A Walk in the Woods

murmurings and stirrings, like the noises of a convalescent ward after lights out, until at
last I fell heavily asleep. In the morning we would rise shivering and rubbing arms,
wordlessly repeat our small chores, fill and hoist our packs, and venture into the great
entangling forest again.
On the fourth evening, we made a friend. We were sitting in a nice little clearing beside
the trail, our tents pitched, eating our noodles, savoring the exquisite pleasure of just
sitting, when a plumpish, bespectacled young woman in a red jacket and the customary
outsized pack came along. She regarded us with the crinkled squint of someone who is
either chronically confused or can't see very well. We exchanged hellos and the usual
banalities about the weather and where we were. Then she squinted at the gathering
gloom and announced she would camp with us.
Her name was Mary Ellen. She was from Florida, and she was, as Katz forever after
termed her in a special tone of awe, a piece of work. She talked nonstop, except when
she was clearing our her eustachian tubes (which she did frequently) by pinching her nose
and blowing out with a series of violent and alarming snorts of a sort that would make a
dog leave the sofa and get under a table in the next room. I have long known that it is
part of God's plan for me to spend a little time with each of the most stupid people on
earth, and Mary Ellen was proof that even in the Appalachian woods I would not be
spared. It became evident from the first moment that she was a rarity.
"So what are you guys eating?" she said, plonking herself down on a spare log and
lifting her head to peer into our bowls. "Noodles? Big mistake. Noodles have got like no
energy. I mean like zero." She unblocked her ears. "Is that a Starship tent?"
I looked at my tent. "I don't know."
"Big mistake. They must have seen you coming at the camping store. What did you pay
for it?"
"I don't know."
"Too much, that's how much. You should have got a three-season tent."
"It is a three-season tent."
"Pardon me saying so, but it is like seriously dumb to come out here in March without a
three-season tent." She unblocked her ears.
"It is a three-season tent."
"You're lucky you haven't froze yet. You should go back and like punch out the guy that
sold it to you because he's been like, you know, negligible selling you that."
"Believe me, it is a three-season tent."
She unblocked her ears and shook her head impatiently. "That's a three-season tent."
She indicated Katz's tent.
"That's exactly the same tent."
She glanced at it again. "Whatever. How many miles did you do today?"
"About ten." Actually we had done eight point four, but this had included several
formidable escarpments, including a notable wall of hell called Preaching Rock, the
highest eminence since Springer Mountain, for which we had awarded ourselves bonus
miles, for purposes of morale.
"Ten miles? Is that all? You guys must be like really out of shape. I did fourteen-two."
"How many have your lips done?" said Katz, looking up from his noodles.