Once upon a time, in a galaxy not so far away, I was a strapping young lad in the Boy Scouts who was a troublemaker, part-time scoundrel, and general conductor of adolescent shenanigans. 25 years later and today I am a self-proclaimed man of letters who enjoys comparing himself to the likes of prolific scribblers such as Henry Clay (Lexington’s 2nd most famous resident behind Mary Todd Lincoln). It is my mix of worldliness, experiences in higher education, and school of hard knocks that makes me the pontificator of words that I am today. A lofty conceit to be sure.
It was in the context of my hike this past weekend that introspection drew me into the hazy comforts of reverie. This was a significant trip, as I was reminded of the very first time that I encountered the Sheltowee Trace so many years ago.
My scout leader was a hard man. Mr. Gardner had high, sharp cheekbones, a wiry frame, dark olive skin, and a round face that made him resemble old black and white images of native Americans. His dour and no-nonsense demeanor was born in the throes of the Vietnam conflict. He was a Marine of the highest caliber who didn’t take any bullshit. I remember him fondly.
At this particular time, I was standing before him in a grassy field, within a short walking distance of the shores of Cave Run Lake. It was a cold and rainy November Scout-camporee.
Our dutiful organizer and protector Mr. Gardner was charged with the onerous task of dispensing prescription medicine to the boys. Our parents couldn’t be there to make sure that we took our medicine on schedule, so Mr. G became our unfortunate surrogate. The old combat marine stood stone-faced in front of me with pill in hand.
Of course, being the resident miscreant, it was standard procedure for me to attempt some sort of mischief.
Reluctantly, I drew the pill from his palm, opened my mouth, quickly turned my head, then threw it over my shoulder, pantomiming as if I had thrown it into the back of my throat. This brought on an immediate string of expletives; something to the effect “You damn sumbitch! Pick that pill up! and I want to see you take it this time!”
I realized I wasn’t going to get out of this one easily. So, I got down on my knees and looked through the tall grass to find it. He stood over me like some damned stone-sentinel until I pulled it from the dirt-ground. Once I found it, he watched closely to make sure I got it down.
I think I was only 12 at the time.
All the camp chores were done. The leaders all retreated to the mess-tent, and so all of us kids went to play in the forest.
I remember the skies being dark and overcast. The wind carried a misting precipitation that made our clothes slightly clammy. Not far from camp, an old dirt trail followed the edge of the lake. On one of the nearby trees, I could see a painted blaze in the shape of a turtle.
A kid named Chucky Throckmorton was hanging out with me in the forest. He told me that the trail I was looking at was called the “Sheltowee Trace,” and that it was an astounding 48 miles long!
Not knowing any better, I thought that was amazing. Who in their right mind would ever want to hike a 48-mile-long trail? Of course, later on I would discover that this mysterious footpath was actually more like 270 miles. Nonetheless, that was the beginning of my 25 yearlong fascination with the Sheltowee Trace.
As I got older and a little wiser, I started finding ways to hike the trail. I remember my first amazement at experiencing the iconic swinging bridge across the Red River. At the time I wasn’t familiar with walking across a cable bridge, and so with each step its oscillating movement terrified me.
Every time my troop went hiking or camping, we seemed to encounter those painted turtle blazes. Its mystery and intrigue increased with every sighting.
Fast-forward about 10 years into my early twenties and I was deep into buying and experimenting with backpacking gear. I really only had one goal in mind. I wanted to thru-hike the ST. I became a fan of Boyd Shearer’s Sheltowee Trace online map site and became a fairly active member of the forum. I even remember talking to a certain Mr. Barbour (though I don’t blame him if he doesn’t remember me).
Over time I solo-hiked about 150 miles.
In my early to late 20s I spent most of my time working full-time and attending university. I did not actually graduate until 2009. I then got married in 2010. My wife at the time encouraged me to go hiking, but she was not a hiker herself, so I had no one to go with. I’m not particularly fond of camping by myself.
In 2015, a friend and I planned a trip from Cumberland Falls to Hwy-192. Unfortunately he canceled at the last minute, which ironically caused me to search online for hiker groups.
Historically I had been leery to join a hiker group. I always imagined they were full of chest-thumping, know-it-all, competitive alpha males. That limiting perception didn’t make it sound like a good time to me.
But I was tired of waiting and relying on others to help me with my vision. So, in November of 2015 I took the plunge and participated in my first STA hike. I contacted an incredulous Mr. Barbour, who understandably doubted my prior hiking experience. With a slight amount of consternation he took my registration fee.
I understand now that it is quite a responsibility to vet all newcomers. Everyone comes onboard thinking they can long-distance hike, but really only the most stubborn and crazy prove to be the “right stuff.”
My first hike was amazing, and I was impressed by the tight-knot community of hikers. They made me want to come back.
And so now here I am. It’s 2016, and I am one hike away from completing the STA Challenge. This year I have hiked an astonishing 290-something miles on the Sheltowee Trace. That does not include the 78 additional miles I have completed in the Big South Fork Centennial Challenge. By the end of the year, I will have hiked approximately 400 miles.
This has been one of the best years for camping and hiking in my entire life.
Last night was a bittersweet reunion. It was my last official night of camping with Team Two in 2016. Everyone finished early, and there was an excited buzz in the air.
With plenty of daylight remaining, I endeavored to build a “one-match fire.” This was something I learned to do as a Boy Scout. You basically make your own “fire-starter” solely from materials found in your immediate location. You then light the fire with nothing more than a single match. The purpose being to conserve matches during a potential crisis.
I am a bit rusty with my skills, but I was very proud to produce a roaring fire with only two matches.
For the remainder of the evening, Team Two sat around the campfire swapping stories and drinking beer under clear starry skies. The only thing obscuring our view was the dark golden canopy of trees illuminated by the firelight below. It was an awesome time.
The hike itself was great. We spent a considerable amount of time on a fairly level ridge walk. The view from the top of the Appalachian foothills was beautiful. Most of the trees are now starting to turn to their fall colors.
The highlight of Sunday was our visit to Amburgy Rocks. Steve led several of us up the backside and to the top. To reach the Morehead overlook you had to jump over a slight crevice in the rocks that was approximately 30’ deep.
As always, I had an amazing time, and I can’t wait to do it again! Only one more month to go, and then I start all over again. Here we come 2017!