Lower Tahquamenon Falls

Remember my grandiose idea of taking the kids on a big hike at least once a week this summer? Well, my nicely laid plans got foiled by Joe's broken tibia. At the end of April he had a wipeout on his bike which landed us at Chelsea Hospital for several hours and resulted in my boy lying immobile on the couch for eight straight days. Not exactly conducive to hiking. Once his leg was in a cast, over the next seven weeks he progressed from the couch to a walker, and then to crutches. It was nearly the end of June before his cast came off and he was able to amble around without restrictions — gingerly at first, but quickly ramping up to his usual whirling-dervish pace. And let me tell you, he was good and ready to make up for seven weeks of lost time.

It was the perfect time to head north.

We had planned this trip earlier in the year and were thankful that it coincided nicely with Joe's leg healing. Two days after the cast came off, we drove up to Mackinaw City and set up our home base there at a little beachside cabin, from which we could see both the Mackinac Bridge and Mackinac Island. After spending a day and a half swimming and frolicking, we slipped into our Tevas and headed even further north for a day trip to Tahquamenon Falls.

After we crossed the Big Mac (which, incidentally, is the world's longest suspension bridge), the drive was peaceful and remote in that Upper-Peninsula kind of way. We spent a good hour traveling down a two-laner lined with righteous-looking forests on either side, seeing only a handful of other motorists going to or fro. Except for the forests, the two biggest attractions during the drive were (1) a dead porcupine on the side of the road (yes, we did stop to gawk; you will thank me that there are no pictures), and (2) a town called Paradise (quite paradoxically named, by the way) which boasts an ice cream shop called, cleverly, the Troll Trap. Don't worry if you don't get the joke — it's kind of a Michigan thing.

When we got to the park, the four of us plus the hound got in a boat and rowed across the Tahquamenon River to a little island in the middle of the lower falls. There we found a winding path to the falls and set about the serious business of exploring.

It was a lot like what we experienced when we hiked the Virgin River in Utah — the best part being that you can get right in the water and wade for miles! Once you pass the first and biggest cascade (shown below — click on the picture to get some perspective of its size) at a large observation deck, the remaining drops in the lower falls are very small, gentle, and inviting. In fact it's not too crazy of a thought to actually hike all the way up the river and get a good view of the much larger and grandiose upper falls. For a fleeting and ambitious moment we thought we might do just that. After all, most spots in the river between upper and lower are only about six or eight inches deep — plenty manageable for even the shortest-legged member of our party (Buster). But the distance to the upper falls is eight miles, and considering we covered only about two miles in a little over an hour, we decided to head back.

This is a great hike for kids, because what's not to like about getting into a rowboat, rowing to an island, and splashing around a bit in some waterfalls? We would go back again in a heartbeat. Even if we didn't get to see a dead porcupine.

Cosby Knob Shelter to Standing Bear Farm

Appalachian Trail, 10.4 miles

It rained all night, but at least the rain noise covered up the cacophony of snoring from all those men. We were up, fed, packed, and hiking out a little before 7, a new record for us. It wasn't a moment too soon. That was probably the most unpleasant shelter experience I've ever had. I will confess to taking a little bit of guilty pleasure in making a small ruckus this morning as we packed up. I didn't feel at all bad that we might be disturbing the sleep of the steak-eating snorers. Way I saw it, it was paybacks for the previous 10 hours.

By 8 it started clearing up and turned into a really beautiful day -- a great way to end a great week. The sun streaming in through the trees was such a beautiful sight. It felt and looked like we were walking through a rainforest, only without the muggy heat.

Summitting Mt. Cammerer this morning was a little bittersweet, as it was the last big climb we'd experience in Great Smoky Mountain National Park. Here's a really great view from the side of that mountain -- aren't those clouds amazing?


We took the remaining downhill miles pretty quickly, enjoying the mountain laurel blooming along the way, and lunching at Davenport Gap Shelter. After that it was only one more mile till we finished the park, and four miles to our car. Here we are at Davenport Gap, which is the end of the GSMNP section of the AT:

Of the remaining few miles, about two of them followed an amazing riverside trail along the Pigeon River.

The big surprise of the day was that we had another climb to get back to Standing Bear Farm -- I hadn't really planned on that! My topo map only took us through Great Smoky Mountain National Park, and all I knew was that Standing Bear was three miles past the park border. Who knew it was uphill!? But we took it on the chin and muscled through to the end. It sure was a beautiful sight when we finally came to the intersection of the AT and Waterville School Road...
...and an even more beautiful sight when Cindy's Trailblazer came into view. We are now on our way to a hot shower, a huge dinner, and real beds with real sheets and real pillows.

Tricorner Knob Shelter to Cosby Knob Shelter

Appalachian Trail, 7.7 miles

It was very cold here last night; I slept in two pairs of pants, my fleece, and my raincoat. I could see my breath this morning. The journal inside the shelter indicated that there had been two feet of snow here just a couple weeks ago. I've read that this is the coldest area of Great Smoky Mountain National Park. Mt. Guyot, which we summitted this morning, is only 20 feet lower than Clingmans Dome, but because of its position, it gets more exposure to extreme weather.

The bruised part of my arm is killing me. It is turning all different shades of purple and black. Nice.

I was thankful for a short mileage day today, especially because it rained a lot again throughout the day. We hiked through some beautiful wild rhododendron thickets on the way to Cosby Knob. We arrived at the shelter around lunchtime and I enjoyed a delicious two-hour nap plus ample time to read and relax. My feet appreciated the break.

And thank goodness we got here early enough to stake out a little corner of the shelter, because it is Friday night, and a slew of weekend-warrior type men showed up about 5 p.m. after hiking in from Davenport Gap. They actually brought with them a huge hunk of steak and cooked it in the shelter since it was raining cats and dogs outside. The sight of someone pulling raw meat out of a stinky backpack and then cooking it up about four feet from my head was enough to turn my stomach. And I couldn't quit thinking about how these men had just infused the entire shelter with enough food odors to attract probably every bear north of Clingmans Dome.

It kept raining all evening, and more hikers kept coming, some of them thru-hikers who were wrapping up a 20-mile day. You can't really say "oh sorry, there's really no more room" when the rain is coming down in torrents, so we just kept squeezing in. All told, I believe we currently have 18 people crammed into a shelter that is supposed to accommodate 12. It is quite uncomfortable. We're going to blow out of here as early as possible tomorrow morning.

Icewater Springs Shelter to Tricorner Knob Shelter

Appalachian Trail, 12.6 miles

The sunrise this morning at Icewater Springs was lovely. Though the highest peak of our trip was yesterday, we are still really high up. There is a strong scent of pine in this altitude because more conifers seem to grow at the higher elevations. It's a wonderful smell.

And speaking of smell, I'm happy to say that hygiene is on the upswing. Last night just before going to bed, I sponged the grime and sweat off my body and switched into my second set of hiking clothes. Typically, for a one-week trip, you bring only two sets of hiking clothes: one to wear for the first three or four days, and one to wear for the second three or four days. Yes, I did write that correctly: you wear the same clothes for days. You can imagine how close to the earth you feel (and smell) after hiking and sweating in the same garments for that long. But extra clothing equals extra weight, and there's no room for frivolous ounces in an already heavy pack. Princess that I am, I also bring my "black ensemble" for changing into at the end of each day: a lightweight black long-sleeved capilene shirt and long-john pants. These offer dryness and warmth -- which is important because hypothermia can happen even in spring and summer if you get caught in rain and your body temperature dips too low.

Also on the topic of clothing: this time I brought with me a homemade hiking kilt that I made out of ripstop quick-dry nylon. Kilts are all the rage among female and male hikers these days. In fact, just yesterday we saw a guy wearing a kilt on the trail. Mine's not working out though. It's comfortable and all, but it's too long to stay clean -- it drags in the wet grass and gets caught on stuff. Any shorter, though, and I'd feel like it offers too much potential for flashing other hikers. So I won't bring it again. For this trip, I'm putting it to use as a pillowcase by wrapping it around my frontpack, which doubles as a pillow.

Today's highlight was Charlie's Bunion. (You gotta love a mountain that's named after a foot deformity! Especially after spending the last several days abusing our feet with all this climbing!) Getting to the top reminded me of hiking Angel's Landing in Utah a couple years ago. It was pretty breathtaking. The photo of Cindy and I was taken at the top. It's hard to appreciate how high up we were; I wish I would've photographed this spot from a few different angles.

Here's that hazy view that the Smokies are famous for. This was taken from the top of Charlie's Bunion.

And here's a great view I snapped about a mile later, showing the backside of Charlie's Bunion.

This afternoon it started to rain pretty intensely and we got soaked on the way to Tricorner Knob. I still don't have any blisters, but I'm feeling a lot of hotspots from all the friction produced by wet feet sloshing inside of wet boots. My feet were absolutely pruney by the time I took my boots off at the shelter tonight. I'm sad to say, I think I need to lay these boots to rest when I get home. They've lived a long and happy life, but they're really starting to fall apart.

I slipped on a wet log this afternoon and I went down really hard. I cut my leg and hand, and I'm afraid I really injured the back of my arm. You know that spot where I should have a sinewy little tricep but which is actually pretty soft and fleshy? Well, when I fell it got slammed (badly) between a rock and my pack. I think I'm going to have a gigantic bruise there; it's quite sore. I'm lucky I didn't break anything, especially since our location at the moment is considered to be the most remote shelter area in the park. Actually, pretty much everyplace in this park feels remote and wild. Unlike previous sections of the AT, there are very few places where you feel at all close to civilization. In the entire stretch of Great Smoky Mountain National Park, the AT only crosses a road twice, and both of those times were yesterday. Once at Clingmans Dome and the other at Newfound Gap. As Dan the Bear Man put it, "You should try not to get hurt; it takes a long time to get help. Sometimes we have to carry dead people out of here."

Speaking of Newfound Gap, it felt so weird to emerge from the wild and see a parking lot, a rest area, sidewalks, and people! We felt like a freak show. We were covered with dead bugs, grime, and sweat. We drew curious looks from more than a few tourists. It felt good to get back into the woods.

Double Spring Gap Shelter to Icewater Springs Shelter

Appalachian Trail, 13.8 miles

It wasn't exactly great timing, the fact that our longest hiking day came on the heels of our night with the bear. We had gotten maybe half the sleep that we normally would've. But our itinerary had no wiggle room, so we were up and out at dawn this morning, our first hurdle being Clingmans Dome, the highest point on the entire Appalachian Trail. In this photo, we're about a quarter of a mile from the summit, and I'm trying to negotiate a steep and rocky part of the ascent.

For breakfast, in addition to my usual protein bar, I had my most prized menu item: a cup of applesauce. It was a good day to carb-load, since the climb ahead was hard. Plus, better to consume the heaviest item in my food bag on a hard day than to carry it!

The trees at this elevation show a lot of signs of the harsh elements. A lot of them look like this stick of a pine tree -- ravaged by extreme heat in summer and extreme cold and wind in winter.

We summitted Clingmans Dome at 8:45 a.m. and it was such a rush. It really redeemed the disappointment I had felt over our previous AT trip fizzling. The morning was clear and beautiful, and there was not a soul at the observation tower. I was really glad for a moment of peace up there, because sometimes that tower can get really clogged with tourists. This is one of the few points in the park where the trail intersects with civilization. An access road allows tourists to drive within half a mile of the summit, and then they can walk a paved path all the way to the top.

At the top of the observation tower I finally got a strong enough signal to phone home, though it took several attempts. It was so sweet to hear Jay's voice. No matter that he was in the middle of an interview at work and, once off the phone, probably had to explain to the poor interviewee what a kook he has for a wife! We couldn't talk long, but long enough for me to find out that Joe's little virus had run its course and that he and Maria were doing fine. I miss those three terribly.

We are at Icewater Springs now, with several other hikers, having made it through the longest day of our hike. All of us had to hike the last couple miles (which were very rugged) in the rain. I am filthy and sweaty. Everyone stinks but no one really cares. It's remarkable the way you lose your sense of decorum out here. Case in point: Tonight there were several lengths of rope strung across the shelter, with everyone's stinky, sweaty underwear and socks hanging from them. Mine were right up there along with everyone else's.

Night of the Living Bear

I'm including the following events as a separate entry because the hours between nightfall on May 30 and the earliest part of May 31 turned into such an adventure that it felt like a whole separate day!

After dinner, Dan the Bear Man set up the bear snare behind the shelter. The snare consists of a clamp and a metal cable secured to a tree, all hidden with branches and baited with a can of tuna. Bear Man explained that bears love tuna, but that he sometimes uses bacon because bears are really attracted to that too. (As he was saying this, I realized with horror that my food bag contains several foil packets of tuna and a large shrink-wrapped package of pre-cooked bacon. Note to self: consider bringing some other forms of protein next time.)

The idea is, when the bear goes for the bait, the snare clamps his leg and restrains him long enough to be darted with a sedative. The drug makes him limp but still somewhat conscious. While in this compromised state, the bear gets tagged and measured. Since bears hate to be vulnerable and manhandled, the whole experience is hopefully so negative that the bear stays away from the area where all this occurs. However, if the bear does choose to keep coming back and posing a threat to hikers, the Park Service's only other option is to drug him again, and then physically relocate him to another part of the park! Picture four Park Service guys carrying a comatose bear on a stretcher, up and over miles of mountains. This really happens sometimes!

After the buildup of watching the snare being built and participating in all this bear talk, I was pretty nerved up. And all we had left to do all evening was sit around and wait for nightfall. I tried to read a book I had brought with me, but I found myself just sitting there staring at the (now flimsy-looking) chain link fence on our shelter, wondering what kind of force it could withstand. While we sat around, Bear Man passed around his night-vision goggles for us to look at. The goggles lent an eerie green cast to everything, but they really did provide amazing ability to see in the dark. It was especially cool to look up at the clear night sky and see zillions more stars than our normally feeble eyes are capable of noticing.

About dusk, two more Park Service guys showed up for the stakeout. They too would be spending the night at the shelter, to help with the bear. This was turning into quite a large-scale sting operation. All of us -- three Bear Men and six hikers -- burrowed into our sleeping bags about 9 p.m., wondering what the next few hours would bring. We heard coyotes howling as we were lying there trying to go to sleep.

I dozed until 11 p.m., when I suddenly heard Bear Man #2 frantically whispering: "DAN! DAN! DAN!" Apparently he had heard the snare activate. Dan and the other two Bear Men immediately jumped out of their sleeping bags and into their boots, and went trotting out back. All six hikers (including me) followed suit, headlamps beaming, to see a 350-pound black bear thrashing around in the snare and doing the best voice impression of Chewbacca that you've ever heard. They shot him with a dart full of sedative and he quieted down... for a moment. Then he started thrashing and yowling again. Another dart. Another brief moment of quiet. More thrashing. This cycle went on and on till they had used up seven darts -- the amount that would normally be used on a six hundred pound animal! None of the three Bear Men could figure out how the bear could stay that worked up with all that sedative in its system. They (and we) were relieved when he finally lay down and his breathing slowed a bit.



While the bear was sedated, we got to photograph him and touch him. His fur was very soft, like a dog, only longer.
Then the three Park Service guys went to work cooling him down. He had gotten so agitated during the sedation ordeal that his body temperature was quite high, and Bear Man was worried that this might result in a seizure. So we brought our water bottles and they started dumping cold water on his fur until he cooled off a bit. (For the record, the water bottle in this picture is the same one I drank out of during this trip!) Once his temperature was under control, the next task was to tag the bear's ear and take a whole bunch of measurements for the Park Service records. That's about the time I finally went to bed. It was a little past 1 a.m.

Once the sedative started wearing off and the bear came to, Bear Man and his friends basically ran him off, and he was glad to get the heck out of there. By then it was after 2:30 a.m. As far as we know, he didn't come back that night.

Derrick Knob Shelter to Double Spring Gap Shelter

Appalachian Trail, 7.2 miles

A much shorter day today mileage-wise, but it stretched into a nearly 6-1/2 hour trek because of rain. It was beautiful all morning, but just as we stopped for a quick break at Silers Bald Shelter, a substantial storm blew in, so we ended up staying there for like two hours. It kind of put the brakes on a pretty well-paced day, but oh well. We were thankful that we didn't get soaked. We waited till the worst of the rain was over, then pushed on through our last two miles to Double Spring Gap while it was still sprinkling.

I had feral pigs on my mind today because of the two other hikers' boar sightings yesterday. Those animals scare me, probably even more than bears. They're reputed to be very unpredictable. We saw lots of cloven-hoof footprints in the mud today, and big patches where the pigs had rooted up dirt and leaves, looking for food. I worried about running into hogzilla every time there was a bend in the trail. A ranger told us that the pigs are a terrible nuisance because they're an invasive, non-native species with no natural predators, and they compete for food with the bears and the deer. They also eat all kinds of rare and endangered plants, including wildflowers and beech saplings. Apparently the pigs were introduced to this area accidentally when a handful of them escaped from a game preserve in Georgia several decades ago. They multiplied like rabbits and now they're all over the Smokies. The Park Service kills as many of them as they can, in an attempt at pig population control.

This morning I was running dangerously low on TP. I realized after we hit the trail that I only packed half the tissue that I intended! Crisis was averted, however, when I put on my rain parka this afternoon and found an entire package of Kleenex in the pocket. Woot! Must've left it there last weekend when we hiked the Poto.

Still no blisters, despite hiking through wet weeds and mud puddles this afternoon. My boots seem to be leaking quite prolifically, though, which does make for some discomfort. I don't think Gore-Tex boot linings are all they're cracked up to be.

We have been trying frequently to phone Jay and Pete, but still cannot get a signal. We had hoped we might get cell reception at the top of Silers Bald (here is Cindy at the top, cell phone in hand!) but it didn't work.

The shelter where we're staying tonight is one of the few in the park that still has a chain-link fence across the front. At one time, all the shelters in the park had this feature, with the intent of protecting hikers from bears at night. But the fences apparently made people feel a little too safe, because many started keeping their food bags with them overnight in the shelters instead of hanging them from the bear cables provided nearby. (Duh!) Then, in a really remarkable lapse of common sense, some began actually feeding bears through the shelter fence! All this, of course, compounded the bears' interest in hanging out at shelters. They learned to come around at dusk for their nightly feedings, and they started getting surly when hikers didn't pony up their goodies.

After a while of battling the bear problem, the Park Service decided to try removing the fences from just a couple of shelters. Hikers who visited those shelters obviously felt a stronger sense of responsibility for their own welfare, took care of their food properly as a result, and the bear problems at those shelters stopped. Now the Park Service has removed most of the fences.

I'm glad, however, that tonight's shelter still has a fence. Because when we arrived this afternoon, we were greeted by a Park Service guy named Dan, who has a gun, a snare, and night vision goggles. Dan's main job is to hunt and kill the wild pigs that live in the park. But tonight, he is Dan the Bear Man. He's here to corner and sedate a bear who has been frequenting this shelter and causing problems. It might be an eventful evening.

Four other hikers are here tonight.

Here are Cindy and I, nervously awaiting nightfall in front of our shelter, and wondering if the bear will show up.

Mollies Ridge Shelter to Derrick Knob Shelter (and my first bear sighting!)

Appalachian Trail, 11. 7 miles

You know how that one woman at Standing Bear Farm called the Smoky Mountain portion of the AT "very, very rugged"? Well, she was right. It is tough. Really tough. Today was even tougher than yesterday, which I didn't expect. And not just because the distance was greater. It's that we were constantly climbing or descending, and the grade was never gentle. In fact, I learned that the second half of our hike today (from Spence Field to Derrick Knob) is closed to horses, because they can't handle the terrain. Which begs the question: if a horse can't handle it, can I handle it?

There were a lot of really huge snails on the trail in the morning. I kept worrying I was going to step on them.

The big thrill today (and a great distraction from the difficulty of the trail) was that we actually saw a bear! It was the coolest thing... we started hiking early, when the ground was still wet and the sun wasn't fully streaming through the trees, and for whatever reason we both felt a little skittish and jumpy. We actually joked about having "bear vibes" -- feeling like there was constantly something around the next tree, watching us. And then, after hiking about half an hour, I noticed some pretty unmistakable paw prints in the mud on the trail. A little later, we passed another hiker coming from the opposite direction, who told us he had actually seen a bear about half a mile earlier! So we were really scoping out the woods as we hiked, and sure enough, before long we saw the real deal. He was a little guy, probably about 150 or 200 pounds. Not a baby, but probably not an adult, which made us think: is his mother nearby? We didn't stick around to find out, or even to take pictures. He was too far away to get a good shot anyway -- probably 100 yards off, through the trees. So as he bumbled along, looking for something to eat, we cranked it up a notch and hiked briskly away, pretty pleased about catching a glimpse of him.

We summitted Rockytop, Thunderhead Mountain, and then Briars Knob, and the view from each of these peaks was pretty amazing. Even though none of these summits are called "balds," it seems to me that they could qualify. Here's a shot from near the top of Thunderhead -- doesn't it look rather bucolic? Park-like almost? Hard to believe from this picture that we had just ascended to over 5,500 feet! Other than the fact that my heart was about to leap out of my chest because of the intensity of the climb, it almost felt like we were taking in an afternoon at County Farm Park in Ann Arbor. It wouldn't have seemed at all out of place to see an elderly gentleman in a cardigan walking a miniature poodle.

In the afternoon, it seemed like we went forever without seeing any milestones, and as we came upon a sign that we thought was going to say "Derrick Knob Shelter" (which was the end of our hike for the day) we were quite chagrined to see that it said "Sugartree Gap." Translation: another 1.2 miles to go! Uphill!

We made it. We're fatigued, but done.

Same guys at the shelter tonight as last night. Two of them had an encounter with wild pigs today, so between that story and our bear sighting, there was some pretty good conversation over dinner tonight.

Fontana Dam Visitor Center to Mollies Ridge Shelter

Appalachian Trail, 11 miles
It was a pretty grueling day, but we're still standing. It started with a two-hour shuttle ride with Curtis, which was exhausting in its own right. Like all shuttle drivers, Curtis is quite the character. He doesn't seem to have an "off" button. Above is a picture of him with his shuttle van.

We arrived at Fontana Dam Visitor Center about 9, where we used a real potty for the last time, topped off our water bottles, and filled out our backcountry hiking permit. By 9:30 we were off. After crossing the dam, we started tackling the monstrous climb up Shuckstack, the first obstacle. It was wicked hard. But we made it to the top, and beyond, all the way to Mollies Ridge Shelter. It took about seven and a half hours. I feel like if we can make it through this day, we can surely make it through the ones ahead -- even the thirteener on Wednesday.

Mid-morning, we came upon a mama pheasant sitting right on the trail, and when she flew off, we saw one of her babies run off in the other direction. As we passed, she chastised us pretty loudly until we were probably 200 yards down the trail.

Two deer wandered very close to our shelter tonight. They are so big that I thought they might even be some form of elk or something. They made me a little nervous. They have velvet antlers and seem to have no fear of people.

Four other hikers are at our shelter tonight. Two guys from Florida and two others from someplace sort of local (I think somewhere in Tennessee). They are all quite respectful and nice. You know, it's interesting -- the overwhelming majority of hikers are men, but even among the solo ones, I've never run into anyone creepy on the trail. It feels very safe here.

Regarding my ponderings from Saturday night:

• I decided to wear my Salomon boots. Go big or go home.
  
• I did bring my extra one-liter water bottle, and am really glad I did. I've needed it.
• I left the tent behind. Living dangerously I guess.
• My knee has spontaneously healed itself. I'm grateful. No knee pain at all.

On the Eve of Hiking the Smokies

Well, so begins our spring trip to the Smokies. Cindy and I had an uneventful drive down here... till the end. We got within about a mile of Standing Bear Farm (the hiker hostel where we'll spend the night tonight) and couldn't figure out where to turn next. We found ourselves on the side of a mountain, driving past a few shacks that I'm pretty sure were used in the filming of Deliverance. We thought about asking for directions but honestly feared for our safety. It was starting to get dark, and I pictured us knocking on the door of one of the shacks and being threatened and chased by a crazy mountain man, rifle in one hand and jug of moonshine in the other, trailed by a mangey rabid dog. So we switched the Trailblazer into four-wheel drive and sprayed gravel all the way back down to the interstate, where we could get a cell signal and call Curtis, the proprietor of Standing Bear. He got us pointed in the right direction and we arrived around 7:30 p.m.

Standing Bear Farm is about one notch above the Deliverance houses. But at least there are some clean bunks and a privy, and a dry place to lay our heads. And Curtis, who's sort of an ageing hippy, seems safe and friendly enough. Here's a picture of the bunkhouse where we're sleeping tonight. We're going to leave Cindy's truck here for the duration of our trip. Tomorrow morning Curtis is going to shuttle us over to Fontana Dam to start our hike.

For the last week I've felt a vague sense of unease about whether I can actually do this trip. I've had frequent thoughts that I have no business taking on this kind of challenge, and that I'm nowhere near sturdy enough to pull this off! My unease graduated into full-blown trepidation this evening as we chatted with a few other hikers staying at Standing Bear. One of them, named Bill, had just finished hiking Great Smoky Mountain National Park and moaned quite a bit about how hard it had been. His thirty-pound spare tire made me wonder if this was the first exercise he's gotten in a long time. That and his dinner of creme-filled sugar wafers, Snickers, and a large bottle of Coke helped me to (at first) discount pretty much everything he had to stay. But to my horror, another hiker who had also just finished the park -- a lithe, fit, middle-aged woman named Wendy -- backed up the cookie eater 100%. She called the park "very, very rugged." Crap.

I called Jay tonight to let him know we arrived here safely. I was really upset to find out that Joe is sick with a fever and a headache -- some sort of virus. I was even more upset that I lost the call before we could finish talking. The cell signal here is terribly patchy and I really wish I could have just five more minutes on the phone with him. But I keep trying to re-connect and nothing's working.

Things I'm pondering tonight (when I'm not fretting about Joe):

• Is my right knee going to make it? Like an idiot, I chose this week to double the length of my usual run. Instead of running three miles, I ran six. Twice. And my knee has been aching over it since Thursday. I am seriously worried that what happened to Monika on our last trip will happen to me.
• Should I wear my Merrell hiking shoes (which are short, cute, and light)? Or my Salomon hiking boots (which are huge, heavy, and burly)? I'm thinking the boots.
• Should we bring tents? Doing so adds two more pounds to my pack weight. We are confirmed to stay at hiking shelters throughout the trip, so we shouldn't need tents. But if there's an emergency that prevents us from keeping to our itinerary...
• Is 64 ounces of water enough to carry at one time? Other hikers have told us that water sources between shelters are sparse (even though the AT data book indicates otherwise). Wondering if I should bring along my extra 1-liter bottle.

Mother's Day Hike

Part of my Mother's Day present this year was 12 miles on the Potowatami Trail. Cindy and I hiked a few hours while Jay and Pete occupied the kids. The intent was to use this day partly as a getaway but also as a sort of final attempt at preparing for our Appalachian Trail trip, which is looming large before us. We leave in less than a week. So we both wore our packs today while we hiked, and I must admit, mine felt heavy, even at under 25 pounds. I am trying desperately to go as ultralight as possible, but to really accomplish that I'm going to have to start replacing some of my old gear -- which is impractical this time around. So I'm working with what I have, and cutting down to the bare minimum. I am even taking my external frame backpack this time which, though it looks a little retro, is almost four pounds lighter than my internal frame. We'll see how things go with that.

I'm a little nerved up about the Smokies trip. There are a lot of bears there. And the terrain is rough. I feel like a weenie. I hope I make it.

Peach Mountain on the Last Day of Winter

There is no more beautiful sight than kids and dogs in the woods! We enjoyed a great little walk today in the Peach Mountain area (also known as Stinchfield Woods) with our friend Erik Larsen, two of his kiddos (Sam and Katie), and their enormous dog Spencer. Sam and Katie's mom, Christy, and brand-new baby brother James stayed back at their house, since the baby was napping and it was pretty windy and chilly.

We entered at a gate off of Stinchfield Woods Road, which was new to us (we usually park across the street from the animal clinic on North Territorial Road and walk up the clinic's driveway to the gravel pit). It was nice to explore a new entrance and a side of the woods that we don't normally see. And it was delightful to see the kids run and frolic and generally soak up that magic feeling that only comes from being away from pavement and noise and technology!

Buster was a tamer version of his usual wild self. I think he was on his best behavior since he was in the company of a dog that is more than three times his size. I've never seen him quite so demure.

What a great way to celebrate the end of winter. On my summer to-do list is to get my little monkeys out hiking at least once a week. And I mean really hiking — not just strolling down the asphalt sidewalk at Hudson Mills (though that's nice in its own way too). Maybe we'll even shoot for a different hiking destination each week... might as well dream big!

In other hiking news, plans are coming together for my next AT adventure, which is only a couple months away. I'm very excited that Cindy's coming along again this time, and we have grandiose ideas of starting and finishing Great Smoky Mountain National Park! Girl power! We are, of course, wildly excited. I've started working out in my typical maniacal fashion, concentrating especially hard on the body part that took the worst beating last time: my very mushy quadriceps. They're appalling, really. In fact, last Thursday I did a "tall box" workout (a la "The Firm") that included a lot of stepping and lunging, and it nearly crippled me. Just guess how many days it took for me to be able to walk and sit like a normal person. Not one. Not two. Not three. Yes, four. Lactic acid is a powerful thing.

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)