Cracked Clavicle

March 29, 2017

I am two miles from Erwin, TN, our next resupply town. Jay is a good ways ahead, and I am alone with warm sun in a bright, cloudless blue sky. My pack is light, birds are singing, the trail is wide and mostly level. Life doesn’t get better than this, and I am unequivocally happy!

The trail begins a steep slope downward, and I think, “Pay attention, Sarah! Just because it is a beautiful day, you still need to watch your feet!” And so I obediently watch my foot land upon some leaves, feel a golf-ball sized rock roll under the leaves, under my foot, pitching me head first down the hill. Down I go, trying to protect my head as I approach the ground, and I know, right as I land – it’s a bad one.

The world whirls around me as I lay in the dust. I groan, and take inventory – head fine, right arm fine, right knee bleeding slightly, left leg fine, left arm – not okay. Fire and brimstone have suddenly taken up residence across the length of my left shoulder, dripping down my back and arm.

Slowly I undo the straps on my pack and struggle to sit up. There, amid dirt and rocks and leaves, I cry a bit. It hurts so much, and I can’t believe I’ve fallen on such an easy section!

Jay and I have crossed ridge tops where wind threatened to shove me over the edge. We’ve hiked through thunder and lightning on mountain balds where the rain made the muddy trail so slick, Jay dubbed it ‘trail snot’. We’ve slipped down several miles of ice-packed trails, struggling to maintain our balance as physics overcame shoe leather. HOW could I have fallen on THIS easy section?

I stand, and pick up my pack. Lucky it is so light, for I can barely swing it across my right shoulder, and there is NO WAY my left shoulder can take its share of the load. Slowly I limp down the trail, sobbing when I occasionally jar my left side, and sobbing with relief when I finally see Jay, returning up the hill to find out what was taking me so long.

We have reservations with Mike and Peggy at Cantarroso Farms, so we call to ask for a pick up. Then Jay carries my pack toward Erwin, and I walk, holding my arm against my side. Mike from Cantarroso Farms hikes in a little ways to check on me, and carries my pack the last few hundred yards. His comment on the lightness of my pack – “Now this is a lady who knows how to pack!”

20170329_130606 — Mike carrying Sarah’s pack under his arm while Sarah hobbles behind.

Mike takes us to Erwin Urgent Care, where I am x-rayed. The doctor there is charmingly frank, “I’m a family practitioner. I won’t be able to tell you if it’s broken until the radiologist reads the x-ray tomorrow. I don’t even like orthopedics! Wear a sling, and go to Johnson City or Knoxville for an expert’s advice.”

March 30, 2017

We spend the day at Cantarroso Farms, drinking in peace and quiet, watching the chickens, listening to song birds, and learning about bees! The owners, Mike and Peggy, kindly let us watch and assist as they split a bee hive and feed their bees. It is fascinating!

Erwin Urgent Care calls and I hear the verdict of my shoulder – “You have a cracked clavicle. Yes, that is your collarbone. It will take four weeks to completely heal. You might want to consult an expert.”

March 31, 2017

So, once again, my sister becomes trail angel extraordinaire. She drives four hours round trip on Friday after work to bring us to Knoxville, and Monday she takes me to see an expert – a doctor at Knoxville Orthopedic Clinic.

The doctor describes the break. “The skinny part of your collarbone has crunched into the knuckly end part, with several bits and pieces cracked, like a cone scrunched onto a scoop of ice cream. It’s not a simple little hairline fracture. You should consider this a thoroughly broken collarbone.”

The good news? All the pieces are in the correct place, so, as long as I give it plenty of rest, it should heal very well. However, the doctor does get rather agitated when talking about the importance of not falling. “Those bits and pieces are almost impossible to put together surgically, so keep it calm, and whatever you do, DON’T FALL!”

A follow-up appointment in 10 days is made. In the meantime, what am I to do with myself?

Can’t see the forest for the trees…

March 28, 2017

When we first began hiking the AT in February, a forest of impossibly tall, straight, featureless tree trunks reached high above my eyes, competing for sun and glory in a lacy winter canopy.

As the days turned to weeks, my eyes began noticing small differences. Colors, textures, patterns … individuality transformed these plain bare trees. I knew many types of trees by their leaves, but without leaves, I had lumped them all together. Maples, sourwood, oaks, dogwood, hickory – each had its own bark. I just didn’t know who was what!

And so I began making friends, recognizing the textures of bark, even though I didn’t know the names of the trees. Perhaps another hiker will recognize the description of a few of these unknown but new-found friends:

Elegant lady – silvery gray bark, as smooth and unblemished as a silk gown
Elegant athletic lady – the same smooth silver covering, but with bumps and ripples underneath, as if sporting athletic muscles and tendons under its bark
Frilly – a yellow bark, with paper thin curls peeling off in long ringlets
Fireproof – thick, chocolate brown armor, with ridges of bark squeezed and separated between deep, sternly parallel furrows running the length of the trunk
Flyaway – long rectangular peels of heavy bark, shingled up the tree, curling away at the base, looking as if it is ready to fly off the trunk
Background gentleman – a cloudy gray trunk, with ridges of bark that have run amok, separating and merging in a dizzying x-shaped pattern. One’s eyes tend to slide over this trunk, not really noticing it.
Background melted gentleman – the same color and pattern as above, but someone has taken an iron and melted all the ridges, leaving shallow grooves between flat pathways around the trunk.
Wart – tree so covered in warts and dimples, I can’t see any pattern at all on its bark!

Each day as I hike, I’m not alone. My Appalachian trail buddies are always there!

IMG_20170326_130350310 — This old snag has so much personality, it defies identification!

Monday Morning Routine

March 27, 2017

Monday morning. Daylight steals softly into the tent. Neurons deep in the recesses of my brain signal a change. Eyelids crack open to see night-dim shades of gray transmute to vibrant hues. Color is my cue to begin the day.

I sit up and stretch, stiff from sleep. Routine begins with a smile at Jay and a whispered, “Good morning.” Sleeping bag and pad, headlamp, gear – all get loaded into my pack, then it is time to put on shoes and stagger outside.

A barred owl, heading home for the day, lets out one last call, “Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you-all?”

A cardinal greets the day with good advice, “Cheer, cheer, cheer, cheer, cheer … cheer, cheer, cheer, cheer, cheer.”

The tufted titmouse sings out my brother’s name, “Peter, peter, peter … peter, peter, peter.”

The pileated woodpecker marks his territory with loud rattling pounding upon a tree, then a raucous call of derisive laughter.

A ruffed grouse joins the chorus with deep bass thrums – wings beating the air up to 50 times per 10 second interval – thump …….. thump …… thump …. thump … thump, Thump, THump, THUmp, THUMP, THUMP!

Upon exiting the tent, my first and most urgent need is to answer a call of nature. On the way back, I collect the food bags, hanging out of reach of marauding mice and bears. Today my food bag tree slants over the edge of a small cliff. I plant my feet, sling one arm around the friendly tree trunk, then lean waaay out, fingers stretched to snag the rope, bringing our food within reach. Who needs early morning caffeine when one can access a quick adrenaline rush while doing chores?

The sun tosses its first beam of light over the ridge top as I coil the food bag rope. Jay and I hoist our packs, heading north through the early morning sunrise. We’ll hike for 30 minutes to get warm, then stop for breakfast. My Appalachian Monday morning has begun.

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Enjoying Residents

March 25, 2017

Hiking the AT can be synonymous with meeting people. In the southern Appalachian mountains, the local inhabitants often have very specific information about the land, and an unusual way of expressing themselves. Stopping to talk can become a rewarding adventure!

A month ago, we met a hiker in Georgia who told us that this time of year, the mountains always had a cold northwest wind. He said the ridges would make one “freeze or fry”. On the windy side of a ridge, winter reigned. On the lee side, a hiker’s coat would come off and sweat pop out.

Early today we met a local who described the trail as having a “slope like a horse’s face”. What a fitting description when the path decides to head straight uphill (or downhill), following the seesaw of a ridge line!

This afternoon, coming down to Allen Gap, we saw a hand-lettered sign in the woods:

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In the promised 100 feet, a neglected looking building appeared, with some boarded up side windows. A cardboard sign in one front window said, “Open”. Another window was broken.

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Inside, a counter and various refrigerated cases displaying snacks, drinks (V-8 juice!), and ice cream occupied the front. The other half of the building was a wonderful jumble of antiques and even older ‘stuff’.

The store owner, Dwayne, had grown up at this store, back when his parents operated it as a gas station. When he retired, he started the store again out of nostalgia. “Folks look at me and say, ‘You’re not Mom’, and I tell them, no, I’m Mom’s son.”

“This store has existed for the last 60 years. Even the floor has history,” Dwayne said. “I was 11 years old, helping my father put in this pine wood floor, when we heard on the radio that JFK had been killed. I remember all work stopped that day.”

The store has been a source of snacks and refreshment to hikers and travelers for decades. “My mother met Grandma Gatewood (first woman thru-hiker, in the 1950s) two different times,” Dwayne told me.

However, hikers need to realize that this store is in a truly isolated spot, with no running water or telephone. If one enters without preconceived notions of a city store, a small trip into local history may be the reward!

IMG_20170325_141709468 — Store owners provide a small oasis to hikers at Mom’s Store.

It’s hard to leave a trail town…

March 24, 2017

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!

IMG_20170324_112422486 — From the outside, just an ordinary diner…

AT murals, humorous signs, and quilts decorate the walls.

IMG_20170324_111753969 — Even the bathroom is decorated in Southern fashion, with Bible and inspiring message!

IMG_20170324_111931681 — The true heart of the diner, however, is the hard-working waitresses! Thank you so much!

Through (After) the Storm

March 23, 2017

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.

IMG_20170318_144851842_HDR — 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.

20170318_194752 — 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!

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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.

Yes, the hike goes on.

Orange Blazing?

March 17, 2017

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!

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“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. 20170314_161342

Waiting out the Storm, by Jay

March 14, 2017

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.

Why?

March 7, 2017

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.

And I know my answer – I am blessed.

Romantic Breakfast?

March 6, 2017

“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!