Mountain Crossings a hikers paradise
By Bo Emerson
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
For a guy whose job has him posted in the middle of nowhere, Winton Porter certainly draws a crowd. Porter owns the Mountain Crossings outfitter and hostel at the Walasi-Yi Center on the Appalachian Trail near Blairsville, and, though hes technically in the wilderness, theres a lot of human wildlife on hand.
On one recent warm spring afternoon, his stone-and-timber headquarters hosted bearded hikers in poly-pro long johns, clean-shaven bikers in color coordinated helmets, a church group cooking free burgers on the deck and a swarm of tourists just enjoying the weather.
Gregory Schley, 53, whose trail name is Dartman,” stroked his brown and gray beard and studied the scene as he and his colleague Joe Guns” Kilpatrick took a break from gluing PVC pipe.
You come up here on a good weekend, and it looks like bike week at Daytona,” said Schley.
The crowd at Mountain Crossings is cresting right about now. March and April are high-season for the famed Appalachian Trail, when a horde of hikers sets out from the ATs southern terminus, Springer Mountain, aiming to make the northern end at Mount Katahdin in Maine before winter.
Most of these hikers will encounter Mountain Crossings, 30 miles in, if only because the trail runs right through the building. (It is the only stretch of the 2,178-mile footpath that passes under a roof.) On this day it seems that a good portion of them are on Porters porch, disporting in various states of undress.
In a new memoir called Just Passin Thru: A Vintage Store, the Appalachian Trail and a Cast of Unforgettable Characters,” Porter writes about collecting what he calls the wackos, heroes and friends” that have made that journey. It is this crew that makes Mountain Crossings the Algonquin Round Table of the hiking community.
Which means it can get noisy. On those occasions, Porter simply steps out on the deck and glances off the edge of Neels Gap to the astonishing vista rolling to the northeast.
Welcome to my dream,” said Porter, gesturing to the rolling terrain of the Chattahoochee National Forest. Ive got the best office space in the state of Georgia.”
Getting the dream job
It wasnt always like this. Though Porter, 44, has made a career in outdoor sports, hes spent much of it inside, clambering up the corporate escalator in Chicago, Salt Lake and Atlanta. After helping open the Galyans megastore in Buckhead in the 1990s, Porter grabbed his ideal job when the Walasi-Yi Center, at the foot of Blood Mountain, became available. An imposing 6-foot-4, Porter is more clean-cut than his hirsute customers, but not too dainty to worry about the rich smells for which the rarely washed backpacking community is justly renowned.
Walasi-Yi, a Cherokee phrase meaning (supposedly) place of the great frog,” was built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s as the Vogel Lodge, part of the Depression-era effort to put jobless Americans back to work.
Perched on Ga. 129 where it cuts through Vogel State Park, it was a restaurant, dance hall and inn. It was also a marvel of natural rock and chestnut timbers. Inside, Porter shows off a gallery of photos taken during construction, showing proud lumberjacks in front of chestnut trees as broad as a two-lane road.
The tourist supply dwindled along with the chestnut, and in the 1970s the center suffered neglect, but was placed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1979. In 1983, it became a gear supply store and a hikers paradise, operated by Jeff and Dorothy Hansen. Porter continued that tradition when he took over the lease in 2001.
The shakedown
Compared to his former 120,000-square-foot superstore, Mountain Crossings looks like a phone booth. But, like a through-hikers backpack, the 3,500-square-foot shop is crammed with essentials: backpacks, hiking shoes, sleeping bags, trekking poles, fleece garments, rain gear and crates of that critical staple of the hikers diet: Snickers bars.
It is also laden with boxes of discarded items that hikers have happily shed. The signature service provided at Mountain Crossings is the shakedown,” during which Porter or his staff examine the contents of a hikers backpack and offer advice on ways to reduce weight. He is able to trim 12 pounds off the average load a considerable difference for the individual schlepping that weight up and down mountains.
Along with that advice comes something more personal. Many of the sojourners who wander out of the woods and into Porters shop have nurtured a dream of walking from Georgia to Maine. Barely into that hike, their dreams have flown directly into the cliff-face of Blood Mountain. These are souls in crisis, and Porter is known for talking them down off the ledge.
Theyve told all their friends theyre going to walk the AT,” he says. Theyve walked 30 miles, and now theyre entertaining the word quit. They walk in crying tears as big as half dollars.”
Porters unlikely, grizzled team swoops in to the rescue.
I tell them, Here are the people who are going to help you. Their names are Lumpy, Flying Pork Chop, Dartman and Cornbread,” says Porter. After a warm shower, a nice bunk, a great view, I talk to them. I spend 50 percent of my time talking people out of things. They tell me, I need a new backpack. I say, Well the backpack I can work with, its the sleeping bag thats killing you. ... Im a back-ologist, a shoe-ologist, a psychologist, a sociologist and a plumber.”
He lightens their spiritual load by taking pounds off their backs. Heavy backpacks can make a trek miserable, but what seemed impossible with 48 pounds aboard becomes reasonable at 30.
The discards (which have included a machete, a coffee grinder, a hardback copy of War and Peace,” a snorkel and mask, and other useless weight) are boxed up and mailed home. Porter says UPS trucks pick up about 9,000 pounds of unnecessary gear at his store every year.
About five veteran hikers, such as Guns and Dartman, augment the permanent staff of two during high season. Dartman and Guns became part-time plumbers on this particular day, fixing the PVC pipe leading to the well. Among the helpers is Baltimore” Jack Tarlin, of Hanover, N.H., (like the Springsteen song, he went out for a ride and never came back”), who has been hiking the trail for 15 years, working occasionally to fund his wandering feet. He through-hiked seven times in a row from 1997 to 2003.
The 51-year-old Tarlin, in pink complexion and black synthetics, soaked up the sun on Porters deck as a young hiker spread her belongings on a picnic table, preparing for a shakedown. The recession boosted traffic on the trail last year, Tarlin said, because you can live out here for six months a lot cheaper than you can anywhere else.”
Trail mix
Most through-hikers are less Jack Kerouacky about life on the trail than Tarlin and see it as a one-time adventure. Justin King, 29, a wine salesman from Okemos, Mich., staked out a bunk in the 15-person, $15-a-night hostel connected to the store and talked about the decision to take a walk in the woods. Hes thinking about moving from Michigan to Massachusetts, and decided to use the break time to tackle the trail. Like a lot of people doing this, Im in a state of transition.”
Yes, he brought along a French press for morning coffee, but no wine. I think for better hydration Ill stick with water.”
A faded poster stapled to a tree seeking information about the disappearance of Kristi Lee Cornwell reminds visitors that the real worlds problems can reach far into the woods. Cornwell vanished last August while walking near Blairsville, not far from Mountain Crossings.
Closer to home, killer Gary Hilton stopped in at Mountain Crossings to look at rain gear before beating Meredith Emerson to death in the first week of 2008.
I took that kind of personal,” said Porter. He helped Emersons parents during the search for their missing daughter, and her father sent him a hand-made bench in gratitude. It sits in a place of honor, in front of the ancient iron wood-stove that heats the shop in winter.
But its lack of planning, rather than murderers, terrorists or bears, that consistently threatens hikers, he said. In Just Passing Thru,” Porter writes about the FBI agents and local law officers who gathered at his shop during the search for terrorist bomber Eric Rudolph. They were galvanized by the discovery of a severed foot, still in its Wolverine boot, dragged to the store by a stray dog. But, to their dismay, the foot was not Rudolphs, but a hikers who had been missing for two years, probably a victim of hypothermia.
Then again, there is such a thing as overplanning. Dartman said he knows of a hiker who cut the handle of his toothbrush to save weight. Bad idea, he said. Have you ever tried to brush your teeth with a toothbrush with no handle?”
A book review by Scott Ourth
Scott Ourth
There are a couple of qualifiers I am compelled to share with you right up front:
* I have thru-hiked” the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine
* I have been a guest at Mountain Crossings
* I am thoroughly acquainted with Winton Porter
* I am a trained editor
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I read hundreds of books, essays, short stories, and articles each year. A few of these pieces are written by friends and associates; nevertheless, I try to maintain an objective and unbiased eye as I ingest and analyze the product of their toil.
At first blush, you would think an editor would be a little softer, a little less harsh when dissecting the work of a friend. Not so. Human nature calls upon us to expect our friends to rise to a higher level than other mortals, to set greater goals, to achieve higher heights. We expect them to make us proud so we can brag on them, and thereby brag on ourselves, for being part of a circle of highly functioning, supremely intelligent, important” human beings. After all, we chose them as friends because they, like we, are slightly superior right?
When you read the work of a friend, the impartial critic part of your professional character goes out the window straight away. And trust me on this one - it is not to your friends advantage. You expect Holden Caulfield or J.D. Salinger or Flannery OConnor. What you get is usually a pile of paper strewn with poorly chosen words, embarrassing grammar, overblown and amateur attempts at simile, metaphor, analogy, and no cogent story construct whatsoever. Reading the serious work” of a friend is dreadfully painful. You catch yourself physically wincing. You never feel quite the same about that friend again.
A year ago my friend Winton Porter told me he was wrapping up a book about life on the Appalachian Trail. He said the work was chock full of great Trail stories, cool characters, lessons from the backwoods, etc. The book was written from his unique perspective as an outfitter situated thirty miles north of the Trails Southern terminus at Springer Mountain, Georgia.
He asked me to take a peek at a small galley proof, which I did. Then, when the book came off the press, he asked me to read it and give him my honest painfully honest review. I agreed to do that, too, and at that point I felt myself physically wince. My perception of Winton was about to change.
I swear, Porkchop,” Porter insisted. I think youre gonna like it. I think it is a really good book. I know you, Buddy, and I know youre gonna like this.”
Everyones a Bill Bryson these days”, I thought to myself.
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On March 3, 2002, I came sliding off Blood Mountain (Georgias highest peak) at about 90 miles an hour. Snow and ice were blowing sideways. The only exposed areas of my body were my upper cheeks, eyes, and forehead. I thought they would be laid bare to the bone. I felt as though I was walking through a refrigerated sandblaster. When I came crashing through the front door at Mountain Crossings at Walasi-Yi I was all banged up and half snow blind. My face was so affected by the weather that I had trouble coaxing those little muscles to the task of forming words. Ive never been so happy to be anywhere as I was to be there at that moment.
Whats your name?” asked a friendly looking guy with a pleasantly mild Southern drawl. Im Winton Porter. Let me show you the bunkhouse. You take a good hot shower and come back up and find me. Your pack is looking like it could use a shakedown, so well take a look at it and see if we cant lighten you up a bit. We gotta make sure you get all the way to Katahdin!”
Im The Flying Porkchop”, I gurgled. Thanks.”
I found out then and there what a real outfitter does. Every person who came through that door became the immediate focus of Winton Porter. At the very moment he was greeting you, he was simultaneously assessing your health, your equipment, your state of mind, the condition of your soul. No cookie-cutter approach here. Everyone is unique, everyone gets their own custom designed plan for health and success on the Trail. Winton organizes data about people by deploying incredibly comprehensive, dead-on observations. There isnt a subtlety or a nuance he doesnt capture and register. This is part of what makes him a sterling outdoors outfitter. This is also the very center of what makes Winton a masterful writer.
Just so happens March 3rd is Mr. Porters birthday. He invited me and a couple others out to dinner that night for a small celebration with his family. I will remember the warmth and coziness and fun of that evening forever. I have called Winton every March 3rd for the last eight years. He is dear to me. He has become a lifelong friend despite the fact that I have not laid eyes on him since he sent me on my way to Katahdin all those years ago. I can still remember the warmth and gentle strength of his handshake as we bade each other farewell.
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Just Passin Thru is a work of genius. The business of wincing gave way to a sense of honest-to-goodness incredulity. I was a couple of pages in before I was able to reconcile two facts: I was reading really, really good writing, and it had flowed from the pen of my backwoods, Georgia-boy, Appalachian Trail, outdoor outfittin buddy Winton Porter. I would love to have seen the look on my face as this unlikely fact penetrated my awareness!
When you do it correctly, great pieces of writing can have the same effect as great pieces of music. Beloved songs can take you back to your high school days and leave you feeling all warm and wistful. A familiar tune can remind you of the most powerful events of your life and leave you sitting and reminiscing about that first date or that first car long after the song has ended. Music reaches way down deep and calls forth from that secret spirit-place all that reminds us that life is sacred and good and worth the living. Literature can do that, too. The words are the notes, the sentences the chords. If tossed together haphazardly, notes and words can make a really bad noise. If strung like fine pearls, they can take us to the places we long to visit.
Just Passin Thru plays like a symphony. The movements rise and fall beautifully. Our emotions are swept along with them, every heartstring is plucked along the way. Meter and timbre change constantly. You are never at the same place for more than a moment. The scenery, the terrain, the people, the action you close your eyes and find your mind has painted pictures is tangible. You can smell the place. You can hear the voices. You are at the cookout, you are in the parking lot. You are uncomfortably watching an argument or feeling disgust at someone who has had too much to drink. You applaud eccentricity, you deplore arrogance. Winton does not invite you to read the story. He draws you in and suddenly, if unwittingly, you are in the story. Believe me. There is something about finding yourself there that just feels good!
This is what music and literature are meant to do. This is what they do as they rise to that exclusive sphere inhabited only by Art. They transport you to the space and time represented by the symphony, or in this case, the story. They do not supplant your reality or offer you some escape there from. If constructed along the ephemeral lines of art, they become your reality. Wintons prose does this to the fullest measure. His art lays claim to your consciousness so completely you become oblivious of the fact you are holding a book and turning pages.
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I read the book in one sitting. I caught myself laughing out loud on a number of occasions. I felt real, palpable anger and contempt for a character or two at different points, only to forgive them (as Winton gracefully does) a moment later. There is no release as sweet as grace, and Winton weaves that lesson into his work.
I wept at one point at something in the story that took me completely off guard. I remember holding my wife a little more closely after reading that passage. You will know when you reach that place in the story. Life is uncertain. Winton offers a powerful reminder to the part of us that prefers not to remember this inconvenient fact.
Although the setting may be Mountain Crossings, this isnt a story about a shop and the people found there. What Winton Porter is really doing is telling us what he has learned. Life is complex, busy, baffling, rewarding, painful, and fun. There is the right way to live, and most of us think were finally getting a handle on that. Then there is the better way. Winton gently points this out. He gives us a beautiful, rhapsodic narrative that once read leaves behind this achingly pleasant residual. You want to read the book again because you want to feel that way” again. It is said you can never go home, but you suddenly realize you feel this way because you just did. Yet you are left plainly understanding there is something of importance yet to do, something of great value for which to reach. Winton has just awakened you and whispered the assurance of his discovery. It is good to feel deeply”, he breathes. It is good to be alive.”
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My impression of Winton Porter certainly has changed. It always does after I read the work of a friend. I now know he is a true renaissance man. I know now, much to my great surprise, he is a superb writer possessed of the rare ability to translate his experience to our reality with nothing at all lost in the process. I thought I knew how deeply he cares. I was pleasantly surprised to find that I did not.
To experience Wintons mastery over the world of letters is to understand his mastery over the art of being human.
Thank you, Winton, for opening the window to your soul. Thanks for letting me crawl through and hang out for awhile. I selfishly, and longingly, hope you will invite me to come back.
Scott Ourth is a 2002 thruhiker” of the Appalachian Trail. He is the former assistant secretary of state for the State of Iowa, and is currently the Democratic nominee from his district for a seat in the Iowa House of Representatives. He resides in Ackworth, Iowa with his wife Heather and their son Logan.