One more thing I'd like to share about our past eight days that didn't fit very well into the spirit of the other post. Trail names. As you know by now, trail names are not chosen by the hiker, rather they are conferred by other hikers. Thus Bethany's restlessness on the night before her first day on the trail earned her the name Fidget.
Some of the through hikers I had the privilege of meeting are Non-stop which refers to both his hiking and talking. Maybelline, who carries makeup at the top of her pack. Sweet Sixteen, who is really 22 but her dad hiked the first part of the trail with her and told all the guys she was just 16. Thump-Thump, the sound made by an indecisive squirrel when it gets run over. (She has a hard time making up her mind.) Micro-burst, a tiny young lady who is a bundle of energy. Interestingly enough, she, like Fidget, had gone from college to work in Montana and Alaska before coming to hike the PCT.
I felt proud to hang out with these through hikers, even the guys like Non-stop in dirty shorts with a scraggly beard. At the posh Timberline Lodge about eight through hikers held down a table or two from five in the afternoon till 11 PM. While the other guests walked about with their collars turned up and their designer outdoor clothes, the thru hikers gave a distinct air to the place and I could see some of the posh patrons leaning in to hear the stories of the trail arising from our group. Several of this group pulled me aside and told me things like, "Fidget is my favorite hiker out here, she has such a great positive attitude." And "You should be proud of your daughter, she kicks butt on the trail. We have to push to keep up with her." Whenever she would come upon a camp or a group of other through hikers, laughter was soon heard.
Let me get to my point. How I got the trail name of Butt Fingers. Prior to my arrival, she was telling a group of through hikers about a rappelling accident I had while working at Philmont back in 1980 where I rope burned my hands to the point that I needed skin grafts on six of my fingers. My coworkers back in camp were surmising where the skin for the grafts would come from and thus dubbed me with that moniker. (It was actually taken off my thigh.)
The name was a hit with the through hikers, who are a rather scatological bunch as it is. And my first night on the trail, as I was crawling into my tent, a couple passed by and after seeing I was Fidget's dad, called greetings to Butt Fingers. Fortunately they knew me well enough that when we'd reached the more refined Timberline Lodge and Rif-Raf called out to me, he had shortend my name to "Fingers."
Some of the through hikers I had the privilege of meeting are Non-stop which refers to both his hiking and talking. Maybelline, who carries makeup at the top of her pack. Sweet Sixteen, who is really 22 but her dad hiked the first part of the trail with her and told all the guys she was just 16. Thump-Thump, the sound made by an indecisive squirrel when it gets run over. (She has a hard time making up her mind.) Micro-burst, a tiny young lady who is a bundle of energy. Interestingly enough, she, like Fidget, had gone from college to work in Montana and Alaska before coming to hike the PCT.
I felt proud to hang out with these through hikers, even the guys like Non-stop in dirty shorts with a scraggly beard. At the posh Timberline Lodge about eight through hikers held down a table or two from five in the afternoon till 11 PM. While the other guests walked about with their collars turned up and their designer outdoor clothes, the thru hikers gave a distinct air to the place and I could see some of the posh patrons leaning in to hear the stories of the trail arising from our group. Several of this group pulled me aside and told me things like, "Fidget is my favorite hiker out here, she has such a great positive attitude." And "You should be proud of your daughter, she kicks butt on the trail. We have to push to keep up with her." Whenever she would come upon a camp or a group of other through hikers, laughter was soon heard.
Let me get to my point. How I got the trail name of Butt Fingers. Prior to my arrival, she was telling a group of through hikers about a rappelling accident I had while working at Philmont back in 1980 where I rope burned my hands to the point that I needed skin grafts on six of my fingers. My coworkers back in camp were surmising where the skin for the grafts would come from and thus dubbed me with that moniker. (It was actually taken off my thigh.)
The name was a hit with the through hikers, who are a rather scatological bunch as it is. And my first night on the trail, as I was crawling into my tent, a couple passed by and after seeing I was Fidget's dad, called greetings to Butt Fingers. Fortunately they knew me well enough that when we'd reached the more refined Timberline Lodge and Rif-Raf called out to me, he had shortend my name to "Fingers."
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