Date: 2011-04-15
From: Double Spring Gap Shelter

To: Grand Prix Motel
Miles today: 10.8

(In which I reach the highest point on the AT and avoid getting blown off of it)The wind howls all night. The shelters in the Smokies have vinyl tarps covering the missing fourth wall, and though this one makes a dreadful racket flapping in the wind, I am glad for its protection. This shelter is higher than a mile in elevation, and must be one of the highest on the trail. I hear a stirring in the middle of the night and when I wake up in the morning I learn from the register that Switchback and Catchup have left at 4am to try to catch sunrise from Clingman's Dome. Catchup has left his knife behind, and since Gun-Runner is the fastest hiker, leaving the earliest and the only other one not stopping in Gatlinburg, he is nominated to carry the knife ahead. His weapon transportation skills are diversifying, it would seem.The hike up to Clingman's is less than three miles and a thousand vertical feet from the shelter, and would be anticlimactic for the highest summit on the AT if it weren't for the weather. Having blown all night, the wind grows stronger the higher I climb, and soon I am hiking on exposed ridges where wet, cloudy wind rises from one side of the ridge, blowing upwards. When I reach the summit tower itself, a concrete viewing platform some 80 feet in the air accessible by a long, circular ramp, I have a difficult time standing upright against the wind.To reach the tower I have to crouch down to partially shield myself with the walls of the ramp. At the tower itself I quickly seek refuge behind the circular support column in the middle of the platform, but even here the winds are fierce and my pack and poles are buffeted by the wind. I stay on the platform long enough to take a short movie. I hold the camera inches from my face and scream into it, but still I know that most of my words are lost to the wind. When I come back down I see Curmudgeon, who walks up to the platform and immediately turns around without stopping. "A little bit scary," he admits when he's back on comparatively safe ground. He estimates the wind gusts at 70 mph, and though I have no way to confirm it, I would believe such a figure.The hike down from the Dome is cold and wet, but luckily it doesn't actually rain in earnest, and I stay relatively dry. The side of the trail is littered with dozens of large trees fallen in the storms of the past two weeks, and every few hundred yards reveals the underneath of another enormous set of tree roots, some carrying large boulders up in the air with them. Amazingly, the blow downs that had been blocking the trail itself have all been cut away already, and I am impressed by the efficiency of the Smokies' trail maintainers.At one point I feel the ground shift beneath me as I walk, and when I take another step I see a small chasm open up where I had been walking. To the side of the trail I see a large tree tilting precariously, lifting part of the trail with it. When the wind calms the tree settles back upright, but I know that soon it will join its fallen brethren, and I do not stick around.When I get to Newfound Gap, I catch an easy hitch into Gatlinburg. I've heard that the weather is supposed to get worse, and I'd rather be several thousand feet lower and in a warm motel room when this happens. As soon as I enter Gatlinburg, I meet the same older couple that I had met two days earlier at the Shuckstack fire tower. They had offered me a homemade treat, which I had cautiously accepted, not being able to identify it. I later found the treat to be a blonde pecan brownie bar that was, unquestionably, the single most delicious thing I have ever eaten. Biting into it on the trail I would moan in ecstasy and could not stop eating. When I see the couple again I implore them to send me the recipe -- mostly butter, brown sugar and pecans I am told, but I write down my email address and beg them to send the full details.Just down the street I see Switchback and Catchup, who having watched the windy clouds from Clingman's at sunrise, have decided to head into town after all to avoid the storm. They advise me to check in at the cheap hiker motel before it fills up, and as I walk there I meet Curmudgeon. Having accurately forecasted my movements, Curmudgeon has already reserved a room in our names and I am struck by the happy coincidences of trail life.Gatlinburg itself is a tourist town in what, for me, is a newly discovered positive use of the word. The town seems to consist entirely of motels, candy shops, gear outfitters, small amusement venues, and restaurants (including no less than three pancake houses). I walk around to each of the outfitters looking unsuccessfully for lightweight sneakers. (One of my soles is half detached, and I still cannot accurately predict my progress well enough to plan a mail drop, though maybe Curmudgeon could tell me where I'll be.)I buy way too much food and the Walgreens checkout clerk stares at me while she scans one honey bun after another (610 calories each; two make a nice morning snack). Back at the motel I run in to Curmudgeon and Hopeful, a retired hiker I meet for the first time. Hopeful writes a popular trail journal and Curmudgeon is effusive in his fandom. Hopeful is meeting his wife in Gatlinburg and offers to let us ride back to the trail with them in the morning.I should try one of the many restaurants in town but the only way I can fit all of the food I bought in my pack is by eating some of it, so I do dinner in, eating two microwaved cheese quesadillas with chips and two sodas to add some more calories. The motel lobby has a scale and I weigh myself for the first time since starting. I have lost 4 pounds, down to 110, which is not good news, but I hear that most weight lost on the trail is during the first month, so hopefully my weight will stabilize soon. In the lobby I also learn that Clingman's Dome did in fact receive gusts of 70 mph this morning, so apparently Curmudgeon is as skilled at judging wind speed as he is at predicting the future.