The Playaz...
The Playaz...
Founder of the Expedition. During an especially long night of drinking it was Chaz who suggested the idea of the camping trip. It was an idea that sparked and raged, like a prairie fire, through the hearts and minds of the circle of dreamers and hangers-on. But, it was Chaz’s stark planning and tenacious attention to detail that finally made the hike possible. An experience hiker, Chaz took on the responsibility of planning an itinerary. He felt equally responsible for the enjoyment and safety of his fellow hikers. He also showed off his prowess at back country cooking, while the others watched on jealously as they ate their bowls of minute rice and foil wrapped packages of pop tarts. Nevertheless, Charles showed himself to be a fine leader and a skillful player at Magic.
Pat, a student of computer tech and a dabbler in transendental meditation, approached the challenge before him with an even pace and a level-headed sense of purpose. Often it was the bright blue of his pack that led the way through the earlier parts of the journey. Though purposeful, he was ever ready to offer a sharp-witted remark or sarcastic rejoinder to break the tension of a long arduous hike.
Renowned for his ability to turn even the most innocuous foodstuffs into the most vile smelling bursts of clotted air, Derek could often be found at the head of the party, with life partner Jessica, blazing the trail, leaving scent markers for the more tardy of the groups members. A one man logging crew, a veritable Paul Bunyan of the Great Smokies, Derek uprooted whole trees and set them ablaze on the campfire. With a stick of beef jerky in one hand and a rod of wood in the other he attacked the trails, frightened away wildlife with the creaking and cracking of his arthritic knees, and felled whole swarms of insects with his cloying cloud of miasmic effluvium. For years to come the mythic presence of this proud warrior would not be forgotten. His journeys were destined to become a series of tales told by backwoods idiots for generations to come, a mythology enhanced by free flowing moonshine and the inviting quiet of the star filled Smoky Mountain night.
A quiet, bearded man of the woods. According to the survivors, Rob always had one half of his addled brain on the trail, the other half on the riot of green that enveloped him. He also bore the smallest pack, a fact that bred much jealousy amongst his fellow travelers.
Jason, the youngest in the group, was a devout member of the Church of Excess. He climbed the trails under various degrees of drug induced mania, most of those degrees being at the graduate level. Nevertheless, Jason was a welcome member of the team. Whether it was head shaking at his hilarious escapades or the awe struck innocence that he conveyed at the sights about him, the others were often left smiling. Even though he was burdened by a cast, he never complained and always seemed eager to attack the each new day, two or three hours after he was roused from his nightly coma by his impatient compatriots.
This is the last known photograph of Kyle. Shortly after leaving with Pat and Rob to press ahead, while the others stayed behind to enjoy a day of rest, Kyle was taken by a voracious Smoky Mountain black bear. All that was left was a bloodied pack and a roll of toilet paper. All told Kyle burned three pairs of socks, a shirt, and a pair of boot inserts. (second from left, bottom)
Ben Lebofsky, student of human behavior, philosopher, idealist, hopeless romantic, slave to his passions. Ben, a name synonymous with traveler, wanderer, meanderer. A jack of many trades, but master of none. A spokesperson of his generation. What was Ben looking for on this journey? He found exquisite beauty and equally exquisite pain. He discovered much about others, but little about himself. He carried seventy pounds of pack on his back, a form of penance for a sin unspoken? He spent more than a grand on camping equipment, a tithe to some unnamed church? He crossed ice cold streams in sandaled feet. He danced around steaming mounds of horse turd. He got wet and dried himself by fires built by others. He spoke much, yet said little. He ate dehydrated chicken stir fry and it was good. He saw creation in the decaying stump of a tree, a cycle of birth and death unending. Who was Ben Lebofsky? Why was Ben Lebofsky?
It would not be hard to imagine Jessica leading a team of bedraggled and hungry pioneers across the Indian infested expanse of old America toward some promised land of plenty. Strong willed, determined, assured, stalwart, these are all words that could easily describe her. No stream was too deep ford, no hill was too steep to climb, no discomfort too annoying to bear. Often she could be found guiding her husband over precariously placed deadfalls and up trails perched on the brink of vertiginous cliffs. Quit was not a word in her vocabulary. Fear was not an emotion she paid heed to. A single glance from her fixed gaze would strike fear into the most fanatical nay sayer or the fiercest beast. Many were struck by the thought as she passed that absolutely nothing could stop this juggernaut of indomitable will as she ate up the trail.
Escaping the wearisome life of a Nursing Student, Jamie leapt at the opportunity to spend time away from her busy life. Although a hiking neophyte, she met the rigors of the trail with courage and staunch determination. Her skills at emergency medicine were brought to bear often on the trail. It was her gentle care and inspiring words, words like, “Walk it off you weenie,” and “Stop yer crying,” that helped the lame ones continue onward in spite of the mind numbing pain and delirium brought on by infection. (second from left)
The quiet companion of Derek and Jessica. Armed with a machine pistol and a backpack full of the famous oriental noodles for which he will be forever known, Jim kept pace with the Dunns as they climbed each mountain and descended into each ravine. Unfortunately, his mental fortitude would not be matched by his intestinal fortitude. Eating so many pounds of water logged noodles, he would eventually lose ten feet of bowl to a rare msg caused cancer. Nevertheless, from his hospital bed in Pennsylvania Jim would say that given the chance he would do it all over again, except of course he would have brought better food, and maybe a better tent, and not as many gun clips, and, oh yeah, drier socks, and…
Supreme ruler of the universe, earth shaker, woman quaker, quasi-deity to the enigmatic realms of abstruse thought, weaver of acroamatic esoterica. “I am Goyo!” Fearlessly he shouted his name to the mountains and the mountains trembled as he passed. His unhurried pace, a symbolic affectation honoring the soulful peace of these venerable hills, was well respected. His ritualistic shirt burning, a sacrifice to the sprite and nymphs that maintained the trails, was the highlight of each evening. Greg brought much to the mountains and took away even more, unafraid to open his heart and mind to the wonders of the natural world.