Friday, June 20, 2008
The smell of the trail
Mark Taylor
Mark Taylor's Outdoors column and notebook appears regularly in The Roanoke Times.
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With his tanned legs, full beard and full backpack, Chris Johnson certainly looked the part of a long-distance hiker as he strode toward the Daleville Kroger on Wednesday morning.
And as he recounted experiences from his two months so far on the Appalachian Trail he certainly sounded like a through hiker.
But he sure didn't smell like one.
Because he didn't smell.
"That's because I just came from the Comfort Inn, Johnson said with a laugh."
A day earlier it would have been a different story.
Of all the common traits of AT through hikers, one stands out.
The aroma.
When you sweat all day long and sometimes don't bathe for days, something funky is bound to happen.
And while the hikers themselves are usually unfazed by their own scent, some members of the general public can't say the same about a smell that can remain in the air, a car's seat cushion or a memory for a long, long time.
"The first thing that hits you is the smell," said Sean Davis, who works at Outdoor Trails, a Daleville store that's a popular stop among hikers.
Co-worker Doug Stanfill nodded.
"Like when they're trying on a pair of Chacos [sandals] and you are helping them adjust the straps," Stanfill said.
Ivy Lupacchino used to work at that Daleville Kroger, and now is at the nearby Three Li'l Pigs Barbecue, a popular hiker hangout.
"It was a running joke at Kroger," Lupacchino said. "We could tell what aisle they were in."
And it can be worse at the first spot of civilization after a long section of wild trail.
One such place is Catawba, where retired Roanoke Times outdoors reporter Bill Cochran has spent a lot of time with through hikers.
"You just hope they don't raise an arm to point out some nearby landmark," he noted, wryly.
But as quick as those who deal a lot with hikers are to smile when the topic of the smell arises, they are just as quick to defend the hikers.
"Hikers are good people who just badly need a bath," said Cochran, who for a time hosted many at the bed and breakfast he and his wife, Katherine, operated.
Three Li'l Pigs manager Dremma Gaul loves hikers.
"They are conscientious," she said. "All of them are very thoughtful and considerate and polite."
At Three Li'l Pigs, most AT hikers sit outside as they devour their racks of ribs.
"I'm not saying they don't have a unique smell," Gaul said. "But I don't know of any that have offended anyone."
Hikers may be resistant to the odor, but they aren't totally immune.
"There are times when you get into a shelter and you think, 'This one is particularly ripe,'" said Johnson, a 49-year-old retiree from Maine. "And when you do start to smell your own stink, you know you have to do something about it."
On the trail, options are limited.
"We all stink out here," said Johnson.
Through hiker Joe Naiman of Tallahassee, Fla., agreed.
"And there's really nothing you can do," Naiman said.
Wearing deodorant is pointless, the men said. It simply can't keep up.
"Plus it's heavy," Naiman said.
It doesn't help that the synthetic fabrics used in a lot of technical hiking clothing are notorious for retaining odors.
Johnson hikes in one set of clothes and keeps another in his pack. When he's settling down to camp for the night he does his best to towel off if there's a suitable water source such as a creek or spring nearby.
"You don't come out much cleaner, but at least you get the first layer of stink off," he said. "At least when I climb into bed at night, I'm not all stinky and slimy."
He also washes his hiking clothes each night.
When hikers do reach civilization, such as for the once-weekly motel stay many spring for, a long shower is usually among the first things on the agenda.
"But I do it more for the people around me than for myself," Naiman said.
Johnson said he doesn't really like showers because they dry out his skin.
"A hot shower is not as good as a good steak dinner and a salad," Johnson said.
But he knows they are necessary.
"I was in the shower last night and looked behind me and there was this puddle of black water," Johnson said, smiling. "I thought, 'Man, was I filthy.'"
And like every other hiker trekking between Georgia and Maine this summer, he will be again.
Soon.
