Date: 2004-05-12
From: Mt. Cammerer Fire Lookout 

To: Standing Bear Farm
Miles today: 10.7

Well before sunrise ¢Stumpknocker¢, ¢Freebird¢ and ¢Bumpo¢ were all in their box seats on the easterly porch of the Mt. Cammerer Lookout ¢Theater¢¢coffee in hand¢ eagerly anticipating BOB¢s new opening acted called ¢Smoky Mountain Daybreak¢ (which is a reprisal of the long running crowd pleaser generally known as ¢Dawn.¢) as we waited in our seats, we were entertained by the final remnants of the Night Time¢s ¢Fading Finale,¢ which included the flicking antics of a hungry bat swooping around the copula of the Lookout Tower, and the droning cries of a Bard Owl (whoo, obviously must have been doing Shakespeare! Ouch!)But then, suddenly the stage was cleared for BOB¢s grand appearance, and being the star that he is (¢pun intended!¢) his opening act did not disappoint us in the least. Beginning with an incandescent glow, BOB leapt onto the previously darkened stage wearing a killer red/orange jumpsuit, hopping between a series of thin, flighty veils of clouds that lay just above the horizon. The effect of all this, was, for several long moments, to create the appearance that BOB was an oblong orb instead of his usual round self ¢ it looked as if he were moving so fast toward his position on the morning stage that his bottom portions had missed their queue and were being hauled along by the sheer force of his entrance.Once the special- effects portion of this performance was over, the light show for which BOB is best known was quickly underway, transforming shapeless terrain into identifiable forms, vagueness into substance and giving all things the dimensions they had completely lost during the night. Before we left our seats to begin our respective journeys north, BOB had even gone so far as to reattach to each of us the shadows that had been washed from our feet under yesterday¢s storm clouds. Quite an impressive act!And apparently, not only were the three of us impressed with BOB¢s virtuoso performance, but all of nature seemed to react with equal appreciation ¢ birds spontaneously began singing and some immediately took flight; trees and shrubs and grasses began to move in time to a gentle breeze that came on stage and mists started to gather in the hollows. In unison the mists transformed into clouds and began there smoke-like ascent to the ridges below us. Before we knew it, dawn was over and a new day had begun¢ my last day on the Trail for this section.It was almost noon in Davenport Gap when I walked into Mountain Mama¢s Kuntry Kitchen and Bunkhouse.   I found ¢Freebird¢ there finishing off a greasy cheeseburger (¢the best on the Trial¢) while chatting with ¢Radioflyer¢ who had come in from Cosby Knob. ¢Stompknocker¢ had passed up Mama¢s in favor of getting in a ¢25-er¢, that would put him on Max Patch tonight and into Hot Springs the next day, where he looking forward to seeing a special lady-friend, Jan ¢LiteShoe,¢ who¢s 2003 trailjournal.com website holds the all-time record for hits, with over 295,000 to date! While motoring down the trail less than ten minutes behind ¢Freebird¢ (who spent a good five minutes walking less than 30 yards behind an otherwise totally pre-occupied black bear who finally turned around, did a double-take in surprise at ¢Freebird¢s¢ presence, then stepped aside in embarrassment to let him pass), I managed to extend my impressive list of wild animals sightings for the pasts thirteen days now to: Two centipedes, one toad (large mind you), a 4 inch drab salamander, three white-tailed deer, and of course, the one savage-looking North-American box turtle ( I must confide, that I still quiver at the recollection of how aggressively he was munching on the leaf he held pinned to the ground with just one clawed foot ¢ can you imagine what might have happened if he had decided to rear up and come at me with those claws flashing? Oh my gosh!) I¢m obviously bummed by the fact tht unlike so many who have passed the Smokies these past few days I¢ve seen no bears or wild boars or other such creatures of the forest. As I descended from our perch on Mt. Cammerer in the morning sunlight, I spent a good deal of time not only looking for some really wild-wildlife I could boast about but also thinking about what I will miss when I return to NYC next week. Certainly, I¢m going to miss a great deal about the Appalachian Trail experience:      ¢¦I am going to miss marking the progress of the nocturnal journeys of the moon and the stars against the seam of my tent netting.      ¢¦The touch of BOB on the back of my neck.      ¢¦Reading the Shelter Journals and appreciating the exact meaning shared by some hastily scribbled sentiment left weeks earlier by fellow hikers.¢¦I am going to miss the sound of God sighing through the treetops and across the ridges,       ¢¦I¢ll miss the dank proximity of the primeval evergreen forest ¢its heavy air and vibrant mosses.¢¦I¢ll miss those long, revealing views down the ravines and hollows of the Southern Hardwood Forest.      ¢¦The white pebbles mysteriously strewn across the trail after the rain.      ¢¦The gentle call of a crow and the cascading resonance of very proud enunciation of my assistant Phoebe¢s name repeated through the woods.      ¢¦ The endless and beautiful green upon green and mountain upon mountain.      ¢¦I¢ll miss coming upon those surprising place spring where a spring materializes from out of the ground and percolates into sweet tasting pools.      ¢¦The people who hike and those who inhabit the trail environs.      ¢¦Bluet Flowers along my path.      ¢¦Nameless mosses and grasses and ferns¢The 100% reliable supporting cast of this incredible Appalachian Trail production.      ¢¦ The dreams that come freely during the nights spent in my sleeping bag.      ¢¦The unexpected suddenness with which a view will present itself¢And with it the unanticipated recollection of places past, and the image of those yet to come and those I will never know.      ¢¦ The sound cadence of my breathing as I trudge closer to a summit that I¢ve worked hard to attain.      ¢¦Reflective reminisces of my childhood, my youth and my years of maturation¢of losses and lessons, of joys and pain¢of hopes and dreams.      ¢¦The giddy thrill to realize once, again that I am here on the trail¢¢Look God, it¢s me: ¢Bumpo¢, is the spiritual creature having this physical experience.¢       ¢¦I¢ll miss the silky, formless shape of a cloud moving through the trees, rising to become the smoke for which these mountains are known.      ¢¦I will certainly miss the uncontrollable smile that comes across my face, usually only moments before sleep absorbs my consciousness, when I realize that my feet are dry.      ¢¦I¢ll miss not having to ¢come in from out of the rain¢ or ¢from the noonday sun¢ because of the dictates of someone else or of conventional wisdom¢I am free to go where I want and when I want and to be as much a part of the elements as I want to be instead of always having to be in opposition to them.      ¢¦I will miss the feel of a stained rock etched with age and he hoary bark of a tree under my hand.      ¢¦I¢ll miss the smell of rain-scrubbed mountain air.      ¢¦The ease with which lessons come on the trail.      ¢¦The quiet of the woods after dark.      ¢¦and blowing beads of sweat or drops of rain from the tip of my nose.      ¢¦I will miss the reassurance provided by the sight of a 6¢x 2¢ white blaze on a tree ahead, telling me I am exactly where I am supposed to be at this particular moment¢ somewhere on the Appalachian Trail.