Excerpt from Walking Downstream

I have always been fascinated with the source of rivers and streams. The hiking trail which traces the length of the Loir river runs through my village. Each morning when I go to buy bread I look at the small trail marker and wonder where the upriver trail goes. My interest in finding the sources of rivers started years ago after I watched a documentary on Public Television about 19th century explorers trying to find the source of the Nile river in Africa. The various geographic societies in England and Europe were sponsoring expeditions to Africa in order to be the first to find the source of the Nile. These expeditions took months and sometimes years. Many of the explorers died or were crippled with exotic diseases. The explorer I remember most clearly was Sir Richard Burton who went back time and again in this quest only to die before one of his lieutenants finally made a disputed discovery. Eventually, an American journalist named Stanley got into the race and made an incredible expedition in which nearly everyone in his party died. Stanely finally reached Lake Tanganika where he met a Scottish doctor name Livingston who had been living there for over thirty years. To me it would be like finding "Kilroy Was Here" graffiti on the moon. After death, disease and millions of dollars of expenses, you find that someone has already been there for thirty years. But maybe it was worth it for Stanely because he became famous for the question "Dr. Livingston, I presume?" I am not in the same league as Burton or Stanley but then the Loir is not the Nile and I already know where the source is. In fact, it can be reached easily by car but I want see it on foot with my backpack like my brother explorers.

My passion for backpacking started about fifteen years ago. My friend Jim Tuten and his brother Ernie were going to the Smokey Mountains to do a hike on the Appalachian Trail. I asked if I could go along. I had done some short overnight hikes in Colorado, but I had never been on a one week marathon like they were planning. Jim and Ernie were both Marines in Vietnam and saw significant combat. Jim was a forward observer and was often close enough to the action to see what had to be hit. Ernie served in Oliver North's platoon and was in the middle of everything. I was a U. S. Army Postal Officer who still thanks God for bad eyes and the noncombat qualification. As you can imagine I heard a lot of war stories on the eight hour drive to Newfoundland Gap where we were going to start the hike. Ernie would say "I can remember strapping 100 pounds of ammo on my back, walking 20 miles through the rice paddies then throw down my poncho and fall asleep in the rain, then get up and do the same thing the next day." Jim was a little more reserved about his stories but he is just as proud to have been a Marine.

When we arrived at Newfoundland's Gap, we sorted our gear and started up the mountain toward Clingman's Dome which is the highest point on the Appalachian Trail. It reaches close to 7,000 feet. Jim had regular backpacker's equipment but Ernie had gone to an Army-Navy Store and bought an old canvas pack, a poncho liner and Army sleeping bag. He also bought a huge machete and a pair of workmen's boots instead of hiking boots. Jim was weighing the wisdom of carrying his 45 automatic pistol. He asked me if I was carrying a gun and if I thought he should. I picked up the gun and its clips. It must have weighed close to eight pounds with the clips. I told Jim that I did not think he would need it since Ernie was carrying his machete and was trained to kill. To my relief Jim left the gun in the truck and we started our hike. It was all up hill and very difficult hiking. I had been running about seven miles a day and I thought the hike would be easy. It is amazing how difficult carrying a sixty pound pack can be. Ernie was scampering up the hill while Jim and I struggled slowly. Ernie would stop and wait for us and then tell us more war stories until we caught our breath. After an hour, I ask Ernie how far he thought we had come. "Oh, two or three miles, I guess". It was seven and one-half miles to the top of Clingman's Dome and another four to the first shelter. A few minutes later we came to the first sign. It said three-fourths of a mile to Newfoundland Gap. Ernie said "that can't be right. I know we have come a lot further than that". I was inclined to believe him and hoped that he was right.

After another hour of hiking it became obvious that Ernie was wrong. More signs and other hikers confirmed that we had bitten off a little more than we could chew. After about five hours of hiking, I reached Clingman's Dome. Ernie arrived about forty minutes later but Jim was no where to be seen. As Ernie and I waited for Jim, Ernie told me that this was harder than he expected and not very much fun. He was going to hitchhike back to Newfoundland Gap and go home. I said "Ernie, I don't blame you. It is harder than I expected too. But when Jim tells all your friends back home that you got your ass whipped by an Army Postal Officer, what are you going to say." Ernie answered quickly, "I am not really tired. I can finish with you guys." Actually, that seven and one-half mile hike was one of the hardest things that I had ever done and quitting would have been a reasonable thing to do.

The next four and one-half miles weren't easy but we arrived at the shelter with no problem. Jim arrived about an hour later. The Marines were quiet that night. With Jim, it was because of exhaustion. With Ernie, it was depression. We had at least three more days to go and Ernie was definitely not having fun. Finally, Ernie said, "I don't care if you are an Army Postal Officer, I am walking back to Clingman's Dome and hitch hiking back to the car". Jim and I finished the hike a couple of days later. Ernie retired from hiking. Jim and I have been hooked on backpacking ever since. "