Day Thirteen, 12 miles
There’s no rain overnight. Just stars and blessed quiet.
The Wood Thrush wakens me at dawn and I make coffee and pack.
And then, of course, it begins to rain.
Hard.
I’m comfy in my rain gear as I stuff a completely sopping pile of nylon in its sack and carefully count the stakes so as not to leave one behind. I normally scrape off the dirt collected, but it seems kind of foolish now getting drenched, so in they go, dirt and all.
In Helen, I asked the hotel for a garbage bag and they gave me a seriously large one to put clothes and sleeping bag in. Now will be the test.
I wait a few minutes for Moxie then toddle on to the next shelter, a little over five miles – plus Doe Knob, a low gap and another 1,000 foot climb away.
It’s nice to have Moxie marching along. She’s just as wet, just as winded and just as determined as me. We chat until heavy rain drowns us out.
Several people race down the mountain in various dress including oversized and colorful ponchos. One practically pushes me off the trail asking where we came from.
I don’t mind rain, and I knew it was coming. I planned to climb in the utter beauty yesterday then have a hard day today so I’d be up in here for the two spectacular days to come.
But the trail is a stream now and slippery. My tent is weighing down my pack. Heck, the rain is weighing down my pack. I’m also developing a rash under my arm from the damp rubbing as I move.
Backpacking can be rough.
We finally arrive at Mollies Ridge and shove our bodies and packs under a covered outdoor seating area. I get water to filter and almost immediately start shivering.
The sleeping area is covered with tarps apparently placed there by the park service. Inside is packed with unhappy and unfriendly hikers, some cuddled in watching movies on their devices, others utterly ignoring my hello and introduction.
It’s not that they’re quiet either. They talk loudly, practically yelling at the person next to them.
Still, I need to sit down and find a wee spot for two. Moxie wanders in carrying a baggie.
Want a piece of pizza?
Yesterday at the marina, Moxie also cooked a pizza but had no one to share it with. She packed up the rest just for this miserable moment. No wonder the shelter hikers hated us!
The anticipated thunderstorms do not materialize, so we push on to the next shelter at Russell Field, just three miles away and over Devil’s Tater Patch.
Rain tapers off as we pass another hiker who tells us a mama bear and cub are in a tree in a half mile. At this point Billy Bob is following us, another older hiker, and we all march down the hill looking for her.
And there she is! I’ll be honest, I have no idea why bears climb trees to perch in them, maybe it’s drier than the ground and gets a bit of wind to fluff the fur.
She sprawls in a crotch, her snout facing us. The cub is just a black ball above her in his own wee spot. We all talk in baby talk and mama’s ears swivel towards us slightly.
At the next shelter, I repeat my actions getting water and eating. This time I take off my rain pants as I warm up in dry air.
A young man of 19 named old soul cuddles in his sleeping bag on the second level of bunks. He tells us a woman in the last shelter arrived at 7 without a tent and asked if she could have a spot in the completely full shelter. He politely moved out for her, but was not so happy about it when it began pouring this morning and only walked this far.
We tell him the place felt unfriendly and he admits one guy in particular – who happens to be his friend – is loud and obnoxious. Well, OK then.
Part of what turned me off initially from the Appalachian Trail was the giant pack of loud entitled hikers that take over the trail.
In the Smokies, you are required to camp at designated sites, so in big rain, the shelters are packed. It only takes one person – whether someone refusing to carry a tent or someone whose volume goes to 11 – to wreck it for everyone.
But the rain tapers off completely and I pack away my wet, muddy rain gear. We push to the next shelter with hopes of drying our tents.
On the way, we wander through thousands of trout lilies and spring beauties, perking up as the sun peeks through. The trees are flowering and there’s a magical quality in the air.
At the shelter, we find two flat spots and hang our tents on tree limbs to dry. In the time it takes me to get water and eat, the tent is mostly dry, at least not that squeezable rag of wet.
And it begins to rain again.
I set quickly and pull out my clothes and sleeping bag, which are bone dry. Yay for giant garbage bags from Helen, Georgia!
I’m pretty tired anyway, so crawl in as a light rain turns into a downpour. And I’m out like a light.
Likely the best nap ever, and now after dinner and the rain drying up, the next two days are supposed to be gorgeous.
Worth every wet step today.
