Enjoying a Rising Son Along the Appalachian Trail - P5 (and the end of an amazing journey)

This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it…and the nine upcoming "strenuous" miles and 1500 feet of altitude gain.

My pants were still damp as I pulled them on over my socks. Sitting on a tattered log drinking a cup of instant coffee granules, my thoughts turned to contemplating the sheer desolation of the trail.  It was easy to understand how some people get themselves into trouble out here, in a quick hurry.  One misstep and one fractured ankle later; all bets are off.  Rescue is extremely problematic.  No cell service ensures that one of you (provided there were two of you in the first place) go for help – and help is a mere 5-6 hours away minimum.  Then there’s the marshaling of emergency personnel and the 5-6 hour trip back to find you.  You better hope you have enough water while you waited, or were fortunate to have crash-landed next to a stream - with the Katadyn filter; and that’s the rosier picture.  What if you were alone?  Think someone could land a helicopter; think again.  Maybe, just maybe a skilled pilot could winch a rescue basket down to the narrow trail below, but the trees are enormously tall, and dense.  Your best bet is to be prepared to go it alone in every possible way.  My sincere advice: watch LOTS of Bear Grylls and take careful notes.

Breakfast turned out better.  I didn’t scorch the milky granola this time.  That made clean-up much more pleasant. The air felt close and low in this area as we began packing up the campsite.  Thankfully the rain had not restarted overnight, so the items on the line were no wetter.  They weren’t much drier either.  Placing a damp, cool bandana against my forehead, I tied it in a loose knot as per usual.  The temperature was already going up and it was only 8:30 EST.  We lowered our packs from the stainless steel cabling and added our various other wet items to their contents.  I gingerly made my way down in my socks and filled the water bottles at the creek while Nelson packed the tent.  The last thing left to do, was to get my feet ready for the day's journey.  

Nelson had already created his own make-shift version of footwear by slipping his bare feet into the gallon-sized reclosable bags, into dry socks and then into his wet boots.  My strategy had my feet in the socks first and then into the bags; but first I had to apply fresh blister medicated bandages and some moleskin for good measure.  These alternative arrangements were not preferable; but necessary – we had to get back somehow.  In the shape I was in, I had earlier opined that I was more than fine with hanging out for an entire day before attempting a return; however Nelson thought he might go stir-crazy.  Possible stir-crazy had won out. Packed and moving by 9:00 AM, we passed back through the two women’s (not as “cute”) campsite. They were both sitting on their log eating something.  I couldn't help myself so I asked, “I thought I heard a dog barking last night, do you guys have one here?”  They looked at each other and one quizzically replied, “No, we don’t have a dog.”  “Huh...I could swear I heard high-pitched barking…” I muttered as we headed for the trail-head.  Whatever; to each her own.

Nelson checks the "freshness"
of some bear sign with his staff.

Nelson had this interesting habit of pulling out his harmonica and blowing once across the entire board when he saw bear spoor on the trail.  I can almost hear that familiar “dwidddddllllll-oot!” as I recount this tale, and it causes me to smile.  It was both amusing and dear at once.  He later told me that it was his way of announcing his/our presence to the surrounding woods. In case the animal was still in earshot.  It was curious how the only bear ‘sign” we saw, were the occasional piles of soft, blackened, seed-laden, dung; and they were always smack dab in the center of the trail.   Nelson’s enduring stamina and pleasant attitude were a pleasure to behold as I plodded up the grade behind him.  For many miles (and a few of my falls) he insisted on walking behind me in case of; well, in case of anything.  He was worried about me and that was nice.  After a while though I began to feel like a bit of an anchor to his steady progress with all the mini-breaks I took to slow my racing heart, so I insisted that he go ahead and set his own pace.  He begrudgingly did so, but was always waiting at some point on the path to see my huffing and puffing frame coming, before he’d start out again.  

As I moved uphill, I concentrated on my feet.  Not because they hurt all that much; they were pretty much numb, but because I didn’t want to become that ill-fated casualty I described earlier. For some strange reason I was amazingly “urpy” as I walked along.  You know that feeling where your guts feel kinda bubbly and angry?  My assumption was that it was “something I ate” but the tiniest nagging feeling came over me about water quality.  More than once I stopped to gag and cough.  Nelson looked alarmed, but the feeling passed and I continued walking once more.  I told him that I was “OK” but he looked dubious.  I wondered if it was the “fruity” taste of the MIO (electrolyte and caffeine) product that I had squirted into my Nalgene.  One thing I know about myself at age 50, is that “fruity” drinks and tastes sometimes raise hell with my guts.  I switched to “regular” water and began to slowly recover as I walked; that sick feeling blessedly passing with the miles.

A picture of exhaustion

We stopped at the approximately five-mile mark to rest.  Nelson pulled out one of his Powerbars.  I took out a peanut butter Cliff and started to nibble.  My stomach just didn’t like that taste, so I switched to a handful of Jack Link’s jerky and tried to eat that.  I was extremely tired and sweaty.  Nelson looked great.  Funny how 28 years difference (and a predominantly desk job) takes the starch out of a person.  I wasn’t all that disappointed in myself considering that I was still here on mile 26, but one always wonders what their children think of their parents, and whether your star is tarnishing in their eyes.  All I knew for sure was that I was thoroughly enjoying this special time with my son, and that I was more than ready to get the refrigerator off my aching back.

The metal tower in the distance looked broken.  It was.  Uprooted trees had been blown onto the structure at some point in the past; rendering it unusable.  Perhaps it was a communications tower but the pink "caution" tape that surrounded it, along with the sections of sawn logs, made it clear that it was now junk.  I mention this because it was at this point that the strenuous Noland Divide “trail” we had chosen to follow to the north; had basically disappeared.  We knew we were “close” to the road because we could occasionally hear traffic noise, but we couldn’t see a clear direction of travel.  Nelson took the lead and in about 15 minutes, I could hear a “Whooop!” from his direction.  I had fallen quite some distance behind and could not see him, however his shout made it clear that he had reached the road.  Hallelujah!

At Nelson’s excellent suggestion, we “hid” our packs just off the road so that we could walk the next one-half mile upward on the road, sans weight.  Why not drive back down the roadway and fetch the gear on the way back?  We walked along the twisty asphalt’s narrow shoulder in extremely low-hanging cloud cover.  It looked like it could begin raining at any moment.  I guess that’s why they call them the Smoky Mountains, as they looked as though they were covered in smoke.  Cars and trucks would pass by us and some drivers would wave at the “real hikers.”  We made a half-hearted attempt at thumbing a ride to a few “likely” vehicles, but debated whether we “needed” to finish our trek on foot.  Finally, a large, white, late-model, extended pick-up with Florida plates, diesel-rumbled its approach as Nelson stuck out his thumb.  It actually passed us by.  Nelson made that pleading “what the heck?” gesture with his both palms up, and the driver spotted him.  He stopped100 yards ahead and we ran to climb into the open back; nestling between the guy’s many large coolers.  I admit that that short 1000 yard ride to the top was welcome and a perfect way to arrive at the parking lot where the WPT quietly awaited our triumphant return.

We DID it!

Happy that the truck had not been towed, and that I could actually locate the key to the driver's door; we celebrated.  I stuck the camera on the hood and the two of us posed for a quick (post-hike) victory shot.  Nelson had already peeled off his plastic-bagged boots and gone barefoot.  I had to drive, so I kept them on for the time being.  The area was now bustling.  Many tourists had driven up to Clingmans Dome that afternoon, despite the threat of inclement weather.  Everyone’s face looked happy and smiling as they milled around the parking lot on their way back and forth from their vehicles.  I distinctly remember having that feeling you sometimes get when you know that you have just completed something major in your life; that “ahhhhh…” feeling.  That, “it’s good to be alive” feeling.  That, “I did something extraordinary that most of you folks would never consider” feeling.  Life was indeed good!

The rest of our time together (about 2 days) was different than originally planned.  We were going to take most of our time together hiking, but (as chronicled) circumstances dictated that we re-think that plan. I’m not sorry in the least that it turned out differently.  There were a few more unscheduled hotel-stays, some awesome Pigeon Forge Mellow Mushroom Pizza, plus the newest Spiderman film seen outside Louisville, KY, and of course: the magnificent Kentucky Bourbon Trail (more on that in a future blog).  We talked and drove, and drove and sat quietly; comfortable in each other’s company.  It was truly a remarkable time together.  The miles flew by.  The memories piled up.  THEN: I eventually dropped my son and his gear off at his mother's, but not before a big hug and the promise to "do it again."

Even a birthday party has to end sometime.
Epilogue

Back at my house; all that was really left to do was to sort out the pile of camping gear.  I had some already in the apartment and some was left in the truck.  Some was this person's and some was that; some was even mine purchased expressly for the trip.  This reverse-process was cathartic in a way; a chance to reflect on the planning and the incredible journey.  Incredible because I had the precious chance to be with my son doing "guy-stuff" for five-whole days.  The sun was shining but the temperature was still below 80 degrees as I stood leaning into the open door of the truck.  I picked up the loose change from the many toll-booth exchanges, the unused ketchup packages from the console, the half-drunk Nalgene bottle with the water from Deep Creek flavored with the fruity electrolytes of MIO that my son had squirted in. Wistfully I lingered over the one spent Krystal hamburger box I found under the back seat, thinking about how irresponsible but cool it was to have a dozen to stuff into our faces as we drove.  I wrapped up the cord from the I-Pod where we had listened to an audio book of James Patterson as the miles flew by and thought blissfully about the amazing five days we had shared.  Too damn few, too far between.

Nelson was at his mother's now and gearing up for the rest of his other (real) life beyond "home."  I was left waxing memories of the times that were.  In the apartment alone, my eyes were misty and my throat was choked up as I also realized that my son had grown up and just how fortunate I had been to be able to "hang" with him; even for a time. Yes, the unique mirror I had been privileged to be looking in showed me an incredibly solid human being and all around wonderful young man...and that's a beautiful reflection to behold indeed.

Yes dear reader; take the time and spend it with the ones you love...you'll never regret saying "yes."