How I Got Hooked Up

Seeing as how a large part of my trip has now turned into a 7-day volunteer cooking, music-listening, festival-going extravaganza, I thought I owed you all an explanation as to how I got so lucky as to stumble across this opportunity. So here we go.

I think I told you before about my desperate push to make dinner at the Heitmans' (the trail angels in Old Station), so that's where I'll start. I got in to their place and immediately set upon the food like a starving lion on a zebra carcass. Really, I got comments. The food was basic; sloppy Joes, simple salad, lasagna and burgers, but these things are such amazing luxuries when you get out of the mountains.

Through my amazing eating prowess I managed to impress the cook, who's name is Wolfman. It turns out that Georgi, the trail angel host, was out of town for awhile. Instead of closing down her house, as any sane person would, she enlisted the help of Wolfman and another hiker, Girl Scout, to manage the trail-angeling duties in her absence. Believe me, this is no small task, as it consists of preparing 2 meals a day, operating a full-time shuttle service, and 20 or more hikers overrunning your house. I have no idea how these people do it, but I am eternally grateful.

I got into a conversation with Wolfman about trail angeling. I jested, saying that maybe I'd stay here for a week. He sort of leered at me, exclaiming: "you better be ready to cook". Little did he know I love cooking and instantly agreed to help him the next morning.

In the morning I woke up in a panic. I had slept in heavily, the sun was well out and I figured everyone had cooked and eaten already. I wandered over to the kitchen area, and to my relief nothing had started yet. I guess it was one of those mornings. I sat around awhile while I waited for french toast duty. Another hiker, Mr. Parquay, sleepily wandered over and plopped down next to me. I teased him about getting up so late, and he protested: "What? It can't be past like 6:30!". A wristwatch immediately appeared from my other side, reading in large numbers: 7:45. It really was one of those mornings. Let's just say Mr. Parquay didn't make it back to the trail that day.

I cooked the french toast, served them, and ate half of them myself. Wolfman was happy though, as a realization of the true difficulty of trail angeling dawned on him. I got to talking to him, and he brought up the idea of volunteering at Reggae Rising (formerly Reggae on the River). I mentioned it before, but it involves being off the trail for about a week, so I was immediately reluctant. After all, didn't I have a schedule to keep?

Then I came to my senses. What was I thinking, passing up a wonderful opportunity that fate had offered me on a platter? What kind of a journey goes in a straight line, directly to its destination? A crappy kind, I elegantly answered my own internal monologue. Before leaving the Heitmans', I told Wolfman "I'm doing it, see you in Seiad Valley, 3:00 pm on the 2nd." Looks like I might even make it, as long as I don't sleep in tomorrow.

I took a lesson from this experience, and you should too. First of all, learn how to cook, it will get you places. Second, never get so locked into you immediate goal that you become blind to the opportunities presented you. You never know what you can find if you just avoid getting tunnel vision.

Bear Bait