Midmorning, leaving Hot Springs, NC, brunch at the Smoky Mountain Diner called to us. Deviating from the trail slightly, we left our packs on the back porch, and came inside to discover every table filled! As we stood in the doorway, wondering whether we’d be eating trail food for breakfast, a lady about our age beckoned us over, “I’ll share my table, if you want.” We didn’t need to be told twice! We quickly sat down and introduced ourselves. Maureen was visiting the town with friends, and seemed enchanted to share a breakfast table with two thru-hikers. We, on the other hand, were delighted to spend time with a person whose interests were wide-ranging and varied. The conversation was lively and diverse.
When we each ordered two entrees from the menu, Maureen’s eyes widened, then her expression cleared. “Oh, will you be taking one in a box?” she asked. Well, no, that hadn’t occurred to us. We just planned to sit there for two hours and eat both entrees!
Here are a few pictures to express the mountain homey atmosphere of this great diner!
From the outside, just an ordinary diner…
AT murals, humorous signs, and quilts decorate the walls.
Even the bathroom is decorated in Southern fashion, with Bible and inspiring message!
The true heart of the diner, however, is the hard-working waitresses! Thank you so much!
I am clean, well-fed, laying in a real bed, listening to frogs sing. This is heaven. No, actually, it is Hot Springs, NC, and we have just finished five days of hiking. After nine days of waiting in town for the icy storm in the Smoky Mountains to moderate, I feel as if I’ve been in a whirlwind of hike, hike, hike. It’s time for reflection and perspective.
Saturday, March 18 – My sister, Helen, put us back on the trail at Newfound Gap. Though slushy snow dotted the trail, it had been raining all morning, and I was confident that the winter storm was over. The clouds cleared as we hiked, blue sky arched overhead, all was well.
My sister, awesome trail angel, shuttle runner, maker of dried tomatoes, and wearing a fabulous coat!
Three miles from Newfound Gap, we reached Icewater Spring Shelter, with many hours of daylight left. It seemed a shame to waste such beautiful weather sitting in a shelter, and we couldn’t resist continuing towards the next shelter, a mere 7.3 miles away. The trail led us through steep country, with names like ‘Charlies Bunion’ and ‘The Sawteeth’. Our pace was hampered by a growing amount of ice and snow on the trail. Strangely enough, the higher we climbed, the slicker and icier the trail became! The sun lowered in the sky, sending sweeping reds and oranges across an azure background. Darkness crept around us. Still no shelter. We hiked on, using our headlamps, but getting steadily colder as we followed the trail across exposed ridges. Finally, we saw a flat clear spot beside the trail, and decided it was wiser to stop and pitch the tent rather than continue walking, risking a fall on the slick, frozen trail.
Incredible sunset from on top of the world!
Sunday, March 19 – That night, a bitter wind brought clouds across the starry sky, and threw microscopic ice crystals against the landscape. We awoke to terrain straight from The Chronicles of Narnia during the reign of the White Witch. Frigid wind howled over the ridge top. A frozen mist had turned the mosquito netting door of our tent opaque. I cursed my stupidity as I pounded iron-hard shoes against a snowy tree. Just because the sky had been clear when I went to sleep, I had foolishly left my wet, muddy shoes outside. Never again, I vowed, as I hobbled across the ridge, toes only halfway inside the ice cubes formerly known as my shoes. With frozen fumble fingers, we packed our ice-stiffened tent and headed down the trail. Still, even as I walked along, wearing nearly every stitch of clothing from my pack, sending fiercely hot thoughts towards unresponsive feet, Jay found the silver lining. “Isn’t it great that this wind is at our backs, not in our faces?” Yes, this is one reason I love this man!
We dropped 1500 feet in elevation, enjoying the spectacular winter scenery, but soooo glad to be leaving it behind as we headed downhill! I marveled at how incredibly cold it was now, and couldn’t imagine hiking the week before, when wind chills had reached 14 degrees below zero!
We did see one hiker who had slipped on the ice and was waiting at the Tri-Corner Knob Shelter to be evacuated. Later we met horses with a ranger headed his way. A sobering sight, and one to make me pay even more attention to my footing! It was incredible how fast and sure-footed the horses were as they passed us. Their weight just broke through the ice on the trail, and they seemed as if they were out for a normal Sunday amble! “I guess four feet can be better than two. Kind of like four-wheel drive,” Jay commented.
Monday, March 20 – We woke to a beautiful sunrise, with rays of light streaking into our tent at Cosby Knob Shelter. Such a treat, to see the sun right off, AND to have liquid, not ice, in the water bottles!
We continued dropping in elevation, watching winter slowly leave while spring shyly asserted herself with tiny flowers and beautiful waterfalls on Stateline Branch. I was glad to leave the Great Smoky Mountains National Park for now, ready to enjoy some warmer temperatures!
Tuesday, March 21 – Took it slow today, trying to not push ourselves too hard after the cold climate we had experienced in the last 48 hours. However, the trail had other ideas for us. We climbed Snowbird Mtn, then Max Patch Mtn. Either one would have been enough for one day! I became amused at the argument going on between my flagging body and my excited brain as ridge after ridge brought more uphill combined with incredible scenery.
We camped near Roaring Fork Shelter, and woke in the middle of the night to a four hour thunderstorm. Our tent collected a puddle of water at one point, perhaps from a wind-driven leaf funneling water through the mosquito screen. It was not a restful night. However…
Wednesday, March 22 – Today the sun shone, the trail was often level, and the whole world smiled. I was tired, but happy to see beauty still all around me. We stopped at Walnut Mountain Shelter to dry out our tent and sleeping pads, then hiked on, enjoying the beautiful weather. Finally camped about five miles shy of Hot Springs, NC, where we planned to re-supply.
One unique part of hiking the Appalachian Trail is the vocabulary that has blossomed in this trail culture. “Thru-hiker”, “town day”, “taking a zero”, “hiker funk” – all are descriptors of certain phenomena common to the trail.
Since the trail is marked with painted white rectangles, “white blazing” refers to hiking the AT. Blue painted rectangles mark side trails to water, to shelters, to viewpoints. Thus, “blue blazing” pertains to hiking off the AT, for short necessary side trips or sometimes for longer detours, but still hiking. “Yellow blazing” happens when a hiker leaves the trail and takes a car, referring to the yellow lines on roads. “Pink blazing” occurs when a hiker with a romantic interest in another hiker begins matching his/her hike schedule with the other hiker.
So, this week Jay and I have been helping my parents sort while we wait for the weather to turn reasonable. Tuesday we took some donations from my parents to the church camp where I spent my childhood. After emptying the car, we were given permission to hike on the camp grounds. “Let’s go see the falls,” I suggested eagerly.
The trail through the woods had been improved from my childhood memories. Instead of climbing over boulders, walking straight up (and through) the creek, there were stairs and leafy tread to walk upon. And the trail was marked with orange blazes!
“I wonder what orange blazes would signify on the AT?” I asked Jay. “Maybe it should stand for visiting family, or seeing old childhood haunts.”
“Maybe,” Jay laughed, “orange blazing would be when you stay so long at one place, people start asking, ‘Orange you back on the trail yet?’ or ‘Orange you finished eating yet?'”
Well, whatever orange blazing stands for, I was very glad to share the falls with Jay, remembering flower hikes with my parents, adventure hikes with my sister, and just enjoying being in the moment, appreciating the beauty of this winter hike.
We decided to visit Sarah’s parents for two days when we reached Newfound Gap. Those two days stretched to four days when snow hit the mountains and the road to Newfound Gap was closed.
Now, more snow plus icy temperatures are pummeling the tops of the Smokies, so we are still waiting. Sarah’s parents are paying for our room at their retirement center, and we are helping them sort their storage unit. The arrangement gives us a work-for-stay status until temperatures in the Smoky Mountains climb back into the double digits.
Hiking as a couple is different than hiking alone. It was hard for me to stay off the trail. I felt compelled to test our skills against the cold, to continue hiking no matter what. But Sarah and her parents helped me agree to the right decision. Margins for error are slim when temperatures dive to near zero. If we were to slip on snow-covered ice, or be hit by an ice-covered tree limb dislodged by the wind, it would be hard to stay warm until help arrived. It would be foolish to risk our safety, not to mention the safety of our potential rescuers.
When we decided to start our thru-hike in February, I assured Sarah that we would wait out the storms in towns, and hike during milder weather. Now it is time to keep that promise and to remember how lucky I am to have someone to love and to share this adventure.
I am crossing Rocky Top, Tennessee. Horizontal rain. Fog shredding across the craggy ridge top. Wind shaking my pack and me like a dog with a rag toy. As I stagger to and fro across the path, the insidious question arises – WHY did I agree to a thru hike?
But then … then …
The trail dives over the edge of the ridge, onto the leeward side. Moist, dead leaves cushion my footsteps. The wind stops, birds sing, heat creeps into my fingers. I am enveloped in a mother-of-pearl cloud as morning sun warms the fog.
“Wouldn’t it be romantic to eat breakfast on top of Shuckstack Mountain this morning?” Jay’s eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Well, okay,” I agreed. Quickly we packed up our campsite and set off up the trail. Ten minutes into the hike, I realized I had given my approval to climbing a mountain before breakfast! What was I thinking?
Deep fog shrouded the landscape. Jay became a dim black shape on the trail ahead of me. Would the trail break out of the obscuring water vapor in time for a view? I kept climbing, accompanied by the grumbles of an unromantic stomach.
When we finally reached the fire tower on Shuckstack, a fiercely howling icy wind tore mist shrouded clouds off the top of the mountain, revealing 360 degrees of – more mountains! What a view, but way too cold and uncomfortable for breakfast! We took a few quick looks, then fled down and around to the lee of the ridge, until we found a comfortable log to perch on while we hungrily consumed breakfast and lunch all in one meal!
We hike for miles through winter dormant forest, passing endless gray tree trunks rising from a carpet of brown dead leaves, occasionally punctuated by dappled rocks. I know the forest is not dead, and yet, the neutral colors for unmeasured miles makes me forget the boundless life just below the surface.
Suddenly, I see a single strawberry plant, bravely sending out leaves in an excess of buoyant hope of spring. A slate colored boulder is enlivened with a shaggy fringe of green ferns flopping over its edge, as if wearing a wig. Bright orange fungus beckons my eyes. In just a few weeks, a boundless carpet of wildflowers will dominate the landscape. In the midst of winter dormancy, I suddenly realize that LIFE is happening!
Our trail turns up Standing Indian Mountain, and we see evidence of the forest fires which dominated the news just a few months ago at the end of the drought. A slight dusting of brown leaves cover black ashes across the forest floor. Carbonized logs crisscross beneath coal-black tree trunks. I wonder, what has survived? Will wildflower seeds still germinate without the deep layers of leaf mould to protect them?
And yet, even in this devastation, I see signs of LIFE peeping out. A log, seared charcoal on its underside, has bright green moss growing across its top! (That is one tough plant!) Half-burned clumps of rhododendron leaves support healthy looking buds above. A moss-filtered spring cascades over rock in a glittering beaded curtain of water. Yes, life is chosen.
The chorus of a 1782 hymn by Matthias Claudius accompanies me up the rest of the mountain:
All good gifts around us are sent from heaven above,
Then thank the Lord, oh thank the Lord, for all His love.
About 5:00 p.m., we stopped at Plum Orchard Gap Shelter to fill up on water. Due to a predicted icy temperature drop, several thru-hikers were gathered for the night at this low elevation shelter.
Dave vainly put his lighter to some leaves in the fire ring. “Does anyone have a tip for starting a fire with wet wood?” he asked morosely, as the leaves sputtered but refused to burn.
I squatted by the pile of sticks and leaves. “Maybe I can help,” I volunteered. “I used to be a Girl Scout, decades ago. My mom was the troop leader. On our camping trips, she would give each girl three matches and send us out to build our dinner fire. No fire, no dinner.” As I talked, my hands were busy feeling the twigs piled in front of me, keeping dry stems, rejecting most of them as too wet.
A sudden stillness from the shelter made me look up. All the young men were looking at me with identical expressions of incredulity. Is this woman for real? Dave spoke for them as he said, “That sounds kind of rough!”
“Well, our troop always won the fire building contests at the yearly Girl Scout Jamborees,” I laughed. I held up a small handful of slender dry twigs. “Let’s try your lighter again.” The sticks sputtered. “Hmm, needs some wind,” I muttered.
“Here,” Jay volunteered, “let the tuba player operate the bellows.” He knelt down and began a long, slow, steady blow on the tiny flame. I added more thin branches, and after just a few moments, a cheerful little fire was burning.
Dave looked in amazement at the blaze. “I’ve been messing with this for hours! You come in, and it’s burning in less than five minutes!” he marveled.
“Well, we have had a few decades of experience.” I shouldered my pack.
“Wait, you’re leaving already? You built the fire and you’re not even staying to enjoy it?” Dave asked.
“It’s a beautiful evening, and I think we’re not quite ready to stop walking for the day. Guess we’ll see y’all down the trail. Have fun with the fire tonight!”
Sarah being a helpful busybody, rearranging Dave’s fuel for his campfire.
We tried to outrun a storm to Nantahala and lost. But we dodged a cold night that lurked behind it…tucked in warm and comfy at our friends’ house in Bryson City.
The low point for me occurred on the endless approach to Wayah Bald. It was the end of an 18 mile day. Pouring rain. Wind. We just wanted to top the bald and find a camp site, but the trail had other ideas. We hit a slick stretch, an evil product of a recent fire, and Sarah fell. My mind went into a tailspin: how much more of the trail would be like this? Would Sarah keep falling until she hurt herself? How could I keep her warm during the hours it would take for search and rescue to reach us? It was way too steep and rocky to pitch our tent.
We continued, trying to keep our feet under us, concentrating on the feel of the uneven, slippery muck. Finally, across the burn and climbing once again on leafy tread, a movement ahead startled me. A black shape, size of a big dog but way too stocky. Peering through the rain and mist, I saw a wild boar with two young. They were busily rooting for acorns, snuffling snouts plowing the leaf litter. Their nonchalance in the storm bolstered me. Sarah hadn’t fallen again. We would make it…eventually. And we had been blessed.
Sarah and Jay Hike 