Date: 2013-05-03
From: Whistling Gap Campsite

To: Uncle Jonny's Hostel, Erwin, TN
Miles today: 12.9

Although it was a chilly and damp night, I rested dry and comfortably in my Lunar Solo and lofty Western Mountaineering bag. I was thankful for having packed a little extra weight in warmer gear. From Whistling Gap Campsite, it was only 13 miles to Erwin, where I had bounced my food cache that hadn't yet arrived to Standing Bear Farms Hostel. From Whistling Gap, where I had camped, the AT ascended a small peak known as High Rocks about a mile to the north before descending about 1000 feet into Spivey Gap. Between camp and the road to Erwin, TN, the topography rolled moderately, traversing ridges and crossing streams. About two miles, south of the railroad tracks at mile 342.1 (AWOL 2013), I stopped at small clearing in the dense forest, where I could gaze at the Nolichucky River below, which was crossed by a couple of bridges, one of them fro the rail road. About a mile from intersecting the joining River and Unaka Springs Road, as the trail made its final steep descent into the river valley, I smelled the familiar fumes of Kingsford charcoal and lighter fluid penetrating the forest, coming from somewhere at the base of the ridge. Uncle Johnny¢s Hostel was practically on the AT, close to the banks of the Nolichuchy River. The Nolichucky River Outfitters owned by Uncle Johnny¢s was small in square footage, by dense in camping ¢paraphernalia¢ . They had everything from essential items such as water filters, head lamps and apparel, to freeze dried meals, batteries, and fuel. Uncle Johnny¢s also accommodated the whitewater adventurist, though it had seemed from the group of people in the back yard, gathering around the free BBQ that day, that AT hikers were the primary occupants of the facility. The Mountain House meals on display in the store, were tempting, and had they not sold out of the lasagna, I would¢ve splurged on buying one. As is was, I was expecting Britta¢s cache, which hadn¢t arrived during my stay at Standing Bear Hostel on April 28. I had hiked a little more than 100 miles north to Johnny¢s, figuring that this time, there was more than enough time for it to be delivered ahead of me. After he thumbed through his list of arrival packages looking for my name, he exclaimed ¢Nope! I don¢t see you here¢. I said, ¢could you look under Britta Swearingen . A moment later, ¢Ah, hear you are¢. The short, long haired, tattooed manager disappeared in the back room and brought back a heavy medium sized box. I thanked him, and carried it eagerly to the benches next to the soda machine on the front porch and cut it open. It was packed with lots of goodies, which Britta, no doubt had fun putting together for me. Britta, whom I may not have introduced yet in my journals, is one of my most cherished friends back home, whom once was my duplex neighbor in San Luis Obispo. When I told here about this little journey of the AT I was planning, and asked her if she might be interested in assisting me with being in charge of ¢home base¢, essentially sending and receiving food and gear to strategic locations along the way, she answered, ¢YES!¢ ecstatically. The cache sent to Standing Bear Hostel, to the immediate north of the Great Smokeys National Park, was the second one sent. The first package was sent to Fontana Lodge at the south end of the Great Smokey¢s National Park (GSNP). I had begun hiking an aggressive pace practically from the summit of Springer, in part from a tinge of anxiety about not finishing my hike before I had to return to work. My speedy pace, had thrown Britta off a bit on estimating time for me to get from one point to the next. It was trial and error at first. Britta was still blind on her end, in part because of my inability to reach her in a timely manner. In her second cache, she had sent a new, black Smart wool shirt. The green Ice Breaker shirt I had started with, was old to begin with, and by this point had developed numerous holes. I decided to wash it and donate it to the hiker¢s box. Mid way through repackaging, I was asked if I could move my gear to the back, since they were planning to load the benches with condiments for the free BBQ. I did not have plans to stay for the BBQ, which included hamburgers, hot dogs, beans, and salad, but how could I resist? The manager had asked at one point if I was staying at the hostel, and if I was, that I should decide quickly, since vacancies were running scarce. I replied, with some uncertainty that I was planning to head a few mile north of the Nolichucky today. After stuffing myself with good food, washing my clothing and gear, and enjoying a hot shower, it was about 4 pm. Aviator had arrived back from Erwin, with a large pizza and six pack of beer, and generously offered to share the delightful meal with me. Part of me felt guilty, given that I was getting a handsome salary, even while hiking, which she likely wasn¢t. Aviator was a relatively quiet gal, fair complexion, dirty blond hair, who wore enormous round, metal framed sunglasses, for which she earned her trail name. I sat at the back bench across from her, devouring her large pizza, the way my dog inhaled his food back home. It was my second meal within an hour. I thanked Aviator for her kindness and told her I owed her one, the next town that we supplied in, though I knew, that the reality was that I¢d be miles ahead of her tomorrow. She was a strong hiker, with a remarkable pace, even on the steep up hills, but a weakness for zero days, which of course was perfectly o.k. if you weren¢t on a schedule like I was.The hike was not all downhill, involving short, steep climbs over High Rocks, out of Spivey Gap, and Temple Hill Gap. On the final descent towards Erwin, I could see the meandering Nolichucky River, with a prominent rail bride crossing it in the distance. Near the bottom of the descent, perhaps still a mile away, I could smell the makings of a BBQ...at least the familiar smell of burning charcoal and lighter fluid. When I arrived to Uncle Jonny's Hostel, they were preparing a free BBQ to all hikers...unlimited burgers, dogs, chili beans, and all the fixings! Naturally, I couldn't resist. I picked up my food cache, which at first I thought hadn't arrived. It had been stowed away under Britta's name. I sat at one of the benches on the front porch and began sorting through food and re-packaging. As the condiments were being prepared, I was asked to move packaging operations to another table. I moved to the back courtyard, bounded by cabins, including the owners in the far back corner. One unexpected surprise that Britta had sent, was a desperately needed new merino wool shirt! The green one I'd been wearing was developing many holes. I decided to retire it here, at Uncle Jonny's. I was reluctant to toss this old shirt in the trash, but found redundancy in clothing unnecessary weight, especially when significant weight was added at resupply points. I washed my camp dishes in the back outdoor sink, and enjoyed the BBQ. While sorting through stuff, I watched a couple of drunk hiker trash- a derogatory term used by many, that I did not want to be associated with, build up a bonfire with cardboard, not more than 30-ft from tents pitched on the lawn. The wind billowed the fire and blew 20-ft flames sideways towards the tent. If it were my tent, I would've grabbed a 5-gallon bucket of water and extinguished the fire. Since it wasn't my tent, it was a spectacle to watch! I recharged by phone in the shower house, where I met one of the drunk hiker trash, named "Dude". I asked the Dude where he was from and what he was doing besides getting inebriated. He said he was from Anaheim, CA. I thought he looked familiar. He was one of those homeless mendicants from under a freeway bridge. He claimed that he was through-hiking the AT. I told him that the AT had a lot more to offer when in a sober state, and that he'd struggle trying to hike the rugged terrain drunk. Trying to reason with a drunk was futile, but amusing. The Dude, who did not abide, was thirsty, and had come into the restroom to plunge his head in the sink for a drink of water. He looked just like "The Dude" from the Great Lebowski, starring Jeff Bridges, with the odor of fermented beer on his breath. He slurred his words and asked me why I wasn't outside joining the group. I explained to him that it was my only time to catch up on blogging. He barely acknowledged what I said, nodding his head and slurring "uhh....ok", before stumbling back to the courtyard. A short time after he departed from drinking out of the sink, the Dude was in the back yard amongst the tents, urinating on the lawn! After enjoying a couple cheeseburgers with ranch-style beans, I returned to the task of repackaging food and resorting gear. Aviator joined me at the table a short while later, after returning from Erwin, where she picked up a large pizza and six pack of beer. She kindly offered to share her pizza and beer with me. I felt a bit of guilt taking food from a young lady who may not have had a flux of money deposited in her bank account monthIy from payed vacation, like I did. I promised I'd get the next one, though knew in my mind that there would not likely be a "next one" given our differing schedules. After completing my repackaging of food and reorganizing of gear, it was approaching 4pm. Although did not originally plan to stay at the hostel, the choice was easier now, with a belly full of food and darkness settling in prematurely from a thick layer of low, dark clouds that shrouded the ridge lines. I booked the last bed in the bunk house in the back room. The only bed left was the top bunk, with a rickety ladder on the corner. For someone like myself who was over 6-feet tall, it was claustrophobic. The ceiling could not have been more than 2-feet above the mattress, requiring a bit of contortion on my part. The occupants of the room were respectfully quiet in the late evening. I moved about gently to position myself comfortably and avoid the loud creaking of the bed frame, then shut my eyes for the night.