Date: 2003-04-23
From: Walnut Mountain Shelter

To: Hot Springs
Miles today: 13.1
Weather: clear sky

Yesterday, we woke to a very chilly morning on Walnut Mountain, and "Sheepstuff" already well advanced in her decamp activities. We hoped to meet her and her husband in Hot Springs in a couple of days, and we ourselves were on our way by 9.15. It was soon obvious that Verity had made a full recovery and she set what was, for us, a cracking pace. Making only a couple of stops, we came down to the outskirts of Hot Springs about 3.30pm, a distance of 13 miles. Hot Springs is the first "trail town" that north-bound hikers encounter. It has a population of over 600 but, from a hiker's standpoint, this is virtually a one-street town, most of which sits in a loop of the French Broad River. All the facilities and stores needed are located on the main street, Bridge Street, in a 1/3 mile cluster, and bounded on the north side by the Knoxville to Asheville railroad running across the road. Accommodation is tight at the moment, but we have found a room at the Duckett House B&B on the southern end of town. Today has been a beautiful, clear, sunny day and therefore it goes without saying that this has been an off-trail day for us, catching up with laundry, sending journal entries home and re-supplying. We have spent much of our time here very enjoyably in the company of the "KC girls", "Two Speeds". "Chafe Master J", as well as "Moo" and "42". They all arrived a day before us.   Hot Springs rose to some prominence in the second half of the 19th century. Like several other locations further up the Appalachian chain, its cooler mountain air and mineral waters attracted wealthy city people anxious to spend their summers well away from the hot, humid, fever-ridden marshlands running up the East coast. Talking to Brian, proprietor of the Duckett House Inn, it seems that Hot Springs takes on three different identities through the year. From mid-March to end May, it's hiker town. Through the summer and early autumn, it plays host to a much wealthier set, attracted to the cooler mountain temperatures of a spa town. After that, it returns to the control of the local population. The centre of the town's social activity is the Paddler's Pub on Bridge Street. Madison County is dry, and these are the only licenced premises within it. Renewal of the licence is precarious - the townspeople voted for it by 104-102 three years ago. I've been studying the town at length today and there is something not quite right about it. The way a car turns into and goes down the main street, the way a freight train moves leisurely down the tracks, the way local people and hikers move up and down or across the street. It all seems slowed-down, deliberate, almost programmed. It's a town where there are no sudden movements or any loud noises. The town holds on to people, who seem to lose the resolve to get up and leave. Most of the hikers I've met here have been here two or three days when their town-business could easily have been handled in a morning. Today, "Moo" and "42" had their packs at the Outfitter Store on main street by 11.00am and were about to set off, yet at 5.00pm this afternoon, they are still here, supposedly seeing to this need or talking to that person. I'm not sure if they left. Wayne Crosby hiked the first 270 miles of the trail in 1988, reached Hot Springs, and abandoned his hike. He owns the Outfitter Store. Verity and I will attempt to escape tomorrow. But don't be surprised if we fail. Hot Springs bears no resemblance to Portmeirion, but when we follow the white blazes across the railroad track and then over French Broad, I won't be surprised if we are enveloped by a large balloon/bubble bouncing down the trail, and we wake up back in our beds at the Duckett House Inn.