The Road Goes On Forever and the Party Never Ends

(Be forewarned, this is a really long post)
When we left off last time, we were heading out of Gatlinburg and back up to Newfound Gap.  When we got to the gap, a group of Harley enthusiasts wanted to take some pictures with us. They asked a lot of questions about the hike, and we started to draw a crowd of day hikers and tourists parked at the gap.  After a short dissertation on the Appalachian Trail, we walked past the sign for Katahdin (1972 miles) and on up the trail.

We had a fairly short day planned, and, despite the noon start, we made great time. We were delayed for maybe a half hour as a huge hail storm passed over our heads. Luckily for us, when the storm started we were right next to a shelter. We hustled inside and watched with amazement as the sunny day turned destructive in a matter of minutes. When the storm passed we worked our way towards our shelter for the night, Peck's Corner Shelter.

We made it in pretty good time, and when we arrived Brian (now officially known by his trail name, Parkour), Spiceman and Adam (now known as Happy Feet thanks to his ungodly blisters) had some firewood gathered and camp was about set up. We settled in and met the other coinhabitants, June Bug, a thru hiker who had to take some time off due to her injured hamstring, and Mike and Louis, a father son section hiking duo. All three were very cool, and very entertaining to camp with. As we were starting to relax, team Swiss Miss pulled into camp.

We had a special treat that night, as I had decided to haul up the ingredients for s'mores. We whittled some sticks and all enjoyed the delicious respite from peanut butter and pepperoni. For the Swiss Misses, they were the first s'mores they'd ever had. June Bug said she got plenty of joy just watching us enjoy them. Seuss had about five, and another two for breakfast. We all had a great night joking and laughing around the fire, and a little while later, everyone nodded off content and happy.

We left Peck's Corner fairly early the next day, but not before I put my foot in my mouth. June Bug, a slightly older lady, was getting ready to leave. She said "You'll probably pass me soon," which was in all likelihood true. I responded by saying, "I sure hope so." What I meant was that I hoped to see her again because she was very pleasant, but when her face dropped and everyone else burst into laughter, I realized my misstep. I essentially said (unintentionally, mind you) "Of course we're going to pass you, you old bag, look at us!" I apologized profusely, she assured me there was no need and she moved on with a smile (We did indeed pass her a short while later, at which point I hung my head in mock shame).

We hiked a shorter day on Monday, thirteen relatively easy miles to the next shelter. We had a great lunch that day on top of a bald, soaking in the sun and the views. We also saw the remainder of some wreckage of a plane crash many years earlier. I asked a few locals and other hikers about it, but no one seemed to have much information in regards to the story of the accident.

A short while after the crash site, we arrived at Cosby Knob Shelter around 2:00. We considered pressing on, but our whole crew hadn't yet shown up and we didn't want to separate. Instead, we got to gathering firewood and preparing camp. We used the stream to chill our whiskey while we did our chores. Every night in camp we have the same responsibilities: get in to camp, gather firewood, filter water for dinner, breakfast and drinking the next day, hang all the clothes we wore that day to dry (they never dry), cook dinner, hang the bear bag, set up our beds, plan the next day's mileage, tend to blisters and other injuries, drink a little whiskey, tell a few dirty jokes and go to bed. Occasionally there are other things, reading, journaling, stretching or an occasional sing along. We even talked about having a talent show (I was going to be the musical accompaniment for Happy Feet's song, 'The Walking Blues'), but we haven't had enough energy yet.

While hanging out in camp, the Swiss Misses showed up for the last time. They were hitchhiking the following day to get up the trail to Damascus. Their limited time in the country made it impossible to hike the whole trail, and they wanted to see some different sections. One very funny event of the evening was watching Spiceman try to explain to them the sarcastic expression 'twist my arm'. He just kept pantomiming someone having an arm twisted. He was a little drunk, we all had a great laugh, and the two ladies didn't learn any new English.

We all finished our nightly duties and then talked about an early rise and a night hike to a fire tower three and a half miles away to catch the sunrise. Not everyone was eager to get up at four in the morning to hike in the dark for maybe having a view of the sunrise (they are called the Smokies for a reason, you know. Each year there are only about forty really clear days). Also, the prospect of hiking in the dark downhill didn't appeal much to those with more serious foot/ankle problems. It ended up being Spiceman, Parkour, Happy Feet and I who decides to go for it, so we turned in early around 7:30.

We all woke up to a crystal clear sky at 4:00, stars and stars and stars in just unbelievable quantity and clarity. We planned to be out of there no later than 4:30, but since timing rarely if ever works out, we left around 4:50, fairly certain we would miss the 6:10 sunrise three and a half miles away. That doesn't seem that extreme for time, but keep in mind it was dark, we were going down a mountain and then up another, and we were carrying 40+ pounds on our backs. Spiceman put as at a great pace though, and we were basically jogging down the trail. When we got to the trail split, we dropped our packs and sprinted the last .6 miles to the tower. Happy Feet rolled his ankle pretty badly, but soldiered on to the tower. We beat the sunrise by about ten minutes, and it was amazing.

The tower was on a point with nearly 360-degree views, and the point on the mountain faced due east. We were all dumbfounded by the beauty. It's so difficult sometimes to put into words the natural beauty that I am experiencing. There are only so many words that mean 'this thing is aesthetically pleasing'. It's so much more than just pretty, though. When I watched the Sun rise over the mountains, when I saw the purple-blue haze of predawn slowly lighten into shades of orange, red, yellow, and then explode into bright neon hues that don't have names, when I watched the sun come over the horizon, illuminating the few wispy clouds, bringing life to the mountains and forests in which I had been living, when I watched fear itself be stricken from the world by the light of day, it wasn't just beautiful, it was moving. It wasn't just a pretty view, it was a five-sense experience to which my limited vocabulary could never do justice. I know this sounds a bit over the top, but anyone who has seen something of truly indescribable beauty knows what I mean. These things don't just affect your memory; they affect your soul.

We lingered for a while, basking in our victory of having arrived in time for the spectacle and we had a snack and a celebratory swig. Since it was only around 6:45 and we had already crushed a chunk of the day, we tried slowing our pace, but we were all too jazzed up to keep a slow pace. We breezed through the morning, crossing I-40 at the Knoxville Asheville split and then enjoying some coke a trail angel left by the bottom of a nasty uphill. The littlest things mean so much out here, really. We went up the hill, across a small ridge and then we crossed a river to a hiker hostel we had heard rave reviews about called Standing Bear Farm.

We arrived at 10:30, and the proprietor, Rocket, was already a few sheets to the wind, with Pabst Blue Ribbon adorning both his shirt and the can in his hand. He welcomed us in, sold us a few beers and we sat around talking with him for quite a while. He had a great set up with a bunkhouse, firepit, food trailer, two beer fridges and a beautiful little creek running through it all. Rocket was a veteran of the Marines and he was enjoying his retirement in oh so many ways. We enjoyed a few pizzas, jammed out to some classic rock, had some beers and played cards. All in all, it was a great afternoon. To top it off, we took a quick swim in the creek to cool down. We pushed on for a very steep afternoon and eventually came to a very nice mountaintop clearing where we watched the hot sun fade to a calming glow. Finally, we rolled into Groundhog Creek Shelter very tired, pretty late and extremely content with our full 18 mile day.

The next day was a nice slow amble up and over Max Patch. Max Patch came highly recommended to me from a very reliable source, and it sure delivered. Different from any terrain we had yet seen, Max Patch is a very high, very expansive set of rolling grassy hills. Panoramic views in every direction made it the perfect place to catch some sunshine and a nice long lunch soaking in the perfection of our daily lives.

We met a very nice real estate agent who was traveling with her mother's hiking group. Unfortunately her name escaped me, but she was extremely helpful with information about the area, the weather and what good restaurants there were in Hot Springs, our next destination. She also took our photo for her real estate ad, so if you're looking to buy property in southeastern North Carolina and think you might have spotted our ugly mugs on an advertisement, you may just be right.

She also told us about how recently some vandals took their ATVs and did donuts on Max Patch, in the process tearing up the pristine hillsides. I have seen shockingly few signs of carelessness towards nature on this trip, but still enough to piss me off. There are so many good people out there who partake in outdoor activities in a responsible manner. I'm not saying thru-hikers are perfect by any means, but the shelters close to the parking lots are invariably in the worst repair and have the most trash. Spiceman put it very well I thought: "When you experience something great and leave it worse than when you got there so that no one after you can have the same experience, you're just an asshole." Please, please, please go out and enjoy nature or whatever you love to do, just don't be so selfish as to ruin it for others. If you do, Spiceman and I will think that you suck. As a conclusion to the first part of this rant, the vandals from Max Patch were caught and prosecuted, and Max Patch has been fully restored to its previous condition.

We finished up the day by walking across pastoral fields, by old fenceposts and barbed wire, through broken down paddocks and over rolling lush hillsides of grass. We arrived at a very small Walnut Mountain Shelter with thunderstorms threatening, so we quickly set up camp, started a fire and crammed inside in time for the first of many squalls. We had a very fun night riding out the storms, our group now solidified and holding strong for over two weeks. We all got along great and decided to keep the party going as long as possible.

The next day, we got an early start so we could tear off the 13 miles into Hot Springs in time for a diner breakfast. With eggs and bacon on his mind, MacGyver led the first charge with Seuss and Parkour, while Happy Feet, Spiceman and I headed out shortly thereafter. After another great morning, we rolled into Hot Springs, and I was hungry. Actually, to be honest, I was hangry. The diner was the first building we passed, so naturally we assumed the rest of the crew would be there. They were not, so we thought we'd have a course while we waited for them. I chose the hungry hiker, a 12 ounce burger done up right and a loaded hot dog (we had already missed breakfast). Then I had a piece of peanut butter pie with vanilla ice cream. Spiceman had the strawberry cobbler while Happy Feet went with the coconut cream pie. We passed them in a circle until all three disappeared. Then we saw the rest of our group. They had gone to get space in a hostel and shower first. To be polite, we stayed while they ate. And we shared appetizers of fried pickles and bacon cheese fries. A short nap ensued in the diner before we checked out the accommodations.

And what accommodations they were! We were staying in a hiker hostel-priced bed and breakfast, and it was awesome. It was a very large, very old farmhouse. It has been servicing hikers for over 60 years, as evidenced by the placard on the door of our room proclaiming that Earl Shaffer stayed here on thru hikes in 1948 and 1998. Yes, THE Earl Shaffer. The Appalachian Trail pioneer is the most storied person in AT history, and he slept in the very same room I did. Twice.

The rest of the house was decorated with various artworks and artifacts from around the world. Nearly every wall in the house was lined with bookcases, and there was even a jam session room, complete with two.guitars, a banjo and a fiddle. I pushed for an impromptu camp song about our experience, but no one bit. After we toured the place and settled in, everyone went about their business, resupplying, showering and relaxing. I washed my clothes in the sink, and even the clothes I only wore at camp at night turned the water a shade of brownish gray that I didn't know was real. I won't talk about how the sock washing went, but I assure you it wasn't pretty. Maybe it was because it was my first time hand-washing this stuff, or maybe it was because there is only so much filth you can hand-wash, but my clothes didn't seem any cleaner, just a little bit wetter. In any case, when we were done with our setting up (which included going through all the great food in my care package, thanks mom and dad!) we gathered on the porch to enjoy a few cold beers. There was talk of a community dinner, but we were still a bit full from lunch and a little too lazy to walk across town. We decided instead to go down the street to the pub and grab a sandwich and a few beers. Shortly after hiker midnight (9:00 PM) we wandered back to the B&B and crashed for the night.

The owner of the B&B was a man named Elmer. He was a very kind, gregarious older man who loved to talk with thru-hikers about their lives before and the potential lives after the trail. He also loved to feed his guests. When he invited us to a vegetarian breakfast, we were hesitant, especially as there was a diner across the street filled with delicious bacon and sausage. He hinted that he really wanted us to join him though, so we decided to appease him, and we were sure glad we did. When we responded to the mealtime bell, we were greeted with a spread of homemade biscuits and gravy, farm fresh scrambled eggs mixed with a variety of Elmer's fresh picked veggies, fresh fruit, homemade yellow grits, granola, coffee and juice. It was remarkable. I guess that's obvious based on the way I am remarking on it, but just really, really great.

We ate our breakfast, repacked and hit the trail. It was only ten miles to camp, but it was a very steep ten miles. Along the way, we stopped and played jungle gym on a tree overhanging a dam. Also, Spiceman, Parkour and I wandered up to a fire tower for a quick view before hitting camp at Spring Mountain Shelter. It was Friday night, and I can already tell that we are going to dislike weekend traffic. There were a ton of people passing through and camping near the shelter. It was by far the most people we had seen on the trail, and while people are nice to see, it's the remoteness and isolation of nature that we crave. One of the hikers was a thru-hiker named Nigel who chatted with us that night, particularly with Spiceman regarding hiking hammocks. We laughed around the fire for a bit and then headed off to sleep.

The next day Seuss, MacGyver and Parkour left a bit earlier than Spiceman, Happy Feet and I. We tend to be the amblers and lingerers, stopping for an hour here and a half hour there, enjoying views and interesting spots, moving quickly at times, yet not in any particular rush to get anywhere. As it happened, this day would be like that. We pushed off around 10:00 with Nigel in tow. We had a nice leisurely walk and Nigel went on his way to a hostel where his girlfriend was planning to meet him. We said our goodbyes and sincerely hoped to meet up with him up the trail.

A bit later, we caught up with the rest of the crew at the next shelter where we shared a nice lunch with Crowd Control (When groups hike together for a while, they eventually come up with a group trail name, Crowd Control for example. We needed ours, and we have since become The Fellowship. We bounced a lot of ideas around, but we decided that simple was best in this case). Crowd Control was a group that consisted of a very brave mother and her three young children that she was homeschooling while thru-hiking with them. A very interesting and kind family, we enjoyed a long lunch with them. I ate my new favorite lunch, which I highly recommend you try: peanut butter, nutella, honey and gorp on a tortilla. Anyway, we finished chatting with Crowd Control and moved on.

A while later, we came to some beautiful cliffs. We sat down and just silently reflected on how great everything about this adventure was. We go in the woods with our friends every day and see beautiful things. We are literally living everyone's childhood dream. We took off after about an hour of contemplating and rolled lazily into Jerry's Cabin, our shelter for the night.

We met Lightweight, a 21-year-old who was hiking through to Pennsylvania, Commander and his wife Little Bit.  Commander was a super cool guy.  He had hiked McKinley, Rainier, Blanc, Kilimanjaro and many other places.  Most of my night was occupied with listening to his stories like a kid on Christmas, wide-eyed and smiling like an idiot.  It was very interesting to say the least.  Since we were planning a 3:00 AM wake up and a 25-mile day, we all headed off to bed pretty early that night.

I woke up to a full moon, nice weather and the sound of Spiceman evacuating all of yesterday's food. Yes, he was vomiting in a very copious manner, and after a brief conversation, we found out that both Spiceman and Parkour had gotten food poisoning (thanks Dollar General rice!). Parkour felt like his had all passed through, but Spiceman was still hurting. After a brief discussion and coming up with a contingency plan, we decided to go ahead and hike anyway.  We would cross a road after about nine miles, so we thought it would be best to be there in case the situation worsened.  We hiked almost to the first shelter, about a mile shy when Spiceman had to lie down for a minute.  Well, a minute turned into an hour, and we quickly made a plan C. I stayed with Spiceman while MacGyver, Seuss, Parkour and Happy Feet went ahead to prepare the shelter (get a fire going, filter a lot of fresh water and make some food).  We all distributed the contents of Spiceman's pack and then they took off. We sat in the middle of the trail, Spiceman napping and I twiddling my thumbs.  It was 6:00 so we weren't too concerned about trail traffic despite the holiday weekend.  After a while, Spiceman woke up and wanted to walk to the shelter so we took off.  Shortly thereafter, MacGyver heroically came down the trail towards us.  He had gone ahead, prepared camp, filtered water and then ran that water back knowing how dehydrated Spiceman was.  It was a very selfless act, and it just increased my respect for MacGyver and our group as a whole.

At the shelter, everyone napped for a few hours. Seuss and I happened to be up first and were sitting at the picnic table when in rolled Lightweight, the younger guy we'd met at the shelter the previous evening.  He sat down shyly and said "Hey, do you guys care if I hang out with The Fellowship?".  After a quick laugh, we of course told him to join up with us. We did, however, tell him we'd be calling him New Guy.  He didn't care, he was just pleased to be hiking with some guys his own age. 

Spiceman woke up still little nauseous and with no appetite.  Happy Feet gave him some medicine to combat those symptoms, and we pushed on, making for the next shelter eight miles away.  After the first mile, it was evident that Spiceman wasn't hiking any seven more miles.  We fortunately came to a road crossing a short while later, and Spiceman decided he was going to catch a shuttle into Erwin, Tennessee and since he was going home to Canada two days later, this was the last we would see of him on the trail.

It was a very beautiful road crossing, a two-lane country road through green hills and fields.  A deer even came by to complete the scene.  Spiceman looked around, and as he often did, he said, "Wow, look around. This is our life boys!" We all basked in that moment and marvelled at how fast we had formed such a close bond with each other.  We were all very downtrodden when his shuttle pulled away, for losing a member of our crew, and I think also because we all had a sense that it may have been the beginning of the end of The Fellowship. I'm not quite sure why we thought this was the case, but I guess the best way to sum it up is to look at Van Halen.  You can replace original members, but the product will invariably be entirely different. I'm not saying that we were about to turn into Van Hagar, but changes were definitely inevitable.

But, as Robert Frost said, we had miles to go before we slept, so we shoved off to complete the day's hike.  We arrived at the shelter to another large crew of Boy Scouts and weekend hikers. It was a nice group of folks, and we had a great time that night.  Lightweight (New Guy) endeared himself to us by bringing s'mores supplies. One interesting variation was that he used peanut butter cups instead of chocolate bars.  We think he'll fit in just fine.  We had a brief sparkler display and headed off to sleep.

We awoke to a beautiful day and decided to push for our first 20-mile day.  That would leave us six easy miles from Erwin, our next resupply point.  Happy Feet and I spent a majority of the day together.  It takes him an extra 30-40 minutes to get ready each morning for blister care, and yes, they really are that bad. We methodically made our way through more beautiful forests and up over Big Bald, which was exactly what you might expect from the name. We had a nice lunch and a couple hour nap on top of the bald in the sunshine, and then realized we had far too many miles left to sleep.any longer. We made it to No Business Knob Shelter around 7:00.  This was one of the notorious Norovirus shelters (apologies for my earlier misspelling 'Nora virus') and the night was supposed to be clear, so we cowboy camped around a fire. For those of you unfamiliar, that simply means we slept out under the stars. Our plan was to have a nice early morning, cruise into Erwin for breakfast, grab a quick resupply and be on our way up the trail by early afternoon.

That was our plan.

When we woke up, MacGyver informed us he had thrown up during the night and he now felt like death. Seuss hiked ahead to make arrangements for staying in Erwin while the rest of us split up MacGyver's pack weight and started for town. His condition only worsened as we moved forward, but we did eventually make it to Erwin. The five healthy guys decided to stay at a hiker hostel called Uncle Johnny's while MacGyver wanted to quarantine himself at the Super 8.  Seuss got him set up with supplies to weather the storm, and seeing his condition decided to take a zero the following day.

While Seuss took care of that, Happy Feet, Parkour, New Guy and I hitched a ride into town.  We ate, resupplied and bought food and beer for a barbecue that night. We thought a zero tomorrow meant a party tonight! Don't get me wrong, we all felt terrible for MacGyver and we felt a dread of what illnesses might be waiting to knock our whole group out, but when life gives you lemons, right?

Uncle Johnny's had an unusual variety of characters.  Every employee was a work-for-stay broke hiker, and they were odd ducks. Zippy was definitely the most, um, interesting we'll say.  He said that he had been there for about a week, but it seemed more likely that he had been there for 30 years and simply forgot due to years of hallucinogenic drugs.  He lived in his tent and while he was supposed to be working, he would lay in the grass and drink lots of Busch Light. At one point, he asked me if I wanted to go in with him to buy Uncle Johnny's. I asked if he thought they would accept our tents as collateral. He didn't think it was nearly as funny as we did. He still liked us enough to cook us dinner though. I should clarify. By dinner, I mean he roasted a slice of spam over an open flame, plopped it directly on our table, pulled out a pocket knife and cut it into six pieces, then victoriously announced that dinner was served. We politely declined. Instead, we grilled burgers and brats, drank ice cold beer and had a wonderful night.

The next morning, Parkour and Happy Feet decided to push on.  We had hoped they would stay, but really we can't blame them.  One major rule on the trail is hike your own hike. They needed to go like we needed to stay with MacGyver. It was very sad, but something tells me we'll see them around the way. Once they headed out, Seuss, New Guy and I rode some bikes into town to check on MacGyver. He was feeling a lot better and said he would be ready to go the next day. We headed back to the hostel, leaving MacGyver to rest more. The three of us spent the rest of the afternoon swimming in the river across from the hostel and relaxing.  We should be back on the trail early tomorrow, but as I am writing this cramps and nausea are taking control of me.  We'll see how I feel tomorrow.  Until then, happy trails!

I'm Going To Carolina in My Mind

The last time I posted, we were on on way out of Helen after riding out the storm.  Since then it has been four beautiful sunny days on the trail. 

After a breakfast shared with a very friendly traveling elderly church group (one in which we explained no less than a dozen times who we were, where we were going and what we were doing), we headed to the IGA to grab a ride.  We left Helen around 9:00 on Tuesday morning in the bed of an old Chevy, along with two other hikers, Timo and Laura.  They were on vacation from Germany and were hiking until New York where they would visit New York City and then fly home.  They were very friendly, and they assured us that the "German" town we had just stayed in was indeed nothing like Germany.   Also, Timo had the most hilarious, high pitch stereotype of a German voice you could imagine.

A scenic ten-mile drive later, we hopped back on the trail at Unicoi Gap and got ready to head out.  We spotted Bernie across the way, said our hellos and goodbyes, as it was likely the last time we would see him on the trail.  We started directly up a mountain, a very steep mountain, to reach some of the nicest views we had seen yet.  While up top we met the two kings.  Recently out of the military, they were hiking the AT to raise money for neurological disease research.  They were friendly enough, and they were slack-packing for the day.  Slack-packing is when you have someone drive your packs from one road crossing to another one farther along the trail, take a day pack and bust out a big mileage day. 

We kept on going and were at the base of Tray Mountain when we ran across Inchworm.  Inchworm was a 66 year old man who was plugging away at section hiking.  He had been working on it for quite a while, many many years in fact.  Oh, and he had triple bypass surgery less than a year ago.  Inspirational, right?  Well, summer is around the corner, get out and hit those trails!  If he can, so can just about anyone.

Okay, off of my soapbox and on down the trail.  After about 14 miles, we arrived at Deep Gap Shelter.  When we got there, there was a very bubbly young lady named Claire who was sweeping out the shelter.  It was a beautiful twelve-person shelter with FOUR WALLS!  The things that brighten your spirits on the trail can be so simple.  I never thought a fourth wall would make me so happy.  The only bad part about this shelter was the condition it was left in by previous occupants.  Trash in the backcountry works in a very simple way: if you pack it in, pack it out.  Needless to say, we were left picking up someone else's mess (now I know how it felt all those years mom, sorry).  We got the place in tip-top shape with a bit more trash to carry the next day, and then we started our first campfire of the trip.  We spent some time gabbing with Claire while we all gathered firewood and found out that she was quite an interesting person.

She was born in Omaha, moved to Seattle at a young age, went to Costa Rica to do research on turtles during her undergrad, taught English in Thailand after grad school, moved to Alaska to teach low income, low level readers, and then decided to hike the AT while figuring out what's next.  Her northern terminus is a beach ultimate frisbee tournament in New Jersey.

Soon, MacGyver saw a golden opportunity for a great piece of firewood, a twenty-foot section of a tree, one end of which someone had begun to cut through, but had not finished.

"Hey Axl, you see that log?"
"Yup."
"You see that V in that tree next to it?"
"Yup."
"Let's go New Hampshire Whole Hog on it."
"Okay."

Saying okay when you are not sure what someone is asking you is a dangerous game.  Apparently, "New Hampshire Whole Hog" equates roughly to wedging a long log between a V in a larger tree and then pushing it until a short section breaks off, leaving you with a perfect log for your fire.  Great idea, right?

In theory yes, in reality no.  We pushed and pushed, trying like the dickens to break it when it slipped the tree and ricocheted back at us catching MacGyver square the shin and ankle.

He limped over to the river to ice his ankle, and we all hoped it wasn't as bad as it looked.  Claire scolded us (in a kind and funny way) for being childish and stupid, so we gave her a trail name of her own: Mom.  MacGyver came back and informed us he was fine(ish) and we all went to sleep.  We weren't alone though.  We had a lovely host of mice to keep us company and prevent us from sleeping most of the night.

After a fairly sleepless night, we got going for a pretty uneventful day.  The only significant event of the 13 miles was at the very end of the day, we crossed out of Georgia and into North Carolina.  With one state in our rear view mirrors, we were in high spirits as we set up camp in Bly Gap.

Nagging injuries and many short nights of sleep in a row quickly turned those moods and we had a somewhat dismal morning, which wasn't helped by the overnight rain.  We did a bit of solo hiking that day, which, given the nature of the trip and the forced closeness, is about the extent of the alone time we get.

My own reflections were largely regarding differentiating what you can affect from what is out of your control.  Hiking is a great exercise for this.  There are so many daily factors beyond your control that you must take it in stride, or you soon lose sight of why you're out here in the first place.  I am in the woods to relax, be surrounded by nature and hang out with my friends, and no amount of rain, bugs or dirty shelters can take away from that, nor can anyone's attitude except my own.  I guess introspection is necessary, even in (especially in?) nature.

Anyway, as the day rolled on, our moods improved and we ascended Standing Indian Mountain, which has the nicest views in the Southern Appalachians.  We marvelled for a bit at the beauty, and then continued on to our home for the night, Carter Gap Shelter.  We met a handful of hikers, all very friendly.  We did some food exchanges with Brian, who was sustaining entirely on Cliff Bars and coffee.  Even with all of those delicious flavors, he needed a bit more variety.  That night, we were again joined by dozens of mice, which we are quickly learning are mainstays of the shelters.  The solution?  Earplugs.  If you can't hear them scratching, it's like they aren't even there.  I slept very well that night.

This morning (Friday) we woke up early and got going around 7:30 on a.nice long gradual incline.  Just before noon, we had a mad scramble up a rock face to get to a fire tower.  We hustled up to get some pictures, and hustled down before the impending lightning storm blew us up.  A nice leisurely lunch and an easy afternoon walk brought us to Rock Gap Shelter and also beyond our first hundred miles.  We got here early enough to cook a nice meal, beans and rice mixed with mashed potatoes and pepperoni.  We also had some time to do necessary self-doctoring on our feet.  Blisters and hotspots that needed some TLC finally got it, and some self foot massages and stretching sessions helped to alleviate a lot of our minor aches. 

Tomorrow we have our first guest hiker, the one and only true blue Sam Mattern-Schain.  He is driving two hours to meet us, at which point we will head into Franklin, North Carolina.  MacGyver wants to grab an x-ray on his foot just to be on the safe side, we all need to do laundry in a very bad way, and we decided we want pizza.  We thought one each would be overkill, so we plan on three between the four of us.  And breadsticks.  And ice cream.  The next post will probably be from Gatlinburg in a week or so.  Until then, happy trails!

*just left the hospital, MacGyver's foot is fine!

Helen, Georgia: Where Trolls Go to Die.

At last notice, we were locked down in Whitley Gap Shelter waiting out a monster storm with our buddy Bob.  The rest of that Saturday, although confined to an 8'x16' three-walled palace, was fairly eventful.  As eventful as such a situation can be anyway.

Shortly after I finished writing the last post, the first newcomer arrived at the shelter.  Matthew, a weekend hiker, was very pleasant and kind, but fairly insignificant to our tale.  He mostly laid in the corner of the shelter in his sleeping bag and didn't say very much.  Then came Jersey Drew, who we had met briefly at Neel's Gap the day before.  For those keeping count at home, that put the shelter at maximum capacity with six hikers.

We were fairly snug already with little room to spread our gear in a fruitless effort to dry it out, when we heard a voice from outside of our makeshift wall.

"Any room left for one more?"

An old timer poked his head around the tent flap.  It was Bernie, a man we met briefly on our first day hiking.  He was pushing 80 years old, the weather was horrendous and it was just too late in the day for him to go anywhere else, so we packed up our wet gear, tucked it into a corner and squeezed in tight to make some room.

Bernie was incredibly grateful, gushing over the trail karma that we had earned by letting him share the shelter.  We figured it was the only option, so of course that's what we chose, and we were glad we did.  Bernie was as funny as he was gregarious, and his attitude was inspiring.  You see, when we saw him earlier in the week, he was hiking with his 21-year-old grandson, a former high school football player and a self proclaimed jock.  This jock couldn't handle the rigors of the trail, called his father to pick him up from Neel's and didn't even have the gumption to tell Bernie he was quitting until moments before his father showed up.  Despite the weather and his grandson's bailout, Bernie was in very high spirits, and why shouldn't he have been?  "I'm tougher than a 21-year-old jock! Ha!".  He was proud, and very rightfully so.  We all took to him immediately.

We were all bundled in our sleeping bags, staring at the nothingness through the plastic wall in silence.  Bob was smoking a hand rolled cigarette, like an old salt from the Cape is prone to do, when a particularly strong gust of wind came through and ripped half of our homemade wall down. We were instantly greeted with a torrent of wind, rain and cold. MacGyver, Seuss and I sprung into action, grabbing the still connected side of the wall, reeling in the other end, and in a scheme that would have made Richard Dean Anderson himself jealous, we fashioned a new reinforced wall with a tent footprint and a small tarp.  I can't claim much of the ingenuity myself.  As is appropriate, MacGyver led the charge, but our coinhabitants were eternally appreciative of the reaction that we'd had.  Bernie went so far as to say he probably would have frozen to death without us.

I thought that was a bit of an exageration, and then night fell.  We all spent the sleepless night shivering and begging for daylight to arrive, hopefully with some better weather.  As it always does, daylight did come, but alas!  Kind weather was nowhere to be found. We had a brief team meeting and decided we were going to get an early jump, slog 17 miles through through the storm and catch a ride into Helen, Georgia to ride out the rest of the flood.

We informed everyone we had to leave and take our tent, their wall, with us.  Bob and Jersey Drew decided to high-tail, Bernie and Matthew stayed behind.  We helped them rig up a similar wall, packed our gear and hit the trail. 

The rest of the hiking for the day was fairly uneventful.  We were lucky enough to have waterfalls around every corner, but due to the flooding we also had a constant ankle high river to wade through.  For the first hundred yards or so, I tried to avoid the deeper puddles.  Soon realizing that was a useless endeavor, I surrendered my New Balances to a day of sogginess and plunged in.

For all the bad weather, it should be noted that the forest was absolutely beautiful.  The mist hovering halfway down the trees diluted what sunlight there was to cast an eerie light onto the forest floor.  Years of the brown decay of fallen leaves were contrasted sharply by the brilliant greens of new undergrowth.  Varying shades of blue and green mosses covered rocks and trees long past their prime, and all the while, a gentle rain, along with what birds braved the weather, created a symphony of calm that only nature could possibly create.  While cold, it was still totally serene.

We made only two brief stops: one at a shelter halfway to our destination to reserve a spot for Bob, who had a bum ankle and would be slow in getting there, and once for a quick lunch.  Jersey Drew caught up with us, and although we were a little put off by his cut and run tactics from the morning, we told him of our plan to jump into town and asked if he'd like to share a cab with us.  He very enthusiastically agreed.

We got to Unicoi Gap and called Doug.  Doug owns a mountain taxi service to help transport the several million tourists that visit Helen every year, and while driving us into town, he gave us a pretty good overview and lay of the land.  The Chattahoochie River (the main water supply for Atlanta) had almost crested in this small alpine town.  Every building in town was made to recreate authentic German architecture, but to be honest, to us it looked more like a terrifying cross between an episode of the Twilight Zone and the small world ride at Disney World.  Don't get me wrong, the people were friendly for sure, and I hate to be negative, but there was just a weird vibe about the place.

Nonetheless, we were just delighted to have a hot shower, a warm room and a place to dry our stuff.  After we destroyed the hotel room by covering every inch of it with muddy, soaked hiking equipment, we went to find a big meal.  There were dozens of restaurants in this small town, but when we heard the name of one in particular, we knew it was fate: the Troll Tavern.

Fate can be a real A-hole sometimes (pardon my use of profane letters).

Hungry from the trail, we each wolfed down a salad, shared some nachos and decimated some burgers.  While we were eating, we were aware that the food was not the best quality we had ever had, but we had no idea.  Upon finishing, MacGyver politely excused himself and sprinted back to the hotel room (sprinting was a dangerous maneuver given the nature of his departure.  I forever admire his courage).  Seuss and I laughed for a minute and ordered another beer.  About five minutes later, Seuss informed me of an impending projectile, that being his recently consumed meal.  He hustled off to the restroom, and just as I was giving myself a silent congratulations for having an iron stomach, there was a rumble.  Without getting into any more detail, I will say none of us held on to much nutritional value from that meal.

We informed the waitress of the mishap (can food poisoning be called a mishap?) and she promptly got the manager who was extremely apologetic, and he also comped the food.  It was a nice gesture, but we still spent the night paying for our date with troll destiny.

That is how we spent the better part of today also, along with resupplying and finding some food that would stick.  We are aiming for Nantahalla Outdoor Center in four days, which will be the next place I'll be able to post from.  We are all packed up, our gear is dry and we are ready for early morning departure.  Right after the continental breakfast.  Until next time, happy trails!

Anyone have an ark we can borrow?

Well, yesterday was quite a nice day for the first half. We left our camp around 10:00 after a quick breakfast and started our way up Blood Mountain towards Neel's Gap (yes, there was a picture of Neel's Gap in the last blog, I added that picture just before I posted from Neel's).

Something else to be known at this point is that Skip and I have been officially dubbed with our trail names.  I've told you previously about Skip's affinity for invented stories of magic and whimsy, and as such he shall henceforth be known as Dr. Seuss, Seuss or any variation thereof.

I enjoy messing around on the harmonica when I can.  I'm not great, but I'm learning.  I also happen to have a tendency to burst into spontaneous song while hiking, cooking, or basically anytime.  I enjoy a variety of genres and artists, from Johnny Cash to Etta James, Tom Petty to Metallica, Frank Sinatra to Mumford and Sons.  Flip and Seuss repeatedly ask me, in an epic display of musical ignorance and lack of ability to identify musical talent, if I am singing Guns N Roses.  I will forever be known on the trail as Axl.

As of that time, Flip had not acquired a trail name... Read on if that foreshadowing intrigued you.

So we started on our way to Neel's and we passed Mountain Machine, a first time section hiker from my old/future stomping grounds in Austin, Texas.  She was looking to do 50 miles on her first adventure, and she was already pretty close. We actually met her parents in Neel's Gap later in the day, and they were about as excited for her as she was for herself, which was very nice to see.

A short while later we came across another solo hiker, Northwest Nick.  He claimed to have spotted several deer already (amongst other more grandiose claims), and he and his machete were just enjoying a pleasant lunch (he becomes important later).

We continued up to the peak of Blood Mountain to see some spectacular views and the oldest shelter on the AT, aptly named Blood Mountain Shelter (see photo from last post).  At this point we encountered Flying Squirrel, a thru-hiker from 2011 who was delivering trail magic in the form of Snicker's bars.  Many former thru-hikers routinely go back out on short portions of the trail to bring small treats to ease the burden they know so well.  It's a fairly simple thing, but it means a ton to current hikers.  She now works in Vermont as a trail maintainer in the summertime, so hopefully we'll cross her path again up the road a ways.

The weather began to worsen as we descended into the Gap, and as we arrived, the sky opened up into a squall.

We waited it out for a bit, did a small resupply in the ridiculously overpriced store, and made ourselves a delightful lunch of pepperoni, babybell cheese and tortillas (sensing a pattern yet?). We were deciding between staying the night in the hostel in Neel's or pushing on to Whitley Gap shelter, seven miles north.  According to our most recent weather update, winter storm Achilles was going to hit in earnest on Saturday morning.  We could stay and be guaranteed a warm meal, hot shower and dry bed, or we could risk getting caught in the storm. 

We were debating when Northwest Nick (who we had unanimously decided was the most annoying person we'd met yet) came trumping out of woods, talking the ear off of a nice older gentleman who simply couldn't walk fast enough to distance himself from the hapless Nick.

Sometimes in life tough decisions are made for you, and that happened for us when Northwest Nick announced that he would be holing up at the hostel.

Seven miles later, we arrived at a sign.  Apparently, Seuss and I had overlooked a key point in our guidebook.  The shelter TRAIL was seven miles away, with the shelter itself being another mile or so.  A minor discrepancy one might think, but with worsening weather, fading daylight, nagging injuries and growing appetites, none of us were thrilled.  Least of all Flip, who hadn't looked at the book and had counted on us to pay attention to the details... Whoops!

But being the eternal optimist that I am, I reminded them that soon we would be in a nice enclosed shelter, where we could dry our clothes, warm up and get a good night's sleep. 

And then we arrived at the shelter...

...which was a glorified three-walled woodshed...

...on a windy bluff...

...and it was full.

The words that we all said at that point would render this blog impassable to the FCC, but any of you that know us could make some pretty educated guesses.  "Darn", "shucks" and "oh no" come to mind...

Flip began to set up the tent behind the shelter while Seuss and I huddled under an awning preparing some dinner.  A short while later, we were all back on speaking terms, and due to his genius wind blocking jerry rig, we found Flip's trail name: MacGyver.

We met a few characters that night, Dr. Scholls from England and his friend Speedy Gonzales from Georgia who were on a weekend trip.  We shared some goodies, and Speedy began to play my harmonica, as he  actually was a bit musically talented.  After sharing a few laughs, we all crashed out for the night, they in their shelter, us in a future puddle.

At this point I must say, it was cold, it was wet and it was miserable, but without MacGyver's quick thinking and ingenuity, it would have been infinitely worse.  A savior in human clothes may be an overstatement, but not by much.

When we awoke, the shelter was empty of all but Bob, an elderly gentleman, formerly of Cape Cod, more recently of Florida, and currently of the Appalachian Trail.  Between the four of us, we rigged up some plastic that Bob had and our tent to form a temporary fourth wall to the shelter.  And now, as I write this, we are sitting behind said wall, wiling away the hours of our first zero day (a day when you don't hike at all).  The storm is supposed to let up tomorrow afternoon, but as of yet we are still sitting in the midst of a major wind and flood warning, hoping against hope that we can jump this ship (ark?) tomorrow.  Until then, happy trails.

We survived the first night!

Well, every journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.  Turns out so does every journey of 2200 miles, and we have taken those steps. 

At the last check in, we were on our way to Springer Mountain to start in Meagan's Altima.  Turns out that Altimas don't handle Jeep trails too well, especially with an extra 750 pounds in the car.  Meagan was a trooper though, and after getting out to push just a couple times, and leaving only one or two (presumably/hopefully unimportant) car parts on the side.of the road, we found the trailhead.

After presenting Meagan with the most selfless gift we could think of (a framed photo of the three of us, which, incidentally we have printed several dozen of to give as gifts to all those "trail angels" who assist us), we took our first steps into the wild to start this unforgettable journey.
Immediately we were transported far from Georgia by the lush river valleys and rhododendron forests.  We all likened it to far away tropical places we have seen; for Flip it was Australia, for me it was Costa Rica, and for Skip it was his grandparents old yard (apparently fans of rhododendrons, although intense debate ensued whether those plants in their yard had indeed been rhododendrons).

We walked on, putting the miles and reality behind us, meeting other hikers with various goals.  Some were hiking to the next gap (a lowlying area between peaks, aka notch), some were hiking for a month, and some, like us, were aiming for the promised land of Mt. Katahdin in Maine.

After a good few hours of hiking downhill, we came to our first lunch spot, Long Creek Falls.  After a nutritious lunch of pepperoni, peanut butter and tortillas, we kept moving to get to our first campsite.  Along the way we had such stimulating conversation as who would win in a fight, Superman or Obi Wan Kenobi (Obi Wan, obviously) and also Skip informed us of what to do if we happen to see a beautiful troll with a tail wearing a woolspun dress.  The story is a bit too long to include all of it, mostly due to the copious amount of detailed instructions in this situation, and the importance of said details to the group's safety, but I assure you, it is worth asking one of us at a later date.  As it happens, we haven't seen any such trolls yet, although we may have found Skip his trail name.

Trail names are an old tradition on the AT which are basically alter egos that you assume for the duration of your hike based on some characteristic, habit, or unfortunate mishap that pertains to you.  As of now, none of us has a definitive trail name; they happen as they happen.

So we wandered into our first campsite 15 miles later, not too bad for starting at the crack of noon.  It was next to a nice little babbling brook, where we resupplied our water and set up our Taj Mahal, a three person tent.  What the label didn't mention is that those three people would need to be small children or pygmies.  Or trolls I suppose.  In other words, we are going to be extremely close cuddlers for the next five months, which, when compounded by the smell, makes for some very hilarious moments. 
We also met Buzzy that night when he and his friend Richard offered us some leftover chicken and rice, with a side of Dewars.  The chicken was heavenly, the Dewars necessary.  Buzzy is from Maryland, down with his buddy Richard to help him check off hiking from his bucket list.  They were only going a short distance, but Richard had never been hiking before.  At 75 years young, he decided to finally attack a goal he'd had for quite a while.  Pretty damn impressive if you ask me. 

I finished my chat with him and then crashed for the night.  I slept fairly well for the first night, thanks in large part to the cancelling efffect of the earplugs that I grabbed in a last minute "maybe I'll need these" moment.  This was crucial in negating the buzz-saw noises coming from Flip and Skip.  They informed me the next morning that I also may or may not snore a little bit, but I didn't hear that once, so it must not be true.  I did have a very nice moment when I woke up in the middle of the night, a gentle cool breeze was blowing through the tent, and I started to grasp just how great this adventure was going to be...

...then I woke up with sore knees, ankles and a stiff back, and considered that my middle of the night thought train might have been a bit pre-emptive.  We stretched a bit, had a nice meal of Carnation Breakfast, oatmeal and coffee, broke camp and started out around 10:30 (so we slept a bit late, big deal).

The weather was a bit drizzly, but definitely bearable, and after a few miles of getting warmed up, we fell into a nice rhythm.  We passed so many vistas that had spectacular views.  That would be my guess anyway, but since we were hanging out in a cloud we didn't get a chance to see them.

We marched on to Woody Gap in the Chattahoochie National Forest where we stopped along with several other hikers to eat lunch.  We saw Buzzy and Richard there, as that was where they were being picked up to end their hike.  We said our goodbyes and snapped a quick photo of them and continued on our way, ever North.

It was about this time we heard about a monster storm coming our way to dump four inches of rain in the next few days.  It has a name, so you know it will be a doozie.  I've always been bad with names, and this storm was no different, but I trust we will get a bit pummeled by it in a day or two.  We are aiming to be in shelters those days instead of our tent at night, but also those shelters are the ones previously mentioned that are infested with the Nora virus.  Explosive internal organs or pneumonia?  Sometimes decision making can be hard on the trail, but with our collective intelligence I'm sure we'll make the choice that seems the easiest at the time.  The decision could hinge on how much TP we have left at that point, but of course time will tell.

Anyway, after a few more soggy hours of hiking, we'd put 13 miles in our rearviews and were ready to hunker down for the night.  Only one small problem: increased black bear and human interactions made it necessary to use a bear box on the trail.  Since we don't have one, and we also were not in a mood for being eaten, we decided instead to hike about a quarter mile away to cook, clean and hang the bear bags (a bear bag is when you hang your food from a tree to keep bears from rummaging through your tent and eating you).  Tent goes up, we go in, I start to blog, and team chainsaw is already in full action again in here.  Tomorrow we will hit Neel's Gap where I should be able to post this.  After that it will be Hiawassee, GA for the next civilization.  Until then, it's time for me to put the ear plugs in.  Happy trails!