North Carolina

Day 5, June 12

We set off at 6:06 am and climbed a long and continuous grade to Sharp Top. From there the slope moderated and the trail assumed a completely different character. The farther we hiked, the more we enjoyed the route, which here did not climb each mountain en route, but traversed the flanks of most of them. Also, we seemed to be leaving the jungles of Georgia behind, and most of the bugs.

We met a few weekend hikers, and enjoyed talking with them; however, were growing weary of having to explain how we could have come all the way from Springer carrying such small backpacks. So we put on our thinking hats, and tried to devise a plan aimed at lessening the problem without sounding rude.

The day was considerably cooler, allowing us to hike at a faster pace. Oddly though, we were passed by a family of weekenders climbing Standing Indian Mountain. The father was even carrying a child, "35 pounds of extraneous weight," was his assessment. We were climbing slowly, as was our custom, rationing our day's energy in order to hike further each day.

On the flanks of Albert Mountain, a tremendous thunderstorm moved in, sending a few deafening explosions in our direction. Midway up we stopped and waited for the storm to pass. Twenty minutes later we grew impatient, and quickly made good the remainder of the ascent, passing beneath a tall fire-lookout station, then hurrying down the opposite flanks. Soon the storm let loose an astounding downpour that had the trail coursing in runoff.

The rain continued heavily for the next two hours as we slopped down to Rock Gap and then to Wallace Gap Click on "trail segment"
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then zoom out . There we left the trail and walked 1.1 miles down Allison Creek Rd to the Rainbow Springs Campground, arriving at 8:20 pm. This culminated nearly 30 miles of hiking for the day. The store was still open, and we enjoyed fresh milk and a pizza. This, of course, left us feeling bloated. Oh how our bodies needed better food. But we had determined to hike the AT on a shoestring diet, going lightly and buying whatever food we could find along the way, rather than using resupplies. This was a genuine tradeoff in our light loads: the sacrifice of our usual corn pasta, which had powered our three previous thru-hiking journeys.

Buddy and Jensine, the proprietors, were friendly but incredibly suspicious of our claims of being thru-hikers. For one piece of evidence, they said that instead of flopping wearily into the chairs like real hikers, we stood erect while talking to them, as though we had just stepped out of a car. They weighed our packs. Jenny's was 12 pounds; mine was 10. When we tried to rent a cabin for the night, they hesitated for a long while, saying that the low price was for thru-hikers only. Eventually we managed to rent the cabin, and Jenny washed our clothes in the washing machine. For the record, these folks reported 450 thru-hikers had passed through so far this year.

Day's mileage: 29.4

Day 6, June 13

We rose early, organized our gear for the next haul, then returned to the store for its 8:30 am opening. Once again in lieu of food we breakfasted on microwaved burritos and cinnamon rolls. We bought a few more "food" items and three pairs of calf-high poly-pro socks - just the things for walking through chiggered grass. Bidding good bye to our hosts, we climbed into Buddy's station wagon, and he kindly drove us back up the hill to where we had left the AT at Wallace Gap. Jensine's Dad soon came driving up the hill, and handed Jenny her ALP (AdventureLore Press) hat. It was a kind act for which we gave him abundant thanks.

The trail was well maintained and led through interesting country, but unlike that we had hiked the previous day, this was once again bent on exercising the hiker's legs.

A light rain fell throughout much of the day, either from the sky or from the ever-present canopy in a delayed reaction. We minded it not in the least, mainly as we carried umbrellas, and also the rain helped cool our bodies. Occasionally a burst of sunshine would splash through and set the jungle a steaming, and fog our eye glasses.

We met a fellow with his eight-year old son on a multi-day outing, and enjoyed walking with them for half an hour. The trail climbed to the summit of Wayah Bald where we found a powerful fragrance of what we later learned was wild azalea ("wile azaiya" according to the local drawl). We had long been anticipating hiking over these balds - as they are called - somehow imagining them to resemble the top of Mt. Whitney, being rocky, jagged, and well above tree-line. While hiking over Siler Bald, though, we found that the forest had been simply been mowed down. Even so, the views were outstanding.

We reached Cold Springs Shelter at 6:30 pm and stopped to sign its register. What we found there looked like a slumber party of senior citizens, perhaps a dozen people seated wall-to-wall on the floor. "Strangers in the night," one lady bantered. Repeatedly they offered us to come in, out of the rain, and we wondered where they would have put us, had we obliged. They were a most convivial lot, comprised of apparently different groups. We found the scene heartwarming, with the folks enjoying themselves so. Such a friendly and close meeting of strangers would be almost unheard of, down in the big city.

Note: To avoid subjecting ourselves to the usual barrage of doubt, we were no longer telling people we were thru-hiking. Instead, we were now saying we were day-hiking. This saved us from constantly having to explain ourselves, and made talking with people much easier.

At trail mile 124.8 we reached a sloped campsite with water, at 7:30 pm.

Day's mileage: 21.1

That evening I became ill with yet another malarial relapse, a vestige of our around-the-world sailing voyage. The onset was sudden and debilitating, but lasted only about three hours. Eventually I fell into a deep sleep.

I awoke in the middle of the night, blind. I could see nothing. I sat up and looked out the tent's doorway. Nothing. It was like being deep in a cave. I pressed the light switch on my watch to check my eyesight, and was relieved to see the dial illuminate. The darkness was due to the dense foliage and cloud cover.

Day 7, June 14

After last night's ordeal we slept in for an hour, and then set off at 7:05 am. I felt fine, if somewhat weakened. Even well into morning the day was exceptionally dark. The forest seemed like Tolkien's fairy land, reminiscent of his Misty Mountains. The walking was most interesting and the day cool, even though the views from the Lookouts comprised only the nothingness of dense fog. Then began a remarkably long descent, as the trail led down and down, sometimes so steeply that it tired the knees.

At 11:45 am we reached the Nantahala River Outdoor Center Click on "trail segment"
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then zoom out , and at a restaurant we enjoyed a hearty lunch. Then at the Sports Center we examined a map, which showed our descent had been 2,900 feet overall. We bought a few snack items (we had not yet thought of ordering extra food to-go at the restaurants). From a telephone we tried to place a few calls, all of them unsuccessful in reaching the people we wanted to talk to. It would be several days before we could try again.

Crossing the Nantahala river and railroad tracks, we set off up the next hill. The ascent proved as long as the previous descent, and was our longest climb on the trip to date. As usual we met a few friendly hikers

Reaching the Cheoah Bald scenic overlook, we then descending to Locust Cove Gap, collected water and walked another one-and-a half miles and made camp at 9:10 pm. We chose this camp carefully for its drainage and lack of poison ivy.

During the night a tremendous thunderstorm came rolling through. We were camped on a high ridge and worried about a strike, but the storm soon moved safely away.

Day's mileage: 21

Day 8, June 15

We set off at 6:03 am, traipsing through wet underbrush amidst dollops of fog drip. In an hour we had made good the distance to Stecoah Gap Click on "trail segment"
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then zoom out where we deposited our trash in the luxury of a litter receptacle.

The trail proceeded gently to Sweetwater Gap, from where it climbed steeply to the crest. Then it descended to Brown Fork Gap with equal steepness. The climb was not without reward, though, for lying on the trail we found an Eastern Box Turtle which apparently had recently eaten a snail, the shell of which lay close by. We had not heard of these interesting creatures living in this area. Their food supply is apparently abundant but we wondered how they survive the winters. Also, we saw Lady Slipper orchids, as we had occasionally along the way. A ways farther we startled a great wild turkey, which took to wing with enormous commotion.

This segment of trail seemed little traveled. We had be careful on its steep descents, because the wet roots and steep mud and dirt were slippery, and the moss covered rocks were even more so.

A mile before reaching Fontana Road Click on "trail segment"
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then zoom out , the trail became nicely groomed, and down this we paced in a flurry of blood-thirsty black flies. At 3:45 pm we reached a paved road and parking lot. We had hoped to telephone for a shuttle to the Fontana Dam Resort, but no telephone was in evidence. In a restroom we changed into clean shorts. Then we began a two-mile road walk down N.C. 28 to the resort. We had gone most of the way when a woman stopped and offered a ride. She took us to the grocery store/post office building, from where we proceeded to the resort office. We rented a cabin and placed a few phone calls. The people were very friendly, and spoke with interesting southern drawls.

Day's mileage: 18

Day 9, June 16

Layover day

Day 10, June 17

After a most refreshing layover day, we rose at 5:00 am, Jenny cooked a breakfast of potatoes and onions on the cottage's stove, and she even baked a quick batch of brownies. We had called for a shuttle the day before, but were unable to persuade the driver to rise that early. So at 5:54 am started walking the two miles back to the AT.

The trail climbed from the road, and we followed it as it descended back to the road a mile further on, then the route and road lead across Fontana Dam and a ways beyond. Here we entered The Great Smoky Mountains National Park. At the trailhead was a pickup truck and large horse trailer, reminding us of the lamentable fact that horses are allowed on the AT in the Smokies. The trail led upward a few miles; the day had grown hot and typically muggy, so we hiked slowly but steadily. A pair of white tailed deer darted away, and then much later a second pair that didn't dart away.

We stopped for water at Birch Spring Shelter. Several days ago we had met a hiker who had complained about the abysmal conditions of the shelters in the Smokies and its horse damaged trails. Now, to me these comments seemed generous. The hut was dank and had a chain link fence across its front face, to keep the bears out. As the day wore on, and the miles passed steadily underfoot, we passed a number of these huts and could not imagine spending a night in one of them. Along the way we met several hikers, most were at the shelters but some were hiking on the trail. Twice we detoured from the ridge for water. One detour was unexpectedly long.

Trailside, two fellows had their gear spread out hither and yon, and said they were getting ready for rain. Indeed the sky was darkening, but we were sailing with our hatches already battened down, withdrawing our umbrellas was our only task. Soon we were hiking in a gentle rain. On the exposed ridge crests and balds, the wind slanted down. We signed into at least half a dozen hut registers and enjoyed writing the same day's date in every one of them.

In the evening we encountered a fellow dressed for guerrilla warfare and toting a big hunting rifle. The wild "life" officer was killing wild boar. The job would seem child's play as the animals come out at night and make a great deal of ruckus that can be heard at great distances. We reported having heard boars a ways back, then pressed ahead into the twilight. At 9:27 we ceased stumbling along the barely lit trail and detoured into the thickets and made a stealth camp. This was about a mile short of Silers Bald Shelter.

Day's mileage: 30.2

Day 11, June 18

After breaking camp in the darkness, and hoping we had left nothing behind - for we had no flashlight - we set off at 5:53 am, stumbling along the barely lit trail. Once again we hiked soggy footed as the trailside vegetation had not dried from yesterday's rain. We passed by Silers Bald Shelter where a large family was sitting around the campfire ring.

At the next hut, I stepped inside and noticed a great deal of backpacking gear. On the far side of the meadow sat several people. Figuring they were out of their cage sunning themselves, I hollered to them, asking if the shelter had a register, mainly to alert them of the fact that I was about to step into the shelter. Chagrined, I then discovered six or eight hikers still inside, in the sack. I must have awaken them, for some began stirring. The time was 8:00 am, so I didn't feel too guilty.

As we were filtering water, one of them came out to chat, and said that the group had started at Amicalola, had taken 10 days to Rainbow Springs Campground, and that they had found the going extremely tough. We could relate.

After another round of climbing, we reached the summit of Clingman's Dome, or nearly the summit, as the trail skirts close it by. This is said to be the highest point on the AT; and we thought back to our ordeals crossing the highest point on the PCT, Forester Pass, and our snow storm at 13,000 feet on the CDT in Colorado. Today we looked up at a concrete lookout structure where tourists can look down at hikers. We met a nice German couple taking a walk apparently from their rented car. When we said we'd like to visit their country, the woman said, "Oh, you should come to us."

The trail descended a ways and then began a long section paralleling a road. After a number of miles the trail reached the highway at Newfound Gap Click on "trail segment"
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then zoom out . The tourists were thronging the place. There were perhaps 100 cars in the lot. Fortunately for us at the moment, people do not venture far from their cars. In a matter of minutes we had left the vast majority of them behind. In the next hour we met perhaps two-dozen folks day-hiking the trail - friendly, one and all. We stopped at Ice Water Spring, then continued to Charlie's Bunion. The AT takes the easy way around, and when the two routes joined at the far side we regretted not having taken the more scenic route.

Ahead, the trail followed a long ridgeline where in many places the slopes dropped steeply away on both sides. This stretch of trail had apparently taken a great amount of effort and dynamite to construct. The flora was amazingly dense, such that the understory was largely impenetrable. Blackberry bushes were ubiquitous, as were huckleberries with their heady redolence. Near the trail junction to Pecks Corner Shelter we startled a pair of yearling bears, which went bounding away full tilt. We were delighted to have seen them.

Once again, the afternoon was blessed with a steady but light rain. We tromped along wet-footed, thankful once again for our umbrellas. As the evening wore on, we became somewhat concerned about finding a place to camp. We had not seen anything even remotely suitable for perhaps a dozen miles. Then at 8:27 pm, on the summit of Mt. Sequoyah, we came to a perfect little tent site directly alongside the trail. We could only hope that no ranger would happen by. We crawled into the tent, pulled our packs in with us, and declared ourselves home for the night.

Day's mileage: 26.6

Day 12, June 19

After a quiet and restful night, we set off at 5:47 am, leaving behind a handsome pocketknife we had found there, for which we had no use. The morning was most pleasant, and we felt well rested and refreshed. Two hours into the morning we stopped at a seep for a Cheerios breakfast. A box of these, I quipped, might make a nice pillow.

Near the Tri-Corner Knob Shelter we began encountering increasing signs of horses - a deeply rutted trail and the ubiquitous manure. We were not pleased that stock is allowed on the most famous of all American hiking trails. Especially here, where the trail is narrow and steep sided, and getting out of the way would be difficult and sometimes perhaps dangerous. Without a single exception all equestrian parties encountered behaved aggressively, demanding the right of way.

It seemed we were descending into an oven, and when finally, after what seemed a 4,000 foot descent, we reached the park boundary and set foot once again on American soil. I felt like kissing the ground. No longer were hikers required to bivouac in the cells, and no longer were horses permitted on the trail. We stopped for a most refreshing ablution in the State Line Branch, a nice brook, then amid a flurry of black flies made our way across the Pidgeon River bridge Click on "trail segment"
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then zoom out . After depositing our trash into a litter bin, we hiked beneath the underpass and began the ascent of the far slope. A three-person crew was hard at work installing a stairway banister. "A bit warm today," I bantered. "No it's not," one worker snapped, "it's hot as a son of a bitch!"

The ensuing climb soon verified the truth in the fellow's statement. The trail traversed to a road. 100 yards past the road we came upon the curious site of an agave plant in full blossom. We sweated and swatted for several miles and eventually gained the top of Snowbird Mountain. There we took a short detour to look at a radar installation, emanating a curious drone.

A few miles farther we topped another rise and soon encountered a group of twenty or so hikers. I asked the fellows in charge what kind of group it was. "Outward Bound," came the reply. Everyone moved aside to let us pass, but when we carried on, they followed. The day was late and we pressed on down the hill, and at 8:30 we passed a nice looking possible camp, up on the ridge. If nothing else, the two OB patrols could camp up there, I reasoned. At 8:50 pm we reached Deep Gap Click on "trail segment"
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then zoom out and a suitable campsite. There we hauled off the trail for the day. We were nearly asleep when there came the commotion of the OB group. The instructors sent the students out this way and that, looking for places to camp. The area was festooned in poison ivy, and I grimaced at the thought of the students thrashing through it in the dark. After forty minutes of hunting and debating, the group swung their packs and shuffled away, leaving us to get the sleep we needed.

Day's mileage: 27.8

Day 13, June 20

Setting off at 5:52 am, we later encountered a tent pitched directly on the trail. I greeted with a soft "Good morning", but there came no reply. Poison ivy abounded and trail-side campsites were very rare; we imagined we might have to adopt the same technique in the future, save for the sleeping in until mid-morning. ref: Brown Gap Click on "trail segment"
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then zoom out

The trail led over Max Patch Summit Click on "trail segment"
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then zoom out , a large bald. No longer hiking in the shade of the "Green tunnel," as it is dubbed, we found the sun and clear sky extremely bright. We put on our clip-on sunglasses, but only for a few minutes until returning to the trees, with much relief. Should someday the trees disappear, hiking the AT in the brunt of the summer sun would be much more difficult. Still, the break in the trees had provided a refreshing visual interlude.

We ambled along the trail through low-land jungle and crossed a number of creeks. We climbed to Walnut Mountain Shelter, then Bluff Mountain on a gradual ascent.

The afternoon comprised another bone jarring descent of many thousands of feet. The lower we descended, the hotter grew the afternoon, and the more suffocating the air. From the Deerpark Mountain Shelter, the trail appeared to be quite old. In many places its rock embankments were heavily coated in lichens.

We reached the town of Hot Springs Click on "trail segment"
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then zoom out at 6:30 pm. The late afternoon was still almost unbearably hot. While walking through a residential area, we happened to startle a fledgling bird of some sort. It flew away with ungainly wings and great effort, only to land virtually in the maws of a cat. The bird's cries were heart-rending and the incident left us stunned.

At Ramsey's Market we bought fresh fruit and orange juice, and met the hiker who had been making the large boot tracks we'd been following during the last few days. He said he had hiked from I-40 in four days.

The next order of business was the Laundromat. The interior of the building was so hot that we could not remain inside. Outside was a drinking fountain that poured water continually. I stripped to my lycra shorts and poured water over myself, time and again, and thus managed to cool off. Jenny received the same treatment. A fellow happened along and warned us not to drink the water, but I could see that it was polluted. Still, this water made our day.

From there we went into the nearby Trail Café at 8:00 pm, and enjoyed one and a half dinners each. Then on the grounds of the Hot Springs Spa, on the left side of the highway, we made a comfortable stealth camp among a patch of boulders. During the night we were awakened a few times by trains rolling through town, their horns blaring mightily.

Day's mileage: 27.0

Day 14, June 21

We rose at our usual hour of 5:30 am, walked to the spa's campground and paid for a shower each. Then we sauntered back into the town, put another load of laundry in the machine, and enjoyed a large breakfast at the adjacent Trail Café. We bought food at the nearby but minimally stocked grocery, then waited at the post office for its opening. Then after sorting our resupply and sending most of it ahead to Damascus, we set off at 9:30.

Crossing the French Broad River, we walked through the rafting center where we could have taken showers, had we known of its whereabouts. The trail followed the bank of the river, then began an ascent of the steep embankment on a moderate grade. Rain had been falling since early morning, and we were happy for the change in weather. Yesterday's heat had been unbearable. We hiked in the rain, bare-legged and bare-armed without using the umbrellas. And for about the first time on the journey we hiked without sweating profusely. We met perhaps a dozen hikers; all but one was bundled in foul weather gear, and most commented about the rain in a negative manner. We found it delightfully refreshing.

The frog pond Click on "trail segment"
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In the vicinity of Pump Gap we came to a junction, and incorrectly followed the blaze to the right. This trail became increasingly little used, and the farther we went the more obviously we were going the wrong way. A read of the Handbook data indicated the yellow blazes marked the old AT. We had been confused by the semblance of the old, whitened yellow blazes, and the old, yellowed white ones. We retraced our steps and found the proper way, only to discover that the ensuing miles were also inadequately blazed. Time and again we wondered if we were on route. Notwithstanding, we delighted at the sight of two turtles on the trail. Farther on we stopped at the Spring Mountain Shelter to sign its register.

We reached Allen Gap Click on "trail segment"
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then zoom out at 4:30 and the State Line Gas Station shortly thereafter. The proprietor greeted us harshly with a demand to leave our packs outside. This place suffers a somewhat nefarious reputation, and it was clear that hikers were not well thought of. The store sold very little food but the largest selection of tobacco products imaginable. We walked in with smiles that belied our disappointment in the sparsely stocked shelves, and soon the lady behind the counter warmed to us. We bought a selection of canned goods, potato chips, crackers, and cookies, paid a whopping $30 plus, and ambled away with packs heavy with junk food, but with hearts full of appreciation for what provender we had managed to buy. Empty calories were far better than no calories.

The land hereabouts was some of the prettiest we'd seen, thanks to the abundance of large pine that shaded and thwarted the otherwise voracious understory. Once, we encountered a bear, which dashed away into the woods. At Little Laurel Shelter we met Mike, who had spent the day there. "I'm strictly a fair weather hiker," he asserted. Hunkered in the shelter, he was listening to his transistor radio weather broadcasts in curious trepidation.

We collected water from the nearby spring, and in gathering darkness we made the long climb to Camp Creek Bald side trail. There we stopped at 8:25 pm, and pitched the tent on the only available place: the trail. Previously, we had debated whether to send our foam pad ahead, but now it proved its worth. The ground was muddy, hard and cold.

Day's mileage: 21.4

Day 15, June 22

We set off at 6:00 am and hiked throughout the morning in very dense fog with sporadic rain and tree drip. The bushes were sopping, and actually kept our feet favorably cool. Early afternoon we met a couple who were out weed whacking with hand tools. We were glad to see these folks, as we had been wading through knee-deep weeds for several miles. They said they were responsible for maintaining a six-mile segment of AT, and that they were members of the Carolina Club, along with some 550 others members. We asked about the existence of a trash receptacle at the next road; they reported there being none, but welcomed us to leave our trash by their vehicle. We appreciated this, as we were carrying a few large cans from the last store.

The weather cleared and all too soon we found ourselves sweating and climbing slowly once again, as though the rains had been but a figment. At least we were able to spread the tent, fly, and ground sheet in the sun. They dried within minutes.

From Boone Cove Road the trail behaved like a roller coaster, being little more than a succession of steep ups and downs. This persisted many miles to Street Gap Click on "trail segment"
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then zoom out . En route we met a fellow hiking south, carrying a small, 30 pound pack. "Reno" (Bob Witek) had hiked from New York bound for Springer, and planned to then hike from Katahdin to New York, to complete his "thru" hike. During our very pleasant fifteen minute conversation, I asked how difficult he had found the rocks of Pennsylvania, of which we had heard nothing but foreboding and doom. Reno said that the rocks were trivial; that they reminded him of hiking western trails above timberline. Jenny turned to me and said, "see, I told you all that the rumors about the rocks in Pennsylvania were hogwash."

Undoubtedly feeling homesick for familiar territory, Reno complained of the lack of views at the summits. I thought to myself that each trail has its own tempo. The AT has innumerable merits, as does the PCT and CDT. But these merits are distinct, and cannot be compared, very well, one over another.

After bypassing two seeping springs, feeling very parched we stopped at a viable trail-side spring. With darkness now upon us, we stumbled along the trail, water bag in hand for perhaps a mile. I thought of Bill Irwin stumbling along, blind. I could see slightly lighter or darker places, which indicated rocks, roots, and holes, and so I avoided most of them. But how Irwin had managed, defied the imagination. Finally I noticed a seldom used spur trail ascending to the crest. We followed it and soon came to a water tank and surrounding clearing. We ended the day's trekking at 9:45 pm, beneath a glorious sky full of stars, the first we had seen during the journey. Moreover, our campsite was on comfortable grass.

Day's mileage: 27.2

Day 16, June 23

As expected, the dew accumulated heavily beneath the open sky. We set off at 5:55 am and followed the trail which traversed curiously below the summit of Bald Mountain and then climbed it from its far side. This maneuver seemed to suggest that the route had not been planed very well, ahead of time. Another idiosyncrasy was the strenuous flights of stairs at many of the switchbacks. These are supposedly to prevent the cutting of switchbacks. But once again, the AT has its own tempo, and it is a mistake to compare it to the type of trail we are accustomed to back west. However, one wonders sometime if it's meant to test the hiker's mettle. "Imagine the PCT leading straight over Mt. Hood," was how Larry Shiels had put it.

Although the long trails are not perfect, the experiences they can provide are. On them, one can discover a perfect blend of frustration and gratification, of solitude and friendship, of accomplishment and failure.

The day was one of low energy, and we felt dehydrated and drained by yesterday's exertions. Once again, water was in short supply. We passed several semi-stagnant seeps, but none gave potable water. Naturally, the water sources are dwindling as summer progresses.

At the campsite before Spivey Gap Click on "trail segment"
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then zoom out we found and filtered water. For the next several hours, we hiked a mile or so, then lay listless on the trail for several minutes, eating something from our packs. I thought about the plight of we thru-hikers, who experience trail life in an imploded reality. Journey's beginning seems like ancient history, while its end seems unapproachably distant. Because every thought and effort is put into forward progress, the world at large fairly ceases to exist. As such, the hiker can find it difficult to live in the moment. He finds himself traveling from water to water, food to food, hut to hut, and trail-side amenity to amenity. The forest, birds and animals loose uniqueness, and become merely a part of the ubiquitous and monotonous landscape. Then when the glorious moment comes at last - the end of the trail - suddenly the grand moment evanescences, and I mused that tragically the hiker awakes to discover that he has somehow missed it.

Half a mile past No Business Knob Shelter, Jenny was walking twenty feet in front of me when she suddenly turned and trotted back with a worried expression. Unlike the dozens of snakes seen previously, which she thought were cute, I knew this one was somehow different. I approached and found an uncommonly large black snake lying close to the trail. There was not enough room for us to pass safely by, so I prodded its tail with a stick. At that, it turned and lurched toward me. It was obviously not poisonous, but I did not doubt its ability to bite. Fearing that I might have to answer for my provocations, I backed away and watched for several minutes, waiting for the creature to move off the trail. Stretched full length it would have measured some six feet. At last, it slithered nonchalantly away, then climbed a two-foot high log with ease. It was a beautiful creature. We enjoyed seeing it, as were the mountain turtles we've encountered.

A ways farther we came upon a deer sauntering down the trail in our direction unaware. We stood still, and when it had come closer finally noticed us, and craned its head comically far to one side for a better look. Then it bounded away easily up the steep hillside.

At 4:00 we reached the Nolichucky River Click on "trail segment"
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then zoom out and while crossing a bridge we stopped mid-span to watch a group of rafters enjoying a float trip. These lower climes were considerably warmer than the upper ones, but still the day was not nearly as stifling as Hot Springs. The trail crossed a road and railroad tracks, then climbed a considerable ways up the hillside before descending back to the road in a couple of miles.

At a campground we left the trail and enjoyed a shower, then sumptuous steak sandwiches at the Nolichucky Café Click on "trail segment"
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then zoom out . The folks there explained that both copperheads and rattlesnakes are common in the area. The copperhead is normally two and one-half to three feet, but can be much larger, they said, and is aggressive. It will not withdraw when threatened, as will a rattlesnake, but will stand its ground defensively. The fellow said the snake can jump twice its length and added that because it lacks rattles, it does not give warning when encroached upon.

At the office we made a few phone calls. A hiker sat down by us, having come down the trail a couple of hours behind us. We compared notes about a black snake both of us had seen, in about the same place, and reckoned it must have been the same one. At the No Business Gap Hut, Jenny and I had sat on its platform for a few moments. This fellow had done likewise, only to be buzzed by a rattlesnake beneath the floorboards. He had planed to stay the night there, but after twenty minutes of throwing rocks in an unsuccessful attempt to relocate the snake, he decided to push on, to here. The fellow reported also seeing three copperheads en route to here. He had grown up not far from here, and judging by the way he carried his stick pointing ahead of him and weaving it from side to side like a blind man, he convinced us to be more wary. In fact, we went away feeling positively paranoid.

After a two-hour stop-over we hit the trail again, carrying two additional steak sandwiches for breakfast. We had dried our tentage, and once again felt well-fed and energetic. We reached the Curley Maple Gap Shelter and found it deserted, but dirty. So after collecting water at a spring we pressed on. In another mile we were groping ahead into the night, hoping to come upon a suitable camping place. We stumbled along for another forty-five minutes in pitch dark, probing the way with a stick, feeling for the trail and the many rocks and roots embedded in it. At times we moved at a snail's pace. Eventually we were looking merely for a place to bivouac, but at 10:00 pm we gained a saddle and a small clearing. Light was essentially absent, so I inspected the locale carefully using a lighter, in lieu of a flashlight, checking for poison ivy and thankfully finding none. After examining the surrounds we could not find where the trail led on. Whether we were on the trail or off it, we could not tell, but we were relieved to have found such an excellent place to rest the night.

Day's mileage: 24.7

Day 17, June 24

We set off at 6:00 in a robust wind that had been active most of the night. The air was smog-laden and so we found the views from a grassy bald called Beauty Spot to be curtailed. The smog was so dense that sometimes we could look at the sun briefly. Throughout this area, like many others we had traversed, blackberry bushes grew in abundance; but of course the season was too early and the berries were not yet mature. The summit of Unaka Mountain Click on "trail segment"
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then zoom out was noteworthy for its abundance of red spruce and their attendant lack of understory. En route down the opposite slope we met a fellow and his two sons, from Austin, Texas. Soon, three other youngsters in the same party joined us. This was apparently their first foray along the AT, and they were finding it tough going. Rod Coffin worked as a broker for Merrill Lynch, and as it happens, both of us lived in Yosemite Valley concurrently. He worked as a ranger responsible for the horses. We talked for half an hour, and soon we met Mrs. Coffin and two other gentlemen of their party.

The ensuing few miles featured more climbs and descents. The trail reminded me of the sporting maneuver where a motorcycle climbs steeply, then turns and descends, staying in balance by the centrifugal force of the sharp turn. The trail did that twice: climbing nearly to a summit, turning sharply, and descending the same side before diagonalling away in the more appropriate direction. The AT is a ridge route, we are told, and ours is not to question why; ours is to do or die.

Reaching Iron Mountain Gap Click on "trail segment"
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then zoom out , we left the trail, turned right, and paced six-tenths of mile down the highway to Moffits Store Click on "trail segment"
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then zoom out . We had hoped to buy supplies to see us through the next four days, but the store's inventory comprised only a vast array of tobacco products and a small selection of snacks. We returned outside and studied our Handbook pages, and decided to visit J's Market, 25 miles ahead. Cookies and potato chips would have to fuel them.

Hiking back up to the trail and continuing on, we slogged a section of densely overgrown trail. Nettle was one of the more common plants in evidence, and it grew overhead in places. Nettles stinging our legs had been a common occurrence, but we were perplexed that most nettles did not sting, but some did. We met a couple, Joe and Monica, going the other way, and asked them about this phenomena. They showed us that the stinging part of the plant is along the single stem of the leaf's underside. So it was only if the underside of the leaf was brushed against, that pain resulted. These nettles were quite different than the ones in the western states. Joe and Monica were interesting to talk to and we spent time chatting with them. They made their living selling their photographs of scenes along the AT.

As we continued along, now climbing Little Rock Knob, my left leg started disagreeing with me. I tried massaging, removing the orthotic, walking with an arch support, and even walking barefoot. Nothing seemed to help. Our pace slowed markedly. We had wanted to reach the next water source, as I felt that dehydration was a major factor in the ailment; but after an hour of hobbling I was forced to haul off the trail and make camp. We stopped at 8:15 pm.

Day's mileage: 20.5

Once during the night the wind blew so fiercely that I feared a tree might fall onto us. Jenny slept soundly, and otherwise, so did I.

Day 18, June 25

We set off at 5:54 and hiked slowly along the trail. My leg was still aching. I knew that dehydration was the likely cause, as we had not been drinking nearly as much water as we would have liked. Also, I needed a new pair of shoes, and was not carrying spares.

Twice Jenny ventured down a side trail in search of water; both times unsuccessfully. Pressing on, we climbed Roan Mountain Click on "trail segment"
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then zoom out , where the wind increased once again and a chilly fog enveloped its upper flanks. A quarter mile from the summit we smelled a campfire and the tantalizing aromas of bacon frying in someone's pan. Then at the summit we came to the people cooking breakfast on their campfire. As fog enveloped the scene, we asked a camper where we might find water, and he directed us down to a parking lot and restroom building, where indeed water was available. The camper complained of spending a bitterly cold and windy night. Now in the day, the chilly wind was refreshing.

We followed the AT through an impromptu campsite, where a woman seated in a folding chair offered that she didn't think there were any hiking trails around here. Indeed, the AT wasn't much, but comically she was sitting on it. Shortly we came to a garbage can, and without further adieu we rifled our packs for a hasty breakfast, and managed to rid our packs of a few more cans and wrappers, consigned to the garbage. A ways farther we stopped to filter more water we had carried from the summit, and guzzled several more quarts.

At Carvers Gap Click on "trail segment"
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then zoom out we crossed a parking area, from where we hiked in the company of a few tourists, up the slopes of Grassy Ridge. This area is naturally treeless, being covered in shorter grasses that appeared to belong there. In an effort to curb a proliferation of blackberry brambles, the USFS had installed a herd of perhaps 30 goats in a large fenced off area.

The trail led many miles over terrain strongly reminiscent of the Peak District in England. One could well imagine Britain covered in trees before the era of woodcutters who had laid it mostly bare. We hiked beneath open skies for hours, while a fresh and chilly wind spared us of a sultry, gnat-beleaguered day. The few hikers we met were obviously unaccustomed to the cool temperature, as evidenced by their coats, hats and gloves.

We collected water from a piped spring near Bradley Gap, ate the last of our meager supply of food, then climbed Hump Mountain - another open, rolling highpoint affording broad vistas into the smog-filled surrounds. The trail descended quite a distance, and at another piped spring, near Apple House Shelter, we stopped for a long overdue sponge bath and clothes rinsing. Here we discovered we had sun-burned our faces and legs. This was noteworthy, as our skin had been blanched by living in the sunless green tunnel.

We reached US 19E Click on "trail segment"
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then zoom out at 5:25 pm, and leaving the AT we plodded 1.3 miles uphill miles to J's Market Click on "trail segment"
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then zoom out . This store seemed a bonanza, it proved so wonderfully stocked. We bought food galore. The proprietor and clerk were friendly, and explained that the friction in the area had been the result of the government's condemning parts of several people's land for the AT's re-routing. There was considerable bitterness toward the AT Conference, we learned, reputedly an unfortunate consequence of their land grabbing. We were to encounter these type of feelings in some other places.

With packs full to the brims and hanging ponderous from their feeble straps, we traipsed back down to the Coffee Brake restaurant and enjoyed a hearty steak dinner. From there we retraced our steps back down the highway, and rejoined the AT 2.5 hours after we had left it.

following the trail about seven tenths of a mile, we crossed a pretty but obviously polluted creek, and climbed a remarkably steep trail, considering its age of only three years, it was said. At 8:30 pm we left the trail and pitched the tent out of sight, atop the knoll adjacent the state line fence. This fence, which incidentally we have grown used to seeing, seemed to follow the state line, and the trail seemed determined to follow the state line as closely as possible.

Day's mileage: 21.7