Hikin' Nine to Five: They sing of shelters, dogs, and boots
Appalachia, December 2002
Here are two examples of poems or songs that have a connection to a particular place. The first is to a shelter in Virginia, posted on July 6, 1997, at Dick's Dome:
Ballad of the Rhymin' Worm
The waves of the hikers in the Park
had made him slightly sea-sick.
But things calmed down — he washed up where
the roof is geodesic.
This clever four-liner is part of a much longer poem, composed at the rate of one stanza a day, stretching along the entire AT.
Certainly, if the written-down poem or song is good enough or distinctive enough, it can become part of the long-distance hiker's trademark, proof that he or she has passed through this place. Or they might feel as if they would have been better off never passing through. A second place-oriented lyric is "dedicated" to an entire state:
A Pennsylvania Song
A pox on rocks,
both pointy ones and boulders
Two moans for stones.
Why don't these trails have shoulders?
The rocks are slippery when it rains.
They can drive your mind insane.
But when the rocks are dry
they still cause hiker dread
because that's when
you'll meet a native copperhead.
I think the song starts well, and I must add that Walkabout, the author of this ditty, also provides an original tune, the notes very neatly drawn on a musical staff, with piano accompaniment. A hiking companion of Walkabout, his own name undisclosed, left the following note in Pinefield Shelter (Virginia):
Let it rain, let it pour, let it rain a whole lot more,
'Cause I've got them deep river blues.
Let the rain drive along, let the rain
sweep along — 'cause I've got them
Deep River Blues!
— great song to sing as it rains all over you.
The following "occasional" poem is a response to a lost-dog notice, interesting for the fact that it gives information, possibly helpful. It was posted in the Spruce Peak, Vermont, register on April 15, 1999:
Sorry, Sarah, it makes me sad
To know that you've lost your black lab.
Hope Poochie found his way home
So that you won't be so alone.
Signin' off on a sunny day,
Two Canadians, eh?
Encore:
Methinks I heard a bark last night,
However, at dawn there was no dog in sight.
Perhaps the conclusion is this:
Poochie likes the wilderness.
Aside from their dogs, what could be more important to long-distance hikers than their boots? I have found two short poems dedicated to that very topic (both of which may be song lyrics, but I don't recognize the original they may be parodying). The first is by a hiking team named Weeble and Keebler, posted in the register at Dick's Dome (Virginia) on June 26, 1997:
The soles are the things on your boots
that make contact with terrain
The boots are the things on your feet
that get you all the way to Maine.
The second is by the solitary Daddy Long Legs, posted on June 23, 1988, at Ney's Shelter (Pennsylvania):
A Poem About My Boots
I got new boots in Damascus
And hit the trail without a care.
All the way to Katahdin
Blow out, they wouldn't dare.
But here I am in PA
And PO'ed is not the word.
These @#!@! [brand name] just blew out
I didn't want to be absurd
Much trail rage is expended in rants against various brand names, sometimes in the form of full-page, well-illustrated antiadvertisements. One of my favorite entries about boots was not a rant against a particular product, but a confession of idiocy on the part of the hiker, with appropriate illustrations: "Here are your boots. Here are your boots on fire. Any questions?" (This is a parody of an antidrug commercial.)
