Date: 2016-06-27
From: Cripple Creek

To: Dripping Rock
Miles today: 15.7
Weather: light rain

I have run out of words to describe how hard it has rained at times. From the heavy rain I encountered in the Smokeys, to the storm that Fritz, Brian and I, withstood on the flank of Mt. Rogers, to the drenching I took on the way up to Brush Mountain and its Audie Murphy memorial, and finally to the recent 18-hour pounding that led to the numerous deaths in West Virginia, I swear that each has been a storm of biblical proportions, and I couldn't possibly comprehend of it raining any harder. And, then, there was today. But, I get ahead of myself.The day started out on the rough side. Because of a poor pitch near Cripple Creek, I didn't sleep all that well, and I arose this morning somewhat tired to begin with. The 3,000 foot climb up Three Ridges Mountain that began my hike was as long and strenuous as advertised, and I was happy to get to the top and take a well-earned rest. But, even with the rest, I didn't bounce back as I had hoped, and the rest of the day was "trudgery", as I continued to finish off miles, but it was both physically and mentally taxing. I ended up willing my way through 15.7 miles, and, at 4:00, was very ready to find a spot to erect my tent and call it a day.It had drizzled a little bit here and there all day, just enough to make the many rocks littering the trail wet, and the footing a bit treacherous. But I had heard only a few thunder rumbles, and didn't give much thought to any late afternoon storms.I had two possible choices for a camping location. The first, at 15.7 miles for the day, was near a spring, but I was a bit dismayed at the strength of the flow, and decided to hike on a bit farther, to 16.0 miles, to see if the flow at the next spring was better. If it was, I planned to fill up on water and hike onto a good campsite at 17.7 miles. If it wasn't, I'd probably return to the first campsite and spring and make due.So, on my short journey between the springs at 15.7 and 16.0 miles, I was a bit surprised when, out of nowhere, it started raining. As far as I can remember, there were no thunder-filled warnings, no rising winds, no clouds of darkness. It seemed to just start raining. Hard.I had my umbrella out, and decided to simply stand under it, staying as dry as possible until, I assumed, this brief storm would run its course. Ten, twenty, thirty minutes....all passed, and not only wasn't there a let-up, there was increasing intensity throughout. The rain was coming down in sheets, and I had to laugh when the second spring, at 16.0 miles, turned to brown from all the run-off. Without a better idea, I turned around and headed back to the campsite at 15.7 miles. By now, I was totally soaked below my shoulders, but, since there wasn't any wind to speak of, I was somewhat warm. I couldn't pitch my tent yet -- any effort in this rain would simply yield a wet mess, so I prepared by picking out the best spot to pitch and again waited for the rain to abate.Now, however, the wind began to rise, the lightning and thunder became even more severe, and there was so much water cascading about on the ground that I really began to wonder if I was doing the right thing. I'm not sure what an alternate plan might look like, but I was slowly becoming worried that if I continued to stand there, with the wind picking up steam, I'd quickly become chilled. At this point, I slipped off my backpack, which had been protected somewhat by my umbrella, and wrestled on my rain shell, not so much to keep me dry (ha!), but to keep me a bit warmer.How hard was it raining? It was raining so hard that I truly believe it was coming THROUGH my umbrella. I was getting cold drips down my neck, something that I can't explain.The storm, its lightning, thunder and sheets of rain, carried on for a full ninety minutes. I stood through it all. When it finally slowed to something at least manageable, I awkwardly threw up my tent, left those things already too wet to care about outside, and maneuvered into my long underwear, down booties, fleece and sleeping bag as quickly as I could. Everything I needed to get me warm was thankfully dry. I ate peanut butter and tortillas for dinner in my tent, not ready or willing to go through the process of boiling water. The rest of the night passed uneventfully.Not as long and sustained as the West Virginia storm, this one, I believe, was more violent at its height. It was pure Bo Jackson: short-lived, but explosive in its power, brilliant in its artistry and dazzling in its command of the stage. The only casualty? My cell phone, which, I didn't realize until too late, was in my hip belt pocket, unprotected by its plastic bag. I have been unable to start it back up, and I may have to go through the next ten days without it.