Now that he's passed, maybe I can tell a story, because he swore me to secrecy while he was alive.
I met Jack at a much-anticipated day-long hiker feed/trail magic in NC. Like the kind where you saw previews written in the shelter logs, promising not just food, but a KEG of local beer from Asheville. The guy I was hiking with at the time and I were DEAD SERIOUS. We got there at like 9 AM, and there was just one dude sitting there, in a folding chair. I sit down, and he just casually introduces himself as Jack. I put two and two together, ask "THE Baltimore Jack?" and he pulls out that lighter to show me.

I could talk for hours just about that day, but instead, I want to tell a story from the next time I saw him, a little bit down the trail at the NOC. Now, I don't know how much the NOC has grown since 2010, but when I got there it was total culture shock; I had adjusted to being in the woods, to the quiet, to the hiker trash stink, and here I was, walking into a loud-a!s carnival. They were having some kind of kayaking competition, and there were townies everywhere, voices blaring through loudspeakers, just crowds and crowds.

I'm looking for a place to camp, and who should I run into but Baltimore Jack. I start telling him how crazy this place is, and how culture-shocked I am. He gave me one of those famous Jack pieces of advice: "You want to leave here in the morning, just do the climb up to Cheoah Bald, and enjoy the sunset, night, and sunrise up there." Jack said it, so I was going to do it. (PS: It was worth it)
But the problem remained of finding a place at the NOC to camp, and I'm seriously wondering if Jack shared this bit with anyone else. He literally told me to act casual, and follow his lead. We were walking right past the river, in the middle of crowds, and he made us stop right next to this weird, vertical hill, right in the middle of the NOC. We're doing this secret agent schitt, making sure the coast is clear! He finally decides nobody is watching, and takes me around the left side of this unclimbable hill, and believe it or not, there's this steep-a!s vertical/diagonal goat path up the side of it! He's frantically whispering to me to keep close, and we scramble up the side of this thing.

And lo and behold, right in the middle of the crazy-a!s NOC, there's an untouched, pristine hill, a GLADE, surrounded by trees that muffled the sound. We're up about 50 feet high, dead-center of the NOC, and Jack is just looking at me with this schitt-eating grin. "This is where I always camp at the NOC. I agree, it's too f!cking loud."

We camped there, and I got to watch his drill of how he unloaded his pack by just dumping EVERYTHING, got to see all the flasks he had stashed around his person, got to drink with the man and talk trail, the whole time, we were on total light and fire restriction because Jack said NO GOD D!MN WAY was anyone else going to learn about his secret spot.
I mean, how Trail IS THAT?

I got to have a night getting drunk with trail royalty, and so much of my memory of why the trail was great has to do with that night and many others spent in his company. I don't give a schitt what flaws the man had. He made my hike an ADVENTURE every time I ran into him, and I will always be grateful.

But I am curious if anyone else had the opportunity to share that secret spot at the NOC with Baltimore Jack. If not, then let this story and this sharing be a candle lit in memory of one of the greatest badasses ever to walk the Appalachian Trail. I'm drinking to your memory tonight, Jack. Here's to you, and here's to the Trail.