one that just went along with these trips despite a lack of enthusiasm for them. Like me when I was young, she does not care for bugs or any of the other things that rustle the tall grasses along the trail. It seemed that she too has changed.

The best way to get kids to enjoy being in the woods and walking on a hot day is to make certain there will be a couple of really good rivers or streams to splash in. We were mindful to hit a number of them over the course of the week. Some days we were prepared with swimsuits and other days we tried to plead with the kids to stay at least relatively dry. This of course lasted only five or ten minutes. Eventually someone would slip and fall on a green rock and go splashing into the water. What can you do then? Everyone "slips" on in and we allow Mother Nature to do her thing and dry everyone out naturally.
As structured as our lives are at home, probably with a few more rules than we really need, this trip allowed everyone to ease up a bit and just have fun no matter how messy it was. Rules can change, too.

 The only thing I can really say that I wish would have been different on our trip was all the rain. There were a few times when we were confined to the cabin because not everyone had the proper rain gear and clothing to go into the mountains on such a wet day. Temperatures have been known to drop drastically during such storms and hypothermia is a very real threat.

Even on the warm days the trails were very muddy. Further complicating this was the fact that many of the trails we hiked were also equestrian trails. We quickly found that horses really turn up the soil when they walk. This caused sections of the trails to become mud pits that would come up around your ankles if you weren't careful. And as you can imagine, the boys were not. But they weren't alone in the muck. Everyone's shoes and socks were filthy. We once came to a strong flowing stream that had to be forded. Ainsley and Tricia decided to turn back and explore another path that we had passed a few tenths of a mile back. Harper, Muluken, Ty, and I decided to give the stream a go. We pulled off our mud-caked shoes and ginger-footed our way across the jagged rocks. Ty dropped one of his socks into the stream and Harper slipped, splashing down right in the middle of her return trip across. Pulling our disgusting socks and shoes back on to our wet feet was not exactly comforting. I tried not to think about all the mud that would be accompanying us back in the van. I do tend to be a tad of a neat freak. However, I've been trying to change.

One of our final hikes was a rather short one to see an old iron ore furnace out in the middle of nowhere. Standing sixty feet tall and thirty feet wide, it was a massive stone structure that looked somewhat like a small replica of a Mayan temple. How exactly the furnace worked we couldn't find out but it was cool to look at. At the bottom was a small opening, maybe two feet tall at most. I talked Muluken into crawling in and seeing what was inside. "Are there snakes?" he asked. "Oh no," I assured him, trying to mask my uncertainty. Soon we were all crawling through the decades old mixture of soil and soot. Tricia was the last to crawl through. She wasn't too sure about crawling in but all the kids kept at her until she caved. Inside was a large cavern-like tunnel filled with sunlight pouring in through the chimney above. The construction, from rocks blasted from the mountain on which it stood, was amazing. Though we didn't fully understand what it was we were looking at it was still quite a marvel to see.

It was a great trip. Sitting alone out on the cabin porch that final morning, as everyone else lay asleep in their beds, I coulnd't help but think about how hard it was to move away from the city to live in Columbia. We missed the constant sounds of traffic and helicoptors. We missed old houses that were nearly built right on top of each other. We missed feeling like part of the masses. Yet this trip helped us to see another way we have changed. We no longer miss the city like we used to. In fact, all the things we thought we had lost we are noticing again. And they are all around us.

Trica and I were talking in the car today as we made our way to the pool. We were commenting on how odd it is that just a few years ago we longed so badly for city life but somewhere along the way we've come to long, instead, for country life. And that's a change I could never have seen coming.

Big Dreams

When I was young (very young, I hope) I exclaimed that I would one day like to become a trashman. I must have been imagining the wind, however foul smelling, washing over my face as I stood on the small platform at the back of the truck as it rumbled from driveway to driveway. Isn't that every boys' dream, to ride on the outside of the truck? I'm sure I must have also been mesmerized by the prospect of finding all kinds of really cool stuff discarded on the curb or in the bins themselves.

Needless to say, my parents were less than impressed by my ambition. They didn't outwardly show it but I'm certain they hoped for more. I'm not sure there was a lot of warranted promise for more (I was neither an ace student nor a real go getter) but, still, there had to be hope.

Of course I eventually set new goals for myself. For the longest time I wanted to be a professional baseball player. That I could barely swing the bat, yet alone hit the ball, did not dissuade me. I could have spent hours practicing to become a better hitter but instead focused on what I did well - catch the ball. Further developing my strengths and turning a blind eye to my weaknesses did not turn out to be a recipe for success. After making the high school baseball team my freshman year I was cut the following spring. I was crushed.

Not long after this I decided that I might like a career in medicine. But I wouldn't be content just taking x-rays or drawing blood. No, I was aiming big. I wanted to be a doctor. Again I was able to look the other way when confronted with the fact that I was a solid "C" student who strongly disliked physiology class just the semester before. I enrolled in a course entitled "Medical Terminology." Taught by a nurse, it was an entire semester of memorizing medical terms. Nothing more. Just memorizing prefixes such as "rhino" (nose) and "pan" (all). By the end of the semester I had earned a very high "A". I understood nothing more about medicine or the human body but I could decipher some of what I heard on Trapper John, MD.

Unfortunately around this same time my dad began what would be very regular stints in the hospital as he dealt with the diagnosis and attempted treatments for Multiple Sclerosis and colon cancer. I quickly learned that hospitals really stink. Literally. Whether it was the patients, the meals. or the cleaning chemicals I didn't know. But one thing was for sure - saving lives or not, I couldn't bear to stomach that smell eight hours a day, every day (At that time I still thought doctors had the same hours as the trashman).




Tricia and I were recently taking a walk with the kids when out of nowhere she asked Ainsley what she would like to be when she grows up.

"A cashier,' Ainsley answered.

"A what?" Muluken asked.

"Like the ones at the grocery store," Tricia answered. "You know, the ones who take our money at the register."

"Oh," Muluken replied. He thought a bit more about it and asked "Do they get paid very much?"

"No," Harper was quick to answer. "They don't."

"Do teachers get paid very much," he asked, looking up at me.

In unison Tricia and I both responded "They get paid enough."

"How much is enough?" he asked.

"It's enough to buy food, have a nice home, and go on vacations together," I answered.

He thought some more.

"I want to be a baseball player," he said. "Do they get paid a lot?"

"They get paid a whole lot," Tricia said.

"Do they have other jobs too?" he asked.

"No," I answered. "They just play baseball."

A little further down the trail I was still thinking about this. They just play baseball.

I thought about the fact that, as an adult, I have been quick to laugh at or dismiss a dream to grow up to pick up trash or run a cash register. Yet these are both jobs that are important and need to be done. And at the same time I've acted as though hoping to spend your adult life playing a game is a grand goal.  Is it the money, the fame, the adulation? Why is hoping to grow up to be a professional athlete so well received, I wonder.

As the kids grow they too will change their minds many times as to what they want to do with their adult lives. I hope they choose to do something in the service of others. I hope, in the end, the question of how much money they will make will  not be at or too near the top of their priority list. I trust it won't. They're really good, kind-hearted kids.

On the Appalachian Trail: Springer Mountain to Neels Gap

The Appalachian Trail runs 2,175 miles from Springer Mountain in Georgia to Mount Katahdin in Maine, passing through fourteen different states along the way. Each year about 1,600 backpackers set out to hike the entire trail. For most the blisters, sore muscles, rain, snow, heat,and endless ups and downs (both physical and emotional) prove to be too much. Of those 1,600 that start only about 400 finish.

While I would love to hike the entire trail there is no way I could just head out for a five month walk in the woods. So a few weeks ago I decided I would do the next best thing - section hike the trail. Section hiking allows you to complete the trail over a number of years. You simply begin each new trip at the spot you left off. Of course you could hop around on the trail but I think there's something to be said about seeing it and experiencing it as it is naturally laid out.

So last Friday afternoon the boys and I loaded up our packs and drove to Neels Gap, Georgia. In Neels Gap is an outfitter, Mountain Crossings, that actually lies on the Appalachian Trail (AT). After thirty miles of hiking you suddenly come out of the woods and pass right through the store. For this reason Mountain Crossings does great business each March and April as they sell a lot of gear, cold drinks, and ice cream to exhausted walkers who are ready for a break from blisters and trail food.


The boys and I decided to park our car at Neels Gap, stay at a hostel for the night, and get a shuttle to Springer Mountain. Once at Springer Mountain the plan was to hike .9 miles to the summit, take pictures of the plaque marking the Southern Terminus of the AT, and head back down to begin our thirty mile hike back to the car. We would complete the first thirty miles of the trail and hopefully have a good enough time to want to return many more times, slowly making our way to Maine.

Along the way the boys kept trail journals. Most nights they sat in the tent, though exhausted from miles of walking and climbing, and recorded what had happened and what they had seen. Since this is our hike, and not just mine, I'm going to allow them to help me tell the story by alternating voices, taking their words straight from their journals (with some spelling and grammatical editing).

Day 0: The Hostel

First we had dinner. Second we hiked a little. Third we went back to the bunkhouse and played cards. We played Rummy, UNO, and me and Muluken played Othello.

We are sleeping in a bunkhouse. There are shovels, books, and a chocolate dog. We are sleeping in bunkbeds. I'm sleeping on top. (Ty, age 6)

Well when we finished the four hour drive we parked and went in a store for a map and see where we were going to sleep for the day. When we heard where we were staying for the night we went down there and got scared when a dog started barking. We went back to the store to make sure that was the right place and it was. When we went in there was a lady to tell us where to go and where the beds were. When we got in we got our backpacks and put them on the beds.

We went back to the car and got all the stuff for dinner. We had sandwiches made from Publix and chips. We also got bananas and muffins for Saturday morning. After we ate we read Harry Potter. We also listened to Harry Potter in the car for four hours. It was fun. We didn't get bored. (Muluken, age 9)

The other hikers at the hostel tonight are very interesting. Kat, who is hiking with her chocolate lab mix, says that she has walked all the way up from Florida. Somewhere along the way she learned that she had lost her job and decided to just keep walking. When asked where she is head she answers only "north."

There's another hiker, Mike, who lost his job as well. He said that with the rough economic times his employer began skipping paychecks. He eventually became fed up with this and quit. Now he's here on the trail with sore knees from trying to squeeze too many miles into each day. Most backpackers will begin with seven or eight mile days and he has pushed himself to do fifteen. He sits on the small love seat looking exhausted and downbeat. I ask him how much further he will go and he thinks before saying "to that bunk in there." After a few more moments he reconsiders and explains that he has a ride coming to pick him up in a few days so he needs to decide what he's going to do. He'll either hike out another ten miles or so and come back to catch the ride or call to cancel it and just keep heading north.

There are many others here as well. One young guy has an impossibly heavy backpack, a mohawk, and wears a long flowing robe that looks to be an exact replica of the one Obi Won Kenobi wears in Star Wars. When he returns to his bunk wearing this I fear the boys will laugh or say something embarrassing but miraculously they don't. Instead they act as though this is something they see every single day of their lives.

The hostel, located in the basement of Mountain Crossings, consists of a small kitchen, living room, and bunkroom that contains about sixteen beds. The boys and I were among the first here and have claimed beds in a little alcove that offers as much privacy as you can have sleeping in a room with so many strangers. The mattresses smell like a mixture of wet gear and cleaning supplies. When the lights are finally turned out around 10:30 it becomes very dark but we can still hear hushed conversations around us. We all fall asleep rather quickly. Tomorrow is our big day. We'll begin our journey from Springer. (Dad, age 36)

Day 1: Springer Mountain to Stover Creek Shelter (Trail Miles: 2.8, Hiking miles 9.8)

We went in the car to drive our car to a place to park because we couldn't leave the car parked by the store. We brought bananas and muffins for breakfast. When we were done we waited for an hour for the beard man to drive us to our trail. It took us an hour or so to get there.

When we got in there we started to go in this swiggle road that made me sick so I got a cup in case I had to do the business. I went to sleep for a long time. We were driving on a bumpy road and we got a big bump. It pushed me off my seat right on my face and that's what woke me up. We did not have car seatbelts and two car seats are missing and it is really dirty. I tried to go back to sleep but Big Daddy kept waking me up.

When we got there we asked the man which way to start. We went that way until we got to this bridge and asked this man if we were going to Springer Mountain and he told us that we went three miles farther away the opposite direction and we had to turn around. That had added to our 30 miles we were going. (Muluken, age 9)

I knew the shuttle van was going to be interesting as soon as I saw that the door handle was missing and that Dartman (our driver) had to reach inside to get it open for us. Once inside I noticed that the floor was littered with cans of Fix-a-Flat and brake fluid. This did little to settle my nerves as we navigated over rocky roads with potholes large enough to serve as bunkers. The ride was interesting to say the least.

Thinking we would reach Springer Mountain around 9:30 I was a bit disappointed to finally arrive at 11:00 am. Dartman hopped out and ran up the trail to relieve himself. Upon returning he extended his hand for a handshake and it occured to me that he hadn't washed his hands. Cleanliness takes on a whole new meaning in the woods so I shake his hand and ask him which way we need to go.

Dartman has hiked the AT twice and shuttles hikers up dozens of times each spring and summer. He knows this trail well. He looks up ahead toward a clearing and asks if we want to head up to the top of Springer, which would require coming right back down to this same spot, or just head on down the trail from here. I explain to him that we have come all this way and plan to section hike the AT so we want to summit Springer to start at the very beginning.

He points toward a clearing in the woods and says "Just head on down that trail right there." I pull out my camera and ask him to take a picture of us before our journey. Afterward I point to the clearing and say "So we just head down that trail right there?"

"Yep."

With that we head down the trail. Along the way we take a number of breaks, talk, and laugh. I'm not wearing a watch so I'm not even sure how long we have been walking. However, it seems as though we should have walked a mile. Finally we reach  a stream where there's a father with his two older sons. They're just packing up their map and preparing to take off. I ask him if the summit of Springer is close and he informs me that we have walked three miles in the wrong direction. To reach the summit we would have to hike four miles back the way we came.

The boys don't really understand but I'm deflated. Should we just head on or should we walk back to make our summit, thus beginning at the true beginning of the trail? It's 12:30 which would put us back at the parking lot at 2:00 - three hours after what had already been a late start. I think ahead to the thirty miles we have to walk from the summit and what this would mean for our daily mileage. I was planning to hike six to nine miles each day but backtracking now would mean hiking longer days both in terms of miles and hours.

I ask the boys and we all decide we want to start from the beginning. It makes for a long day. We wind up getting to the top around 3:00 where we take in the view, eat our lunch, take some pictures, and rest our weary feet. After about forty-five minutes we head back down the mountain stopping to notice the very first white blaze of the trail.

Three miles later we finally arrive at the Stover Creek Shelter at 6:30. We treat water from the creek, make dinner, and decide to sleep in the loft of the shelter rather than mess with our tent. It's getting late and we're a bit exhausted. We climb up the ladder into the shelter's loft, set up our pads and sleeping bags, and drift off to sleep with the sounds of mice scurrying below us. (Dad, age 36)





Day 2: Stover Creek Shelter to Justus Creek (11 miles today, 13.8 AT miles total, 20.8 total miles hiked)

We hiked together. We hiked 11 miles. My brother's trail name is Jolly Roger. My trail name is Flash. (Ty, age 6)

We went hiking and we went the right way this time. "Never ask someone" that is what we said once. Then we kept saying "I can't believe that man made us go the wrong way" over and over on the trail.

We went 11 miles and stopped by this campsite and stream so we could make our dinner. Dad made the rice and Jolly Roger (JR) and Flash went down to the stream and played in it for a while. When dinner was over we went up with our packs and put them down and started getting the tent poles out. While Big Daddy and JR was building the tent Flash made things with his sticks he had.

When Big Daddy and JR finished the tent we hung the food bags and trash on a tree so bears wouldn't try to get in the bags. We went in the tent and made our beds and pillows and started to write this. (Muluken, age 9)

Eleven miles. We're going too far and I fear burning the boys out. However, we had to get near the halfway point today because there are only two days left until we are supposed to reach Neals Gap and head home.

The boys were cute this morning at the Three Forks stream. Ty had accidentally dropped a piece of Poptart into the stream and they spent about twenty minutes watching what they thought was a scorpion carrying it away. It was a nice stream and provided a great chance to relax.

Today was our first day of real climbing. We climbed a number of mountains including Hawk Mountain and Justus Mountain. Ty really struggled with the climbs, wanting to take a sit down break every five minutes or so. Our pace has been established at about one mile per hour including breaks. Considering the hard climbs, that's not too bad.

The campsite at Justus Creek tonight is wonderful. The Forestry Service has leveled out about eight tent pads about a hundred yards above the stream. There's only one other camper here tonight. He has hiked in six miles from Woody Gap and has to return in the morning to get to work later in the day. As the boys and I sit and write in our journals we can hear faint booms off in the distance. I had forgotten today is the Fourth of July. It's strange to feel so removed. (Dad, age 36)





Day 3: Justus Creek Campsite to Woods Hole Shelter (13.2 miles today, 27 AT miles total, 34 total miles hiked)

We had breakfast after we got all of the things done. We ate a chocolate drink and Poptarts. We all ate on the hike and went really far. When we went five or six miles we put our stuff down and got out our stove and rice bag and cooked it. We stopped at Woody Gap and there were picnic tables, bathrooms, and a trash can so we could empty our full trash bags. After we ate we went to a stream to fill our waterbottles. It was really far from our table where we were eating.

Dad let Flash and JR play in a little stream and we had lots of fun moving rocks and making the water go faster. When we went back on the trail we had ten miles left to go and Big Daddy said we couldn't do it in one day.  "We could do five today and five tomorrow," JR said. I wanted to do it all but we couldn't.

We did about 4 or 5 more miles and it started to get dark and we had to find a campsite to make our tent. When we found a campsite Big Daddy asked if we wanted to go on or stop here. We both said keep going. Big Daddy asked for a reason and I said that I wanted to hike in the dark so we could see bears but we didn't. We had to get our flashlights out because it was getting so dark.

We hiked a while and didn't stop or take breaks because it was so dark. Big Daddy looked on the little paper he had and saw that we were getting closer to a shelter that has campsites by it so lets go there. When we got to the sign "Shelter" we went that way and we had to walk a mile (it was actually a half-mile) to get there but finally we got there and set our stuff down and started to build the tent. It took a while too because we were in the pitch dark and couldn't see that well. (Muluken, age 9)

After three days I begin to wonder how crazy my hair must look. Since we're in the middle of the woods and generally see no more than five or six people in the course of a day it doesn't really matter. Still, I'm curious so I use the camera to take a picture of myself and then check. Yes, it's crazy. I look like a peacock. So as I walk along the trail I try to brush it out with my fingers and keep taking more pictures to check my progress. Am I vain?

Today was a big day. We climbed a lot of mountains and finally we were rewarded with spectacular views. Big Cedar was my favorite. There were large rock outcroppings at the top and you could see for miles and miles. The mountains were beautiful. I took pictures and had the boys pose as if they were getting ready to jump off the edge of the mountain. In reality the rock just dipped down a bit and went about ten or twenty more yards before falling off into the tree tops below. We laughed and laughed knowing that Grandma would hate this picture.

Ty was such a strong climber today. I learned that if we play a game such as I Spy when climbing he just keeps walking and walking without complaint or need for constant sitting. As we were playing I'd stop every five or ten minutes to act as though I was really thinking hard to make a good guess so that we could take a short "stand up" break. Before we knew it we had climbed 600 feet in just a mile of walking. That's quite an elevation gain in a short distance - and all without so much as a whimper. The next few mountains played out much the same. Ty has become a mountain goat.

Muluken is the perfect hiking partner. He finds a good pace and keeps it. He offers to help when there is work to be done. He encourages his brother and leads us in our games as we walk. His cheap tennis shoes are wearing thin on the bottom and I know that the sharp rocks on the trail are killing the bottoms of his feet. Still, he marches on. I promise, next year, to buy him some boots or really good hiking inserts for his shoes. Not surprisingly he wants them now.

Both boys are awfully good at spotting insects and animals. We have seen grasshoppers, caterpillars, snails, mice, rabbits, chipmunks, squirrels, birds, spiders, and ants. We all want to see a bear but we are far too noisy coming down the trail to sneak up on one. We often hear branches breaking as animals dart off through the woods. We can't see them but we know they are there.

We hiked well into the night. At 8:30 we found a campsite but Ty asked to go on a little further. Both boys want to get closer to the car to make tomorrow a short day and they also want to hike in the dark. I think everyone, including me, is getting homesick. We miss our family.

Around 9:30 we finally come across the Woods Hole Shelter and set up our tent in the dark. After 13 miles of hiking with packs on their back you would think the boys would be dead tired but neither seems too excited to be going to sleep. Muluken works hard on his journal and Ty looks up from his sleeping bag to comment on the noises he hears outside.

Not long after I turn the lights out I hear mice outside our tent crawling through the boys' backpacks. The packs are stowed under the rainfly just outside the tent door. Obviously someone has mistakenly left some food in their pack and the mice are happy to dive in after it. I, however, am not comforted by knowing there are mice on the other side of a thin sheet of nylon just three feet from my face. I smack the side of the tent numerous times to scare them away but they always return in just a few moments. Finally I give up and drift off to sleep. (Dad, age 36)



Day 4: Woods Hole Shelter to Neels Gap (3.7 miles, 30.7 AT miles total, 37.7 total hiking miles)

Today was a much welcomed short day. Just a little over three and half miles into Neels Gap. However, standing between us and a cold drink and ice cream was Blood Mountain. At 4,461 feet it was the highest mountain we summited on our trip. If that weren't enough it was a somewhat technical climb with so many rocks of every size to navigate. The payoff was remarkable though. The top offered many large stretches where we walked across rock outcroppings overlooking more mountains than you could count. As Muluken said, "This is beautiful!"

The climb down was surprisingly as difficult as the climb up. I turned my ankle which only served to contribute to the quarter-sized blisters on the backs of both feet where my Achilles tendon attaches to my heel - not to mention the newly forming blisters on the sides of my big toes. I feel a bit like the walking wounded but I march on knowing that soon my new boots will be worked in and, hopefully, much more forgiving.

Ty and I struggle along without water. There were two streams listed on my map but one is dry and the other is nowhere to be found. When we reach the final half mile of the hike we can hear the loud rumble of cars below. Our pace picks up and at the end we are almost running. Finally we come out of the trees and see before us Mountain Crossings and their parking lot. Everyone is excited and laughing so hard. We are happy to be finished. We make our way across the road, set our packs down, and immediately go in for a Powerade and ice cream sandwich. (Dad, age 36)

It was a great trip. We met a lot of interesting people along the trail. Most of them congratulated the boys on being able to hike such demanding terrain. One man even told them that they were inspirational. Sharing this hike with the boys made it more challenging but more meaningful as well. We'll keep going. There are already rough plans for the next trip and then we'll see what might come next. Over the years I can only hope to have the girls and Mom come along and keep their own journals. Right now they're not too excited about the idea of big climbs and big miles. But they have plenty of time. The mountains aren't going anywhere.

Law and Order - Part Four

How can you find innocent a man caught just five minutes after an armed robbery who fits the description provided by witnesses, has in his possession the weapon and money, and is identified by one of his victims?

You can’t.

After we all filed back into the deliberation room we sat in silence. We had been instructed not to begin discussing the trial until the bailiff had an opportunity to bring all the evidence back to our room. The rules of a courtroom are very strict and taken quite seriously. As the bailiff came in to drop off the evidence he warned us not to say a word until he had left the room and closed the door.

“If you need anything,” he explained, “there’s a notepad right here on the wall next to the door. The foreman needs to write your request on a single sheet of paper, knock on the door, and wait for me to come in and take the sheet to the judge. Please do not include any names of jurors on the sheet. Rather, identify yourselves by your juror number only.”

The evidence consisted of the gun (the rounds were kept in the courtroom as we were not allowed to have both the gun and the rounds with us at the same time), the defendant’s clothing, stacks of photographs, poster-sized maps showing the area of the robbery and attempted get-away, and a video. The video was from the dashboard camera of the police officers who pulled the gray truck over.

“I’d like to see the video one more time,” requested the woman next to me. She was a newly retired teacher from the same district I teach in as well as a former English-as-a-Second-Language teacher of our oldest son. “Could you ask the judge to send in the DVD player so we can see the video again.”

There was a silence. Everyone was thinking the same thing but only Bill spoke up.

“Why?”

“I just think a man’s life is at stake here and we should make sure we are going to make the right decision,” she explained.

“What are you hoping to see in the video that you don’t already know?” asked Marcus.

She had no answer. I think, like many of us, she felt that coming right back in after only a minute and a half would make it seem as though we hadn’t really kept an open mind about anything. She felt we needed to be thorough and discuss this in earnest.

The foreman, another teacher from my district, ripped off a half sheet of paper, scribbled out the request, and knocked on the door. Within seconds the bailiff entered, took the sheet, and began shaking his head.

“No, no, no,” he said. “This won’t do. You need to write it on a FULL sheet of paper.”

We all laughed. He did not.

So the foreman went about getting a full sheet of paper and rewriting the request for the DVD player while we all sat and discussed what difference a full sheet of paper could possibly make. We were confused but certainly not surprised. Over the past few days we had come to learn that there is a rule or procedure for everything that happens in the courtroom - from the defense attorney beginning every cross examination with “As it pleases the court, Your Honor” to the order in which the attorneys were allowed to ask their questions.

A few minutes later a woman came into the room with a laptop. She opened up Windows Media Player and warned us not to watch any other videos on the DVD. As curious as we may have been, the sun was sinking lower in the sky and we were anxious to get this thing over with.

We all huddled around the small screen and squinted as the video played. The defendant had stated he was picked up by the truck just a block before it was pulled over and we were looking to see if the truck did in fact come to a rolling stop to pick someone up. The problem was that the police car was a block and a half behind the truck and it was awfully hard to see with any detail. I don’t think anyone saw whether or not the truck’s brake lights came on but we were all content to believe we had. It didn’t matter because the defendant’s story of what happened after he was picked up involved him doing about five minutes worth of work and talking in the time it took the truck to travel half a block, pull into a parking lot, and get trapped in by police cars. Nothing of his story added up or even made sense.

I was excited because after four long days we were finally getting ready to return to our lives. I was excited because I knew there was no doubt that we were getting ready to make the right decision. Assuming we were ready to take our one and only vote, I began packing up my few belongings. That’s when I heard…

“I think we’re all certain he’s guilty of armed robbery but if you’re going to try to stick these three counts of kidnapping on him we’re all in for a LONG night.”

It was Bill. For about the hundredth time over the past four days there was an awkward silence in the room. This time, however, the silence was different. There were looks of befuddlement all around the table and a quickly growing sense of tension.

“I mean he robbed that restaurant,” said Bill. “But to add three counts of kidnapping just seems like we’re trying to pile it on him.”

As relatively quiet as I had been up to this point I could no longer contain myself.

“Piling on has nothing to do with it,” I argued. “Our job is to decide if he’s guilty of the charges brought against him.”

“We’ve already got him for armed robbery,” he said. “What’s the point of adding these other charges? I mean, I’m probably the most conservative person in this room but this wasn’t kidnapping. I think we oughta convict him of the robbery and leave the rest be.”

The room erupted. I sat and listened as he argued back and forth with a number of the other jurors. His mind was set.

“They didn’t even spend any time proving kidnapping," he argued.

“They did,” I said, probably a bit too loudly. “The prosecutor explained that kidnapping is not just taking someone but also confining them by force or threat of harm to commit a subsequent crime. That is exactly what this guy did.”

“I just don’t by it,” he said. “She spent zero time proving it.”

I was beside myself.

“Every single victim,” I argued, “All four victims, they were all asked ‘Did you feel free to leave the restaurant at any time’ and they all answered ‘No.’ What other evidence do you need? That’s confinement.”

“I don’t buy it,” he said again. “They were only in there a few minutes. That’s not kidnapping.”

“But time doesn’t matter,” I said. “The judge and prosecution both explained that confinement begins the very moment that the victim’s freedom to leave is taken from them and ends only when that freedom is restored. There’s no time limit, no magical line in the sand. Confinement is confinement.”

“I just don’t buy it.”

It was dead silent. We couldn’t even begin to imagine what we were going to do. The law was clear, the defendant had clearly broken it, and this guy was going to sit there and say “I don’t buy it” all night long.

The foreman decided that perhaps we should take a vote. I supposed that he was hoping that the pressure of being the only one to raise his hand for an innocent verdict on kidnapping would help loosen Bill up a bit. On the count of armed robbery we all raised our hands for a guilty verdict. Then the three counts of kidnapping were read separately. For the first count of kidnapping Bill was the only person to vote innocent. But on the other two another juror joined his ranks. Tempers flared.

“Why did you vote guilty on one but innocent on two others?” asked Marcus.

Juror number 56 looked up and said “Well…I think maybe since he held a gun to the one guy and forced him to put the money in the bag that was kidnapping. But the others were kind of off to the side so we could just find him guilty of one count.“ She looked over at Bill. “Doesn’t that make sense?”

I was furious. She was trying to cut a deal.

“No,” I said. “You can’t do that. He can’t be guilty of one count of kidnapping but not the others. All three victims were confined in that restaurant by gunpoint. None of them could leave.”

“How do you know that?” asked Bill. “How do you know they couldn’t leave? He never said that to them.”

“Really?” I asked. “Armed men now have to vocally tell their victims that they can’t leave in order to prove their wrongdoing? Someone sticks a gun in my face I think it’s implied I can’t leave.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “It just doesn’t seem like kidnapping to me.”

There was yet another long silence in the room. No one knew what to say. No one knew how to fix this. What seemed an hour ago to be the easiest verdict in the world had now become a stalemate that threatened to keep us there late into the night and possibly even into the next day.

Then it occurred to me that maybe Bill felt cornered. Maybe a small piece of him might consider changing his mind but that all the yelling that had taken place up to this point had left him feeling cornered and too proud to back down. Speaking into the silence, I tried a calmer approach.

“I understand your problem with this,” I said to him. “The very first thing I wrote on my notepad Tuesday as ‘What does kidnapping have to do with this case?’. I’ve always thought of kidnapping as someone abducting a person, usually a kid or a woman, and taking them off to another place. I was really surprised to hear that in South Carolina confinement counts as kidnapping. And I’m not 100% sure I agree with it, to tell you the truth. However, that’s the way the law is written and our job isn’t to interpret the law but to read the law and determine if the defendant has broken it. Broken it as it’s written. I think it’s clear he has, even it what he did doesn’t fit the definition you and I, and probably most of us here, had for kidnapping.”

He sat and thought. More silence.

“Yeah, well…” he said. “I can see where he confined them with a gun but I just don’t believe that’s kidnapping.”

“But that’s not our job here,” said another juror. “We just need to follow the laws that are in the books, the way they’ve been written.”

“I guess you’re right,” he said. “I just don’t like it.”

We took another vote and he begrudgingly raised his hand for a guilty verdict on all counts. Everyone remained quiet as the foreman filled out the indictments and signed his name.

“Well look it this way,” I finally said to Bill. “You won’t have to come back for at least another three years.”

“Oh no, “ he said, “I’m turning 65 so this is my last time in a courtroom.”

“Unless you come back as a defendant,” joked Marcus.

“Ha,” laughed Bill. “If I do I hope you bunch aren’t my jury. You’ll hang me for sure!”

Epilogue

After the verdicts were read the defense attorney requested that the judge poll the jury. We each had our number called out and had to tell the court that we did, in fact, agree with the verdicts and had not changed our minds. Bill stayed firm with a “Yes, your honor.” In a rare moment of bold behavior, I looked over at the defendant and exclaimed “Absolutely I do.”

We were invited by the judge to come back around to the gallery after our dismissal from the courtroom so that we could see the sentencing. He was of the experience that this helped to provide a sense of closure for juries. Eight of us took him up on this offer but four others felt uncomfortable seeing a man sentenced to prison based on a decision we had made for him. Even if that decision was the correct one.

Sitting in the gallery we learned that Mr. Broadnax had a long history of gun related crimes that dated back to 1979. He had spent more time in prison over the past two decades than he had outside of them. The prosecution told the judge the defendant currently had four other armed robbery indictments pending in her office. He was a bad guy.

The judge had no choice as to the sentence. Life in prison without parole. Christopher Broadnax had finally run out of strikes.

The next morning I received an e-mail from the jury foreman asking me what the sentence was. He was curious to know but couldn’t bring himself to sit in the courtroom and watch it happen. He feared he was already going to have enough problems getting to sleep that night.

I told him of the long rap sheet, the pending indictments, and the strong sentence. His e-mail back was short and simple. It simply read “Thanks.” There was no more reason to discuss, or even think about, all we had heard.

It’s sad what people in this world will do for $211.47.

Law and Order - Part Three

It only takes one. One bobblehead to spoil an otherwise good group of jurors. One pompous know-it-all that makes you cringe each time the judge sends you back to the deliberation room so that he can meet with the lawyers. Just one.

And we had him.

The bobblehead's name was Marcus. Marcus looked every bit like actor Mark Walhberg if Mark Wahlberg were ever to shave his head completely bald, wear an oversized gold watch, and sport brightly colored Polo shirts. Marcus was a car salesman. It killed him, or so he stated a hundred times over the three days we were together, that he was away from the car lot.

"In sales you gotta be there to make any money!" he stated.

He was sure to let us know that after the first day alone he had more than forty phone messages on his cell phone. I wasn't aware that cell phones were quite so important to car sales.

"I called in last night and they've got three guys running all around trying to do what I normally do in a day," he boasted.

It was becoming more and more apparent, what with the phone calls and extra staff, that Marcus was the glue that held this dealership together.

But Marcus wasn't a slave to his trade. No, he liked to party and was sure to let us know all about it. Most mornings he came into the deliberation room (late, of course) and set his head down on the table. Someone would ask, "Are you alright Marcus?"

"Yeah," he'd respond. "I'm just beat. I just went to bed a few hours ago."

"Wow, that's a late night," someone would respond. I was never quite sure if they were just being nice and making small talk or if somehow Marcus was the "cool" guy they wanted to befriend. I kept my nose in a book as much as I could.

"We were all over the place last night," he explained. "It wasn't me, though. My girlfriend was dragging me around."

There were times when our courtroom schedule really cramped his plans: "I gotta get out of here. There's a new restaurant I have to try out tonight."

Any momentary silence in the room was an opportunity for him to think out loud, thus inviting others to pull him into a conversation so that he could enlighten us with yet more details about his life.

"I need to find a paper and see what time my buddy is teeing off at the US Open," he said to no one in particular.

After a few awkward seconds of silence there is a taker.

"Oh, you know Dustin Johnson?"

"Yeah, I used to party with him up at Coastal."

"Do you play golf?"

"Yeah. I played all four years in high school and had some big scholarship offers but I decided not to take them," answers Marcus.

I want to ask him how that worked out for him but, instead, I bite my tongue.

Our final day of hearings included a lot of downtime in the deliberation room while we waited for a police officer to come back to the courthouse for some follow-up questioning. We sat and sat and sat with little to do. By this point all small talk had been exhausted and we wanted this to be over. After about ten minutes of silence, of which he rested his partied-out head, Marcus shot up like rocket. Asking someone for a piece of paper, he proceeded to make a paper football.

"I'm really good at making these," he said. "I didn't pay too much attention in class when I was in high school but I could sure make a tight paper football."

I smirk and wonder if anyone saw me.

Once he finished the football the old mustached guy next to him jumped into action.

"I haven't played this in years but I'll give it a shot," he said. He got up out of his chair and moved around the table so that he could sit across from Marcus. Two other people had to stop reading their books to slide over and make room for him.

It took only a few moments to realize that Marcus was quite the expert at this game. He consistently flicked field goals right down the middle while the old guy, Bill, shanked them left and right.

"I used to never lose," bragged Marcus. "We played all the time in detention. I was in there all the time!"

I feigned a look of shock.

Marcus, at best, was a character who made this adventure a little more interesting. I'm not saying I enjoyed him but, in retrospect, he added a little flavor to what was, at times, a mind-numbing experience filled with sitting and waiting.

I would have expected that if anyone was going to provide some fireworks during our final deliberations it would have been him. I wouldn't have been surprised to see him take this final opportunity to grab just a little more stage before our final farewell. But he didn't. In the end Marcus was ready to go quietly. So, as fate would have it, someone else stepped up to take his place. Someone we would grow to disdain much more than a young, pompous car salesman.

It was Bill and he would prove to have, in addition to the mustache, quite a willingness to stand alone against us all.