Date: 2019-04-30
From: Shook Branch Rd / Boots Off Hostel

To: Stealth site at 446.2
Miles today: 17.8
Weather: clear sky

I sleep in til 7 (!) in my tent at Boots Off Hostel, until I can't ignore the birds any longer. They provide a breakfast of cereal, fruit, coffee, and donuts. The store, in which the towels are kept, is locked, so no shower this morning. Last night it was so popular there was no hot water. No biggie, I'll take a dip in the lake later.A grey-haired Alabaman named Partly Cloudy is in residence and cooks up excellent barbeque for hikers everyday. He owned a construction company for many years building hundreds of homes a year, but when he retired he sold both the business and his house and is currently living in a tent here for the season feeding hikers. He even built himself a deck for the tent. He says he just enjoys meeting people from all walks of life, and is happier here than any other retirement pursuit he can imagine.I'm the last guest to hike out. The trail runs by the Watauga Lake swimming beach after several minutes. No one is here on a Tuesday morning and no hikers are behind me. So I go skinny-dipping to keep the shorts dry. A partially submerged concrete picnic table conceals me from route 321 traffic. The water is cool and dark and the bottom is sandy. Very refreshing. I try to scrub all the dirt off my body. As I dry out in the sun I observe two geese watching over their flock of a dozen fuzzy goslings foraging on the shore.The lake's water is high and the trail is temporarily rerouted to avoid the shoreline. But of course I follow the white blazes anyway as they wind along the lakeshore within feet of the water. Most of the swampy areas are bridged and I only have to skirt a couple of puddles. This section of the trail is also in a restricted area of no camping or picnicking thanks to frequent bear activity. Fisherman apparently leave tempting appetizers behind them. The Watauga Lake shelter is still standing but is scheduled for removal due to the bear activity. A log still smolders in the fire ring. Someone camped here just last night despite the ban.The trail continues to follow the lake until it reaches the Watauga Dam. While not as impressive as Fontana, and mostly made of earth and gravel, it contains a comparable body of water. I don't think the trail will come close to another large lake until New Jersey. At the other end I catch up with Grasshopper. I admire his tenacity in coming out to do the whole trail again. He doesn't consider himself a thruhiker because he had to skip hurricane-ravaged Vermont. He's a tough old bird and doesn't take guff from anyone.I've been trying to catalogue new wildflowers as I see them. The mountain laurel are now blooming all over. And I've seen two purple wildflowers that both have five petals and similar serrated leaves. One flower has a foot, though, and alternating leaves. The other has no foot, but symmetric leaf formation. The first is dwarf larkspur and the second is wild geranium or spotted crane's bill. They are not even closely related, going by the Latin names. The variety nature offers is astounding.While climbing up to the Iron Mountains ridgeline I meet Mountain Fish, a young man with straight hair and southern accent, named for swimming the trail upstream on a rainy day. While getting a ride to the trail this morning he saw Sovereign walking by the road. But he was headed towards town. It's a little concerning though that he's on the loose again. I catch up with Timber, a dark-haired young guy who tented at Boots Off. He's finishing a 400 mile section in Damascus. He has no interest in hiking the whole trail, he just wanted to come out and center himself for a month. What he really wants to do is fix up an old Jeef Cherokee and drive the Pan-American Highway.Along the ridgeline, with frequent views of the lake, I pick a ramp to cook for lunch. I hear they taste like onions and garlic. Rocketman had tried some a couple weeks ago. So I slice it down - the stalk looks like a green onion - and fry it up with butter offered by Timber. It's awful! It tastes extremely bitter. Mountain Fish agrees. I have to spit it out it's so bad. Now I'm doubting this is even a ramp. I look up ramps since I have service. No, it wasn't a ramp at all! Total fail. Gina later calls her father, a botanist, and he identifies it as a mayapple. Properly chastened, I'm reminded of the age-old wisdom not to eat anything in the wild you are not certain of. Gina would name me "Ramp" if I didn't already have a name. I'll add it to the list!I stop at Iron Mountain shelter for dinner. Gumby is the only one here. He's retired and lives in Bethel, Maine with his wife very close to the trail, but he's never been a big hiker. When he retired he told his wife he needed an adventure, that puttering around the house wasn't enough. His first choice was a stint at a scientific station in Antarctica. When that didn't come through, he headed for the AT.Gumby saw Sovereign by the dam this morning, asking where the northbound trail was. He thinks the guy is headed to this shelter. So when Belch and Gina catch up I decide to follow them a couple more miles to a stealth site. It's not a regularly used site so we have to clear out the sticks, but it's flat, comfy, and has views of the sunset and sunrise. It's clear tonight as well. On the way we passed a stone monument to a local hermit called "Uncle Nick Grindstaff" who died in 1923. The monument simply lists his name and dates and says "Lived alone, suffered alone, died alone." That's definitely not the AT motto. This mountain may have once been a solitary retreat, but today it is part of a highly social community.