Dolph Park on a Sad Day in the Fall

Our friends Sue and Mark were visiting for the weekend, and Maria and Joe were crazy-excited about taking three-year-old Brendan on a "kid hike." So we packed into the station wagon — four adults, three kids, and the Dingo — and headed to the nature trails at Dolph Park.

Sue and Mark have made it a tradition to come up each fall from that otherworldly region known as The South, and their visit is usually punctuated with a lot of cooking and eating, uncontrolled laughter, and fun excursions to places like apple orchards and cider mills. This time, though, their visit was laced with sadness, as only a week prior they had lost their two-year-old niece, Emily. She died in her sleep — a tragic, unforeseen, inexplicable death. Needless to say, this event cast a sad heaviness on our weekend together.

The death of this child — though I had never even met her — caused me to look at Joe and Maria completely differently. Instead of allowing the mundane stress of the daily grind to cloud my vision, I saw my own two little beasts for what they truly are: beautiful, amazing gifts with whom I am privileged to share this life. Needless to say, this weekend I found myself yelling less and hugging more. Jay and I both drank in their silliness and playfulness. Instead of rushing Maria along the trail at Dolph Park, we watched with delight as she recorded in a notebook all the little details about our hike and the things we saw.

And we didn't care a bit that Joe's clothes and hair became infused with dirt when he lay down in the middle of the leaf-covered trail, swept his arms and legs back and forth wildly, and bellowed "I'm making a leaf angel, mama!" (Look carefully at the photo of him here and you'll see his angel.) I wish I could bottle this feeling of thankfulness, because there are just no guarantees regarding how long we get to enjoy these sweet gifts.

I know Mark and Sue were feeling the same, only more so, because for them, Emily's death obviously hit much closer to home. I know their hearts will ache over this loss for a long, long time. But in the meantime, they are loving and appreciating their own little guy (evidence below!) and doing it with gusto.

My Consolation Prize: "Poto Con Dingo"

Potowatami Trail, 17.5 miles

I'm now convinced that my dog will follow me anywhere. Today Buster did the entire 17.5-mile loop of the Potowatami Trail with me, and he still had a little spunk to spare.

Since Cindy and Monika and I had arrived home two days early from the AT, I realized Thursday night that I had an entire Friday stretching before me like a blank slate. Any mom knows that this kind of thing is about as rare as a Hale-Bopp sighting, so I decided to take advantage of it. Instead of plowing through the pile of mail, or cleaning the house, or sifting through the inbox in my Yahoo account, I put the dingo in the car and we drove out to Waterloo State Recreation Area for a good long hike.

After all, you can take the girl away from the trail, but you can't take the trail away from the girl.

Since my body was already accustomed to some abuse from three days on the AT, this was the easiest Poto hike I've done yet! It took just under five and a half hours, and it was delightful.

Some of the fall colors were emerging and these red leaves really caught my eye. (I can smugly say that Jay would never have been able to get that shot—but only because his colorblindness prevents him from seeing the difference between red and green!)

I'm thankful for the time and space to get out today, because I don't think I'll have another opportunity to hike the whole Potowatami again before the snow flies.

I'm also thankful for the way it grounded me. Time in the woods is time to think and pray, and the end result is that I'm feeling better and better about our decision to stop the AT hike early. It was the right thing to do.

It is good to be home. It is good to be with my amazing husband who supports me unabashedly in this harebrained idea of hiking the whole AT before I die. And it is good to be back with my sweet, sweet kids who need me and love me and assume that hiking is just something that moms feel the need to do from time to time.

The Gospel According to James Taylor (The Drive Home to Michigan)

We spent the night in Pioneer, Tennessee and drove the rest of the way home today. All day long I felt surges of emotion rising and falling, as the full impact of our change of plans began to take hold. I'm quite sure that Cindy and Monika were experiencing the same thing.

After lunch, Monika offered to drive and Cindy was sitting in the passenger seat. The two of them were going to listen to a book on tape, so I retreated to the back and appreciated the privacy to brood for a little while, listening to music on my headphones and staring out the window where only the glass could observe my tears. I cried and prayed silently, kind of surprised at myself for becoming so emotional over a simple change of plans. I mean, don't I deal with changes of plans all the time? Does any day in my life go exactly as I anticipate?

But God is good, and he listened to me patiently as I let some tears flow. And then he allowed me to take some comfort in the next two songs on my iPod's random mix:

Blessed be your name
When the sun's shining down on me
When the world's all as it should be
Blessed be your name...

Blessed be your name
On the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed be your name...

He gives and takes away...
My heart will choose to say
Blessed be your name

I know that our little ordeal can hardly be counted as "suffering" but the concept of the words was clear: God is good, all of the time, whether things are easy or hard, whether things go the way I want or whether they go a completely different direction. My heart can (and will) choose to be okay with the cards I'm dealt, because I know and trust the one who dealt them. Today and every day. Because ultimately, as difficult as it is to say it, I know that I'm not the boss of me. It was a powerful little epiphany and it brought solace.

So did the next song. I know this is a little unconventional, but I heard God's comfort in a James Taylor song. Now don't get too freaked out on me—as much as I love JT, I know he probably didn't realize that the true purpose of his song was to be the voice of God comforting a dejected backpacker. But if God can use a talking donkey to speak to Balaam, I'm quite sure he can use a singing hippie to speak to me:

...I'm not the kind to use a pencil or rule
I'm handy with love and I'm no fool
I fix broken hearts; I know that I truly can
If your broken heart should need repair
Oh darlin' I'm the man to see
I whisper sweet things; you tell all your friends
They'll come runnin' to me
Here is the main thing that I want to say
I'm busy twenty-four hours a day
Fixing broken hearts; I know that I truly can
Come, come, come, yeah, yeah, yeah...
Yeah baby, I'm your handyman...

Okay, take a moment to stop laughing so that I can point out a couple things. He is busy 24 hours a day (God, that is—not James Taylor), making himself available to me, and if I come running, he will fix whatever brokenness I've got to offer. So I'm offerin' it, here and now. (And isn't it cool to imagine God calling you darlin'? Think about it.)

Finishing Up at Fontana Dam

Sleeping along the AT is a funny thing, especially in October. Even after a grueling day of hiking, my body really doesn't need or want much more than eight hours of sleep. Yet because the sunlight sort of dictates when I get into bed and when I get out, I end up horizontal for 11 or 12 hours straight anyway, lying there in my sleeping bag. Since I can't physically sleep all that time, I end up sleeping a few hours, lying awake a few hours, sleeping a few hours more, lying awake for a while again... and repeating that pattern till it's light enough outside to get up and move around without worrying about bats and wild boars and bears and the like. All those waking-but-still-lying-down hours afford an awful lot of time to think. And the thinking I did throughout last night made me wake this morning with such a mixed swirl of emotions that my stomach was turning backflips by breakfast time. I couldn't eat.

I was still getting my brain around the fact that I was actually leaving the trail. Going home early. Not finishing what I had planned. Not reaching the goal I'd set for myself when I had begun planning this trip months ago. It was such a sinking sensation that I stifled tears all morning.

Yet I was also really concerned for Monika, who I believe probably felt worse about all of this than I did. She was embarrassed, sad, disappointed in herself, concerned about the disappointment that would meet her when she got home to her family and friends. And she was still in a good deal of physical pain from her knee problem. I wish I had words to comfort her and let her know that it would be okay, that there were worse things than bowing out.

And then there was Cindy. Here the poor girl hadn't been backpacking in two years, and she had been wildly excited about sharing the AT with me. Yet she was the (wise) one yesterday who suggested that we should really all stick together; if one leaves, we all leave. I knew this was difficult for her. Difficult for all of us.

We did a pretty good job keeping our chins up and encouraging one another as we hiked to Fontana Dam and arranged for our shuttle.

When we got to the parking lot at Clingman's Dome, we made the best of it by hiking the half-mile walkway together up to the top of the observation tower. As you can see by the picture here, the view was sweet. But I couldn't quit thinking about how much sweeter it would be next time, when I reach it on foot, with poles in hand and a backpack on my back.

Brown Fork Gap Shelter to the "Fontana Hilton"

Appalachian Trail, 12.7 miles

According to plan, we commenced hiking at 7:30 a.m., just as it was getting light enough to see. It felt weird to cook, eat, dress, and pack while it was still dark. Monika’s knee was still really bothering her a lot. We agreed to slow our pace even further, which took us down to about a mile and a half or less per hour. My usual pace is two and a half miles per hour, sometimes three if there aren't too many climbs. The terrain continued to be difficult today, but we were hiking through the most beautiful of surroundings. The picture above shows Cindy resting against a cool two-trunked tree that appeared to be growing right out of a rock face. It was almost like a sculpture.

We planned the day into four approximately equal chunks, and we took long, leisurely breaks in between. One of our breaks was at Cody Gap, which is where we originally planned on stopping last night if the wasp incident hadn't occurred. We saw a cute little red salamander there.

At about 6 p.m., when we were still a little over a mile from our shelter, the trail crossed through the parking lot of Fontana Marina, where there was a stock of backcountry permits for Great Smoky Mountain National Park. We needed one of these, because the trail runs through GSMNP and we’d be entering the park tomorrow. So we completed and submitted our permit paperwork, using the permit number I had received via telephone 30 days prior from GSMNP's backcountry permit office. More importantly, we discovered that Fontana Marina has a real bathroom with real potties that flush, and running water. (The downside of this patch of civilization was that the bathrooms also had mirrors. Frightening.) We treated ourselves to the facilities and then sat down on a concrete bench for a fiver before moving on.

As we rested, Monika expressed serious concerns about continuing. The mileage was too ambitious for her body, she determined, and it was wreaking some painful havoc on her knee and her leg muscles. It was a rather serious moment as we sat there together, tossing around our options. Could we alter our plans? That is, scale back our daily mileage? There was really no easy way to do that, as we were on a very structured timetable in order to reach our car at Clingman’s Dome by Friday. Also, GSMNP has only a finite number of options for backcountry camping along the AT—a handful of shelters, and a handful of campsites—all of which require advance registration. It would be difficult to switch around our registration at this late date, and we couldn’t attempt to do that until we were within good range of a cell phone tower—which wouldn’t happen till we were well into the park and back on a mountain peak. So we nixed that option.

Could we shore up Monika’s knee with a knee brace (she had brought one but hadn’t started wearing it till today) and press on, hoping for the best? That seemed dangerous, because if we got ourselves into GSMNP and then had to evacuate Monika, it would be very difficult, due to the unpredictable cell-phone signal strength and sparseness of navigable roads. We nixed that option too.

For a fleeting moment I thought, well, really our only choice is for Monika to stay somewhere in Fontana for the next three days while Cindy and I finish up the trail. Once the two of us reached Clingman’s Dome we’d come back and pick her up. But Cindy (whose nurse training and compassionate mindset make her much more level-headed in these situations than I!) observed that splitting up was maybe not the wisest or safest thing to do. Not to mention the fact that Monika would be stuck in Fontana for three days with no car, no money, and nothing to do!

It was getting late (around 6:30 p.m.) so we decided that one sure thing was that we must reach the shelter at Fontana ASAP, so we decided to each pray hard for the next mile or so and then reassess at the shelter.

At around 7 p.m., we finally collapsed at what hikers have dubbed the "Fontana Hilton"—a shelter that is, by all standards, the most deluxe overnight spot along the whole southern half of the AT. Here it is:

It's sturdy, roomy, clean, and has everything you'd ever want in hiker amenities: a cement picnic table (which means you can use a backpacking stove right on top of it without worrying about starting a forest fire), a beautiful view of Fontana Lake (the picture below was taken from the back entrance to the shelter), trash cans with critter-resistant lids, and—best of all—there is a real bathroom about an eighth of a mile down a paved walkway. About half a mile away is Fontana Dam and Visitor's Center, which offers cold drinks and (gasp) ice cream. Yes, the Fontana Hilton is spoken of with great honor and acclaim by just about any AT hiker you'll ever run into. And we had the place all to ourselves.

As we got our dinner out, with some sadness we agreed together that the smartest thing to do was to end our hike early. In the morning we could use the phone at the Fontana Dam Visitor's Center to call our shuttle guy and see if he could get us back up to Clingman's Dome to our car.

As we were discussing this and Cindy was preparing to light her stove, it squirted a thin stream of white gas out of the gas line that connects the fuel tank to the burner. She gave a little shriek as my eyes widened. We both own Whisperlites and neither of us have ever been comfortable with them. The idea of highly flammable, pressurized gas and a quirky, problematic gas-feed system has never set well with us. And now hers was leaking. We both knew that a gas leak made the little contraption infinitely more dangerous than normal. We decided not to use it that night and feasted on tuna (you know, for a change), grateful that the stove had at least held out this long, and thankful that we wouldn't be pushing it to its limits by continuing on through GSMNP.

We went to bed with heavy hearts, knowing that in the morning we'd be leaving the trail.

Hiking time: 11.5 hours, including breaks

Sassafrass Gap Shelter to Brown Fork Gap Shelter

Appalachian Trail, 9.9 miles

There was a whole lot of snoring going on in that shelter last night. Mercy.

Today was another really hard day, but I do believe I'm getting my trail legs. It seems to take about 24 hours before my body realizes “oh, we’re going through this bit of torture again” and starts to buck up. I still haven’t used any of my cold medicine, but Cindy (behind whom I hiked for most of the day) can attest that I’ve been snorting and sniffling and spitting prolifically all day long. Lovely.

We started out around 8:30 a.m. and about 45 minutes later we summited Cheoah Bald, where we were treated to a beautiful 360-degree view of some amazing mountains. The clouds were actually below us, which was quite a phenomenon. They resembled ocean waves, swirling and wrapping around the peaks of the mountains around us. We spent a few minutes there watching the the clouds rise and burn off under the sunny, clear skies. Here are Monika and Cindy enjoying the view:
We lunched at Stecoah Gap but by the time we got there it was around 2:30; we had waited far too long to refuel and we were all pretty exhausted. And we still had two big climbs ahead of us before things leveled out a bit. Monika in particular was struggling; her knee was bothering her and she was just very fatigued. Tuna and lots of water helped, and we slowed our pace considerably after lunch and took far more breaks. We put Monika out front, which also helped a lot, so that we could do a better job staying together. Cindy was in the middle, and I took my rightful place at the back where I could behave myself and not trot out ahead of everyone. I learned that I really prefer it this way, as I no longer have to wonder if I’m going the right speed for everyone else. I do worry that I crowd Cindy a bit, but I’m working on that.

We had intended to press on another 2.8 miles today, all the way to a campsite at Cody Gap, but we ended up stopping early because we were terrorized by a swarm of very agitated yellowjackets. The nest was right in the middle of the trail. Monika hit it first, then Cindy, and they both got stung several times, right through their clothing. I felt really bad for them, but I will confess to being very thankful that I was the caboose of our train and thereby avoided any stings. I also learned that I can, when necessary, break into a full sprint while wearing a 30-pound backpack. Cindy flung her trekking poles when she realized the yellowjackets were attacking, and unfortunately only one of them was retrievable—the other landed right on the swarming nest so we had to leave it behind.

Unfortunately, the four men who tented by our shelter last night came upon the yellowjacket nest an hour or two behind us and some of them got stung too. They are staying near our shelter again tonight and despite the stings are a pretty jovial bunch. One of them brought a 16-oz bag of individually wrapped Godiva chocolates to the shelter after dinner and gave us some. (What would possess you to bring a pound of chocolate on a backpacking trip, I don't know! But no complaints here—I gladly accepted two pieces.) We were surprised to learn that one of the four men suffered from heat stress and overexertion this afternoon and threw up all over the trail. This is his first backpacking trip, poor guy.

My feet so far are doing great. I’m glad I’m wearing my Salomon boots. Though they aren’t nearly as cute and perky-looking as my little low-rise Merrell trail shoes (even in the wild, a girl does think about these things, you know), they are providing a lot of support and protection against this very unforgiving terrain. I’ve also been liberally using Body Glide on my toes and heels twice a day, which I think is really helping. The only foot problem so far has been toothpaste-inflicted—I dropped my miniature tube of Crest on the knuckle of one of my big toes this evening and even now, hours later, it is still just killing me.

Tomorrow we are doing 9.9 miles plus the 2.8 that we didn’t finish today, which will top us out at 12.7 miles. A long day, especially if we are to believe the profile on our topo map. It will be challenging. We’ve decided to get up at 6 a.m. and shoot for hiking out of here by 7:30.

Lessons learned today: Watch for yellowjacket nests. Carry Benadryl and sting medicine. We were lucky that Cindy had both. It pays to bring along a nurse!

Quote of the day, from Monika: "As I was hiking today, I wondered: am I adding years to my lifespan by doing this, or taking years away?"

Hiking time: 6 hours, 40 minutes (8:20 with breaks)

Nantahala Outdoor Center (in Wesser) to Sassafrass Gap Shelter

Appalachian Trail, 6.9 miles

My third section of the AT has officially begun! Wooot! After yesterday's long drive (which culminated in a hellish traffic jam in the not-so-lovely burgs of Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg), Cindy, Monika, and I spent the night at a hotel and got up bright and early this morning to leave the civilized world behind for six days. We parked my car at Clingman’s Dome at 8:30 a.m. and got shuttled to NOC at Wesser. We were all pretty charged up and couldn’t wait to get within sight of the white blazes!

After hiking all day, all I can say is, there must have been some kind of miscalculation on the map. What felt like 20 miles was actually a mere 6.9. But it was all—and I do mean all—uphill. And steep. They don't seem to believe in switchbacks here. I am astonished that it took us over four and a half hiking hours to go under seven miles.

Remind me again why I do this? I’ve concluded that backpacking is like childbirth: once you reach the end, you feel so triumphant and giddy that you tend to forget the pain involved in getting there.

Day 1 of any hiking trip almost always feels like a kick in the shorts, but the hiking today cannot be described in any other way than brutal. Funny, because yesterday as we were driving into Gatlinburg and I caught site of “my” Smokies, I was feeling all cozy inside, like it was some kind of homecoming. I actually sensed a bit of kinship with these mountains, after all we’ve been through together. Well, if yesterday was like coming home, today was like getting slapped by your grandma and spat upon by your cousins. It didn’t help that (once again) I’m trying to beat a nasty head cold, which developed in full form just two days before we left Michigan. I brought cold medicine with me but am hoping to avoid using it. It makes me feel so loopy. And loopiness doesn't go well with overexertion.

I am so impressed with Monika and Cindy, who hung tough through every mile today. (Though I do believe I heard the word "sucks," along with some disgruntled murmuring, from behind me as we were fighting our way up the side of Swim Bald.) Here's a shot of Monika resting as we took a break from our ascent.

Hiking with others is definitely a different experience than hiking solo. For one thing, I spend a lot less time thinking about quitting. Or worrying about dying. Instead, I spend way too much time fretting about my pace. Am I going too fast? Too slow? Gasping and grunting too loudly as I struggle up the steep incline? On the plus side though, the companionship is nice, especially because these two both love the trees and the trail as much as I do. And hiking with friends means you always have a lookout person to guard the trail while you pee in the woods. You never know when a gaggle of Boy Scouts will come trudging around the bend.

Speaking of pace, and hiking with others—I knew from the get-go that this would be an issue for me, and I am putting a good deal of effort into slowing down instead of constantly charging ahead. It is difficult, because I am usually a push-through-as-efficiently-as-your-legs-will-carry-you kind of hiker. I actually think I tire more easily when I go slowly, because it takes longer. But I don’t want to make this trip all about me, so I’m trying hard to match the pace of the others. I don’t know if I’m doing a very good job of it.

I am beat and it’s not quite seven o’clock. I need to go to bed. A young couple named Sarah and Price are sharing our shelter (which is pictured below with Monika sitting at the "bar"), plus another guy who arrived later, and a group of four men are tenting nearby. Hopefully the mice around the shelter will leave us alone. And since there’s no bear cable here, hopefully the bears will follow suit.

Hiking time: 4 hours, 40 minutes (6:15 with breaks)

Sackrider Hill: T Minus Two Weeks

Waterloo-Pinckney Hiking Trail, 11.0 miles
Hiking Time: 2 hours, 55 minutes

Jay and I had a lovely stretch of Saturday in which the kids were gleefully occupied at their cousins' house, so we took the hound out for an 11-mile hike on the Waterloo-Pinckney hiking trail. Silly us; as much as we love hiking and backpacking, we had never done this beautiful trail that's practically in our own back yard! Well, I take that back; we have done bits of it, because there are portions that follow the Potawatomi Trail in Pinckney State Recreation Area, which we've covered several times. But the part we did today was new territory for us.

We began at the official start of the trail (by the boat launch at Big Portage Lake) and made our way southeast, to the crest of Sackrider Hill. I had goaded Jay into bringing his camera and he got some beautiful artistic shots. I love his photos! The one of the yellow leaves was enough to inspire me to run home and dig out our fall wreath and pumpkin-pie-scented candles.

And check out this cool viney tree we saw!

Of course we also took a couple obligatory pictures of Buster, who proved to be a pretty good little hiking buddy. We didn't really know what to expect out of him, since this was his first long hike. I had concerns that we might end up carrying his gangly thirty-pound self for the last few miles, but he was more than peppy. He did, however, fall into a deep snoring sleep in the back seat of the Altima as soon as we finished.

Here's a good shot of him. As our friend Sue says, that dingo, he's a real looker.

We stopped for a little lunch at the top of Sack-rider Hill (which is, by the way, 1128 feet above sea level). It's the highest point in the area and it boasts a spot on the list of "Michigan's Highest Named Summits." It's aptly named because it really is just a hill. In fact I thought it was kind of cute that it even made any kind of special list. The shot below of Jay and Buster was taken at the top, just before we started to head back. (No need to point out that the photographer of that shot -- me -- has much less of an artistic bent than the photographer of the other shots.)

Anyway, there are some pretty good inclines along the way to the crest and it was a decent pull to the top. Stack about six Sackrider Hills together and you'll get the elevation of Clingmans Dome!

Speaking of, my next AT section is so close I can taste it! Just two weeks from today, I'll be en route to the trail. I am happy to have two pals coming along this time: my friend Monika and my friend-turned-sister-in-law Cindy. No telling what manner of adventures I'll have to report once we get home!

Wine Spring Bald to Nantahala Outdoor Center

Appalachian Trail, 19.1 miles

Man, I thought this day would never end. Who knew I would clock out at over nineteen miles!?? Shock and awe all the way around.

I woke up early (about 6:40) and made it my first priority to peer warily out of the tent to see if my food bag was still intact. There it was, hanging in the tree, undisturbed. I was so proud of myself for having made it through my first night alone. No bears, no wild pigs, and no bobcats. At least none that woke me up.

So I packed up and off I went as the sun was rising. I summitted Wayah Bald about 7:45 a.m., and man, what a view! It was my favorite part of the day. There is this really cool old stone lookout up there, and the added bonus of both a trash bin and a real bathroom (not a privy) nearby! Yeah baby!

The rest of the day is pretty much a dizzy blur of peaks and gaps, peaks and gaps. Oh and did I mention more peaks and gaps? I had decided early this morning to just go as far as I could go today, vaguely planning to stop at either Wesser Bald Shelter or Rufus Morgan Shelter. I gave my feet a good long rest every five miles or so. I discovered that if you take your boots and socks off and let everything dry out for ten or fifteen minutes, you sort of trick your feet into thinking it's a new day when you put your boots back on.

I stopped for a long lunch break at Tellico Gap and met a very polished-looking couple from -- whaddayah know -- Michigan! They drove up, parked their SUV in the gravel near the trailhead, and told me they wanted to do a one- or two-hour hike and was this a good place to do it? I think I was a little over-eager for the human contact (I hadn't seen a soul in nearly 24 hours), and the fact that they were from Michigan, well, it practically meant we were kin -- so I chirpily launched into a very long and detailed explanation of all the balds and mountains they could get to from there. Of course I also pulled out my giant AT map with great flourish and pointed out every nuance. They were quite chagrined to find that, from the place we were standing, every trail led uphill. That's kind of how it is when you're in a gap, people. They thanked me politely and as I went on my way toward Wesser Bald, I heard their SUV start back up and off they went, I guess in search of a flat trail. Bet they looked for a long time.

Wesser Bald was really cool, and my last big peak before beginning the six-mile descent toward US19. There was a rickety old lookout tower at the top that I almost chickened out of climbing, but I thought, silly girl, how can you hike all this way, make it to the top of a mountain, and then bypass the chance to climb just 200 more steps to the top of that tower? So I shakily ascended this flimsy wood-and-metal structure, feeling the thing wobble and lean with each step. At the top, I snapped one hurried picture (which didn't turn out so well because I was shaking from fright and couldn't steady the camera), and then slithered my way back down the steps, praying all the while that the thing wouldn't collapse with me on it.

I could've stopped at Wesser Bald Shelter, which was just downhill from the tower, but instead I took a brief break there and then kept moving. It was only about 2:45, and in the back of my mind I kept thinking that if I could just make it to Rufus Morgan Shelter, it would be my highest mileage day ever. (Thus far my record had been 17.5 miles.) Onward!

I loved the rest of the day. There were some amazing rocky downhill scrambles, some short but intense climbs, and lots of really great views of the Smokies. And I knew all too well that every step I took was bringing me closer to a shower and hot food. As I hiked, I solidified my plan to spend my final night on the trail at Rufus Morgan, and then swagger with bravado into NOC to relish a huge bacon-and-egg breakfast in the morning. A few times I thought I even smelled the bacon leading me down the trail.

It was 5:15 when I reached Rufus Morgan and I collapsed for about half an hour, not caring (at first) that the shelter was probably the worst one I'd seen to date. Then, as I started unpacking and getting my gear situated, I noticed not only the dilapidated condition of the shelter, but also the fact that once again, I had chosen to pass the night in a place where there was no bear cable. Ah well, no matter, I thought; I'll just find a suitable tree -- after all, I'm practically an expert now at bear-bagging my food. But a quick analysis of nearby trees turned up no decent branches that I could possibly use. Had there been other hikers there to share the shelter with me, I would've been okay with just hanging my food on the mouse lines in the shelter overhang (like I had done that first night at Muskrat Creek Shelter). But I was alone. Totally and utterly. And it was unrealistic to think that any other hikers would show up this late. Should I stay? Go? I was only about a mile from NOC, so I could pretty easily finish out the hike in half an hour. But moving on meant finishing the trail a day early, and having nowhere to go once I reached my car! And I sure as heck didn't want to start driving back north in my current state of near exhaustion.

So I prayed that God would show me what to do. As I sat there contemplating my options, my eyes focused on a fire ring near the shelter and to my horror I noticed it was full of the remnants of some previous hiker's dinner! Noodles, pretzels, apple cores, something that resembled beef stew... all just sitting there, an open invitation to all wild animals to come and hang out for the night. That clinched it for me -- no way could I get a decent night's sleep knowing that there was a veritable bear/pig/bobcat buffet six feet from my head. So I packed everything up, muttered a halfhearted apology to my feet, and continued on toward NOC. Halfway there, in the middle of the trail was an enormous deposit of bear scat. It made me glad I hadn't stayed at the shelter.

So I finished the trail on a somewhat anticlimactic note. By the time I got to NOC it was 7:30 p.m. and the office, store, and restaurant there were closed. Hardly a soul to be seen. So, no chance of bunking in their hiker hostel or smugly swapping trail stories with other hikers while putting on subtle self-congratulatory airs. There really was no one there to appreciate what I had just accomplished, except me. Just as well. Because that's who I did all this for anyway.

I got in my car and drove about 15 minutes back to Bryson City and found myself at the Ridgeway Motel -- a throwback from the 1950's whose proprietor looked like he had just walked off the set of the Andy Griffith Show. It was perfect. I called my honey, washed my filthy clothes and my filthy self, and slept like a baby.

Oh, and I still managed to score that bacon-and-egg breakfast at a diner the next morning. So far, 134.1 miles of the trail down, 2,035.9 to go.

Hiking time: 9 hours, 10 minutes (12:10 with breaks)

Stone lookout at the top of Wayah Bald

View from the tippy top of the lookout tower on Wesser Bald. Way out in the distance you can barely make out the Nantahala River.

Rock Gap Shelter to Campsite on Wine Spring Bald

Appalachian Trail, 12 miles

Slept in a bit since I was in no hurry to get started today. I planned a low-mileage day -- only 7.5 miles -- but adjusted that plan later in the day. There was a beautiful full moon out this morning about 6 a.m. when I woke up. I went back to sleep till about 8. I could get used to this. My initial plan was to hike to the Siler Bald Shelter today and spend the night there.

Okay, before I go on, the word "bald" needs some discussion. Yank that I am, I had only ever heard the word "bald" used to describe people, not mountains. Turns out, a bald is basically a mountain with no trees on top -- just a broad grassy expanse. There's a lot of debate about what created these open spaces. Theories include fire, drought, insects, harsh weather extremes... some people even think that white settlers cleared these mountaintops as places for grazing their animals. (That theory seems a little odd to me... why would you march your herd 5,000+ feet up a mountain to graze?)

Anyway, it's kind of a surreal feeling to emerge from the tree canopy onto a broad, grassy mountaintop where you can see for miles. And that's what happened to me... I reached the top of Siler Bald (and the beginning of the shelter side trail) at about 1:30 p.m. Being so early in the day, it just didn't feel right to stop. Plus the side trail to the shelter was .6 miles long, and I thought I'd be better off investing my mileage in a forward direction rather than off to the side... so I pressed on, admittedly a little nervously, because that decision meant I was bypassing my only chance to sleep in a shelter tonight. I'd have to find my own stopping point and get out the ol' tent.

I ended up rounding out the day at 12 miles, and stopped at a little clearing near the top of a bald called Wine Spring. Doesn't that sound like a place you'd want to stop after hiking 12 miles? It is really beautiful here. My tent is up, a bear rope has been tied into a nearby tree for my food (and it sure as heck better work), my feet are up, and all is well. There are lots of birds around. I've been hearing a woodpecker pretty much nonstop since I got here. Hope he goes to bed when I do.

My cold is still plaguing me. Today, at Pete's suggestion, I perfected the very unladylike "farmer nose-blowing technique" -- that is, blowing my nose without the aid of a Kleenex. Sure makes a girl feel primitive. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and I'd rather save my dwindling Kleenex supply for use in the privy.

I was delighted to find that my phone works up here (I'm pretty high up -- about 5,400 feet) and once I got situated I dialed into my voicemail and got to hear messages from both Jay and Janet. That was a treat -- I miss my homies!

So it looks like tonight I'm all alone, in my postage-stamp-sized tent. I've set the thing up so that I can peek out the screen and get a good look at my bear bag. If my food's gonna go down, I at least want the thrill of watching it happen.

Hiking time: 5 hours (6:20 with breaks)

My little campsite near the top of Wine Spring Bald

That little bundle hanging way up there under the tree limb is my food. Go ahead and admit how impressed you are that I got it up that high....

Carter Gap Shelter to Rock Gap Shelter

Appalachian Trail, 12.1 miles

Today's biggest accomplishment was summitting Albert Mountain, which kicked my tail. It was quite a scramble -- lots of hand-over-hand climbing, but what a rush when I finally got to the top! It was sunny, 70, and clear. Or as clear as it gets around here anyway... even on a clear day the Smoky Mountains still look, well... smoky. But could I ask for more? I think not!

As a bonus, my phone worked on the top of Albert so I was able to call Michigan and Maryland. Unfortunately, Jay wasn't home, so I had to leave a message. I really miss him. I did talk to Pete, though, and found out his test went well today -- yay! I really prayed for that. I wish I would've remembered to tell him how much I'm liking my trekking poles.

After conquering Albert I felt like I could pretty much do anything, I was so happy. But rather than speed-race all the way to the shelter, I took a long, leisurely lunch break at Long Branch Creek. My feet appreciated it. Speaking of the dogs, I used some stuff on my feet this morning called Body Glide. (Ed, the thru-hiker from the other night, gave me some to try.) It's an anti-friction product used by surfers, bicyclists, and anyone else who has problems with chafing or blisters. It looks like a miniature container of deodorant. Anyway, it worked great... no blisters all day long. I'll have to pick up some of that stuff.

The Rock Gap Shelter has a bear cable (the first I've seen in NC), but the shelter itself is kind of old and creepy. And I don't like the fact that it's so close to a road. They say that the best way to avoid crime on the trail is to stay far away from roads... so I was getting a little wigged out when it looked like I would have to stay here all night alone. I was really glad to see Randall, another hiker from last night, show up around 4:30. I never mind company at night. I haven't had to stay anywhere alone at night yet; I'm wondering if that will happen this trip...

Found out from Randall that Ed the thru-hiker saw a bobcat on his way out of Carter Gap this morning. Bears, then wild pigs, now bobcats. Is God mercifully making these beasts invisible to me so that I don't go charging terrified down the mountain and call Fred The Shuttle Man to take me back to my car? Or am I just so way off in my own thoughts that I'm oblivious to everything around me? Another case in point: at the top of Albert today two different people asked me, "Did you see that dead bear on the side of the trail as you came up to the summit?" Nope. Missed that. It blows my mind that I could be THAT inattentive! I guess I was so fixated on getting to the top of the mountain without causing heart stoppage that I couldn't see beyond the step or two in front of me. Makes me wonder what else I'm missing.

God is teaching me about small steps today... that even a slow, pitiful, tiny step is still a step toward the goal, and it's not always so important how fast I get there.

Highlights of the day: Summitting Albert Mountain, passing the hundred-mile mark on the AT.
Hiking time: 5 hours (7:15 with breaks)

Me on the top of Albert Mountain

The view from Albert

Muskrat Creek Shelter to Carter Gap Shelter

Appalachian Trail, 12.5 miles

Another hard day, but I'm feeling a lot better than yesterday. It helps to get an early start. It threatened rain this morning, but nothing ever came of it, so I'm really thankful for that. I'm still really congested, though, and I'm worried I'm going to exhaust my Kleenex supply. I really didn't bring enough for potty needs and nose-blowing...

Today was my longest mileage day of this trip. I summitted Standing Indian Mountain at about 11:45 -- it's the highest point I'll reach all week. I actually enjoyed the long, slow burn up the mountain.

I liked my poles even more today -- I think they're really helping me avoid fatigue in my knees.

Tonight's shelter, like last night's, has no bear cable. I wonder if that will be the norm in North Carolina? It bothers me a bit, but again, it's not so scary as long as I'm not alone. Tonight three other solo hikers showed up, so I'll let them fend off any bears.

I took a cold pill after dinner. I had hoped to avoid doing that, but the congestion was really getting to me. It's nice to be able to breathe through my nose for a little while.

Wayne, one of the other hikers, went out for a brief walk after dinner and came back white as a sheet. Apparently he was bumbling along, minding his own business, when he was approached by a small herd of wild pigs. Excuse me? Like the hakuna matata variety? No one told me there were wild pigs out here. Now I have to think about bears and pigs? Luckily they veered off the trail and left Wayne alone... I hope they do the same for me if I happen upon them.

Ed is a thru-hiker at tonight's shelter who reminds me of what Jay will be like in 25 years or so. He is a sweet, happy, joyful man, mid-sixties, who absolutely loves to take pictures. He tells me he takes about seven pictures for every mile that he hikes. He says he only travels about a mile and a half an hour because he's always stopping and fiddling with his camera. This made me understand why his wife didn't hike with him -- she would've killed him by now.

Tomorrow after I'm done hiking I get to change my clothes -- yay me! I'm sure I stink to high heaven.

Hiking time: 5 hours, 18 minutes (6:50 with breaks)

Wildflowers along the trail between Muskrat Creek and Carter Gap

Dicks Creek Gap to Muskrat Creek Shelter

Appalachian Trail, 11.6 miles

What ever possessed me to think that this trip would be easy!? Oh my word, I thought I was in shape. Note to self: running five kilometers, three or four times a week, does not adequately prepare oneself for the trails in Georgia and North Carolina. Conclusion: the best thing to prepare your body for hiking the AT is... well... hiking the AT. Next time I will have to remember to give myself a day or so to get my trail legs.

It didn't help that I am on day three of a nasty cold. I am hoping this congestion goes away quickly. With all this snorting and sniffling, I'm worried I might be mistaken for Mary Ellen, that pitiful character in Bill Bryson's book, A Walk In the Woods.

I got a bit of a late start (10:15 a.m. or so) because I first had to park my car at Nantahala Outdoor Center and have Fred The Shuttle Man drive me to Dicks Creek Gap. I noticed right away that Fred held me in higher regard this time than last, when I was just a newbie. I think that my hiking 75+ miles in six days last October proved to him that I wasn't such a cupcake after all. (He might've thought differently, however, if he had seen how I clawed my way up Court House Bald, gasping for oxygen, mere hours after he dropped me off...)

Today was my first crack at using my new Leki trekking poles (thank you Pete and Cindy!), and I must say, being a quadruped took some getting used to. For the first hour or two I wanted to fling the dang things into the woods -- I just couldn't get any kind of smooth movement going, and it felt like they were really slowing me down. Once I quit trying so hard though, my legs and arms just fell into their own rhythm, sort of like cross-country skiing. By the end of the day I kind of came around -- now I think they're actually pretty useful.

The sand and rock here seem to be really quartz-y. When I stopped for a break today I happened to be studying the ground (translation: hunching over, leaning heavily on my Lekis, wondering if my lungs were going to explode right out of my chest) and I noticed that it almost looked like someone had spilled a bottle of glitter on the ground. Kind of pretty.

I misread my map and stumbled upon Muskrat Creek Shelter about a quarter mile earlier than I expected. First time in my hiking history that I've actually been ahead of where I thought I was... anyway, I just about danced a jig when I caught sight of the shelter. I suppose that would've rather alarmed Peter, a mild-mannered gentleman who had already staked out his side of the shelter and was beginning to cook his dinner. He turned out to be good company for the evening... he is fiftyish and recently retired from his position of VP at North Sails. Must remember to tell Dad about him. We chatted about Annapolis and sailing for a little bit, exchanged some stories about bats and hiking, and then I collapsed in a heap and slept all night.

There was no bear cable at this shelter, so we hung our food from a little mouse-proof (but definitely not bear-proof) suspension thingy in the overhang of the shelter. As the old joke goes, I figured I was safe from any bear that came along, as long as I could outrun Peter.

Saw lots of wildflowers today, one beautiful butterfly, and a pretty doe that wandered close to the shelter at dusk.

Highlight of the day: Finishing the Georgia section of the AT.
Hiking time: 5 hours, 2 minutes (7 hours with breaks)

Hard to make it out, but the sign here says "NC/GA" -- it's the state line where I put the Georgia section of the trail behind me.

Butterfly along the trail to Muskrat Creek Shelter

So, it's Trail-Launch Eve again...

....and I'm sitting here at a greasy diner in a little burg called Bryson City, NC, after driving all day. Tomorrow I start the next section of my Appalachian Trail hike.

I decided to take a different route south this time, so I could avoid the snarl of Pigeon Forge traffic and the tourists in Great Smoky Mountains National Park. So, I approached the trail from the west, on US129, which appeared (on my map, anyway) to be a lesser-traveled, straighter shot toward the trail. Smart, huh? I thought so too, till I got ten minutes down that road (which, for the record, is every bit as twisty and treacherous as the Blue Ridge Parkway in GSMNP) and suddenly found myself in the midst of a great horde of ageing, long-haired, leather-clad motorcyclists.

My mind flashed back to a sign I had seen in front of a church a few miles earlier: "Bikers Welcome." At the time, I had thought, "Hmmm, interesting ministry niche..." Now it all made sense. I soon learned from the banners strung about at the roadside parking areas that they were having a weekend-long rally called "Waken the Dragon." Sounds like an event where I'd fit right in, don't you think?

So, for about 28 torturous miles, I white-knuckled it around more hairpin curves than I care to remember, at a maximum speed of 25 mph, with at least 30 bikers fore and 30 aft. No exaggeration. I wanted desperately to pull over and let them pass, but all the pull-off spots were teeming with -- you guessed it -- more bikers, having the Hell's Angels version of a tailgate party. There were hundreds of them, sitting in lawn chairs, barbecuing, swilling Cokes.

So I just kept driving. Conspicously. In the middle of several dozen bikers. Oh yeah, you blend.

I exhaled violently in relief when the pack of Hogs in front of me spotted and claimed an empty pull-off area. But to my horror, the pack behind me stayed right on my tail. Good grief, now I was leading this parade! Judging from the backfiring and motor-belching sounds their cycles were making, I guess I was driving a bit too slow for their taste. Suspicion confirmed when suddenly they engulfed my little Altima, passing me with a deafening roar that left the air smelling a little like the afterburn of a cap gun.

When they were out of sight and my ears stopped ringing, I considered that maybe the Pigeon Forge tourists wouldn't have been so bad to deal with after all.

Photos by Jay, from our day on the Potowatami

Trail as Therapy

Cindy had the kids overnight and all day Saturday, so early in the week we decided we'd spend Saturday on the Potowatami. We ditched that plan Friday night because of rain in the forecast, but in the morning we woke up to only clouds (no rain), so we reverted to plan A, throwing some water bottles and snacks in the backpack and heading out to the trailhead at Silver Lake. We did the whole 17.5-mile loop in about six hours (5:10 not including breaks), and the first drops of rain fell just as we were climbing (crawling) back into the car at about 2:15. We were spent but happy.

The Poto was delightful as always, but what really hit me this time around is how therapeutic it was to spend the whole day hiking alongside my honey. Life is hard (no secret there) and our moments alone are few and far between. When we do get away for an evening here or there, it always seems so abbreviated. And so expensive! Dinner + sitter + movie can easily top a hundred bucks. Then we both feel this unspoken pressure to make that time "worth it" and meaningful. The problem is compounded if things don't go according to plan -- like on Friday night when we thought we'd see a movie together, and blindly walked into probably the lamest film we've ever encountered. (Apologies to those of you who somehow enjoyed The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy).

So Saturday morning we spent six uninterrupted hours together, surrounded by trees and flowers, talking when we felt like it, but comfortable being silent too. It is the best way of reconnecting that I know.

Maria after her baptism

Maria being baptized by Pastor Chuck Jacob

Maria, getting ready to go in to Knox Church for her baptism

What a momentous day...

Even though it doesn’t count as an “outdoor” adventure, I am including the recap here because it is certainly an adventure in its own right. Not my own adventure, but Maria’s. Today she was baptized.

This has been a long time coming. She wanted to do it over a year ago, but we coaxed her into holding off a while. We wanted to make sure she understood what it was that she was doing. When she first starting asking about baptism, we did some talking and some reading with her, and found that there is a huge gap in the Christian book market – we were hard pressed to find a decent kids’ book that explains baptism really well. As God would have it, Knox offers a really great kids’ class by Jennifer Donovan on the sacraments, so she enrolled in that and we thought we’d just wait and see where things went afterward. That was last spring. Well, silly mum wrote down the date of the class wrong, so we missed the class (which is, unfortunately, only offered once a year).

Fast-forward to spring 2005. She is still really anxious about getting baptized, so we (re)enroll her in the sacraments class at Knox. This time we actually make it to the class, which is so well done that I think Jennifer ought to offer it for adults! We both came out of there having learned some things, and she was definitely still chomping at the bit, so away we went. After meeting with one of our elders, a wonderful man named Hershel Janes, she was, by everyone’s estimation, ready.

During her meeting with Hershel, she received a little booklet where she could record some of her thoughts about Jesus and her baptism. Here are a few snippets of what she wrote. The bold type is what was in the book, and the italics are what she wrote.

I love Jesus because: "he dide for me and others, and he is perfect, and never sinned."
I want to serve Jesus because: "he is the powerfullest person in Heven and Earth."
I want to celebrate because: "he is the Lord and my ferm foundashon.
I belong with God’s people because: I love him so much."

True, some of this is parroting what she has heard us or others say… but I know my kid, and I know that, as much as an eight-year-old is able, she understands salvation and has chosen to give her life to Christ. And this will be the most significant adventure of her life.

Picknicking at Dolph Nature Preserve

The kids and I at Dolph Nature Preserve

We're really breaking the kids in...

...with some hiking this spring! Spent a few hours at Dolph Nature Preserve this afternoon, exploring the trails and picnicking. Now that Joe's old enough to run down a trail at breakneck speed, I see no end to the amount of exploring we could do! We had a great day -- amazing blue sky, sixtyish temp, and subtle signs of spring all around. I am fasting today, and it was a good opportunity to take in God's creation and thank him for it.

Prep for the AT is going well. I've been working out regularly, usually walking or running but sometimes slipping in a resistance workout just to mix it up. My legs will appreciate that when I'm clawing and gasping my way up Copper Ridge Bald (elevation 5,150).

This week I planned my food for the trip and packed most of it. Still have a few things to add just before I leave for Georgia: fresh-roasted pecans, cheese sticks, and a really shocking amount of peanut butter.

On the nature trail at Kensington

We hiked a little at Kensington...

...with the kids today. It was the first day this year that the temperature approached 50 degrees, and it was muddy, messy, and beautiful! Maria especially was eating it up ... my heart leaps when I see her strutting down a trail, all confident and bossy-like. She was in the lead most of the time. I must get her out this summer for a backpacking weekend.

Speaking of Maria, I went into her classroom last week to talk about the Appalachian Trail. They are finishing up a unit called "Seeing the USA" and the AT seemed to fit right in. I let them try all of my equipment, made them some backpacker food, taught them a little about maps, and stuff like that.

Two months from today....

....I will be starting the next section of "Appalachiapalooza," or my Appalachian Trail odyssey. Ever looked up the definition of odyssey? "An extended wandering or journey." That about sums it up. With an emphasis on "extended."

Note to self: start working out, in a punishing fashion, to prepare for many hours of upward climbing.