Eric here -- I've been visiting my folks in Durham the last couple days, and I'll get the last weeks' journals up as soon as I can.
In the meantime, I've got a bunch of photos of the trail so far. I can't figure out how to post multiple photos on blogspot, so I've put them up at Trailjournals:
http://www.trailjournals.com/photos.cfm?trailname=7121
It'll says that the photo is hidden, but above that there's a little drop-down menu and from there you should be able to see them all.
eric
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Sunday, April 27, 2008
April 16, 2008
This morning at Standing Bear I noticed that Spiffy had left his book behind when he pulled out the day before. I asked if anyone was going to try to catch up with him.
"He's out," Matthewski told me. "Off the trail, going home. He gave some excuse about a girlfriend or a wife or something, but the truth is the Smokies kicked his ass. I'm a four-time quitter myself. I know what it looks like"
At this point in the trail, 250 miles in, something like a third to a half of the people who started from Springer have quit. (At least historically; I have no idea what this year's numbers are.) I'm not sure what exactly I expected this to look like - maybe like the "storming the beach" scenes from war movies, where men get hit and go down left and right, while others keep charging the machine-gun nests. the reality is that mos of them just disappear. One day they're there, the next they're gone, and nobody even seems to notice. Some are hurt, or say they are, and say they'll catch up. Josh, who runs the Hiker Hostel in Dahlonega, GA, and services the first 30 miles or so of the trail, told me that "Nobody ever quits - it's always an injury." Josh claims that as a former ER tech, he can spot which ones are faking.
Of course, lots of people really are legitimately injured. Black Cat Lucky blew his knee out and was told point-blank by a doctor that his hike was over. But then there's a huge gray area. Athletes sometimes make the distinction between "hurt" and "injured." You can't play if you're injured, but you can - and are expected to - play hurt. It's much the same here (and I suppose hikers are athletes, after a fashion.) Many people are popping ibuprofen in handfuls by this point; there are knee braces everywhere and blisters rank only behind the weather as topics of conversation. That's all part of playing hurt on the AT.
So how do I fit into this? So far, I have had no serious pain of any kind. My knees are fine. No blisters. Muscles ache and feet hurt at the end of the day, but that doesn't count. I've had some minor issues with both ankles, and one very small blister, and had a touch of cold/flu back in Georgia. Other than that, I've had nothing Five weeks on the AT, and I've taken a single Tylenol. That's it.
My mom will no doubt credit this to prayer, and I certainly won't discount that. I could also take credit for it myself - I've practiced a lot of preventive care and most critically, I've been taking it very, easy to start. That's part of it too. But I suspect it's also been true that I've been lucky, and that it won't hold out forever.
Some people that drop out obviously were, in one way or another, unprepared. In Hiawassee, I met a woman whose son quit this thru-hike after one day. I stood on top of Springer with a guy who was 350 lbs - not necessarily a deal breaker - but who also carried a 50 pound pack and tried doing 10+ mile days from the start. I don't think he made it out of Georgia.
But the people who were unprepared are either gone or have learned better. The people left are a strong, determined bunch - and yet statistically, it's predictable that even most of the ones who are left at this point are going to quit. It's hard not to feel like there's still going to be some major test in front of me that I will have to pass. Thus far, I've been taking it very easy, Averaging only seven miles a day, including five zeroes and several near-os. That will have to change. In order to make it back to my job on schedule, that average needs to be pulled up to about 12. Even if I ignore the job and just focus on getting to Maine before weather closes the peak, I still need that average up around 10. I will need to start pushing myself quite a bit more.
I guess what started me thinking about this - about people quitting, and the challenge of the whole thing, was thinking about Stacy. Stacy came out on the trail in an effort to get off booze. She started out from Springer with minimal gear - a 40-degree sleeping bag, clothes, a crappy tent, and some ramen - and a promise from a friend that he would send her money on the trail via mail drops. As she made friends on the trail, people helped her out, giving gear and encouragement. Cool Breeze called home and had his spare sleeping bag Fed Exed up here; he gave it to her as a gift.
It didn't take. She slipped off the wagon in Franklin, NC, and turned on the people who were trying to help her. She slogged on through the Smokies - she's actually a terrific hiker - but when she got to Standing Bear Farm, she took off. There's a bar a few miles up the road, and the last anyone saw of her, she was there, wasted in much too many senses of the word.
My last day in the Smokies, I crossed an area called the Sawteeth. It's a sharp, jagged ridge and the AT runs right along the top of it, with steep drops on both sides. As I went across the ridge, the snow was falling, the rocks slippery, the wind shaking the trees. It wasn't hard to imagine the possibility of one strong gust blowing me clear off the trail and down into a ravine. It didn't happen, obviously; for reasons that probably include divine grace, my own prudence, and sheer dumb luck. I don't know, exactly, how those things combine. I wish I did.
Just 7 miles today, though, a 2500 foot gain in elevation. Stopped early to write. Need to do some big miles tomorrow.
April 17, 2008
Nearly every day, I ask myself what the hell I'm doing out here. And nearly every day, I get an answer.
Slept well last night, and felt lousy leaving my nice, warm, hammock, putting on the pack, and heading uphill. The first mile of every day, it seems, is uphill. Today it's uphill from 8:50 am to 1:45 pm, when I reach the summit of Max Patch, at 4600 feet. And that was today's answer.
Max Patch is a bald - a mountain whose top is open and grassy. Since Indian times, farmers drover herds up here to graze. With the decline of agriculture most of the balds are getting forested over, but a few, like this one, are being maintained.
At 3 in the afternoon, I'm sitting on top of what feels like a giant grassy beach ball. The green curves slowly away in all directions, broken up only rarely by tiny white or yellow wildflowers. Above, the only clouds are dustings of talcum on an otherwise perfect sky. Around the horizon, the closer mountains like grey and brown, still refusing to believe that spring really has arrived. The farther mountains - you can see back to the Smokies - recede into the distance like an audience. A hundred yards away a boy and a man are flying kites.
I am enormously tempted to camp here tonight - it's allowed, and there is a full moon out. But I need to go. It's now 3:30, I've been here 2 hours, and I've only done 6 1/2 more to Walnut Mountain Shelter, my goal for the day.
Miles to go before I sleep...
April 18, 2008
Remember how I said the other day that I hadn't suffered much yet? Strike that. After my extended break on Max Patch yesterday, most of the muscles in my body were very upset at the idea of trying to do a lot more miles. My back, especially, was in loud dissent, and limited me to 11 miles yesterday and 12 today. Took Tylenol PM to get me to sleep last night, and probably again tonight. Tomorrow only 3 1/2 miles into Hot Springs.
Did get a nice surprise, though, when I came across a box left for hikers along the side of the trail. Someone called "The Blessing Princess" left a big waterproof case, and inside little Ziplocs full of goodies - crackers, candy bottled water. Definitely a blessing on a late afternoon.
PS: I also have pretty bad sunburn from taking my shirt off up on Max Patch - still hurting a day and a half later. Wish the princess had left Noxema...
April 19, 2008
Short 3 miles into Hot Springs, NC. This is a true "Trail Town" in that the AT goes directly through town. In fact, as I write this, I'm sitting on the AT, which is the sidewalk on Bridge St, directly across from the Post Office. Now this letter goes in the mail, I pick up a mail drop, and then go for breakfast...
This morning at Standing Bear I noticed that Spiffy had left his book behind when he pulled out the day before. I asked if anyone was going to try to catch up with him.
"He's out," Matthewski told me. "Off the trail, going home. He gave some excuse about a girlfriend or a wife or something, but the truth is the Smokies kicked his ass. I'm a four-time quitter myself. I know what it looks like"
At this point in the trail, 250 miles in, something like a third to a half of the people who started from Springer have quit. (At least historically; I have no idea what this year's numbers are.) I'm not sure what exactly I expected this to look like - maybe like the "storming the beach" scenes from war movies, where men get hit and go down left and right, while others keep charging the machine-gun nests. the reality is that mos of them just disappear. One day they're there, the next they're gone, and nobody even seems to notice. Some are hurt, or say they are, and say they'll catch up. Josh, who runs the Hiker Hostel in Dahlonega, GA, and services the first 30 miles or so of the trail, told me that "Nobody ever quits - it's always an injury." Josh claims that as a former ER tech, he can spot which ones are faking.
Of course, lots of people really are legitimately injured. Black Cat Lucky blew his knee out and was told point-blank by a doctor that his hike was over. But then there's a huge gray area. Athletes sometimes make the distinction between "hurt" and "injured." You can't play if you're injured, but you can - and are expected to - play hurt. It's much the same here (and I suppose hikers are athletes, after a fashion.) Many people are popping ibuprofen in handfuls by this point; there are knee braces everywhere and blisters rank only behind the weather as topics of conversation. That's all part of playing hurt on the AT.
So how do I fit into this? So far, I have had no serious pain of any kind. My knees are fine. No blisters. Muscles ache and feet hurt at the end of the day, but that doesn't count. I've had some minor issues with both ankles, and one very small blister, and had a touch of cold/flu back in Georgia. Other than that, I've had nothing Five weeks on the AT, and I've taken a single Tylenol. That's it.
My mom will no doubt credit this to prayer, and I certainly won't discount that. I could also take credit for it myself - I've practiced a lot of preventive care and most critically, I've been taking it very, easy to start. That's part of it too. But I suspect it's also been true that I've been lucky, and that it won't hold out forever.
Some people that drop out obviously were, in one way or another, unprepared. In Hiawassee, I met a woman whose son quit this thru-hike after one day. I stood on top of Springer with a guy who was 350 lbs - not necessarily a deal breaker - but who also carried a 50 pound pack and tried doing 10+ mile days from the start. I don't think he made it out of Georgia.
But the people who were unprepared are either gone or have learned better. The people left are a strong, determined bunch - and yet statistically, it's predictable that even most of the ones who are left at this point are going to quit. It's hard not to feel like there's still going to be some major test in front of me that I will have to pass. Thus far, I've been taking it very easy, Averaging only seven miles a day, including five zeroes and several near-os. That will have to change. In order to make it back to my job on schedule, that average needs to be pulled up to about 12. Even if I ignore the job and just focus on getting to Maine before weather closes the peak, I still need that average up around 10. I will need to start pushing myself quite a bit more.
I guess what started me thinking about this - about people quitting, and the challenge of the whole thing, was thinking about Stacy. Stacy came out on the trail in an effort to get off booze. She started out from Springer with minimal gear - a 40-degree sleeping bag, clothes, a crappy tent, and some ramen - and a promise from a friend that he would send her money on the trail via mail drops. As she made friends on the trail, people helped her out, giving gear and encouragement. Cool Breeze called home and had his spare sleeping bag Fed Exed up here; he gave it to her as a gift.
It didn't take. She slipped off the wagon in Franklin, NC, and turned on the people who were trying to help her. She slogged on through the Smokies - she's actually a terrific hiker - but when she got to Standing Bear Farm, she took off. There's a bar a few miles up the road, and the last anyone saw of her, she was there, wasted in much too many senses of the word.
My last day in the Smokies, I crossed an area called the Sawteeth. It's a sharp, jagged ridge and the AT runs right along the top of it, with steep drops on both sides. As I went across the ridge, the snow was falling, the rocks slippery, the wind shaking the trees. It wasn't hard to imagine the possibility of one strong gust blowing me clear off the trail and down into a ravine. It didn't happen, obviously; for reasons that probably include divine grace, my own prudence, and sheer dumb luck. I don't know, exactly, how those things combine. I wish I did.
Just 7 miles today, though, a 2500 foot gain in elevation. Stopped early to write. Need to do some big miles tomorrow.
April 17, 2008
Nearly every day, I ask myself what the hell I'm doing out here. And nearly every day, I get an answer.
Slept well last night, and felt lousy leaving my nice, warm, hammock, putting on the pack, and heading uphill. The first mile of every day, it seems, is uphill. Today it's uphill from 8:50 am to 1:45 pm, when I reach the summit of Max Patch, at 4600 feet. And that was today's answer.
Max Patch is a bald - a mountain whose top is open and grassy. Since Indian times, farmers drover herds up here to graze. With the decline of agriculture most of the balds are getting forested over, but a few, like this one, are being maintained.
At 3 in the afternoon, I'm sitting on top of what feels like a giant grassy beach ball. The green curves slowly away in all directions, broken up only rarely by tiny white or yellow wildflowers. Above, the only clouds are dustings of talcum on an otherwise perfect sky. Around the horizon, the closer mountains like grey and brown, still refusing to believe that spring really has arrived. The farther mountains - you can see back to the Smokies - recede into the distance like an audience. A hundred yards away a boy and a man are flying kites.
I am enormously tempted to camp here tonight - it's allowed, and there is a full moon out. But I need to go. It's now 3:30, I've been here 2 hours, and I've only done 6 1/2 more to Walnut Mountain Shelter, my goal for the day.
Miles to go before I sleep...
April 18, 2008
Remember how I said the other day that I hadn't suffered much yet? Strike that. After my extended break on Max Patch yesterday, most of the muscles in my body were very upset at the idea of trying to do a lot more miles. My back, especially, was in loud dissent, and limited me to 11 miles yesterday and 12 today. Took Tylenol PM to get me to sleep last night, and probably again tonight. Tomorrow only 3 1/2 miles into Hot Springs.
Did get a nice surprise, though, when I came across a box left for hikers along the side of the trail. Someone called "The Blessing Princess" left a big waterproof case, and inside little Ziplocs full of goodies - crackers, candy bottled water. Definitely a blessing on a late afternoon.
PS: I also have pretty bad sunburn from taking my shirt off up on Max Patch - still hurting a day and a half later. Wish the princess had left Noxema...
April 19, 2008
Short 3 miles into Hot Springs, NC. This is a true "Trail Town" in that the AT goes directly through town. In fact, as I write this, I'm sitting on the AT, which is the sidewalk on Bridge St, directly across from the Post Office. Now this letter goes in the mail, I pick up a mail drop, and then go for breakfast...
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Apparently the missing entries made it, so I adjusted the posts to have some sort of chronological order. Sorry if there's any confusion. Happy reading!
April 11, 2008
Well, that was a crappy day. I decided to zero here in Gatlinburg instead of, as planned, in Davenport Gap, in order to rest the ankle. I had a nice breakfast and found another hiker to share a room with for the night, and then I made the mistake of asking the motel manager if there was a Wal-Mart nearby. He told me it took two trolleys to get to Pigeon Forge.
He did not tell me that, 1. the Pigeon Forge trolley system is run by idiots 2. there was a parade today. Seven hours and nine trolley rides later, I made it back to my hotel room.
Get me back to the trail.
April 12, 2008
The National Park's restrictions on campsites sort of stuck me with a nearo (near-zero). Kind of my fault, too, since I was, as I always am, late leaving town. I was able to mooch a ride up to Newfound Gap by hanging around outside the local outfitter's. I got picked up by an '03 thru-hiker who was on his way to NC. In addition to giving me a lift, his good deed of the day was leaving a case of coke and a box of brownies on the AT as Trail Magic.
Unfortunately, I didn't make it up to the trail until 1pm, and from there my choices were a shelter at 3 miles, and another at 10. Since I wasn't making 10 miles before dark, 3 was it.
Since I have some time to kill here, I should mention a couple wildlife encounters in the Smokies that I think I haven't mentioned. We had coyotes howling nearby one night (maybe a half-mile); I had a hawk fly maybe 5 feet over my head; and I'm pretty sure I heard (but did not see) a bear near me. Something large in the underbrush, in any event.
I've loved the Smokies, but word is I'm about to see their not-s0-nice side: Forecast calls for subfreezing temps tonight, and possible snow.
April 13, 2008
Very, very cold this AM - probably 25 or so. Little bit of freezing rain last night left a pile of white on the tarp over my hammock.
Early this morning came to Charlie's Bunion, undoubtedly the most spectacular spot I've been to on the AT so far, if not necessarily my favorite. It's a knob of rock sticking out into a deep valley, with more-or-less sheer cliffs on all sides. I don't think the photos will do it justice, especially since it was overcast.
Sun came out a bit int he afternoon, but for the most part it was flurries all day. Walked 12.5 miles to TriCorner Knob Shelter. Unfortunately, the shelter isn't full, so SMNP rules require me to sleep in the shelter - I actually think I'd be warmer hanging in my hammock, and it's supposed to drop into the teens tonight.
Several people that camped here last night are backtracking 3 miles and going back into Gatlingburg for a couple nights to get out of the cold. I'm tempted to join them.
April 14, 2008
Terrific day. Very cold in the AM and I was a little slow leaving. It started snowing at 10 am and never stopped. By the time I reached the top of the Cammerer, the snow was about 4 inches deep, and it kept on coming. It was cold, and wet, but I was having a great time, feeling like I was 10 years old, playing with Russell Davis in the snow. The footing is tricky - the trail is mostly rocks, and with the snow covering them, it's hard to guess which way your foot is going to fall. But I make great time, and by 6 pm, I've made the 15 miles to Davenport Gap Shelter, and I decide to make the 3 more to Standing Bear Farm.
Now here is an example of Trail Magic. I think I've mentioned Cool Breeze before; he's a guy I've hiked with who fell behind me at Franklin, and who I've been expecting to catch me any day. I've left him messages in several Trail Registers (notebooks left in every shelter for people to leave notes in).
So as I'm walking across the Pigeon River bridge, about a mile away from the hostel, a white SUV pulls up alongside me. I'm hoping it's some stranger gonna offer me a ride... until the tinted window rolls down, and I see Cool Breeze behind the wheel. He's been knocked off the Trail for a few weeks by tendonitis, and it's keeping himself busy by driving around helping out other hikers. He picked me up - cold, wet, tired - and drove me the last mile to Standing Bear Farm.
April 15, 2008
Took a zero day at Standing Bear. This is a bad thing, since I just took one at Gatlingburg, and I shouldn't take two zeros so close together. On the other hand, it's my hike and I'll do what I want.
Actually, I was kind of stuck here in a way. Even after sitting in front of a fireplace all night, my boots were still very wet from walking through the snow all day yesterday, and I don't want to go out in wet boots. Not that I needed much convincing.
Standing Bear Farm is a hostel - an actual old family farm, with wood buildings dating, I guess 60+ years old. The bunkhouse is straight plank walls, heated by a Franklin stove. There's a full kitchen, and a creek running along next to a campfire circle.
There's also a "store" where you can resupply before the 2-3 day hike into Hot Springs. I put the word store in quotes, because of the way it, and the hostel itself works. It's really more of a pantry - a 20x20 room with a fridge, a freezer and several shelves and cabinets full of food and hiking gear. Everything is marked with a price, all pretty much what you'd pay in a convenience store. By the door as you walk out, there's a box of envelopes - payment for everything, including your lodging, is on the honor system.
You don't see that sort of thing too much anymore. But it works here. A lot of people would be confused by some of the juxtapositions the trail creates. To wit: last night, there were a half-dozen hikers passing a bong around the campfire. Dirty, pot-smoking criminals... who can obviously be trusted to pay their bills honestly. Of the three of the six I knew, I'd trust any of them to hold my wallet if the need arose.
To partially defray the expense of stying an extra night, I do some work-for-stay. Two hours of landscaping gets me a free night. If you ever come here, the rhododendron at the end of the driveway is mine.
April 11, 2008
Well, that was a crappy day. I decided to zero here in Gatlinburg instead of, as planned, in Davenport Gap, in order to rest the ankle. I had a nice breakfast and found another hiker to share a room with for the night, and then I made the mistake of asking the motel manager if there was a Wal-Mart nearby. He told me it took two trolleys to get to Pigeon Forge.
He did not tell me that, 1. the Pigeon Forge trolley system is run by idiots 2. there was a parade today. Seven hours and nine trolley rides later, I made it back to my hotel room.
Get me back to the trail.
April 12, 2008
The National Park's restrictions on campsites sort of stuck me with a nearo (near-zero). Kind of my fault, too, since I was, as I always am, late leaving town. I was able to mooch a ride up to Newfound Gap by hanging around outside the local outfitter's. I got picked up by an '03 thru-hiker who was on his way to NC. In addition to giving me a lift, his good deed of the day was leaving a case of coke and a box of brownies on the AT as Trail Magic.
Unfortunately, I didn't make it up to the trail until 1pm, and from there my choices were a shelter at 3 miles, and another at 10. Since I wasn't making 10 miles before dark, 3 was it.
Since I have some time to kill here, I should mention a couple wildlife encounters in the Smokies that I think I haven't mentioned. We had coyotes howling nearby one night (maybe a half-mile); I had a hawk fly maybe 5 feet over my head; and I'm pretty sure I heard (but did not see) a bear near me. Something large in the underbrush, in any event.
I've loved the Smokies, but word is I'm about to see their not-s0-nice side: Forecast calls for subfreezing temps tonight, and possible snow.
April 13, 2008
Very, very cold this AM - probably 25 or so. Little bit of freezing rain last night left a pile of white on the tarp over my hammock.
Early this morning came to Charlie's Bunion, undoubtedly the most spectacular spot I've been to on the AT so far, if not necessarily my favorite. It's a knob of rock sticking out into a deep valley, with more-or-less sheer cliffs on all sides. I don't think the photos will do it justice, especially since it was overcast.
Sun came out a bit int he afternoon, but for the most part it was flurries all day. Walked 12.5 miles to TriCorner Knob Shelter. Unfortunately, the shelter isn't full, so SMNP rules require me to sleep in the shelter - I actually think I'd be warmer hanging in my hammock, and it's supposed to drop into the teens tonight.
Several people that camped here last night are backtracking 3 miles and going back into Gatlingburg for a couple nights to get out of the cold. I'm tempted to join them.
April 14, 2008
Terrific day. Very cold in the AM and I was a little slow leaving. It started snowing at 10 am and never stopped. By the time I reached the top of the Cammerer, the snow was about 4 inches deep, and it kept on coming. It was cold, and wet, but I was having a great time, feeling like I was 10 years old, playing with Russell Davis in the snow. The footing is tricky - the trail is mostly rocks, and with the snow covering them, it's hard to guess which way your foot is going to fall. But I make great time, and by 6 pm, I've made the 15 miles to Davenport Gap Shelter, and I decide to make the 3 more to Standing Bear Farm.
Now here is an example of Trail Magic. I think I've mentioned Cool Breeze before; he's a guy I've hiked with who fell behind me at Franklin, and who I've been expecting to catch me any day. I've left him messages in several Trail Registers (notebooks left in every shelter for people to leave notes in).
So as I'm walking across the Pigeon River bridge, about a mile away from the hostel, a white SUV pulls up alongside me. I'm hoping it's some stranger gonna offer me a ride... until the tinted window rolls down, and I see Cool Breeze behind the wheel. He's been knocked off the Trail for a few weeks by tendonitis, and it's keeping himself busy by driving around helping out other hikers. He picked me up - cold, wet, tired - and drove me the last mile to Standing Bear Farm.
April 15, 2008
Took a zero day at Standing Bear. This is a bad thing, since I just took one at Gatlingburg, and I shouldn't take two zeros so close together. On the other hand, it's my hike and I'll do what I want.
Actually, I was kind of stuck here in a way. Even after sitting in front of a fireplace all night, my boots were still very wet from walking through the snow all day yesterday, and I don't want to go out in wet boots. Not that I needed much convincing.
Standing Bear Farm is a hostel - an actual old family farm, with wood buildings dating, I guess 60+ years old. The bunkhouse is straight plank walls, heated by a Franklin stove. There's a full kitchen, and a creek running along next to a campfire circle.
There's also a "store" where you can resupply before the 2-3 day hike into Hot Springs. I put the word store in quotes, because of the way it, and the hostel itself works. It's really more of a pantry - a 20x20 room with a fridge, a freezer and several shelves and cabinets full of food and hiking gear. Everything is marked with a price, all pretty much what you'd pay in a convenience store. By the door as you walk out, there's a box of envelopes - payment for everything, including your lodging, is on the honor system.
You don't see that sort of thing too much anymore. But it works here. A lot of people would be confused by some of the juxtapositions the trail creates. To wit: last night, there were a half-dozen hikers passing a bong around the campfire. Dirty, pot-smoking criminals... who can obviously be trusted to pay their bills honestly. Of the three of the six I knew, I'd trust any of them to hold my wallet if the need arose.
To partially defray the expense of stying an extra night, I do some work-for-stay. Two hours of landscaping gets me a free night. If you ever come here, the rhododendron at the end of the driveway is mine.
4/10/2008
Good, productive day. I do 12 miles, including 1000 foot climb of Clingman’s Dome, the highest point on the entire AT. The hike there was spectacular. First was the forest itself. At some altitude – something like 5700 feet – the nature of the forest changed dramatically. The open, clean sunny, grass – bottomed beech forest changed suddenly into spruce–and–fir mossy, dark. The change was immediate. To continue the simile from yesterday, Lothlorien changed into Mirkwood in a matter of ten paces.
The weather was terrific again – cooler than it had been, and very, very windy up on the ridges, but still mostly sunny all day. The last mile going into Clingman’s was as nice as any mile I’ve done on the whole hike. Spectacular views, warm sunshine but bracing chilly winds… beautiful.
At Clingmans’s Dome, there is a tower that tourists can drive up to, and I got a little bit of the rock-star treatment, (“Hey Celia-this feller’s walked here from Georgia!”) and a little bit of Trail Magic when a couple people gave me bottles of water. (“I hope you don’t mind if this is still partly frozen” –Um, that would be a big no…)
The 7 miles after Clingman’s is fairly rocky, but still very pretty. The biggest thing I notice along here is the enormous number of dead trees. Acid rain and non-native insects are taking an enormous toll, and you pass tree after that5 has died and fallen over-and not little ones but huge, beautiful 100-year old firs, fallen in the dozens just along the route of the trail alone. It’s a heartbreaking sight.
By 3pm, I have to make a choice. I’ve reached the last shelter before the highway crossing at Newfound Gap; I already know that I will need to go into Gatlinburg to re-supply. My slow pace over the past five days has left me with only three days’ food to cover the last 33 miles of the Smokies. I could probably do it, and part of me wishes I had tried, but the Parks’ camp-only-in-shelters policy, combined with my still-hurting ankle, suggests the better part of valor is to concede defeat and head into town.
At Newfound Gap, my thumb is out for nearly an hour looking for a ride. I amuse myself for awhile by counting how many of the cars that drive by have Christian bumper stickers-after awhile it stops being amusing. I’m assuming they have the version of the Bible that says you only help people out if they look nice and pose no possible threat to you. In many ways, the best day of the entire hike. I’m five minutes away from packing it in and going into the woods and camping in the woods, park service be damned, when I get a ride into town. An hour later, I’ve eaten at KFC and collapsed into a $30-a-night moted bed.
An old joke that seems not so funny at this moment: What’s the difference between a AT hiker and a homeless person? Gore-Tex.
The weather was terrific again – cooler than it had been, and very, very windy up on the ridges, but still mostly sunny all day. The last mile going into Clingman’s was as nice as any mile I’ve done on the whole hike. Spectacular views, warm sunshine but bracing chilly winds… beautiful.
At Clingmans’s Dome, there is a tower that tourists can drive up to, and I got a little bit of the rock-star treatment, (“Hey Celia-this feller’s walked here from Georgia!”) and a little bit of Trail Magic when a couple people gave me bottles of water. (“I hope you don’t mind if this is still partly frozen” –Um, that would be a big no…)
The 7 miles after Clingman’s is fairly rocky, but still very pretty. The biggest thing I notice along here is the enormous number of dead trees. Acid rain and non-native insects are taking an enormous toll, and you pass tree after that5 has died and fallen over-and not little ones but huge, beautiful 100-year old firs, fallen in the dozens just along the route of the trail alone. It’s a heartbreaking sight.
By 3pm, I have to make a choice. I’ve reached the last shelter before the highway crossing at Newfound Gap; I already know that I will need to go into Gatlinburg to re-supply. My slow pace over the past five days has left me with only three days’ food to cover the last 33 miles of the Smokies. I could probably do it, and part of me wishes I had tried, but the Parks’ camp-only-in-shelters policy, combined with my still-hurting ankle, suggests the better part of valor is to concede defeat and head into town.
At Newfound Gap, my thumb is out for nearly an hour looking for a ride. I amuse myself for awhile by counting how many of the cars that drive by have Christian bumper stickers-after awhile it stops being amusing. I’m assuming they have the version of the Bible that says you only help people out if they look nice and pose no possible threat to you. In many ways, the best day of the entire hike. I’m five minutes away from packing it in and going into the woods and camping in the woods, park service be damned, when I get a ride into town. An hour later, I’ve eaten at KFC and collapsed into a $30-a-night moted bed.
An old joke that seems not so funny at this moment: What’s the difference between a AT hiker and a homeless person? Gore-Tex.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
4/9/2008
Another day where I struggle mightily with motivation. The weather continues to be absolutely gorgeous -70 degrees with big white puffy clouds - even as the terrain continues to be brutal. Up and down, up and down.
The woods are gorgeous - in many places, the undergrowth is simply grass (remnants from when this was grazing territory until less than 100 years ago), studded with tiny white flowers. The trees are not in bloom, but most of the beeches are still clinging to last years leaves, and they cling to the branches like pale golden tongues of fire. It looks like Lothlorien.
All I want to do is sit down in the grass with a picther of ice tea and a book. Instead, I have to slog on and on. It's very frustrating. Adding to that is that I've been hiking with strangers for the last few days. Most all of the friends I've made on the trail are days ahead of me (a few are hehind), having left my slow fat butt in the dust.
To cap it all, I've re-twisted my ankle for the umpteenth time. My left ankle is really painful today; I don't think it's sprained, but it seems like I'm working towards it slowly. I cut off early today, 7 miles.
The woods are gorgeous - in many places, the undergrowth is simply grass (remnants from when this was grazing territory until less than 100 years ago), studded with tiny white flowers. The trees are not in bloom, but most of the beeches are still clinging to last years leaves, and they cling to the branches like pale golden tongues of fire. It looks like Lothlorien.
All I want to do is sit down in the grass with a picther of ice tea and a book. Instead, I have to slog on and on. It's very frustrating. Adding to that is that I've been hiking with strangers for the last few days. Most all of the friends I've made on the trail are days ahead of me (a few are hehind), having left my slow fat butt in the dust.
To cap it all, I've re-twisted my ankle for the umpteenth time. My left ankle is really painful today; I don't think it's sprained, but it seems like I'm working towards it slowly. I cut off early today, 7 miles.
4/8/2008
Long, hard day. Mostly uphill. God, I'm sick of the ups - and - downs. Some SOB told me that the Smokies were easy - I want to find that guy and kill him.
I have a vision that keeps reoccuring in my mind. It's based on a scene in the movie "The Mission." In the film, Robert DeNiro plays a mercenery who has been enslaving the Guarari indians that live high in the mountains, but who comes to regret his ways. As penance, a Jesuit preist assigns him to go to the Guarani and ask forgiveness - with the added provision that he will climb the mountain to their village carrying behind him a huge net holding all of his armer, swords, guns, etc.
There is a long passage in the film as we watch DeNiro haul this package up the mountain, mile after mile, until he finally reaches the Guarani village. When he does, they all come out to see their former tormenter who now kneels before them, humilated and utterly exhausted. They hold a knife to his throat, debating whether or not to kill him, until one of the village elders announces that the repentance has been accepted. The knife cuts off the net, the weapons are shoved down the mountain, and the slaver is forgiven.
Now in the vision I keep having, I'm DeNiro, and what I'm carrying behind me is a huge bag full of pizza boxes, cheeseburger wrappers, empty beer bottles. And every uphill, I say a prayer begging forgiveness for every hot dog I've ever eaten. I'm gonna see an Indian who will grant me absolution for my sins.
Maybe at Clumgman's Dome.
12 miles today.
I have a vision that keeps reoccuring in my mind. It's based on a scene in the movie "The Mission." In the film, Robert DeNiro plays a mercenery who has been enslaving the Guarari indians that live high in the mountains, but who comes to regret his ways. As penance, a Jesuit preist assigns him to go to the Guarani and ask forgiveness - with the added provision that he will climb the mountain to their village carrying behind him a huge net holding all of his armer, swords, guns, etc.
There is a long passage in the film as we watch DeNiro haul this package up the mountain, mile after mile, until he finally reaches the Guarani village. When he does, they all come out to see their former tormenter who now kneels before them, humilated and utterly exhausted. They hold a knife to his throat, debating whether or not to kill him, until one of the village elders announces that the repentance has been accepted. The knife cuts off the net, the weapons are shoved down the mountain, and the slaver is forgiven.
Now in the vision I keep having, I'm DeNiro, and what I'm carrying behind me is a huge bag full of pizza boxes, cheeseburger wrappers, empty beer bottles. And every uphill, I say a prayer begging forgiveness for every hot dog I've ever eaten. I'm gonna see an Indian who will grant me absolution for my sins.
Maybe at Clumgman's Dome.
12 miles today.
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