Day Six, Seventeen Miles
Beds are nice.
Flush toilets are miraculous.
A waffle iron with premade batter is a wonder to behold.
It’s a super stay in Helen and I get clean, dry, fed and all caught up on Law and Order.
I chat with a woman named Rita in the breakfast area. She’s headed right past Unicoi Gap on her way to a wellness exam – with only room for one.
I feel bad for the others, but hitching is always a delicate dance. It reminds me of when a client hires me to speak. They have researched me, have recommendations and testimonials and have watched videos of my work, but they never know for certain if I’ll deliver. It’s a risk to hire me.
So too, a driver takes a risk picking up a stranger. The stakes aren’t as high, but we could disappoint, act entitled or just waste their time.
Furthermore, a gang of five presents a challenge since most cars only seat five (without packs) so breaking us up into smaller groups makes finding a ride the nine, winding and steep miles to trail more likely.
Rita needs to discuss with her husband first. Meanwhile, she prays over all of us asking god’s blessing for a safe and fulfilling hike.
I finish up my yogurt and oatmeal plus the giant waffle, then she returns and asks if I’m ready to go.
Rita’s wellness exam has to do with breast cancer. I tell her I had it too and she immediately looks at my flat chest. She loves the term ‘thriver’ and I hope she uses it.
And then I head right back steeply up into a magnificent day. The sky is clear with sun lighting up distant hills. It’s dry and chilly, perfect for walking.
Today I ‘toddle along’ around 2 mph, easy, steady. Yesterday we moved fast to stay warm and get out of so much rain. But moving fast leaves me hurting at the end of the day, stiff and swollen. Toddling, or sauntering, allows me to observe in slow motion.
The sun finally filters in and a tufted titmouse sings a minor third three times in succession, just like Paul Desmond in Brubeck’s ‘Blue Rondo à la Turk.”
It’s easy up and over Rocky Mountain, though I don’t encounter many rocks. Down delivers me to Indian Grave Gap which gives me the willies.
It’s up and down all day, all the time, but very easy walking – and with the leaves not fully out, I can watch the land unfold before me as if opening up with each step.
To be honest, I have a kind of Appalachian Mountain high and begin singing/whistling Copland’s “Appalachian Spring” as I enter Tray Mountain Wilderness.
I love being alone and carry on a conversation with myself all morning. I even laugh at my own jokes. There are hikers on trail, but I see so few and the gaps between are huge. What a lark!
As I move higher up the mountain, the hills below appear as if velvet folded just so to catch light and shade. I mentioned in a previous post the nearly ecstatic feeling of wonder I am having on this hike, feeling the spirit in every living thing, the wind, the smell of rain, the taste of filtered stream water, the touch of my shoe on the trail.
I also feel deeply humbled by this place. It’s an organism all to itself regardless of my life, my worries, my desires, my even being here. It’s not a small, insignificant speck in the vastness of creation kind of feeling. Rather the sincerest gratitude that I get to walk through this astonishing spring as it unfolds before my eyes.
Just like that, a black and white warbler hops on a tree and snags a wiggly grub in its beak at least twice the size of its head. He turns his head towards me then flies off to share the feast with his new family.
I move down Tray Mountain to Sway of the Blue Ridge Gap then up Dismal Mountain. Who names these landmarks?!?
It’s getting inti the afternoon and I’m ready for a break when I get that familiar hitching-troll-in-the-backpack feeling, as if weight was just added.
I meet Bruce from the big wet climb yesterday at Sassafras Gap filtering water and I do likewise, picking it up at John’s Spring deeply below. Gator catches up, a friend of Number One and he asks if I’m the one singing on trail.
That would be me!
I sing most of the way up to Kelly’s Knob, but it’s one of those ups where you think you’re at the top and the trail instead jogs around to an unseen summit.
I catch a glimpse of Lake Burton, a place I enjoyed way back in the ‘90s when I lived in Georgia. I visited there off-season one time with a boyfriend and thought it would be cool to leap in the water from the dock. The cold plunge was so icy, I thought I’d have a coronary and desperately tried to get out fast, but the ladder was already put away. Good thing that bf had strong arms to pull me out.
All day I’ve climbed mountains but the starting point was from a ridge, so never too far to climb. Still it’s enough to get my breathing heavy and rhythmic. I love it.
There’s this moment in the Catholic mass when the priest says, “Lift up your hearts.” and we all respond, “We lift them up to the lord!” There’s a kind of expectancy as we prepare for the shared communal feast, a preparation for an encounter with the spirit. All day I feel this way – totally grounded and moving slow enough to be present.
Just then, a wood thrush appears hopping through the leaf litter to find a meal. He notices me but is unmoved. He pecks at the ground and comes up with something he needs to shake to remove dirt and detritus, then swallows it down and hops on for the next snack.
At an overlook, I see three men. I need to pee, so find a tree to hide behind and drop my pack before making my brief entrance.
It’s a few more miles to water than a campsite, so I head on. the three – Arie, Mike and Greer – catch me at “Carnes cascade” and tell me they discussed me for several minutes wondering who I was and where I came from without a pack.
Now they realize I simply left it behind and they invite me to celebrate this discovery with a beer and candy bars.
How did these men make it to 70 eating like that?
I hang with them at Dick’s Creek Gap and they tell stories of dropping acid before skiing back in the day, out-boasting each other and generally looking like they’re still back in the day.
Still, they’re nice guys camping over at Burton. and Greer touches my shoulder and tells me he’s proud of me for what I’m doing.
It’s one more small uphill to a campsite on a ledge with views back to the Knob and forward to my next mountain. No one is here and I push deep into the woods to set so I can’t be seen from the trail.
Moxie sends a message that they got on trail late but have a lovely spot with a view.
The sun sets things aglow in my spot as a barred owl hoots a few times. The full moon rises in a cloudless sky and I tuck in, so grateful for my strong body and this glorious place.
