Day 23: Welcome to the Smokies

This Monday morning made me feel really excited.

After two full zero days of resting, recovering, eating good food, and doing absolutely no hiking, I was finally ready to head back.

And what better way to return than by entering the Great Smoky Mountains National Park?

It also helped that the sun was finally shining after two days of pretty gnarly weather. Honestly, seeing blue skies made me feel even more grateful that I avoided walking through all that mess.

Crossing Fontana Dam I felt surreal.

The views were spectacular and there was something really exciting about knowing that I was entering one of the most famous sections of the entire Appalachian Trail.

Then I saw it.

The signal.

Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

For the next few days, the Smokies would be home.

I honestly haven’t visited many national parks in my life, so I was especially excited. So many people had hyped the Smokies before my hike that I was eager to see if they lived up to their reputation.

In the permit box near the entrance, I deposited my hiker permit and had a strange, emotional moment.

It was like saying goodbye to a chapter of the journey and hello to a completely new one.

Georgia and North Carolina had already tested me in more ways than I expected.

Now it was the Smokies’ turn.

The highlight of the day was easily Shuckstack Fire Tower.

And wow.

I was lucky enough to have some incredibly clear weather, which meant I had some absolutely unreal views from the top.

The mountains stretched endlessly in all directions.

Layer upon layer of ridges fading into the distance.

The kind of vision that makes you stop talking for a minute because your brain needs time to process what you’re seeing.

I sat there for a while taking it all in.

And naturally I had a very dangerous thought:

Surely it can’t get any better than this.

A classic mistake.

Because the trail always listens to you.

And he loves to prove you wrong.

One thing I hadn’t talked about yet was the closure of the shelters in the Smokies.

Several shelters were closed due to bear activity, forcing us to adapt our itinerary.

And not just a little.

A lot.

Instead of nice evenly spaced days, we had a strange schedule where some days would be quite short (about 6 miles) while others would be longer. Monsters over 13 miles.

The first two shelters, Mollie’s Crest and Russell FieldThey were both closed.

That meant our plan was to camp in Birch spring gapthen pass by both closed shelters the next day to reach the next open stop.

Simple in theory.

More complicated in practice.

Like most things are here.

When we arrived at Birch Spring, things still seemed pretty calm.

Sunny.

Calm.

Nice little campsite.

And then…

Chaos.

Apparently there was a huge wasp nest somewhere nearby, because out of nowhere we started to be attacked.

And when I say swarm, I mean those little demons were everywhere.

Buzzing around us.

Buzzing in our rain flies.

Buzzing near our faces.

They generally acted as if they were paying the camp fees and we were the trespassers.

The only explanation I could come up with was that after our stay in the city, we smelled a little less wild than usual and the wasps took personal offense to that.

Fortunately I did No This time you will get stung.

But I absolutely hid in my tent as if it were an air raid shelter.

As if the wasps weren’t enough, the weather decided to join the party.

At first it started as rain.

Then very quickly…

This was no longer rain.

This was a downpour.

The type of rain where every sound turns into water.

The water hits the leaves.

Water hitting the earth.

The water hits your tent.

water stroke all.

My tent had weathered the weather before, but this was the first really bad storm I had faced.

And I’ll be honest:

I was nervous.

Very nervous.

I’ve gotten pretty good at setting up my tent, but in a climate like that, every little doubt starts to creep into your brain.

Did I bet that corner hard enough?

Is that panel sagging?

Did I pitch too low? Too high?

Am I about to wake up floating?

There is a special kind of helplessness that comes from being inside a tent during a storm.

There’s nothing left to do.

No fix.

No adjustment.

Not control.

Just you, some nylon and vibes.

So I did the only thing I could do.

I snuggled into my quilt, listened to the rain pounding against my tent, and waited for morning…

It would still be dry.

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