March 16 Deep Gap Shelter 66 Miles
Honey Bee and I finally left Hiawassee at 7:45 AM and shuttled back up to Unicoi Gap. It was 32 degrees and the snow had melted into a pretty Palmetto designed trail of brown and white. Crystalized hoarfrost lined the trail and we filled our bottles from an icy stream. Hiking up one thousand feet over Rocky Mtn., we descended down into Indian Grave gap. We ate some candy bars and then went back up 1500 feet over Tray Mtn. It was beautiful clear skies and nice frozen trail and I felt so happy being on the trail again. I got a good pace going and even the uphills felt good on my calves.
I snapped pictures along the way, artsy pictures Bee calls them. I felt exhilarated after the trail turned afternoon muddy.
I was pooped by the time I hit Deep Gap Shelter. It was my longest hike at 13.1 miles and my knees were aching even after telling myself for miles to go long and slow, it's not a race. I was in the shelter and settling in my bag at 7PM but got up for the camaraderie around the fire.
Young guys were putting a roaring fire together. A couple of English lads were inquiring as to what grits was and Cowboy Connecticut was laying a tree trunk on the fire and going on how Georgia and Hiawassee was full of backward hillbillies.
That got my attention. What's a guy from Connecticut doing wearing a cowboy hat? Who does he think he is?
I wish I had something about the difference between Southern friendliness and Yankee arrogance. How people have no choice where they are born and raised.
And I did come up with a good tale of what I should have said the next day, hiking up a hard ass hill.
But I didn't say anything wise and thoughtful. I just said, I'm from Georgia.
And he said sorry man, I didn't mean to offend you Sky.
It's alright man, I said.
We ex-English teachers come up with the good lines always after the event. At least this one does.
March 17 Muskrat Creek Shelter, Ga. 81.4 Miles
It was pouring down rain when I woke up at daybreak, usually around 7:30. By 10:30 there were only five or six of us left in the shelter, and by11 Honey Bee and I stepped out into the 40 degree drizzle with my umbrella, long pants and poncho.
Thirty minutes later, I was wearing my shorts (and my underwear) and a thin cotton shirt. I'm a warm blooded person. Cold types are all bundled up with hats, gloves, puffy jackets and such, which would leave me sauna sweating in minutes. I'm glad for it. Less stuff to carry.
The day broke open into a day of glorious climbs and descents, bright burgundy mountain views and blue skies. By four o'clock I could look back at the ridge I came from the day before and feel satisfied that my hard work was not for naught.
We crossed the GA/NC border at 78 miles from Springer, took a few snaps and followed three guys and their dog, which turned out not to be their dog but a dog that had been following them for eight hours. After I gave the dog a mini-Snickers, he followed us for a few miles, and then took up with a nice Christian couple.
Good Ol' Happy Pants
You look like yer in pain man, he said.
I am, I said, holding my left fist under the strap going under my left armpit.
I bought this pack and its too small. It's killing my trapezius. Trying to keep it off my left shoulder.
He looked happy. He had a scraggly red beard and blonde hair and a toothbrush strapped to his pack strap. His name, he said, was Happy Pants and he started in Maine in September and was finishing up in March at Springer Mtn. Georgia. He walked over 2100 miles, staying in empty shelters the whole way. Never used a tent until meeting NOBO's in shelters in March who forced him into buying a tent. Happy Pants was the first Southbounder, SOBO, I'd met on the trail.
He lay back against the side of the trail. I said to myself that I would sit down if I talked to anybody he said.
Anything I should know about the trail Happy Pants?
Well, hikers are the nicest people you'll come across. And you won't need that umbrella. That's for the heat on the PCT. You won't care about weather or temperature much after awhile because you have to walk through it anyway. You haven't done much backpacking have you Sky?
Yeah. Obvious, huh? Yeah, I should have been fitted. But I've talked to experts along the way and they told me how to fit this thing. I've tried everything and nothing works.
Happy Pants smiled and said those guys know nothing. Loosen all your straps. Pull your pack as far up your back as you can. Now cinch your waist belt.
The belt is over my belly button.
Right.
Well, everybody's told me it should be on your waist, across your hip.
Yeah, well they are wrong. Now tighten up the strap across your chest. And tighten up the straps under your pits. This lifts the pack off your shoulders.
I did as instructed.
The pack was off my shoulders, the straps inches above the. Oh my God! I was in heaven! Damn! Damn Happy Pants-- you made me one Happy Sky!...Dude!
The Trail will Teach Ya, the old cowboy said spitting a tobaccy stream into the fire.
Again, I ended up leaving Honey Bee behind, she telling me to go ahead, that she was a slug. It felt good to be setting my own pace and singing a song or two alone.
When I got into Muskrat, Old Pirate was watching the dog and going to take it into town. He said it was a local's dog. Lots of locals let their dogs run loose he was told by the local pet service, and then the dogs end up on the trail. I encountered more in days ahead.
Muskrat Shelter was full and the ground aroundthe lean-to muddy. I set up tent by a clump of Rhododendrum ( after the night of the Deluge, I was edgy about setting up my tent where the wind could blow it away). I told Honey Bee where I was and said I'd like to get an early start in the morning.
Before hitting the sack, I met a guy, looked to be in his late forties, who was hiking from Florida to Maine. He said Florida and Southern Georgia was a breeze compared to after Springer.
All night long the wind whipped around the gap from one side to the other. I did my usual twelve hours sleep, tossing and turning on sore hips and back. I think I manage 8 hours sleep doing that. Whatever.
March 18 Carter Gap Shelter, NC 93.9 Miles
I woke her up at 7:45 AM from outside her tent. Baby, it's Daddy wake up baby it's time to go bye bye.
Who is that?
It's Daddy, I said. We got to go down the trail. Wake up sweet pea.
Oh, it's you. Wow. That is so weird.
I laughed. Hey let's go soon huh? While the ground is frozen?
But Honey Bee wasn't ready at 8:30. Or 9:30. She sat at the Shelter picnic table cooking oatmeal.
She said to go ahead and we'll meet up later. She seemed in a dour mood and I was a little irked at her sluggishness. And at her lack of humor.
I wanted to hit the trail while it was still frozen and avoid the mud. She likes to take her time and cook and such. I'm at the point where cooking seems to be more hassle more than joy. Cold dirty hands setting up a little canister of fuel beneath a food caked titanium cup from the night before just to eat some hot soupy oatmeal/potato glop before hitting the trail. Too Fussy. Fussy, fussy.
So I marched off into the cold and mist alone and after a few hours I felt free and happy.
March 20 The Budget Inn, Franklin, NC 109.8
Albert Mountain, fire tower, was a bitch! Practically crawling up the rocks on all fours, fifty yards or so to the summit. I was afraid to stand up so I didn't fall backwards down the mountain. Wow! What a great climb! Killer. And the sweetest part of all was that the top marked a 100 miles from Springer! Yea! I felt that I accomplished something and from the top saw the mountains of Georgia from where I had come. I felt happy going the next nine miles into Winding Stair Gap.
Another accomplishment: my farthest hike yet. 16 miles. Wow.
At 4 PM, I hitched a ride in the back of a small Toyota pickup filled with painters buckets and tools and was dropped off at the Budget Inn across from a gear store. I paid twenty-two bucks to the pajama-clad owner, who was out of rooms, clad in his pajamas and walked across the street to the bunks hostel. A hiker said he had been there four days, was sick and coughing, and that the only bunk left was thin and hard on the back. I didn't want to hear that and told the owner.
Who said that? Who was it?
I didn't want to get into it. I don't know. I need a bed. So he heaved a heavy sigh and gave me the key to the room next door. You are alone there now he said. But don't expect to stay that way.
Ok. Whatever. I wanted a shower and to wash my dirty clothes.
Happily, I had the four bunk room all to myself that night. Fantastic. I had clothes and tent hanging all over the room and turned on the air conditioner to dry them out.
Then I went down to the Frog Market and ate a huge plate of fried flounder and oysters and shrimp and veggies and a slice of buttermilk pie. No mashed potatoes.
Back in the "hostel" room, the heat didn't work. So I jumped in my warm bag on a bunk and fell asleep in the nice cold air.
This morning I skipped the all you can eat pancake breakfast at the Baptist church and went to the local bakery and had a Greek salad and a coffee. I was in the fancier part of town. A banner stretched across the street: FRANKLIN WELCOMES HIKERS!
I went into the new and very popular Outdoor 76. The place was packed. I spent three hours with the young and enthusiastic proprietor, Josh, who gave me Excellent customer service and a scientific breakdown of every point of my metatarsals. Did you know that everything below your knee is part of your foot? Neither did I. He gave me an hour breakdown of how the foot measurer works and then I said great Josh what shoes do you recommend Josh?
After trying on ten pairs of shoes I settled for the first one's I tried, Brooks Cascadia. He took me from a size 12 to a size 14. I was amazed. Really? You don't measure foot from the end of the toes he said, you measure from the end of the arch. And you are a fourteen.
I guess with two inches in front of my toes I won't jam them going downhill.
Then while he was giving a foot seminar to hikers I went downstairs and bought a new backpack. The one I landed on is called a Granite something and it is a simple bag without all the pockets and bells and whistles of the other one. I like simple. And it fit well too.
Wow. I have never had such Excellent service.
Then I checked into another hostel, the Gooder Hostel (the room to myself couldn't last) , walked a few miles to the PO and posted off my old pack and umbrella and a hiking pole--I like using just one--and went to dollar general to resupply with snacks and Tupperware. Probably another dumb idea but oh well: The Trail will Teach Ya Kid.
March 23 Gooder Hostel
Thirty-something Om had converted his house into a Hostel, with about ten bunk beds lined up in the basement and the washer/dryer down there. The main floor had a small kitchen, a refidgerator packed to the gills with food and a dining table and TV room where guys were sitting around watching The Matrix 2.
Om was a laid back guy that has a way of shuttling people to and from the mountain, getting folks laundry and food needs done and making a buck too. Nothing is done on time and if you are going to slackpack in the hills for the day, you need patience. You are on Zen time. Flow time. Not Holliday Inn time.
One of the shuttle drivers taking a few of us out to slackpack, hiking without a pack, quit that day because it was too Zen she said.
Om said she quit because she was in love and had been up for a few days partying. He was upset she left without saying a word to him.
Structure is bogus he said. If you go with the flow it all happens without stress. And you know what? He was right (though I was concerned if anyone was gonna show up after hiking on the ridge all day, the sun setting, the cold settling in, and waiting for someone to shuttle us back to the Hostel.)
I slackpacked a couple days from the hostel so that my back could heal and rest some. I think it helped. But what was interesting was that I didn't go that much faster without a pack as I did with one. But I did like the freedom of it all. They were beautiful days, clear and nice.
March 24 Nantahala Outdoor Center
This is like an outdoor center with rafting, hiking and canoeing and such with cabins and outfitters, etc, in a rustic setting. I set up a tent here down the river, the Hobo Jungle, and the next morning the waiter at the Restaurant said he would slackpack me to Stecoah Gap.
March 25 Brown Fork Gap Shelter
It was a long day but a pretty one. Long, because the thirteen miles up and over the hill was over a three thousand steady climb upward. But I loved it and hiked with Gerbil, a young cute girl from Jersey for a while. I left her halfway in and was to meet her again at Fontana Dam.
Dang it was a long long descent into the Gap. Two hours. It seemed never ending. But by 5 PM I was at the Gap.
Lumberjack and a few guys were at the picnic table drinking beer, soda and chips. They told me the waiter with my pack had come and gone at 3:30.
He finally did show up at six, saying he was passing by and thought to check on me. Nice of him. I guess he was on Zen time too.
I walked another three miles, up Jacob's Ladder, with a mother and her son, Tough Butt, who just put in a long day like myself. Boy could those two climb. She said she had been putting in fifteen days hikes for the last three days. I admire them.
The Ladder was a mile of straight up. Dang tired after that 2.5 mile climb.
That night I heard three Quaker young people singing around the fire in three part harmony. It was beautiful and I fell into a deep sleep in the six person shelter next to a guy who tossed and turned all night. Oh well.
March 26 Fontana Dam Village
Needed to pick up my air mattress from the PO but it was closed on Saturday! Bummer. I have to stay at a nice Lodge with great food and bed and bath for two days. It's funny but it is difficult to sleep in a regular bed after being on the trail and I tossed and turned all night hearing my fellow hikers drunk and partying into the night in the rooms down the hall. Been there done that.
Heading out with Gerbil tomorrow for six days on the trail. Stocking up on pop tarts, honey buns, and trail mix and bagels and cheese. Tired of pouched potatoes and grits. Glop. We'll see: The Trail will Teach Ya the old cowboy said leaning back, pulling his hat over his leather lined face and drifting off to greener pastures.
No comments:
Post a Comment