Day Seven, 18 miles
The moon makes beautiful shadows on my tent through the magnolia. Not a soul arrives, but a barred owl hoots early when the traffic starts.
At least my tent is crispy dry and easy to pack. The mountains turn orange above me and I think of a title of a book by C.S. Lewis: “Surprised by Joy.”
Indeed.
I contemplate where to go today and wonder if I have the legs for Standing Indian Mountain. The Pink Moon rises tonight and it should be clear, but it’s 18 miles away and the AT is a roller coaster of up and down on repeat.
When I read about camping on the mountain, there’s a hiker who tells a horror story of staying up all night to keep the bears away from his food. Apparently they have learned how to bring down a bear hang and make off with a buffet.
Thank goodness I’m carrying the bear canister. Seems they haven’t quite gotten the knack for opening those just yet.
So I set off, climbing right away. There are fewer flowers this morning and I begin to get a bit lulled into ‘making miles.’
It’s the worst space to be on a long hike, even if just a section. That’s because the focus is just moving forward rather than seeing things. I’m not sure if it’s choosing the destination that gets me in a mood or the fact that this up and down on repeat is actually really hard.
I move well still even if tired and arrive fairly quickly at a shelter. No one camped with me and I haven’t seen a soul all morning and here is s mass of humanity!
It’s 9:00 and people are just getting started. One guy sprints past me with a huge grin and a pack filled to capacity and higher than his head. He wishes me a good day and then I run into chunky guys stopped directly in the trail and stripping down.
Not the ideal choice, but uphill might have been cause for an emergency change of outfits.
As Knob is brutal, up, then up and up some more. And she does what many killer climbs do on the AT: offer not a single view before careening back down.
From Blue Ridge Gap the climb meanders up mostly as it pushes towards the border. At last! Georgia is complete and I’m starting a new state, North Carolina.
As if to put a punctuation on things, a Carolina Chickadee sings, its melody similar to the Black Capped from my neck of the woods, but doubled.
There’s a cool glade with a piped spring for me to collect water and eat. I put up my feet on my backpack and enjoy the rest.
But as if to emphasize we’re in a new state, things kick up a notch as I climb Sharp Top. It’s rocky, it’s steep, I have to watch where I put my feet. This is more like Maine than Georgia!
I guess there’s one good thing to say for all this hard climbing – it’s placing me higher in the mountains so that final push to Standing Indian at 5,478 feet won’t feel quite as drastic.
It’s kind of amazing to think that Blood Mountain, the highest on the AT in Georgia, is 1,000 feet lower.
I press on towards my next water source at Muskrat Creek. There is far less water than I’d anticipated, not the constant cascades like Maine, and I have to plan.
It’s another sweet grotto with moss and a wee waterfall. From here, I finally begin to see more flowers including an entire ravine of Trout Lilly, their yellow flowers petals pulled into a backbend so the stamen is most easily accessed. They get their name from their spotted leaves which look like speckled trout.
I also see another varietal of trillium in a deep purple with bright yellow stamen. I point them out to two section hikers who ask me what’s trillium? I show them photos then say, trillium is Appalachian Spring.
I pass another gap this time called White Oak Stamp. I don’t know what stamp means, perhaps flats since it’s a great place to camp.
Finally I had down a rocky slope to a parking lot where a sign alerts of the bear problem I was already prepared for.
I hope Lou is ok with her hang. I’m told the locals just put their food in odor-proof bags and sleep with it. The bears won’t attack a tent, just easy pickins.
I’m not entirely sure about the stream at the top, so I make dinner at a small seep. Men pass who tell me they put in a pipe every year to make access easier and it disappears. The bear?!?
I pass a shelter completely empty since most hikers don’t carry the 2 1/2 pound canister and are avoiding the area.
Then it’s a bizarre set of long switchbacks to the top. These are weirdly long, unnecessarily long, and I wonder if maybe it was a road at one time. It’s up but not particularly steep and I meet a hiker as things get weird through a burned section.
Phil is from London living in the Czech Republic. He takes my picture next to the spindly trunks then we head to the top for the view.
It’s a totally flat grassy area with a fore ring and rock veranda looking towards Lake Burton and hump upon hump of mountain, many I walked over. He tells me he’s just section hiking for a month and ending in Hot Springs, and I tell him I am doing the same. Glad to make a friend going about the same pace.
Though he doesn’t stay but suggests I set my tent right here. Not a soul joins me as the sun turns magenta and dips behind the mountains. As it leaves, the pink moon rises at the ready a pale shade of pink.
Stars are out and there is wind, but I use the heavy rocks to hold my tent in place and cuddle in as stars come out and the pink moon begins its traverse.
