After a simple freeze-dried meal of some sort of (boiling-water-prepared) Italian concoction, the two of us began to relax. Boy, would a cold beer have tasted amazing. Exhaustion is a beautiful thing sometimes. It has a way of blissfully descending into place to relieve one of extemporaneous and cluttered thoughts...it is insistent. I gave way to the feeling once the tent was in place and the gear was safely hanging from a nearby bear-proof, cable device. The smell of smoldering wood and the sound of the rushing creek blended with muffled laughter from the other nearby campfire scene; yet I faded fast into sweet unawareness.
The next morning, I rolled out of the tent first; up and over Nelson, who was lying at the zippered flap. I quietly pulled on some clothes, and fetched the plastic cat-hole trowel and necessary bio-paperwork for some "light reading" in the woods. Early dappled sunlight filtered into the valley where Deep Creek rippled and meandered. It was going to be another scorcher. Insects were busily buzzing as I chose my likely spot for some personal business. I won't go into the details, but suffice it to say that things "worked out" well as I carefully "left no footprint" or scar upon the pristine landscape. I even felt like kicking and scuffing my feet backward just like any self-respecting hound dog, but stifled that crazy urge. Fiber tablets are a beautiful thing indeed.
I wandered about the other sleeping campers trying to stay quiet as I went to the creek bed for a better look at the surroundings. I felt much more alive this morning and that was a good thing considering the trek of the coming day. We had about eight miles to traverse today before the next campsite stop. Nelson was up within the hour and the two of us gingerly ate the scorched powdered-milk, strawberry granola I screwed up in my brand new backpack cookware. I did my best to scrape out the blackened oat-crud from the bottom, but there's a permanent burn-mark to remind me how fast the damn thing heats up. Good thing I hadn't borrowed that gizmo and decided to purchase one myself; I would have hated doing that to someone else's gear. I gave Nelson the choice of dishes and filling up the water bottles from the creek, or packing up the tent; he chose the tent. The Katadyn Hiker Pro did the job once again in short order. I didn't know how anyone could survive in these mountains without one.
There continued to be high humidity as we packed up the camp into our two backpacks. Sweat was already dripping from my brow as Nelson and I started down the trail. I felt physically neutral for the first few miles, as the going was predominantly flat along the creek bank. The terrain was fairly rocky and zigzagged in and out of the brush; crossing smaller tributaries that fed Deep Creek. Those sections were treacherously moss-covered and slippery, so the going was slow and careful.
White flower petals from the beautiful and plentiful Rosebay rhododendron littered the ground as we walked. Pipevine Swallowtail and Question Mark butterflies could be seen congregating on rocky islands that poked out of the creek bed.
About 175 species have reportedly been logged in North Carolina as of 2011. Small rushing waterfalls appeared from the uphill side of the barely existent trail to join the main flow of the creek. I stopped every once in a while to wring out the kerchief I had around my forehead, and to take a few pictures.
Around 11:00 we came to another designated campsite. Unfortunately it was not OUR designated campsite. It was site 54 and was deserted. A little further down the trail came site 55. It came complete with a rough-hewn and battered picnic table and thoroughly decrepit horse stall arrangement. We poked around it for a few minutes and discovered even more butterflies amassed on the rubber mats that were lying between each horse/wooden division. 
I could see that there were even more Pipevine, and even a few Spicebush, Black, and Appalachian Tiger Swallowtails also milling around together. Something had attracted them to that spot; regardless it was a wonder to behold. Plus anything that took my mind off my aching feet and knee was welcome respite. We had traversed 3.4 miles to that point and had many more to go before nightfall, but not before a swim in the icy cold, rushing waters of Deep Creek and a "cracker and cheese" lunch from my pack.
This point in the trail featured a bridge over the creek. The bridge was made of a giant peeled log that was flattened on one-third to fashion a footbridge. A peeled-log railing ran along the top for supporting hikers. When we had taken a nice one-half hour break (I could have used much more) we crossed the creek. Since this portion of the "strenuous" (Pole Road Creek Trail) was shared with equestrian hikers, I imagined that the horses must cross the creek IN the water, and not balance on the log. I think I'm safe with that assumption. Nelson and I finished the crossing and headed UP the trail, and away from Deep Creek. We had another 4.3 miles to walk.
The trail began to get steeper and more rocky with stones, etc. having been dislodged by horse hooves. Places along the extremely narrow ledges, hoof-prints had nearly slid off the edge, into the green beyond. Then the going got rough(er). It started to rain. Then it started to really rain. Finally, it began to really, really rain! We stopped long enough to secure our packs from the rain with the pack covers we had smartly brought, however the rest of us was wide open to the elements. As the heavy rain continued; thunder and lightning accompanied the deluge. Nelson asked me, "what do we do if the lighting gets closer?" I responded, "die." When you think about it, where WOULD one go where it was "safe"?
Since the trail canted upward in front of us, small rivulets of water flowed directly at us. These rivulets became minor torrents and loose soil was being washed along with the water. The footing was more and more treacherous and slick. Our "water-resistant" boots were in full failure mode, but still we kept plodding. Just after I had crossed a small confluence of two creeks dumping into "Pole Road Creek" I dumped. I was just bearing down with my right foot on a small, greasy incline when it broke away, causing me and everything else to pitch forward. The top of my pack frame cracked into the back of my skull and I couldn't brace my fall very well. I went squoooosh...into the mud. Nelson had been facing me and my attempted maneuver when the fall occurred. I looked up at him; covered in mud, and he simply said, "you might wanna' wipe that off."
The rain continued to fall and fall for a total of 45 minutes before tapering off. We had climbed about 800 feet before it had nearly stopped, followed by some bright sunlight. My water bottles were almost empty and I began to fret a bit about the possibility of finding water. We were now far from Deep Creek and hadn't even heard the slightest noise from moving water. The trees were amazing at sucking up all surrounding nature sounds. I was pretty much out of gas and had lagged a bit behind Nelson. I stood on the slanted hillside trying to gather a bit of rest, when he came back to me. His face looked alarmed and he spoke slowly and shakily saying, "we might, want, to wait a bit before we go up there," pointing from where he had just come. The way he looked and the way he spoke made my tired mind jump to a strange place in that moment. I immediately imagined that he had either come upon a bear, or some tragedy involving fellow hikers; I was alarmed. I quietly asked him, "what's the matter honey?" He looked at me strangely and almost as quietly said, "bees." Nelson did not care for bees. I truthfully didn't now that fact, but it wasn't all that odd; many people have trouble with bees. We both walked the rest of the way up the incline and what turned out to be the trail crossroads. Dozens of small bees were indeed drifting around the open area near the old wooden trail markers. I could see many holes in the ground where reddish dirt has been removed in piles surrounding them. "Ground bees, it's OK" I said. Nelson kept his distance anyway.
The last leg of our journey for that day was still to come. Site 61 our "reserved" site, was about one mile away from us. Our feet were water-logged and our clothing was completely sopping wet. The humidity, heat and no breeze whatsoever made it impossible to dry out anything. I hoped against hope that it was closer; but it wasn't, so off we trudged. The new switchback path now led completely downward. I remember thinking that I was saddened by giving up so much altitude at the end of the day. We had steadily been climbing upward for hours and now, down we went again. That meant that tomorrow (the day we had chosen to shorten our trip with) we would be climbing back up the way we had just came. Hoo-Ray! Down, down, down, switch, switch, switch we went. My water was now completely gone and a wee bit of panic at the unknown drifted into my subconscious. Would we find water any time soon? If we didn't, would there at least be water at site 61? Just about ten minutes later, I heard a small gurgling sound ahead and was delighted to see a smallish eruption of water from the side hill; crossing the path. My heart lept with relief. It wasn't long before I was plumbing filtered water gleefully into my bottles; thanking God for small things.
Another 30 minutes later and (having fallen behind Nelson again) I arrived at site 61. Nelson was standing and talking to a pair of females that had just emerged from their tent in various stages of undress; hastily dressing and talking to him nervously. Completely soggy, red-faced, dirty, and exhausted; I walked up just in time to hear the spokes-girl make a plea for the two of us to "...take the lower camp site...it was really cute." I made a quick judgement call that what we had just interrupted was of a personal nature between the two women, and didn't care if the site was indeed "cute," I just wanted to fall down somewhere. We stepped through a narrow gap in the brush and discovered that there was an additional site in a clearing nearer to a raging creek.
This site even had its own bear cables and a rock-ringed fire-pit. We dumped our gear on the ground. I dumped myself on a log. We each stripped off all our wet clothing and boots. I strung a quick line near the fire ring and we hung the clothing there for what that was worth. I didn't have any other pants whatsoever, so I simply wore fresh camo-underpants and new tee-shirt. I sat on the log tending my poor abused feet. They were white, wrinkly, and many toes were blistered. I had no other shoes or boots, so I pulled on some dry socks and shuffled around the dirt trying to find some dry wood. Nelson had better luck than I and hauled some moss-covered dead-falls to the pit area. He jumped on the wood to break it into smaller pieces. We lit a barely-burning, pitiful and smoky fire while we decided on freeze-dried "Mountain Chili" as our meal. It was the best chili I had ever had.
While we rearranged the logs to keep them burning, we talked about our decision to cut the mountain adventure short, and felt good about it. While I was in far worse shape than my young son; he admitted to some bodily discomfort as well. Add that to the wet boots, blisters, and damp clothing, and I was eager to extricate myself from paradise. This day had been a bit of a trial and we had both had passed...best not push our luck. Tent set up and gear in the air; we crashed at 8:30 with the sun still awake, and the creek rushing over the rocks behind us.
(Stay tuned for the LAST part of the mountain adventure trip...number five in this series...)
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