450/TO/GO

reflections on the AT hike that began 10 years ago

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Taking Chances...

One of my adventures while out on the Appalachian Trail involved hitch-hiking.  I was standing outside of Troutdale, Virginia, on a Sunday afternoon in June.  This town was little more than a convenience store/gas station, with a few houses and a church, with a very primitive hostel in the back.  And, being on a Sunday, everything was closed.  After hiking all day, and eating the last of my food for the day, I soon realized that I'd be hitching into the next town if I wanted something to eat for dinner and breakfast.  I left my pack in the hostel (which was little more than a frame of a small building) and set out to get to the next town with a grocery store: Marion, Virginia.  

After about an hour, I realized how desolate this road was.  I had counted 3 cars within the hour, and none of them were headed in the right direction.  So, when this rackety old car that seemed brought back from the dead one too many times comes pulling up, I had gotten to be a little desperate.  Red flag numbers one and two were the two gentlemen sitting in the front seat - one shirtless, one mulleted, in the two-door vehicle.  They asked me where I was headed, and told me to hop in.  First things first, of course, was the offering of a beer out of the case they had sitting in between them in the front seat.  I took it, and I believe my instincts were correct about that.  

The boys started talking to me about the trail, and about themselves, and I soon learned that the younger of the two (25 years of age) is the older one's (32 years of age) uncle, and that the older's mother is the younger's sister. Their dad apparently had 32 kids from 8 marriages, the elder's mother being one of the first, and the driver being the last. I am having a hard time comprehending the math, but I'll go with it. Nothing surprises me.

Then, the fun starts.

We start flying, and I mean, FLYING down the road at 80-100 mph (posted speed limit being 35-45 mph), passing cars, dodging cars, practically hitting cars...you name it. We then make it to Marion, and I get out to do a bit of grocery shopping...really not sure if I wanted to get back in the car. But, I did. It's only a 15 minute ride, right?

So, I go back to the car, and the driver tells me to jump in, and after I jump in, he explains that some bitch just took off, and she owes him money, so he's gonna catch her. With that, he peels off,starts fish-tailing all over the parking lot, where we almost hit 2 cars, and takes off down mainstreet, Marion. He's swerving in and out of traffic, almost taking out everything in his way, and then catches up and practically runs the person off the road who he thinks owes him money...and it turns out that it's not her. So we turn back to go to Troutdale. In the middle of the trip back, we pass a store that has a friend of his outside, so he slams his brakes, turns the car, does a 180 in the middle of the street, and rides over to chat w/ him for a bit. They start talking about getting some meth and going to the lake, and want to know what I'm doing later. I simply say that I have to get back.

So, they take off again...and start going into a story about how that friend had shot a guy in New York and gutted him because he stole some drugs from them and swallowed them. FANTASTIC. I then start wondering where I am going to be buried once they take care of me. I then start wondering if I'll ever even make it out of the car. The guy gets to a road crossing, and turns down the wrong way...and this is when I start to panic. He pulls up to a house, and talks to someone outside for a minute (from the car), then takes back off and gets on the right street. The driver then starts telling me about his brief stay at the Marion Psychiatric Hospital, and how he isn't cured, but doesn't want to be locked up anymore. 2 beers down me, and I'm taking things just slightly better. My heart drops out of my throat once we pull back up into Troutdale, and up to the church hostel, where they both bid me farewell, and wish a safe travel upon me.

After this ride, I don't think I'll have any problems with the safety.

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And this is why the balds are bald.  Ranchers would bring their livestock up to the ridge lines of these mountains through North Carolina, Tennessee, and Virginia to let them graze, which essentially created an artificial treeline throughout many of these sloping mountain tops. 

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Here we are at one of the coolest shelters on the Appalachian Trail.  Overmountain Shelter. It is a 2 story barn with an upstairs loft that is about 90% enclosed.  Named, apparently, after the famous Overmountain Men - a group of Revolutionary soldiers from Western Appalachia, whose trail took them along this route to Virginia. 

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Heading out over a stile to some beautiful balds, and over to one of the coolest shelters on the trail.  

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Carvers Gap, coming off of Roan Mountain.  One of the coldest mountains on the trail south of the Mason-Dixon line.  The temp was hovering around freezing in May.  

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Big and Little Hump Mountain, Tennessee.  On a good day, you'll run into longhorns and ponies.

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There are no April Fool's stories to tell on my journey, as I was not out hiking on April 1st, but we did have a favorite hat and instrument day at one of the hostels along the way.  

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Happy Easter!  Our Easter celebration on Sunday, April 11, 2004.  An area Church group had set up at a road crossing not far from the base of Tray Mountain to hand out Easter goodies (fresh fruit and candy) to the passing hikers for Easter Sunday. 

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Full view of Jones Falls, in TN; a small trek off the beaten path.  This waterfall, or perhaps just adrenaline, gave me strength that I needed on a particularly rough day. 

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I found sasquatch.  Climbing up Big Butt Mountain, on another stormy day. These nasty, slippery rocks and stretches of sloping mud caused one of my worst knee injuries on the trail.  

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Learning to Fly

Fears.  We all have them.  Every single one of us has this thing that will make us jump out of our skin (read: spiders).  You can put a rationality behind it, or it can be completely irrational.  Doesn't matter, the end result is still the same.  

Growing up, I had two of these fears that would instill a fright in every single inch of my being: lightning and owls.  Lightning, certainly, could be understood.  A bold product of mother nature, non-discriminatory in its acts, and as unpredictable as it is powerful.  Owls, too, but that's another story.  

All children are afraid, at some point, of loud, clapping things, and those other indistinguishable things that go bump in the night.  It's a natural uncertainty of the unknown.  Most of us may have run to our parents when we hear that loud, booming, thunderous crackle at one point, but we eventually grow out of it and move long.  Myself, not so much.  

I recall hiding behind walls, doors, furniture, anything that could be used as a shield (even indoors) when a thunderstorm began to threaten.  Growing up from adolescence to adulthood, I still had that fear set in when a storm blew in.  The clap of thunder sent me to the most interior room, and forget about sleep until it moved on.  I wouldn't necessarily call it an irrational fear, however.  The childhood experience of playing outside when a tornadic thunderstorm came rolling in was the specific catalyst for this adulthood trauma I would have when lightning flashed outside.  

One bright, sunny, but soon-to-be erratically stormy afternoon, all of the neighborhood kids were playing outside at a house about a block from mine.  Wind began to blow, clouds started rolling in, and then the distant sounds of thunder were heard.  As my friend's parents came out to chase us home, due to the imminent storm, a few drops of water started falling from the sky.  I started walking, and the rain started pouring.  Halfway home, it abruptly stopped, and the wind died down.  The thunder and lightning quickened its pace and tenacity, though, and so I followed suit in my pace to get back home.  As soon as I reached the entrance of my yard, I paused and looked down the street, where I saw a dark, funneling cloud passing behind the treeline of the neighborhood.  I froze in fear and the hair on the back of my neck began to raise.  In that split second, a deafening boom and bright flash of light exploded to the direct right of me.  A tree in the woods about 30 feet from me split and cracked.  I stood there, paralyzed for a moment, and continued to watch the funnel cloud pass by and out of my view, then shook myself out of my stupor and ran inside.  From that day forward, you couldn't get me to set foot outside when a thunderstorm hit.  

Flash forward to the day of the first real thunderstorm we had on the Appalachian Trail.  Of course it was in the Smoky Mountains, where we were hiking and camping on ridge lines throughout the entire length of the Park.  Of course we were going over the famed Rocky Top and Thunderhead Mountains, the latter named after the erratic and unpredictable weather received in the vicinity.  Of course we would soon be crossing over the highest peak of the entire trail.  And of course we would be hit by a few feeder storms of the worst breakout of storms and tornadic activity in the history of the United States (ref. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/May_2003_tornado_outbreak_sequence).  

The terrain and ridge walk across the Great Smoky Mountains on the Appalachian trail, in the southern portion of the park, consists of fields and balds created by settlers' cattle being brought up to the ridges to feed for the summer months.  All along the southern portion of the Great Smoky Mountains/Appalachian Trail you will find a few green tunnels, but the larger portion is across these herd-created, grassy fields.  On a clear, sunny day, it is a gorgeous walk.  On a dark, stormy day, it can be sheer terror, especially if you have this one particular fear.  

The first morning in the Smokies, we woke up to that torrential, unforgiving rain.  Soon after starting out for the day's hike, the wind and lightning started.  It was cold, rainy, scary, slippery, and miserable.  Added to the fact that I was deathly afraid of these elements and we were talking across bald, naked fields about 50% of the time, I spent a lot of time halting, shuddering, and nervously laughing as I planned out my traversing across these huge, open fields.  At the end of the first day (more like mid-morning, after putting in just over four miles) I arrived at Spence Field.  I had been able to hop around and dodge certain fields and balds for the smaller part of the hike, I couldn't avoid the traverse across Spence Field, as the shelter was located on the other side.  I stood there for a moment, thunder clapping overhead, and started off.  Every few feet, I would freeze and look up at the sky when a flash of light or thunderclap could be seen or heard.  It literally took everything I had to start back up and take the next step after freezing up.  I had nowhere to run, though.  

Running back into the canopy of the woods provided no real shelter.  Even the three-walled, roofed-over shelter that was to be our home for the night couldn't protect us if mother nature wanted to strike us.  Slowly, as I crossed that field, I realized that this was something that I just had to overcome, or else I may as well walk off that mountain and go home.  Even that would be no small task, since it would be a day's hike to get to any location that would eventually bring me home.  So, I had my choice.  Either crumble up into a little ball in the middle of a field on the ridge line of the Smokies during a torrential rainstorm, or suck it up and keep moving.  So, I sucked it up, and kept moving.  

We went through almost 2 more days of this weather before a respite.  The next day had us crawling over Rocky Top and Thunderhead, one being a bald summit, and the other bring sprinkled with brush.  As I came up to Rocky Top, I paused and looked around to see nothing but grey skies and rain.  It didn't matter, though.  I had finally defeated a fear that had held onto me since childhood.  So, with both distant and nearby claps of thunder and bright flashes of lightning in the vicinity, I paused for a picture.  It's a fairly unremarkable picture to the average eye, but to me it is a picture of victory.  

I now have a healthy respect for mother nature and her light shows, but I now can say that I can enjoy the beauty of it without the fear of what it may do to me.  

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On top of the famous Rocky Top, in Tennessee.  During this time I faced and conquered my fear of lightning.  

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Once two strangers climbed old Rocky Top Looking for a moonshine still Strangers ain't come down from Rocky Top Reckon they never will.

The Osborne Brothers

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Hello, Iris!  While trudging through to get from one look-out to the next, it's important to look down and see the flora around you.

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Publishing this pic for marriage equality.  Also, for bacon.

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This is My Walking Cane...

Two years.  The planning for this trip took two years.  In the spring of 2000, I headed off on a backpacking trip for some solace and contemplation, and the next year, after a few changes - after settling in at my own place, legitimately on my own for the first time, I found the time to take my next vacation.  So, I decided to go back and do the same.  Same itinerary, same area of the country, same time of the year.  

I had learned a little bit from the previous trip, and took a few more adventures and chances, and the love for backpacking grew.  I knew I would want a bigger, better adventure.  I wanted to find more spots, more overlooks, more circumstantial moments that I couldn't catch driving down the street.  Those moments you have to work for.  I had stalled in my education, and didn't have the direction to head back just yet.  I had advanced as far up the ladder, career-wise, as the company I worked for would allow, and wanted to grow beyond that.  I just wasn't sure which direction to take.  These little thoughts and seeds were planted in my head and took root that next year on my next trip, and I decided to go bigger next time.  I had no bills.  I had no responsibilities outside of my job.  I had reached the ceiling there, and would have to head off to a bigger pond if I wanted to grow further in my career.  So, I looked into a small sabbatical to take some time to think it all out.  

I researched different backpacking adventures and trips, and soon came upon the Appalachian Trail.  A 2100 mile footpath that travels along 13 states through the Appalachian Mountains.  A long distance adventure to test your strengths and your will.  Interest piqued.  

Then there were the pictures that you don't really get to enjoy unless you're there taking them.  The challenge that presents itself when describing a feat so daunting that more than a third of the people quit after less than a week, and maybe ten percent complete the trail.  

Then I remembered the email I got from an old high school friend after I had just gotten engaged.  In the time that I had graduated from high school, started working, started and stopped going to school, gotten engaged, and little else, he had traveled the world.  Different countries and cultures, sailing and skydiving, name your adventure and he had either done it or conceived of it.  After a two page email of everything he had done in those three years, I couldn't even reply with a page.  A year later, I felt like my life had become stagnant, and I needed to shake that wanderlust that had been born; one partially out of my small trips to the great outdoors, and partially out of the envy I had after reading that email.  

A few days later, I was planning my trip to hike the Appalachian Trail.  

For the next two years, I read every article published, purchased countless maps and guides, and yes, I even read the book.  I read the fucking book.  By the way, Mr. Bryson, your book does the trail no justice.  I planned out the miles, and the days, and the weeks, and the months that it would take to do this.  I saved the money, bought the gear, and planned the date.  I packed food and planned mail drops.  I loaded my pack up with school books and hiked around, trying to condition myself for the trip.  For the record, be as fit as you want to be; conditioning happens on the trail, not one second before.  I even read books on preparing your friends, family and loved ones for the absolutely ludicrous thing that you are about to partake on.  I had answers for every question - why, where, how long, what are you taking, what are you thinking?  Friends understood, as much as they could.  Family, well they all thought I was nuts anyway so they went along with it.  My dad, though?  Well, when I explained what I wanted, the trip I had been planning and investing in for two years, the trip that both excited and slightly scared me, when I explained that to him, his only response was, 'well, that sounds like a stupid idea.'

Thanks. For that. 

On the eve of my departure date, as I had stocked and packed and mailed and postmarked all that I felt I would need, I grabbed an old walking cane from my mom's house.  The old walking cane was the crutch my dad had used after knee surgery one year, and had since discarded.  So, I decided to use it as my own crutch to help me through those steps I was about to take.  If he couldn't support me, his cane would.  

Subsequently, about a hundred miles into the trip, I accidentally left it at a trail shelter after stopping for lunch.  About ten miles later, I realized that I had left it behind.  I guess I didn't need it that much.  

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Another border crossing.  After crossing into NC, you unofficially weave back and forth over the NC/TN state lines, so the next official crossing is the walk into VA.