Day Four, 15 miles
The moon comes out and it gets quiet.
But it doesn’t last.
Drops drip on my tent making a reverberating splat most of the night. It’s fog.
When I unzip the fly I see my best laid plans for a sunrise are dashed. All I see are damp tree limbs.
Hey, it could always be worse!
A towhee calls his name loudly as I pack up and dress, putting on full rain gear. I shove one foot in a shoe, then try the other but there’s a stone inside. That’s weird, I think as I toss it aside and shove my other foot in.
I make coffee and eat a bar then plan my stop at Neels Gap. There’s an outfitter right at the trail and I’ll resupply my food to get me to the next town with a supermarket, another 40ish miles plus a hitch.
I pack up and notice the “rock.” It’s a snail all mucousey ooze. Gross! Though he seems to be just fine even though I tossed him out.
It’s all downhill to the road and I pass Chris’s tent. I’m sure he’s sleeping in. Last night he mentioned he and his friends are the reason they now have Ridge Runners.
The job is to cover a particular portion of trail – ridge run it – and remind hikers of the rules of Leave No Trace, plus pick up any trace left by non-rule abiding hikers.
Chris thru-hiked in 2015 and says they were all rule breakers and total slobs, hence Ridge Runners. Perhaps he’s one to make up for past behavior? Likely.
People are already on the mountain so early and in complete fog. So many people. So, so many. It is Saturday and just below in the forest I find multiple campsites of big groups. They’re all friendly as I pass.
Mountain Crossings Outfitter lives up to its reputation and is fully stocked with serious backpacking equipment, a huge selection of food plus trinkets, jewelry, souvenirs, the lot.
I get coffee and two breakfast burritos plus food for three days – and spend $95. It’s a bit like buying food at the airport with a markup in keeping with organized crime.
But that’s what convenience costs and I’m glad to support the local economy.
I think.
The weather is blustery and threatens drizzle but is more blowing fog. My tent still manages to dry somewhat hanging on a fence as I catch up on my hike diary posts, then head off for who knows how far.
There’s a shelter in about 12 miles plus several campsites, so I walk uphill and see how it goes.
Have I mentioned Georgia is like a roller coaster, up and down and up and down. It’s not too hard, at least compared to mountains out west, but the constancy can really take it out of you.
And I love it.
I’m not particularly fast, but I do power up strong, then glide down still with a good bounce in my step over Mounts Lleveland, Wolf Laurel, Cowrock, Poor and Sheep Rock, one after another, some with low gaps (passes) in between.
It helps that the fog clears and the sun comes out. A slight breeze keeps it cool and clouds bring shadows so it’s not as intense as a few days back.
Flowers continue to line the trail, birds sing and I pass many day hikers plus large groups of backpackers in a long conga line.
At a water source I dry the tent fully and play a duet with a tufted titmouse. It’s not exactly hard since he whistles only two notes, but I bring him to me, curious of furious, I can’t tell as he flits from branch to branch for a better view of the interloper.
I meet my third Ridge Runner named Moxie wearing a hiking skort and carrying a rather full garbage bag. She warns me copperheads will sit on the rocks at the view – presumably to catch the sun not the view – so watch where I sit.
The rocks are warm in the sun and the view is tremendous, though no snakes appear, only a nice young man who takes my picture. He tells me he wishes he could walk the trail but would need to lose 100 pounds. I promise him many people walk it to lose 100 pounds.
Down I go through blankets of trillium as a cool breeze like trail A/C hits my face. I pass a trail crew building drains for rainwater and apparently not a moment too soon with big rain expected tonight.
The trail meets a road at Tesnatee Gap where muffler-less motorcycles rumble by one after another. Talk about needing a Ridge Runner to lecture on Leave No Trace. The sound is deafening and obnoxious.
But now I have a 500 foot climb in a half mile. Georgia as opposed to Maine offers switchbacks, so it’s easy enough in low gear. The view looks more east at gentle mountains in spring green. When I look for the name of this massive climb, I discover it doesn’t have one!
I meet my motorcycles again at a water source, also cute Caroline eager for her thru-hike, but easing in slowly with plenty of breaks. Right at the water stop she follows me on Instagram.
I drink up and head onto some ridge walking. The further I go, the quieter it gets. Motorcycles disappear, but so do birds. There are ups and downs, but mostly I follow a balcony walk with views through bare trees to rounded mountains.
It’s so utterly lovely. My pictures can hardly capture the smell of the air and its coolness on my skin, the newborn freshness of the leaves, the clusters of flowers clinging at the edges of the well used trail, the ease with which I move.
It’s absolute heaven.
I know this will all pass as I walk through, but that doesn’t make me cynical or anxious. Instead, I feel full and completely alive. My cup overflows.
As I stop to drink up some of the weight I’m carrying before heading up the last climb, a young man catches up. Like me, Justin is kind of checking it out and hopes to get through the Smokies.
He powers ahead as I toddle on and just then, a set of Scarlet Tananger call one another, k’chang! k’chang The trees are far too tall for me to expect to see them, but their voices are loud and it’s enough for me.
I needed to come here to see how I move and test myself before I head to the Pyrenees. But more than the physical, much more as it turns out, I needed so much to feel wonder. Each day of this hike has been like a miracle.
I catch Justin camping near the shelter, plus Colby and Caroline. They tell me they’re not sure what they’ll do tomorrow with rain and cold coming.
I know what I’ll do – soak it up!
I head on a little over a mile, picking up water at a gorgeous grotto waterfall for a dry campsite. Tiny crickets hop on dead leaves with a click, stopping when I stop so I don’t see them mid-flight.
Five tents are set under tall trees:
Number One, Lou, Simone, Moxie and
Wren. They welcome me and help me find a flat spot. The sky is changing to a heavy gray as the wind picks up, whooshing through the trees high above.
I help Lou find an appropriate limb for a bear hang though need Number to throw the rope. She makes an expert hang.
And that’s when they tell me they’re getting out of here tomorrow. The rain is massive in Alabama and Texas and is barreling on us. With low temperatures, big wind and no shelter for miles, they’ll walk eight miles to the next road and go to town.
And I decide I’m going to join them.
A nearly full moon is making tree shadows on my tent and the air is already chilly, but I’ve put heavy rocks on my tent stakes and will cuddle in knowing I have a plan.
