My deadliest day on the trail (so far…)

As I was settling into the Brown Fork Gap shelter, the other campers were already discussing the weather for the next day. The forecast showed rain beginning early in the morning and a sudden drop in temperature in the afternoon that would change the rain to sleet and snow.

My friend Peaks had already sent a message to the AT Trek blogger group chat to warn everyone that the weather conditions would be difficult (potentially dangerous) and recommended that we take a zero if possible.

I even consulted my AI, Trail Bot, to see what it said. The answer: leave Brown Fork Gap early or not at all.

Despite all the warnings, my plan of action was clear: the next day I would arrive in Fontana. The Farout app showed a restaurant in Fontana Marina, so I planned to have a hot meal after the hike, and then I would stay at the Fontana Hilton and enjoy the relative luxury of a shelter with a real bathroom and indoor plumbing, even a shower. I would move to a resupply and start on the Smokies the next day.

That night, while I was sleeping in the shelter, I was awakened by a storm, so I covered my head with the quilt and continued analyzing the weather forecast on my phone. No matter how many times I checked, the forecast still showed terrible weather.

After falling back asleep, I was awakened by the hiss of my campmates’ deflated mattresses, so I forced myself to move and make my own bed. The rain continued. I put on my raincoat to pick up my bag of food from the bear spot. I had coffee and a cup of oatmeal at the shelter and the others were leaving. It was barely daylight when I left, dressed in my Frogg Toggs.

The rain was constant and I knew that, whether from sweat or the rain getting into my suit, I was going to be wet, but I hoped I would be insulated and warm. I opted not to wear gloves because I thought they would be useless if they were wet. Turns out they were also useless if you didn’t use them.

In stark contrast to the day before – leaving the NOC and then running up Jacob’s Ladder – the climbs that day weren’t terrible. I was so intent on moving fast and fighting the cold that I barely noticed the elevation changes.

A few miles from Fontana, the weather, as predicted, began to worsen. As if someone had flipped a switch, it went directly from rain to snow, and the snow immediately began to accumulate.

At that moment, my hands were cold. I finally took off my gloves and put them on, but my hands were so cold they didn’t help. I held my trekking poles in my armpits and walked with my hands in my pockets, which required careful layering of clothing for access. In the end, they were warm enough that the gloves helped a little, but the numbness in my fingers never went away.

Remembering all the warnings, I realized that hypothermia is one of the most dangerous hazards on the trail. I was wet, but insulated in my Frogg Toggs as long as I kept moving. However, I couldn’t afford to stop; I needed to get to Fontana as soon as possible.

I closed the last few kilometers in cold, miserable misery and stumbled across the road to the Fontana Marina car park. Just inside the parking lot was a bathroom with plumbing and a heater. Fontana Resort had advertisements and signs all over the outside of the small building with the Wi-Fi password for the marina restaurant and its number for a shuttle service and room reservations, but ironically, there was no phone signal or Wi-Fi there. I took a photo of the sign.

I saw the marina by the water, so I headed towards it, shivering. Going in for a sandwich and a beer would definitely help me regain perspective and decide whether to continue on to the Fontana Hilton or get a room at the resort. At the time, the resort was winning.

As I walked towards the marina, I noticed that it was very quiet. A car drove down there, but then turned around and went back up. The houseboats moored along the dock were eerily quiet, and when I arrived at the restaurant I discovered it was closed. No business hours were posted, but as it was the end of the lunch rush on a weekday, I hadn’t considered that the place might be closed when I got there. It was the first time I learned an important rule on the AT: you lose track of time when you’re on the road, but no matter when you arrive in a town, you can be sure it will be the day its highest-rated (or only) restaurant closes.

Cold and frustrated, I looked for a phone signal to call the Fontana Dam Resort. Nothing. Then I remembered the sign with the Wi-Fi password. Finally, a success.

While online with the resort on a VOIP call, a man dressed in hunter camouflage and carrying an assault rifle came around the corner; I guess it came from one of the houseboats. He stared at me. I looked up from the phone, nodded at him, and smiled charmingly, imagining that someone with such overcompensating weaponry must be more afraid of me than I was of him. He grunted and walked to the front of the marina and then turned back and headed back to his houseboat.

Meanwhile, someone from the resort answered. I was able to make a reservation, choosing a king-size single bed for myself, and they sent a shuttle, so I scrambled up to the pickup point next to the bathroom I’d passed earlier.

When I arrived, who should I see but my Portuguese friend Good Vibes? He was in the bathroom trying to warm up after facing the same weather as me. Seeing that I was shivering, he invited me to curl up in the warmth.

“I have a shuttle to the resort on the way,” I told him. «I just made a room reservation.»

He made the suggestion that we share the room and split the cost, which seemed like a great plan.

«Well, I have a single king-size bed. But when we get there, we can see if we can get two queen-size beds. Worst case scenario, I’ll even share a king-size bed. It’s probably bigger than the shelter I slept in last night.»

The driver, an older man named Doug, showed up shortly after to pick us up. He made his rounds, stopped by the Fontana Dam Shelter, also known as the Fontana Hilton, and stopped an unsuspecting young hiker to ask if she wanted a ride somewhere. He pulled out an earpiece and paused to say he kept walking, earning the amazement and admiration of the two wet grown men trying to warm up in the back of the ferry.

At the resort we checked in and were able to change our reservation to two queen beds. Good Vibes had a pick up package that included some supplies and a set of micro spikes to deal with the ice in the Smokies. In the room, we took hot showers and hung our wet clothes over the fan to dry. Even with the hot water from the shower, I still couldn’t regain feeling in my fingers.

Once we were clean and our clothes were dry, Good Vibes and I got Doug to pick us up and take us to the only restaurant open, which was basically a gas station that served the basics like hamburgers and hot dogs, but at least included a small bar with beer on tap. We ate and drank, then headed back to the resort to resupply for hiking the Smokies.

At the store I met my friend Bogart, with some of his friends, including the tall one who now calls himself Grasshopper. They were getting ready to head back to the Fontana Hilton for the night and would start the Smokies around the same time as Good Vibes and I.

With bellies full and business taken care of, Good Vibes and I took it easy that night, called our wives, and rested up for the big week ahead. While it hadn’t gone as planned, I was grateful that my experience at Fontana worked out the way it did. Most of all, I was glad to be alive.