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!
So nick went a total or 3 days before puking? That seems to be a record
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