Age and Altitude

That's where I'm going ...

A year ago my son/daughter-in-law hiked some in the Eagle Cap Wilderness in the Wallowa Mountains of eastern Oregon. When I saw their photos, I began to make plans. Conveniently, my son and d-in-law bought a house and needed some furniture that we were storing for them ... so I volunteered to drive a truckload of furniture from Mississippi to Oregon. 

After taking care of the furniture I made my way from Western Oregon back to Eastern Oregon near Enterprise and Joseph in the Wallowa Mountains. I arrived just after the middle of the afternoon in time to go to Terminal Gravity Brewery in Enterprise for a brew and a salmon burger. After checking out the Wallowa Lake Park, I drove to the trailhead and picked up a registration tag to complete and save time the next morning.

There may have been more signs I missed

My plan was to sleep in my car at the trailhead to save both time and money. Fortunately, my rental car had a passenger seat that slid far back and reclined sufficiently to get reasonably comfortable for the night. The forecast was for 45º weather, so I just covered with my quilt from my kit and went quickly to sleep.

I woke up about 5 o'clock and by the time I had changed clothes, checked my pack, loaded up, locked my car, and relaced my boots, it was 5:30. I turned on my headlamp and headed up the trail, stopping to put my registration paper in the box. I had studied my topo maps and looked at Google Earth so much that I was pretty familiar with the trail, and even in the dark, felt confident that I was headed up beside Adam Creek. The trail description on http://www.oregonhikers.org/field_guide/Ice_Lake_Hike says that you will be hiking through "a forest canopy of Douglas-fir, Engelmann spruce, and western larch with ponderosa pine, western white pine, and grand fir." I took their word for it, because, at 5:30 AM in that canyon it was pitch dark outside the reach of my headlight beam. When I got to the first fork I knew to stay left, having read the trail descriptions for a year.

Typical trail

That lower part of the trail is a mess because it is frequented by backpackers, day-hikers, and horse-packers. Most of the time I didn't get to do much looking around with my headlamp because I was studying where my feet were about to go, not only to keep from tripping over the abundant rocks, but also to keep from stepping in piles and piles of horse poop ... did I say piles and piles (yes, I did). I spent the first 3.5 hours cursing the horse people and their messy animals, and, after starting the relentless uphill portion, I spent the last 3.5 hours wishing I were a horse person.

At about 2.5 miles, the Ice Lake Trail (#1808) peels off right, crosses a log bridge, and begins the ascent to Ice Lake. About the time I got to the bridge I was able to turn off my headlamp and continue on with the available light of the rising sun. It would be a while before there was actual sunshine in the canyon, but there was plenty of ambient light to hike the trail. The trail from the beginning was pretty dusty with the red dirt common in that area. Not long after "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.." - Henry David Thoreau"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.." - Henry David Thoreaucrossing the bridge the trail begins seven switchbacks that are shorter than the higher set of switchbacks. That's because when the trail bends around the mountain to the south, there is a deep canyon of cascades and waterfalls on Adam Creek.

The "new" log bridge

I was pretty tired when I got through the lower set of switchbacks and I grumbled at the people who had made shortcut "suicides" to connect the levels of the switchbacks. One of my pet peeves is the idea that people care so little about the trail maintenance and wilderness ecology that they just want to make their hike quicker, so they leap off the trail and cut straight down the mountain, opening a steep section where the rains and snow-melts are going to wash out the mountainside and create more work for the trail maintainers. I can understand children running ahead on the downward sections and thinking that it would be cool to make a shortcut, but I cannot understand an adult person's total disregard for the LNT ethos.

One of Adam Creek's falls

There was much less horse poop on this upper section of the trail, meaning that either, by this time, the horses were all pooped out (which, judging by the amount of horse shit on the lower sections, was a real possibility), or the horse people had continued up the West Fork Wallowa Trail and not headed up to Ice Lake. Anyway, I had much less poop to avoid when I was hiking this section. I was grateful for small things ...

Near the top of the seven lower switchbacks was evidence of a forest fire that had charred several hundred trees. I haven't had much experience with forest fires up close, so I can't accurately judge how may months or years prior had there been a fire. It didn't appear to be a really large burn area--compared to what we're seeing on the news these days, so either it was a lightening strike fire that had been followed by a hard  rain extinguishing the flames, or the fire crew had caught it early and put it out. It was probably only a couple of acres.

A beautiful trail

After the seven lower switchbacks and some cliff-side photo ops of the several falls on Adam Creek, the trail traversed--still climbing, mind you--across a meadow and through a couple of washed out ravines (Zig-zag in miniature). This meadow crossing was a nice respite from the switchbacks, but still continued on uphill. The meadow trail is something that I had seen on the Google Earth capture of #1808, so I knew I wasn't anywhere near the top.

And, at this point let me make it very clear that from the time the trail crossed the log bridge, it was unrelentingly uphill. I don't mean mostly uphill; I mean it was 100% an uphill climb. The trailhead is about 4500' in elevation and the lake where I was headed is 7900' in elevation. That's almost a 4K feet elevation gain (I figured I'd do the math for some English majors who might be reading this). I wish I knew the elevation at the log bridge over Adam Creek, but the trail from that point does not have even a short downhill stretch ... nor even a level stretch that I remember. It. Is. Uphill.

A burned out area along the trail

Not only were these 70-year old legs trying to carry about 38 lbs of gear, but trying to carry the gear constantly uphill, and at an altitude I rarely see. I think my home is about 300 ft in elevation, but the highest point in Mississippi (Woodall Mtn ... mountain?) is only 600 ft above sea level. I get over in the Georgia mountains a couple of times a year, and I get to Mt Mitchell in North Carolina once a year--if I'm lucky; but I never get to 7K or 8K feet ... so, I was sucking for oxygen to get to these old muscles. I know I was barely making one mph going up that trail ... plus, I was stopping frequently to lean on my poles. Whenever I get in these situations where my legs are almost giving out I think of Stephen Katz's AT hike from the Bill Bryson book ... remember when he "flung" all of the food and heavy gear out of his pack? One of the reasons I like hiking with a hammock is that I can almost always find a couple of trees between which I can hang ... and, believe me, I was so tired that I constantly looked around for possibilities of hangs if I completely broke down on that climb to Ice Lake.

 

Aspens are gorgeous in the fall

After the meadow was crossed I began another set of switchbacks ... twelve this time. I fought up the twelve switchbacks singing "Amazing Grace" in my head ... Good grief!!! Where did that come from? (Maybe it was the part about "a wretch like me" that I was feeling at that altitude and distance ... or the part about "When we've been there 10,000 years ..." was what I was thinking .... ) Anyway, the slow 4/4 beat was about all I could muster going through those twelve switchbacks ... it was really hard, and every time I stopped to let some blood pump back into my legs I looked for places I could hang my hammock for the night. From the bridge to Ice Lake was actually the hardest hike I've ever done ... I actually began to doubt my ability to finish ... (am I sounding pitiful?)

... but then, I was getting to swichback nine ... then ten ... then eleven ... then twelve ... and finally the trail kind of plateaued and I knew that I was almost there. I find it hard to explain the relief and exhilaration I felt when I knew I was close. I had read enough trip reports to know that the lake sneaks up on you after the trail plateaus ... and it did. My energy picked up slightly and I began to think about where I would claim as a campsite. As Faulkner said, I had not only survived, I had prevailed!

First view of Ice Lake from trail #1808

When Ice Lake first came into view I stopped in the trail to take it all in. (I realize that if any of the hikers that frequent Ice Lake and the Eagle Cap Wilderness are reading this, they probably think I'm overly dramatic in my first view of the lake.) I have seen beautiful lakes and mountains in dozens of national parks and wildernesses, but I've never had such a hard time getting there, so this place took on an extra element of meaning. Interesting how that works, isn't it?

... and now to find a camping spot ... I had discussed with my son/daughter-in-law about where they camped. In the heat of the summer I probably would have found the shadiest spot I could find; but this was October and I wanted to be somewhere that the sun would shine on till the final moments of daylight. Instead of crossing the outlet and heading over to the popular peninsula, I veered up to the right (north) and went up from the level of the lake. 

My bedroom

Experienced hikers know that, at night, the cool air comes down from the high elevations and settles in the low spots. Consequently, when you're expecting cool/cold nights, you want to go up higher than the low spots of the camping areas. I found a couple of trees between which to hang my Blackbird XLC, but I was not overly thrilled with the whole campsite. I was so excited to be at Ice Lake that I settled for a view rather than looking around more for a really good campsite.

Log-jam at the outlet of Ice Lake

Shortly after getting my camp site organized I headed down to the lake for a couple of tasks: to get water and to soak my ankle (which I had rolled a couple of weeks prior). I sat on the log jam at the outlet of the lake and stuck my foot in the water. Yikes! I couldn't believe that liquid could be that cold. I could only endure the cold for 45 seconds or so and then I had to pull my foot out and let it warm in the sun. After soaking my ankle 10 or so times, I put my boot back on and went to another edge of the lake to filter some water. I collected a four-liter bag, and 750-ml hard bottle, and about two liters in the dirty water bag of my gravity system. I was pretty sure that would be enough for the next two days. The rest of the afternoon I putzed with my gear, took some photos, adjusted my hammock several times, and went through my food supply to think about supper.


I wasn't worried about bears in this area, but there were rodents, sheep, goats, deer, and probably an elk or two that would be into my food cache if given a chance. I found a limb on the old tree and tossed over a cord to hang my bag for the night. I knew deer could stand on their hind legs up to about eight feet, so I got it up about 12 feet above a little slope covered with scree (of course, critters that live in scree aren't slowed up by it like the two-legged critters).

I went back into some trees to set up my stove and I boiled water for supper, suddenly very hungry, realizing that I had only had a Snickers bar all day. Supper was pleasant ... mac-n-cheese, I think. It was delightful to be sitting in a spot looking down on Ice Lake after a hard climb. My cooking/eating area was not wonderful, but it was away from my sleeping area, which was a good arrangement. After supper I cleaned up, brushed my teeth, and got ready to climb into my hammock. 

Afternoon at Ice Lake

I got out and adjusted my hammock straps on the tree a couple of time, unsatisfied with my hang. I finally realized that I had tied my hammock between two trees that were small enough to be pulled in by my weight. When that happened, my center line that held my netting up off my face drooped very low, so I didn't have much room in my hammock for all of the getting situated that I usually do. Finally, I got situated and comfortable and fell asleep ... until about 2:00 AM ... when I was awakened by a horrible smell of animal-produced methane ... a giant fart that wasn't mine! The smell was horrible and I could see out of my hammock enough to see shadows of deer/goats/sheep/whatever passing by to get to the lake for water. I had seen deer droppings all around where my hammock was hanging, but never thought that I was in a freeway to the water for creatures propelled by methane.

The smell finally dissipated and I fell back to sleep only to be awakened a short time later by another breath-taking (and not in a good way) smell. Well, this was certainly a new experience for me and I guess I deserved it by hanging my hammock in a deer trail from mountaintop to water.

Good karma with an old tree skeleton

I woke before daylight, but drifted in and out until the sun peeked over the eastern ridge line and began to warm up. After an oatmeal breakfast I determined to move my campsite to a better location with bigger trees and one that was not in the methane highway. About 50 yards up the hill I spotted the sun-bleached skeleton of an old tree and the perfect campsite. The tree provided more than enough hooks for my gear to hang and a breeze-blocking space in which to cook. After a little analysis I found a larger tree and a solid stump between which to hang my bed. It didn't take me long to move my camp to the campsite I should have found the day before. 

When my son/d-in-law had been up at Ice Lake the previous October they climbed up to the top of Matterhorn and either on the way up or the way down had stopped on a rock bump to sun and eat lunch. I had determined that it was the perfect vantage point to see the whole lake ... and certainly do-able for an old man. I wasn't disappointed ... the trail up was a bit of a scramble, but the reward was enormous!

I had a powerbar and a drink and made a couple of videos and took lots of photos. Wow!

Ice Lake from up on the western slope

When I got back to my campsite I had a tortilla and some peanut butter and continued to be awed by the beauty of that area. In the spirit of old age, I decided to take a nap--but only a short one--to rest my tired bones from the previous day's pull uphill. After my power-nap I putzed with my gear a little and then decided to hike over to the peninsula to see where most people camp. There had to be at least 30-40 campsites over that and a few fire rings (even though fires are prohibited). Most trip reports say that, during the summer months, the campsites are full and late-comers search to find spaces to camp. On this day there was only one tent for a couple of backpackers who were fishing around the lake's edge as I walked over. The campsites on the peninsula were spectacular, but I was glad I was there at a time when I had the place pretty much to myself.

By the time I got back to my big tree the sun was setting to the south of Montezuma and the western slopes were already in the shade. One of the treats about hiking in the western mountains--as opposed to the Appalachians where I usually hike--is the mornings and afternoons when the sun has some of the terrain in the shade and some catching the bright rays. I still remember sitting with my son on the edges of the Grand Canyon watching the sun set and all of the changing shadows ... but that was only 30 years ago ...



After supper I fixed a cup of decaf and leaned back against the old tree and just watched the sun set over the top of the western peaks. Feeling much better about the quality of my hang I put on my long-johns and snuggled in under my Warbonnet Mamba quilt. 

Looks like a turkey skeleton to me ... maybe a zombie turkey

 I was not awakened during that night with the smell of goat farts, but I did wake several times as the winds picked up. There had been breezes throughout the days, as there usually are in the mountains--but these seemed to be heavier than usual breezes. In the south I would have thought that a front of some kind was blowing in/through, but I didn't know my western weather well, so I wasn't sure. Shortly before daylight I heard misting rain hitting my Superfly.

After climbing out of my hammock and checking on my gear hanging on the tree (as I normally do, I had covered my pack with a waterproof pack-cover). It was all dry. I grabbed some Tyvek, my stove, a waterbag, and my food bag and took it over to my Superfly to eat breakfast.

During breakfast I made a command decision to hike out that morning. I had taken provisions to stay three nights, but not knowing the weather patterns of those mountains, I decided to hike on out ... with two options. Option 1 was to camp at the big horse camp next to the bridge over Adam Creek; option 2 was to hike all the way back to my car. I determined that I would make that decision when I go to the horse camp.
 
It took me a bit longer to pack up sitting under my tarp, but it all worked and the tarp was the last thing I stuffed under my pack cover. I put on my Luke's silnylon rain jacket and my Z-pack kilt and got ready to head out. I took my prayer flags off the tree and stuffed them under my pack cover and looked back over the lake valley. Even in the mist it was breath-taking.

Rare beauty in October

I got a little teary hiking back down the trail when I first left the lake area. I'm not sure exactly why ... and I'm not a particularly emotional person (although I cried at My Dog Skip ... and stories about soldiers in Vietnam), but it was probably knowing that I would never be back up there to see that place that was so breath-takingly beautiful. When I turned 70 last year I began to much more earnestly consider my own mortality. It's interesting how one's perspectives change--or, at least mine have. Now every time I go someplace I consider whether or not I'll ever get there again. Most of the places I go in the Sipsey Wilderness are not hard to get to and I know I'll get there again if I live longer (Dang! I sound like I'm on my last leg ...). Ice Lake, though? I'm pretty sure I won't be able to make that climb again. I've enjoyed these photos, though, and the memories ... always the memories.

My son said  he was taking me to Goat Rocks next year ... it's in Washington, near Mt. Adams ... I can't wait!

I hit the tree cycles at their prettiest

Early morning sky just before it began to sprinkle

Adam Creek

Six goats up on the mountain .. squint harder ... see em?

Ice Lake, Wallowa Mountains, Eagle Cap Wilderness

Musings on a Quote from Carrot Quinn: Recent CDT Completer

I followed the blog of a young woman name Carrot Quinn (http://carrotquinn.com/) as she hiked the Continental Divide Trail (CDT). Carrot started at the Mexican border in the spring, but when she got to Cumbres Pass (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cumbres_Pass), to start the San Juan Mountains in southern Colorado, the snow was still too deep--and, according to most CDT hikers, the trail is not well-developed or -maintained, so, it's difficult enough to follow on good days--so, Carrot flipped up to the Canadian border with Montana and hiked south on the CDT.

On day 133 (14 September 2015) she finished her thru hike back at Cumbres Pass and wrote about some of her mixed feelings as she was finishing. Carrot is a pretty good writer and wrote in her blog about leaving the trail ... she said, "Tomorrow I return to the land of chairs, the land of things made by humans, the land where you don't hear elk bugling every night or notice the ptarmagins turning white or listen to the coyotes yip as the sun sets. The land where it doesn't matter if it's raining or if the wind is too strong for a tarp or how many hours you have before dark comes. The land where water doesn't flow magically out of a hole in the mountain and the nights don't rotate between silver-white and pitch-black as the moon waxes and wanes. The land where animal/nature magic is smothered beneath the asphalt, and a little part of you dies as well. The land where the stick-breakers don't dance around you while you sleep, in a circle, holding hands."

Carrot's quote is really special in capturing the downside to finishing a thru hike or any long hike. Versions of her expressions are how I feel every time I come out of the woods back to "civilization." We do occasionally get torrential rains and lots of thunder and lightening storms. We do get some snows in the mountains, which is always wet and heavy and dumps off the trees down your collar as you hike. We do get lots of ice that forms on the trees and melts and falls on your head as you look down for the trail. There aren't many bugling elks in the deep south, but there are hundreds of owls competing for territory, coyotes howling and yipping in the night, grunting feral pigs turning over logs for grubs and crunching on beechnuts, the ubiquitous crows telling everyone that you're nearby, and, of course, the stick-breakers who "dance around you while you sleep ...."  

Thanks, Carrot, for capturing those feelings we all feel when we get off the trail ... I hope you'll keep long-hiking and writing about your experiences ...

Colin Fletcher, in The River, wrote of the conflict between "civilization" and "wilderness" ... "Dedicated urbanites "know" beyond shadow of doubt – because doubt never raises its disturbing head - that civilization is the real world: you only "escape" to wilderness. When you're out and away and immersed, you "know" the obverse: the wilderness world is real, the human world a superimposed facade... The controversy is, of course, spurious. Neither view can stand alone. Both worlds are real. But the wilderness world is certainly older and will almost certainly last longer. Besides, the second view seems far healthier for a human to embrace.”

The continuing conflict between the "land of chairs" and the land of the "stick-breakers" is, perhaps, only in our minds ... but it always adds a level of reality that can only be understood and appreciated by those who have lived in both lands ... I am grateful that I have lived in both ...

Random Thoughts on the Wilderness Experience

I saw a quote by John Muir the other day that really grabbed me. It was, 

"So abundant and novel are the objects of interest in a pure wilderness that unless you are pursuing special studies it matters little where you go, or how often to the same place. Wherever you chance to be always seems at the moment of all places the best; and you feel that there can be no happiness in this world or in any other for those who may not be happy here."   

A bluff near FT 206

 The part of the quote that says, "... it matters little where you go, or how often to the same place ..." is particularly meaningful to me because since 2007 I've camped in the Sipsey Wilderness in the Bankhead National Forest of north Alabama more than 50 times ... I've gone there in each of the 12 months of the year at temperatures between 14º and 97º ... and each time I go, I have a different experience; sometimes very memorable, and sometimes not so memorable, but always glad to be in the woods ...


I've gone by myself most of the time, but occasionally with groups--usually students. I took students in at midnight one night and asked everyone to turn off their headlamps and hear the thousands of night sounds. The students were in awe of the dark night ... that is, until a large barred owl roosting above us screeched like a banshee and flew off through the night. (I think some of them might still be screaming!)




Sometimes there are leaves on the trees and sometimes the hardwoods are barren. I think I love the woods more when there are no leaves on the trees, but when the wildflowers are blooming it takes my breath away because of their beauty. I see blooms each spring that I haven't ever seen before.


Sometimes it's pouring rain, and sometimes I have to work hard to fill my water bottles because it's been so dry. I have about five bluffs I like to camp under when I know there is rain in the forecast. I love to sleep in a tent or hammock in the rain, but cooking in the rain is sometimes too fiddly. Sitting under a bluff and watching it rain nourishes my soul and refreshes my spirit. 

Camping near Borden Creek

Sometimes the trails are cleared of blowdowns, and sometimes I have to scramble over, under, and through fallen trees. I once went to Big Tree and had to fight through a recent blowdown that was not fun to negotiate--remnants were still there months later. After the tornadoes of several years ago, the woods changed dramatically from all of the damage. I still struggle to see the beauty that existed on FT 206 years ago.

Waterfall on FT 209

Sometimes the trails are crowded with hikers and backpackers, and sometimes I've not seen a human the entire four or five days I've been there. One Sunday morning when I was hammock camping on Ship Rock I woke to a professional-quality baritone voice singing, "How Great Thou Art," and echoing up and down the Sipsey canyon. Once I ran into a couple of college students who were carrying their gear in big, black garbage bags because the owned no packs ... they thought they were lost, but they were only 100 yards from where they wanted to go. Once I ran into a little old lady who was trying to hike on every trail in the Wilderness, but had gotten lost when she missed a trail intersection. I was happy to set her on her way up 206 where it crossed the creek. She called me her trail angel.

Waterfall on FT 209

Sometimes I hike on well-maintained trails that have been cleared for horse-riders, and sometimes I bushwhack several miles to my campsite. Once I thought I would take a "shortcut" to my campsite and ended up bushwhacking an extra four and a half miles because I was on a bluff 300' above my trail and couldn't find a place to get down. I never feel like I'm lost in the Sipsey Wilderness because I know the map so well I can find my way back to a main trail or road from anywhere.

I've hiked into the Wilderness early in the morning, and I've hiked in after midnight. During the hot summers, it's much more pleasant to hike at night. I've bushwhacked through briars and deep grass, and I've bushwhacked with snow on the ground.



I've seen deer, feral pigs, snakes, mice, squirrels, and have had a pack of coyotes howl no more than 40 yards from where I was camping. I was frightened the first time I ran into a very large coal black feral hog--the kind with tusks and all--right on the trail I needed to go down. I've run into so many of them over the years that I've learned how not to surprise them and how to shout and scare them away--so far, a confident shout rules the day. 

Big Tree

Now, in all honesty, when I was sitting by my fire one night and an alpha male coyote howled the traditional wolf-sounding howl just 40 yards away, and then his little pack of five or six (it sounded like a dozen) took up the howling and yipping, I leaned up and put a couple of more sticks to build up the fire. I usually hear the coyotes up on the ridge tops, but they must have been hunting down by the river. It made the hair stand up on the back of my neck for a few minutes ... at first I thought, WOLF!, but then I thought, there aren't any wolves in Alabama (are there?). Coyotes are generally skittish and this guy and  his pack moved on down the trail. (And, yeah, you're probably thinking of the Stephen King novel ...)



On one two-day trip I saw four copperheads in the trail, but now that the pigs have gotten more numerous, the snake population is smaller, I think. (I always think of the snake-eating pigs in the book/movie Lonesome Dove.) I never kill any snakes I come across ... they help to control the mouse and frog population ... and copperheads are, for the most part, non-aggressive. Watching a snake once, I learned the snakes have a reverse gear in their crawling muscles ... I came upon a large black runner crossing the trail ...black runners generally don't do the zig-zag movement some other snakes to, but just move in a straight line (sometimes very fast) ... When I saw him moving across the trail I stopped ... he stopped ... then when I moved, he put his crawl mechanism in reverse and backed right off of the trail ... it was pretty cool ... except he didn't have the beeper to warn others that he was backing up ... 

I always take ear plugs when I go to the Sipsey Wilderness because the cicadas and tree frogs are sometimes so loud they keep me awake.



I continue to be amazed at the number of people who do not want any part of a wilderness experience. Me? When I get in the wilderness I always wish I had a sign to put up on a nearby tree that says, Home.

Walkabout 2015 - Appalachian Trail Iron Mountain Gap to 19E May 2015

Out a window at the parking
lot of the hostel

I had scheduled my annual walkabout at the end of May hoping the rhododendrons would be blooming on the AT, but they weren't ... I guess I picked an altitude too high for the rhodos before June. I swear I thought they would be in bloom this time of year. Ah, well ... as I arrived at the Mountain Harbour Hostel between Roan Mountain, Tenn, and Elk Park, NC, though, I immediately noticed a hikers' shoes and socks in full "bloom" on the deck of the hostel. Stinky feet is not limited to hikers, but is almost always present when hikers are near.

The start of the section hike

     And let me give a plug for the Mountain Harbour Hostel on Hwy 19E near mile 393.8 on the AT. The hostel has been packed every night for the past six weeks and so has the B&B. MH has tent sites also and shuttles section hikers like me all over that region. But the feature I want to make sure you understand is the owner's, Mary's, breakfast ... every hiker I encountered on the trail either knew first hand or had heard that the breakfast at MH was the best on the AT. Mary certainly has my vote. For $12 you can forget how badly your feet hurt or how miserable you've been carrying rain-ladened gear. The showers at the hostel are wonderful, but the breakfast is orgasmic!

Guthook's Guide

     Thankfully, I had made a reservation several weeks in advance for the Saturday night of the Memorial Day weekend. I hadn't paid close attention to the holiday weekend, and, had I waited until driving up to MH, I wouldn't have had a place to stay that night. Anyway, I had made a reservation for a bed in the hostel, breakfast the next morning, and a reservation for a shuttle to Iron Mountain Gap at 363.1 on the AT.

My tarp near the
Clyde Smith Shelter

     Sunday morning after breakfast, David shuttled me to Iron Mountain Gap to begin my section hike. My pack weighed in at 32 lbs, including food. Not knowing how well I could carry my load on that section of the trail, I planned only six miles the first day planning to stay in/near the Clyde Smith Shelter. I honestly don't remember much about the trail on that first day, except that it wasn't particularly difficult. When I got to the shelter a hiker's dog began barking and barking at me ... the owner, Country Gold, introduced himself and apologized for his dog. There was a big camping area around the shelter and I decided to pitch my Z-Packs Hexamid Twin instead of staying in the shelter. As other hikers began to arrive, Sunshine, the dog, barked at everyone until Country Gold introduced himself. At some point, I began to discern that Country Gold was hearing impaired and his service dog was trained to bark to alert him to something/one coming near. After Country Gold introduced himself, Sunshine wouldn't bark at that person anymore.
     The weather was wonderful and I had a good setup, so the night was very pleasant and the meal preparation went well. 

My little pill bags

Looking off Little Rock Knob vista

     I had heart surgery a couple of years ago and have to take prescription meds every morning and every evening. Last year on my walkabout I stuffed all my meds in a big container and each morning and night had to pour them out on a bandana and sort through the pile until I found the meds I was supposed to take. Sometimes that's not easy when the weather conditions aren't great. This year I purchased some small 2X2 ziptop bags and wrote "AM" and "PM" on them to make the daily taking of meds much easier--sixteen little baggies for my walkabout. Worked perfectly and I didn't drop any meds or forget to take them ... 

Guthook's app for
Cloudland Park

     Monday morning I awoke, ate some oatmeal, and got on the trail about 9:30 ... which I thought was good, except when I went by the shelter and through the campsite, I was the last one to leave. Oh, well ... I slept pretty well and felt good for my second day. I wasn't looking forward to that day's trail, because I had to lose about 500 ft of elevation down to Hughes Gap and then began two huge climbs. The climb up and over to Ash Gap was over 1200 ft gain, and then another 900 ft gain up to the Roan Mountain/Cloudland Park area. For me, it was an all-day hike. My plan was to stay at the Roan High Knob shelter, but several SOBOs who passed me said that they had spent a very cold and windy night at the shelter; plus everyone was saying that a big storm was blowing in for the night. I thought that I would see if I could find a place in the trees before the park area to pitch a tent and hunker down for the night.
     The trail down to Hughes Gap was fairly uneventful. I stopped to look out over the valley from Little Rock Knob and got a passing hiker to take my pic. The view was nice, but not spectacular ... I've hiked too much in the west, I guess ... 

A lonesome rhodo near the
Cloudland Hotel site

     I crossed the road at Hughes Gap and started up the mountain ... and it was unrelentingly upward. Interestingly, AWOL's guide doesn't have anything listed between Hughes Gap and Ash Gap except a water supply back by Hughes Gap. It's one of those trails where you don't have the opportunity to look around much; you're just looking at where your feet will land on the trail. There are lots of "steps" typical on the GA/TN/NC AT ... big boulders that trail crews have pulled about to give the hiker something to step on to get to the next level. It's not fun, and it's not easy for old legs. 

Typical AT trail

     At Ash Gap's big campsite I was greeted with Sunshine's barks letting Country Gold know that I was coming into the camping area. CG introduced himself again, we shook hands, and Sunshine quit barking. I took my pack off and asked about the water source. CG told me that there was a water source down--way, way down--the hill, so I grabbed my water bottles and headed down ... and, dang! He wasn't exaggerating ... from way down by the spring I heard Sunshine bark a couple of sets, so I knew others had pulled into the campsite. Soon a guy and a girl came down to get water just as I was finishing. Of course, we talked about the hike down to the spring and the impending hike back up to the campsite.

Typical AT stream crossing

     Getting back to Ash Gap, CG told me he was done for the day and was climbing in his tent for a nap. We talked for a while and he said that he had been on the city streets for a while, then someone turned him on to the mountains and he'd been on the trail ever since. Sunshine started barking and another couple came in to take a break and get some water. This couple--a young twenty something--I would see several times throughout my hike ... although I never did get their names. The guy had Guthook's app on his phone and  he showed me the elevation from Ash Gap into the Cloudland Park area ... a pretty steep looking up. I said I would see them before Cloudland when they passed me, and I packed up and headed uphill. Phodo and two followers--one with a lute and one with two interlocking hulahoop-looking things--passed me somewhere after Ash Gap. He was shouting some sort of rant when he went by, reminding me of Del Gue's rant when he parted ways with Jeremiah Johnson. The two followers were pulled off the trail playing on a lute and singing while Del Gue/Phodo went on down to the facilities. I ran into Phodo again later, but never saw the lutist or the hoopster again.

From Carver's Gap looking
up to Round Bald

     As I got closer to the top, the weather got increasingly worse, and when I pulled into the Cloudland area, a typical cloud bank was blowing in and closing down any views. I took off my pack and went to the restrooms at the park area, then tried to decide what to do for the night. Some hikers--Phodo, Theseus, and the young couple--at the restrooms (the only porcelain on my section hike, so everyone was taking advantage of it) were talking about the storm that was supposed to hit that night, and, judging from the current wind and clouds, didn't look like I was going to have a dry evening.

Mountain storm rolling in

     The signs on the kiosk at the restroom said no overnight camping in the park area, so I went back down the AT a bit and found some trees under which to pitch my tent. By that time it was raining, so pitching my Hexamid without filling the bathtub floor with water was a challenge. "It was a dark and stormy night ..." so I secured my food in a bear bag and climbed into my tent for the night. I ate a power bar and drank some water, so I wasn't famished when I climbed under my quilt.

     Okay, so here's my two cents on the discussion about cuben fiber tarps/tents: does the cuben fiber leak in a hard rain, or is it a tympani effect of spraying the condensation from the inside of the tarp down on you? That first night of rain, I had been in my Hexamid for an hour or so when it started to really rain hard. I lay there and felt a definite mist coming down in my face from the cuben material. I figured it was the condensation misting down on me from the very large, hard drops of rain hitting the outside of the tarp. However, it rained hard on me a couple of nights later just after putting up a completely dry tarp and not having been under the tarp long enough to build up condensation and the mist still camp down. My thoughts now are that the material does permit some of the moisture from a hard rain to mist through ... but I wouldn't swear to it. My son says there is a big discussion on BPL about that very topic. I'll have to dial in to that and see what those guys have to say. Anyway, what I did the second night in the rain was spread my Z-Pack cuben poncho over my quilt to prevent as much mist from reaching my quilt as possible. My quilt was damp the first night when I didn't spread the poncho over me, and dry the second night when I did. Of course, given the slick nature of the cuben poncho, I had to keep waking up during the night to make sure the poncho had not slid off. 

     Neither night did I sleep great, but most of the time in the woods I don't sleep great anyway because I'm a very light sleeper. I take earplugs for sleeping in shelters, but if I'm sleeping in a tent I want to be able to hear in case a critter comes stomping around my campsite.
     The next morning I packed my damp stuff ... I should have made coffee and eaten a proper breakfast, but it was still that mountain wind and cloudiness stuff, and, if I was going to hike in the rain/wind it would take me longer, so I just drank water, ate a power bar, peed in the porcelain, refilled my water bottles, and headed on down the trail. I knew I had a drop in elevation from the Cloudland Hotel to Carver's Gap and then a climb up and over Round Bald, Jane Bald, and around Grassy Ridge Bald before heading on to Yellow Gap.

Overmountain Shelter

     I was really hoping for clear weather for the balds, but didn't get it. At least it wasn't raining ... but I had really hoped for views from the balds. Round Bald was a pull for me with a heavy, moisture-laden pack. I saw the young couple's tent in the trees halfway up the trail. They had said they were going to try to make it to Overmountain before the rain set in, but, evidently, had decided to pitch under the trees with a wind break on their western side. At the restroom the afternoon before, Theseus had said he was going to try to make it to Grassy Ridge Bald to catch the sunset, but obviously that didn't happen in the stormy weather. I never did know where he was hanging. Phodo was somewhere out there, too, but I never saw him with his entourage until the next day. Jane Bald was hard on the old legs, but at least I didn't have to top out on Grassy Ridge Bald. The trail slabbed the side of it.
     The young couple passed me somewhere on the side of Grassy Ridge Bald and were breaking at the Stan Murray Shelter when I went by. I commented that they'd have to pass me again, but the trail wasn't too tough into Yellow Gap, so I was at Overmountain when they arrived.

From the loft inside Overmountain Shelter

     I have seen photos of Overmountain and it's usually a feature on every video of this section of the AT. I've always wanted to stay there and was really glad to find that it was not yet crowded when I arrived. Since some were predicting a storm during the night, I had decided that I wanted to stay upstairs inside the loft. I found a corner and staked my claim as the shelter quickly began filling up. The culture of Overmountain is interesting. There were several tents pitched upstairs--at least one so it could dry out from the night before. A couple of tents were pitched so the occupants would have some seeming protection from mice scurrying about at night--although I didn't ever see/feel any run across me. There was a woman upstairs--among the 20 or so sleeping there--who was accompanied by the largest trail dog I had ever seen. The dog was older, though, and very well-mannered, so he was no problem. The young couple pitched their tent and climbed in. The owners of one of the tents had decided to move outside after some complaints that their tent took up too much room--it really didn't ... but the woman who was with them kept her tent pitched inside. Probably three-fourths of the people upstairs were solo hikers and could spread their pads where ever they could find a 25X72 space on the floor.

Irises growing near
Overmountain Shelter

     After I ate a Packit Gourmet meal of Potato Samosa (a little too spicy for me that night), I took my Crazy Creek chair out and sat to watch the evening with a half dozen other shelter occupants. Theseus was out there and holding court. Theseus is a 19-year old, very intelligent, very clever/funny, who is recovering from the death of his father earlier this year in a kite-skiing accident. Theseus hikes in a skirt; an idea I have thought about on several hot and humid occasions.
     We sat out there well after hiker midnight and I finally decided not to fight it anymore and get on my little pad, put in my earplugs, and catch some much-needed sleep. I was told the next morning that it stormed loudly during the night, but I never heard a thing. I was tired from not getting much sleep the night before and tired from hiking in an old body, and it was really good sleep for me.
     I woke the next morning with someone standing over me ... it was the old dog, who, evidently smelled my morning breath from across the way and had strolled over to check it out. He sniffed my mouth, kind of snorted, and strolled back to his pad across the loft. It's always helpful for someone to tell you that you need a breath mint before getting close to anyone in the morning. Thanks, old buddy!

Overmountain Shelter from the ridge
 heading up out of Yellow Gap

     Most of the folks who were packing up were headed to Mountain Harbour nine miles up the trail ... well, down in elevation, actually ... Some of them expected to get a place in the hostel, but I told them that a hiker I'd passed had called from Carver's Gap and the hostel folks had said that every bed was reserved for the rest of the week. There were $10 tent sites, however, which included a shower, and anyone could make a reservation for breakfast--which I strongly encouraged them to do. Someone asked me if I was headed to Mountain Harbour and I said that I was only going to Doll Flats because I was only section hiking and not in any hurry to get out of the woods.
     The climb out of Yellow Gap was continuous and soon I was heading up the side of Little Hump, and 800 ft gain from Overmountain. The trail up Little and Big Hump is a foot-deep trough in a field of heavy grass in which one can only place his/her feet one in front of the other. Just as I started up Little Hump, I heard some shouting and saw a bear run out of the woods near some rocks, bound across the hillside, and run into the woods. It was the first bear I had seen since two years ago on my section hike down in Georgia. 
     Another part of the challenge is that the trail goes straight up the side of Little Hump and there are a couple of false summits leading one to believe that he/she is closer to the top than he/she actually is. Finally I reached the summit of Little Hump, paused for a moment, looked over to Big Hump and wondered why the trail snaked into the woods and didn't just go down the side of Little Hump to Bradley Gap.
     When the trail finally came out of the woods and bottomed out at Bradley Gap, I looked up to three or four more false summits. Again the trail was a foot-deep trough about ten inches wide. I was exceedingly happy that it was not pouring rain because that trough would have become a foot-deep stream coming down the mountain. Looking to both sides of the trail up through the grass one could easily see where the previous iterations of the trail had been. Evidently, when the trough gets too deep to walk in, the hikers begin to make another trail just beside the trough. In several places I could see where other hikers got tired of walking the trough and started another path up the side of the hump.
     About a third of the way up Big Hump was the first of three fences. This fence had a V-gate through which one could squeeze their packs, but supposedly through which large farm animals could not pass. When I got to the fence I decided to take a water/power bar break and sat down against the fence without even taking off my pack. I took about a 20-minute break ... the sky was beautiful, a breeze was blowing, I was off my tired feet, and the view was spectacular.

Sitting at the first fence almost to the top of Big Hump ...
this was the best spot on my hike

     Just over the summit of Big Hump is a plaque to Stan Murray, who was instrumental in establishing this trail through the highlands. Leaving the summit of Big Hump--where one could almost see/hear Julie Andrews singing and twirling "... the hills are alive with the sound of music ...."--the trail went down about 900 ft through a rocky and muddy trail ... from the sublime to the not-so-sublime. 

From the ridge just above Doll Flats

     Trail crews had been doing a lot of recent trail repair from Big Hump to Doll Flats and it was pretty much a mess right now. One girl who came through Doll Flats heading to the hostel said, "Those rocks were just plain rude coming down that mountain." I had to agree with her. When I pulled into Doll Flats there were a couple of women already setting up their tent. They had been camped on the outside deck at Overmountain just under where I was spread out. The weather looked as if it were about to change from sunny with clouds to cloudy with rain, so I wasted no time putting up my Hexamid. I went down the hill to get water and found a couple of pipes coming out of the rocks, neither of which were producing much more than a trickle, so it took about and hour to get my four liters for the night/morning.

Leaving NC at Doll Flats

     I put my CC chair up against a log and cooked my dinner in peace, looking southward at the mountains I had just come down. The clouds were rolling in, covering the tops of the closest mountains, but the sun was still shining through the clouds occasionally, so I didn't have to rush to get my bear bag hung and my pack covered for the night.
     As I crawled into my Hexamid, the rains started and storm descended. (See the discussion above about the mist that comes in the cuben fiber tarp.) I covered my quilt with my poncho and went to sleep. I woke up several times during the night to make sure my foot was not sticking outside the bathtub floor, but, overall, slept fairly well. The rain stopped some time during the night--not sure when, and my boots stayed dry under a Tyvek lean-to I had rigged next to my Hexamid. There is no way to remain bone dry in the Southern Appalachians when it rains, so the dampness was expected.
     About 9:30 the following morning, I headed on down the trail to 19E and my vehicle parked at Mountain Harbour. The trip down was uneventful, but seemed longer than it was because my feet were so tired. It was another trail losing elevation that worked on your knees, calves, and feet trying to keep from slipping on rocks and roots. I made it to 19E sometime about noon and walked down to my car in the parking area at Mountain Harbour B&B.
     After I got my hiking shoes/socks off and got my flipflops on I went up to the porch of the hostel right outside the camp store. Several of the hikers I'd met along the trail and at Overmountain were sitting out in the sun trying to decide whether to stay another night or head up the trail a ways. We talked and laughed and compared stories about the section from Roan to 19E. We complained about the steepness of the Hump mountains and the narrowness of the trail through the grass. We compared incredulity about the trail from Little Hump to Big Hump which didn't go the (seemingly) most direct path, but meandered through the woods. The young couple said that they were the ones who hollered at the bear on Little Hump and Theseus told a little more about his experiences growing up.
     Once again, at 70+ years, I learned and re-learned some things ... I learned that cuben fiber isn't totally waterproof ... I learned that the stories and attitudes of the hikers at 400 miles are somehow different from those at 32 miles ... I learned that I never need all of the food I haul on the trail (I should have learned this many times over) ... I re-learned that everyone must truly hike their own hike ... I re-learned that everyone has their own reasons for being on the trail ... I re-learned that most of the people in the woods and on the trails are generous, kind, helpful, and good people ... and that I'm very fortunate to have the health to get out among them.
     When I got back to civilization I looked up a trail journal of a woman--trail name Rue--who was in the 400+ miles of her thru hike when I talked briefly with her. In her last post she'd written about how miserable she was and how she was trying to decide how to get off the trail and back to Delaware. She'd chosen her name from the character in Hunger Games and, after reading her trail journal, I was drawn to a scene in the book where Katniss is talking to Heymich and says, "There is only one winner in the games." Heymich replies to her, saying, "Nobody ever wins the games. Period. There are survivors. There's no winners." Does that describe thru hikers? I hope Rue will stay on the trail ... and I hope Theseus finds whatever he's searching for.
     I wrote in an earlier post on this blog that, for me, the joy was really in the journey, not the destination. I guess, though, that for thru hikers the destination is everything, and everyone who, like Rue, does 400 miles and then bails out feels like a failure ... Maybe I'm glad never to have been a thru hiker ... maybe it's too much about the destination. Maybe I just want to connect with the mountains and "get their good tidings."

Always beautiful to brighten my day!

The elevations of my walkabout