Update for Sunday, April 25

I'm in Johnson City, Tennessee, with my girlfriend, Ashley, for the weekend.We stayed in our room at Days Inn last night and fell asleep during SNL. Tonight we have plans to take in some folk music at The Acoustic Coffeehouse downtown. Purely by coincidence bluegrass and folk music has been a staple of our dating life since I took her out to Cafe Nola in Frederick in November. It just seems to find us wherever we go.

Ashley arrived late at night on Friday to meet me at Kincora. Kincora is a legend of a hostel situated in the hills of Tennessee at 412.8 miles from Springer Mountain, just .2 miles off the trail. The name comes from a mountain in Ireland [the owner, Bob Peoples, has a heavy Boston accent]. The hostel is a simple structure attached to a house. The second floor is a bunkhouse; the first floor is a kitchen and common room with an additional small bunkhouse and a private room. Everywhere on the downstairs ceiling there are pictures of hikers from 1996 to the present posing next to the Katahdin sign; the class of '09's shots were near the front door.

I had plans to slack-pack that morning with about a dozen other hikers. But when I woke up and looked outside, saw the rainy, gray sky, and then I remembered my last slack-packing experience, which was also rainy, I decided not to. Besides, I find that slack-packing breaks my northbound momentum. I'd prefer to walk the Appalachian Trail as it's meant to be walked: With a full pack in one direction.

So I zeroed. During the day I took the free shuttle into nearby Hampton, TN I think three times. The shuttle inched down the mountain on a twisting road without lane markers, and often without guard rails, and deposited its riders in a plaza anchored by IGA.

In the evening, there was a bounteous feast. Honestly it was a great experience. I don't remember there being an impromptu hiker feast like this on my northbound hike in the summer of '09. Thin Mint cooked chicken Parmesan with spaghetti, while a hiker named 3 Bears made salad and a cake.

[From front left to right front: 3 Bears, Greendog, Pixie, Rummy, Patch, me, Creepy, Chef, Thin Mint, Little John, Tintin and Kashmir. Kincora, April 23.]

[Cake marking our progress along the Appalachian Trail, Kincora, April 23.]

When Ashley got there I had to abandon a game of Risk, hours long, in which I was just starting to dominate after having held Europe for the whole of the game and newly conquered North America. We stayed in the "Executive Suite," a room with a door and a full-sized bed downstairs. The walls were simple boards. Through one crack you could see the kitchen. Anytime anyone in the crowded bunkhouse overhead stood on the rickety floorboards we could hear it clearly. Not that I minded not getting a sound sleep. I'm used to that, being a light sleeper anyway. It was a good chance for Ashley to experience a trail hostel. Anyway, we were off to a hotel in Johnson City.

Scenes from trail's past

My time is abbreviated here. I'm staying at a hostel in Erwin, TN, where the AT intersects the Nolichucky River. Since beginning the Smokies with Early Bear my miles have increased substantially: Last night I arrived here at 5 p.m. after an 18-mile hike, on top of a 21-mile hike the day before. I'm planning to head out today, which means chores, chores, chores and hike. To that end I'm going to flash through Standing Bear to Hot Springs in photos...

[Early Bear doing laundry at Standing Bear hostel. The washboard system really tied the place together. We arrived at the hostel late on a Friday night and did our chores in the morning. I cooked up the greasiest sausages and pancakes ever on an iron skillet and gas stove.]

[Sunrise at Max Patch, 392-acre grassy summit of a 4,629-ft mountain. EB and I hiked to the summit late at night and found the summit crowded with hikers cowboy camping, stargazing and waiting for sunrise.]

[People watching the sun come up at Max Patch.]

On our way down from Max Patch, Early Bear abruptly turned around and said why not go all the way to Hot Springs and end his section hike at the Rock Bottom bar and grill? It ended up being my first 20-mile day of this southern trek. We ate most of the appetizers on the menu. The next day Early Bear took me to resupply and then he returned to the real world. 

The week of hiking from Fontana to Hot Springs, 108 miles, was very enjoyable. It went fast. Now I'm working to keep that momentum going as I progress north. In fact, I've caught up with all of the people I left behind at Fontana when I went to Asheville.

Nature's gallery

In days most recent the trail immersed me in woods more interesting than I've seen on the trail since probably southern Pennsylvania last June. The shapes and textures of these recent trees beckoned me like pieces in an art museum, standing out twisted and moldy against a canvas of a green forest floor.

Between Spring Mountain Shelter, at 282.8 miles from Springer, and Flint Mountain Shelter, 304.1 miles from Springer, which I hiked Wednesday, and then again between Big Bald and Erwin [yesterday's hike] the trees beckoned me to stop and study them. It's been a transformative walk.

I thought I'd share what I saw. Cheers to these trees of the Tennessee/North Carolina border.

[The canvas.]

Good morning from Big Bald

Camping here last night, at 5,500 ft. with strong winds blowing my tent, meant a gorgeous sunset but not a whole lot of sleep. Big Bald has a treeless summit with panoramic views. The sun is already hot; another 80 degree day is expected.

Through the Smokies in 4.5 days, a hiking primer, Part IV

The next day we woke up and found frost on the ground. Whatever items of wet clothing we'd hung the night before were now frozen in the position they'd hung in. So my sock looked like a boomerang.

Then the sun came out and warmed the house up as we made breakfast. It was one of the better mornings on the trail so far, hanging out with EB, Shortay and High Noon and talking to a trio of retirees doing the trail in sections. Cheeseburger, a very tall German kid, warmed up his Nutella in boiling water in his camp stove.

[View from the trail somewhere near Guyot Spur, above 6,000 feet in elevation, April 9.]

It took an hour before my hands could hold my trekking poles without freezing. The first half of the day was almost as cold as the hike into Franklin had been. But the views were spectacular. The frost in the trees gave the trail a different look:

Later, around 5 p.m., I got my second wind where a side trail leads to Mt. Cammerer Fire Tower. I dropped my pack and trail-ran the .6 miles to and fro the tower, which Johnny Thunder had pointed out as a highlight. It felt sweet being able to run along the trail, dodging rocks and roots and getting my heart rate up.

The tower had been rebuilt to look the way it had in the 1940s. I actually looked down on an airplane flying over the valley floor 5,000 feet below.

[The western view from the Mt. Cammerer Fire Tower, April 9.]

At the end of the Smokies we hit Interstate 40. Again, the "I Am Legend" feel. I-40 has been closed since October because of a major rockslide that can't easily be fixed. So the road was deserted and quiet, much different, Early Bear said, than when he came through last year.

We were officially done with the Smokies. It took us 4.5 days.

That night we stayed at Standing Bear Farm and Hostel, a rustic little place with a shed full of snacks and things useful for hikers for sale, like tiny bottles of honey and single AAA batteries, and a bunkhouse, kitchen, cabin, privy and, best of all, a hot shower.

The shower was heated by a gas burner that we had some difficulty with. In general it was overwhelming arriving at the busy hostel after dark. But one of Curtis's [the owner] assistants helped us figure the burner out.

I have to say, that shower was one of the best in my life. Washing away nearly five days of Smokies was a trail highlight. It was similar to the shower I took in Gorham, NH after finishing most of the Whites.

We had heated up fries, burgers and rib sandwiches for dinner and were entertained by Lucky, a Viking-looking SOBO who drank an energy drink and said he planned to hike south to Charlies Bunion by the light of his headlamp that night, while listening to metal music. That's a SOBO for you.

Through the Smokies in 4.5 days, a hiking primer, Part III

It was supposed to rain starting after midnight. Nonetheless, the rain waited until the very moment I started packing up my tent at Icewater Spring Shelter. I crammed everything into my pack and hauled it to the shelter. Though there had been more than 20 people altogether staying there last night, the place was mostly deserted at 9:30 a.m. on April 8.

The wind-blown rain soaked the dirt floor under the roof of the shelter as new hikers arrived.

We hit Charlie's Bunion, a spectacular rock formation that positions you over the middle of a deep valley with a regal view of the surrounding mountains, when the rain was still weak.

Just past the bunion we ran into Ridgerunner Scott. Ridgerunners patrol sections of the trail, back and forth, making sure people are leaving no trace and generally serving as guides to hikers and stewards of the land.

He strongly advised us not to go to Tri-Corner Knob Shelter, our intended destination for the day, because of a "habituated" bear. The bear had stolen a hiker's pack a couple of days before. Scott himself had chased the bear up a hill. "He knows what he's doing," Scott said of the bear. We had a great chat on the trail while the rain dripped off our shells and pack covers.

"Keep fighting the good fight," EB told him in parting.

After that I immediately lost Early Bear, who was hiking slower than usual because of a blister problem, because I was hiking in a manner to generate enough body heat to fight off the ill effects of the cold rain. At the next shelter, Peck's Corner Shelter, I wanted to take a lunch break. When I saw the sign saying that the shelter was .4 miles off the trail I changed my mind. I knew that if I stopped moving for much more than five minutes I'd want to be in my sleeping bag to stay warm, and that I would take off my boots and wet clothes to do that, and that once all that happened it would be very hard indeed to start hiking again.

I reached into my pack and plucked out a Trail Mix bar and a packet of Pop tarts and ate them right there.

The rest of the day was a blur of hiking. I met new hikers at Tri-Corner Knob Shelter - Shortay, High Noon, Cheeseburger - while I did camp tasks. The rain continued. When I drew out my sleeping bag the stuff sack was wet, and a little bit of dirty water fell out of the bottom of my pack when I hung in the rafters.

The hours passed, I got in my sleeping bag and still no sign of Early Bear. After dark he and another hiker, Bojangles, showed up in the shelter in their headlamps. They'd been kicked out of a packed Peck's Corner Shelter when section hikers with reservations showed up. Luckily there was just enough space on the bottom level of the shelter for two people. Barely. Neither of us got hardly any sleep in the tight conditions, with the nasty weather and some loud snorers.

The bear never showed up, though.

To be continued...

Through the Smokies in 4.5 days, a hiking primer, Part II

The next day we hiked out of camp at 9:30 a.m. and busted out big miles in the scorching heat. The dust from the dry leaves in the trail kept me thirsty. I think we both ended up drinking four liters of water that day. That's a dog days-of-summer level of water consumption.

[Early Bear and me, atop Rocky Top, Tennessee, elev. 5,440 ft., April 6.]

Lunch on top of Rocky Top was a highlight. I boiled up some coffee and packed a small stone from Rocky Top in my pack, just so I can get to Harper's Ferry with a rock from Rocky Top.

Rocky Top, despite being immortalized in the Osbourne Brothers' song, wasn't much to look at. It wasn't all that rocky and it was pretty small, no different than dozens of places I crossed in Maine.

We hiked 17.2 miles and bypassed three shelters to stay at Silers Bald Shelter. There we met an older lady named Cody and an older dude named Rawhide, as well as a quartet of spring break boys. We liked Rawhide. He never moved from his sleeping bag on the bottom level until he hiked out the next morning. Though he said he was trying to quit smoking, he didn't do much else, and he had a cig for breakfast and seemed to feel alright.

The next day took us to Clingman's Dome, the highest point on the Appalachian Trail. At 6,643 feet in elevation, it's a couple hundred feet higher than Mount Washington.

[The thing on top of Clingman's Dome was built in the 1960s.]

Between Clingman's and Newfound Gap we hiked on top of our fair share of packed snow. It was feet deep. Every now and then a foot would plunge through a spot weakened by the warm weather. Hiking it took extra energy.

At Newfound Gap the one highway crossing the Smokies heads into Gatlinburg. Almost every hiker we met in the Smokies had stayed or was planning to stay in that town. Not us.

Just ahead of the gap, I said that it would be great if there were trail magic. Early Bear said, "Don't count on it."

But a thru-hiker's mom was there visiting her son, Bandito, and his hiking partner and they gave us Cokes [the best thing for trail magic, if there's nothing else: A cold can of Coca-Cola. It's unexplainable, but that's how it is], oranges and plenty of Swiss rolls.

On the way up the hill we stopped and let pass a swarm of park rangers wheeling a woman down to the gap. They used a stretcher supported by a lone mountain bike tire. The rangers in front were grim, the woman in the stretcher had her eyes closed, but the rangers in the rear were jovial and told us it was a sprained ankle or a broken ankle, something, and disappeared down the trail. That's what the ambulance in the gap must have been for, I thought. We continued to see the bike tire track for miles.

The shelter at Icewater Spring Shelter was packed to the rafters. The bear cables sagged under the weight of the many food bags already, and the patches of flat land around the shelter were dotted with about ten tents. Early Bear and I had no choice but to set up in an area with a sign depicting a tent with a hashmark through it: No tenting.

We had a great noodles dinner past dark, with the lights of Pigeon Forge glittering in the valley floor below and west, visible through the black stalks of Fraser firs.

To be continued...