Date: 2004-05-22
From: Bridge at Nolichucky River near Erwin, TN

To: Hammock Hell
Miles today: 12.0

This journal entry is being written one day late.I left Uncle Johnny¢s hostel and began what would be a long and gradual day of uphill climbing. During the morning I met a hiker in his early fifties named Stumpknocker. He is a tall, bearded, and has previously thru hiked the Appalachian Trail. He is in great physical shape. As we ascended a slope, he shared with me some of his detailed knowledge of the trail. At the same time, I was growing tired from keeping up with him. I recalled how fatigued I had become trying to keep up with Underfoot several days ago. This time, with reluctance, I told Stumpknocker that I needed to slow down, drop back, and that I would see him further up the trail.At different times during the day, I encountered hikers Inchworm, Samurai, Knuckles, and JP heading southbound; they were slack packing after arranging rides to road crossings up north. This way, they could hike without backpacks and stay an extra night in hostels in Erwin. Hikers Zip Off and Kato also passed me on southbound slack packs. It was nice to see Kato back on the trail after his foot injury several days ago. Near day¢s end, I began seeking a place to camp. I was getting really fatigued and thunderstorms were threatening. At the top of Beauty Spot Gap, a bald top mountain at 4,300 feet, I ran into Stumpknocker, Swedish and Shannon. The black flies here were ferocious. Off to the right, a thunder storm was moving about. It was critical to make camp before the weather turned nasty.We descended the summit and hiked for 112 miles. The black flies harassed us non stop. I placed a bandana under my cap to protect my ears and neck from the critters.We ended up at Deep Gap where spring water was flowing from a pipe. Swedish and Shannon camped near the top of the gap. Stumpknocker and I camped slightly down slope in the woods, about forty yards apart from each other. The black flies tormented me as I hurriedly set up camp. In the near distance, thunder was rumbling. It would only be a matter of time before we would get hit. I cooked a meal and wolfed it down while walking about to minimize the impact of the black flies.I secured my backpack on a tree just as the rains began. When this happened, I hustled over to my hammock, stripped off all of my clothes except my underwear briefs, and entered the hammock via a slit in the bottom near the foot end. Inside, I pushed aside a pad I was using for insulation and lay down, reveling in the coolness of the fabric against my skin.Outside the hammock, the rain came in buckets. The lightening and thunder raged. I rested inside, seemingly secure and content. I was hanging above the wet ground and a tarp and netting protected me above. And then the nightmare began. I first sensed water striking my feet. I sat up to investigate, placing a hand on the bottom of the hammock for leverage. There, I felt a puddle of water forming. I discovered that the rain was entering the foot end of the hammock, specifically, where the tarps on each side were at the smallest widths. As I moved my body down to the foot end, the puddle of water followed me. And so did my down sleeping bag which was getting wet. And so did some clothes which were getting wet. The rain was pouring in through the netting, in spite of the tarp. I faced a crisis.I realized that two steps had to be taken. I had to remove the puddle of water from inside the tarp and stop the rain from getting in. To remove the puddle, I opened the slit at the bottom of the foot end of the hammock, pushed on the fabric around the slit, and tried to remove the puddle with the help of gravity. It did not work; the slit was higher than the water and I could not press it down low enough. The rope which hung up the hammock prevented me from doing this. So I decided to sit on the slit and see if the weight of my body would lower the slit to below the level of the puddle. Again, it did not work, but at least the puddle was no longer in the middle of the hammock where my clothes and sleeping bag were. With the puddle contained at the slit end of the hammock, I turned my attention to the next challenge¢stopping the intake of water. I sat over the slit, dropped my feet to the ground, and reached my arms out and around the sides of the hammock. I grabbed hold of the two tarps and pulled them closer to the mosquito netting¢the source of the water intake. When this happened, the top of the mosquito netting and a portion of the tarp jammed against my head. I could feel the rain pounding upon my head with the tarp and netting in between. The strategy succeeded in stopping the intake, but at a price. I had become a conduit for the water. It flowed down the sides of my arms, my shoulders, and my legs. As I sat there, wet and cold, I stared down to the ground. The rapid lightening strikes illuminated my feet and a circular object¢it looked like a coin¢which lay beside my feet. The thunder roared all around. My underwear and rear end was soaked from the puddle which had collected against it. I could not go out and adjust the tarp because I did not know what to do. It was erected correctly, or so I thought. All I could do was sit there, ride out the storm, and allow the water to flow over me to the ground. Soon, I became really cold and worried about hypothermia. It became necessary to reach back and put on a partially wet fleece jacket. When this happened, I had to let go of one of the tarps, letting more water enter the hammock. But the jacket warmed me. Soon the rain eased up, but did not actually stop. At this point, I stood on the ground, pressed down on the slit of the hammock with one hand, and pushed up on the bottom of the hammock near the slit, forcing the puddle of water to exit the hammock. When the rain eased to a drizzle, the intake of water stopped. I contemplated lying down and trying to sleep. Then I beamed my headlamp on to my feet. They were caked in mud. I had to hustle up the slope to where the pipe was located so that I could wash off my feet. There was no way I wanted to bring all that mud into the hammock. As I rushed up the slope, bolts of lightening illuminated my way. Twice, one of my legs suddenly slid backwards from the mud as my other foot was moving upwards. I almost fell over in this quasi Nazi goose stepping mode. I washed my feet and climbed back into the hammock. There, I spread out the pad and placed my somewhat wet sleeping bag over it. My shirt was wet in spots but warm. The crisis had passed. My counter measures, as unpleasant as they were, had succeeded in preventing my hammock from turning into a trough of water which would have soaked my sleeping bag and clothes.This crisis was the single worst moment of this journey.