Susan Donnelly

This run had been lingering on my dream list forever.  When other plans for the 4th of July holiday weekend fell through, I suggested this as a close-to-home Plan B.  Rob was thrilled and though I’d love to say I was too (especially since it was my idea), my heart was still in Scotland and I was really only halfway home.  My internal clock was still out of whack, I’d lost sleep on the plane and during the work week, and my bags, both of which arrived after me, were only unpacked enough to make it through a short holiday work week.

Setting up an endeavor of this magnitude, even close to home, sapped any remaining vacation glow and felt like too much effort during the festive holiday weekend (Rob took care of most logistics).  The run itself also conflicted with three important commitments – an impending talk to prepare, a good friend’s 4th of July/retirement party, and the arrival of my first foster cat the evening before we planned to leave, an event which to say the least, highly displeased the other three cats.  Leaving all four unsupervised in the house wasn’t a good idea and when Friday morning rolled around, I wasn’t in the most enthusiastic frame of mind.

On the other hand, it was an extra-long holiday weekend, the forecast was warm and remarkably dry, and we would have short nights being this close to the solstice.  We couldn’t afford to pass it up.

Could I get by with only lukewarm passion for it?  Doubtful, and it wasn’t fair to give all the cheerleading duties to Rob.  To do something like this outside a race scenario requires a healthy dose of driving motivation.  When the going gets tough, as it sooner or later will, and there’s no motivation to withdraw from the account, you’re looking at a DNF.  Which of course wasn’t an option – we would have to get to the car.  Which was motivation in itself, but certainly not excitement…

Hmm.  I tried imagining how bad it would feel to look at my dream list in January and see it there, yet again – bad but not that bad.  Ok then, if all else failed, Rob’s overflowing enthusiasm would probably rub off on me over the miles.  I’d started tougher races with less gung-ho.

Lining Things Up

We knew without even discussing it that we would go from Fontana to Davenport, south to north.  This was supposed to be the harder direction and we both by nature want to do the real thing rather than the “lite” version.  Besides, this is the direction most through-hikers go so it seemed natural, and we’d spent enough time around the Davenport end for this to feel like running home.

We were starting Friday evening, and Rob predicted that we would get done in 25 hours max – Saturday evening. That gave us time to sleep and recoup in time for the Sunday evening party.  I hired the cat sitter to check on them Friday evening and Saturday morning and make sure they were all still alive and ok, and figured that I could work on the talk the rest of the weekend.

That set our first deadline.  We had to leave my house no later than 3:00 pm to meet the shuttle that would take us to Fontana.  I forced myself to pack and only managed it haphazardly, which was bad but I couldn’t seem to focus any better.  Only the undeniable fear that I’d suffer unbearably without a key item got it done, and only the mortification of standing up our shuttle got it done on time.

Rob arrived, we threw the bags in the car, said a worried goodbye to the kitties and drove the hour and a half to the Big Creek ranger station.

The shuttle pulled in the parking lot precisely on time and Eric, part-owner and our driver, was great.  We chose A Walk in the Woods and can’t recommend them highly enough.  Prompt, knowledgeable, and trustworthy, with 12 year’s of multi-faceted service in the Smokies, they were the perfect choice.  The drive took two hours but the comfortable conversation made it go fast and I hardly noticed the sun heading toward the western horizon.  The next thing I knew, Eric was driving away over the dam, leaving us alone at the trailhead in the evening light with no other transportation for a 70-mile radius than our own two feet.  Was this really a smart idea?

First Act – Fontana to Clingman’s Dome

Fontana Dam (0.0 miles, 1775′)

After a few “now what?” moments, my mind finally shed the denial.  It helped that the distance between us and the car was now incredibly real.  Seventy miles unsupported on trail seemed at least as long as 100 miles in a race.  Plus, it somehow resisted being broken up into chunks like a race course.  We had to do the whole thing.

“Ok, focus.”  We needed to get going.  Race instinct took over and the first goal became getting in as much mileage as we could before turning on our headlamps.  Taking that first step past the trailhead sign felt irretrievable but after that I almost couldn’t go fast enough.  We needed to get there.  I had things to do, so let’s get this done.

Frankly, I didn’t expect much from this side of the park and figured we could make time here.  Rob had climbed this before and said it was less scenic and since something had to be run during the dark, we chose this.  Sure enough, the trail was dusty dry and surrounded by an uninspiring selection of plants I could see at home, with a few blueberry-laden bushes to break the monotony.  Since this part wasn’t so scenic and I needed to start training halfway seriously for Mont Blanc, I set a brisk but sustainable climbing pace.  Rob didn’t complain but when asked, said “no faster.”  To finish by Rob’s estimated arrival time, we would roughly need to keep a basic 100-mile race pace, which I knew by feel.

We were still climbing at brisk pace in the waning light when a deer bounded across the trail and a few black cohosh flowers appeared along the side of the trail along with a hydrangea.  Nice, but nothing I couldn’t see at home.  We rounded the shoulder of a hill and the trees opened up for a pleasant view, though not the magnificent views you get higher up.  While Rob was playing with the compass (and finding to his delight that the nearby rock affected its reading), I inspected my gear and discovered that my fully-charged Blackberry had turned itself on and run down its battery searching for a signal.  Aargh!  We weren’t even to the first shelter.  This was an important piece of equipment in case of an emergency and the plan to keep friends informed of our progress in case something happened was now in doubt.  There was nothing we could do about it now except go on and use the remaining battery carefully.  I took a few half-hearted photos with the camera, repacked the Blackberry so it wouldn’t turn on, and we quickly resumed climbing.  Soon we’d have to turn on our headlamps.

A few switchbacks up the trail and a light pink bergamot flower appeared, almost white in the dusk, and then another.  A few steps further and the trail was completely lined with them.  I paused and looked up to see the entire hillside above me sprinkled with white and pink bergamot heads.  You could even smell them.  I’d never seen a patch this huge.  There were even white horsemints and hydrangeas in the mix.  The blooms floated magically in the dark like a hundred cottony little clouds but I finally turned my headlamp on so I could scan both sides of the trail for new stuff.  I had no idea it would be so diverse here.  Amazing.

Birch Spring Gap Shelter (5.2 miles, 3680′)

I hadn’t finished delighting in the flowers when we started seeing fresh bear scat in the trail, enough to throw all senses to high alert.  Then, around one shoulder we heard loud talking, maybe yelling, possibly from the Birch Spring Gap Shelter, which must be near.  The voice (it seemed to be only one) was hard to place, maybe ahead and maybe to the left at the shelter.  The tone sounded more rowdy than alarmed and since it was completely dark and late, our only guess was a group of heavily partying hikers.  We walked carefully and quietly past the shelter trailhead.

As we climbed the rest of the way up Doe Knob, we heard the voice or voices less often but saw more and fresher bear scat.  In fact, there was far more of it in the trail than rocks or roots and I quickly stopped bothering to point out the piles to Rob.  Neither of us said a word, focusing all attention on our surroundings for the inevitable meeting.

Suddenly, we rounded a corner of the ridge and saw lights in the trail ahead, with voices.  Hikers would be at a shelter by now.  The lights weren’t moving and I walked cautiously toward them.  It turned out to be a boy and two girls who were supposed to be spending the night at Mollie’s Ridge further up the trail but thought they’d heard a bear, gotten scared and circled their wagons in the middle of the trail.  They had been alternately singing loudly (for the bear) and eating (for themselves).  It wasn’t the wisest course of action considering the circumstances, and after we explained what we were doing, we encouraged them to get moving.  They said they had a map but didn’t know how far to the shelter and didn’t seem to be in a hurry to move.  We picked our way around them and their gear to the other side of the trail, tried unsuccessfully to get them moving one more time, and then went on our way.  They couldn’t believe we would be moving all night but it looked like they’d but up all night too.

After that, the bear scat only got worse.  Some was so recent that seeing it made adrenaline tingle my nerve endings.  Though the trail was easy running, I took it at a slow jog, scanning way ahead with my light.  Sure enough, minutes later we saw our first wildlife – a large but reassuringly placid toad.  We stopped to take his portrait and a few yards down the trail spotted our first salamander, something I rarely see, so another stop and another photo.  Bending down to watch the salamander, I could feel the tension of deadlines and mileages and times slip from my shoulders.  I felt looser and relaxed.  Looking around, we saw a waterfall of bright orange fungus.  What would be next?

Not far on, I topped a small rise well ahead of Rob as something big and cumbersome crashed messily through the underbrush a few yards ahead.  I froze and when Rob caught up it was still moving away but the good news was the direction – away.  When the coast sounded clear we continued, still on high alert.

Mollie’s Ridge Shelter (9.8 miles, 4570′)

We figured we were nearing the shelter before we saw the lights.  Unlike the others, these were moving but again, it was maybe 12:30 a.m., when lights wouldn’t normally be on.

The lights turned out to be a woman and two girls hiking to Hot Springs in North Carolina.  We happened arrive right as they returned from a middle of the night toilet trip and each group had scared the other.  Once we all laughed about it, we had a fun time talking with them and parted feeling happy and uplifted.  They were positive and happy to be there, stretching themselves with a big, new challenge, realistic but confidently hopeful that they would make their destination.  Talking with them was one of the highlights of our journey and I hope they had a great week and made it.

The trail from here was occasionally carpeted with white, quarter-sized blooms from the rhododendrons arching overhead.  It seemed a shame to step on them.  Near the end of the section, a light fog blanketed the area so we slowed.  We weren’t racing and there was no reason to fall or run into a bear or boar in the fog.

Russell Field Shelter (12.4 miles, 4360′)

We passed quietly by this shelter being careful not to shine our headlamps anywhere near the sleepers, some of whom were snoring soundly.  Judging by the number of bear bags hanging nearby, it was shoulder to shoulder inside.

It’s not far to Spence Field and nice, level running.  I always think of this section in the spring when bluets, delicate yellow trout lily and purple fringed phacelia line the trail the whole way.  Tonight was different but special in its own way – a peaceful, cloud-covered  break from all the climbing.

Spence Field Shelter (14.9 miles, 4915′)

I’ve been here plenty so knew when we arrived at the start of the field.  It’s one of my favorite places in the Smokies but I’d never seen it at night so we stopped and turned off our headlamps.  The cloud softened the surroundings but didn’t completely blot out the stars.  It was magical.

While we were stopped, I got out the Blackberry to see if I could post our progress and found it had turned itself on AGAIN and only had two bars of memory left.  We hadn’t really publicized our estimated arrival and now couldn’t afford to post our progress often.  Two stupid, easily avoidable mistakes that I hoped wouldn’t catch up with us.

The Spence Field shelter sits well off the trail so we didn’t have to worry about waking anyone and neither of us needed water so we moved on, enjoying the different, mystical feeling of this always-beautiful place tonight.

From the far end of Spence Field past Thunderhead and Rocky Top, the fog obscured  any moonlight views, and progress over the rocky ups and downs slowed to a careful tread.  We had too many races and other runs on the calendar to risk an injury for no real reason.

About midway through, the sky started to lighten, we spotted our first Turk’s Cap lilies of the trip, and a lone bird sang its morning song.  Dawn cooled the air as usual, but other birds joined the first one as the woods got lighter.  One of the birds was singing an unusual song I can only describe as a spiral.  It was fascinating and I wondered what it was.  I asked Rob to remind me to see if I could find a Birds of the Smokies CD, to help me narrow down the possibilities (I learned later that the bird is a veery).

In the meantime, I couldn’t wait to get the headlamp off my head but missed the intimacy of the night, when it was just us and the park.  Once we got out of unnecessary race mode, we had seen so much detail along the trail and had the place all to ourselves.  I understood now why Eric said the most popular hikes he guided were the night hikes.

But we could now see more of the land and the trail, and the most noticeable surprise was how badly boars had rooted up the sides of the trail.  It looked like someone had brought in a Rototiller and used it for miles to the next shelter.

Derrick Knob Shelter (21.2 miles, 4890′)

I was finally out of water, so it was time to refill.  No one at the shelter was awake yet so we tip-toed quietly past the shelter down the short trail to the spring.  We refilled, treated it and headed just as quietly to the trail.

Back on our way, we looked around. The boar damage was worse than before through the leaf-covered areas but there were also lush, grassy spots along the way.  The trail was fairly level and the footing wide and easy, and though the fog was still around, the sky was already light enough to make running possible, so we did.  It felt good to stretch out the climbing muscles.

We ran on for a mile or two, savoring what might be the last of our people-free time for the day, when I heard Rob whisper loudly behind me.  I stopped and turned around to see him mouth the word BEAR and point to our left.  There, at the edge of the ridge not 30 yards from us was the biggest, blackest boar I’d ever seen.  It probably outweighed me.  It had frozen, hoping not to be seen and I still have no idea how Rob spotted it.  I whispered back to Rob that it was a BIG boar and we watched it watching us for a long 15 to 20 seconds before it took off down the edge of the ridge, out of sight.

Unpredictable as they are, it wasn’t frightening and the meeting felt more like one wild thing recognizing another.  After a night moving through the park, I somehow felt part of it and had more connection with the wild boar than I did other people.

The trail continued to be runnable with more ferns and long, green grass the further we went.  We looked around, took photos and logged some easy running.

Siler’s Bald Shelter (26.7 miles, 5460′)

My photo times show we got here around 8:30 a.m.  Most occupants were still sleeping but two men were up and I wanted to get a few photos while we were here.  While I was taking photos, the older of the two men came over to find out what we were up to and when Rob said running the trail, he quickly asserted that he’d be running if not for his heart attack.  A talker homing in on an audience, he also said it had taken them two days to get to Siler’s Bald and was clearly preparing to launch into a tale of woe and doom as I edged toward the northbound trail and Rob gracefully cut him short.  I did have more in common with the wild boar.

Not far from the shelter, we met our first hiker of the day, going south in a hurry with barely a “hi” as we gave trail to let him by.  I missed the night.

A short way from there lay a clearing with a blazed rock.  There were two possibilities ahead and even after looking at the map, Rob and I disagreed on the choice.  We know enough to double-check.  Both partners have to be comfortable with the decision before going forward – and this time Rob was right (yes, I said it).  It shook my sense of direction but was a painless reminder not to make assumptions when navigating.

The turn led us down an area the map called The Narrows, which wasn’t really that narrow, but whatever.  It opened up a few views of morning clouds draped lazily over blue ridges in the morning sun.  The day was going to be gorgeous and sunny.

As if The Narrows were a hallway to a new building, we suddenly started passing through groves of spruce forest.

We also encountered a small flood of two- and three-person day-hiker groups.  It was probably the first wave of morning hikers and though we expected more, we didn’t see anyone hiking the section after that.

Double Spring Gap Shelter (28.4 miles, 5505′)

The shelter was set in a rainbow meadow of flowers.  It was also empty and recently remodeled, so we took a short break to look around before heading on.

As we neared Clingman’s, the dark spruce forest took over, occasionally opening up to mountain-top meadows full of tall flowers and classic Smoky Mountain vistas.  We spotted the Clingman’s Dome parking lot from one of these meadows and soon enough encountered the expected handful of wandering non-hikers.  They were a mere fraction of the hundreds climbing the steep, paved way from the parking lot to Clingman’s Dome and back without ever venturing onto the trail.

Intermission – Clingman’s Dome (31.3 miles, 6643′)

People.  Tons of people.  Like you open a door in your house to find a wild party going on, it was almost too much to take in.  I took a few photos from the parking lot overlook but after that, it was down to business.

Things had changed since we’d been here a year ago (had it been that long?).  The bathrooms were now a store and the parking lot’s grassy center island where we’d picnicked with Karen and watched the people had been replaced by hulking new pit toilets.  The water fountain had also been removed but, coincidentally, the store sold bottled water.

I bought two dark chocolate bars, a fridge magnet, a bookmark for mom’s collection, and, believe it or not, a Birds of the Smokies CD set (yay!).  Rob bought a chocolate bar too, which he wolfed down immediately (unusual for him), and some water that he poured into his hydration bladder while I carefully repacked my purchases (except, of course, for the chocolate bars) so they could make the remaining miles intact. The extra food was needed, so I was grateful to have the store but the added commercialism and the uglification of the parking lot came away as a net loss.

Rob had a signal on his cell phone so I sent a brief location update to friends and quickly turned mine off.

It was time to talk about time.  In an unspoken agreement, we had avoided discussing it up to now so we could enjoy the trail but both knew we were behind schedule.  Even a quick mental estimate didn’t put us anywhere near 25 hours and my stress level rose just thinking about it (cats, talk, party…).  I didn’t want to bother estimating a new ETA -there was no reason to get fixated on a new number that meant nothing and did nothing to help.  We’d get there as best we could, whenever that was, and the best thing to do was get moving.  We could pick up the pace, stop poking around and looking as much, and I’d take fewer pictures, which should gain us some time.  Neither of us wanted this (we’d be more happy to poke around and explore our way to the end and see as much as we could) but the end deadline moved back up in priority, bringing tension with it.

We hiked up the paved road to Clingman’s Dome, weaving among scores of other people going between there and the parking lot, kids running here and there, laughter, loud conversations, various outfits and happenings.  It wasn’t uncomfortably packed, just way more than the zero we’d become accustomed so far.  Full of deadline tension, we bypassed the dome since we could easily come here again.  The moment we stepped on the trail, the atmosphere calmed.  Even a few yards separation from the crowd made a difference.

We talked about seeing Brian Bedhun here almost a year ago at Clingman’s Dome and then at Newfound Gap on his through-run and wondered if we’d see anyone we knew there.  Rob thought we could do this section faster than he did but I had my doubts, especially since neither of us could remember how long it had taken him.  It wouldn’t do us any favors to assume we could do the section faster – I’d rather be pleasantly surprised.

The one thing we hadn’t counted on is the changing nature of the trail.  Where the previous sections had pretty much been wide, with few rocks and seemed short, this stretched on forever despite the fact that it was mostly downhill.  I hated to rush it because I love spruce forest and this was the best of what little we have in Tennessee, but it was hard to ignore my other commitments.

We finally reached the turn-off for the Mount Collins Shelter (34.7 miles) and took a moment’s break in the small clearing.  We’d seen plenty of the usual bear warning signs from Mollie’s Ridge to here but this was the only shelter actually closed for bears.  That was odd, because we hadn’t seen any bear scat since Clingman’s Dome but the shelter was a good distance from the trail and it must be worse there.

We progressed slowly.  It was fun single track but not quick, and Rob’s Achilles heel was bothering him from the earlier climbs.  Finally, I spotted an opening and road ahead in the trail and though it didn’t look as I imagined, it had to be Newfound Gap.  About darn time.  What a relief.

Except that it was only Indian Gap (37.5 miles) and we had more than two miles left.  What a cruel let-down.

It was frustrating to believe it we were going so slow downhill in the daytime but at the same time the forest was incredibly beautiful.  We passed through an area I had no idea existed that was fenced off against boar.  The difference alongside the trail was like night and day.

I was way ahead of Rob and felt like we were descending, finally to Newfound Gap, when I heard a noise downhill.  Sure enough, a bear’s rear end disappeared through the bushes.  It was gone by the time Rob arrived.  Funny to think the best view I’d had of a bear this trip was a tenth of a mile or so out of the Newfound parking lot.

Newfound Gap (39.2 miles, 5046)

Finally!  The road crossing was daunting but after a few close calls with motorcycles, we made it.  We were over halfway done.

Down to business.  Rob filled his bottles and bladder first, while I snapped a few photos.   We stuck out only a little in the crowd and the noise.  Cars were coming and going and people as usual were everywhere but it was probably less crowded than normal because it was getting toward Saturday evening.

Like my last several times here, I heard mostly foreign languages and accents – it’s awesome to think that people come from all over the world to visit something I have in my backyard.  I wonder if Americans visit our national parks as much?  I think everyone tends to take what’s in their backyard a little for granted and this was a good reminder not to.

I filled my bladder while Rob was talking to a stranger I didn’t know.  It turns out he was an observant guy from Mississippi who had noticed Rob filling up water bottles and bladders at the spigot while I ran over to take a picture of the view.  He had come up to Rob and asked how far we were going to run tonight, so Rob told him what we were doing and he said he’d love to get up to that kind of mileage.  He had changed his lifestyle, quit smoking, taken up running and had gotten up to 12 miles.  Rob told him the trails were so much better than the road and he was clearly burning to ask more questions but the sky was threatening rain and we felt pressured to get moving.  I wish we’d at least given him the blog address but hoped Rob had planted the seed of an idea about what he could do.  As Rob said, you can tell when you’ve got somebody who’s fully into it.  It was a brief moment but in the end another highlight of the trip that we both remember well.

We left the parking lot at 7:30 p.m.  It had taken us two hours to run 7 miles from Clingman’s to Newfound and refill.  Rob doubted the mileage was correct but no matter how you looked at it, this was not good.

Act Two

31 Miles Left

We’ve done the next bit a lot before, so put our heads down and concentrated on making time.  Lots of hikers, the most we encountered the entire trip, were headed in to Newfound Gap for the evening as we were heading out.  Near the end of the hikers were two guys with full packs headed toward Newfound Gap.  They had intended to sleep at Icewater Shelter without a reservation but it was overfull and a park-related person of some type had discouraged them from camping outside the shelter, which they were ok with, so they were headed back to town.  You had to wonder how many people were at the shelter.

Icewater Spring Shelter (42.2 miles, 5920′)

The answer?  A ton.  A group of young guys was setting up camp on the knoll above the turnoff to the shelter, the shelter itself was stuffed, there was another group camped on the far exit back to the trail, and down the trail, another group was getting water at the spring.  It was a small town.

I had never covered the trail from the Boulevard all the way to Low Gap trailhead and wanted to see as much as I could of it before dark but we had to include the side trail to Charlie’s Bunion for some of the best mountain vistas in the entire park.  Right before the turnoff my last camera battery died.  What was it with electronics this weekend???  We went anyway and stepped carefully around the rocky drop-off in the dimming sunset light.  I took a few hasty photos with my Blackberry.  Thank goodness we shared the place with only one other hiker.  It’s not a spot to get jostled by a crowd.

Back on the AT, the trail now looked more like Charlie’s Bunion than its previous miles – narrow with steep drops on one and sometimes both sides, an area labeled on the map as The Sawteeth.  We had to turn on our headlamps here and couldn’t see any views through the developing fog but at the same time, the steep drops didn’t bother me as much as they might have if I’d seen them.

Further on, we passed through a meadow called Bradley’s View on the side of the ridge.  We turned off our headlamps and could just get the sense of a view through the fog to North Carolina.  Like The Sawteeth, this could be an awesome view in the day.  A new item for the dream list.

Of course, we hadn’t exactly packed for two nights but had conserved food the entire way out of habit and with the extra candy bars from Clingman’s Dome, we were in good shape.  We’ve run several evening-start 100-milers that required us to lose two nights’ sleep, so that part wasn’t intimidating and we never even considered stopping at a shelter for the night.  However, not planning for it could easily have been a catastrophic miscalculation.  Luckily, the weather was going to hold and we hadn’t been tempted to go super-light.  The only thing I didn’t have that I needed was enough sleep.

The section was only 6 miles but like the stretch from Clingman’s to Newfound, it went on and on and on, and the longer it went, the more upset I got.  My mind became fixated on worrying about the cats, the talk, and the party and the more fixated it got, the more furious I got.

I knew it was my mind playing 100-miler tricks and hated the trap of being somewhere other than where I was, but there was one distinct advantage into letting it go on – it kept me awake.  On the downside, it kept me too mad to talk to Rob so I pushed pace and ranged way ahead of his headlamp light, stopping every so often to wait for him before starting the cycle over again.

On one of these stops, I asked how far we had left and we pulled out the map.  So far, the footing on this side of Newfound Gap had pretty much been harder than on the other side so I knew we were going slower here than anticipated.  But looking at the map, I didn’t even have to add up the numbers – I could tell just by eyeing it that we had an incredibly long time to go at this pace.  I started worrying all over again.

Peck’s Corner Shelter (49.6 miles, 5280′)

We passed the turnoff to the shelter without stopping.  Neither of us needed water.

This wasn’t a great section.   It got colder this night than last and we weren’t moving fast so I gradually added layers.  It might have been pretty but we couldn’t see much and it felt like work.  We kept the same Slinky-type pace – me getting ahead and waiting for Rob to catch up while I looked around at the moss and salamanders and other little things I could see in my headlamp beam.

At one stop, while stressing about the time, I decided than at the end, I’d rather head down on Chestnut Branch Trail to the ranger station than down Davenport and around on the road.  It would keep us off the road, which had been unusually busy this holiday weekend, and would be about the same distance.  We talked it over briefly and Rob agreed.  That done, we headed on in the night.

Finally, finally, the sign for the Tricorner Knob Shelter appeared in my headlamp.  I sat down to wait, glad that long section was over and ready to start seeing familiar trail near our finish.

Tricorner Knob (54.8 miles, 5920′)

Rob arrived and we conferred quietly while checking the map.  I was low on water and not drinking much at night because it was cool and we weren’t pushing hard but it was too far to go to Big Creek without water and since I’d have to stop sooner or later, we might as well stop now and stay hydrated.

We started down the short side trail to the shelter and immediately saw a light, but this one shown steady in our direction.  It had to be about 2:00 or 3:00 a.m., not a normal time for someone to be awake and out of the shelter pointing their light in our direction and waiting.  I didn’t like it.  At all.

This time, it was a lone guy – fully clothed in dark colors – doing nothing but standing and waiting on us.  He said, “Welcome to Tricorner Knob,” but immediately started asking why our packs were so small, what we were doing, what our timetable was…

I doubted that my outfit made me out to be someone likely to cause harm, so that wasn’t grounds for his behavior, and it didn’t look like we’d woken him by accident – he was too completely dressed and ready.  Besides I hadn’t heard anyone clambering out of the shelter while I waited on Rob or while we whispered over the map or walked down to the shelter.  It didn’t make sense.

But we were here and I was cold and wanted to fill my hydration bladder as quickly as possible so I totally ignored his incessant and increasingly detailed questions and let Rob field any answers he felt like giving while I walked past the shelter and on to the spring.  The guy followed us to the spring and kept peppering Rob with questions and watching us.  I ignored him but was braced and on high alert – he was way too aggressive and the whole situation far too unusual.  As I was re-packing my bladder, I heard him ask if we had enough food to make it to Big Creek.  Rob caged his answer as I knew he would, that all we needed was water and a few peppermints and we’d be at Big Creek by morning.  The guy shot back that he was going to sleep and was WALKING to Big Creek after the sun came up.

We walked back past the shelter as fast as we could go, we barely said goodbye, and I was relieved to see him stay behind.  We hit the trail back in the correct direction at a good pace.  The whole episode made me far more uncomfortable than the boar or anything else, most likely for good reason.

If I said the last section was the worst for me, I was wrong.  Where that 6 miles had absolutely dragged, the map showed this as an unbelievable 8 miles, a true downer.  It might have been scenic but after not sleeping on the flight home from Scotland less than a week ago, getting six-hour nights of sleep during the work week and already missing one night’s sleep I was ill-prepared to stay awake a second night in a row.  It even got cold enough to add my last “in case” layer – my hat.  I was comfortable but if it got much cooler, I’d have to pick up the pace or con Rob out of one of his layers (not really an option).

We got into the same Slinky-pattern as before, with me getting way ahead and sitting down to rest and wait for Rob, and repeat.  On one wait stop, I decided to lay down on some soft moss and fell asleep.  Rob arrived and woke me up but from there on, I got in the habit on my wait stops of curling up for a quick nap in the trail.  I must have done this about four or five times and on the last few, Rob caught up to me and just lay down with me to keep me warm and let me catnap.  He even gave me his pre-warmed handwarmers (very sweet!).

At some point, Rob had just woken me from a nap and I could hardly haul myself upright, much less walk in a straight line down the gully we were in when we got to a wide, foggy meadow soaked with dew and criss-crossed with unmarked paths but no blazing.  It woke me like a bucket of cold water in the face.  There was high potential for a bad mistake in a place like this so we had to be careful.  I stayed put in the meadow, looking back to mark where we’d come from, while Rob went ahead in the most logical direction and looked for blazing, far enough that his headlamp was well out of view for minutes.  No luck.  Then Rob returned and stayed at the exact spot while I backtracked in the fog where we’d come from to check for a missed turn.  Nothing.

I returned to Rob and we pulled out the map.  We ball-parked our distance from the last shelter and verified our location by comparing the topo lines to the descent we’d made to this point, and our current location which felt like a saddle.  The trail likely went straight ahead without a turn but it had  been well-blazed everywhere else so this was unusual.  We debated and decided to go forward anyway and set our watches to time the walk.  To our relief, we eventually found a blaze in our favor, though much later on.

To my relief, the sky eventually began to lighten.  I’ve done enough two-night races to know that dawn will still wake me up after losing that much sleep, so all I needed to do was hang on.  Of course, it was also a sign that we were going incredibly slow.  We still had some ground to cover to reach the car.

We turned off our headlamps for good on the climb up from Camel Gap toward Cosby Knob.  We were entering familiar territory and tantalizing close to the car, but still miles away.  It was tempting to focus on the car, but the trail was better.  At several places through this section, we walked through shoulder-high fields of brilliant crimson bee balm, scenting the air with mint as we brushed past their leaves.  Poorly-named love vine had invaded this part of the park in the past year.  It looked like the invasive exotic it was, bizarrely orange and strangling the native plants as it wound itself into an intricate blanket, like a mini kudzu.

Thankfully, we shuffled through plenty of rhododendron thickets where the trail was strewn with white blossoms and we could inhale the rich scent.  I hated to have to leave.  As tired as I was, I wanted to be here doing this every day, taking it all in.

Cosby Knob Shelter (62.5 miles, 4700′)

Neither of us has ever been to this shelter and we passed on this chance too.  We didn’t need water, it was well off the trail, and the junction with Low Gap Trail was imminent.

In another couple of tenths of a mile, the Low Gap Trail appeared – visible progress.  We’ve run this section of the AT many times but it still went on forever and we must not have been here since a work crew had made “improvements.”

The new stairs were a flat-out pain and even after an honest evaluation (I maintain another trail and know what maintenance issues are like) I couldn’t say they helped the trail much either.  From a runner’s standpoint, the trail was just no longer fun.  The stairs varied in length and depth and even I couldn’t get a rhythm going on what was once a fun downhill.  A horse had also been through here and lumped things up even more.

Chestnut Branch Trailhead (68.6 miles)

Finally, the turn that would take us off the AT.  We paused for a hug and some reflection before starting the descent.  As long as we’d been out here, it was hard to believe it was almost over.  It was a priceless experience.  From an eagle’s eye perspective, the few expected lows turned insignificant and the wonderful, surprising, fascinating, and thrilling memories spilled over like a waterfall in my mind.  I could only imagine how a through-hiker felt when they finished the entire trail.

All too soon, it was time to go and we started down Chestnut Branch Trail.  We followed the water downhill as the rivulets joined to creeks which joined into roaring Chestnut Branch, which in the end took us to the road.

Big Creek Ranger Station (70.6 miles)

We jogged the few yards down the road to the ranger station and found the car waiting patiently for us in the full lot, windows happily intact.  Despite the distance and two nights without sleep, I felt pretty good.  The shoes definitely had to come off (thank goodness we had dry weather) and then my contacts had to come out.  Ahh.

We cleaned up enough to drive home and left.  I was worried about the drive but couldn’t stay awake and Rob let me nap on the way.

In the end, the cats had reached an uneasy, armed neutrality; I found I had an extra week to work on the talk; and we showered, got a two-hour plus nap and even overslept but still made it to most of the party and had a great time with good friends that I wouldn’t have wanted to miss.

Later

The journey grew on me in the days that followed.  Like a friend who’d spent a week rafting the Colorado River and had a hard time adjusting to life back in civilization, I had the same difficulty adjusting to the work week.  I felt so much more alive and myself on the trail.

I must have done a better job of being “present” in the park, instead of distracted by my other commitments than I thought at the time.  Rob always says it’s a special place, which no one would deny, but I could never understand the feeling he is trying to express until I stood back and looked at our entire experience from the perspective of a couple days after.  It wasn’t having covered the mileage and checking it off as “done,” but seeing and smelling and feeling it; soaking up whatever experiences came along the trail, whatever and however they were; and putting any expectations aside to be able to see the park afresh, like getting to know it for the first time.  It’s hard to describe in words but I felt like I had been a part of the living park rather than a human looking at it from human eyes.

It was unexpectedly life-changing and yes, I plan to do it again (much to Rob’s delight).

The Particulars

In case you’re considering it, here are some detailed lists of what we took and what we saw.  Remember, we had perfect weather!

My Gear

In no particular order, and remember my packing wasn’t well-thought-out.

• Headlamp
• Extra batteries
• 2 travel packs of tissue
• Spare set of contact lenses
• Contact solution
• Blister pads & alcohol swipes
• Water filter with new batteries
• Patagonia Cool Weather top (lightly shelled fleece)
• Marmot waterproof jacket
• Lightweight fleece hat
• Heavy wool gloves (my hands get cold easily)
• Credit cards and license (not leaving those in the car)
• 24 GU (ended up with 4 leftover and Rob used some of them)
• 2 Pro Bars, Lemon flavor
• 6 peppermints (I had 2 of Rob’s fruit flavored ones instead)
• Camera
• 1 Extra camera battery
• Blackberry
• 1.5 liter water bladder with GU2O in it at the start – filled it up 3 times along the way with plain water
• Plastic whistle
• Small baggie of ecaps (didn’t use)

Next time I might add/replace (given the same weather, etc.):

• Road ID (definitely)
• Heavier hat than the thin one
• Spare charge for the Blackberry?
• Mini hand sanitizer
• A chocolate bar – I bought 2 chocolate bars at Clingman’s Dome and ate one, with Rob’s help, on the way.

My Clothes:

• Green Buff headband
• Red Champion tank
• Moeben skirt
• Green Golite pack
• Smartwool socks
• JoeTrailman gaiters
• Montrail Hardrocks

Rob’s Gear

• UD Wasp Hydration Pack w/ 64 ounce bladder
• 2 UD 20 ounce Hand Handle Bottle w/ pocket
• 3 Black Diamond Spot Headlamps w/ new batteries
• 1 Cell Phone
• 1 Compass
• 1 Pair of gloves
• 1 Buff
• 1 extra pair of Smartwool socks
• 1 Trails Illustrated Map of GSM
• 1 Package of Hand Warmers
• 2 Power Bar Energy Bars
• 1 whistle
• 1 Lip Balm
• TN License
• Debt Card
• 1 Patagonia Torrentshell Jacket
• 1 Smartwool Zip Top
• 1 Patagonia Zip Top
• 36 Lifesavers
• Purchased 2 bottles of water and chocolate bar at Clingman’s Dome.

Next time Rob would add:

• 20-dollar bill
• 1 Additional pair of socks
• 1 Small packet of Wet Ones
• 1 Additional pair of hand warmers

Rob’s Clothes

• 1 Patagonia Capilene Short Sleeve Top
• 1 Pair of Hind Short

Flowers

Althogether, they accumulated into an amazing list.

• Crimson bee balm (red)
• Wild bergamot (pink)
• Fire pinks
• Basil bee balm
• Mountain mint
• Horse mint
• Mountain wood sorrel
• Mountain (creeping) bluet
• Doghobble
• Green headed coneflower
• Black-eyed susan
• Mountain saxifrage
• Rugel’s indian plantain
• Small purple fringed orchid
• Large purple fringed orchid
• Tall meadow rue
• Turk’s cap lily
• Smooth Hydrangea
• Indian pipe
• Mountain ash (red berries)
• Wooly blueberry
• Flame azalea
• Great rhododendron
• Galax
• Pipsissewa
• Rattlesnake plantain
• Bearberry
• Mountain St. John’s Wort
• Whorled loosestrife
• Squawroot
• Love vine (exotic)
• Clingman’s hedge nettle (rare)
• Jewelweed (yellow)
• Bladder campion
• Black cohosh
• Tall meadow rue

Wildlife:

• Deer
• Salamander
• Toad
• Boar
• Rabbit

Posted: Sunday, July 18, 2010, 6:20 pm | Tags: Blog | Respond | Trackback