| January 8, 2001 After months of planning and preparing for this hike, I find myself becoming less and less confident. I have so many fears: bears stealing my food, mice chewing holes in my pack, towns where I know no one, road crossings, people, the weather in the White Mountains, the fords in Maine, getting to Baxter State Park too late to climb Katahdin. Is it really all that important to walk from Georgia to Maine with my very survival upon my back? I know I can do it. What do I have to prove? I think that underneath it all is the biggest fear of all � the fear of failure. If I don�t attempt this hike, I can�t fail. I could just keep nurturing the dream for the rest of my life, telling myself I could have done it if I�d really wanted to. But I know I�d always be haunted by the nagging truth, �You did really want to, and you were afraid to try.� Another fear is the loss of the dream. When or if I accomplish this endeavor, what will be left? I�ve carried this dream with me for years, and once I touch the sign on the summit of Katahdin, it will be gone. What will fill the void? It seems much like raising children. Years are spent in learning, preparing, growing, and striving. It�s hard, but you keep on, knowing they count on you to shape them into competent, independent young adults. Then it�s over, it seems, in an instant. You�re left wandering aimlessly, without purpose, in a void where once was your life. So here I am, preparing for a journey that is a metaphor for my life. I�m learning all I can ahead of time, knowing there will always be the unexpected. I�ll face my fears and do what I have to do, knowing there is no alternative. I�ll enjoy the highs and endure the lows. I�ll persevere, knowing that someone is counting on me, and that this time the someone is me. The Appalachian Trail is a footpath running 2,168 miles along, through, around, and over the Appalachian Mountains from Georgia to Maine. One end is on Springer Mountain in Amicalola Falls State Park, Georgia. The trail passes through North Carolina, Tennessee, Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Vermont, and New Hampshire on its way to the other end on Baxter Peak of Katahdin in Baxter State Park, Maine. Millions of people use some part of the trail every year, and each year two- to three-thousand hikers attempt a thru-hike, backpacking the entire trail in a single hiking season. Only a couple hundred succeed. Some people have the notion that the Appalachian Trail is a smooth, nicely graded walk through the woods. It is not. It is a hiking trail. Though there are many miles of pleasant meandering, more often than not the trail goes steeply up and down mountains, traversing jumbled rocks and tangled roots along the way. Where the trail crosses a boulder field, there is not even a visible path to follow. Hikers find their way by following blazes, the white paint markings on the rocks. Other people think the Appalachian Trail is a deeply remote wilderness trail. Again, it is not. Rarely is the trail more than a day�s hike from a road. It follows a very narrow corridor with development creeping up and pressing in on both sides. Hikers on the trail enjoy miles of natural beauty, but they also see roads, communication towers, and high-tension wires. They hear birds and babbling brooks, but they also hear road traffic and logging trucks. Mostly, the Appalachian Trail just is. It is the hiking of it, and the expectations we bring to the hike, which create our lasting perceptions of the trail. We can complain about manmade structures in the viewshed, or we can accept them as part of the modern society that we ourselves have helped to create, and rejoice all the more that we have protected areas of outstanding beauty into which we are still allowed. We can complain about the difficulty of the route, or we can use it as a test of our commitment and perseverance. It is doubtful that any thru-hiker has begun the hike desiring anything less than a challenge. The reasons for attempting a thru-hike are hard to explain, and there are probably as many reasons as there are hikers. I�d dreamed of hiking the Appalachian Trail for a dozen or so years, but I�d grown up in a family too pragmatic to do much more than dream. All my life I�d followed the rules and worried about what others thought of me. I�d always been shy and easily intimidated, afraid to try anything new. Then I got divorced and my children grew into self-sufficient adults. It was a turning point in my life. My world began to expand; I was meeting different types of people and learning new ways of thinking. I found I needed something, a way to mark a division between the old life and a new life so I could perhaps create a more satisfying way of being for myself, a way that was me and not just a re-creation of my family history. For two years I immersed myself in all things trail. I�d never been backpacking before, so I researched and bought equipment, clothing, and boots. I dehydrated food and went on two short practice hikes. I read all the trail lore and noted the traditional places to visit along the way. Though there are, of course, no rules governing how to hike, there are certainly numerous opinions. What emerges from most trail discussions is the agreement to disagree and the advice, �Hike your own hike.� I was new at this; I didn�t know what my own hike was. I decided to follow the generally accepted tenets of Appalachian Trail thru-hikers � hiking every inch of the trail and passing every white blaze � unless I felt it was too risky. As I learned to hike my own hike, I encountered the myriad lessons of the trail and found answers to questions I hadn�t even known I had. I was surprised to find that even after hiking more than 2,000 miles, even after overcoming so many trials, I could still experience fears that made me consider quitting. The biggest disappointment of the hike was finishing alone. I�d often thought about the end. After focusing for six months on that climactic moment on that final mountain, how would I react? Would I cry? Would I cheer? Always I thought I�d be with my friends. But when I reached the summit of Katahdin, there were no other thru-hikers to appreciate the significance of the moment. It was very lonely, and I especially missed my partner with whom I had shared so much of the journey. It turns out that the decision which led to my solo finish was the defining moment of my hike. I�d always been a follower, always letting someone else make the decisions. I left Springer Mountain a scared, intimidated neophyte who had never hung a food bag or spent more than two nights in the woods. That I was able to wrench myself away from the security of the group and hike off alone through the Maine wilderness is testament to the personal growth I experienced during the hike. There was great satisfaction in reaching Baxter Peak on Katahdin, recalling the many months of preparation followed by the many months of hiking. However, most satisfying of all was not the last step, but the first step, actually making the decision, taking the chance, and following through to accomplish a thing very important to me. I chose Shepherd of the Hills as my trail name and enlisted my sister and my niece to deliver me to my starting point on Springer Mountain. As we left home on that April morning, 2001, I was still battling my fears. I didn�t know what might happen in the next six months, but I had a feeling it would affect me deeply. Boy, was I right! April 8, 2.5 miles The weather forecasts had been calling for scattered thunderstorms, so I was happy to see sunny skies on the day that I was to begin my great adventure. The temperature was a balmy seventy-five degrees in the morning, and it stayed nice all day. We arrived at Amicalola Falls State Park visitor�s center near Dahlonega, Georgia, at noon. Inside we viewed the usual nature and wildlife displays, although I moved nervously from one to the next without really seeing them. We drove to the top of the falls, but again, I was too restless to enjoy the impressive tumble of water. I was here, I had signed the first register at the ranger station, and I wanted to get started. I herded Barb and Emily back to the car, and we started out to find the beginning of the trail on top of Springer Mountain. It was a 45-minute drive from the visitor�s center to the trailhead parking area. The last 6.8 miles were on a dirt Forest Service road curving steeply up the mountainside. Barb slowly maneuvered around the many rocks and potholes while I peered anxiously over the drop-off on my side of the narrow road. When at last we pulled into the parking area, we exhaled with relief. From here we would travel by foot, and it felt good to stretch the tension from my body as we began the 0.9-mile climb to the beginning of the trail. At the summit of Springer Mountain we were greeted by a day hiker who could power herself to Maine with her mouth. I wanted to ponder the occasion and write a deeply profound entry in the trail register to mark the beginning of my hike, but it was no use. Her rapid-fire chatter rudely intruded and shattered my concentration. Finally I gave up and just scribbled one of my favorite Thoreau quotes. When the day hiker finally left, I heaved a big sigh of relief and turned to the business of snapping the first photos of my hike. For some reason, I had expected the summit to be a big, open treeless area. In fact, most of the area was thinly wooded, with just a relatively small open space off to the side. I stood gazing across the valley and wondering how many more fantastic views were ahead. Finally, turning northward, I touched the very first white blaze and took the first of five million steps. Barb and Emily were hiking with me the first day and would camp with me for one night. The trail was fairly smooth and gentle, much like hiking trails back home in Ohio, and we arrived at Stover Creek Shelter early. We were joined by Panama Red and Bluebird, both solo hikers. They obviously had previous backpacking experience, and I listened as they talked about gear, pack weight, and past trips. The enormity of what I was setting out to do wasn�t real to me yet. I didn�t feel nervous or excited; it felt like just another weekend hike. I had to keep reminding myself that it wasn�t just a practice hike. Perhaps I was just overwhelmed and numb. I wondered how I would feel in the morning, when Barb and Emily headed south to the car and I headed north without them. April 9, 5.1 miles I didn�t get much sleep. Panama Red and Bluebird had stayed in tents, but we had stayed in the shelter with a hiker named Paul. He must have had a mouse phobia; every time he thought he saw one, he jumped and made some kind of noise. In between times he was rolling around, rustling his gear, and running zippers up and down. I never saw a mouse, though I did hear them a couple of times. Toward morning one was playing in my hair, but I just shook him off. We rose to a lightly overcast day with a hint of sunshine to come. At 8:30 Barb, Emily, and I left the shelter and within minutes came to the spot where we would part ways. We stood awkwardly for a few minutes, trying to be cool and think of something light to say, but the tears burst forth anyway. After hugs all around, Barb and Emily hiked south to the car and I hiked north to Maine. I don�t know if they looked back. I didn�t. I couldn�t. I was scared. I had researched and prepared for this hike for years, but it was still something I�d never done before. I knew I couldn�t possibly prepare for everything I might encounter. Who did I think I was? I don�t do things like this. No one in my family does. It was out of the ordinary, it was adventure, it was pursuing a dream. What made me think I could do this? The trail was over 2,000 miles long. I�d be living in the woods for six months. I wasn�t completely comfortable with the details of setting up camp, and I�d never even tried to hang a food bag before. All of my fears seemed heavier than all the gear on my back. Immediately after parting with Barb and Emily, I came upon my first creek crossing. I had to pause a few minutes to dry my eyes before I could step out onto the logs which served as a bridge. The crossing was uneventful, and I continued along the trail, which was again smooth and gentle. I stopped for a rest break at Long Creek Falls. I took some pictures, but I knew there was no way I could capture the awesome power of all that water shooting out over the sheer rock wall. I soaked my feet in the icy water while I did some writing, then moved along, climbing along the trail for over two miles. The sun came out and beat down through the leafless tree branches. It got hot, but the breeze helped cool me. I was already a little pink from yesterday�s sun, so I made sure I applied sun block. Great � now the bears could smell me coming a mile away. Why can�t they make products that smell like dead leaves? On my way up Hawk Mountain I started seeing a few bloodroot � a delicate white flower that sprouts from the ground with its leaves wrapped around itself like a sweater. What I didn�t see, though, were soldiers. The Army Rangers use this area for training exercises, and though I knew there was little chance of seeing my Ranger son, Troy, I kept hoping. Finally, after a long five miles, I reached the blue-blazed side trail to Hawk Mountain Shelter. This is a very nice timber frame shelter with a raised sleeping platform, a loft, benches, and shelves. The privy here has a great view � literally. It has only three sides, and the open side faces across the valley. I decided to spend the night here; five miles isn�t much, but I want to get out of the sun and take it easy. My muscles are tired, but not sore � yet. I have one little blister at the base of my left toe. Three other hikers are staying here tonight. Tenderheart and Bluebird are both solo hikers with prior backpacking experience. The other, Dave, was inspired to do this hike when he read Bill Bryson�s book �A Walk in the Woods.� I enjoyed that book, but if that were all I had to go on, I would never have wanted to do a thru-hike! Dave said his feet are really sore, and I believe it. He�s wearing work boots instead of hiking boots and has a monster pack. He looks beat! While reading the register, I noticed quite a few hikers from my home state of Ohio this year, and a guy named Peter was here on March 23 using the trail name The Shepherd. It would be fun to meet him, but I doubt I will ever catch up. April 10, 8.5 miles We are all just beat! At Gooch Gap Shelter tonight I�m sharing space with Tenderheart and Dave. Bluebird is tenting nearby. Dave has been christened �Chainsaw� because of his snoring. I can�t believe I�m sleeping next to him tonight, but there just aren�t any more tent sites. It was a sunny seventy-five degrees; it felt more like one hundred and five. There�s no real shade yet, but the constant breeze does help. The day�s hike started with a long, relentless climb up Sassafras Mountain. My legs were yelling so loud I couldn�t hear my blisters screaming anymore. Finally, just when I really needed lunch, I came upon a big rock overhang. Glorious, cool shade! I took a long lunch break and was soon joined by Tenderheart and Chainsaw. Dave was beginning to look like a lobster, so I insisted that he use some of my sunblock. Then I passed it on to Tenderheart, who had devised protection for her arms by pinning bandanas to her t-shirt sleeves. We just hadn�t anticipated so much sun here in the woods. After eight and a half miles, I crossed a small stream and stumbled up to a sign pointing toward the shelter. How cruel! It was 0.2 mile steeply uphill to the shelter. Even more cruel � the water source was the stream I had crossed at the bottom! Physically, I�m a little stiff. The back of my neck is sunburned because when I applied sunblock yesterday I forgot that I don�t have long hair anymore. My blister count is up to about five. April 11, 11.3 miles Can�t write. Long day. Deadly blisters. Bedtime. April 12, 4.4 miles It was such a long climb, and I was so tired, and my feet hurt so badly. In the heat of the day, the cool, fresh-looking bloodroot stood in crowds along the trail, cheering me on like spectators at the Boston Marathon. How could I not conquer this mountain with that kind of support? But as afternoon faded into evening, the cheerful flowers closed up their petals and turned away. Race day was over for them, but not for me. I was a straggler; I felt like a loser. That was yesterday. Tenderheart and I had perfected the �hiker hobble,� and I went on to practice the �Shepherd shuffle.� I didn�t know I could walk so slowly. I didn�t know my feet could hurt so much. We got to the shelter trail, but it was 0.5 mile to the shelter, which would add mileage to our hike that we didn�t want to hobble if we didn�t have to. We could have camped there by the trail, but we needed water. We knew there was a spring 0.3 mile farther up the trail, so we planned to move forward and camp there. Alas, no flat spots were to be found at the spring. We had to fill our water bottles and continue on. In another half mile we came upon Slaughter Gap and wearily set up camp. We had hiked a mile farther than we�d planned, and we were completely wiped out. The evening got chilly, and the wind blew without stopping all night. I was glad to be in a protected area, but I was concerned about the trees swaying overhead. No branches fell to crush our tents, though, and we rose to a 52-degree morning. I hit the trail quickly, knowing that Tenderheart would soon catch up. I had thought that Blood Mountain was going to be a killer climb, but I found it to be quite easy. At the top, nestled against a huge rock, was the picturesque Blood Mountain Shelter. I snapped a few pictures of the stone structure, signed the register, and started down the other side. The next section of trail led across expanses of barren rock edged with gnarled bushes that I think might be mountain laurel. I was serenaded by a rufous-sided towhee as I entered a woods that made me think I was on my way to Oz. Right around lunchtime, Tenderheart and I reached the Walasi-Yi Center in Neel�s Gap. So far there have been 1280 thru-hikers sign the register here. A beautiful stone building, the store sells food, gear, and supplies to hikers, and books and t-shirts to tourists. The trail passes under an archway, making this the only place where the AT goes through a building. The Center is the first chance for thru-hikers to unload extraneous items from their packs. After thirty miles, some of those necessities just aren�t necessary anymore. The hiker boxes were full of discarded food and gear. Being a packrat, it was so hard for me to leave all those freebies, but I didn�t want to carry them either! Tenderheart and I took showers, did laundry, made phone calls, and ate lunch. We had both arranged to pick up re-supply boxes here, so after lunch we sorted through our supplies and organized our packs. It�s truly amazing how heavy food is; we groaned as we hefted our packs onto our backs again. Since we now had food for twelve days instead of three, we noticed a big difference. After four hours of relaxing, Tenderheart and I hit the trail again to cover one more mile to Bull Gap, where we set up our tents. It was a short-mileage day, but we got some much-needed rest. April 13, 8.7 miles We left camp walking in a cloud of mist. Soon we were soaked to the skin as the rain came, driven by the chilly wind. It was prime hypothermia weather, and Tenderheart kept worrying about me because I didn�t put on my rain jacket. I was perfectly warm while I was walking, and I knew that I would be wet from sweat anyway if I put the jacket on. So went the morning. There were no views because of the clouds and fog, so we just put our heads down and slogged on. As the rain lightened a bit, we came upon a small rock overhang. It was dry and protected from the wind, so we crawled in and had some lunch. It sure wasn�t comfortable, but we were grateful for it. Just as we were loading up to move on, the sun began to break through. I hoisted my pack onto my back, turned around, and exclaimed, �Oh, look!� The clouds had suddenly lifted, leaving us with a magnificent view up the length of the valley. The rest of the day was dry, sunny, and windy. Late in the day we did quite a bit of ridge walking. It�s amazing to see nothing but mountains stretching to the horizon on both sides. I am camped on a ridge tonight, which I don�t like because it�s windy. From talking to other hikers today, I know that the shelter ahead is full. The next campsite beyond that is too far to reach today, so I set up my tent in a clearing next to the trail. I don�t know where Tenderheart is. She is having quite a bit of trouble with her feet, and I had left her tending her blisters at the bottom of the mountain. She said she�d catch up, but I haven�t seen her. I even dropped my pack when I reached this campsite and walked back a way, but found no sign of her. I�m sure she decided to camp down there. I hope she�s okay. I hope I�m okay, too. This is my first time camping alone. April 14, 8.2 miles I stuck my head out of the tent just in time to see a pretty pink sky this morning. I�d had a good night�s sleep in spite of that animal stomping around outside my tent. I knew there had been bear problems at the shelter just a mile away last year, and I wondered, �Just what does a person do when a bear starts ripping into the tent?� But in the light of day, I realized it hadn�t really been stomping, but more like delicate stepping, like a deer. Yes, I�m sure it was a deer. I was almost done packing when Tenderheart came hiking up. As I�d thought, she had camped behind me and was fine. It was an excellent day. The sun got hot at times, but mostly the temperature was perfect for hiking. The terrain was fairly easy going, and I made good time. I even sprawled out on the ground for a long rest at lunchtime. I rolled into Blue Mountain Shelter early, to find Tenderheart already relaxing. We were joined shortly by Ansini and Mom, a mother-daughter team. We took over the entire shelter, hanging gear and clothing everywhere. It looked like a slumber party and soon sounded like one, as we told stories and laughed like teenagers. My feet are still quite sore. Walking has almost become mechanical. I�ve found it easiest on my feet if I lean forward into a slight crouch. This method keeps the weight centered over my feet; then I walk with a side-to-side motion. There is nothing fluid or graceful about it. April 15, 2.2 miles We were looking forward to a glorious Easter sunrise this morning since the shelter faces eastward over the valley with more mountains on the horizon. But the day dawned rainy and dreary. It was also very chilly, and we lingered a long time in our sleeping bags. Last night a couple of Tennessee boys stopped in the shelter for a few minutes before going on to camp south of the shelter. I didn�t like the looks of one of them, but they seemed harmless. When they stopped at the shelter on their way out this morning, we found that they were pot-smokin�, Wild Turkey-drinkin� good ol� boys. Still harmless, but very annoying. I�m glad I wasn�t alone at that point. I find little to fear from other thru-hikers, but locals and weekenders make me nervous. The sun attempted to break through as we packed up, but before we stepped out of the shelter it had begun to rain. And rain. Cold rain. We trekked two miles down the mountain to a paved road where we considered the situation. We�d gotten a late start, it was beginning to thunder, and Tenderheart wanted to get to a town to lighten her load. Town was ten miles away. So, for the very first time in my life, I hitchhiked. We hadn�t waited long before a small pickup pulled over. Tenderheart and I tossed our packs in the back and wedged our steaming bodies into the tiny cab, wishing Ansini and Mom luck with their hitching efforts. Off we went, twisting and turning along the mountain road with the defroster on full-blast to keep the windows from fogging up. The whole town of Helen, Georgia, is done up in a Swiss motif, an effort to attract tourists and revitalize an otherwise dying town. Our driver dropped us off at the Helendorf River Inn where we got an inexpensive room with real beds and a hot shower. The desk clerk was friendly and made us feel very welcome in spite of the fact that we were dripping all over the lobby floor. Tenderheart and I are having a blast together. As we were walking back from the laundromat, we passed a building painted with a parade of Swiss girls and oompah bands. Well, of course we joined the parade, and a passerby snapped a photo for us. Then we were doubled over with giggles and could barely walk back to our room. We found Ansini and Mom in a nearby motel, and the four of us decided to have dinner together. We had hoped to eat at a local spot, but as we searched up and down the street at 6 p.m., everything was closed. We had to settle for a Huddle House. The food was good, though, and the conversation was excellent. I have not laughed so hard or had so much fun in years. April 16, 5.2 miles What a good night�s sleep! A real bed with real pillows! And we were able to sleep in because the outfitter we needed to visit didn�t open until 10 a.m. Breakfast was at Huddle House, then a phone call brought a shuttle that took us to the outfitter, the post office, and back to the trail. Tenderheart bought a lighter tent and sent some things home, so her pack isn�t as heavy now. We hope that will help her feet. We didn�t get back on the trail until noon, but the weather was perfect and the miles seemed to fly by. My feet are not quite as sore, but I�m keeping an eye on my knees. I haven�t felt pain; they just feel thick from fluid accumulation when I bend them. Today�s hike was uneventful. The climbs are getting easier, though descents still hurt. Just before reaching the shelter, Tenderheart spotted a secluded shelf below the trail on the side of Tray Mountain. We clambered down the rocks and set up our camp in a spot just big enough for our two tents. Right now we are sitting on the very summit of Tray Mountain waiting for the sunset. It�s cold and windy; I�m wearing my fleece hat and jacket and wind jacket. The 360-degree view is beyond words. It�s so incredible, I�m filled with awe from my feet to the top of my head. I can feel it welling up inside me. To the south, the mountains intersperse with flatter lands. To the north, mountains pile upon mountains forever. They are smooth and rounded, and it looks like a huge, rumpled velour blanket. Duct Tape has walked back from the shelter to enjoy the sunset with us. It won�t be long now. The only sounds are the wind in the bushes, the birds scratching in the leaves, and a distant jet. A local man just came up and said that on a clear day, Atlanta is visible from here. It�s too hazy now, but we might see lights later. April 17, 7.3 miles The sunset last night wasn�t spectacular, but it was neat to watch the scarlet sun sink behind the mountains. We hung out on the summit as it got darker, watching the lights come on all around us. I gazed in wonder, like a child at Christmas, as the mountains came alive with glittering lights. After a very chilly night, Tenderheart and I hiked the 0.3 mile to the shelter, where we had breakfast. From then until two o�clock, we hiked almost non-stop, battling the wind and cold. The temperature was in the forties. The constant wind blew snow horizontally across the trail, and sometimes nearly blew me off the trail. The sun did appear intermittently; its warmth was welcome, but fleeting. As soon as we got to Deep Gap Shelter, we changed into dry clothes, fixed something hot to eat, and snuggled into our sleeping bags. The shelter is nice, with two bunks above and a large porch out front. The fourth side is halfway closed off, but the wind still blows in. Tenderheart and I are in one bunk, and Duct Tape is in the other. We get less wind up here, but it is still very cold. Downstairs are Ansini, Mom, and So Slow; Planting Flowers and Texas Tortoise are tenting outside. Brrrr! I learned a new skill today. I can now blow my nose like a real outdoorsman. I�d seen it done many times, but could never quite get it right. Today, though, with the awful cold and wind, I knew I�d have a constant battle with my runny nose. I�m glad I mastered the skill; it saved me a sore nose and a soaked bandana. April 18, 7.8 miles I had been walking quite some time, deep in thought, eyes on the treadway. Gradually it dawned on me that I hadn�t seen a white blaze in a long time. I looked back. Often, if no blaze is visible in one direction, one can be spotted in the other direction. But there were none. I walked slowly on, unable to remember if there had been any intersecting trails where I might have gone the wrong direction. Tenderheart had hiked on ahead when I stopped to change into shorts, so she was far out of sight. I wondered how long I should keep hiking before backtracking. I wondered if Tenderheart would worry if I didn�t show up. I prayed for a white blaze or a sign, and kept hiking. Finally I descended into a stand of fragrant, stately pines where I spotted a white blaze. Relieved that I was on the right trail, I should have had a good afternoon�s hike. Instead, it was a grind. I kept hearing a hiking pole behind me, but when I turned, there was no one there. I passed no water sources and had to severely ration my water. I stumbled along for hours, wanting only to reach the next shelter. Then I rounded a bend and was blasted with an icy gust of wind. Shivering, I decided to slip on my rain jacket. I propped my hiking poles against a tree, breaking my own rule against leaning my poles on the downhill side of the trail, and reached for my jacket. Before I knew it, I was standing on sore feet, with empty water bottles, cold wind chilling my sweaty body, numbly watching one of my poles slithering away down the hill. I sighed. At least it didn�t go far, and I was able to bushwhack down to retrieve it. The day had started out better, though it was very hard to crawl out of the sleeping bag. It was so cold there was ice in some of the water bottles. I had put my bottle in my bag with me overnight, so the built-in filter wouldn�t freeze and crack. My watch didn�t fare so well. The cold was too much for the battery, and it just quit. Before leaving the shelter this morning, Tenderheart and I had to say good-bye to Mom. She and Ansini would be going into Hiawassee, and we were hiking on. Since we hike much faster than they do, we don�t expect to see them again, although Ansini may catch up after Mom leaves the trail. I�ll miss Mom. Tonight we are at Plumorchard Gap Shelter, which was built off-site and flown in by Army helicopter. It has three levels, and I�m in the top where the wind doesn�t blow in. It�s not quite as cold tonight, but I�m chilled. Duct Tape is here, too. April 19, 12.0 miles We�re in North Carolina! The last four miles of Georgia were smooth and soft hiking. We stopped for a break at the gnarled oak just past the state line in Bly Gap. Then North Carolina welcomed us with the steepest, longest climb we�ve had so far. It was brutal! Then we proceeded to put in a long day, ending at Standing Indian Shelter. Also here are Duct Tape, Flatlander, and Gorp Dealer. It�s cold again, and the wind is finding its way into the shelter. Maybe the fact that we�re packed in here shoulder-to-shoulder will help keep us warm. We were adopted by a dog in Blue Ridge Gap today, and he hiked all the way to the shelter with us. He�s very thin, but we don�t have anything to give him to eat. We call him George, since he joined us in Georgia. The plant life along the trail is changing some. I saw spring beauties, trillium, and trout lily, along with many other plants I can�t identify. The flower of the day was bluet. It�s a tiny, four-petaled blossom of blue with a yellow eye. Even though the early spring flowers are blooming, the trees aren�t leafing out yet. April 20, 11.5 miles It�s hard to write everything I want to say at the end of the day. I�m so tired, and it gets dark soon after eating and cleaning up. I also usually forget all the things I�ve thought of during the day. Last night I was so exhausted when we finally stumbled into the shelter all I could do was sit and shiver. I didn�t want to eat, but I knew I had to. As soon as I ate, I crawled into my sleeping bag and stayed there. Today was a little warmer, but we still had chilly breezes. We started off with a climb up Standing Indian Mountain. The trail bypasses the summit, but I took the blue-blazed trail to the top to see the view. Amazing! The next mountain over looked so close and so big! The rest of the day was fairly level, and we sailed right along. We went past our intended campsite because we found it was too near a road. We try never to camp within a mile of a road to reduce the risk of trouble with local scalawags. We�re now camped along the trail, tucked under some rhododendrons. George is still with us. He had been refusing most human food, but tonight Tenderheart and I both shared our dinners with him, and he gobbled it up. The poor thing gets so tired, but he stays right on our heels. He doesn�t like men much at all. Tenderheart and I have gotten small bits of trail magic, like peanut butter and a candy bar left in a shelter, but we haven�t met any trail angels. We keep reading in the registers about angels bringing out hot dogs and Easter candy, but we�re always a day late. Even George got trail magic today. He hadn�t had anything to eat, and when we stopped to rest at a camping area, he found a pile of dog food left behind by other hikers. It was truly magic, for who would expect to find dog food in the middle of the woods! April 21, 8.8 miles I had the best night�s sleep so far on the trail. My tent was on a thick cushion of leaves uncrushed by hiker boots. It was so soft! So the day started out good and stayed excellent all day. After a two-mile warm-up, we came to Albert Mountain. On the profile map, this mountain is straight up. At one point, I had to put my hiking poles down and climb up hand-over-hand. It was great fun! Most of the climb, though, was just very steep walking. At the top we climbed a fire tower for a magnificent view. It was windy up there! At Rock Gap Shelter, Tenderheart met a couple who drove her and George to Franklin. They left George at the police station, where he will be looked after. It will be strange to hike without him. Meanwhile, I hiked ahead alone. Toward the end of the day�s miles, I took a side trip that added a mile of walking. For the effort, I was able to set eyes upon the Wasilik Poplar, the second largest poplar in the United States. It�s massive! Along the way, I was treated to purple, white, and yellow violets, trillium, Solomon�s seal, mayapple, and dozens of other wonderful woodland plants, along with a cascading waterfall. Another mile brought me to the end of the day�s hike on the trail, but I still had a mile of road walk to reach Rainbow Springs Campground. It was hot, and I can say with certainty that pavement is harder on the feet than the trail is. My feet and legs hurt so much by the time I got there, I could barely hobble into the camp office. I got a snack and sat outside to relax. As I sat there, in came Tenderheart, driven by the couple who had taken her to Franklin. Rainbow Springs is where Bill Bryson, author of �A Walk in the Woods,� was stranded by a snowstorm during his hike. We are staying in the very same bunkhouse. It is not at all the way he described it. The bunkhouse is clean, with twelve sturdy bunks, a woodstove, refrigerator, and microwave. The owners, Buddy and Jensine, are the nicest people. The separate bathhouse is very clean. We enjoyed hot showers and did laundry, then had a hot pizza for supper. April 22, 6.8 miles A great night�s sleep on a nice soft mattress! We resupplied at the camp store; I had underestimated the amount of trail snacks I�d need, and I was running low. As we walked around the store, pondering the calorie to weight ratio of different items, Jensine called out the calorie content of everything we picked up � and she was always right. After breakfast we piled into the back of the camp pickup for a ride back to the trail. Thank goodness I didn�t have to walk that mile again! We had met up with Bluebird again at the campground, but she hiked on ahead for a longer day today, so we�ve lost her again for the time being. Tenderheart and I opted for a short day to recover. Last evening my thighs and knees hurt more than they ever have before. So now, though it is still early in the afternoon, we are spread out at Siler Bald Shelter. There is an open, grassy area below the shelter where we are sitting in the sun, catching up on our writing. I uncovered my blisters to expose them to the sun. They really aren�t too bad now, except the one on the back of my heel. I have a two-liter bag of water heating in the sun for washing up later. Today�s hike wasn�t too bad, mostly smooth and fairly level. We met a man and his grandson out for a dayhike. It�s always nice to stop and chat, but it breaks my rhythm and it�s hard to get going again. Sometimes we hike on mountains so steep that the trail has switchbacks to make it easier to traverse. At times, I will be headed one direction and Tenderheart will be headed the opposite direction just below me. It makes me think of the marble roller toy my grandfather made years ago. The marbles roll down one ramp, drop to the next level, and roll down the next ramp, and so on, back and forth all the way to the bottom. Rattle, rattle, plunk! Rattle, rattle, plunk! Sometimes the trail is so steep I think I would roll if I fell, rattling and plunking along the switchbacks. April 23, 12.1 miles I can�t write much about the scenery today because I didn�t see much of it. What I did see wasn�t very pretty. I�m so tired of leafless trees! The woods are supposed to be dark and cool, not hot and sunny. Today was a long, dry hike on a dusty trail. I didn�t see much scenery because I was having a tough day. My legs hurt and my feet hurt. All I could do was put my head down and focus on getting to the next place for lunch and then to camp. Tenderheart was way ahead. My feet hurt too much to keep up. Finally I decided that even if I shuffled along at one mile per hour, I�d still make it to camp in time to eat before dark, so that�s pretty much what I did. Now it is only about 7:30; Tenderheart and I are both in our tents already. We�re beat. A couple of pileated woodpeckers are cackling overhead, and I hear an owl in the distance. April 24, 11.5 miles I will not hike twelve-mile days� I will not hike twelve-mile days� I will not hike twelve-miles days� This morning and early afternoon went all right for me, but soon enough my feet and legs were aching. Once again, Tenderheart was way ahead, and I picked my way slowly along the trail. Level trails are fine, and even climbs don�t bother me, but downhills are brutal on my feet. I try to step lightly, but that�s hard to do with forty pounds pushing from behind and gravity pulling me downward. The balls of my feet feel as though there is no cushion whatsoever between my foot bones and the ground, and my toes are tender from banging against the fronts of my boots with each step. And today we had a monster four-mile descent. I hobbled. I shuffled. Then it rained. I walked in the rain for hours. At least it seemed like hours. Without a watch, I have no way to judge time or mileage. All I can do is trudge on until I reach my destination. So I trudged. At one point, my feet hurt so badly that I turned around and walked downhill backward. That was a relief to my feet, but it was slow, and I had to be very careful. Nearly in tears from the pain, I set my hopes on finding Tenderheart at the next shelter. I was ready to call it a day. When the shelter came into view, however, I could see that it was deserted. Downhearted, I perched on the edge of the shelter floor and debated what to do. I could stay there, but this early in the hike I wasn�t comfortable being alone, especially since I knew the road was not far away. Surely I could manage another mile. Drawing a deep breath, I shouldered my pack and continued downhill, step by excruciating step, until finally I reached the bottom of the mountain and entered the Nantahala Outdoor Center complex. NOC is a white-water rafting and kayaking center with shops, restaurants, and cabins. I had arranged to have a re-supply box waiting for me at the outfitter, but construction workers had cut into some lines earlier in the day so the store was closed. I couldn�t pick up my box, and I couldn�t get soap to do laundry. Ah, such is the hiker�s life. I entered the hostel office and waited my turn to register for a bed. The bottoms of my feet hurt too much to stand, but there was no place to sit down; I constantly shifted my weight from one foot to the other while the rain water dripped from my clothes and formed a puddle on the floor. The hostel was on the other side of the complex from the office, a quarter-mile walk across the Nantahala River and up a hill. Upon reaching my room, I found I would be sharing with Tenderheart and P�P�. They waited while I rested a bit, then the three of us met Bluebird at the restaurant for a delicious, gut-busting dinner. The restaurant is by the hostel office, so once again, we hobbled that quarter mile. If we counted all the extra walking we do, this trail would be a lot longer! The past two days have just about done me in. Twelve miles is too much for me right now. It�s not blisters so much as just sore feet and leg muscles. They hurt when I walk, but they throb and ache if I sit too long. I�ll have to look over my schedule and cut back mileage on some days. April 25, 8.1 miles A great day for hiking � such a change from yesterday! The day was sunny and bright, with a cooling breeze. I started with a good breakfast at the restaurant, then went to the outfitter to get my supply box and do some shopping. I bought insoles for my boots, new liner socks, and mole foam for my blisters. The day�s hike was almost all uphill. We began in pine-scented woods where the hardwoods actually had leaves. I was beginning to get tired of leafless trees. I saw a brilliant red flower, wood anemone, and dwarf iris. After lunch there were climbs with rock scrambles. It was excellent! The solid meals and real bed at NOC had done wonders for my physical condition, and my new insoles helped cushion my feet so I was feeling pretty good when I reached the shelter in Sassafras Gap. I decided to continue another mile to Cheoah Bald, where I guessed I would find Tenderheart. When I emerged from the trees at the top of the bald, I found not only Tenderheart, but also Bluebird, P�P�, Jordan, Sticker Dan, and Firestarter. They were all surprised to see that I�d made it that far, knowing I�d been in such bad shape yesterday. I found a spot for my tent, then joined the group for dinner. It was quite chilly at 5,062 feet, and we moved down to a spot where the sun still struck the hillside. Each of us set up our stoves, cooked, and ate while taking in the best view yet. It�s so big; I see it, but I can�t comprehend it. Tree-covered mountains march on as far as I can see, seemingly close enough to reach out and touch. As the sky grew darker, we all congregated on a small rock outcrop facing the Smokies in anticipation of the sunset. It was beautiful, and we stood in breathless awe as the sinking sun cast its pink glow upon our faces. It�s amazing that the sun seems to travel so slowly across the sky all day, only to disappear right before our eyes at night. The wind became very cold on the west side of the bald, and one by one we retreated to the east side where Firestarter had built a campfire. We gathered around and talked way past our usual 8:30 bedtime. We watched the stars come out and enjoyed a lightning show over the mountains to the east before retiring to our separate tents. This was the best day on the trail so far! |
| INTRODUCTION |
| My Own Hike Nancy Shepherd |
| * * * |
| LIFE OF A HIKER |
| (Preview) |