Days 24 and 25: Fog, Misery, and Mild Hatred of the Smokies

I’m combining these two days because frankly…

they were twisted.

And now I understand perfectly why they call them smoked.

Walking out of my tent the morning after that downpour, I was immediately greeted by exactly what you’d expect:

Mist.

Fog.

Darkness.

An atmosphere so aggressively gray that it seemed as if the mountains themselves were saying: «Good morning. I hope you enjoy the suffering.»

I was also able to evaluate the consequences of the storm.

Surprisingly, my tent had held up better than I expected. It was definitely wet, but nowhere near as soaked as I feared.

Others were not so lucky.

Narwhale had it especially hard.

Their tent completely collapsed during the storm.

And when I say failed, I mean failed.

At one point, he told us he was literally sitting inside his tent holding an umbrella trying to stay dry.

An umbrella.

Inside the store.

Which is both hilarious and deeply tragic.

After that experience, he made the call to return to Fontana and wait for his replacement tent.

Honestly, I couldn’t blame him.

The last thing anyone wants is to be stuck in the Smokies without reliable shelter.

As sad as I was to see him go, I knew we would meet up in a couple of days when we resupplied in Gatlinburg.

So it wasn’t goodbye.

just a short see you later.

That left Dread Pirate and me to continue moving forward.

And we moved on, we did it.

Yesterday he had given us some beautiful views.

The Smokies apparently decided that was enough joy for a lifetime.

Why during these two days?

There were basically no opinions.

Every panoramic view that FarOut promised would be impressive gave us…

Cloud.

Just cloud.

Nothing but clouds.

A premium subscription to fog.

Cold, wet, miserable fog.

And now, we have established something important about me:

Yo I hate being cold.

Yo I hate being wet.

And I especially hate being both at the same time.

As if morale wasn’t already in trouble, we also had to pass by closed shelters due to bear activity.

And let me tell you…

Those closing signs in the fog?

Not comforting.

At all.

Something about seeing ominous warning signs hanging in misty forests makes your brain start making up scenarios.

Every broken twig became suspicious.

Every rustle in the undergrowth seemed threatening.

I was half convinced that a bear was about to materialize out of the fog and decided I looked delicious.

Needless to say, the motivation to keep going was high.

A bright spot?

I absolutely flew to Spence Field Shelter.

And when I say flew, I mean for me.

I got from Birch Spring to Spence Field in about four hourswhich, honestly, is a little crazy by my standards.

I think the weather really helped.

Stopping to rest when it’s cold and wet is deeply unpleasant.

Because once you stop moving, you become a human lollipop.

So I just…kept walking.

Fast.

When I arrived at the shelter, the sun was already beginning to rise.

Miracles happen.

I immediately set all my wet gear to dry.

It worked…

With semi-success.

Which is test language for «better than nothing.»

The next day was somehow…

More of the same.

Rain.

Fog.

Cold.

Misery.

And by now I was starting to hate the Smokies.

I know, I know.

Everyone talks about how magical they are.

Maybe they are.

But at this particular moment?

I didn’t feel the magic.

I was moving slower too.

I think mentally I was just exhausted.

Then came the worst part.

A sudden storm came up and for about fifteen minutes we were completely thrown around.

And naturally, because the trail loves irony, it was on top of a ridge with basically zero cover.

So I had no choice but to keep pushing.

The trail became what I can only describe as:

Appalachian™ Water Slide

Rock.

Mud.

Water.

Steep downhill.

Zero traction.

Maximum danger.

Somehow I stayed upright.

Which seems like a miracle.

Because if I had slipped, I really think I could have slid down the mountain.

After what seemed like an endless day, I finally reached Calvo Silers Shelter.

Taking off my shoes has never felt so satisfying.

Unfortunately, that relief was quickly replaced by another lovely trail reality.

My feet were peeling.

Seriously.

The days of constant rain, sweat, wet socks and soaked shoes had completely destroyed them.

Rough?

Yeah.

But it’s also just part of hiking.

No glamorous feet here.

Just varying degrees of damage.

Still, I managed to dry off a bit and finally relax.

Despite everything, I caught a glimpse of a small sunset through the trees.

Just a little hint of color that cuts through all the gray.

And honestly, that seemed appropriate.

These two days were hard.

Really difficult.

But even in the midst of all the fog, rain and misery…

There were still small moments of beauty.

Even if the Smokies were testing every ounce of my patience.