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Blog No 12 Inaugural Hike on the Appalachian Trail

I went on my first backpacking trip in the Pecos Wilderness near Taos, New Mexico, while a senior medical student. Years later, when driving through North Carolina, I crossed the Appalachian Trail and pulled over to inspect the trailhead. I felt a strong attraction and vowed that someday I would hike the trail. When I read Bill Bryson’s hilarious account of hiking in Georgia with his old friend, Stephen Katz, in A Walk in the Woods (1998) I knew I couldn't put it off any longer.

My son Alec, 13, and I flew to Atlanta, rented a red sports car (not my first choice) and met up with a young woman named Leigh near Dahlonega, Georgia (America’s first gold rush town). I had made arrangements on line for her to provide us with a shuttle. We parked our car at Hogpen Gap on Highway 348 and Leigh drove us to Dick’s Creek Gap on Highway 76 near the North Carolina border, the starting point for our hike. We would be hiking from north to south.

We organized our gear and put on our heavy packs. It was on August 18, 2004, 5:30 pm. We were about take our first steps on the Appalachian Trail. Alec and I were in high spirits and ready for adventure, even if we had to make frequent stops to rest. A ruffed grouse exploded from alongside the trail, and soon another one erupted in the same manner. We paused to rest a level spot in the trail, and once more we were startled, this time by a wild turkey bursting from a tree up the hill. Seeing this many large birds in so short a time rarely happens on the AT.

We reached Deep Gap Shelter at 7:40 pm, dog tired and eager to call it a day. A hiker carrying his pole, taking long strides, with a long, flowing beard, appeared abruptly, and said, “I’m Scott.” We suspected a day hiker, given his small pack (the size of a 20-lb rice bag) but the opposite proved to be the case. He turned out to be much younger than his patriarchal beard suggested. He had begun his journey in Quebec the year before, had wintered in Pennsylvania, and Virginia, and this past spring he had stopped to help a friend build a house in Hot Springs, North Carolina, a hub for thru hikers. We were surprised when he announced his destination was Key West, hoping to make by New Year. He whipped out a crude backpacking stove, made from the bottom of a beer can that conveniently burned denatured alcohol, available at gas stations. He ate from the container in which he had heated his gruel, standard practice for long distance hikers.

Alec and I enjoyed Scott’s company as we were the only hikers at the shelter. A modern-day hippie, straight out of the sixties, and only later did we discover his trail name from a journal entry in a shelter the next day: Crash Test Dummie. (More on AT trail names in the next blog.) Alec had become skilled at starting camp fires, but on this night with the wood completely saturated with rain he was forced to give up. Our hippie friend fared no better. At dusk a Barred Owl hooted in the distance. Before long we were enveloped in complete darkness on this moonless night as the cries of a thousand katydids in the trees above us became increasingly louder, the incessant, deafening, pulsating chorus blocked out all other sounds and lulled us into a restful sleep.

The following morning was beautiful and sunny. After a breakfast of oatmeal, we struggled up to the summit of Kelly Mountain at 4200 feet. We now descended for 1000 ft and while passing a campsite named Cheese Factory, said to be a favorite of hikers. For most of the day we hiked along a ridge called the Sway of the Blue Ridge with shallow ups and downs. We monitored our progress by using a topographic map. That night we camped next to Tray Mountain Shelter where the afternoon sun warmed our solar shower. Refreshed, we sat near the edge of the cliffs and admired the blue haze and silhouettes of the distant ridges and peaks. We enjoyed a robust campfire that night.

The third day was humid and cloudy and toward the afternoon the sky became darker as heavy clouds gathered. All afternoon we heard the diesel trucks grinding up steep mountainous roads and sound of their engines became noticeably louder. When growing up in the Ozarks we learned that when sound of tractor trailers became louder than normal, it reliably foretold rain. We arrived at Blue Mountain Shelter as premature darkness had set in. The shelter would keep us dry and protect us from the expected rain. But for reasons we could not explain, neither Alec nor I had a warm feeling for the shelter. Our AT map showed a spring about one-fourth mile down the mountain, and I told Alec whether we stayed in the shelter or camped in the woods would be his decision. Without hesitation, he chose the woods. We hiked down the mountain and were thrilled to find a clearing in the midst of the deep forest. It had a fire ring beside the spring, and a grassy knoll to pitch our tent. Alec hastily began to cut firewood and placed it under Noah’s Tarp and I erected our two-person tent. We we finished our Vietnamese noodle soup, but before Alec could start a fire, the storm was upon us.

For the first 45 minutes we experienced a spectacular lightning show, but with sparse rain. Each bolt of lightning, in a split-second, was followed by a terrifying thunderclap. And then the heavens opened and the rains came. We snuggled into our sleeping bags, and shone our flashlight outside to see rivulets flowing by on both sides of our tent. I had experienced many thunderstorms but this one was among the most ferocious.

We slept until morning: our tent remained completely dry. After breakfast and breaking camp, we assumed our trek down the mountain. The first mile was nasty, slippery and wet, and strewn with rocks. We hiked through the forest shrouded in fog all morning That night we camped at Low Gap Shelter, erecting our tent on the actual floor of the shelter. During the night white-footed mice scampered over our sleeping bags. We had hung our food in bear bags suspended from a system of chains and pulleys and the bears had left us alone. Not so with the conniving mice that managed to chew through the bear bag and and help themselves to nuts and candy bars. We broke camp and after hiking for two hours or so we arrived at Hogpen Gap. We were happy to see our red car near an assemblage of bicyclists who had gathered for a ride through the mountainous roads. We had been out for four nights, hiked for 30 miles, and climbed a total of 7,150 feet. It was a wonderful introduction to the Appalachian Trail.