I slept until 6 am this morning. I usually have to get up to water the leaves in the middle of the night, but I woke at 1 am, not in need of visiting the privy, but dying of thirst. I drank one liter of water and went straight back to bed. I drank almost four liters of water yesterday, but I guess I really chugged up some of the hills.
Right before I fell asleep a thru-hiker came in. His name is Leo, and he hiked 22 miles. The thru hikers we are seeing are total beasts. They wear shorts and t-shirts while we hike in layers of wool and polartec. They hike 20-25 miles per day while we struggle with 12-15. Their backpacks are the size of my pre-school grandsons. They also have voracious appetites and sleep a lot. Metabolic machines.
GG is already up as usual. Timex is still sleeping, and I haven't seen Leo. He must be sleeping above us in the loft. I go about my morning routine, making coffee and eating oatmeal. GG and I ready our packs for the day when I feel the call of nature from all the water and coffee.
I muster up the courage to visit the privy, but when I get in there, it's dark and I barely shut the door when I feel an oncoming panic attack - maybe because it feels claustrophobic. I can unapologetic say I have an unrealistic fear of outhouses, probably stemming from visits to my grandmother when I was a child. Rattlesnakes were notorious for staking a claim on the outhouses in the part of Pennsylvania where my mother grew up, and as a result, my brother and I were forbidden from going near the building. I can honestly say I have nightmares about privy houses.
Anyway, the outhouse door is in direct sight of the kitchen area of the bunkhouse. I go in and ask GG and Timex (who is now awake) to look the other way while I prop the door to the outhouse open. They obliged and I survived the experience.
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| Birdie and Bear Garden |
Birdie arrives at 7:45 and we settle up our bill and head back to the trail. Today should be interesting, as we have one of the biggest elevation gains since leaving the Smokies; over four thousand feet. Furthermore, the weather forecast is grim, with heavy rain and high winds forecast for the rest of the day and throughout the night. And if that isn't enough, a bridge is out, and we will have to ford a decent-sized creek 8 miles up the trail.
I am mentally preparing myself for a day of suck, and planning on eating frequently in order to fuel my effort, putting several meal bars in the side pocket of my pack. I am already chugging water, hoping to maintain a better level of hydration than yesterday.
Right out of the gate, we have a little climb of 300 feet which serves to loosen up my legs and warm up my core. The next two ridges are about 700 feet each, with an equal descent in between. My pack is definitely lighter today: I am only carrying one full day's food, which is about 1.5 pounds. The water is fairly evenly spaced, so hopefully I won't have to carry more than one liter at a time. Non-backpackers may think this amount of food and water is inconsequential, but when you consider that one day's food and one liter of water is 2.5 pounds, that comprises about 10-15% of our pack weight, which can make a real difference in how the pack feels on one's back and legs.
At Knot Maul Branch shelter (mile 560), I take off my pack and wait for GG and Timex. The air is chilly, but I am staying comfortable with the alpaca sweater. I pull on my down jacket while I wait, and stretch my legs and back by doing yoga moves on the shelter floor. They arrive and we talk about how maybe the weatherman got the forecast wrong and we will get lucky. GG and I are debating between staying at the next shelter or going on to Burke's Garden hostel tonight, and we decide to table the discussion and see how we feel later today.
We make decent time during the morning, staying within eyesight of one another most of the time. I think the prospect of bad weather has unconsciously made everyone stay closer.
I love hiking through these woods, which are a beautiful mix of soft- and hardwood trees. The canopy is high above, and the space between the trees gives the trail a park-like feel. This is just the type of place I would love to come and social camp with friends for a weekend.
Timex and I arrive at Lick Creek about the same time, and GG is just a few minutes behind. Fat raindrops are just starting to hit the canopy high above while we survey the creek. Lick Creek is about 25 feet wide at this crossing, but there is no way we can cross without getting our feet wet. No bridge or big rocks to hop across. It looks to be about knee deep. We each struggle briefly with the same dilemma; do we go across in our socks and hiking shoes, which will then be sopping wet for the rest of the day, or do we take off our socks and shoes and cross barefoot or with our crocs?
With the rain likely starting soon, I decide to just cross in my socks and shoes. I go first, using my hiking poles to try and judge the depth of the water before each step, as well as test the stability of the creek bed in front of me. Timex and GG follow right behind, Timex deciding to go barefoot while GG wears her shoes. Fortunately, everyone makes the crossing without incident.
Keeping my shoes on was a good call, since the rain starts pouring almost as soon as we reached the other side of the creek and just as we start our big climb of the day, which will take about two and a half hours to cover the six miles. I deploy my hiking umbrella to keep from getting drenched and we continue to make decent time as we gain in elevation, even though the wind picks up steadily during the climb. I keep my head down and listen to an audiobook, looking at my feet taking step after deliberate step uphill.
We are about halfway up the mountain when the wind picks up considerably and the rain beats down decidedly harder. The umbrella isn't doing much good in this maelstrom, and I am getting cold with the wet despite several layers of clothes and frequent snacks. The ankle-deep water rushes downhill and over (and in) my shoes as we slog up the hill. The trees are much shorter up here and do little to protect us from the wind and rain. The fog is getting thick.
We are hiking near one another up a wide, grassy path between stunted trees, which looks like an old forest road, when a thunderclap echoes almost directly above us. Today just went from sucky to scary. I do not like being on the highest point in the area with lightening. We can't see more than 25 feet in any direction with the thick fog, and none of us have hiked up here before. I have no idea how exposed we will be as we continue up hill. This looks like we are in an open bald. I have had near misses in the past with lightening, and I always worry my good luck will run out at some point.
I express my concern about continuing uphill in a lightning storm. If I were by myself, I would retreat downhill a short way, set up my shelter, and climb in my hammock after donning my dry base layers and down to get warm. But I'm not by myself, and I don't want to stay here alone. Timex seems to agree with me, but GG does not. She wants to keep going to the shelter, which should be another hour hike. No one wants to pull out their phone to check and run the risk of water damage.
I'm surprised Timex doesn't leave us to hike ahead to the shelter, but he admits he feels strength in numbers in this bad weather, so he elects to stay with us. The crashing of thunder becomes more frequent. I can't see the lightning to count the time between the two, so I don't know if the storm is moving in or out. We are practically running at this point.
After a half hour, we arrive at a blue blaze sign for the spring, pointing to the right. Timex goes down to get water, while GG and I continue to the shelter, which is a short .2 miles from here. I should get water too, but I just want to get these wet clothes off.
The shelter materializes out of the fog, and GG and I run inside; the heavy door has a tight spring and slams behind us. We hoot and hollar with relief as we drop our packs and set to work, stripping off our wet clothing and dropping it on the floor with sodden plops, pulling on dry wool base layers and pulling out our down quilts and sleeping pads. Thankfully we are dressed when Timex arrives.
Chestnut Knob Shelter was built in 1924 as a fire warden's cabin, and I am so grateful it's one of the few shelters on the Appalachian Trail with four walls and a door. A few windows illuminate the inside, although the light is dim with the storm raging outside.
Inside are three sleeping platforms, so we each claim one for our own. We huddle, shivering in our down quilts, and I heat up the last of my water for a hot tea.
It's only 3 pm, and this is going to be a long night. I have little food left and very little water, which is ironic given the deluge outside. But on the bright side, I'm starting to warm up, the cabin is weather tight, and the thunder is finally abating. I eat literally everything in my food bag, which provides 900 calories.
GG and I debate hiking down to Burke's Garden Hostel, which is only 2.1 miles away, all downhill. GG says she is spent and can't think of putting wet clothes back on for the hike down, even if it means a hot shower and clean bed tonight.
I am thirsty enough to stick my titanium cook pot under the edge of the low-hanging metal roof to catch water that drips down. After an hour I collect about 8 ounces!
We are all out by 7:30 pm.
Today's Stats: 12.2 miles, 3888' climb
Trail Stats: 570 Miles, 141K climb
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