Hiker Box Annie By "Jack the Shark" Donohue
I met Debbie Moore on the Appalachian Trail in 2003. She was quite a character, as are most people who hike long distances on the trail.
Besides Debbie and I, there were many wonderful people on the trail that year. And they have wonderfully imaginative trail names like: The Elvis Impersonator, The Vermontsters, Hear No Evil, The Dawn Patrol, The Plague, Creeping Me Out, Toxic Alien, Twisted Mind, Babe Magnet, Sugar Overload, Help Me I'm Falling, The Blister Sisters, Almost Lost, Peppermint Pattie, Weird Dude, and The Farting Camel.
All of us started our hike at the southern terminus of the trail in Georgia. It was May and were heading north with spring. Some hikers planned to hike for a week or two, and some like me, were out for one to two months.
Then there were the thru hikers; the trail warriors who were going to hike the entire 2,175 mile-long trail in five to six months. Debbie was one of those.
All the long-distant hikers knew one another, usually by sight. If we didn't hike together during the day, we met up at a shelter in the evening. When we got to a town to resupply, most hikers took a day off. That allowed hikers who were a day behind us to catch up. It also allowed us to meet the hikers who were a day ahead of us.
Most importantly, besides knowing each other, we looked out for one another.
We were one large nomadic community, creeping along on the trail like an enormous centipede, moving fifteen to eighteen miles per day.
Our trail telegraph had no wires, but the news we shared in the shelter's trail journals, or by word of mouth, was quickly repeated along the trail for hundreds of miles. And news traveled fast the day Peppermint Pattie disappeared.
It started innocently enough when Sugar Overload, a hiker with a low tolerance for sweets, asked me if I had seen Pattie.
He said he was very worried because no one had seen her for two days.
"And she hasn't made a journal entry at either of the last two shelters," he added. "I'm worried."
I knew he and Pattie had an on & off trail romance, which currently was off.
They first met in a candy shop in a trail-town ten days earlier. Pattie thought their mutual chocolate obsession might be the basis for a relationship. Plus both of them were thru hikers, and they would be on the trail together for six months.
Throughout the remainder of the day, we questioned many hikers but learned nothing. We asked them to spread the word, and pass along any news regarding Pattie's whereabouts.
That night at the shelter, a group of us discussed her disappearance, and what to do about it.
We knew there was always the possibility of foul play. The risk was highest at road crossings. There, a passing motorist or someone from a nearby town might prey on a lone hiker, especially a woman. But no one had reported seeing any suspicious characters. The hiker community suspected there was a different explanation.
Late that night, a hiker we had never met before arrived at the shelter. He had just completed an impressive twenty-eight mile day.
He introduced himself as Hear No Evil.
He explained he was deaf in his leaf ear; the result of a car bomb explosion in the war-torn Middle East.
Recently discharged from the army, he looked to be in great shape, and his mileage today proved it.
He told us word of Pattie's disappearance had reached him this morning, but no one he met today had any news.
After a moment's pause, he added, "I didn't see anyone suspicious near the roads, but I met a hiker today who was acting very strange."
That got our attention, and we urged Hear No Evil to continue.
"I accidentally walked into her campsite when I went into the woods to relieve myself. She was in a very secluded spot, almost like she was in hiding."
"When she saw me, she quickly covered her equipment with her sleeping bag," he explained. "Then she yelled at me for sneaking up on her. She threw off a lot of negative vibes, and acted like she was caught doing something wrong."
From his description, it sounded like a girl we knew only as Debbie. No one knew where she came from, or how far she intended to hike. We had seen her on the trail on and off for the past few weeks. Fellow hikers were always cordial to her, but for some reason, she never stayed in the shelters, or hung out with us.
One of The Blister Sisters had always suspected she was a "yellow blazer." This was a hiker who, at times, followed the yellow line in the center of the road. Weaker hikers did this to cut off sections of the trail, and do easy-walking road mileage. No one liked yellow blazers.
We knew Debbie's behavior might have nothing to do with Pattie's disappearance. But we still wanted to talk with her. We decided to take a zero day tomorrow and wait for her to catch up. Our shelter was on the trail, so she would have to pass by us.
Sugar Overload, who we were now calling S.O., was very worried, and spent the entire night tossing and turning. He kept all of us awake.
Chapter 2
Word had gotten out about our suspicions. By the time Debbie arrived at our shelter the next evening, thirty hikers were waiting to greet her.
She got very nervous when she saw the large crowd sitting around the huge campfire. But she calmed down when we asked if she had seen Peppermint Pattie, who we explained was missing.
Debbie swore she didn't even know who Pattie was, even after we described Pattie to her.
I could see most of the hikers believed her. I did too, but I still thought she was acting very suspicious.
We asked her to join us at the campfire where the three members of The Dawn Patrol were making s'mores.
"OK, but just for a minute," Debbie said reluctantly.
Then one of The Vermontsters handed her a small Graham cracker sandwich of roasted marshmallow and melted chocolate. Her face lit up and she accepted it gratefully.
When the campfire got too warm, Debbie removed her lightweight tan-colored windbreaker.
When S.O. saw the T-shirt she was wearing, he shouted, "That's the shirt I gave to Pattie. I got it at a Broadway show; I'd recognize it anywhere."
"I found it," Debbie responded defensively. "Someone must have discarded it because the sleeve is torn."
"Check the T-shirt for blood," S.O. screamed.
That's when all hell broke loose. Weird Dude grabbed a hold of S.O. to prevent him from attacking Debbie. The Farting Camel stood in front of Debbie to see no harm came to her.
Fortunately, a disaster was averted when we heard a hiker coming down the trail. The brightness of the campfire obstructed our vision until the hiker stepped into view. It was Peppermint Pattie.
We all jumped up to greet her and took turns giving her a hug. When S.O. approached her, she waved him away, "I'm not talking to you."
"Where have you been," we all pleaded. "We've been worried to death."
"It's gratifying to know there are some people who actually care about me," Pattie responded, glaring at S.O.
"We've been interrogating poor Debbie," I said, pointing to her. She was still cowering next to The Farting Camel.
"We thought she had something to do with your disappearance," I explained, realizing I was responsible for starting all this craziness.
"Disappearance," Pattie said in disbelief. "Is that what all the commotion was about? I heard a lot of yelling as I came down the trail. I guess I have a lot of explaining to do."
"After S.O. and I had a fight, I decided to leave the trail," Pattie confessed.
"You didn't tell me the two of you had a fight?" I snapped at S.O.
"We always have fights," S.O. said matter-of-factly. "I didn't realize this one was anything special."
I just shook my head at S.O. and nodded for Pattie to continue.
"At the first road crossing I came to, I hitched a ride to the nearest town. I was going to stay at a church hostel but after an hour, I changed my mind. I got rid of some excess stuff, and then paid for a cab ride to a town with public transportation. I intended to go home."
"I didn't mean to hurt you," S.O. apologized sheepishly. "I didn't realize you cared that much."
Pattie ignored him and continued, "I spent a night in a hotel near a bus station. I treated myself to an expensive town meal, a few drinks, a long, hot shower and a comfortable bed. The next morning I decided I wasn't going to let S.O. ruin my hiking experience, so I hitched a ride back to the trail. I hiked a lot of miles today to catch up with everyone."
I turned to Debbie as The Babe Magnet put his arm around her to console her.
"Can you ever forgive us?" I asked Debbie apologetically.
"I guess so," Debbie responded meekly. "I can see how close you all are. I guess I would react the same if I thought a member of my family had come to harm."
"How can we make it up to you?" asked Creeping Me Out. "We owe you."
"Oh, you don't owe me anything," said Debbie sincerely. "But I guess I owe everyone an explanation for the way I've been acting for the past few weeks."
Chapter 3
"I had a very rough time last year," Debbie began, in a hushed tone, staring into the fire. "I got divorced and lost my job. Six months later I had to move back in with my mom. I was in a terrible mental state. I knew I couldn't go on that way. So, I decided to hike the trail to clear my head, and work some things out."
"When I started on the trail, I was poorly prepared," Debbie continued. My hiking gear was inadequate, and I had very little money to spend on food and lodging. Then I found I could supplement a lot of what I needed from hiker boxes."
"What's a hiker box?" asked The Elvis Impersonator.
"A hiker box is a place hikers leave their unwanted gear and supplies," explained Almost Lost. "And where other hikers may find things they can use. All the hostels and motels frequented by hikers have a hiker box."
"I never knew that," Elvis replied. Then he stood, and twitching one leg said, "Thank you; thank you very much."
That got everyone laughing, and helped ease the tension.
"In the hiker boxes, I could always find food, and some clothing," Debbie explained. "Over time I found a nice stove, fuel, a cooking pot, an old tent, and lots of odds and ends."
"I was so ashamed and embarrassed about having to survive that way, I just kept to myself. When I saw how much fun all the other hikers were having together, I knew I was missing out on a lot, but I didn't feel I belonged."
"It was in one of the hiker boxes where I found Pattie's T-shirt," Debbie said, remembering now where she got it.
"She's telling the truth," said Pattie. "I started to tear it up because I didn't want to keep anything which reminded me of S.O. Then I thought some other hiker could use it. So, I threw the shirt and some other stuff into the church's hiker box when I got off the trail."
While all this explaining was going on, S.O. remained very quiet, and just looked at the ground. He wouldn't make eye contact with anyone.
Debbie showed us some of the stuff she had collected over the past month.
"That looks like my old hat," a sickly hiker named The Plague exclaimed. "I threw it in a hiker box in Georgia two weeks ago. It's good to see it again."
He looked at it so fondly, Pattie returned it to him.
"We probably have too much free time on our hands," said Help Me I'm Falling, who was fighting an inner-ear infection.
That got everyone laughing again.
"There's one thing I always wanted to ask you guys," confessed Debbie. "How did everyone get their trail names?"
We all laughed and pointed to Twisted Mind who had christened many of us with our names.
"I'm going to tell you what I tell everyone who asks that question," he said with a smile. "Each of us will tell you our trail name and you try to figure out how we might have gotten it."
"Sounds wonderful," Debbie said, with a tear running down her cheek.
With that, we all started dancing around the fire, like Indians doing a war dance with Peppermint Pattie and Debbie on our shoulders. We hooped and hollered well into the night.
In the weeks that followed, S. O. and Peppermint Pattie continued their on and off relationship, and Debbie became one of the gang.
For a long time, we laughed about that crazy night. Our story was told and retold on the trail many times over the years. Hundreds of hikers claimed they were there that night.
Toxic Alien, a hiker named Dan Mars, who had recently gotten over food poisoning, said it best, "Instead of losing a member of our hiking family that day, we gained one."
That night was also the night Debbie got her trail name. Because of her penchant for picking up discarded items, and the name stenciled across her torn, Broadway T-shirt, she became known as, "Hiker Box Annie."
I met Debbie Moore on the Appalachian Trail in 2003. She was quite a character, as are most people who hike long distances on the trail.
Besides Debbie and I, there were many wonderful people on the trail that year. And they have wonderfully imaginative trail names like: The Elvis Impersonator, The Vermontsters, Hear No Evil, The Dawn Patrol, The Plague, Creeping Me Out, Toxic Alien, Twisted Mind, Babe Magnet, Sugar Overload, Help Me I'm Falling, The Blister Sisters, Almost Lost, Peppermint Pattie, Weird Dude, and The Farting Camel.
All of us started our hike at the southern terminus of the trail in Georgia. It was May and were heading north with spring. Some hikers planned to hike for a week or two, and some like me, were out for one to two months.
Then there were the thru hikers; the trail warriors who were going to hike the entire 2,175 mile-long trail in five to six months. Debbie was one of those.
All the long-distant hikers knew one another, usually by sight. If we didn't hike together during the day, we met up at a shelter in the evening. When we got to a town to resupply, most hikers took a day off. That allowed hikers who were a day behind us to catch up. It also allowed us to meet the hikers who were a day ahead of us.
Most importantly, besides knowing each other, we looked out for one another.
We were one large nomadic community, creeping along on the trail like an enormous centipede, moving fifteen to eighteen miles per day.
Our trail telegraph had no wires, but the news we shared in the shelter's trail journals, or by word of mouth, was quickly repeated along the trail for hundreds of miles. And news traveled fast the day Peppermint Pattie disappeared.
It started innocently enough when Sugar Overload, a hiker with a low tolerance for sweets, asked me if I had seen Pattie.
He said he was very worried because no one had seen her for two days.
"And she hasn't made a journal entry at either of the last two shelters," he added. "I'm worried."
I knew he and Pattie had an on & off trail romance, which currently was off.
They first met in a candy shop in a trail-town ten days earlier. Pattie thought their mutual chocolate obsession might be the basis for a relationship. Plus both of them were thru hikers, and they would be on the trail together for six months.
Throughout the remainder of the day, we questioned many hikers but learned nothing. We asked them to spread the word, and pass along any news regarding Pattie's whereabouts.
That night at the shelter, a group of us discussed her disappearance, and what to do about it.
We knew there was always the possibility of foul play. The risk was highest at road crossings. There, a passing motorist or someone from a nearby town might prey on a lone hiker, especially a woman. But no one had reported seeing any suspicious characters. The hiker community suspected there was a different explanation.
Late that night, a hiker we had never met before arrived at the shelter. He had just completed an impressive twenty-eight mile day.
He introduced himself as Hear No Evil.
He explained he was deaf in his leaf ear; the result of a car bomb explosion in the war-torn Middle East.
Recently discharged from the army, he looked to be in great shape, and his mileage today proved it.
He told us word of Pattie's disappearance had reached him this morning, but no one he met today had any news.
After a moment's pause, he added, "I didn't see anyone suspicious near the roads, but I met a hiker today who was acting very strange."
That got our attention, and we urged Hear No Evil to continue.
"I accidentally walked into her campsite when I went into the woods to relieve myself. She was in a very secluded spot, almost like she was in hiding."
"When she saw me, she quickly covered her equipment with her sleeping bag," he explained. "Then she yelled at me for sneaking up on her. She threw off a lot of negative vibes, and acted like she was caught doing something wrong."
From his description, it sounded like a girl we knew only as Debbie. No one knew where she came from, or how far she intended to hike. We had seen her on the trail on and off for the past few weeks. Fellow hikers were always cordial to her, but for some reason, she never stayed in the shelters, or hung out with us.
One of The Blister Sisters had always suspected she was a "yellow blazer." This was a hiker who, at times, followed the yellow line in the center of the road. Weaker hikers did this to cut off sections of the trail, and do easy-walking road mileage. No one liked yellow blazers.
We knew Debbie's behavior might have nothing to do with Pattie's disappearance. But we still wanted to talk with her. We decided to take a zero day tomorrow and wait for her to catch up. Our shelter was on the trail, so she would have to pass by us.
Sugar Overload, who we were now calling S.O., was very worried, and spent the entire night tossing and turning. He kept all of us awake.
Chapter 2
Word had gotten out about our suspicions. By the time Debbie arrived at our shelter the next evening, thirty hikers were waiting to greet her.
She got very nervous when she saw the large crowd sitting around the huge campfire. But she calmed down when we asked if she had seen Peppermint Pattie, who we explained was missing.
Debbie swore she didn't even know who Pattie was, even after we described Pattie to her.
I could see most of the hikers believed her. I did too, but I still thought she was acting very suspicious.
We asked her to join us at the campfire where the three members of The Dawn Patrol were making s'mores.
"OK, but just for a minute," Debbie said reluctantly.
Then one of The Vermontsters handed her a small Graham cracker sandwich of roasted marshmallow and melted chocolate. Her face lit up and she accepted it gratefully.
When the campfire got too warm, Debbie removed her lightweight tan-colored windbreaker.
When S.O. saw the T-shirt she was wearing, he shouted, "That's the shirt I gave to Pattie. I got it at a Broadway show; I'd recognize it anywhere."
"I found it," Debbie responded defensively. "Someone must have discarded it because the sleeve is torn."
"Check the T-shirt for blood," S.O. screamed.
That's when all hell broke loose. Weird Dude grabbed a hold of S.O. to prevent him from attacking Debbie. The Farting Camel stood in front of Debbie to see no harm came to her.
Fortunately, a disaster was averted when we heard a hiker coming down the trail. The brightness of the campfire obstructed our vision until the hiker stepped into view. It was Peppermint Pattie.
We all jumped up to greet her and took turns giving her a hug. When S.O. approached her, she waved him away, "I'm not talking to you."
"Where have you been," we all pleaded. "We've been worried to death."
"It's gratifying to know there are some people who actually care about me," Pattie responded, glaring at S.O.
"We've been interrogating poor Debbie," I said, pointing to her. She was still cowering next to The Farting Camel.
"We thought she had something to do with your disappearance," I explained, realizing I was responsible for starting all this craziness.
"Disappearance," Pattie said in disbelief. "Is that what all the commotion was about? I heard a lot of yelling as I came down the trail. I guess I have a lot of explaining to do."
"After S.O. and I had a fight, I decided to leave the trail," Pattie confessed.
"You didn't tell me the two of you had a fight?" I snapped at S.O.
"We always have fights," S.O. said matter-of-factly. "I didn't realize this one was anything special."
I just shook my head at S.O. and nodded for Pattie to continue.
"At the first road crossing I came to, I hitched a ride to the nearest town. I was going to stay at a church hostel but after an hour, I changed my mind. I got rid of some excess stuff, and then paid for a cab ride to a town with public transportation. I intended to go home."
"I didn't mean to hurt you," S.O. apologized sheepishly. "I didn't realize you cared that much."
Pattie ignored him and continued, "I spent a night in a hotel near a bus station. I treated myself to an expensive town meal, a few drinks, a long, hot shower and a comfortable bed. The next morning I decided I wasn't going to let S.O. ruin my hiking experience, so I hitched a ride back to the trail. I hiked a lot of miles today to catch up with everyone."
I turned to Debbie as The Babe Magnet put his arm around her to console her.
"Can you ever forgive us?" I asked Debbie apologetically.
"I guess so," Debbie responded meekly. "I can see how close you all are. I guess I would react the same if I thought a member of my family had come to harm."
"How can we make it up to you?" asked Creeping Me Out. "We owe you."
"Oh, you don't owe me anything," said Debbie sincerely. "But I guess I owe everyone an explanation for the way I've been acting for the past few weeks."
Chapter 3
"I had a very rough time last year," Debbie began, in a hushed tone, staring into the fire. "I got divorced and lost my job. Six months later I had to move back in with my mom. I was in a terrible mental state. I knew I couldn't go on that way. So, I decided to hike the trail to clear my head, and work some things out."
"When I started on the trail, I was poorly prepared," Debbie continued. My hiking gear was inadequate, and I had very little money to spend on food and lodging. Then I found I could supplement a lot of what I needed from hiker boxes."
"What's a hiker box?" asked The Elvis Impersonator.
"A hiker box is a place hikers leave their unwanted gear and supplies," explained Almost Lost. "And where other hikers may find things they can use. All the hostels and motels frequented by hikers have a hiker box."
"I never knew that," Elvis replied. Then he stood, and twitching one leg said, "Thank you; thank you very much."
That got everyone laughing, and helped ease the tension.
"In the hiker boxes, I could always find food, and some clothing," Debbie explained. "Over time I found a nice stove, fuel, a cooking pot, an old tent, and lots of odds and ends."
"I was so ashamed and embarrassed about having to survive that way, I just kept to myself. When I saw how much fun all the other hikers were having together, I knew I was missing out on a lot, but I didn't feel I belonged."
"It was in one of the hiker boxes where I found Pattie's T-shirt," Debbie said, remembering now where she got it.
"She's telling the truth," said Pattie. "I started to tear it up because I didn't want to keep anything which reminded me of S.O. Then I thought some other hiker could use it. So, I threw the shirt and some other stuff into the church's hiker box when I got off the trail."
While all this explaining was going on, S.O. remained very quiet, and just looked at the ground. He wouldn't make eye contact with anyone.
Debbie showed us some of the stuff she had collected over the past month.
"That looks like my old hat," a sickly hiker named The Plague exclaimed. "I threw it in a hiker box in Georgia two weeks ago. It's good to see it again."
He looked at it so fondly, Pattie returned it to him.
"We probably have too much free time on our hands," said Help Me I'm Falling, who was fighting an inner-ear infection.
That got everyone laughing again.
"There's one thing I always wanted to ask you guys," confessed Debbie. "How did everyone get their trail names?"
We all laughed and pointed to Twisted Mind who had christened many of us with our names.
"I'm going to tell you what I tell everyone who asks that question," he said with a smile. "Each of us will tell you our trail name and you try to figure out how we might have gotten it."
"Sounds wonderful," Debbie said, with a tear running down her cheek.
With that, we all started dancing around the fire, like Indians doing a war dance with Peppermint Pattie and Debbie on our shoulders. We hooped and hollered well into the night.
In the weeks that followed, S. O. and Peppermint Pattie continued their on and off relationship, and Debbie became one of the gang.
For a long time, we laughed about that crazy night. Our story was told and retold on the trail many times over the years. Hundreds of hikers claimed they were there that night.
Toxic Alien, a hiker named Dan Mars, who had recently gotten over food poisoning, said it best, "Instead of losing a member of our hiking family that day, we gained one."
That night was also the night Debbie got her trail name. Because of her penchant for picking up discarded items, and the name stenciled across her torn, Broadway T-shirt, she became known as, "Hiker Box Annie."