Date: 2013-04-14
From: Southern AT Terminus-Springer Mountain, GA

To: Justus Creek, GA
Miles today: 14.9
Weather: overcast clouds

Since October, 2012, I had shifted preparation for the PCT to the Appalachian Trail (AT). I began training physically at the gym, which I've always loathed. I knew it was a necessity if I was going to strengthen muscles to prevent injury and improve my cardiovascular so I could start a fairly aggressive pace the first day from Springer Mountain. After months of gym workouts and hiking the hills of San Luis Obispo, CA, the day had arrived! Anxiety shifted to excitement, and excitement led to a sleepless night in Roswell, GA. The previous day (Saturday, April 13, 2013), I spent in flight from San Luis Obispo to Atlanta. The all day flight (which would typically be about 5 hours direct from LAX) was an adventure in itself. I boarded a small turbo prop plain at 5:30 am, which required stepping out on to the tarmac and climbing a flight of steps into a slender, claustrophobic, shoulder high cabin. At LAX, about and hour and twenty minutes later, I was running across the airport to catch my next flight to Dallas, TX. The last leg of the journey was about a 30 mile jaunt via MARTA, the subway serving the airport and city of Atlanta. I had taken MARTA to the North Springs station at the northern terminus. Here, I had first met the portly man named Survivor Dave, dressed in baggy shorts and short sleeved shirt, and wearing a baseball cap. On Dave's 7-mile shuttle via side roads To La Quinta Inn, I was given a short lecture from Dave on what to expect over the first few days of hiking and the time he'd be picking me up in the morning. I had not slept more than 2-3 hours early Saturday morning before departure from San Luis Obispo. Sunday morning was a repeat of Saturday. After receiving my pack which I had sent a week ahead of me to the La Quinta Inn, I spent the late evening in the hotel, reorganizing gear and figuring out what I was wearing the first day on the AT. I did not get to sleep until close to 1:00am. After waking up several times through the early morning, I finally decided to get up at 4:30am, realizing the power was out, because the red LED of the clock next to the bed was black. In retrospect, I recalled before leaving California, that the La Quinta Inn was undergoing remodeling, so it was quite possible that they thought they could sneak in a few hours of work on utilities while most hotel occupants were sleeping. What La Quinta Inn had not planned for, was an excited hiker, mostly awake through the early morning, and now wide awake at 4:30 am. Even with the blackout blinds wide open, the room was still black. I fumbled for my petzl headlamp. I set the headlamp on the top of the bathroom door and enjoyed a shower under the illumination of an LED, before checking out downstairs. Survivor Dave arrived before 7am in a dirty van adorned with AT stickers. Dave was every bit the character he was on the phone during previous weeks of conversations. He spoke to me with sarcasm, as if we had known each other for years. Anything I had to say about my plans of making big miles at the start of my hike, he shot down with mockery. I oddly didn't bother me however, perhaps knowing that Dave had never made it beyond Fontana Dam, yet he spoke of through hiking like a true veteran. In the van, he asked me why I hadn't answered his call at 5am, warning me of the power outage. I replied "uhhh, some people enjoy sleeping at 5am", and said nothing about having been awake much of the night. Having missed the continental breakfast and my opportunity to grab some food at the convenience store across the street, Dave must have felt somewhat guilty being that he had highly recommended the La Quinta Inn in the first place. Dave did offer to take the four of us to an IHOP up the highway for breakfast. This delayed us only about an hour and was well worth it. I arrived to Big Stamp Gap via Survivor Dave's Shuttle close to 11:00 am. Survivor Dave took photos of each hiker from his shuttle at the Big Stamp kiosk at the edge of the parking area. The temperature was cool and the skies overcast. I hiked with the group I was shuttled with, including a man from Colorado named Andrew, and a woman from Cincinnati, Ohio, named Lisa. The name of the other hiker fades me, but I believe he was a student from Massachusetts. I hiked a fast pace up the gentle rocky slopes, about a mile south to the summit of Springer. Many hikers made their official start from the Amicalola Falls State Park, nearly 2,000-ft lower in elevation, and a little more than 8 additional miles, partly up steep terrain and many steps. We had driven past the entrance to Amicalola Falls on route to Big Stamp, and for a second, the thought of requesting him to drop me off came to mind. I would've been set back about 3 hours, but I decided to go with what I had planned. Big Stamp is 432 feet below the summit of Springer Mountain. Over the course of a mile, between Big Stamp and the summit, this equated to about an 8% grade. The AT tread alternated between moist soil and foliated slabs of rock. The air was cool and damp in the late morning because of dark cloud cover. We arrived at the official start of the Appalachian Trail by early afternoon. A bronze plaque commemorated the continuous path from Georgia to Maine, marked by 2-in wide by 6-in long white blaze. It was the first of thousands of blazes painted mostly on trail-side trees that would serve to guide my way to the finish at Katahdin, some 2,186 miles north. I signed in at the register, snapped a few photos, and reflected a moment as I gazed at the very first white blaze for a good moment. A group of Germans were also there. I offered to take a couple photos of others, before deciding that it was time for our group to depart and get some miles in for a half day. The forest was still in its dormant winter-state, leafless, devoid of color, and damp. The soils were ubiquitously damp, saturated, muddy. After a 3 mile descent to Three Forks, the Appalachian Trail made its first official climb back up another ridge line towards Sassafras and Justus Mountains at elevations 3,342-ft and 3,226-ft respectively. The rain began to fall steadily, tapping layers of dense Rhododendron understory. I dawned my rain gear and covered my pack with my day-glow orange sol-nylan Sea-to-Summit cover. It was the first that I had tested this gear, being that it seldom rains in California! Having spent the last five years observing soils retrieved form geotechnical borings, I could not help but observe changes in soils, which were indirect clues to the underlying composition of rock. North of Three Forks, the soils were strong yellowish brown, clayey silts, speckled with muscovite (mica), which indicated the presence of high grade metamorphic terrain. The mica glittered like sequins. I arrived at Justus Creek Camp before dusk, just under 15 miles north of Springer Mountain. Lisa and Andrew trailing a short distance behind. I wide bench appeared on the south side of Justus Creek, likely an abandoned forest service road. My first thought was to poach this spot for camp, until I realized that the official camp site was across the creek on a moderate muddy slope. Camp was full! All three of us managed to find the very last three tent pads, though mine, did not seem official, as it was not supported by lumber as the others down slope. It was a small area, even to squeeze a Six Moons Design Lunar Solo onto. We all made dinner down slope by the creek just before dark. We hung our food, then headed for our tents to stay dry. It rained through the night.