Mount Rogers
Virginia
July 2011
We start up the Susan Spillane Trail off the A T to the summit of Mount Rogers. Our trail is thick with balsam fir trees, so many that the place was once named Balsam Mountain. At that time, a geologist/physicist/professor at the University of Virginia was awarded the title of the state’s official geologist. From here he went on to found the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. His name was William Barton Rogers. He wrote a paper called Elements of Mechanical Philosophy which, I’m sure, is fascinating. In his honor, this mountain was named Mount Rogers.
Lisa and I are in the open for the first half of our climb on this trail and then we plunge into the thick spruce-fir forest to get the rest of the way up the 329-foot rise. Dense, dark, damp, green, mossy, it feels like a rain forest. It’s the first time on our summit hike of Mount Rogers today that we are among thick trees. Half a mile, round a corner and step into a small clearing. Tree stump in the middle, boulder, rocky ground, trees, lots of trees. Guy leaning against the boulder.
Hikers are generally about the most congenial and friendly people you could ever hope to meet. But every so often… Upon our arrival at the summit, Leaning Guy immediately begins a non-stop monologue. We learn way more about him than we signed up for, including tales of his general excellence as a person. So he tells us. More than once. More than twice. In very little time Lisa and I are thinking, “self-centered braggart.” Not to be judgmental. The downside of the ease with which we meet people on the trail is that it’s really easy to meet people on the trail you may not wish to meet. Sometimes this easy-to-meet person is a horse’s ass.
But wait. We’re at the high point. Hey, we’re at the highest point of the state of Virginia! Let us rejoice and make merriment! As Highpointers, it’s kind of our duty to rejoice and make merriment, which we do in spite of Leaning Guy’s buzzing in our ears.
The social atmosphere begins to brighten. Two brothers from Rhode Island show up, bounding into the clearing, leprechaun-ish. Hey, these are the two guys who passed us earlier, while we were taking a rest at Pine Mountain! They too are Highpointers and when they are done here, they will be off to summit Mount Mitchell in North Carolina. They share their plans in their A-stretching, R-dropping Rhode Island accents, which sound very much like A-stretching, R-dropping Boston accents.
To wit; In most of the country, if you lose your khakis, you can’t get fully dressed. In Rhode Island and Boston, if you lose your khakis, you can’t start your car. You can’t staht your cah without yer khakis.
I hate cell phones in the woods. Yes, “hate” is a strong word. But heck, being on your phone takes you away from where you are, takes you out of the moment, dulls your awareness of the natural environment, which, were you not using your cellphone, you would notice is full of life. What a dumb thing to do when you are in such a marvelous setting. Especially the marvelous setting of a high point in the wilderness. I could go on. One of the brothers takes his phone out of his pack saying, “I do this at every high point.”
My mood plunges, I’m annoyed, antagonized even, but I keep my mouth shut. He gets busy pushing buttons, then explains, “I call my wife from every high point we get to. I need you guys to help me. When she answers, you have to harmonize.”
Well, okay, that’s really goofy, but kind of romantic. Trite, loopy, mildly embarrassing, but romantic. He’s inviting us all to sing to his wife…
The Hills are alive
With the sound of music.
…and my mood lifts. Hey, that was fun! Trite, loopy, mildly embarrassing, romantic… and fun! I am, once again, a happy Highpointer, especially after watching his brother sneak around, putting rocks into his brother’s pack.
We chat for a while, or at least we try. The brothers and Lisa and I ask each other questions about our hiking experiences, we talk high points we’ve climbed and some of the trails that take us there. Bozo over there (you can see him in the shadows in the photograph) continues to interject self-referential comments during our congenial conversation. We stay the course and continue talking about engaging topics. My advice for the bore?
If you want to be loved, be lovable.
— Ovid
If you want to be fascinating, be fascinated.
— me
If you want to be appreciated, make your bed.
— my Mom
As soon as the brother ends the call with his wife, Schmucko over there has to pull his phone out and make a call too. No one answers. I wonder why. No I don’t.
Eventually they all leave, first the Rhode Island brothers and then, after more boasting and chin thrusting, Mr I’ve-gone-to-more-countries-than-you-have picks up his stuff and takes off down the mountain. Au revoir, douchebag.
Farewell, good brothers.