Day Three, 13 miles
The rain begins early in the morning. There’s thunder and lightning. Then a very bright flash and almost instantaneous thunder.
As it moves on, the rain lingers. Just a good soak. It’s getting light now and I’ve got to pee.
Even with the rain, Woody Woodthrush is up laying down his beauteous melody, a stream of conscious strum then jerky quaver.
If Woody’s, I can get going too. I get into my hiking gear and put on rain gear over it, then pack the sleeping bag and clothes, trying not to brush the sides of the tent which is soaking wet again.
My smelly socks and shoes are next, then I’m out. It’s really not too bad out here. I take care of business and also retrieve the bear can, then shuffle back to the tent to make coffee.
I set well on the edge of this ravine where a bird sanctuary opens below. A worm eating and northern parula buzz as I scarf down a Clif bar, then pack the wet, muddy tent.
I’m sure I’m the first out. My neighbor Ann used some sort of electric pump for her mattress. I’m sure it was luxurious but must add weight.
I actually slept wonderfully last night. At 9:00 (hiker midnight) everyone quieted down and went to sleep. I do love this morning, though, even in light rain. The trail is soft and easy and the flowers are weighted down by raindrops.
I meet two backpackers coming my way, Say Little and Take Care. They’ll finish at Springer Mountain. I congratulate them and snap their photo in the rain before we go our separate ways.
I head up soon. The entire day is a gradual climb up heading toward Blood Mountain, the highest at 4442 feet on the AT in Georgia.
But first I crawl up to a balcony view as the rain stops and mist fills the hollows. The sun angles in, lighting up a wedge of pale green trees. It’s absolute magic, as if a curtain parting just for me.
Meanwhile, the birds sing raucously, not often offering a view except a blur of color. I’m climbing and my breathing gets rhythmic and heavy, but I still sing as I climb, absolutely smitten with this day.
I approached my journey expectantly, but I had no idea it would be so full.
Up, then down and up again to Ramrock Mountain. It’s easy walking and I am moving well. Below is a road at Woody Gap and the beginning of Blood Mountain Wilderness.
It’s said Creek and Cherokee fought a bloody battle on this mountain. I’ll even pass Slaughter Creek on the way. It gives me the willies.
There’s a small water source ahead and I decide to drink up for the upcoming climbs. I meet a young man who camped here last night named Cashmere. He’s carrying a small guitar and tells me this is the third time he’s walked the AT.
I can see why someone would return, especially on a day like today. Although my list of hikes is too long now for one lifetime.
He finds a shortcut straight up and back to trail and I follow him steeply up to spectacular Big Cedar Ledges. Perhaps one needs to see this in the fall as well. Right now the mountains seemed covered with soft green fur on a perfectly clear day.
Above, the trail tapers off in a magical forest. A black and white warbler, as cleanly marked as a Dalmatian, alights on a branch at eye level.
Warblers put on finery just for spring mating season and will molt to a dull camouflage brown in summer. He hops about as if to show me all sides of his stunning jacket. Then buzzes off as quick as he appeared.
Deep in the forest a Carolina Wren sings his chewee-chewee-chewee in a distinctly deep timbre as if a professional lieder artist. Much different to the buzzy chirpiness of warblers.
I feel so utterly grounded like my feet touching the earth are walking in my backyard. I never know for sure if I can approach the trail less frenetic and grasping, wanting to ‘get somewhere’ rather than just experience the now.
I can feel slightly panicky when the rain comes – did I secure the tent stakes well enough? what if the tent leaks? what if it rains for a solid week?
Truth is, I do my best and hope it all works out. And on day three, which famously tends to be where hikers start to grumble, I’m hitting a beautiful stride.
I head down again to my second-to-the-last water before the mountain and find a sunny spot to dry the tent while I eat lunch and filter water. High above, I passed a campsite with a view and three men packing up. They catch me here and tell me they saw a bear!
I snap their picture and encourage them to camp on the mountain, but a bear canister is required so they plan to pass.
Just as I head up again, I come to a mountainside absolutely blanketed with trillium. It’s as if the goddess was saying, “You ain’t seen nothing yet!”
Most of the trillium are a snow white tri-petaled flower with a yellow stamen atop a tall strong stalk and held by three leaves. They pop climbing the steep mountainside under tree cover.
But a few pink ones sneak in some with frilly fringe. Thousands crowd in and I do all I can to catch its visage before walking on.
I meet a young thru-hiker named Colby slack-packing in the opposite direction. He wears a felt hat with rabbit bones stuck in the sides for good luck.
It’s up and down, but mostly up as Blood Mountain comes into view. A Blackburnian lands on a branch, again at eye level. He has a bright orange and yellow face mask on a black and white body and the highest pitch song there is.
He’s cleaning himself, likely having just dunked in a tiny stream crossing the path. His opens a wing and nuzzles his head in, then flips open his tail like a fan, always flapping and shaking. What a cutie!
Past Jarrad Gap, I climb to the final water at the aforementioned Slaughter Creek. Since there’s no water on the mountain, I play it safe and make dinner here with a few of the hulk of mountain.
I’ve been carrying water long distances on trails and ‘dry’ camping often (no water source so have to carry what’s needed) but I’m not sure how hot I’ll get on the ascent (of 600 feet in .8 miles) so I pack a little over a liter and carry a liter in my stomach.
It’s an easy push up hand-built rock stairs and a few exposed bits of rock. Still nothing compared to Maine and New Hampshire. The trail is lined with rhododendron, though I’ve learned they won’t bloom until June.
On top is a stone hut built by the Civilian Conservation Corps. There are no windows and it’s dank inside. Chris, a ridge runner, is there and tells me there’s a resident rat and to only use in an emergency.
We chat a bit and he ensures I have my bear canister and plenty of water. I’m glad they’re enforcing some rules. “A fed bear is a dead bear” since most become enormous pests and very aggressive to get to our high calorie food. He tells me that even with a storage locker, hikers need to have a hard-sided container because if one person leaves it unlocked, it’s a bear feast-a-thon.
I look around for a place to set and choose one looking east so I can catch the sunrise. Meanwhile I explore this rocky aerie and admire the views of mountain upon mountain all the way to Springer.
The three men I met at the water from Savannah arrive but plan to hike out to their car. We have a few laughs and take lots of pictures before they head down to finish their short hike.
The sunset is lovely in streaky pastels atop just leafing trees. Two towhees scrap in the brush below my rock perch and a cumulonimbus builds to the south. After a dozen raindrops, it floats on by.
I’m amazed and grateful for this tremendous day. I felt strong and moved well, but took plenty of time to enjoy the astonishing views, my bird friends, the flowers and water sources as well as the lovely people I met.
And now the air is cooling at last. Absolute bliss.
