Date: 2014-04-02
From: Derrick Knob Shelter

To: Mt Collins Shelter
Miles today: 13.5

I got out of camp earlier than usual today. Perhaps the excitement of the Smokies was building or I was anticipating Clingmans Dome. I had hiked a short way before coming to Sam's Gap and looking up just ahead of me I spied a deer. I had read Trillium¢s blog where she had seen a deer in the Smokies, so I was delighted with the opportunity to spot one myself. She had no antlers, so I am going to assume it was a doe. I determined that I would do my best to not disturb her, no matter how long it took to allow her to finish her grazing. I took out the camera and started getting some shots as she moved to become more visible. I inched forward a little when she was not looking, which was not easy because as she grazed, she looked back at me from between her front legs with one of her large brown eyes. I took snapshots as well as a brief video clip. Eventually, she crossed over from the left hand side to the right hand side and began sauntering down the hill and disappeared into the forest. That one event was enough to make my day. As I marched up the trail, which of course was mostly up because I had to eventually get up to 6,655 feet, I was amazed to spot a live snail with the shell on its back crossing the trail. Amazed because it was so small and I just happened to see it. I placed it up on a log to snap its portrait then placed it over in the leaves, reasoning that might not be where it wanted to be but would be a might bit safer than if it continued its journey on the trail with all the hiking boots that came tramping along. (Why did the snail cross the A.T.? So it could say it hiked the A.T., I suppose from one side to the other.)The postlude to this story came later as I was talking to Jo Cool about her hike for the day. She went on to relate that among other things she had seen a snail and said to it, ¢I know how you must feel, because I too, and carrying my house on my back.¢ I said by the way where was the snail located in relation to the trail. She said that strangely enough, it was sitting up on some leaves beside the trail in such and such a location. I said that is amazing that out of these 10 miles of walking through the forest, you spotted the very same snail I had seen.Arriving at Clingmans Dome, I climbed the tower to take in the panoramic views. There were diagrams telling the names of distant or not so distant peaks. I looked for Mt. Mitchell first, because I remember it could be seen from the Smokies. Then I began to just read through the names and soon saw ¢Standing Indian Mountain¢ The last time I was here, which was longer than I could remember, that would have been just another nameless, distant bump on the horizon. Now, I can claim to personally know this Indian. The first time I was introduced to Standing Indian was back in Hiawasii GA, when our host at Blueberry Patch pointed to peak a few miles away with a cloud cover and told us its significance. A few days later, I ascended the mountain crossed over from one side to the other. Here I was two states away looking at it from a new perspective. As a matter of fact, this is an extreme example of how through out the hike, when the clouds permit, I look forward toward peaks I am to traverse later. Must be patient, however, because it takes a few days or few hours to reach points which may be four mountains beyond my lookout point.When Jo Cool came out at the Dome shortly after me, she said remarked about the forest we had passed through exclaiming ¢How Cool!¢ It was a forest of Fraser Fir and Red Spruce that the trail winded through. I said ¢do you mean the enchanted forest?¢ and she said ¢yes!¢ It makes expeireinces like that even more endearing when shared with others.I was up on the tower trying once more to get AT&T signal and become a listener in a conversation between Lobsta and a lady and her daughter. Because Lobsta knew me, she included me in the conversation. As we strolled back down the spiral from the tower, I learned that Rebecca is a single mom raising her daughter Lillie (maybe 9 y.o?). They live in Kentucky but mom takes advantage of every opportunity to get out into nature with her daughter. It is out in nature, where she said her daughter and her talk to one another unlike many other mother/daughters. I informed them that if they wanted to check to see if I made to Maine, they could check my trail journal at Blueberry Bear. Lilly was pretty quiet, asking only occasionally questions. But just as Lobsta donned her pack and headed into the woods and I was about to follow suit and Lillie asked me, ¢Do you like blueberries?¢ I replied, ¢I love blueberries!¢ Her face lit up and she said ¢I do, too.¢ That is the best kind of trail magic. I may never see the pair ago or I may read the trail journals in a few years of the adventures of Lillie and Rebecca on the A.T.The sun was sinking low and I thought for a millisecond, I should have not stayed so long at the Dome, but realized instantly that even though it may be dark before I reach the shelter, that moment was priceless. I followed Lobsta down the trail listening her voice trailing off through the trees as she sang along the trail. I could hear Cool and the Gang yelling excitedly from the top of the tower as they waited for the sunset from the highest point on the A.T. Soon things got quieter and I heard no voices as the trail turned into what looked like a creek bed. I thought, did I take a wrong turn because this is really strange. So I said, ¢Can I get an amen?¢ Eventually I spotted a white blaze but the passage was becoming slow work to follow. I came around a corner and aJunco chirped at me from a rhododendron a few feet away. It¢s message was: time to get your trekking poles out! I don¢t argue with messages like that, so out they came. And just around the next bend the path turned into glazed ice. I suddenly realized that I had missed something through out the high mountains where I often a lone execept for threesomes of Dark-eyed Juncos. I remembered that Wilma used always be so excited when the Juncos came to our feeder in Beattyville, because they seemed relatitve rare in town. The Juncos were there all along my journey reminding me Wilma is praying for me, my pilgrimage, and those I love.I kept inching along without my headlamp as I got to be pretty good at picking out the spots in the dimming light that would provide the best footing. However, I did come to a junction with wooden signs which were not readable in the twilight. So out come the headlamp which stated I needed to turn left and go an addition half mile to find the shelter. That was a long half mile. Of course, I was the last one in to camp tonight. Lobsta, Wrongway and Jerry from KY were there. This was a long but amazing day.