BOONSBORO -- Maples and scatterings of other trees were still barren not many days ago in the blue hills leading to nearby South Mountain, but one sure sign of spring had reappeared on the Appalachian Trail.
Thurston Griggs, 78, and lean and as enthusiastic as ever, was back, hiking miles upon miles a day -- after commuting each morning from his home in suburban Baltimore.
Four or five days a week, from April until late November, Mr. Griggs hikes 12- to 15-mile stretches on Maryland's portion of the famous footpath along the crest of South Mountain.
He checks shelters, scans log-books signed by hikers, posts signs prohibiting parties and warning against bears, pushes aside downed tree branches and occasionally picks up litter -- all part of his job on the rocky, often rugged, never uninteresting trail.
His first spring '94 jaunt, checking several segments of a 15-mile stretch of the trail from Interstate 70 south to Weverton Cliffs, overlooking the Potomac River and the states of Virginia and West Virginia, uncovered nothing unusual.
He wasn't surprised to find at two different shelters several experienced hikers to chat with as they broke camp after a bone-chilling night.
Mr. Griggs is a "ridge runner" -- one of a few who serve parts of the Appalachian Trail, but the only one on Maryland's 40-mile section. The full trail stretches 2,144 miles from Georgia to Maine.
He is trail host, maintenance man and security officer. He wears a Maryland park ranger's brown and green uniform, carries a two-way radio and a backpack containing, among other things, a black address book (he threatens to write down the names and phone numbers of uncooperative juvenile offenders), a camera and lunch-time snacks.
"A uniform makes a big difference in your approach," Mr. Griggs says. "It's important to be genial, casual and friendly without being too intrusive. Some people are uncomfortable in front of uniforms."
He begins his treks early in the morning because that's the best time to catch hikers leaving camp, and it also means beating the heat and humidity, particularly in the summer.
There to help
On the trail, Mr. Griggs, who for 20 years before retiring was a physics administrator and professor of Chinese history at the University of Maryland at College Park, keeps one eye out for the illegal: all-terrain vehicles, horses, trash-dumping and camping outside designated areas.
Frequently, he gleans hints of unusual activity from casual conversations with hikers. He prefers to avoid confrontation and calls state park rangers in instances of belligerent drunks or drug users.
But, explains Dave Startzell, executive director of the Appalachian Trail Conference in Harpers Ferry, W. Va, "he's not there to bust anybody. He's primarily there to educate people about the proper use of the trail and offer assistance for medical or whatever problems arise."
During six years of ridge running, Mr. Griggs' endurance and outdoor skills have been tested. He's hiked all night looking for a lost woman. And he once walked 20 miles -- not an easy accomplishment anywhere on the rugged A.T., as hikers usually call it -- to find the brother of an ill hiker.
He's seen the trail's grim side: three suicides, and sometimes, the homeless and drifters.
He doesn't believe he's ever been in danger -- not even four years ago when he ran into, as he puts it, "a distinctive hiker carrying a duffel bag slung under each arm."
The grungy man, dressed in rags, later killed a young couple from Kansas in a trail-shelter near Harrisburg, Pa., roughly midway to their goal of hiking the full A.T. The 38-year-old drifter, originally from Florida, now resides on Death Row in the Pennsylvania prison system.
"He didn't want to give me any information," Mr. Griggs recalls. "All he kept telling me was that he was going back and forth on the trail. We're always concerned about vagrants. Hikers are open-hearted and will share anything. Vagrants end up feeding off hikers."
Such dramatic events are rare, however.
"People seem to understand the trail is being patrolled," he says. "Last year, it was almost tame, except for a suicide."
All kinds of wildlife
Mr. Griggs has seen just about any kind of wildlife imaginable for the Middle Atlantic: deer, foxes, wild turkeys, snakes, a coyote -- even a black bear last year just north of the chain-link-covered footbridge that carries the A.T. over Interstate 70.
That bear sighting means he now posts signs warning hikers to (( sleep away from their food, since food aromas attract the normally reclusive bears into camps. He believes sightings here have been limited to wandering, not resident, bears, though. Bears are still more of a concern for A.T. hikers in the Shenandoahs and in Pennsylvania.
"The nicest part is meeting hikers," Mr. Griggs says of his job. "People who are on the trail any length of time have character. The temptation is to delay them long enough to hear about their adventures."
For all his diligence, the state Department of Natural Resources and the Appalachian Trail Conference pay Mr. Griggs $6.50 an hour for about 30 hours a week -- though park rangers agree he works many more hours than that.
"Basically, he's a paid volunteer. He conveniently submits his time sheet to match my budget," says Dan Spedden, park manager of the South Mountain Recreation Area. "But I know he's out there more than 30 hours a week."
Mr. Griggs is among a dozen ridge runners stationed along the more popular stretches of the Appalachian Trail in Virginia, Pennsylvania, Maine and the Great Smoky Mountains. The Maryland section, which crosses the state along the South Mountain ridge from the Potomac River to the Pennsylvania line, attracts 10,000 to 15,000 visitors annually.
"He's the oldest ridge runner we have, and the guy is as strong as a horse," Mr. Startzell says. "He's really a role model for older Americans. We get a lot of older people asking what kind of volunteer activities we have. Guys like Thurston are an example of how much somebody can get involved, even in their 60s and 70s."
Mr. Griggs knows the trail and the surrounding terrain as well as anyone in Maryland.
He can instantly provide hikers with time estimates, landmarks and mileage between points. He knows of unmapped roads, former trail crossings and old pioneer routes.
'Real unusual character'
Mr. Griggs' activities don't stop with the Appalachian Trail.
The resident of Arbutus, in Baltimore County, is a sometime actor and a playwright -- he once had a play performed during the Baltimore Playwrights Festival. He also plays cello with a couple of area orchestras and is active with his church.
But his love of the outdoors is a life-long thing that began in Washington state, where he grew up. He has hiked there, half the Appalachian Trail, and in places such as Japan, China and South America. He's a member of several area hiking organizations.
Including his paid ridge running, Mr. Griggs has been a regular along the A.T. for 26 years. He has helped clean and maintain trails and helped relocate portions of the trail in Maryland and Pennsylvania. He served on the Appalachian Trail Conference's board of managers for 12 years.
"He's a real, real unusual character," says Karen Lutz, an Appalachian Trail Conference representative in Boiling Springs, Pa. "He's very unassuming. I've spent many days in the woods with him, and I can't keep up with him. He can out-walk any 20-year-old."
Even on his first spring hike a week or so ago -- after a sedate winter with little exercise because of the harsh weather -- Mr. Griggs' pace was brisk as he climbed a zig-zag trail rising upward of 1,000 feet in about 0.8 mile.
The reward was panoramic views up and down the Potomac River from Weverton Cliffs.
"It's a lifesaver for me," he says about hiking. "It makes me take exercise, keeps my weight down and keeps me in good shape. And it keeps me from eating snacks. I feel lucky this came up."