Date: 2007-02-12
From: Home

To: Home
Miles today: 0.0
Weather: overcast clouds

Franklin to Fontana Every rock, stream, tree, switchback, cave, peak and valley has a story -- and Ron Haven knows that story. As we rode in his pickup - three large men crammed on the bench seat - he told us about his home town (Franklin, NC) and the mountains around it. He was full to the brim with stories. The pickup struggled up the steep grades of Wayah Bald while Ron told us about Robert Rudolf, the abortion clinic bomber who had lived in a cave (which he pointed out to us) for five years, evading the police. After many such stories, we crested the peak and came to the parking lot, where I had been rescued a week earlier. I saw the white blaze on the side of the dumpster, which would be my starting point for the day. I said goodbye to Ron, thanking him profusely for all of his help, and then to Zero, urging him to haul ass and catch up to me, since hanging with him is a blast. Pack on again for the first time in a week, I began the march. It was a crisp day, the calm air hovering around 20 degrees, and not a cloud to be seen. After a few hundred yards I came to the Wayah Bald obersvation tower, dropped my pack, and climbed up for the views. At the top were profile drawings of the view, with each peak labeled. I could look back past Mount Albert, Standing Indian Mountain, and even Tray Mountain, with Georgia on the horizon. I had walked from the horizon. It had been a long way. Turning around, I had much farther to go ahead of me. The mountains that stretched out to this horizon were larger, fiercer, snow-capped mountains that could not be mistaken for hills the way the humps and bumps of Georgia could. First, the Nantahalas, then finally into the Smokies. The finally peak in the distance was Clingmans Dome, the 6,760 foot peak that marked the highest point on the trail. It was supposedly covered in ice and snow, but I was too far away to tell. It sat on the horizon, daring me to reach it. Time to walk.I ambled up and down moderate mountains for 11.5 miles, finally over Wesser Bald and down to the Wesser Bald shelter 1 mile below the summit. I set up my tent inside the shelter, for extra warmth.What did I imagine a night on the AT would be like? My vision entailed a bunch of hikers laying in their warm sleeping bags, underneath the stars, with gentle breeze on their faces as they told stories about stupid weekend warriors who got eaten by bears, or such things. Maybe someone built a campfire, adding to the atmosphere. We were content to be laying down, with sore legs and stomachs filled with hot meals.The reality was a little different.I¢m shivering inside my sleeping bag, with the tent-wall of my nylon prison glazed with ice, just a few inches from my face. I have run out of fuel and spilled half of my dinner because my hands were too numb. My only chance for human contact -- my cell phone -- doesn¢t receive signal at the shelter. I try to journal write for a little while, but my pen is frozen. I try to read, but eventually my arms are forced back into the sleeping bag by the icy blasts of gale force winds. I understand a new meaning for the phrase ¢Misery loves company¢. Not able to sleep, I take some Melatonin and Tylenol PM, then get up to relieve myself one last time. I have a ¢pee bottle¢ in my sleeping bag, but need to save it for the middle of the night. I climb up the ridge a ways -- my down booties not enjoying the several feet of snow -- and take care of business. My cell phone works up here, so I call home and Margaret to say goodnight. I can¢t talk for long -- it¢s far too cold -- and I run back into the ¢warmth¢ of my cocoon. I pull one final ace out of my sleeve: a heat warmer packet, which I open and place between my legs, where it can warm the blood going to both my feet and my core. I drift off, dreaming about the views I have enjoyed: the snow on the ground with week old foot prints, which my feet follow, one foot in front of the other, seemingly forever.The next day is supposed to be an ¢easy¢ 5 miles. Instead, I find myself hiking from 8 AM to noon, descending from 5000 feet to a mere 1700 feet. My lungs are happy, but my knees are ready to kill me as I clamber over the steepest downhill in the south. Finally, I reach the NOC, where I can expect a hot meal, shower, and bed, not to mention real toilets. What I discover is that $17 does not buy you very much at the NOC. The bunkhouse is abysmal and cold, there is not a pillow or comfortable seat to be found, just benches and picnic tables, though there is a kitchen there are no pots and pans, and technology, well forget about it. No TV or internet to be found here folks. To future hikers, my recommendation is that you not stay at the NOC. Spend the money on a meal at the restaurant, then hike on to the next shelter. I spent the night, and woke up without the least bit of desire to hike some more. Today would be the single most challenging hike I had ever faced. I didn¢t know that yet. Within the first hour, I fell flat on my face 3 times. I was on my way up to Swim Bald, going from 1700 feet to 4700 feet in 3 miles. Once near the top, I met Early Bird, as my Dad has already chronicled. The top of Swim Bald offered no views or reward for the tremendous struggle. The day before, I asked an NOC employee about the terrain ahead. ¢I wouldn¢t want to hike it.¢ he said. After that, it was back down to 4000 feet, into Sassaffras Gap, and then right back up to 5000 feet, to Ceoah Bald, and finally BACK down to 2000 feet into Stecoah Gap (with a feww 4000 foot peaks in between). Going up Ceoah Bald, I was miserable, practically crying, and in the utter depths of depression. I stopped to evaluate myself, and concluded that something needed to change. My attempts to replace the sadness with happiness had failed, but something else might work, and so I tried anger. I yelled, shouted, grunted and thrust my hiking poles into the ground. Yelling the whole way, I charged up the final hundred yards to the summit, adrenaline pumping so hard my veins turned green. The Colts defensive line couldn¢t have stopped me from reaching the summit. I sat down -- fell down actually -- and got out a cliff bar with peanut butter for lunch, then called the Hike Inn in Fontana to arrange a ride from Stecoah Gap. There was no way I was hiking an EXTRA 2.4 miles to a shelter today. A warm bed and 2.4 miles less was a much better option. And so I ate lunch, took a picture of the view (trying and failing to smile), and kept on walking. To get up each peak, I repeated my yelling and grunting ritual, and eventually I got myself so pumped up that I decided a chest-pounding was in order. I pounded my chest, or tried to, but instead wacked myself in the temple with my hiking pole. I was knocked onto the ground, pulled by the weight of my pack, and felt like a turtle on it¢s back. I lay there for ten minutes, sinking deeper into depression than ever before. I was exhausted way beyond my limits. Finally, I got up, and kept hiking. I reached the final peak and had only a few miles of downhill to go to the gap. I could make it. I could see the road. The next section I do not remember quite well. I was seeing spots, exhausted, tired, and close to defeat. I remember that at one point I tripped and fell and instead of getting up, I crawled a quarter of a mile. Finally, I had only a few switchbacks left, and I could see the parking lot at the bottom, with two cars and a man and woman waiting for me. I broke out into a sprint and lept over larger rocks. One final burst before collapse.¢Hi¢, I said, ¢I¢m Mr. Happy and you cannot begin to imagine how happy I am to see you.¢ The man who had been waiting was a trail maintainer and he asked me about the condition of the trail. I told him about a few blow downs that I could remember, then got in Nancy¢s pickup truck to be taken to the motel. I was beat and desperately needed a day off. I could slack pack the next day (hike with just a day pack) and looking at my maps decided that an easy 16 miles with no pack would count as a day off. The hike was fun, with nothing exciting to talk about, and once again I was picked up by Nancy, this time at the Fontana Dam Visitors Center, and brought back to the Hike Inn, then into Robinsville for Mexican. After dinner, I sat in the lounge of the motel and talked to Jeff and Nancy about the Smokies. I told them that there were two guys behind me coming up in the next few days -- something I had heard from my dad.¢Well, going into the park with two people is risky. Three would be better.¢ Jeff said. If two was risky, why wasn¢t he saying anything to me, a solo hiker, I wondered? Again, I should have taken a day off, but I was afraid of spending money. I packed up, excited about the freeze dried meals from Margaret¢s family and the snacks from my Mom, and studied the maps once more. The first shelter was 10 miles in, and then there were two more within 6 miles of that. I would have plenty of options, but would try to push myself so that I could make it to Newfound Gap, and civilization, within 3 days. 40 miles in 3 days wouldn¢t be hard, I told myself. The next day I was dropped off at the Dam, despite being exhuasted. I¢d fueled myself up with 4 eggs, two bananas, an orange, and two yogurts, but was still feeling hungry -- and tired. After 3.5 miles I passed ¢shuckstack¢, the first mountain, which had a fire tower. I was too tired to climb it. A sign announced that it was .8 miles to a campsite (in the Smokies one must camp in designated areas). I checked my watch, knowing that .8 miles would take me 20 minutes, 30 if I was slow. Forty five minutes later I had no sign of the campsite, and I stopped. What was wrong with me? I seemed to be going at an excruciatingly slow speed, and despite walking uphill I wasn¢t warming up. I was cold, tired and hungry. The entire morning I had been thinking about going home. ¢I¢ll decide when I get to Gaitlinburg¢ I told myself. That¢s what it had always been... whenever I had thought about going home, I would tell myself to make it to the next town, the next road crossing, and then decide. For the first time now, on the north side of Shuckstack, a new thought occurred to me. I should turn around. I¢m not in a good state to take on 40 miles of wilderness alone. I¢ll get some food in me and see how I feel. I got out a candy bar, but found myself unable to concentrate enough to open it. Uh-ohh. Warning bells starting going off in my head like klaxons... You¢re hypothermic you idiot. Make the right decision now before you do something stupid. No. It wasn¢t cold enough. Maybe I was just tired. That was it, I decided, I was tired to the point of malfunction. I called Jeff and Nancy and told them about my situation.¢So you¢re walking back now?¢ they asked me.¢No, I¢ve stopped. I¢m thinking about turning around. I don¢t know what to do.¢¢Well we can¢t tell you what to do, but if you turn around we¢ll be here for you.¢Great. I called my parents. They were busy, and said that they¢d call me back. I sat down, drank some water, and ate more gorp. Finally, they called back, but by then I¢d already decided I was going back, so I told them, put my phone away, and started walking back up Shuckstack. Four miles, I thought. At my normal speed, that would take 1-2 hours. Today, a little longer. Three hours later, I called Jeff and Nancy from the visitors center and was picked up. I had no idea what my next step would be.That evening I talked about my options with everybody. I talked to my brother Chris for an hour, and that confused me more than anything. He suggested that I slow down and just do 7-10 mile days, and carry the extra food. I was pushing myself too hard, and couldn¢t handle the emotional trauma while I was so physically exhausted. He had a valid point. My other option was to wait for more people to come to Fontana, and hike with them. This option was going to be expensive... at least $200, and that was assuming the weather cooperated. In the end, the best option seemed to be to spend the $250 to get home, spend two weeks at home recovering, and go back when there would be more people and warmer weather, and hike in March like a normal person (insofar as any thru-hiker can be called ¢Normal¢). I made some calls, informed my family of my intentions, then Jeff and Nancy, and then went to bed to watch TV until 2 AM. I couldn¢t sleep, no matter how many Tylenol PM I took.And viola, one thirty hour bus ride later, and here I am. I'm going back to Fontana to start hiking again on March 2nd.