Date: 2013-04-15
From: Justus Creek, GA

To: Bull Gap, GA
Miles today: 17.9
Weather: overcast clouds

A light rain fell sporadically during the first evening on the Appalachian Trail. It was mesmorizing, tapping on the walls of my tent. It was a relatively new experience, given that rain in California is sparse and short lived. I had woken briefly a few times in a groggy state of mind, to check that my tent had not flooded from its precarious perch on a narrow mud pad, dug into the middle of a long slope. Amazingly the water stayed out, given my less than optimum set up. By early morning, the rain transformed to a dense eery fog, so dense, that the top of the trees vanished. The forest had appeared to have lost its third dimension, now merely a silhouette against a wall of gray. I spent most of my life living on the southern coast of California, where a marine layer, often as thick as 2,000-ft loomed over the Pacific and crept up to the Santa Ynez, sometimes spilling over the 3,000 ft ridge-line like the sublimation of dry ice, in the heart of summer. I was accustomed to often cool, damp summers. The dense fog of the Chattahoochee National Forest in Georgia, condensed into drops on the barren limbs of the deciduous forest, which plummeted to the rich humus layer of the forest floor below. I was still feeling groggy, which I attributed to never fully recovering from the long day of flight to Georgia on April 13. As a group, we departed by around 7am from Justus Creek Camp, climbing the ridge line gradually towards Big Cedar Mountian. I took the lead with my natural faster pace. A short distance up the trail, we intercepted a group of trail volunteers heading towards Justus Creek. We asked them what section of trail they were working on and they informed us that they were cleaning out the privy. Apparently the hikers this year were full of it, and the privies were filling up more rapidly than previous years, often including under garments used to wipe. I made a note to myself not to volunteer for this trail club. North of Gooch Gap, the AT shared an abandoned road bed that traversed the east facing slopes near the crest of a ridge around mile 20.4. The slopes along this ridge possessed abundant springs. I had not eaten breakfast in camp, so stopped at a prominent spring cascading over exposed rock. I climbed up the slippery rock to a small flat area above the trail and boiled water for french press coffee and oatmeal. After about 20 minutes passed, Lisa and Andrew passed me by. I offered them some coffee, but they were eager to hike on. I told them, I'd catch up with them later. I figured I'd take my time and catch up with them later that morning. By early noon, I was hiking down the other side of Big Cedar Mountain. I expected to catch up with Lisa and Andrew by this point, but did not see them. I recall Andrew was going to hike a shorter day to prevent the on-set of a shin-splint from getting worse. I don't recall, however, hearing him mention a designation. In retrospect, I would guess they likely stopped on the south side of Blood Mountain off the Dockery Lake Trail or Lance Creek camp. Both of these camp spots were approximately 5 miles south of the summit of Blood Mountain, where the historic Blood Mountain Shelter stood (circa 1934). I continued north bound in the early afternoon to the summit of Blood Mountain. I reached the stone and masonry Blood Mountain Shelter by about 2:30pm, where took my pack off, and decided to rest. The interior of the Blood Mountain Shelter, lacked the warmer feeling of wood planked floors that the majority of more modern shelters possessed. The rooms were dark and cold, with nothing but concrete floors. The Blood Mountain Shelter was clearly not intended for use, though if caught in a blizzard, the stout walls, regardless of their heat-sucking properties, would be a haven from the wind. I climbed up the rock bluff behind the shelter to enjoy the afternoon sun, and vistas. A young woman was also gazing out upon the ridges, resting from her day hike up the mountain from Neel Gap, where she worked at the Mountain Crossings outfitter. She mentioned that she through-hike the AT south bound a few years back, though at a significantly slower pace than I was planning. I had limited vacation time, and was extremely driven to succeed at finishing this amazing journey. I made it down the steep rock slabs and steps of Blood Mountain to Neel Gap by about 5pm, just in time to purchase some of their expensive merchandise and top off my fuel bottle for my soda can stove. Baltimore Jack, along with the young lady I met on the summit of Blood Mountain were working there. The AT passes through the Mountain Crossings Outfitter at Neel Gap, 31.5 miles from Springer Mountain. I had packed enough food for three days, figuring on either resupplying at Hiawassee or Helen. I've heard about the notorious "Hiker shakedown" at Mountian Crossings, and could easily see someone spending there budget for the entire trail at this one spot! I had watched a National Geographic documentary on the Appalachian trail, which featured this outfitter and mentioned the hundreds of packages sent back home each year by hikers that packed to much. My months of research payed off! I wandered through the gear section of the store, gazing at the outrageous price tags on specialized gear, which drained me mentally. I purchased an artsy AT mug, which I mailed home to Britta, along with a few rocks I picked up along the way. The cost to mail the mug and a couple chunks of rock home to Britta exceeded the cost of the 20.00 mug. I think the term "highway robbery" must have originated here at Neel Gap! The store closed shortly after I made my purchases. I walked around to the back side of the store on a rough, rock patio bordered by a stone wall, to look eastward over miles of green ridges. The sun sunk behind the trees to the west. Dusk was setting in rapidly by 5:30pm. I hiked just over a mile further to Bull Gap before complete darkness. About a dozen hikers set up a city of tents at Bull Gap. Several hikers gathered around the fire and cooked supper. I set up my tent on a gentle slope down the hill from the ridge crest, hung my chord on a tree further down the slope for hanging my food later, then joined the group in cooking dinner. I was greeted by great warm hospitality. One of the hikers I met had hiked in this point by a side road, to rendezvous with his friends in camp and already had the worst blisters I had seen in a long time. His heels were raw, and prime for infection. I was wearing heavy leather boots, with intent to hike onwards the next day. I suggested that he take a knife to his boots and cut out the area that was rubbing. I sensed that he'd rather endure the pain of hiking over damaging his boots. After cooking a large pot of pasta, mixed with alfredo sauce, tuna, and home dried bell peppers and tomatoes, with a mug of hot chocolate, I consumed the delicious food ravenously, enjoying the companionship of fellow hikers. One of the hikers played a wicked acoustic guitar. Day two had ended. I fell asleep rapidly, exhausted.