Issue link: http://bluemagazine.uberflip.com/i/25178
TEXT: RYAN TOWNSLEY ILLUSTRATION: JOE BAKER read accounts of impromptu feasts carried in by wonderfully kind locals who look upon hikers as they would their own children. We've heard that trail magic happens-it just hasn't happened to us yet. Unlike many other long trails, the AT is so close to so many small towns and larger cities that hikers frequently come into close contact with locals and day hikers. Close enough to meet some truly angelic people. Close enough to experience Trail Magic. Trail Magic is easy to spot but it's somewhat more difficult to define. It takes many forms and is a uniquely personal experience between a trail hiker and a trail angel. It is a random act of kindness that inspires the tired mind, body and soul to push on. It can be a cold soda left at the trailhead or a ride to town in the back of a pickup truck. It can be simple and spon- taneous or elaborate and organized. It is the annual cookouts that spring up along the tra il, complete with the bands that lug their gui- tars into woods to play some tunes for the musically-deprived ear. It is the festivals like Trail Fest in Damascus, Virginia, put on by the towns to celebrate the hikers and the business they bring in. Whatever form The voice melts away in the breeze. My disgustingly boring Ramen noo- dles come to a boil, and our roadside camp falls silent except for the creaking pines and rustling leaves of the undergrowth. "Did you catch that, Spidermonkey?" I strain to listen through the wind. "Sounded like there is someone down at the trailhead." "Spidermonkey," is the trail name I gave to Nate, my hiking partner, since he was forced to climb a tree in the dark to retrieve a tangled bear bag rope early in the trip. We started in Georgia heading north along the Appalachian TraillAT] at the end of March and have been making a good time of it overall. Lately we've been sleeping cold at night and our food supply is running low. Today, a lack of good campsites has forced us to do a 20-plus mile day to get to our current camp near Route 615. All in all we've had better weeks, but on this day in late May, we're about to have angels smile upon us. "Hello? We've got food for ya l Anyone up there?" Ear to ear grins break out on the faces of the four sorriest-looking guys in Virginia. We are exhausted, stinking of sweat and grimy in places where the sun doesn't shine. But like the song of the siren, that slow southern drawl and the potential for some "real" food Idefined as any food we're not carrying] reignites our souls and puts a halt to our simmering one-pot meals. Visions of good old southern cooking are served up in our heads as we scurry about extinguishing stoves and pulling on shoes to head down to the trailhead-and I swear I smell lasagna. We've heard about Trail Magic and the trail angels who perform it. We've found empty cans of once-cold sodas at the trailheads. In the shelter registers we've it takes, Trail Magic is like all magic: delightful and unexpected. Now I know I smell lasagna and the jaunt to the tra ilhead has turned into an all-out sprint. I arrive just ahead of my camp mates Superman, Likin' Hikin' and Spidermonkey to find lasagna, fresh rolls, peach cobbler, watermelon, cookies and gallons of sweet tea practically spilling from the back of a Subaru Wagon. The two women and their three children, who brought this chariot of kindness up this back- country dirt road, greet us with nervous smiles. This is their first time as trail angels. "We had heard that ya'll camp up here near the road sometimes. We just left the birthday party for our pastor there at the church and figured we'd stop by and see if there were any hungry hikers around," says the taller of the two women. It is hard to describe the constant hunger that long-distance hikers expe- rience every day. The nonstop exercise makes it difficult to get enough calories and it is almost impossible to carry enough food between towns to keep yourself satis- fied. "All you can eat" buffets are the Holy Grail of the AT and one had just been opened from the back of this car. After introductions, the feast begins. We pass their wonderful cooking around and around, the sweet tea flows like wine and our smiles and bellies grow. We tell them how they are our first trail angels and that they are going to be a hard act for other trail angels to follow. We chitchat about the latest news and what sports scores they know as we performsour own magical disappearing trick on the pastor's leftovers. In parting, we exchange email addresses and promise to send them the traditional summit picture from atop Mt Katahdin Iwhere we would finish many months later] as a thank-you in return for such sweet kindness, •