Franklin to the NOC
After a full day of rest in Franklin, I felt restored and eager to be back on trail. The day began with a waterfall hidden just beyond the highway crossing. I saw no one else for almost ten miles. Under blue skies, with bluets lining stretches of the trail, it felt like the gorgeous day was all for me. Reaching Wayah Bald and its historic tower, I took time to read about the history of the place—the bald, the tower, and the intersecting Bartram Trail. Stretching and sipping water while reading Forest Service or Park Service historical markers and informational signs was becoming a habit.
I took photos of the sign, feeling included by the blurb on the AT as one of the “three to four million people, from all over the world, [that] hike some portion of the Appalachian Trail each year.” I nodded my head to the description of the trail as “a footpath of wonder and tranquility.” Making my way over to the tower, I confirmed William Bartram’s assessment: “…and I beheld with rapture and astonishment a sublimely awful scene of power and magnificence, a world of mountains piled upon mountains.”
Layers upon layers of ridge line blended shades of green into distant lines of blue, laced on the farthest edge by pure white cloud. I sat in the shade of the tower and ate lunch, followed by much more than my daily allotment of peanut butter m&m’s. I watched as a pair of hawks seemed to play and dance in a draft of wind, floating in wide spirals around each other, as they rose and rose until they were specks far above. They made me think of Jonathan Livingston Seagull (by Richard Bach—a wonderful and quick read, if anyone is looking for their next quarantine book).
I considered taking a nap in my shady spot until another hiker showed up and made a phone call from inside the tower (Service was strong up there, and I don’t think he could see me in my spot below). I quickly learned he was talking to his mom, and there seemed to be some confusion and frustration about when and where his next resupply box was being sent. Having enjoyed my time alone at the tower, I headed on to the shelter to make camp. I found a large and friendly group of other hikers, and enjoyed chatting around the fire until dusk.
Sunrise from my hammock
I woke to the sunrise at my feet. The day brought more bluets and blue sky, trail along the ridge line, and lots of cheerful birds. Pictures and video evidence below. By this point, I was used to letting my mind wander as I walked, and was less surprised by the strange places it went. For example, I had the odd sensation of being underwater (in a pleasant way) when I came upon a stretch of trail bordered by colorful lichens and plants that seemed coral-like. The colors and texture do not quite come through in the photograph. I stopped and tried again and again to capture this trail-side reef. I wondered if being immersed in natural color palette (aside from the bright pink crocs strapped to my pack) allowed my brain to make associations it normally wouldn’t. I began to immediately notice any shape, color, or material that was inorganic—bits of metallic snack wrapper, an errant plastic bag stuck on a branch, mysterious pieces of twisted metal.
Stretches of trail along the ridge line, multiple balds with sweeping views, and the spectacular panoramic views from the Wesser Bald observation tower made for a glorious day of hiking. I wrote in my trail journal that the “15 miles from Wayah Bald Shelter to the Rufus Morgan Shelter were TOUGH but some of the prettiest of the trail so far.”
I was surprised by the emotion I felt as I arrived at the Rufus Morgan Shelter. This shelter was the one AT shelter I had camped at before, with campers, in the summer of 2013. On my 2013 trips, we hiked to the shelter from the Nantahala Outdoor Center (the NOC), north of the shelter. And there I was, having walked up from the other direction all the way from Georgia. I could not stop smiling as I set up my hammock (unfortunately downwind from the privy for part of the evening). I didn’t know it at the time, but two other hikers at the shelter that night would be part of my tramily, and two more who passed by the shelter would be too.
The next day I slept in and made it to the NOC around 10 a.m. I treated myself to a Gatorade and a microwave breakfast biscuit from the small supply store. Divine. I also purchased a dry bag to go inside my food bag.
I’ll end this post with a quick, gear-related aside:
My food storage set up was unique (as far as I know, I did not encounter anyone with the same set up). Some may say it is excessive, but I never had any creature (large or small) penetrate or attempt to penetrate my food bag. I started with an Ursack and used a large smellyproof bag (like a giant, thick Ziploc) inside it. During my second week, the closure on the smellyproof bag failed and I worried about food smells or leaks getting on my Ursack. I got a large roll-top dry bag at the NOC outfitter and placed the smellyproof bag inside the dry bag, and the dry bag inside my Ursack. Yes, that’s a bag within a bag within a bag. But again, I emphasize that no creatures even attempted to break into my food bag (or if they did try, there was no evidence of tampering). I daresay I would keep the same set up.
More to come next week.
—Catch Up