Bogwalks
The boomers of the afternoon blew a lot of the stagnant hot air out. The morning after was expected to be cooler, dryer and pleasant, at least until 8 a.m. Out of the motel, over the pedestrian bridge crossing I-81, and back into the Cumberland Valley walk. The terrain was changing, and the rain had refreshed the dried out bogs and lowlands. Bog bridges again had their purpose and our appreciation. That weather forecast? Not. Walking all day through a heat advisory.
What was it like for Shaffer to trod this land before interstates, motel conveniences, data books and bog bridges. His whole support system was on his back in a sack, walking not a maintained trail but an overgrown delapidated dream of hikers a decade earlier. No topo maps, no water filters, and the blazes of the time were small diamond metal tags tapped into the trees, those still on the trees that hadn't fell or been felled. Even for Grandma Gatewood and the other illuminaries of our breed, they had nothing like we had. Shelters with floors were a novel concept. We had goretex and whisperlites and 5 micron water filters and vibram soles ... shelters with floors and bog bridges. Time to put some soil under the vibram Asolos.