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Authors: David Miller
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transition from the crowd at Hot Springs. Soon after I settle in, an hour-long tempest begins. I cook on the sleeping platform of the shelter, having to back away from the open front to avoid the spray of pounding rain. Lightning shocks the sky with light. I wonder how Tenderfoot is doing out there.
I leave the shelter at 7:30 the next morning, and about a half hour later I hear an animal crashing through the woods. A small bear is running away from me. By the time I get my camera, the bear is out of sight. I chide myself over missing the photo--that may be the only bear I see. I should be more attentive. I put my camera away, and as soon as I take another step, two more bears drop from the trees and bolt in the same direction as the first.
Near the three-hundred-mile mark, there are head-stones for three boys killed in the Civil War--the Shelton brothers and Millard Haire. Three bears, three hundred miles, and three weeks on the trail. Twelve miles into my day I feel drained, exhausted. I roll out my sleeping pad at Flint Mountain Shelter and take a nap. I wake an hour later, feeling fine, and hike nine miles to Hogback Ridge Shelter, arriving at dusk. This was the only time I would sleep midday during my hike. I saw no other hikers on the trail, but there is an overflow crowd at the shelter. Thru-hikers Cimarron and Wall Street are here, along with a handful of section hikers. The section hikers have a campfire going, and I take note of the fact that this is the first campfire I've seen. Cimarron has just finished his longest day, fourteen miles. He groans in his sleep: "Arrrgh...oooohh...my achin' body." 18
On the early part of my hike out of the shelter, I feel strong and convince myself to go for Erwin, twenty-seven miles away, mostly under the influence of my stomach, which is calling for a big meal. My average hiking speed has been two miles per hour, including breaks. I should be able to get to Erwin before dark with my 7:00 a.m. start. But it sounds unrealistic to carry a backpack over mountains for a distance longer than a marathon.
The biggest climbs of the day are within the first ten miles. Big Bald (fifty-five hundred feet) is an expansive, double-peaked bald, totally covered in windswept fog. I struggle with these climbs. My Achilles tendon is still tight. On the same leg, I feel shooting pain in the tendon on the outside of my knee. I walk with a limp and with an aversion to bending my right knee. Distress affects more than my gimpy knee; it takes the wind out of me. It doesn't make sense that I should be out of breath because my knee hurts. I argue with my body, contending that I should be doing better aerobically because my sore knee slows my pace.
On the downside of the mountain, I duck into Big Bald Shelter and gulp down water and ibuprofen. I recover quickly and make good time. The trail stays sidehill for a pleasant stretch, maintaining roughly the same elevation as it passes through a pine forest. The trail is never straight and level for very long. When the elevation is somewhat constant, the trail is usually on the side of the hill, bending along the contours of the mountain to stay at the same height. It is common to cross streams running down the crease formed by the intersection of hills on the same ridge. Sidehill trails sag downhill where the trail is not supported by the root system of a trailside tree. The profile of the trail hangs between supporting trees like the scalloped fringe of a curtain.
Imperceptibly, the wystemhange from pines to hard-woods. The surface of the trail changes from needles to gravel. Switchbacks mark the beginning of the descent to Erwin. There is a break in the trees, and the lay of the town is evident. Looking down at the base of the mountain, the Nolichucky River and railroad tracks run perpendicular to the trail. Highway 23 is parallel to my path, off to the left, forming the western border of the city. Straight ahead, puffy green treetops hang over the city
I leave the shelter at 7:30 the next morning, and about a half hour later I hear an animal crashing through the woods. A small bear is running away from me. By the time I get my camera, the bear is out of sight. I chide myself over missing the photo--that may be the only bear I see. I should be more attentive. I put my camera away, and as soon as I take another step, two more bears drop from the trees and bolt in the same direction as the first.
Near the three-hundred-mile mark, there are head-stones for three boys killed in the Civil War--the Shelton brothers and Millard Haire. Three bears, three hundred miles, and three weeks on the trail. Twelve miles into my day I feel drained, exhausted. I roll out my sleeping pad at Flint Mountain Shelter and take a nap. I wake an hour later, feeling fine, and hike nine miles to Hogback Ridge Shelter, arriving at dusk. This was the only time I would sleep midday during my hike. I saw no other hikers on the trail, but there is an overflow crowd at the shelter. Thru-hikers Cimarron and Wall Street are here, along with a handful of section hikers. The section hikers have a campfire going, and I take note of the fact that this is the first campfire I've seen. Cimarron has just finished his longest day, fourteen miles. He groans in his sleep: "Arrrgh...oooohh...my achin' body." 18
On the early part of my hike out of the shelter, I feel strong and convince myself to go for Erwin, twenty-seven miles away, mostly under the influence of my stomach, which is calling for a big meal. My average hiking speed has been two miles per hour, including breaks. I should be able to get to Erwin before dark with my 7:00 a.m. start. But it sounds unrealistic to carry a backpack over mountains for a distance longer than a marathon.
The biggest climbs of the day are within the first ten miles. Big Bald (fifty-five hundred feet) is an expansive, double-peaked bald, totally covered in windswept fog. I struggle with these climbs. My Achilles tendon is still tight. On the same leg, I feel shooting pain in the tendon on the outside of my knee. I walk with a limp and with an aversion to bending my right knee. Distress affects more than my gimpy knee; it takes the wind out of me. It doesn't make sense that I should be out of breath because my knee hurts. I argue with my body, contending that I should be doing better aerobically because my sore knee slows my pace.
On the downside of the mountain, I duck into Big Bald Shelter and gulp down water and ibuprofen. I recover quickly and make good time. The trail stays sidehill for a pleasant stretch, maintaining roughly the same elevation as it passes through a pine forest. The trail is never straight and level for very long. When the elevation is somewhat constant, the trail is usually on the side of the hill, bending along the contours of the mountain to stay at the same height. It is common to cross streams running down the crease formed by the intersection of hills on the same ridge. Sidehill trails sag downhill where the trail is not supported by the root system of a trailside tree. The profile of the trail hangs between supporting trees like the scalloped fringe of a curtain.
Imperceptibly, the wystemhange from pines to hard-woods. The surface of the trail changes from needles to gravel. Switchbacks mark the beginning of the descent to Erwin. There is a break in the trees, and the lay of the town is evident. Looking down at the base of the mountain, the Nolichucky River and railroad tracks run perpendicular to the trail. Highway 23 is parallel to my path, off to the left, forming the western border of the city. Straight ahead, puffy green treetops hang over the city
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