Oats (and Thru!) on the Pinhoti: Days 4 and 5

Day 4, Tuesday

Back home, I collect fidgets. (Also buttons, enamel pins, bookmarks, magnets, and dice, but who’s counting?) Some are dodecahedrons with different options for fiddling on each face, others are simply small, soft, and squishy (but like that good squishy.) On trail, my fidget was Thru Dog’s constantly shedding coat. Each day, new tufts of undercoat appeared near the surface, just enough for me to gently pull them out in a tiny clump. She’s not a fan of brushing in general, but tolerated my persistent plucks until I had a sizeable pile of fur blowing around inside the tent.

A couple of years back on the Colorado Trail, Thru emerged from the tent to greet the day with a thorough, wiggly back rub in the thick grass. I was elated to see she kept the tradition on this trail, except that she made do with the crunching leaves all around us instead. The video is better than any picture I could capture, but here’s one where I tried.

It occurred to me that over the last couple of days, we established and settled into a steady routine. Thru started the day in front, leading us down the trail until her pace matched mine. My body was used to walking all day enough that my pace stayed pretty consistent and quickly fell into a rhythm. Thru and I took turns, leading and following, though I know if she had it her way she’d prefer a side-by-side stroll. On some of the wider forest service roads and old trainbeds we followed, she got her wish.

About halfway through the long water carry of the day, I considered the source ahead that FarOut designated as “seasonal”. A couple of comments from ‘25 made it seem like there was some flow, so I unclipped and dropped my backpack with a definitive PLOP as Thru and I made our way a quarter mile down the steepest blue blaze that you could call a trail. I’ve had some gnarly side quests on trails before, some willingly, some not so much, but this time was different. I took my time. I resisted the temptation to make the stop as fast as possible, and committed myself to enjoying this chore, because why not? I was exactly where I wanted to be. Appalachian Trail Oats from 2019, who was brought to tears every additional 0.5 miles beyond the official trail, would be shocked, and also oh so proud.

Day 5, Wednesday

The first 10 miles of the day flew by. I was met with easy hiking along mountain ridges until the trail descended to train tracks and a bridge over the river. I heard the train before I saw it. Being in the middle of nowhere, there were no crossing lights or large bells to ring; so the distant rumbling was all I saw. I looked left to make sure it wasn’t the world’s quietest train trying to sneak up on me, and swiftly tugged Thru into a light jog across. By the time the train passed entirely, I collected water for our next section of trail, and we were ready to head out once more.

It was then that I had my first encounter with a Pinhoti thru-hiker like myself, except he was headed the other direction. The SOBO hiker said he was taking the trail easy, not pushing more than 10 or 12 miles daily, and was only a week from finishing at Flagg Mountain. With a couple of excited recommendations for how to enjoy the trail to its fullest as I made my way north, we fist bumped and carried on our respective journeys.

As the day passed, the realization came to me that we were cruising faster than expected, so our breaks got longer and longer. Now I don’t know about you, but I prefer a break on my butt, typically with the pack on (unless my snacks are out of reach in the netted pocket of my pack). I pulled the head scarf I keep my hair up in during the day over my eyes, and took time to savor every touch of pinecone next to me, every chirping song from the birds overhead, and the soft sand accumulated around the edges of the creek. I ate my assorted nuts and raisins one at a time, and enjoyed being in my body. This body of mine, which I’ve had a complicated relationship with for as long as I can remember. This incredible body, which over the years has carried me over 3,000 miles on foot.

As Thru and I closed with the Cheaha Wilderness, the trail became reminiscent of Rocks-ylvania on the Appalachian Trail. I stepped slowly along the rocky trail at first, but the desire to go the speed my body wants to was too much. I eventually began hopping along the tops of the largest, flattest-looking rocks in my path, my feet and toes gripping for their lives through my Altras.

I graduated from college in 2018, and I planned to hike the Appalachian Trail the first chance I had. Even before I started my freelance business, Oats Hikes, I emailed blog pitches to every outdoor gear and media company I could. After writing one of my first pieces, How to Enjoy Your Winter Hike for Hiker Hunger Outfitters, they sent me a pair of trekking poles as compensation. Those are the trekking poles I’ve used on every trail since. Unfortunately, today was the end of an era.

One unfortunate placement of my pole, and I heard the slight cracking I knew to be the carbon fiber finally giving out after all these years. Let me be clear, it would’ve lasted longer if I hadn’t goofed it up, but I was heartbroken regardless. I tried to use some Leukotape to repair the crack, which worked for a surprising couple of miles, but it was clear the pole would handle pressure no more. I mourned the loss of my friend (for both sentimental and balance reasons) the next few days, as it lived next to my umbrella in the side pouch of my pack. Thankfully, the crack was so far down on the pole that I could still use the height to prop up my Unbound 2P; otherwise, I would’ve been stuck stick-hunting.

Once when I had spotty service, I texted the local hostel 8 Acorns to arrange a shuttle to pick us up at Cheaha tomorrow. Tomorrow we would reach 85 miles, the extent of Thru’s leg of the journey, and it was time to take her back home to Charlotte and finish the rest of the trail alone. After all the miles, the impressive 9-year-old husky was as steady as ever. But if I’m being truthful, I was ready to book it, and I knew she was dreaming of the couch.

With Hadestown fresh on my ears, today I arrived at camp to another musical I could sing 95% of the words to: Epic, the story of Odysseus. If you’re sensing a theme of tragedies and Greek myths here, you’re right on the money. The hyperfixations currently closest to my heart are tragedies (don’t worry, my therapist rocks) and I’m a sucker for a good story. In my opinion, these are two of the best.

Tragedies usually include themes of the world being a very, very difficult place. But there’s love there, and it matters that the love is there. Sure, Orpheus turns around to look at his love and loses Eurydice in the end, but at least she knew she was loved. So entirely, in fact, that the myth is still repeated today. Tragedies remind me that no matter how bad things get, you can still savor a connection that matters- no matter how short-lived – and that’s actually pretty comforting.

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