Introduction
Day 1: Road Trip
Day 2: Sallying Forth
Day 3: Flash Flood
Days 4 and 5: Trail Angels
Day 6: Adventures in Talladega
Day 7: Solitude, and Seeing
Day 8: Alone
Day 9: Friends
Day 10: Rocks, Wandering, and More Friends
Day 11: More Rocks
Day 12: Finishing
Hi! Thanks for your interest in my Pinhoti Trail hike! Here's some
general info you might be interested in before you start reading my journal.
About the Pinhoti Trail ...
The Pinhoti Trail is about 109 miles and is located primarily in Alabama's Talladega National Forest, beginning at Porter Gap at the south end, and heading north up the southernmost of the Appalachian mountain chain. Currently, the blazes end several miles outside of the National Forest boundary; however, the Alabama Trails Association is working on extending the trail into Georgia. The Pinhoti is part of a series of trails sometimes referred to as the "Eastern Continental Trail," beginning with the Florida Trail and ending with the International Appalachian Trail at Cap Gaspe in Canada. The few people who have hiked from Key West to Cap Gaspe (and vice versa) in recent years have hiked the Pinhoti through northern Alabama as they made their way toward Springer Mountain, Georgia--the southern terminus of the 2,167-mile Appalachian Trail.
"Pinhoti" is Creek Indian for "turkey home," and the area is home to (believe it or not) lots of wild turkey. Much of the trail is blazed with a "turkey track"--some of the tracks are printed on metal diamonds nailed into trees, whereas others are painted in white on the trees. They look a little bit like downward-pointed arrows, and at times I thought they looked like upside-down AT symbols. Other parts of the trail--generally in the northern end--are marked with blue blazes. There are several shelters on the trail, but I only visited one, the Blue Mountain Shelter, which is just north of Cheaha State Park.
The Pinhoti is really a beautiful trail in places, and quite often it's rocky and rugged. I was constantly amazed at the beauty I found in northern Alabama, from the clumps of wildflowers along the trail to the awesome views from the rock outcrops within and near Cheaha State Park. I was not able to cover the entire trail this time, but I look forward to returning to the Pinhoti Trail someday. If you're in the southeast and are looking for a good, long hike, check out the Pinhoti Trail. You won't be disappointed.
About this hike ...
This hike was in part a "shakedown" hike to prepare for a southbound thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail. Two years ago, I started planning my AT hike. The dream is finally coming true: I will be starting at Mt. Katahdin in Maine in June and hike south to Georgia. By hiking the Pinhoti, I wanted to see if I could do a long-distance hike on my own, plus I wanted to see what gear I used most, what gear wasn't so necessary, how much food I ate, etc. All of this was so I could better plan my gear and logistics for the AT.
Originally, my hiking partner (Elisa Tubbs) and I had planned to cover about 150 miles on the Ouachita Trail in Arkansas. However, that wasn't in the cards for Elisa, so I had to make alternate plans. The Ouachita Trail logistics would be a real pain for a solo hiker, and the Pinhoti looked like it would be an easier hike to plan. Since I have a dream of hiking the entire Appalachian mountain range someday, the Pinhoti could also be my first "section hike" in realizing this dream. I began making plans, and things seemed to fall together, as if the hike was meant to be.
My plan was to "thru-hike" the part of the Pinhoti that was developed and blazed. I would begin at Salem Church Road (north of Talladega National Forest), hike north to the northernmost blaze several miles away, backtrack to Salem Church Road, and then hike south to Porter Gap, the southern terminus of the trail. In all, the hike would take me about 10 days. I contacted the Cheaha State Park Lodge (the Pinhoti runs through the park), and they allowed me to keep a food/supply box at the front desk. I also cached food near the Coleman Lake Trailhead, and it was undisturbed when retrieved several days later. I used the Forest Service maps of the trail, along with M. Lee Van Horn's guide to the trail (I lost the last couple of pages of it in the middle of my hike, so I only used it for the first half. Still, I found it very helpful). Maps can be obtained from the Forest Service.
I had several reasons for hiking the Pinhoti, a few of which have been mentioned already. In addition to "practicing" for the AT, I also looked forward to being among the wildflowers. I am a wildflower freak, and was thrilled to find much of the Pinhoti at the peak of wildflower season. I love trees, too, and they had begun to leaf out, which made me happy. I was also looking forward to the solitude that the Pinhoti would offer; I wanted time to think about my AT dream, my future, etc., and I thought this hike would be a good opportunity for that.
Oh well, enough about the hike.
About me ...
Are you still reading? If so, I guess you might be interested in learning a little bit about me. I'm 30 years old and live in south Louisiana, where I've lived for much of my life. I have been backpacking for about two years now, and I can honestly say that long-distance hiking has changed my life. It's made me realize that being in the woods is more conducive to my happiness than being "accepted" by others, or having the right clothes, the right dress size, the right car, the right job, etc. Actually, I've always been a bit of a nonconformist, and backpacking has simply made me more of one.
Outside of hiking, I enjoy reading, writing, and making music. I also enjoy being with my friends and with my boyfriend, Paul, who thru-hiked the AT in 1998. His trail name is "Magaroni," and my nickname for him--and the name I call him throughout this journal--is Mags. It's nice dating someone who has thru-hiked; he understands my "obsession" with the AT, and his feelings didn't get hurt when I spent my two weeks of vacation doing a "shakedown" hike on the Pinhoti, rather than visiting him in Colorado. That doesn't mean I don't miss him, though. I'm looking forward to October, when he'll meet me in West Virginia for the ALDHA Gathering and hopefully hike with me for a couple of weeks in Virginia before heading back to Colorado. By the way, I will be posting updates on my AT hike on GORP.com. The first entries should show up in early July.
Oh well, enough about me. If I keep writing, I'll end up boring you with stories about how adorable my cats are and how much I love my job as a tech writer at IEM. On to the journal ...
Most of today, I road-tripped to the tiny town of Waldo, Alabama,
and the home of Margaret (Maggie) and Philip Wade. Maggie is a member of
the Alabama Trails Association and is also a "lister" (more of a lurker)
on AT-L. She had offered to shuttle me to the trail, so her house would
be the first destination of my Pinhoti Trail adventure.
I stopped at the Cracker Barrel restaurant in Tuscaloosa for my lunch break. As I waited for my food, I read my printout of Nimblewill Nomad's Pinhoti Trail journal. Nomad, a.k.a. Eb Eberhart, hiked from Florida to Cap Gaspe', Canada, on his "Odyssey of '98," and his journals can be found at his website. He's an excellent writer, and I always enjoy reading his hiking notes. For lunch, I feasted on fried catfish and veggies drowned in butter, since I knew I would soon be subsisting on such fare as Lipton noodles, granola bars, and gorp for 10 days. Then I hit the road again, music blaring.
When I got to the Wades' house, Maggie was standing in the driveway, pack on her back; she had just returned from several days hiking on the AT. I felt right at home with her and Phil. They're great people, very easy to talk to. Maggie shares my love of wildflowers, and we took a walk in her "backyard"--which includes woods and a creek, and lots of wildflowers. She also teaches at the Alabama Institute for the Deaf and Blind in Talladega, and we talked some about hearing loss and hearing aids (I wear a hearing aid in my "good" ear).
That night, we went to the Old Mill Restaurant, whose specialty is ... fried catfish! I'd pigged out on fried catfish for lunch, so I went with a salad instead!
After dinner, Maggie and I looked over my Pinhoti maps and I outlined my plans. We're going to try to meet up on Friday afternoon so we can hike together over the weekend.
(Morning, still at the Wades' house)
What do you suppose the weather is doing today? All I can say is, I am a truly all-powerful rain goddess! My hiking partner, Elisa Tubbs, ha dubbed me "La Nina the Rain Goddess" because I do seem to have an effect on weather patterns. Every time I go hiking, it pours, and I'm sure this trip will be no different. We had a terrific storm last night; I woke up several times, and it was raining every time. The lightning sounded kind of scary--I was glad to be inside!
The forecast is this: thunderstorms today, thunderstorms Monday, and showers Tuesday. La Nina the Rain Goddess rules! I had originally planned for a 5-mile day today, but I think I'll start a little later--see if the rain stops--and just start at Hwy. 278 (instead of Salem Church Road) and hike a mile or so in and set up camp by the creek.
Later, at my campsite ...
It's been a good day. Maggie and I drove all over creation--even through Georgia (not on purpose)--in the effort to cache my food and supplies. Then we were finally at the trailhead on 278! I was so excited to finally be there! My first real solo long-distance hike!
Maggie and I hiked in together, marvelling at the wildflowers we saw every few feet. The irises and birdfoot violets were in full bloom, and there were sweetshrub, wild azalea, and dogwood everywhere. We found a place for me to camp, and then we dropped my pack and hiked on for another mile or so, just to hike.
At one point, we heard ATVs. Ugh! A group of ATVers were out on a Sunday drive, tearing up the terrain as they went. They were friendly and waved hello, but it hurt to watch them driving through the creek and over the land so recently graced by wildflowers. Ouch. Maggie and I looked up wildflowers in my Newcomb's Wildflower Guide, and we found quite a few--rue anemone, star chickweed, bellwort, and a few others. We also saw several species of violets.
Maggie is wonderful. We would become good friends if we lived closer, I think.
After Maggie left, I got to work setting up camp. It looked like rain was on its way again, so I didn't waste any time. Still, I was a little frustrated at how long it took me to set up the tent, hang a line, and cook dinner. I made Lipton Noodles (anagram: O Indolent Slop) with dehydrated broccoli, and I shouldn't have for two reasons: one, Maggie and I had just eaten at Hardee's a few hours before, and two, I only like Lipton dinners after I've had a full day of hiking--i.e., after my gastronomic standards have plummeted to an acceptable level that Liptons are considered "good."
I was stuffed when I finished, and I just crawled into my tent.
It's now raining. Surprise, surprise. All evening I've felt stressed. Not really stressed, but unsettled. I guess I'm a little nervous and anxious about being out here. My first solo long-distance hike. I guess I have a right to be nervous!
Later that evening ...
What a first day I've had. I'm feeling very nervous and jittery. Many questions running through my mind. What if lightning strikes the tree next to the tent? What should I do with my food? It's supposed to rain tonight. I'm feeling nervous the way I get when I'm stressed. Not a good nervous, but a stressed nervous. Tense nervous. I'm not really scared, per se. Just unsettled.
I'm happy to be here, though. I'm looking forward to the next few days. Testing my mettle, yep. Seeing if I can deal with trail life for an extended period of time. This is all just practice for thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail. Remember that. Saw many flowers today. Star chickweed, rue anemone, solomon's seal, mayapple, blue violets, bird's foot violets, three-leaved violets, fire pinks, phlox, bluets, wild azalea, crested dwarf iris, sweetshrub, Virginia bluebells (we think), and more. We found a huge store of ginger flowers. They're cool. They look like brown vases. Chickweed is also called windflower. I think that's pretty. We also saw some bellworts--I love how their stems perforate the leaves. I could look at bellworts all day.
Maggie took my wildflower ID book back with her, since I decided it would be too heavy to carry for 10 days. So I may not be able to name so many flowers tomorrow night.
The thunder is rumbling in the distance. Something is singing--frogs, maybe. It is early spring on the Pinhoti Trail.
"Pinhoti" is Creek Indian for "Turkey Home." Wonder if I'll see any wild turkeys out here.
Lots of trees out here. Dogwood--tons of it. Some redbud is still blooming. I saw a baby sassafras tree, and many baby tulip trees. A few red maples, a few oaks, some loblolly pine. Quite a bit of pine.
Thunder is a constant roll. I'll probably have to pee in 2 hours, when the rain gets really bad.
I think I'll go waterproof my food bag.
OK, I feel much better now. I lined my food sack with a trash bag, and I tied the trash bag shut, then hung the food again. Then I peed. I hope I don't have to pee again. It's really is inconvenient for a girl to have to pee in the woods.
I keep hearing a "clack" sound. Wonder what it is.
OK, I heard more than a clack. Wonder if it was a raccoon taking down my food bag. I really need to learn to hang food bags better. I feel a little nervous. I hope that wasn't a PERSON. It's almost 8:00. Almost time to go to sleep. But that clacking made me nervous. Sounded like someone tripping over a fallen log.
Maggie and Phil are great people. I got Maggie a Louisiana Hiking Club t-shirt, and she loves it. She's going to get in touch with Jim Hipp while I'm gone, and maybe we can all get together for dinner the day I finish. That would be so cool.
I'm looking forward to tomorrow. I've already looked at my map tonight, and my route is all planned out. I'll hike about 13 miles. This is a nice trail. I love all the wildflowers.
My fingernails are disgustingly dirty already. I bet I won't bite them one single time this whole trip. My mom will be so happy to see me with long fingernails, for the first time ever. She'll beg me to go backpacking more often (not!).
I'll need an early start tomorrow, because I have a 13-mile day with that too-heavy pack. My knee feels OK tonight. I'm going to wear the knee brace this whole trip.
Funny, when I first got my Sierra Designs Clip 3 for Elisa and me, it felt uncomfortably roomy. Now my one-person tent, a Walrus Swift, makes me claustrophobic. I supposed I'll get used to that eventually. I'd better get used to it, since I'll be using either it or a Walrus Microswift on the AT!
I'm still feeling a little unsettled, but I'm better. I'm glad to be in my tent. I was quite jittery when I was cooking dinner, for some reason. Partly I think it's because my campsite isn't so great. There wasn't much to choose from. There were a few nice, flat places next to Lanie Creek, but they looked like prime candidates for flooding, and heavy rain is forecast for tonight. I truly am an all-powerful rain goddess.
Despite the jitters, despite the Walrus claustrophobia, despite the too-big meal and worrying about my food bag, I'm happy to be here. Very happy.
Now I'm going to read some, then try to get some sleep. It's only 8:00, so I'm not sure how quickly I'll fall asleep.
9:50 p.m. (a few hours later)
Rain falling at a steady drizzle. I had to pee again. I think I must have the world's smallest bladder.
Broke camp by 8:00. I had hiked for about 15 minutes when I realized
I'd left my rope tied between two trees, so I had to head back. An inconvenience,
but I was so happy to be hiking that I didn't mind. It poured rain last
(after all, I AM the Rain Goddess), and the creeks I crossed were all swollen.
Even the trail was like a creek at times. I had rain on and off all day;
I got a little nervous on the Augusta Mine Ridge and atop Oaky Mountain,
but there wasn't really any lightning or thunder--just grey clouds, heavy
air, and a slight thunder rumble far in the distance.
My favorite parts of the trail today were the hike down Augusta Mine Ridge and the hike up Oaky Mountain. The Augusta Mine Ridge descent was like walking through a shortleaf pine preserve, and it was very green and peaceful. The hike up Oaky was tough--partly because it was afternoon and I was feeling tired and wanted to get up and over it before the rain began, and partly because it was just tough. But it was beautiful; dozens of tiny waterfalls cascaded down the mountain alongside the trail, sometimes in groups of three or four. I must have taken 10 pictures.
Once the waterfall section ended, I quickened my pace; rain was threatening, and I wanted to get through an upcoming low area and up to the Terrapin Creek Watershed Lake before it started to pour.
I got to the low area, where many rivulets were flowing furiously, thanks to all the rain of the past few days. Some of these were marked as "intermittent" water sources on the map, but most weren't marked at all. This looked like a nice camping area for dry weather, but it was so low and wet that I kept moving, headed toward higher ground.
Shortly after I crossed one of the many creeks out there, the flash flood hit. I found myself suddenly stranded between two creeks--creeks that had, within minutes, turned into furiously raging rivers.
The rain wasn't going to stop anytime soon, and my pack and I were getting soaked, so I decided to camp on the highest patch of land I could find. I quickly set up the tent, threw my pack in, and crawled inside. I wasn't going to worry about hanging food tonight. I soon learned that food-hanging would be the least of my worries.
It started when I heard the water running alongside the tent. I looked out. Two "creeks" (more like rivers at this point) had overflowed and were quickly merging. I was in the middle of them. Within minutes, my tent would be in the middle of a river, if I didn't do something fast. Within minutes, I was out of there, pack on my back, tent and fly tucked under my left arm, tent stakes in my pocket, boots in my right hand. I looked for my Lekis, but they were gone. Must have been swept away by the water. Like an idiot, I must have leaned them against a tree and forgotten about them in the rush to set up the tent.
The water was rising rapidly. Camping on the trail itself was not an option; I feared that it, too, would soon be underwater. I stood on the trail, considering my options. It was pouring rain, and I was hemmed in on either side by rising water. I couldn't go forward to where the two rivers joined to make an even bigger river. Behind me, a hill went straight up. I started to climb, but the hill was so steep, slippery, and full of briars that I knew I would never make it with a pack. I decided to attempt to cross the "creek" I had crossed an hour earlier.
In retrospect, I should have done whatever it took to climb that hill, regardless of its slipperiness and brambles. But I tried to cross the creek instead. In retrospect, I should have at least put all my gear in my pack before starting across. But hindsight's 20/20. So is my eyesight when I actually wear my glasses. More on that later.
I threw my boots across the creek to free up my right hand. Then I stepped onto a rock in the creek. So far, so good. I took another step ... the next moment, I was rushing down the creek, going under, coming back up, and going under again. As I gasped for breath, I knew my chances for survival were low if I didn't catch hold of a branch, soon. I let go of my tent so I could have both arms free, and I grabbed with all my might at a thick tree root. It held! The pack was weighing me down, and I couldn't get it off my shoulders. I had forgotten to undo the sternum strap, a realization that had actually hit me as I'd begun flying down the river. I hauled myself out of the water, pack and all, thankful to be alive.
Moments later, I realized that I no longer had a tent. One tent stake remained in my pocket. And my glasses were somewhere in the creek.
I took a deep breath. My trip was over, and I knew that. But I had more pressing concerns than that. It was getting darker, colder, and the wind was kicking up. The weather channel's website had forecast temperatures in the 30s and rain all night long. I was soaking wet, and so was my pack. I had no shelter. If I didn't do something soon, hypothermia would become a real threat.
Once again, I tried to climb up the hill. Spurred on by the desire to avoid hypothermia, I ignored the brambles, letting them slice up my arms and legs as they pleased. I left my pack on the hillside, and I was concerned that I might not be able to carry the pack up the hill, since it was so steep and slippery in the rain. I wished I hadn't lost my Lekis. I grabbed onto a fallen tree about 2/3 of the way up the hillside, and an idea came to me. Fallen trees! They could be a foundation for some sort of shelter!
There was a group of about five fallen logs a little lower down the hill, so I slid down to them--through the brambles--and set to work. I draped my Tyvek groundcloth over the highest log and tied it to two lower logs on either side, creating a makeshift A-frame roof. For the "wall" front of it, I tied a garbage bag. Behind me I tied my rain jacket, and behind that was another garbage bag. The "walls" to my right and left were a garbage bag and my pack, respectively. The raincoat in back of me acted as a little back rest; with the drawcords in the bottom taut (I had tied both to branches on either side), I could lean back on it. And the hat of the raincoat fit right over my head; it would keep my fleece hat dry all night long.
I dug a wedge into the hillside just big enough for my Esbit stove. If I was going to spend the night warding off hypothermia, I was going to need to drink hot liquids. I kept my food bag handy, as well. At one point, I couldn't find the baggie that held my matches and lighter. I went into a mild panic. I needed to be able to light my fuel tabs! It was then that I wrote in my journal:
What happened:
I set up camp.
Camp flooded.
I tried to cross the creek with my tent.
Was swept in.
Lost tent.
Lost glasses, couldn't see.
Built shelter.
Lost matches.
I was truly afraid that I might get hypothermic in the night, and that someone would find me days later, dead in this little shelter, clutching my Nalgene bottle. The note would at least let people know what happened.
Then I found my matches. Relief!! I got to work, lit the Esbit tab, and boiled water. At one point, I left the shelter to fill my water bottles. I drank out of my 1-pint Nalgene bottle, in which I had rehydrated broccoli the night before. But I wasn't about to complain about the tinge of broccoli taste in my orange spice tea.
The hot drink was so good. I was still in wet clothes at that point; I wanted to make sure I'd left the shelter for the last time before I put on the only dry clothes I had left, some long underwear and fleece socks that I'd sealed inside two large ziplocks.
I peed for the last time that night, settled myself into the shelter, and began the long vigil to ward off hypothermia. As a Louisiana hiker, I had never been in conditions like this; I had only read of them. I knew that shivering was an early sign of hypothermia. I tried really hard not to shiver! I wore longjohns with my fleece jacket wrapped around my shoulders like a shawl, since the sleeves were too soaked to do much good. On my feet were fleece socks (just barely damp at that point). I wore a fleece cap, and on top of that, my raincoat hood. Underneath me was my Ridgerest sleeping pad. When it got colder, I reluctantly unpacked the last and most valuable of my dry gear: my Feathered Friends Hummingbird sleeping bag, with the PTFE (waterproof) lite shell. By far my most expensive piece of gear, it would become a survival mechanism. I unzipped it partway, and held it over me like a blanket. It was warm, especially considering the circumstances.
I wore my headlamp. My spare batteries for it were in the pocket of my fleece jacket. I was safe and warm for now. I looked at my watch. 7:30. Eleven or so hours until daylight. It was going to be a long night. But I knew I was all right for the time being.
It was quite cold, but I don't think it ever got down to the 30s as forecast. To keep myself from shivering, I ate a bit of a granola bar or a snickers once every half-hour or so. It's amazing how a little bit of food will suddenly make you feel warmer for a good 20 or 30 minutes. I occasionally checked my reflexes--could I contract my toes at the count of three? This may or may not have been necessary, but I wasn't taking any chances. When I started really shivering at around two in the morning, I heated up some water and alternately drank it and held the hot Nalgene bottle next to me, comforted by the warmth it gave me.
For a few minutes--maybe a half-hour--I tried reading some of the book I'd taken along, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard. It's a wonderful book about the wonders, joys, and even terrors one experiences when one is out in nature, observing what miracles nature has to offer.
As I read, I imagined Annie Dillard sitting safely by the creek, jotting in a journal, or sitting at a word processor in her home, typing out her beautiful, flowing, often rapturous sentences. The book seemed so safe in the midst of my not-so-safe situation. I hoped to live out this night, so I could experience similar "safe" times of writing and sharing my own observations of nature with others.
The whole night through, I kept telling myself, "Well, this'll be some story, if I can just live to tell it!" I've always said that, with backpacking particularly, "the bigger the disaster, the better the story." I imagined telling this story to Mags, and tried to think of how much I'd leave out when I told it to my mom. No one would ever believe that I'd built an emergency shelter. I wouldn't believe it myself, if I hadn't been there, if that makes any sense. Datto would probably make McGyver jokes. I smiled to myself. Maybe someday I'd be proud of myself for this.
But it was not a time to feel proud. That time would come later, I guess. Right then, I was concerned about staying awake, staying relatively warm, and staying alive.
I must have miraculously dozed off for a half-hour though, because I suddenly realized that I had slid down the steep hillside, almost out of the shelter. I scooted back up, but for the rest of the night, my body seemed to want to slide down. This made things difficult, because my legs were already cramped from sitting in the shelter, which was very small. To keep myself from sliding down, I tried digging a hole in the ground for my butt, to anchor me, but that was futile; in addition to digging a few new gashes in my fingers from the briars in the ground, I ended up sliding down anyway, and the hole I'd dug would fill up with water. So, whenever I would scoot myself back, I would have a nice, cold, shallow pool of water waiting for me. Delightful.
Finally, dawn approached. I was limp with relief, but it was still
quite cold, and I was still wet, and I knew the danger wasn't over yet.
I left my cozy shelter to pee, then I heated up some water for instant
coffee. It was hard to do things, considering my vision without my glasses
and my cold hands, and I knocked over the first pot of water. Finally,
I was back in my shelter, bladder happily empty, warm Nalgene bottle in
my hands. Ah, the little luxuries of life!
I looked at my maps and considered my options. I would need to wait for several hours--possibly until afternoon--for the water level to subside so I could finally cross the creeks. I decided I would keep walking south for a mile and a half, then take the first road to Forest Road 500, where I would either hitch a ride to a police station or knock on someone's door and ask to use their phone. From there, I would call Maggie and see if she could come pick me up.
I looked at my watch. 6:30 a.m. I had another long wait ahead of me. I shut my eyes and leaned against the rotten tree limb I'd used for a head rest all night.
I must have dozed off. It was about an hour later that I heard a voice.
"Is somebody in there?"
Must be my imagination. No one in their right mind would be out here on a morning like this. I peeked out from under my garbage bag curtain. A man stood there in a daypack.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"I'm a hiker," he responded.
My heart felt like it had dropped to my stomach, and I had to fight back the tears of relief. A hiker. Or at least a trail angel in the form of a hiker.
I can't write about this without crying. I am so moved by the compassion showed by this hiker/trail angel, Chuck Wilson, over the next 24 hours. Before I told him of my situation, I asked him of his. Turns out he had started hiking at Key West and was on his way to Cap Gaspe', Canada, which he would reach by way of the Pinhoti Trail, the Benton MacKaye Trail, the Appalachian Trail, and the International Appalachian Trail. I asked if he knew Nimblewill Nomad, and his eyes lit up, and he said he was planning to visit with Nomad as he made his way through Georgia.
Then I told him of my situation: I had no hiking poles, I had no tent, my boots were on the other side of the creek, I was lucky to be alive, and boy was I glad that he came along!
When Chuck invited me to hike with him over Oaky Mountain to the next road (he was heading north, whereas I had been hiking south), I readily agreed. I started to pack up, and he retrieved my boots for me, then walked back to look for my tent. I didn't have much hope that he would find it. Imagine my surprise when he walked back 45 minutes later with my Walrus Swift tent and fly in his hands. They had gotten caught on a log about a half-mile down, and seemed to be in good shape, with no rips or tears. Go, Walrus! Go, Chuck!
He offered to carry my tent, which was a good thing, since my pack was so heavy with wet stuff. It had been 25 pounds the day before, but with all the added rain water, it felt like fifty. Ten feet into the hike, I winced in pain; it felt like someone was shoving a needle up my big toe. I stopped, and found that I had a huge water blister. Chuck let me use his spare pair of dry socks and liners, which I happily put on after putting moleskin on the new blister. I then trudged up Oaky Mountain behind Chuck, wondering about the plight of my beloved Leki poles, and thinking about how I had promised my knees that I would never hike without Lekis again.
I decided that morning that I would order new Lekis to be shipped to me overnight at Maggie's once I got off the trail. Even if it cost me $200. If that isn't a testimonial to Leki, I don't know what is.
Chuck was a wonderful, compassionate hiking partner. I know he must have been a little frustrated at having to match my slow pace up Oaky Mountain. I was creeping along, stopping for untreated rain water every few minutes. Chuck even waited at each stream crossing, since I was paranoid about streams now, and I couldn't see very well without my glasses.
As we hiked, we talked about a number of things--Nimblewill Nomad, Chuck's family, my job, and, of course, GEAR. I raved about my Esbit stove and showed it to him when we stopped for lunch. He later wrote down the name of the stove. Esbit ought to start paying me a commission!
Going down Oaky Mountain was every bit as pretty as it had been going up, except it was a bit more blurred this time, since I didn't have my glasses (I'm nearsighted). Once down the mountain, we hiked on the Chief Ladiga Rail Trail, which crosses Terrapin Creek, then through the woods a little ways to the road.
A couple of Cleburne County workers drove by as Chuck was getting my tent out of his pack. We chatted with them for a few minutes, then they went on their way, and Chuck went on his. I hiked into the woods a bit, then about 200 feet off the trail to what looked like an old road bed. I hung a line and hung out all my wet stuff to dry, then I lay on my groundcloth and began to write a letter to my friend, ya ya sister, and fellow long-distance hiker, Dawn, a.k.a. "Belcher," to tell her about my adventures.
I started it, "Caro Dahlin, I am quite a sight right now! You won't believe the adventures I've had. I built my own emergency shelter last night. Me, Teensy! Can you believe it?" But that's as far as I got. I looked up to see the sun peeking at me through the trees, and felt its warmth on my face. The woods were so peaceful and quiet. I was alive, and warm, and dry, and I had received kindness at a time when help was most unexpected. And there I was, after all that, sitting in the woods, writing a silly ya-ya letter to Dawn. How simple, compared to last night. How truly miraculous. I re-read the "note" I had written the night before, when I had temporarily misplaced my lighter and matches and thought I might actually fall prey to hypothermia. And then I just started bawling, for the first time of this whole ordeal. For maybe twenty minutes, I cried. I didn't care if anyone happened to be in the woods at that time, hearing me wail. Oh, how happy--and how lucky--I was to be alive, to be able to love the sunlight and its warmth! Life is so good, and I am so blessed, a million times over!
I never finished my letter to Dawn. I just lay on my side and watched the sunlight creep through the trees. Then I fell asleep.
I had just started to pack up when Chuck and his wife, Betty, arrived a few hours later. Betty is Chuck's logistics person, and she keeps very busy when he's out hiking. Not only does she drop him off and pick him up every day, but she helps decide his route, periodically moves their RV to a new location, keeps Chuck and the RV supplied as necessary, takes care of the bills and other responsibilities from their home in Florida, and administers their website, which is basically their journal of the Key West to Canada journey.
Betty had set me up a spot in the backseat of their SUV, which meant
she'd laid a towel out for the stinky, dirty hiker trash girl. She proved
to be every bit as kind as her husband. We soon arrived at their RV, where
their Schnauzer, Levi, was waiting. Soon, I was able to brush the bugs
out of my hair and take a gloriously warm shower. Betty let me use her
hairdryer, and I decided that hairdryers are one of life's greatest luxuries.
While Chuck showered, I emptied my pack, hanging my still-wet tent from
the ladder in back of the RV, and draping all my other still-wet stuff
everywhere else--on chairs, the picnic table, etc. That night, while Chuck
and I went off in search of a phone to call Maggie, Betty made tacos. When
we got back, I had a beer and ate four tacos. Four tacos in one
sitting!
I can honestly say I've never done that before!
This morning, Chuck and Betty showed me their pictures of Chuck's
hike so far. The Florida pictures looked a lot like Louisiana pictures.
They were just beautiful!
When we said goodbye to Chuck, I nearly started crying. I felt like I was saying goodbye to an old friend, this hiker/trail angel who had selflessly treated me with so much kindness. I wish him all the best on his hike, and hope is treated with the same kindness throughout that he has shown me.
The plan for the day was to drive into Rome, Georgia, so Betty could stock up on supplies and I could find some new glasses. When I realized I'd left my credit card and ID back at the RV, I really did break down. Betty said it was no problem to go back to the RV--we'd have to pass it anyway on the way to Rome--and that we would just spend this day doing whatever we needed to do to get me back on the trail. And so we did. I got new eyeglasses at a 1-hour place and picked up some more tent stakes at Wal-Mart. I planned to order more Lekis once I got back to Maggie's.
I really enjoyed spending the day with Betty. She keeps so busy between doing logistics, managing the website, etc. She's really a neat person, and I was happy to spend a few hours getting to know her better.
Later, back at the RV, we said our goodbyes. Maggie had worked some logistics magic from her school that day, and I was able to ride home with Danny Woolmaker, who is the husband of a co-worker of Maggie's. Danny is deaf, and he teaches at the deaf school in Cave Spring (where the RV park was), and commutes back to Talladega. He reads lips, so we had no trouble communicating. He said that he likes to hike, but that work and family responsibilities keep him from adventuring as much as he'd like. He taught me to say "rain" and "Colorado" in sign language. Two very important words for me, since I live in rain and Mags lives in Colorado.
Later, Maggie picked me up at Danny's house, and we headed back to Waldo. I told her the story of my last few days. Yes, I do have a good story to tell! I repeated it to Phil when we got home. I was so happy to be at THAT phase of my "adventure"--the phase where I'm sitting in a cozy living room, drinking coffee, and telling other people about my scary experiences! I also learned from Maggie and Phil that tornadoes had touched down in Piedmont, Alabama, which is very close to the area where I spent the night sitting on the hillside. Scary. My guardian angel has been working some serious overtime for me this week.
It's nice to be back at the Wades' house. Tomorrow, I'm going to wash clothes, dry out my gear some more, and get packed again. Then Maggie will drop me at the trail off of I-20 tomorrow afternoon, and I'll start hiking. Again. Maggie will meet me on Saturday; by then, my Lekis will have come in from REI, and I will be one happy hiker!
Day 6: Adventures in Talladega
Had a good day today. Woke up warm and cozy at the Wades' house,
in "my" bed, with their calico cat, Cleo-patches, at my feet. Phil and
Maggie had already left for the day, and I found numerous breakfast luxuries
waiting for me: several different cereals, pop-tarts, toaster pastries,
etc. And the coffee was on! I sure was happy that I'd brought them
some good Louisiana Community Coffee, because that's just what I needed
this morning! Maggie had also left me a note saying basically to make myself
at home, and to call her at work if I needed anything. She also invited
me to meet her for lunch and a tour of the school where she teaches (Alabama
Institute for the Deaf and Blind). She ended her note with, "Life is so
sweet!" Yes, it is. It definitely is.
So I made myself at home. Discovered a cereal called "O's" (?)--mmmm, sugar!! I ate far too many O's, had two cups of coffee, and began the task of sorting out (and further drying out) my gear, washing and drying clothes, and planning the next phase of the hike.
I wrote up a tentative itinerary and tucked it in my pocket to show Maggie at lunch, in case she had any advice to offer regarding the route. According to this plan, I would leave the Pinhoti several miles south of Cheaha State Park and hike the 6-mile Chinabee Silent Trail to the Lake Chinabee Campground. From there, I would hike the 6.6-mile Skyway Trail back to the Pinhoti, and continue south on the Pinhoti, finishing up at Porter Gap on Wednesday morning--my original planned finish date. I would miss a few miles of the Pinhoti, but I had already missed some anyway. My goal of "thru-hiking" the Pinhoti was no longer a goal; I just wanted to keep hiking, look at the wildflowers, and maybe enjoy some nice weather.
While waiting for my clothes to wash and dry, I planned to sit outside--it was a gorgeous day--and read some of Earl Shaffer's Walking with Spring, which I'd found on Maggie's kitchen table. I'd read the first few paragraphs that morning and really like his writing style. However, I never got to the book. Instead, I played the Wades' piano.
This is an old piano, out of tune, with keys that stick. But the music sounded so beautiful to me. The Wades have a Baptist Hymnal, so I played Baptist hymns and sang all the words, loud and clear. I'm not the world's greatest singer, but I didn't care. I almost cried at the beauty of the songs--so simple, yet so melodic, and loaded with so many good memories of my childhood. I played "In the Garden," "Because He Lives," "Blessed Assurance" (which I used to think was "Blessed Insurance"--to this day, that song makes me think of State Farm), "Just As I Am," "Jesus is Tenderly Calling," and a few Christmas carols, including my all-time favorite, "Silent Night."
Before I knew it, it was time to head to town, to Talladega. I went by a one-hour photo at 11:30, then headed to the library to check my e-mail, technology addict that I am. I had a note from my mom and a note from Mags. I wrote back to Mags and decided to reach my mom by phone later. I mentioned to Mags that I had nearly died, first of drowning and then of hypothermia. I probably shouldn't have said that without giving him the whole story. I'm sure, now that I actually THINK about it, that I worried him sick. Poor Mags. I'll have to make it up to him. I can't wait to talk to him on Sunday when I'm at Cheaha State Park.
Lunch with Maggie was good. She told me all about the deaf school and how she got into deaf education, and I showed her my hiking pictures from the last couple of days. I had taken pictures of my scratched-up feet. Lovely. I look like I've been rolling around in barbed wire for three days. I hate when that happens.
When I got back to Maggie's house, I got to work packing. I had to borrow three garbage bags from the Wades, since mine had retired after the emergency shelter night. Finally, around 3 or 4, I was ready to go. Maggie got home from school, and we rode out to the Forest Road 500 trailhead, and I started hiking.
I quickly found a recently-fallen maple tree and got a small limb off of it for a back-up Leki. Much heavier than a Leki, but it'll do for now. Much of the trail was across west-facing hillsides--lots of short grass, bees, and briars. Ugly trail, but some nice views to the west.
My plan was to cross the Talladega Scenic Highway and camp somewhere between that road and I-20. After I crossed the highway, the whole nature of the trail changed. The whole section after the road crossing was burned. Yes, the burned part was ugly, but the Catesby's trillium were rejoicing in the abundance of sunlight in the area. Dozens of trillium, in full bloom!
Interesting observation about the burnt area--the moment I stepped into it, I was hit with the strangest sense of ... familiarity. That smell, that burnt smell, was somehow familiar, and the feeling I got was one of peace and happy nostalgia. What was so familiar and wonderful about that smell?
Then I realized it: Yellowstone. This was how Yellowstone smelled the summer I worked there, which was 1989, which was the year after the fires had burned so much of the park. What a wonderful smell, that it could trigger in my brain the exact way I felt when I was at Yellowstone--happy, peaceful, hopeful, knowing that I was on the verge of a new phase in life.
I'm kind of there now (again), I think, only my life is at a different place. At Yellowstone, I was heading toward a crashing waterfall, not knowing I would soon come flying down into the rocks. Now, I think I'm in a safer place, through my dreams may not seem as "safe" as they were before.
I'm camped close enough to I-20 that I can hear the big rigs roaring by in the distance. It's probably a mile or more away, in reality. Still, because I'm relatively close to a major road, I decided to "stealth camp," which means I'm camped a good distance away from and out of sight of the trail. It's a bit of a walk to get to my water source, a barely moving creek. Not the greatest campsite, since most of the area is burned and I'm on a very slight incline. But I'm surrounded by this wonderful Yellowstoney smell, and, compared to Monday night, I'm in the lap of luxury!
Lots to write this afternoon.
First of all, I'm not very good at finding campsites. Hillabee Creek is buggy and bumpy, and that's where I'm camped. I hope it doesn't rain too hard tonight, because this area is low. Why did I camp here? Because my feet hurt, and this is where I planned to camp. I scouted for a mile after this, but there was nothing--all low and marshy. I really think it will be OK. And I'm wondering what's going on with the rain threat--the sky is clear and blue--right now, at least. I'm sure that La Nina the Rain Goddess will work her cursed magic before long. And to think I worried about being able to find WATER on this trail. Ha!
This morning, I woke up happy. My little campsite wasn't the greatest, but it was peaceful. No animals tried to bother me or my food (that I know of). I got up at around 6, but didn't break camp until nearly 7:30. No more making coffee in the morning. I think it's just a waste of time, and I don't like heating up the stove in the morning.
I think I hiked about eleven miles today. In the morning, it looked (and felt) like it would rain any minute, so I hiked with my custom-made trash bag over my pack. Between my coolmax shirt and the trash bag, the sweat from my back didn't have anywhere to go, so it just SAT there. Ugh. By noon, I could tell it wasn't going to rain for awhile, and I hung the sweaty trash bag from my pack. Ever so stylish, I might add.
The trail was really pretty today. Lots of waterfalls. I think I'm going to quit trying to take pictures of waterfalls. Their beauty is in their motion and their sound-two things a simple snapshot can't really capture.
I saw many wildflowers again today. Tons of trillium. Violets were growing in bouquet-like clumps, mainly in the clear areas with lots of light-clearcuts, roadbeds, etc. I hate clearcuts and rutted-up roadbeds, but the violets sure love 'em. The most abundant thing I saw today was POISON IVY. Loads of it. I'll be shocked if I didn't at least pick up some of it. Poison ivy is not fun--I've already had it twice in the last year.
Had lunch next to a beautiful waterfall. String cheese and beef jerky never tasted so good. I missed Elisa right then--she would have enjoyed taking that break today.
Annie Dillard writes that "Nature is like one of those line drawings of a tree that are puzzles for children: Can you find hidden in the leaves a duck, a house, a boy, a bucket, a zebra, and a boot?"
Well, when I took my breaks today, I took Nature up on the game. I sat still and watched.
For a long time, I sat next to a creek near an overused campsite, about a mile after County Road 24. I began by watching a sort of dance being performed by leaves and catkins. There was a small waterfall caused by a tree branch lying across the stream, probably planted there a long time ago by a beaver. Beside the waterfall, next to the rushing busy water, the water seemed nearly still, but for the leaves and catkins that periodically floated into it.
OK, I'm probably going to mix metaphors here. So sue me. The almost-still water was like a ballroom floor, or an ice-skating rink. A bit of leaf would lie uncertainly on the edge of the floor, then suddenly enter the area like a small boat or an ice skater pushing off. Then, it would glide and turn in large and small circles. Sometimes two leaves would float in, and quite often it would be bits of catkins from a tree. After a few moments, a bit of leaf would retire to the other end of the stage, settling in a clump next to the waterfall with the other "performers," and a catkin would gracefully take its place onstage. No one performer would stay in the limelight for more than a half-minute, and there were never more than four performers on the stage at once. I sat spellbound. I'm amazed at the grace with which these insignificant, dead bits of stuff captured my attention for so long.
When I first sat at the creek, I looked for minnows. This looked like a creek that would have minnows, and I wanted to see them. But there weren't any there, at least for my untrained vision. And that's when I noticed the dance.
Eventually, my eye caught sight of something darting under the water, just to the left of the dance. A minnow! I could see it clearly; it was large and still, until it darted again. And suddenly, I saw lots of minnows, of all sizes. Then I saw a salamander. I smiled to myself. I was learning to see.
Before long though, I noticed that the sun was reflecting in the water, making floating patches of light just above the minnows. Suddenly, I could no longer see the minnows. All I could see was the reflected light. That's happened before with television: you're happily watching a program, then you realize that a lamp or window is reflecting on the screen. Your brain then focuses on the reflection, and no matter how hard you try to watch the television show, you will not be at peace until you turn off the lamp or close the blinds. Well, that's what happened today with the sun and the creek. I turned away and immediately spotted a big, brown lizard on a tree ten feet away. He was doing lizard push-ups. I love to watch lizards, especially when they do their pushups or blow their throats up really big. They make me laugh. I saw several lizards on tree trunks today, and most darted away the moment I moved or made any sound at all.
I watched dragonflies and butterflies, too. Dragonflies remind me of small, single-engine planes buzzing and jerking through the air on fragile wings, and butterflies just remind me of ribbons.
I also saw a dead luna moth on the trail, and it made me think of Lynna from work, because she likes luna moths.
Camp is set up on a branch of Hillabee Creek. I hiked about 11 miles, and my Lipton Noodle dinner, which I devoured at around 5:00, was a feast for the gods.
It's now 6:15, and it hasn't even begun to get dark yet. Still, I'm in my tent, because I knew I had a lot to write, and I want to read tonight, too.
I just love this life. I stink like the devil, but it's a good stink--it means I've been hiking all day. I think I'm going to do fine on the AT. I think I'll enjoy coming into town every four or five days, and meeting the people who cater to hikers. While I enjoy hiking solo, it'll be nice to have other hikers to talk to every now and then.
I noticed this evening that, contrary to my prior observation, my beloved Walrus Swift did not make it out of the flash flood unscathed. The fly has a couple of small tears, and the no-see-um netting is stretched funny in places. Sadness. It's still very usable, though. The holes in the fly are actually in the vestibule, so that's really no big deal. I love my Walrus Swift. I wish I could marry it.
The outside of my tent is crawling with gnats. Ugh. This is a buggy campsite.
More later.
It's raining. It's been raining off and on for the last hour and
a half, at least.
I sure wish someone else would be rain goddess for awhile.
I'm not whining so much as I am explaining the facts now: In the nearly two years that I've been backpacking, I have never been on a trip where it didn't rain. And when I hike, it doesn't just rain--I get tornadoes, flash floods, lightning storms, etc. No nice light spring rains, or Louisiana summer thunderstorms, where it's just enough to cool you off.
Here's how it usually happens. I decide that it's time for a backpacking trip. Check the extended weather forecast for that area. So far, so good. Nice weather expected. Yay! As the trip draws nearer (sometimes this is in less than a week), the forecast changes. The final forecast: thunderstorms Friday and Saturday, clearing up by Sunday afternoon. I am not lying! This is why they call me "La Nina the Rain Goddess!"
A note about "La Nina the Rain Goddess": This is a nickname. This is not going to be my trail name on the AT. The Pinhoti has given me a trail name, which I will probably use on the AT. But I'm giving up the "Rain Goddess" moniker, or all my fellow southbounders will blame me for the torrential rains that Maine will most certainly get during June and July. The hikers would hate me, and I would have no friends. That would be so sad.
I only have about six miles to hike to Blue Mountain Shelter, where I'm meeting up with Maggie and hopefully Jay Hudson. It's supposed to quit raining later this morning. I think I'll wait another hour or two, then pack up and head to the shelter. I'm in no hurry. Once there, I'll hang my wet tent out to dry.
Tonight will be fun. Maggie will be making either chicken or chili. And I'll be HUNGRY. I ate my usual 1/2 Liptons last night, and it didn't seem like enough. My poor stomach growled all night long. I have plenty of food to get me to Cheaha State Park (tomorrow), but I'll be ready to re-stock once I'm there.
That night, at Cheaha Lodge Restaurant ...
It's so beautiful outside, and I feel awful. Sick to my stomach. I think I did something that wasn't very nice, but I didn't mean for it not to be nice.
Let me go over the whole day.
It had quit raining by 7:30, so I got up, broke camp, and was out by 8:30. Then I realized that I had forgotten my rope AGAIN, and thus began a series of false starts and delays that was to last the entire day.
I was in a really bad mood all day long. A large part of it was PMS, I know. But I just kept finding things to feel negative about. I was so sick of carrying wet gear, and I was so sick of cloudy, rainy weather. It was cloudy and threatening rain all day, plus it was windy and cold. My pack felt so heavy, and I had to stop twice to readjust it, then I finally stopped, unpacked it, and re-packed it. It was better after that--hardly "packvana," but better. And my pack couldn't have weighed more than 24 or 25 pounds this morning, maybe more with the extra rain I was toting. Amazing the difference it makes when you re-arrange the stuff inside.
Yes, I was feeling discouraged and mad and bitchy today. I'm just glad no one was there to see me. I'm glad Mags wasn't there to see me. I had made up my mind to be cheerful, so I started singing, "You Are My Sunshine." I came across a huge clump of mayapples. Mayapples always make me happy, so I started singing "You Are My Mayapple" to them (yes, I have a habit of singing and talking to the flora and fauna when I hike). Finally starting to feel good when I came upon Hillabee Creek, which I would have to ford. The creek was moving pretty fast, and I just stared at it. I had images of myself flying down raging creeks. I was afraid to cross.
Well, I finally got up the gumption to at least try, and I made it. I was shaking by the time I got across, though, and just took a 15-minute gorp-eating break to relax.
Much of the trail this morning was swampy and wet from the rain. I was in such a pissed-off mood. I was so sick of swampy and wet. Sometimes the mud would be up past my gaiters (I love my gaiters, though), and the wet branches were constantly slapping me where the trail was overgrown. Sometimes a limb would whip back and hit me, and it felt like my skin was being sliced. Briars and poison ivy were abundant, and I was constantly having to watch my step. I missed my Lekis, which are excellent tools for getting briars, limbs, and the ever-present cobwebs out of the way.
It was so hard not to give in to my feelings of frustration. I kept telling myself, "Don't waste your energy being mad. You'll need all that energy to climb Blue Mountain in a few hours."
Well, I used it all right. I was like a freight train hauling up that mountain, driven by anger and frustration. I was angry at the weather (it had never cleared up), I was angry that I wouldn't be able to hike the entire Pinhoti, and I was angry that Elisa and I hadn't been able to hike on the Ouachita Trail as planned. But most of all, and most absurdly of all, I was angry at Mags for never having to deal with flash floods, lost tents, emergency shelters, or altered plans. He just starts at one end of a trail and hikes to the other end. Not fair!! Why can't it ever be that straightforward for me?!?
I was ahead of my schedule, but I half-expected to see Maggie waiting at Blue Mountain Shelter. I tried to stop being angry and start thinking about chili instead, since Maggie said she might make chili tonight.
While starting up Blue Mountain, I saw a sign: "Blue Mountain Shelter, 3 miles." I booked it. It was getting really cold, and I wanted to get to the shelter soon. After about 2.5 miles, there was another sign: "Blue Mountain Shelter, 1 mile."
"Another freakin' mile?" I yelled. "I have to hike another freakin' mile?"
Yes. I kept reminding myself that I love to hike, and that I would rather hike than be at work, but that tack wasn't working today. I think my spirit was feeling beaten down by the past few days, and I was feeling sorry for myself. That, and it was my PMS day. 'Nuff said.
About a quarter of a mile from the shelter, I accidentally sliced the front of my right thigh on a briar. Not like I hadn't been sliced by briars before, but this was a big one, and the relatively deep cut immediately started bleeding. I just stood there and stared at it, watched the blood trickle down to my kneecap. Then the tears came, tears of frustration that had been building up all day. I was cold, I was hurting, I was tired, I was lonely, and I had PMS. Not a good combination. Tears still flowing, I started again toward the shelter.
When I reached the shelter, I was freezing. No Maggie, no Jay. The wind was blowing fiercely, and the clouds were growing darker and darker. I could barely undo my pack, my fingers were so numb. I fumbled and fumbled until I finally managed to light up an Esbit tab and boil some water. While it was heating, I moved my sleeping bag up to the top floor of the shelter. It looked like it might be warm in that small, enclosed, protected space. Back on the bottom floor, I poured the hot water into my Nalgene pint bottle, and just held the bottle in my hands for a minute. My hands were so cold! My nose had been running all day, so I took a Benadryl, climbed back "upstairs," snuggled into my sleeping bag, and planned to nap until either Maggie or Jay arrived.
I couldn't sleep. I was so cold, and it felt like the icy air was seeping right through my sleeping bag, right through my skin, and right into my bones. Was it really cold, or was it just my spirit flagging? I don't know. But it felt like it was in the 30s, and the wind was blowing. I thought about trying to build a fire, but my hands were too cold. I just wanted to get somewhere warm. The idea of hiking down to Cheaha Lodge was becoming more and more appealing to me.
It was nearly 4:00. Maggie and Jay still weren't there yet. I was so cold I was shivering and my teeth were chattering. I was also beginning to fear that Maggie and Jay wouldn't show up, especially with the weather so cold and gloomy. So I wimped out. I packed up, wrote Maggie a note that I'd gone to pick up my supplies at Cheaha, and headed out. Since she said she would be parking at the trailhead, I assumed I would run into her on my way out. I was almost hoping she'd been prevented from the hike, so a mix-up could be avoided, and so I wouldn't feel obligated to go back to that cold shelter on that cold mountain.
I hiked two miles to the road, then a half-mile to the trailhead. There was a white car there, but it wasn't Maggie's vehicle. I thought it must be Jay's. I was so numb, I could barely hold on to my walking stick. I headed up to the lodge. What a long walk it seemed like. I felt like a weary wanderer, lonely and broken. I fought back tears as I walked. I was so very cold. I heard a car behind me, and I turned and stuck out my thumb in an attempt to hitch a ride the remaining quarter of a mile. No such luck.
I finally arrived at the lodge and took the only room available--a smoking double. I wasn't being picky. In the mirror, I saw that my face was bright red from the wind, and my entire upper lip was chapped from my nose running all day. Later, I discovered from that mirror that my entire body from the waist down was covered with bruises, probably from the evening I went flying down the creek. Beautiful.
I tried to call Maggie's house, but the phone rang and rang, with no answer. I called my mom, then I called Mags, who will call me back later tonight. After a soak in the tub, I got dressed for dinner. Before I left, Jay Hudson's mom called; apparently, Jay and Maggie had gone to Blue Mountain Shelter, and were wondering where I was. My heart sank. I told Jay's mom to tell Jay I wouldn't be going to the shelter. With a heavy heart, I headed for dinner. I had no appetite. I felt bad about not staying at the shelter. But, with my wet gear, I would be lying to say I'd rather be there than at the Cheaha State Park Lodge.
After dinner, I took a shower (to wash my hair), opened my supply box,
sorted all my stuff out, hung things all over the room to dry, and turned
on the TV so I could watch the weather. Right now I'm drooling over Sean
Connery and Richard Gere in "First Knight," and waiting for my own knight
in shining armor to call. OK, so he's a knight in synthetic fabrics and
dirty hiking boots. But I love him anyway.
At this moment, I feel truly happy. I'm sitting on a rock at McDill
Overlook, gazing over the southernmost of the Appalachian mountain range.
The bright yellow-green of these woods' deciduous trees has crept about
3/4 of the way up the mountains, and it's overtaken some of the lower hills
to the south. Dark-green conifers stretch through the new green like giant
fingers or the shadows of clouds. This land is so beautiful. The great
boulders below me look like they have bits of quartz in them, but they're
so overgrown with orange and cream-colored lichens that it's hard to tell.
The wind is blowing softly through these fragrant Virginia Pines to my
right and left. The sun is shining down upon me, warm and calming. A turkey
vulture soars over the mountaintops in the distance. Two yellow butterflies
flit playfully among the branches and rocks. And it's only 3:00 in the
afternoon, and I can sit up here as long as I want.
My tent is set up in a small clearing, about 200 feet back, surrounded by mountain laurel. What a peaceful place this is. How different my circumstances are from yesterday.
I woke up this morning so lonely and depressed that I felt physically ill. It was like a heavy rock in the pit of my stomach, and a pressure that weighed down my heart and deflated my lungs. I went to breakfast at the Cheaha Restaurant, but barely had an appetite and maybe took three sips of coffee. I just felt so sad, and so overwhelmingly lonely.
At breakfast, I drafted a note to Maggie and Jay saying to meet me in my room at the lodge. I trudged the half-mile to the trailhead parking area, but there was no car there; the white car I saw yesterday must not have been Jay's after all. This made me even sadder, and it was a long, slow walk to the hotel. I thought about packing up and going home. I thought about calling Mags and telling him what a loser he has for a girlfriend. I watched the news and saw that rain was forecast for Tuesday and Wednesday. I lay on the bed and just stared at the phone, hoping it would ring.
It didn't, and I eventually got up and began to pack. I was nearly finished packing when the phone finally did ring. Maggie and Jay were in the registration office! I nearly shouted "Woo hoo!" to Leon, the man at the front desk. Soon, Maggie, Jay, and I stood talking in the parking lot as I admired my new Lekis and we exchanged stories of yesterday's Blue Mountain Shelter experiences. They had never gone to the trailhead where I'd seen the white car. Instead, they started at a lesser-known trailhead much closer to the shelter. That's why I hadn't seen them on the trail.
They had also hiked at Coleman Lake yesterday and had picked up my cache. Cool!
Because Maggie had to (reluctantly) get back to town, Jay and I set off on the trail to McDill Overlook, which was only a few miles in. Jay Hudson is the president of the Alabama Trails Association and is a botanist--every hiker's dream is to hike with a botanist!
"What's that?" I would ask, over and over again, and he would provide all the answers: muscadine, quartzite, Virginia Pine, the city of Talladega in the distance. It was a great hike. We talked the whole time and stopped at all the overlooks. His dog, Champ (a.k.a. Bo Diddley), is a great dog--very old and sweet-tempered. He got tired, though! When we got to McDill, we climbed up among the rocks and looked out over the sheer beauty of northeastern Alabama and the Appalachian mountains. It was so nice to have someone to hike with, and enjoy the views with!
Jay and Champ/Bo Diddley just left a few minutes ago. I hung a line, set up my tent, and came out to the rocks to sit. This is a good day. This is what backpacking should be about--at least some of the time. So often this past week, I've felt like I was in a constant battle with the elements, racing time and weather to get to the next stopping point, fighting to preserve life and gear against rain and cold. Today is warm and leisurely. I can watch a turkey vulture as it sails across the horizon, making wide, graceful circles along the way. Life is so good. Life is so sweet.
A few hours later ...
Now, my wonderful day has ended, and a (hopefully) restful night has begun. I stood on my rock outcrop and watched the sunset as I sipped orange spice tea and munched on a bagel Maggie gave me. It was good--sesame seed. She also gave me some instant hot chocolate, and Jay gave me some yummy granola from a local bread place. I nibbled on the granola all day, with the rationale of, "I'm hiking big miles tomorrow."
Actually, I'm only hiking about 11 miles. I'll probably need serious moleskin and Vitamin I, though, because a lot of the trail will be straight downhill. Thank God I have the Lekis again. I love my Lekis. I think I'll marry them.
I could definitely get used to living out of a backpack and sleeping in a tent every night. I still don't quite have an evening routine yet, but that will come in time. I'm really learning about what I will and will not take next time I go hiking. For example, I will always take an emergency blanket from now on. And mittens (duh). And I think I might start taking emergency firestarter, because Esbit fuel tabs don't light very well when wet. They don't light at all when wet.
I like this life. It suits me, even with all its ups and downs. And I like solo hiking, even though it's nice to have a friend to hike with every now and then, like today, or when I was hiking with Chuck.
I have two and a half more days of hiking. What a varied trip this has
been! Not at all what I expected, but then, nothing ever goes as
planned. And that's not always a bad thing.
Is it possible that I can be happier this evening than I was yesterday
at McDill Point? I wouldn't have thought so!
Right now, I'm at the Lake Chinabee campground. I'm not real crazy about using campgrounds for backpacking, but I'm here anyway. The only campsites I've seen in the last mile and a half have been discovered already; the ground is flat, but it looks packed hard as clay. So I moved on to the campground, which has flush toilets that are clean and that work! What a luxury! I'm camped in a grassy area toward the back of the campground, one of the few grassy areas that don't have a "No Camping on Grass" sign.
It's about 7:00 p.m. right now. It's been a long hiking day; I had planned for about 10 miles, but it's been more like 12 or 13. I was so happy as I woke up this morning. I watched the sky lighten from McDill as I ate my dry cereal, then I broke camp and was hiking by 7:20. What a glorious day! The sun was shining, and after hiking only a half-hour, I had to stop and de-layer. I hiked the whole day in my shorts and t-shirt.
The trail today was the roughest, most rugged it's been so far. I kept thinking of it as my "Pennsylvania Rocks Training Session." Nothing but rocks as I stumbled over Talladega Mountain!
The trail was marked pretty well at first, so it was pretty easy to follow for the first mile or so, despite the fact that there was no traditional "trail"--just rocks. Big rocks and little rocks. Many of which twisted and turned and rocked as you stepped on them. Rockin' rocks. What little ground there was, was loose, so that my Lekis would sink right into it, as if special leki-holes had been pre-dug into the mountain.
(40 minutes later)
Sorry to cut off the last paragraph like that. It was dusk, and I wanted to eat my dinner and get settled into my tent before dark.
What a meal I had! Yes, Mags, I ate an entire Lipton dinner--all two servings! And I felt wonderfully satisfied when I finished. It was Bowtie Pasta with Italian Cheese. Not as good as the Butter and Herb, but much better than that nasty tomato/penne pasta dinner I had with the hiking class on the Black Creek Trail last November. I'll never eat that again!
Anyway, back to my day ... I ended up losing the trail on Talladega Mountain. Because it's in the Cheaha Wilderness Area, much of the trail isn't blazed. This really wasn't a problem--the rocky area was over by the time the blazes stopped. It's just that the trail seemed to peter out. What's worse is that, when I went to pick up the last trail-like bit of path I had been on, I couldn't find it! Since it was a ridgeline trail, and I knew the general area I was in, I just walked up the ridgeline and eventually found a trail, this one marked with pink ribbons. Weird. I didn't remember seeing pink ribbons before. But I followed the trail--to a point. It couldn't be the right trail, I knew. My trail had been several hundred feet lower, a little west of the ridge. So I cut down the western slope. No trail. I went back up. Couldn't find that trail. What to do? I walked along the ridgeline, going north. I found a trail! And a tree with a Pinhoti symbol! Woo hoo! I continued north and found myself at a trail junction I'd passed over an hour earlier! Argh! Somehow I had lost the Pinhoti and had backtracked onto the Cave Creek Trail, which does run parallel to the Pinhoti for awhile. The tree with the Pinhoti symbol had been on the trail that connected the Pinhoti with the Cave Creek Trail. Weird.
I wasn't sure of this, though, so I dropped pack and walked down the connector trail (marked with cairns, mostly) until it met the Cave Creek Trail. Then I walked about a mile down the Pinhoti until the blue blazes ended (the Pinhoti is marked in some places with blue blazes, and in other places with a "turkey track" symbol). I walked back to the junction point, picked up my pack, and followed the blue blazes, and stayed on the same trail once the blue blazes stopped.
Eventually, I saw my mistake; I had missed a slight veer to the right. Other people had too, obviously, because the path straight ahead was actually more worn than the actual trail. I noticed a sign that said "TRAIL" with the arrow pointing in the right direction. I had never seen the sign the first time. Easy sign for northbounders to see, but not for southbounders!
In short, it took me 4.5 hours to hike 3 miles of trail to the Chinabee Silent Trail. Total, I probably covered at least 6 miles on Talladega Mountain, with all my backtracking.
The Chinabee Silent Trail starts out rugged, rocky, and straight downhill. I lengthened my Lekis and downed three Vitamin I's in preparation for the trek. This trail was built by a Boy Scout Troop #29, a deaf troop from Talladega, between 1979 and 1981. Maggie later told me that the parents of some of her current students were among the scouts who helped build it. This cannot have been an easy trail to build. My boonie hat is off to those who constructed it.
After the rocky part, I had some woods walking. Ah, nothing like a trail of soft pine needles to ease the hiker's weary, rock-battered feet! It was like walking barefoot on feathers.
My feet aching, my knees begging for mercy, and my stomach growling, I was anxious to hike the remaining miles to the Cheaha Falls Shelter. I got to the Turnipseed Hunter Camp: two more miles to the shelter. I looked at my watch; I could make it by 1:30. I booked it. I crossed a road. I crossed another road. I stopped. I looked at my map. Had I crossed too many roads? I began to get a little frustrated, especially in light of my morning wanderings. How could I have missed the shelter? All I wanted was to get to the shelter, rest my bones (particularly my feet!), and pig out on peanut butter, crackers, cheese, and beef jerky. And here I had missed it. Maybe.
I kept hiking. When I saw a Sierra Designs tent set up in the distance, I breathed a sigh of relief. Hikers! They could direct me to the shelter.
Well, I never made it to the shelter. Instead, I spent nearly 3 hours getting acquainted with Dwayne Thursby and Sandra Olsen, two habitual travelers from Atlanta who had spent several days camped out at Chinabee Creek. I am so glad I stopped to ask them directions; they invited me to join them for lunch, and they shared their soy hot dogs with me, plus they gave me three apples. Mmmm! Dwayne and Sandra were so much fun to talk to; both have been all over the world--southeast Asia, Nepal, Siberia, Europe, etc. They live the kind of life Mags and I want to live: work hard, save money, then go traveling for several months or more. It can be done! Dwayne is in the computer industry, and Sandra is a writer. I don't even remember everything we talked about. We did talk about gear.
They asked if I always had such a big smile! I said that it isn't hard to smile when you're out in the woods like this! Really, I have been so happy these last couple of days. And Dwayne told me I "look" like a hiker; I guess my calf and thigh muscles have begun to develop! Woo hoo! I know I smell like a hiker, but Dwayne and Sandra were polite enough not to tell me that--although I probably would have taken it as a compliment!
When I had first approached their tent, I felt like a frustrated, weary wanderer again. When I left, my heart was light, and I couldn't stop smiling. What nice people there are on the trail! I sang as I hiked the remainder of the Chinabee Silent Trail to the campground.
I sing a lot when I hike. My songs for this trip have mainly been:
- "Peaceful, Easy Feeling" by the Eagles (sometimes with the verses to "Amazing Grace" like Kellih and I used to sing when we'd go cruising on the Blue Ridge Parkway)
- "You Are My Sunshine" by Louisiana's former governor, Jimmy Davis
- "Pass It On," one of my favorite camp songs
- "Ripple" by the Grateful Dead
- "Country Roads" by John Denver (several days ago, I sang his entire "Greatest Hits Vol. 1" album. I had no idea that I knew every word to every song, but I do!)
- "Logan's Song," which is a song I wrote about 8 years ago when I started to realize that life might really be worth living
- A song I wrote about my AT thru-hiking dream. It doesn't have a title, but it start out with, "There's a dream I know, been inside me for a lifetime or more ..."
- And a few songs I made up on this trip. One is about spring and the smell of pine needles, and the other is a hokey song I'm just calling "Nina's Hiking Song." I just make up verses about all the things I love about hiking, then I sing the same line at the end of each verse: "I could hike this trail--all the way to Georgia!" It'll be my dorky little AT ditty.
Today I felt like a hiker. I like this life so much--always moving, but never moving so fast I can't stop to talk to a stranger and make a friend. This is such a good life, even with all its emotional ups and downs. This morning was tough, but this afternoon with Dwayne and Sandra more than made up for it.
This is my second-to-last (penultimate!) night on the trail. Tomorrow night might not be so pleasant, since RAIN is expected. I'm not sure where I'm going to camp; Adams Gap is only 6 or 7 miles away, and I'd like to do a few more miles than that. This last section of trail is going to be dry, so I'll have to be careful with my water. I'd like to hike all the way to Clairmont Springs, but that's 18 miles from here. I don't think I'm up to that--yet!
I am starting to look, think, smell, and eat like a hiker. Good
thing this is my last night on the trail (not!).
Wow, what a day. It was pretty uneventful--no flash floods, no brushes with death, no getting hopelessly lost, etc. It was a long day, though.
I woke up at 6 and was hiking by 7:20. My first obstacle of the day--about 20 feet into the trail--was a stream crossing. Argh! This one couldn't be done in boots, so I reluctantly changed to my flip flops. I'm still not real fond of stream crossings after last week, but I need to be if I plan to hike the Appalachian Trail through Maine. I made it across and had a few handfuls of gorp to celebrate (I'd just had breakfast a half-hour before).
My first trail of the day was the Skyway Trail, which would connect with the Pinhoti at Adams Gap after 6.6 miles. From there, I would hike 6 miles to Chandler Gap, where I would stealth-camp because of the several roads that converge on the area.
Well, I am seriously stealth-camped. More on that later.
The Skyway Trail was mostly nice but unspectacular. A number of areas were burned--ugh. The good side was that a million bright green ferns were growing up from the burns, so it was quite pretty, in a different way. The Skyway had lots of up-and-downing--good alternative to Stairmaster. About an hour and a half into the hike, my stomach started growling. I couldn't believe it--it's not as if I hadn't had breakfast and gorp earlier! I ignored it until I actually started to feel tired, sluggish, and low on energy. When I finally stopped, I attacked my snack bag: a granola bar dipped in peanut butter. Am I nuts? It's an excellent snack--I just hope I don't get hooked on it when I'm not hiking, or I will have a serious weight problem!
I didn't notice as many wildflowers today; I don't know if this is because there weren't as many as usual, or if my mind was just on other things--and it was definitely on other things. Non-hiking things, mostly. Not necessarily negative things, but definitely non-hiking things: IEM softball, the cats, my family, the fact that I haven't paid my car insurance yet, the fact that I'll have to tell them at work that I'm leaving to hike the AT, etc. I thought about the AT some, too, particularly all the preparation I must do in the next couple of months. In some ways, I think the AT will be easier than this trip. With the shelters, campsites, and water sources noted in the Data Book, I won't have to do all this blasted scouting, unless I decide to stealth camp. More on that later. Also, there will be other hikers out there. Even though I'm a loner at heart, I think I'll enjoy the company of others after a long day of hiking mostly alone.
Anyway, the Skyway Trail eventually ended, and the rugged and rocky Pinhoti started up again. The trail today was quite pretty--prettier than I'd expected it to be. Because the map said it was a very dry section, I carried extra water--96 oz extra. Ouch! Actually, it wasn't so bad, since my heavy food supply is rapidly dwindling. It also helps not to have a soaking wet pack like I did last week.
The trail hit a couple of low "peaks" covered with blueberry bushes--too bad it's not summer, when the berries are ripe. The tops of the hills are mostly flat, and the trail winds through shrubby bushes and trees. The views were nice, even though the day was kind of overcast and blah (naturally). At one point, I nearly stepped on a turtle. I don't know what kind of turtle it was, but its shell was a mixture of brown and gold. It was so beautiful--looked like something you'd find as a stained-glass window in a cathedral of old. Humans (artists) have sought to make beautiful things since the beginning of time, but nothing we create can compare to the beauty you find out here. This turtle's shell looked handpainted gold and brownish-green by a master artist, with the colors and shadings almost rendering a 3-dimensional impression. It's hard to explain without sounding like an idiot, since I don't know the right terms. But the gold looked like it was wisping and winding in and out of the brownish-green of the shell. The lighter wisps looked like they were "farther away" than the bolder ones. It was like looking at an old coke bottle, or sunlight reflecting on ripples in water. Anyway, I gazed at that shell for a long time until the turtle stuck his head out. Silly me--I greeted him with, "Good afternoon, Mr. Turtle!" and he stuck his head back in. Wow, he's even shyer than I am. I shrugged and hiked on.
The whole time I hiked this afternoon, I thought primarily of two things: FOOD and BEER. Specifically, I thought about fried catfish po-boys. I want a fried catfish po-boy with Brewbacher's cheese fries and an ice-cold beer. I don't know why I'm craving beer so much, but I am. I'm not even much of a beer drinker. Chuck and Betty gave me a beer at their RV, and it was sooo good--hit the spot. I guess that's why I'm craving it now.
Once I passed the Chandler Gap roads, I began looking for a campsite. And looking. And looking. And looking. And looking. And looking. And looking. But the terrain of the trail and the surrounding area was nothing more than ROCKS. And more ROCKS. Yes, kiddies, it was another training day for Pennsylvania. It wouldn't be so bad if the rocks were secure, if you could step on them with some assurance that they'd stay put. But no--they twist and turn, and hop out of place with the slightest nudge. Once I stepped on a big rock with my right foot, and it flipped up and landed on my left food. Ouch! And hiking poles are no help in this situation. If you try to anchor them to the rocks, they slip, and if you try to anchor them to the ground, which is loose and is ankle deep in leaves, they sink.
Anyway, this wasn't the ideal hiking situation for a tired, hungry (again) hiker scouting for a campsite. There was nothing. No thing. No flat little piece of land to be seen for this weary wanderer. Nothing but rocks and leaves and steep inclines. My planned 12.6-mile day became more like a 14-mile day. I finally found a flat spot about 1,500 feet downhill from the trail. The land was relatively flat (everything is relative!), compared to the downhill trek I had to make in order to get to it. Now that I'm lying in my tent, though, I realize that it is definitely not flat. I just hope it doesn't rain too hard, because I couldn't get some of the tent stakes secure, with the deep layers of leaves and the rocks underneath. Keeping my fingers crossed ...
I just realized that the no-see-ums are getting into my tent where the no-see-um netting stretched last week. Duct tape to the rescue!
Despite the bugs, the incline, and the threat of rain, I think I will sleep well tonight. I am so tired after a long day. I guess I'll be in a warm, comfy bed at this time tomorrow night. That will be nice, but I'll miss living in my tent.
It was strange hiking this morning, knowing it would be my last
day. On one hand, I was looking forward to giving my feet a rest and eating
a few good meals; on the other hand, I didn't quite feel ready for the
hike to end. I walked slowly, as if that would really delay the inevitable.
The trail today was not as spectacular as it was in earlier parts of my hike. For one thing, it was dry and rocky (boooo, rocks!), and it's hard to enjoy the views when you're busy trying to maneuver the rocks. It also makes for very slow, painstaking hiking. The rocky part of the trail really is pretty, though. The rocks have some sort of light green lichen growing on them, and the woods all around are bright green. Because it rained last night, the whole area was misty, and the tree trunks looked black, making a stark contrast to the bright, new green of spring.
The last half of today's hike was bittersweet for me. The mountains have slowly become "hills," and the end of the trail was like hiking in Louisiana or Mississippi--a pretty, sloping path through the woods. It must have been quite an experience for Nimblewill Nomad, and later for Chuck, to get to this area after hiking hundreds of miles through the flat terrain of Florida and southern Alabama, knowing that these hills were the beginning of the Appalachian chain, and that the real mountains were just up ahead. Soon, I could hear cars on Highway 77, and I slowed down even more. My feet were ready to quit hiking, but my heart wasn't.
Finally, I reached the trailhead. I was sad to finish, but it was with the most wonderful sense of pride and confidence, combined with trail-hardened weariness. For a few minutes, I just stood there and looked at the first (last) blaze of the Pinhoti, probably with a silly, happy smile on my face. I made it! I completed my first-ever solo long-distance hike! I took off my boots and put on the sandals I'd kept in the trunk. I switched from dirty boonie hat to baseball cap, and put my pack and hiking poles in the trunk. Then I got in my car and drove to Talladega, where I stopped for gas and called an AT-L lister and '99 thru-hiker, Jim Hipp, who had offered to let me stay at his house the night after my hike was over.
Now, I'm in the bed of their guest room, comfy and cozy. When I got here, Jim's wife (Sherry) led me straight to the shower (at my request, of course!). After cleaning up, I once again experienced that greatest of luxuries, the hairdryer. Then Sherry fed me not one, but two sandwiches, and offered me ... an ice-cold beer! Ah! Craving satisfied! A few hours later, we had stir-fry for dinner. Mmmm, food is so good!
Jim and I did a lot of talking about the AT, and particularly southbounding, tonight. Jim, whose trail name is Southwalker, hiked the AT southbound in 1999. The talk ran from practical (scheduling, logistics, good places to stay, etc.) to philosophical. His primary words of advice were, "Don't rush through Maine!" I'm going to take that advice.
Most of tonight, Jim worked on his computer while Sherry and I talked. Jim is kind of quiet and laid back, and Sherry is more talkative and high-energy. Both are great to talk to! Sherry and I talked about her daughter, who sounds as nonconformist as they come. We also talked about other things, including books since we're both voracious readers, and I recommended Ferrol Sams' books to her. I can tell that she'll love his sense of humor in writing about southern life and people.
I'm tired, but I'm not ready to go to sleep. Jim's still in the computer room. I can tell that he never tires of talking about the AT, so I don't think he'll mind if I go talk to him now, 'cause I never tire of talking about the AT, either.
The next morning ...
I talked to Jim for a couple of hours about the AT last night after my writing my journal entry. He is so cool. I'm sorry I'm only able to visit with him and Sherry for such a short time. He gave me lots of advice, and said he thought I was going to have a great hike. I think I will, too!
I'm looking forward to the AT, but I'm going to miss the Pinhoti Trail. It wasn't in the cards for me to hike all of it this time, but that's OK. It's been an experience like no other experience I've ever had. And it's something I did on my own.
Not really. Without the support, help, and friendship of Maggie, Philip, Chuck, and Betty, this hike would most likely have ended after two days. Meeting Jay, Dwayne, and Sandra on the hike made two frustrating days turn into two of my best days on the trail. No, I didn't do this alone.
But, when I was out in the woods alone, I had to take care of myself. And I learned that I can take care of myself in the woods for days, even in a survival situation. It's a good feeling to know that.
These mountains, this southernmost end of the Appalachian range, have changed me. They've made me more confident, more competent, and more willing and ready to face the next adventure, which will be a southbound thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail. I love these mountains, which run from here all the way to Cap Gaspe', Canada, and beyond. The Appalachians have already begun to make me strong.