The Smokies Part 2 – 03/29-26/31

The return to the new gap

There are some places on the Appalachian Trail that stay with you long after you’ve left them. Newfound Gap quickly became one of those places.

Chuck and I were taken by Scott around 9am to the trailhead at Newfound Gap. When we arrived, the place was full of hikers and visitors; In retrospect, it was almost overwhelming. Families, tourists, cameras, barking dogs, and hikers filled every corner of the parking area. I thanked good old Scotto and left.

Now the hike out of Newfound Gap is a very gradual and level gravel road. For any backpacker or hiker, it would be a highway, we would fly up it.

BUT!

You can’t do that for about 8 miles because it’s PACKED.

I think I used up all my “To your left!” and all my “I’ll slide past you, thanks!” that I had saved. I hadn’t realized it at the time, but the highlight of the trail was Charlie’s bunion, which I knew nothing about and was very intrigued to see.

The camera incident

I stopped to get my camera and my heart stopped dead when I couldn’t find it anywhere.

I realized I had left it at the hotel.

I immediately called the hotel to check. Fortunately, they secured it.

Now he just had to run a mile and pray that Scott wasn’t gone yet.

Luckily he hadn’t and he took me back to the hotel. I grabbed the camera and we returned to the hole. Unfortunately for me, traffic had become a disaster and I didn’t make it back to the trail until around 11 a.m.

I thanked Scott again for saving my butt and started accelerating to make up for lost time. Today I would make an 18 mile day to continue my search for Alex and Cody.

Charlie’s bunion

As I continued along the trail, I ran into a woman who flagged me down and asked if I was an experienced hiker. When I answered yes, she immediately took the opportunity to ask me if I needed anything. He treated me to an apple, some jerky, and a bar of cheese. He hadn’t had any magical traces in quite some time, by Georgia standards, about 3 days, and he was happy to accept.

The same thing happened two more times.

I was very spoiled passing through that section, which more than made up for the slowness while swimming among day hikers.

As I approached the 8 mile mark, I saw the sign for the short 0.2 mile blue flare toward Charlie’s Bunion. I turned left and walked along a trail of red, brown, and white sedimentary rock toward the view, perched high on the ridges of the Great Smoky Mountains.

And thank God I did.

Charlie, your bunion is very impressive!

This was by far one of the most beautiful views I had seen so far. The mountains stretched into the distance, layer after layer disappearing into the famous blue haze that gives the Smokies its name. The rocky outcrop that made up the view stood in the middle of a vast bowl of green and brown trees.

I walked to the edge of the red rock to look down a sheer drop of over 100 feet. The wind picked up a little as I took in the nature around me, bringing with it the smell of pine, wet earth, and the unknown.

There is nothing, and I mean nothing, more exhilarating than the expanse of nature and the dangers and treasures it holds.

The Mystic Mountains

The rest of the Smokies were awesome.

The forests were deep and dense. The sound was swallowed up by the depths of shadows and moss. I suddenly realized how alone I was. I hadn’t seen any other hikers for at least 6 miles.

The antiquity of growth around me began to truly set in. The Smokies were ancient Cherokee land. They called it holy land and honestly, I can see why. From the sound of moss eating to the overwhelming presence of the forest, it seems as if it is swallowing you into its depths.

The noises of the cars disappeared. Both day hikers and hikers were nowhere to be seen.

I was just alone.

At one point, I sat on a log enjoying the silence when I heard what could only be described as the sound of cutting air. A cutting, hissing noise overhead. It wasn’t loud and if I had been walking I probably wouldn’t have heard it.

But when I finally understood what was making the noise, I was amazed.

Crows.

Large jet-black crows flew quickly through the close-knit trees. They would drop down, click once or twice with their beaks, then slice through the air before landing gracefully and clicking again.

It’s not until you slow down and start noticing that you see the little things happening in the forest around you.

The trail has taught me that, the art of noticing what is around you.

To find the beauty in everything.

Leaving the Smokies

This is where things get fun.

And funny as at the beginning of all my problems on the trail, and what would become a recurring theme on my hike.

You see, up until this point along the way, I had been trying pretty hard. I was a remarkably fast walker. I was moving forward on the big days. I was making progress.

Well, in the process of “progressing,” I didn’t realize how tight my muscles, ligaments, and tendons were getting.

As I began to leave the Smokies, descending toward Davenport Gap and the northern boundary of the national park, my right Achilles tendon began to tighten and hurt.

Coming from the running world, I’m used to just pushing through the pain and then resting when I’m done.

Unfortunately, the trail doesn’t accommodate that.

This is not a one-day race, or even a multi-day race.

This is a marathon of several months, every day.

As I continued to move toward the end of the Smokies, I began to slow down more and more.

The pain got worse and it hurt even more every time I went downhill.

And lucky for me, I had to go downhill all the way to get out of the Smokies.

The pain continued to get worse when I came out.

My last day in the Smokies would end with an 18 mile day at Standing Bear Hostel.

Finally, I saw the sign marking the northern boundary of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

I walked past the waterfall on the other side, crossed under Interstate 40, and headed up the short path to Standing Bear Hostel.

Standing Bear Hostel

Standing Bear was an experience.

And if you’ve walked the trail, you know why.

As I approached the lodge, banjo music wafted through the trees. I crossed a small bridge over a stream and entered what I could only describe as a fallout shelter. There was a resupply in what looked like a hobbit hole hidden in the side of some stairs. The bunk room was an open-air wooden barn, and next to it was an open-air kitchen shed.

A large man in denim overalls and a thick Southern accent directed me toward the «amenities,» which was a strong term for a cold outdoor shower, a hand-washing laundry, and the outdoor bunk beds.

One woman put a plate of pizza on the kitchen table and said it was available for hikers. I made a mental note of that and then went to delete all my tasks.

After making my bed, doing laundry, charging my electronics, and finally returning to the kitchen, there were 3 slices left.

Now, at this time of day, it was dark. Night had come and I didn’t want to turn on the kitchen light and blind anyone.

So I reached for the pizza, threw out the first slice, then the second, and for the last, I decided I might as well heat it up and enjoy it.

When I went to the microwave I almost vomited at what I saw in the light.

My pizza was moving.

And it wasn’t the pepper on the pizza that was moving…

Many more ants than I’d like to admit were crawling all over my pizza.

Which leads me to believe that the last two portions I ate were also covered in ants.

It took all my willpower not to throw up everything I had eaten.

The thoughts of ants inside me made me cringe a lot.

The only obvious option seemed to be to go to bed and act like it never happened.

So I went and wet my feet, Achilles and ankles in the cold stream, listening to the water running under the trees.

Tomorrow would bring another section of trail, another mountain, and another lesson.

Tonight, I just crawled into my bunk and fell asleep.