After a great nights sleep “Fresh Ground ” the trail angel, gave Cob (the retired submarine commander) and I a great breakfast of banana pancakes and cheese omelettes. I have no idea why he is being so kind. We left Gooch Gap behind with full bellies and warm wishes. Fresh Ground said he’d see us again up in North Carolina. We then pushed on for Blood Mountain.
Cob was always wanting to stop and eat. So much so that it became apparent that we were not going to make it over Blood Mountain before dark. Plus, the weather was changing fast with high wind and sleet. We were in an area where the Park Service said we had to use bear canisters to camp overnight. Not having any bear canisters we decided to take shelter in a deep hollow way off the trail at Jarred Gap mile 26.7. By now it was getting really nasty with sleet changing over to snow. We found a snug campsite under a thick cover of rhododendrons with a great water source running through it. Cob strung his hammock and I pitched my tent. We ate a hasty supper and Cob turned in at about 5:00. I went for a hike to explore an old roadbed. I found lots of bear sign and returned to camp to string up my food bag. After beating some sleet and snow off my tent fly I crawled into my sleeping bag for the night.
The next morning it was around 20*F and the wind had blown out. After a big breakfast of oatmeal and nuts we broke camp and started on. Just where we joined the AT again we encountered a great surprise of eight dogs and 5 men geared for a days “Hog Hunt”. They were standoffish at first but warmed up quickly when I started asking questions about their dogs. Seven of the dogs were called runners. They were hounds, razor backs, collies, and mongrels. One was a stalwart pit bull, he was what they called the “kill dog”. The runners run the hogs up out of the hollows and the kill dog goes in last to grab whatever hog he can by the ear. Then the closest man goes in to hobble the hog. A decision is then made to take the wild hog home alive to raise up, or kill him there with a knife to the throat. No guns allowed “It ain’t sport-in.” I’d have loved to see the kill dog in action, but they reckoned “The bars got the hogs all run off a piece.” So, me old chum Cobbie and I sauntered up the AT toward Blood Mountain.
After conquering Blood, taking a lunch break, and reaching the road at Neel Gap, mile 31.7, we checked into the Hostel located there. The Hostel was run by fellow named “Baltimore Jack” veteran of some 7 complete “through hikes”. He looked like a bloated leprechaun complete with hunter orange toque, and genuine “Joe Kennedy” spectacles. He was so bow legged that he went through doorways side ways. It was hard to believe he was a through hiker, but age takes it’s toll. He was 70 or so, possessed of a cutting whit. He said he had a degree in “Art History” from North Western University which no doubt explains why he had so much time to hike.
The hostel was a shabby affair set in the basement of an historic stone building. It was dank, dark, and cold with accommodation for some 20 odd hikers. By dark it was a full house with stragglers put out behind to tent as they might. No cooking inside but a person could order frozen pizza from the outfitter store upstairs before 6:00. I got the supreme version, ate half of it, saved the other half for breakfast, and turned in. As you might imagine, ear plugs were mandatory for sleep in the clammy stench of exhausted hikers. The morning dark brought much coughing, spitting, and thumb blowing of noses. My chum Cob took a “0” day to effect a repair to his pack frame that was buggered in a fall on the ice. I started on at the streak of dawn, jamming bits of cold pizza into my mouth as I struggled up Levelland Mountain. Ten o’clock brought out the sun and a beautiful rock slab on the downward north slope of the mountain. I stopped for some peanut butter and bacon wrapped in a tortilla. Suddenly I my revery was interrupted by about twenty day hikers up from Atlanta for an outing. They were making south from Tesnatee Gap and I graciously accepted any handout snacks proffered. After 20 minutes I resumed my descent and overtook an Asian lady calling herself “Trail Snail”. I told her she was doing marvellous considering the condition of the trail. I tried to keep a brisk pace to stay ahead of the staggering brood following me from Neel Gap Hostel.
Four hours later I stopped for more peanut butter, bacon, and tortillas at Whitley Gap Shelter. While completing my water near the shelter I was overtaken by an ex-marine corp recon ranger turned Chaplin. His trail name is “Silver” hailing from St. Joseph, Missouri. He got out after 12 years and 3 tours in Iraq. This is the beginning of his third through hike to Mount Katahdin. He said he had a lot of things to work out. The man was a trove of practical advice. What to wear, what to eat, and how to pace yourself. I was a ball of sweat and winded trying to stay close enough to him to glean as much information as possible from him before he just pumped away from me on an incline. Just before dusk I overtook his campsite at Chattahoochee Gap. Yes, the very headwater of the Chattahoochee River made famous by the disturbing book by James Dickey and the movie “Deliverance “. I asked if he minded if I camped there alongside him. He said “Glad for the company!” So, as I hastily heated my supper of pasta and tuna broth he regaled me with tales of violent snow squalls in the high Smokies in April. I retorted with allusions to April in Nova Scotia fraught with perpetual horizontal rain, ice, and fog. We agreed that April is the cruelest month.
He was gone when I stirred myself next morning. Just as I was starting away for another day of disparaging exhaustion I was overtaken by a retired Army Sargent from Albuquerque, New Mexico. He said he was 62, mad at the world, and had a lot of things to work through. I said there was a retired Marine just left here this morning that said the same thing. He said he had no trail name and he didn’t want one. His name was Mark, and that would do. I said that’s a damned shame because you are the spitting image of Walter White of the series “Breaking Bad” that was filmed in Albuquerque. He even had the same acid disposition. To those familiar with “Breaking Bad” you’ll recall Walter’s brilliance at making Methamphetamine won him the title “Heisenberg”. That’s how AT hikers acquire trail names. He’ll always be Heisenberg to me. Our acquaintance was short as his left knee buckled on a steep descent into Unicoi Gap at mile 52.9. He let out a withering volley of invective profanity as he grabbed for tree limbs and composure. When he finally limped to the road, he flipped his phone open, glared at me over his glasses, and said “I’m done”. There was reception enough to call a cab. He’d have made a good hiking companion as we agreed on several salient issues. Paramount among them was “The Elephant in the room” the one that no one dares to talk about. I’m speaking of the fact that unless “exponential human population growth” on planet earth is soon reversed climate change, resource depletion, and conflict will undo us and our progeny. The theme of this year’s “World’s Fair” in Milan, Italy is “Preparing earth for a population of 10 Billion people”. It’s 7.13 Billion now and resource consumption is way out of hand. Suppose earth can accommodate 10 Billion people. What happens when it’s 20 Billion people? OK, for all you positively positive, optimistic, head in the sand folks, what happens when world population reaches 40 Billion, then 80 Billon? Exponential population growth is an anathema of staggering significance yet who will address the problem. You see “There is no hope.” Anyway “Heisenberg” agreed with me. That makes him a good fellow in my book.
Toward the end of another agonizing day of pushing and pushing up hill and down, it’s never level, I was overtaken by another kindred spirit in the guise of a German Policeman from Cologne. We soon arrived at Tray Mountain Shelter, mile 58.6, where I spent my first night in an AT Shelter. It’s wonderful to not have to bother setting up a tent. However, one must endure the presence of other humanoids, their grunts and snores, tooing and frowing, plus the presence of the ubiquitous mouse. They scurry and gnaw, take inventory of your pack, and defecate willy-nilly from dusk to dawn. My newest chum “Gray Wolf” the German Policeman offered to discharge his canister of industrial strength mace. However, there was a consensus of our shelter mates that strongly disparaged the idea. I slept soundly in spite of it all.
Next morning was my 7th day on the trail and Gray Wolf and I decided we would go into the town of Hiawassee, Georgia and split a room at the Budget Inn. Gray Wolf is only one year younger than me but it was all I could do to stay in front of him. Exhausted, we reached the road at Dicks Creek Gap, mile 69.6, after covering 11.1 miles in 5 hours. We rang a cab and were delivered to the Budget Inn for a cleanup and a well deserved rest. I decided to stay here two nights to recuperate and write this blog. Reception in the backcountry is never good, that’s why my blog entry’s will be spotty. There’s Wi-Fi here.
Of course Gray Wolf couldn’t stand to be idle one whole day, so he’s off ahead of me. I’ll run him down in the bowels of the Smokies.
It’s occurred to me that anyone wishing to train properly for an Appalachain Trail Through Hike might well prepare themselves thusly. First, find as large a set of stairs as possible. Then strew banana peels, fermented seaweeds, and hogsnot interspersed with K-Y Gelly over each tread. Then run madly up and down flailing ski poles for ten hours each day for several weeks. Keep all treads well wetted with ice water. When you’ve mastered keeping upright, slowly introduce rotten potatoes and one inch ball bearings to the mix on each tread. Don’t forget to strap a 40 pound pack on your back, eat bland pasta, and avoid washing anything. Follow these directions and you will find yourself far better prepared than most pilgrims.
Best regards to all till I get reception again,
“Long Stride” – Light Heart – Easy Pace