“This is my personal goal because nothing is impossible.”  This is part of a message that was written on the Siler Gap Shelter.  This note was written by Medicine Man on day 15 of his Appalachian Trail journey.  In his message, he was referring to the long walk from Georgia to Maine.  It was written on the shelter’s wall in June of 2017.  By now, Medicine Man would have already completed the trail or exited early for some reason.

Kiefer (my 11 month old puppy) and I are staying at this shelter tonight.  It’s a little after 2 p.m. and we only started hiking at noon from Winding Stair Gap, but it’s damp…  Really damp…  We have been walking through dense fog for most of the time.  The clouds are constantly dripping water.  The next shelter (a.k.a. the next dry place) is about six miles away.  That is where we had originally been planning on camping tonight.  But I don’t want to roll into camp around dark, or worse, after dark.

We are doing an out-and-back hike.  There is no need to ‘make mileage.’  I would rather hang out in this shelter for a few hours before dark, set up camp, eat dinner at a leisurely pace, write in my notebook, and not push it.  Not push Kiefer to exhaustion, not push myself to exhaustion, and not be wet when we go to bed.  Especially since it is almost guaranteed to be a damp, cold night.  It wouldn’t be fair for Kiefer to have wet fur going into an increasingly chilly night at the end of December.

It’s okay if we only go half the distance for this whole trip compared to the mileage that was originally planned.  This is a relax, escape, and decompress trip.  It’s a take a break from stress trip.

Tomorrow we might only go as far as the next shelter (about six miles).  That is the shelter where we were going to stay tonight.  If the next shelter is as far out as we make it for this trip, then that’s okay.  No big deal.  We’re adjusting for the weather and what I think would be the best option.  Kiefer doesn’t care.  He’s just glad to be along for the adventure.

With the weather forecasted to be damp again tomorrow, I don’t foresee us hammock camping.  The nights would be unfairly cold for the puppy.  At least the shelters allow us to have a large protected area to dry out in before going to bed.

While sitting on the shelter’s wooden floorboards, I look around some more as the water continues to drip from the surrounding clouds.  The notes that previous hikers had left on the walls in dark marker and pen gives me just a tiny fraction of insight into their hike.  These notes and drawings offer a small view into the Appalachian Trail and those that had embarked on the 2,181 mile trek up the East side of the United States.

After watching Kiefer sniff the air for a couple minutes, I look back to the field just outside the shelter.  Suddenly, the dense fog is gone.  I can see it lingering in the distance amongst the trees and I know we would enter it again if we walked back from the direction we came, but from where we are now, it has cleared.  This clarity will only stay for a few minutes.  I can see some more fog that looks to be heading our way again.  That was the first time, in my memory, where I have been in the same location while one minute there was dense fog and the next minute it was perfectly clear.  The changing weather was eerie.

There is a box at the back of the shelter.  I’m assuming it’s a log book.  I still need to check it out.  This will be like a small history book, even more so than the walls that surround me.  At least that is what I’m assuming…