Date: 2003-04-13
From: Hwy 321

To: Kincorra
Miles today: 9.0

Out to walk over the lovely Pond Mountain down into the Laurel Fork Gorge with its spectacular falls.Lou and Seattle and I cooked up an egg breakfast, toast and a fruit salad from goodies left by Trail magicians.I said good-bye to Seattle and Looky Lou, Kate and my little dog friend Mickey. Hard to say good-bye to a little dog who curls up with you at night.Bob and I worked out an tentative itinerary that would let the snows on Roan melt yet let me take advantage of this four-day weather window.I would go north of the hostel today and walk back southbound for a simple 9 miles. But I was traveling on my very favorite stretch of the Trail.The breeze was that rare perfect temperature that refreshes the skin without chilling it, leaving an afterglow.The creek music was active today, as were the birds whistling to rivals their nesting boundaries. The slants of morning sun picked out every crystal needle on the hillside pines and hemlocks.Within 40 minutes, I was swinging up the ridge spine of Pond Mountain, lost in my thoughts, the welcome morning sun pouring down on my left. The peace exploded suddenly as the world's biggest grouse rose up at my feet in a flurry of wings and feathers. I actually jumped backward, the intensity of the surprise was so great.No! It was not a grouse at all but a wild tom turkey! The bronze bird was an impressive flier compared to the heavy-breasted domestic turkeys I had seen trying to get off the ground. This mountain tom actually rose a short distance, then opened his wings and tail and soared downward like a buzzard - quite a long distance, I thought, to the far flank opposite. There, he melted into the underbrush, out of sight. The woods world was back as it was, quiet, unruffled.It was a lollygagging day. What's the hurry? The air is sweet.I lunched on a rocky outcrop looking down into the Laurel Fork Gorge. A brown lizard, bigger than the Carolina anoles I know, joined me to bake on a log nearby. (Perhaps it had a spot of blue and black at its throat, perhaps it was just shadows.) We hung out, taking the sun into our pores as if it were a permeable vitamin element.When I moved to take a drink of water, flying lizards! My scaly companion leapt a surprising distance to a tree trunk, then to another log, where he resumed the immobile lizard thing. Everything seems to move faster and farther than me. I am good at the "immobile lizard thing" though. I could give lessons, especially if all days were like this.After we'd hung out a little more, and I'd taken care to move slowly, my lizard friend consented to some pictures. Using the slow "advance and retreat" method of gaining a horse's trust, I managed to get right close and personal with this Pond Mountain reptile. My last shot was inches away from its lidded eyes. Just call me "The Lizard Whisperer."Far below, the Laurel Fork itself churned with a sort of white noise that, from up here, sounded like a faraway wind or distant jet engines.It was quite warm on this stony, west-facing rock, but the refrigeration effect of the river beneath was useful; brief wafts of cold air lifted from below to cool.Down, down, down went the descent to the Laurel Fork and the gorge. Pine and hemlock gave way to moss and rhodies, pink bleeding heats and violets in bloom.At the uphill Laurel Fork Shelter, I checked the register and saw Team Spud had been through, slacking a bit and waiting for the snow at Carver Gap to melt.Now open with the lower water levels, I safely traveled around the cliff on the narrow ledge by the river. On the other side was a favorite campsite of mine- a little cove of flat land caught between the Laurel Fork and a forty foot rock wall. It's the sort of place you know has been a campsite for thousands of years.But I am not camping today. I want to see the magnificent Laurel Fork Falls, which is roaring from the recent volume of water. Energy! The spray hits me fifty feet out.There is not much to say here. You would just have to stand there to feel it, to know it. I stood there awhile.Sitting on a ledge of the "stairway to heaven", a heart-pounding, artery roto-rooting climb out of the gorge up rocks steps, I heard a voice descending: "LiteShoe!"It was Team Spud! Home Fries and Hash Brown were Tennessee kids, so they were bringing kinfolk down to see the lovely gorge and falls, since this end was only a few miles from a back road.We caught up on their Trail news. Everyone knew Homey had been peeing brown and had lost weight. He'd gone in for tests, but no one knew the results. He was happy to report the tests eliminated any serious conditions. The doctor thought a recent fall in the snow, a rapid hiking weight loss and an ill-fitting pack belt had contributed to the temporary discoloration. You see, there are no secrets on the Trail.They also told me that a number of people had quit recently, and many more just skipped ahead, giving up on Roan and the Humps, and were already walking to Damascus, VA. Would they go back to hike them in the fall? I didn't trust my momentum to skip ahead. I was going to backfill every foot.Seattle, who thru-hiked in a past year, had also told me of a number of people who had quit the Trail here: "That's because in this section it's Basic Training II, and no one expects it." Well, I felt good that I was still walking, however stiffly. On the way back to Dennis Cove Road, the pre-falls Laurel Fork gurgled frostily. I stopped and took off my shoes. I hooked my butt in an overhanging loop of hemlock root and stuck my hot feet and sore heels in the icy water until they were numb - which didn't take that long. Aaaaah! "AT ice," thru-hikers call it.Back at Kincorra, the sun was still pleasant, and Pat People was preparing her quarter horse Hopi for a ride. We got to chatting - I teach dressage, she likes to use it for training - and before you know it, we were playing in the late afternoon sun. An hour passed quickly, and Hopi survived the experiment.When I got into the hostel, I saw it was packed. In addition, Pop-Pop was there. He had gone over Roan in the snow, and crossed the windy, bald Hump Mountains in deep snow. "I was never properly grateful for those who had gone first before," he said. "It was hard work." It was a pleasant evening in the cozy Kincorra hostel. After trudging through the rain for a week, here was the payoff: today.Friendly sun, cool temps, light weight, a Subway sandwich packed with fresh vegetables, sweet trail and stunning scenery, camaraderie. Just the sort of day you envision when the AT spark first catches fire in your imagination.