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."
