A bear of a problem

Day two in the Smokies was gorgeous—sun and blue sky for most of the day.  With different sleeping habits and hiking speeds, our newly formed tramily of seven headed out in twos and threes, but with the same shelter as our destination. We took our time at lunch, lounging in the sun on the top of a ridge.

That night after dinner, one friend excitedly took out a package of backpacker’s apple crisp.  He went to prepare it and discovered there were multiple complicated steps (much more elaborate than most dehydrated meals, to which you just add boiling water).  We got into a hilarious discussion imagining who develops the recipes, and spent time comparing our group to the smiling and highly accessorized folks on the packaging.  The apple crisp was eventually prepared and tasted great, despite its impracticality.

Good weather continued the next day with more sweeping vistas, and I understood why the park is so popular.  That afternoon as we climbed higher, the forest seemed to transform around me, moss blanketing everything.  We had entered the spruce-fir forest that caps the highest elevations in the park.  By mid-afternoon we were approaching the highest point on the Appalachian Trail, Clingmans Dome.  We knew we were getting close when we started to encounter groups of fresh-smelling tourists exploring down the trail.  Several groups asked me and my friends if we were thru-hikers, how far we’d come, or how far we were going.  When they would pass us, the scent of laundry detergent, deodorant, and perfume was strong.  I wondered if it was our scent more than our appearance that gave us away as thru-hikers.

We emerged from the trees to see an alien-like concrete observation tower, reached by a wide concrete ramp that curled around and up to the tower.  While strikingly austere compared to the natural beauty of the land surrounding it, Clingmans Dome provides sweeping 360-degree views. Following the curve of the tower along the outer railing are maps that identify each peak in the distance.  At that point I was with two friends and we took turns taking photos until dark grey clouds rolled in.  Only a few miles later, we reached our shelter for the night.  Worried about weather, I stayed in the crowded shelter, but slept fine. 

The next morning my group headed out early, excited to eat hot food and resupply in Gatlinburg, TN.  Our plan was to hike four miles in the morning, hitch-hike into town for most of the day, then hitch back to trail to hike three miles to the next shelter.  That is not what happened. 

At the gap, we were lucky to have an extremely kind and generous woman stop and let six smelly hikers into her mini van.  Another kind couple took another friend.  The woman who picked us up owned a hiker hostel and went above and beyond to help us resupply in Gatlinburg, even after we told her we were planning to return to trail that night.  She took us to the grocery store, gave us time to shop, dropped us off at the restaurant where we were meeting our other friend, and gave us her number to call when we were heading back to trail, just in case she was heading that way to pick up a guest. She was a true trail angel, one of many who selflessly support hikers and make the AT community the most beautiful part of the trail.

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Gatlinburg felt like another world with its vibrant signage advertising the dozens of restaurants, tourist shops, and attractions. After a blissful meal at Mellow Mushroom, we wandered downtown into different shops—ice cream, candy, a jerky emporium.  It was sensory overload.  We all met back up at the outfitter where we browsed gear, relaxed, and some took showers. After loitering at the gas station across from the outfitter, we finally managed to get hitches back to the gap in small groups. 

By the time we all made it back to the gap, it was late afternoon.  We had just enough time to make it to the shelter before dark.  Then we noticed the park ranger vehicles….and started to get word that the shelter was closed. We learned that park rangers were heading to the shelter we meant to camp at with a stretcher and dart guns to try capture a bear that had been stealing food bags the last several nights. The bear had figured out how to get food bags from the bear cables.  

We had to figure out a new plan.  We called the hostel-owner who had given us a ride, but she completely booked.  She gave us more info on the bear situation that she learned from hikers were staying with her.  Our options were not ideal.  Either get another ride 15 miles back down the mountain to Gatlinburg and pay for a motel, or hike on to a further shelter (with much of the hike in the dark).  No one wanted go all the way back to town, so we decided to have our first night hiking adventure.

We made it to the first shelter just before sunset.  There were 6-8 park rangers there, waiting for the bear to make an appearance.  The shelter was full, and we had heard correctly; they were not letting anyone set up near the shelter. They did let us cook dinner and get water before heading on. 

Turns out that hiking seven miles in the dark takes a lot longer than in daylight.  We stayed together, the seven of us in an ant line, with our headlamps lighting our way.  There were stories told, games played, and lots of wondering if we were ever going to make it to the shelter.  We finally did, around 1 a.m. and tried our best to set up camp silently.  The bear cables gave us away, screeching loudly as a friend tried to hoist our seven bear bags on one cable.  I fell asleep as soon as my head hit my camp pillow. 

The next morning, I stayed silent in my hammock as I heard some other hikers wondering aloud about who showed up in the middle of the night.

More to come next week.

--Catch Up

The NOC to Fontana Dam

Having spent time at the NOC before, I only passed through long enough to purchase my dry bag, print my permit for the Smokies (anyone camping in Great Smoky Mountain National Park is required to have a permit), charge my electronics, and chat with the hikers congregated around the outfitter.  The climb out is steep, and I wanted to get the worst of it over with before the hottest part of the day.  It was a trudge, but much more pleasant with the company of a hiker I had met previously and camped with the night before.  Sometimes through panting breath, we chatted the whole way about our lives before the trail and why we were out there. We made it to the shelter in the early afternoon and found an affable group. That night was a good time, sitting around the fire talking and laughing until well after the sun went down.  Four of the faces around the fire would be part of my tramily.

The next day I set out with plans to hike 15.4 miles, but the long decent into the NOC and the tough climb out had caused my knees to start complaining.  I knew of several hikers who had left trail due to knee injuries and I was fearful of the bubbly feeling I felt behind my kneecaps.  It wasn’t terribly painful, but it certainly felt wrong, a clear warning not to push myself too hard.  On a ridge, I had a single bar of service, and called an inn my Dad had recommended when he passed through the area in a bit of a panic.  The kind woman on the phone assured me they’d have a room ready for me two nights later and that they’d take me into town to find knee braces.   

I was moving slowly, wincing and bracing myself on my trekking poles, during the downhill sections. As it became late afternoon, I realized that I would not make it to the shelter I planned to camp at until after dark.  I was nervous at the prospect of camping by myself for the first time, knowing that the hikers I had camped with the night before were all ahead of me, and heading to that shelter.  Arriving at a campsite near a water source (three miles short of my original goal), I was relieved to find three other hikers already set up (another of whom would be a part of my soon-to-form tramily).

The next morning, I woke before the sun, enticed by the prospect of ice cream in Fontana Village and a shower at the much talked about “Fontana Hilton” (a fancy shelter with a bathhouse nearby, lake views, and a solar charging station that didn’t work).  I made it to Fontana, and near the AT Crossing by the Marina was one of many memorials I would encounter along the AT.  My eyes welled as I read the words.  A poignant reminder of how fortunate I was to be there, and how much this trail means to so many.

Reaching the Fontana Hilton, it did not disappoint.  I took a blissfully warm shower.  No shampoo? No towel? No problem. I washed everything with my Dr. Bronners and used a clean bandana I had been gifted in Franklin as a towel.  After setting up my hammock and seeing familiar faces walk up from the trail, a big group of us took the shuttle to Fontana Village for ice cream and splurging on snacks. 

Much to our amusement, the entirety of Fontana Village was populated by two distinct groups: dirty hikers and mini-cooper enthusiasts.  There were minis of all colors, some with stripes, some with union jacks on the roof, and all were polished and shining.  They were parked at the general store, and in the driveways of the rental houses. They were being lined up in a big field where a ladder and platform was set up to take a group picture.  “MINIs on the Dragon” t-shirts were worn all around, some dating back a decade. (Turns out the Dragon is a stretch of nearby road that has 318 curves over 11-miles).  There were SO MANY MINIs.  Ever since Fontana Dam, every time I see a Mini Cooper, I smile.  I can’t help it.

With bellies full of ice cream and bags of snacks acquired, we took the shuttle back to the shelter.  A fire was built in the large fire pit and everyone sat around talking.  One hiker roasted a two-pound pork loin on a big stick, methodically turning it as he sat by fire.  Another hiker went down a dense slope to the lake to scope out if there was a good spot to swim.  There wasn’t, but he swam anyway.  Everyone was relaxed and enjoying good company.  Among the group, the age range was easily 40+ years, but the conversation flowed until late. I sat with a group around a picnic table and didn’t get into my hammock until after 10pm, way way past my normal hiker bedtime.  

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 The next morning I was looking forward to my zero day at the Hike Inn.  I was confident I was making the right decision by resting my knees and getting braces before the climb into the Smokies.  Still, part of me wanted to push on, thinking of the friends who I wanted to keep hiking with, who would be heading on a day ahead of me.  As I packed up camp, I was delighted to learn that most of them were staying another night at the shelter.  Even better, someone had learned of a breakfast buffet for $12 at the lodge in the village.  Eight of us piled into a shuttle up to the lodge.  My hiker hunger was in full force at this point.  For proof, here is a direct quote from my trail journal: “Gorged on eggs, sausage, grits, toaster strudel, fruit, and had coffee and unsweet tea.”  We sat at an 8-person round table, and the piles of plates we left behind were comical in their height.

Almost too full to move, I waddled my way to the visitor’s center to wait for my ride to the Hike Inn.  A small, sweet place, with a friendly cat and terrible wifi, I was glad to be inside when the rain poured later that afternoon.  That evening, the two other guests and I were ferried around Robbinsville.  I was able to get knee braces, resupply, and stuff myself with Mexican food. I went to bed with the sun, a bit nervous about my early morning climb into the Smoky Mountains.

More to come later this week.

—Catch Up

Two Weeks on Trail: Why Am I Doing This?

“Why am I doing this? No one is making me do this.” —These have been my thoughts, sometimes multiple times, nearly every day I’ve been on Trail. More often, it’s when it’s pouring rain, cold wind whipping my face, and all I can hear is the groan of swaying trees and the swish-swish of my rain pants that eventually soak through. But then, sometimes only moments later, I look around at where I am, feel my legs getting stronger, get to a peak, or the top of a climb, and I feel triumphant. The lows can be low but the highs bring a new kind of satisfaction that is unlike anything I’ve felt pre-Trail.

Two weeks in and the best way I’ve found to describe my AT experience so far is a rollercoaster, both physically and emotionally. Every day has literal ups and downs, sometimes very steep and rocky ones. I’ve walked the trail as a river, with water flowing around my feet (and through my shoes) for most of 11 miles. I’ve had to stow my trekking poles and climb hand over hand up Albert Mountain. I’ve crawled under and clambered over fallen trees and also fallen down from tripping over my own feet.

Emotionally, everything feels more raw out here. When the sun is filtering through the trees and I’m surrounded by wildflowers, hearing birdsong and bumblebees, I feel joy and deep gratitude. I am proud of my legs and feet and back that have carried me and my pack over a hundred miles and all the way from Georgia and into North Carolina. Even when I am cold and wet and questioning my hike, there is a deeper surety that it is a blessing to be out here, feeling all of this.

I’ve learned how to manage and doctor my blistered toes and am getting faster at my camp chores and packing up. I love the simplicity of my days, and my autonomy on Trail. It is entirely up to me to determine where I sleep, how far I hike, what I eat, and where I stop to just sit (and usually snack) and marvel at where I am and what I’m doing. I love meeting fellow hikers and hearing about their lives and backgrounds, all so different and unique, but united in that we are all out here on the same great adventure. The trail can be magnificently beautiful, with layers and layers of ridge lines and vibrant sunrises and sunsets, but the people are the best part. The kindness, openness, generosity, and community of the AT has been wonderful to experience so far.

My first day on Trail was stormy, cold, and I was soaked through. The wind was fierce and I watched a tree fall along the trail up ahead of me with a loud crack. I was scared, until I reached the shelter and found fellow hikers hunkered down there. I’m glad I didn’t have reception to call anyone, because I’m sure I’d have cried. The next two days were sunny and lovely and I appreciated them so much more after weathering a wet, scarily windy, and cold first day. Seeing the first white blaze on the top of Springer Mountain was exciting and overwhelming, knowing I’d be following them all the way to Maine (🤞). Georgia surprised me with hard climbs, sweeping views, and a snake on my second morning. On my third morning, I got my trail name— “Catch Up” (thanks, Buck!) because I’m catching up to my Dad.

At Neel Gap, I stayed in the hostel with a great group of fellow hikers, took my first shower in a week, and ate almost an entire pizza. I replaced my rain jacket, after my original one started to fall apart (turns out it was about ten years old), and set out the next day in the pouring rain. Thanks to my pal Cocoa for braving the storm with me and making those miles fly by.

I took a day off in Hiawassee, GA, (thanks to Charzard for the ride into town!) washed everything, and ate more food than I thought was possible. The folks at Barney’s Tap & Grill are so nice and the food is great. I went for dinner and breakfast the next morning. Walking around town in my pink crocs is something I’m still getting used to, but they’re good camp shoes and people seem to guess I’m a hiker right away.

This past week seemed to go by even faster than the first week. The border crossing from Georgia into North Carolina snuck up on me, and it was exciting to reach that milestone. Most days were gorgeous hiking weather, and I stayed dry all week. The one rainy morning I spent in the refuge of a shelter until the rain passed. That afternoon the skies cleared and I had clear views from the Albert Mountain Firetower. The room up top was locked, so I felt plenty brave climbing up to the first platform and then hurrying right back down. After that, it was only a couple minutes walk until the one hundred mile mark. Only 2,092 miles to go!

My dorky sunhat is one of my favorite pieces of gear. 

Carnes Cascade, where I sat and snacked. 

Afternoon on the trail

Woah, hello NC! 

View from Long Branch shelter, my favorite shelter so far. 

Very proud that I was brave enough to take my phone out. Heights are not my favorite. 

At the top of Albert Mountain. 

Special thanks to Perry and Susan for hosting me in Franklin—a highlight of my trek so far! Delicious food, snuggly dogs, and wonderful company. On and off trail, the people (and dogs) really are the best part of this journey.

—Catch Up

Gone Walking…

Six years ago, during the summer I worked as an adventure camp counselor, one of our trips was to the Nantahala Outdoor Center for rafting and a night camping in a shelter on the Appalachian Trail. The next morning we hiked back out the way we came. I remember looking down the trail and thinking about how fun it would be to keep going, without a gaggle of campers to corral. For several years after, hiking the Appalachian Trail was on my long list of “things I’d like to do someday”. I guess it’s time to tell the internet that someday has turned into tomorrow.

Two summers ago, my parents and I did our Rim-to-Rim hike of the Grand Canyon. In July. We survived, and I started thinking more seriously about making my AT hike happen. The clincher for my decision was when my dad asked me what I would think about him hiking, too. Three weeks ago, my dad, now known as ‘Tiger’ on trial, started hiking. I figured I would let him knock down any spider webs and send me back tips and tricks. The plan is for me to slowly catch up to him and then we’ll hike together.

Goodbyes have been the hardest part of this journey so far. A month ago, I left my job in DC, taking some time to organize my move and spend time with the wonderful people who made the last three years in DC some of the best of my life. Then two weeks ago, I drove from DC down to my parents house in South Carolina. I kept prepping and organizing and spent precious time with my family. Time has moved so strangely since these plans have developed into my reality. I almost can’t believe that I’m sitting here on the porch of the Amicalola Falls Lodge, looking out over the rolling green of the North Georgia Mountains.

To my friends, neighbors, former coworkers, and family who have been so encouraging and supportive in the lead up to this adventure, thank you so very much. I will do my best to keep you updated as I go.

P.S. Cross your fingers it doesn’t storm on me ALL day tomorrow. But hey, no pain, no rain, no Maine. 2,192 miles to go…