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January 31 2024, Telford Campsite to Birchwood Cabin:
Supposedly the water in this section was not good since it was surrounded by farmland, so we planned for a long water carry today. The German guy from yesterday who was vomiting claimed it was because of river water he drank, despite it being filtered. Elvis had given me iodine tablets just in case.
I got a head start and nearly lost the trail directly after leaving camp. I quickly caught myself when I noticed the trail started fading out. I didn’t see any mile markers up ahead and realized I had to cross the river rather than continue down the dirt road.
Once I got on the correct path, I made it about halfway up the climb, then looked down and saw Lenses and Ben making the same mistake, entirely missing the sharp turn. They walked quite a ways until they figured it out. Same thing happened with three older gentleman. It was funny because one of the guys in the group had already hiked the TA.
I found a spot that overlooked the morning horizon and waited for my tramily on a grassy hill next to some dried piles of cow shit. I ate some chips and enjoyed the view of cute thru-hiker boys passing through.
I thought to myself, God, I love my life.
Once they caught up, we shared in the misery of trekking through slippery sheep shit, trying hard not to fall face first into it. I felt envious of those who chose not to hike this part of the trail.
“You know, I totally understand why people skipped this section,” I said, “I would’ve done the same thing if I were to do the TA again.”
The section wasn’t anything special in my opinion. The CDT farmlands felt different and were actually enjoyable. Out there, it felt as if I was far off in the Wild West, away from civilization and the noise of the world. Here, the air felt muggy, I could hear sounds of logging trucks and see views of boxy buildings in the distance.
To make the vibe even worse, there were several aggressive signs along the dirt roads letting us know that if we crossed beyond their signs that police would be called immediately. It was very tempting for all of us to take nice gravel roads instead of a wet, shit covered lumpy trail that meandered and added several miles onto our day.
Unfortunately, it was not an option because people have been getting persecuted and given fines for trespassing. Instead, we cursed under our breath as we dodged more piles of cow shit while climbing up a steep hill in the heat of the day. On the left of us there was a perfectly graded road that would give us a nice switchback to the same exact spot, but there was another sign that they invested in, basically telling TA hikers to fuck off.
“I’m gonna write an angry email to these people,” I said, “it’s not like we’re destroying their land. If anything we’re making less of an impact by taking the roads.”
In the middle of that climb, we came across two guys panting and wiping the sweat off their foreheads.
“We’re plotting and concocting a way to write a letter to these people,” one of them said.
“Ha ha ha, we were just thinking the same thing,” I said, “I’ve never felt so hated as a thru-hiker before.”
In America, hikers were glorified for the journey we were on, yet here it seemed people were disgusted and viewed us more like dirty pests. It was silly because hikers were some of the most respectful people, ones that left the least amount of impact and also brought in the most money for small towns.
The cows and bulls constantly studied us as we passed through, appearing angry, often times not budging. They would grunt and stamp their feet, giving us sign that we were not welcome. We had to walk circles to get around them since they were completely unfazed by our presence. Ben and I experienced the crazy kine laughter where we were so tired and frustrated that all we could do was laugh.
“This section of the trail has got to be a joke,” I said.
“It’s a route, nawt a trail,” Ben said.
We maneuvered through barbed wire fences and tall grasses, sweating as the sun pierced through us. NOBO hikers crossed paths, asking us where there would be upcoming shade. We didn’t recall any. Ben had wrapped his shirt around his head such like a turban to avoid any sunburn.
“This is identical to the North Island,” he said.
“Welp,” I said, “I got a taste of it and I’m happy I didn’t hike it.”
I ended up going ahead of my tramily for a bit then waited for them atop another grassy hill. I got the urge to dance like an octopus and give thanks to the mountains through my movement. The ritual lasted for about an hour.
During the last stretch, we saw a 10 year old boy cruising fast on an ATV. It felt I received a glimpse of what it must’ve been like back in the old days when parents didn’t fear monger the things their kids apparently did.
“The more south we go, the less rules there will be,” Ben said.
We felt so stoked when we finally made it to a paved road, moaning in enjoyment as we sat on the narrow edge of the busy road under the shade of a tree. We still had about a mile left to Birchwood Cabin which was slightly off the main track, however we couldn’t complain as it was a nice open road walk all the way there.
The place reminded me so much of an American kine hostel that I would see on the east coast. It had a big porch outside for all of the hikers to hangout on, a place to shower and a community kitchen to make food. We did hiker style laundry in the sink then hung it up on a line to dry. To top it off, if hikers wanted to stay for a second night, they offered work trade. Definitely my kind of vibe.
We were promised pizzas by a guy who had been hanging out there for a couple of days, saying the owner came by to take orders and collect money in the early evening. However several hours passed and no one showed. By the time it turned 7pm everyone became hangry and convinced that the pizzas didn’t exist, so we made our own food.
Ben was contemplating about going to Japan with Lenses or her coming to him. They both didn’t have that much money to make such a big decision, yet they felt motivated by something greater than them.
Ben looked at her and said, “You can sell one camera and then come with me.”
Oh, young love, I thought to myself.
I found one of the guys at the cabin to be really cute. He was a ginger, really pale in color. I was drawn to his thick orange hair and most of all his smile. He had a girlfriend, but I could tell by the way he would look at me that he was an easy target. I hoped this girl could see I was helping her out.
I said to Ben, “He’s the kine of guy that would cheat.”
“Oh yeah, most definitely,” he said after witnessing our interaction.
Later on, the ginger guy showed me a booklet he made of drawings along the TA. Turned out he drew the macramé plant holder I made at one of the huts.
I chatted with a guy named Ron for a bit on the porch. He asked for advice on things I did to combat post trail depression. I gave him a list of solutions that helped me not get into that state of ‘missing.’ I felt so grateful I had the tools to understand that nothing was ever gone or lost.
Before I went to bed, I looked at Ben and ironically said, “I miss Elvis.”
“Don’t worry,” Ben said, “he’s waiting for you. He’ll be ready and rejuvenated, his balls will be full.”
He offered me his phone so I could message him since I didn’t have service. I still felt it was a bit odd that he asked for Ben’s number but not mine. Regardless, I messaged him but I could immediately feel he wasn’t giving the same energy that I was putting out. Even when I was just banging someone, I would still love to spoil them with affection, love, compliments, etc., however if it wasn’t being reciprocated, I would drop the affection towards them at the snap of my fingers.