The times in between

Somewhere there is a lyric, which unfortunately I cannot locate, pondering whether life happens most not when we are visiting new places or meeting new people but in the quiet spaces in between. The AT in New Jersey collectively served as one of those quiet spaces in between, and it was indeed full of life — well, at least inner life. I’ve now grown accustomed to the southbound solitude, at least for the stretches that I have it. Here is one of my quiet camps, left all to myself:

Relatedly, I’ve found the secret to really interesting hikes is from time to time to detour from the AT onto parallel paths and side roads, where even day hikers are rare. While these detours usually take me into gentle hikes full of hidden solitude, sometimes they take me into unexpected areas. E.g., at one point, walking for some time through a dilapidated, abandoned camp, I felt as if I was living in a post-apocalyptic world:

It was fascinating to be the only one out there among an extended set of recent ruins and abandoned buildings. I loved the peaceful eeriness of it all. It felt as if I was inside the world depicted in the Last of Us, on one of its great character-development interludes. What would be my motivation for getting through such a world? The love of God and neighbor; offering the sacraments — perhaps even just saying Mass in the wild as I have been doing as a vertically-focused worship of God—; saving souls. I’d be like one of the martyrs from our congregation who snuck into England to bring the Mass, the Sacrament of Reconciliation, the Anointing of the Sick to the few faithful families who hid them in priest holes.

The next day, I had a very different detour experience. I felt the bliss of realizing I was in a peaceful place where no hiker would find me. I found such a place nestled among the sound of small, gentle waterfalls, and it felt like the Garden of Eden. I sat there a good long time, just taking time with God.

I suppose this experience is the best of what ecotherapy calls forest bathing: https://www.nationalgeographic.com/travel/article/forest-bathing-nature-walk-health

It wasn’t a particularly beautiful spot. It was just a hidden place of peace. As for this specific grace, it happened on a turn-off from the AT, the Coppermine trail in the Delaware Water Gap.

After I left that refuge, I strolled down the park road along the Delaware River. These are the types of walks people envision when traveling in between mountains on the Appalachian trail — it is a shame you need to detour to find them.

As I continued my journey, I listened to unknown songs by Railroad Earth, which is where that lyric above is most probably found. Most improbably, I came across “Crossing the Gap,” with lyrics about crossing the Delaware Water Gap from the New Jersey side, exactly as I was taking that hike.

As I crossed into Pennsylvania, I texted Oatie, and he made plans at short notice to drive across the state, pick me up, and bring me to his house the next day. Amazing! I passed two nights with Sheri and him, meeting their daughters, Page and Ashley, and grandchildren, Blaire and Quinn. It was fun to be in a vibrant family setting in small town PA, in a home ripped from the pages of This Old House. We had breakfast at Gramy’s diner, fish and chips at a vintage drive-in near the river, and sampled the local distiller’s best. I awoke to the clacking of buggy traffic on the road outside. It was especially fun to inform everyone of some stories Oatie had selectively omitted in his tales from the trail, even though payback may eventually be tough on that point. Garfield now lives in Delaware, so I’m hoping to see him when I’m in Maryland.

Oatie dropped me off at the Harrisburg airport, where I caught a flight to a family wedding in Nashville. Did you know that airport is near the trail, right by Duncannon, most conveniently on the other side of the infamous 140-mile stretch of nothing but pointy, shoe-destroying, ankle-turning, soul-draining rocks in hated “Rocksylvania?” I can hear the outrage from my fellow hikers: What?! Cashmoney’s skipping the hell of PA’s rocks?!! What?! It’s called the safe and fun AT, folks. I’m here reminded of Cassandra’s outrage at Nick smiling at her after an ascent that was particularly difficult for her and her retorting, raised trekking pole in hand, “I will wipe that smile from your face!” Enjoy New Hampshire, NOBOs, I’ll follow the sweet fields of southern PA to Maryland this week. If you need it, I can develop a rock merit badge for your bags.

Nashville was great. Mom and my sister, Betsy, came into town for my cousin, Amy’s, wedding. They brought me a habit, too; some hikers are curious to see me in it, so here you are:

Amy, once my little preppy cousin, is now a hunter? Wow. She and Travis are going to build a homestead outside of Nashville. I just gotta visit and bless it later. Cousin Sarah and I went out for dinner on Sunday and we caught each other up on life, giving me another reason to return to Music City.

Finally, I met the new chaplain at University Catholic, Fr Rhodes. He and I stayed up late talking about the best ways to minister to Vandy and Belmont students and all things healing-and-deliverance. Things have changed a lot at Vandy since I was there. Is what happened there a harbinger of what will happen to Catholics elsewhere?

https://www.catholicnewsagency.com/amp/news/24640/vanderbilt-university-policy-forces-catholic-group-off-campus

Well, the flight is about to take off. I’ll be back to working on my fitness and outdoor skills soon. Here are some pics & bluegrass.