Day Fourteen, 20 miles
The din at the shelter shuts down before dark, then it’s time for the airplanes. Are the Smokies en route to Atlanta?
They come in kind of close, but go quiet in time for the barred owls communicating over acres, and continually moving around. They rev up like Mitch McConnell about to speak to the press, deep in the throat and fluttery.
I guess it seems I don’t sleep much. I do, but my mind is distracted by how much we plan to walk tomorrow. We have two nice days ahead of us, so want to get over Clingman’s Dome, the highest mountain on the AT. It’s doable to there, but another three miles over a small mountain to the shelter.
But the sky is clear and a half moon setting as we get up and pack soaking wet tents. Moxie gives me an entire sheet of moleskin which I stick to my arm where I’m chafing. It’s blistery and raw and I hope this does the trick.
We are two determined and strong gals, but also want to take it steady with breaks. The first is between Rocky Top and Thunderhead Mountain where we look out to clouds in an inversion, like cotton laid out below, mountains sticking out as islands.
A towhee warbles so close, I see his beak vibrate for the coloratura tremolo. Ahead, twisted, lichen-covered trees appear like an orchard and thousands of spiders spin webs in the shrubs, tiny droplets of dew glistening in the sunlight.
Our day gradually takes us from 4400 feet to 6600 along a ridge. But don’t think for a second it’s ever flat. We go steeply up, the trail winding past trees towards blue sky somewhere above, then equally steep down.
On one of those downs, a hiker yells out, “I’m coming up on you ladies! Don’t want to scare you.”
I turn around and see a hiker about 100 feet behind Moxie.
I see you. I tell her, wondering if she had planned to suddenly run past us or perhaps had a device that would toss her like a pole vault beyond.
My secret power is climbing hills and she never comes close to passing – or scaring me – though eventually on a downward slope a half mile or so away, I stop to allow her to pass.
But she does not pass. Insteas she launches into a story.
Good thing you slept in your tent! The shelter was awful! There were snorers and people talking in their sleep!
(She’s an exclamation point kind of gal)
I tell her shelters are a bit like cruise ships, a great way to spread disease. Then toddle on up again towards the next shelter to collect water and take a break.
Derrick Knob is empty and has nice seating. A spring is a bit of a climb down and I realize they’re all set up
like this. There’s practically no streams on our route in the Smokies. Only water sources that need a pipe to keep a steady flow at each shelter along the way.
We eat and drink, take a pause, then toddle on to Silers Knob, climbing up on a catwalk where we see mountains spreading out through the leafless trees. Clingman’s Dome appears, blue and huge in the distance.
The flowers are everywhere, in carpets and bunches next to brilliant white quartz in a tunnel of fluorescent green grass. The timing is perfect for this shower of spring days. I’m so grateful for this day, I begin to cry with joy – then sing.
As we rise higher, I see pine trees on the side of the mountain. I think they’re hemlocks and the fresh smell is wondrous. I do catch a whiff of balsam every now and again.
We dry our tents and sleeping backs in the sun and cool breeze, eat and drink some more then climb up and over the knob itself and visit the final shelter at Double Spring Gap where we get our last water before the big climb.
Two day hikers arrive, one named David, a 70ish Jack LaLane lookalike with his shirt off. As someone with no boobs, I find his nipples impressive.
He tells us his church holds a big feed, but we just missed it. Then tells us it’s such a gorgeous day, he wanted to keep walking – though appears surprised we plan to keep walking up to Clingmans.
Moxie has a minor issue finding the water pipe and hikes too far down into the forest before seeing it high above her. She comes back with her shirt and my hat soaked in cold water, then we’re off.
Yes, it’s steep through the pines and moss, but just a few miles. We meet fast talking Andy, the ridge runner, who offers advice and that the shelter isn’t too, too far.
Finally, we arrive at a paved road. It’s maybe meant for carts and scooters to bring handicapped or aged people to this highest mountain. About 20 or so tourists walk the half-mile from their car to this point.
The dome may be the highest, but it’s covered in trees. A high tower once stood here, but has been replaced by a concrete lookout that’s 100% ADA compliant. The space age looking perch is approached by a long and very gradual ramp that loops around above the trees.
It seems very much out of place. Nevertheless, it is the highest point on the AT and up we go, asking several tourists to snap our picture looking out to mountain upon mountain upon mountain for miles.
I didn’t find it anticlimactic, just odd, and it’s getting late, so we don’t linger. Moxie’s special power is down and she disappears on the rocky, rooty trail where I take way more care and move slow.
A day hiker approaches and tells me how excited he is by all the wildflowers. Yes! Me too.
Mount Collins itself feels an up for the sake of testing my resolve. A teeny window of view is all there is before back down again to a side trail of a half mile and a shelter.
So many tents are already here, but we nestle in on the periphery. That doesn’t stop one hiker from shining his light right at the tent as he passes playing music.
Please, no!
I have to scare away the bears!
I offer to fetch water for both of down a very long .1 mile trail, and we commiserate on such an astounding day we shared before turning in, the dark especially dark in the forest.
We never see the woman who tried not to scare us by her incredible speed on trail, but I imagine she would have complained about this shelter. We’ve got a cougher.
