Date: 2019-04-08
From: Pecks Corner shelter

To: Davenport Gap shelter
Miles today: 19.8
Weather: clear sky

It showered several times overnight but fortunately it stops in the early morning hours. I have a huge root under my lower back. It actually provides pretty good lumbar support! The birds are singing well before light and I reluctantly pull myself out of the sleeping bag. It's a relatively warm morning so that eases the pain. I grab the food bags from the bear wires and drop them off for Fast Lane and UNICEF, waking him up. Clammy is already hiking out. Fast Lane disappears soon without a word.I start breaking down the wet tent (sigh) but take a break to make oatmeal. The British couple I met at Newfound Gap yesterday have the same idea. Wumble is named after a British children's show character, and Morph is named after what sounds like an orange, British version of Gumby. They love hiking in the US because UK hiking is mostly through farms without potable water, or scrubby Highlands without trees. Of course British hikes typically end each day at a pub, so there's that.I try to segregate my wet tent and poncho from my dry gear, and hike out. This shelter was packed, partly because of a large group of section hikers. Indian Americans, I chatted with them for a bit last night and they had tons of questions about thruhiking. But mostly they kept to themselves and chatted in Hindi. Clammy slept on the shelter dirt floor last night and said one of them came in late, stepped on his sleeping pad with a boot, then stuck his trekking pole in the pad. It survived, but not cool.We plan a twenty mile day to get to the third shelter. The first is too close, and everyone seems to be headed to the second, so we are trying to get ahead of this new bubble. The morning hike climbs and dips over the ridge line. Everything is shrouded in fog. It's not actively raining but the air is cool and crisp and I'm full of energy. I burst up the hills and cover the thirteen miles to the second shelter, Cosby Knob, in a little over four hours. Along the way I pass Bubbles, who stayed at the first shelter I pass, Tricorner Knob. She's a little older and not feeling fast, and she's stressed out about getting a shelter spot because her tent wetted out last night. I catch up with Scarecrow and Scrub-a-Dub. The cut on Scarecrow's hand stopped bleeding. I give her more Band-Aids to keep it clean til they get to town. They aren't going far today.In late morning, rain showers come and go. I'm over 6000 feet much of the time and the winds are roaring across the knife edge ridges, alternatively pelting me with rain then drying me out like a bathroom hand dryer. Hikers can barely hear each other over the wind sometimes. I greet a number of new faces as I approach Cosby Knob shelter.I'm the second one here after Fast Lane. But a dozen people soon pour in while I eat lunch. We figure out there are eleven section hikers headed here for the night. Since section hikers have shelter-specific reservations, that means there will be only a few berths for thruhikers. So most of us opt to down some Vitamin I (ibuprofen) and hike another seven miles to the third shelter.It's mostly downhill, dropping almost 2500 feet from Mt Cammerer with barely a break. It's very muddy trail, and where there's no mud there's scree (loose rock) or wet roots. The mud often is covered by wet leaves. So it's slip-sliding downhill, with foot placement very important. Fortunately it's not raining....yet. I pass three dayhikers going up to see Mt Cammerer, which is too far off-trail to bother with on a viewless day. One lady is very interested in my hike. She did 250 miles on the Camino, a pilgrimage through Spain. She gets philosophical about what I can expect to get out of my hike. Happiness comes from within, she says. True. At the moment it's not really coming from without!The hills at this lower elevation are greening up fast, compared to what I saw climbing into the Smokies just three days ago. Once I drop below about 3500 feet a wave of humidity hits me. The Smokies truly feel like the rainforest they are.I pass a girl named Crusher from Tennessee. She crushed a downhill to get the name, but she's not liking this downhill. Soon after that, the rain starts again. And it hits heavier than before. I'm in my rain jacket but neglect to throw the poncho over my pack, thinking my trash bag liner will keep things dry. It pours and pours. The trail turns into a swamp where it's flat, and the mud gets deeper and slicker everywhere. My shoes and socks take in water and become covered in filth. After a half hour of relentless rain I spy the shelter in a valley a hundred feet below. It seems to take forever to navigate switchbacks to get down. I'm only the fourth person here, along with a yarmulke-wearing guy named Yellow Jacket, a trim guy named Wild Card, and a girl from New Hampshire named Granite. They all beat the rain, but I'm absolutely soaked. Worse, my trash bag liner failed and most of my stuff is wet. Thankfully the sleeping bag is spared. Eventually the shelter fills up. Some of them are familiar. Tin Can from Fontana marina, Crusher, Chandler (looks like the guy on Friends), Pindrop (fiftyish guy), Kiwi and Food Truck from last night, and of course Yellow Jacket, Wild Card, and Granite. UNICEF beats Fast Lane into the shelter for the first time. He was really motivated by the rain and broke out jogging. Clammy makes it too. No one is happy with the twenty-mile day or getting soaked. Tomorrow looks like a slow day.Everyone is trying to dry out their stuff. Yellow Jacket builds a fire, and a clothesline is soon covered with a dozen pairs of soaked socks. The rain stops for an hour but returns with a vengeance. It stops again, then comes again, more furious than ever. We try to hang bear bags during the lull. This shelter is the only one that still has a chain-link fence in front, but food should never be kept inside. Unfortunately I snag my line on a tree and can't work it off before the rain starts up again. I'll have to work on it in the morning. I piggyback on Clammy's line, which is a weird variation of the PCT method we call the Mona Lisa because it seemed too beautiful to take down. Wumble and Morph make it to the shelter just as everyone has gotten in their sleeping bags. They grab the floor. Everyone is welcome in the shelter in lousy weather.To my pleasant surprise I have cell service here, at least enough for data to check weather (rain, more rain) and post this journal. Voice support is much spottier. Hoping to dry out tomorrow, recuperate, and get to Hot Springs in a few days.