Day twenty-one, 22 miles
The wind blows through the night and the tent is bone dry when the birds wake me up. It’s a routine of heating up coffee, eating a bar, packing up and heading out.
It’s a climb to High Rocks with views of the mountains we’ve climbed, then a roller coaster in the forest following waterfalls and two day hikers heading up to Bald Mountain.
We check the weather often to look for any change. It’s brilliant to hike in dry socks and to actually see where we’re going. But mainly knowing the weather determines now if we camp or find a shelter.
In 13 miles or so, we’ll be in Erwin, at least on the edge at a hostel with a small store. Visiting town is always a calculation of how much food is needed for the next section of hiking before the next town, as well as how hungry you are in the moment, how long you need to charge up the power bank and if you want to stop or head on.
The hostel offers beds plus a shuttle to town, but I’m hoping I can get everything done right there and not take the several hours required to go to a supermarket.
This is what occupies the mind.
Yes, the views are wonderful (when I have them) and my body is kicking ass as we follow a ridge like waves. But I also need to figure out how to get home which is really the first order of business in town.
It’s funny we talk about all the things we need to do too as we walk, still noticing creatures and flowers and falls and rocks. The continuous motion of the body has a kind of calming and relaxing effect on the brain. I almost forget I’m moving at all, even when the ascent is at a sharp angle.
I find it interesting how our eye scans the trail for rocks, then moves to the next obstacle as our feet negotiates the move. Eye and limb are not in sync, rather one is working ahead of the other.
I’m also intrigued how a 13-mile walk over varied terrain in the mountains has become a morning’s walk to a destination.
I think I mentioned I’m reading a book called “The Last Great Walk,” about the man in 1909 who walked from New York to San Francisco in 100 days. The book takes us not just on his walk but deep into the evolution of walking as transportation to cars as transportation. Surely there were people in the past who did a morning’s walk of 13 miles to a destination – and thought nothing of it.
What a time that must have been.
The air is cool, dry, full of the aroma of trees, dirt, water, freshness. A tree falls with a crash near us, its roots likely loosened by all the rain. We remind each other to look up if we hear a crack to know which way to jump.
Ahead, another tree lays across the trail, it’s high branches a tangled mess. We work our way over it by climbing high up to its base, then down through mud trying not to get more grit in our shoes.
After the final rise, it’s down to the Nolichucky River with wonderful views through the deep valley through verdant mountains. We hit a road and right there is Uncle Johnny’s Hostel.
Let me tell you about this scene. We’re not called “Hiker Trash” for no good reason. Everyone, of course, had a backpack likely dirty, ripped, stuffed a bit too much.
We’re not necessarily grimy, but we’re certainly colorful, less dressed like a Patagonia catalog and more a hodgepodge of clashing colors, ill-fitting bottoms (most of us have lost weight) and individualized choices that we pick carefully since this is what is worn each and every day on trail (barring a change of season)
We’re also slowly starving ourselves (see ill-fitting above) Maybe our ancestors strolled 13 miles to a destination, but we do that plus some, day after day, and move at a clip. That burns many calories that are nearly impossible to replace, especially in easy-to-carry packets.
So we end up eating junk food and lots of it.
I do eat salmon and cheese every day plus a reasonably nutritious dinner, but the craving for salt and sugar, especially, is overwhelming. Double that when it’s pouring rain.
So out here on the shaded deck, we top up our power banks, we check in at home, we post on social media and we eat – and eat and eat.
We also talk and laugh and reminisce. This is where inside jokes begin, where trail names are born. Gabby, Jeff, Moxie and I shared the shelter when it stormed and we have a small bond. I met Scatter in the Smokies and coveted her cool shorts, so got some myself. Seeing her also race the clock to get to Damascus makes me smile.
Maybe I need to get that ticket, but the first order of business is to call Richard. He loves my hiking and is the best supporter ever, but also happy I’m coming home in a little over a week.
We try to figure out where I should fly from since there’s no airport in Damascus. I just look at a map for the closest cities, but the prices are wildly high. It doesn’t occur to me until after several minutes of frustrating searching to actually ask where people fly from.
It turns out Blountville, Tennessee. The Tri City Airport. And weirdly enough, I’m able to nab a ticket with miles on American. Done!
Next, I post my hike diary then eat, get food for the few days to Roan Mountain and just absorb the ambience of a hiker hostel. I’ll admit it’s fun and I see how people become addicted to this lifestyle. A lot of hikers sell everything and just walk. I love to walk, I love to be in nature, but hostels and hiker “tramilies” as fun as they are, might be a bit much in high doses.
For this one month, though, I’m happy to take it all as it comes.
We get one small downpour, then just clouds and colder temperatures. Moxie and I take off at 5 for a climb up to a site beyond a shelter. The sun dapples the forest as we follow a rushing stream, crossing it numerous times on well built logs.
We meet a couple of women in hiking skirts, one friendly, the other apprehensive. Of what, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the fact that we’re in a forest tunnel, dark and dense.
It’s steep up but we’re fast pumped up on sugar. We pass the shelter and find a wide spot at the remains of a small stone building. It’s cold and I cuddle in, loving being out again in my own space.
Oh dear, until someone sets up camp nearby and decides to play some sort of loud soundtrack. A movie? I can’t quite tell, but there goes the soulfulness of being in nature.
<sigh>
