Week three, Alex (now Flora) and my final week together, started with Great Smoky Mountain National Park. This section of trail is considerably steeper and harder than Georgia. We planned to average 15 miles a day, carrying enough food to skip dropping down to Gatlinburg, my worst nightmare of tourism meets gambling. It’s hard to carry five days of food and climb high into the mountains, but the reality was worse than I expected. The Smokies have massive elevation changes every day, on rocky, root-webbed inclines with steeply laid stairs. I’m not gonna sugar-coat it; this was hard. The climbs were exhausting, and then the descent would be just as steep and slow.
As tired as I was, we kept to our mileage goal and plan, making a smoking pace (for us), despite regulations in the Smokies requiring us to camp only at shelters, limiting some days and stretching others. Now, I’m thrilled to be back in the soft southern forests and flowers, with campsites and creeks.
Day 15, 14.5 miles to Rollins Shelter
The Fontana “Hilton” Shelter last night was amazing; what a fantastic set up. We had hot showers and charged with their solar chargers (and the men’s bathroom, with its hiker trash “phone hammock” to charge from a ceiling outlet). The shelter had two really spacious levels, not the dungeon-like spaces we see so often. There was snoring, but nothing intolerable. In the morning, we walked along the blue reservoir and headed into the Smokies. Right away, the terrain looked different. The trees had peeling grey bark with wind-driven trunks, and the carpet of dense wildflowers was shocking, almost like snow. The sea of blooming Virginia spring beauty, fringed phacelia, and trout lily stretched endlessly, definitely the highlight of the day.
A Ruffed Grouse came down to investigate our clacking trekking poles and decided to usher us down the trail for ten minutes, keeping us away from his lady friends I suppose. He mostly followed, but he posed and ruffled and put on a good show, for us and most everyone who passed through. We also were approached by curious deer.
Day 16, to Silers Bald Shelter, 14.68 miles
The shelter had a tarp that kept out the fierce wind and was surprisingly warm. The snoring and pad rustling was minimal, but I slept poorly. In the morning, the cold wind got us going fast and we knocked out the first few climbs, enjoying the stunning mountain views. The rest of the day we expected to be easier, but North Carolina doesn’t believe in easy. Instead, it was just a steep climb, followed by a steep scramble down, on repeat.
We passed the first bear poops on the trail; despite the low amount of bear sign, they cause big problems at the shelters. The day got quite hot, but gusty, and we took a lot of breaks. Finally, in the last two miles, I bumped into a wall of fatigue. My voice turned tight, usually my tell that I have overdone things post-chemo. Flora was just getting her second wind when all mine hissed out. We took another break and very slowly worked up to the shelter, about 1.7 miles short of our intended destination, with the plan of seeing Kuwohi, formerly Clingman’s Dome, at sunrise, with Tex, Taxman, and Bluey. We are still a very steep 4.5 miles away, so that isn’t happening.
On the last climb to the shelter, we found two patches of ramps, and picked some for dinner. Flora had mushroom risotto and I had chicken and dumplings, both gifts from my husband Jeff, Flora’s dad. They were delicious, but especially so with the fresh greens. And dark chocolate peanut butter cups for dessert. We have reached the stage of thru-hiking when you begin to obsess over food.
Tonight we are grateful for John, a teacher from Kentucky who was here over his spring break, teaching us about the joy of ramps, and Alex finding enough for dinner most nights (without damaging the patches).
Day 17, 15.3 miles to Ice Spring Shelter
Another reasonably good night sleeping in a shelter. I suppose the requirements to stay in a shelter made me more willing to consider using them in the future. The trail community is quirky here, to say the least, and the shelters are the epicenter of oddity. Last night, I slept next to someone who had no sleeping pad or bag, who just lay face down on the dirty wood with a hat pulled over their face. It was a little unnerving to never look the person asleep next to me in the eye, especially given their strange lack of gear.
All morning we hiked through a dense forest of red spruce and Noble fir. A wonderful Ridge Runner named Sparrow explained to us the native conifers here shelter many endemic species. The forest continued up to Kuwohi, formerly Clingman’s Dome, the high point on the Appalachian Trail. Unfortunately, there is a lot of beetle damage and the forest looks unhealthy.
The observation tower on Kuwohi had a sweeping ramp up, that supposedly was wheelchair friendly, although that would be terrifying if the chair got away. GSMNP has the oddest rules surrounding disability support; the privies have special support bars for wheelchair users, yet have a two foot step up into the privy. I suppose it is easier to follow regulations, rather than challenging the absurdity to install ADA grab bars in inaccessible privies deep in the Smokies.
We asked a sweet British couple to take our photo and they asked us to pose with their tiger, a world-traveled stuffy, headed next to Algiers. Tiger has his own Facebook page, Tiger Hodgkin-Stevenson. As they walked away, the husband said, “And no matter what, don’t give up!” His wife shouted, “Oh hell no!”
Later in the day, we got to Indian Gap. Alex kept walking, but I went up to the parking area to read the historical placard. A Jeep Cherokee drove up and a man got out, locking it behind him. Unfortunately, he didn’t put it in park, and it began rolling down the steep hill straight towards Alex. The man very casually tried to unlock the Jeep and then just watched as it rolled away. It ran down until the curb, rose up onto the edge, and teetered there as if gravity couldn’t partake in something so awful, before reluctantly bouncing back into the parking lot. There is a lot that can go wrong on a thru hike, but I wasn’t worried Alex would be taken out by a runaway Jeep Cherokee.
What I am most grateful for today: Curbs! Who knew? I’m suddenly a huge fan.
Day 18, 12.6 miles, dang it all
So we had a big conundrum in camp last night, because there are shelters 12.6 miles ahead and 20.5 miles. Some were all for pushing on 20, in an effort to reach Hot Springs as soon as possible. Others, including us, felt that twenty was too far here in the Smokies, and we decided to stop sooner. Tomorrow, which is more downhill, we will need to manage 18 miles to still be on track to average fifteens until Hot Springs. Tex reserved an Airbnb with a hot tub and has invited us to join his tramily there, and Flora will be picked up, the end of the trail for her, and head off to Nashville with friends.
We met a couple walking out an abandoned hunting dog, super thin, limping with obviously painful feet. We gave it some cashews and jerky, which wasn’t enough, but hopefully everyone else will contribute until they reach the road. The owner had been called, but said he was too busy to pick it up now, and just to tie it to a tree. Thank goodness, they didn’t do that. Some people are a piece of work.
We are at Tri-Corner Knob Shelter, which is supposed to leak, although rain is not expected. Bobby was there with a new guitar and Bluey played us Harvest Moon before heading off for eight more miles. I had just been listening to it on the way up the hill, and it was a favorite song last September, as I was finishing the PCT. His version was lovely.
Today’s highlight was a forced day of “rest,” with cell service, music, and good company. I am frustrated by the constraints, but trying to enjoy the silver lining.
After dinner, we learned the dog was carried out by several hikers (it was not a small dog) and fed by everyone. Eventually, the owners drove up and got it. We were all a little sad it didn’t go to a better home, but at least it’s out of the woods.
Day 19, 18 miles to Standing Bear Farm
We snuck out of our shelter at 5:30 am and headed down out of the Smokies. Today was so much easier; the trail was flatter and smoother. It wasn’t easy, however, and we did about 3000 feet of climbing and 7000 feet of descent. The forest changed as we went down, back to the beautiful deciduous forest we missed, but with new species, including a threatened Showy Orchis, a lovely pink orchid. There was Carolina Sweet Shrub, Mock Strawberry, Fire Pink, Flame Azalea, and the first blooming Mountain Laurel. We found an endemic shrub, Mountain Doghobble, which was odd, as just yesterday we saw a mountain dog hobble. As tired as I was, it felt wonderful to be in the wildflowers and leafy forest again.
This area was hard hit by Hurricane Helene, but everything but the biggest downed trees has been cleared from the trail already. The root balls of the trees are very flat and shallow, pulling out enormous sheets of soil.
We stopped as little as possible, but when we got to Standing Bear Farm, the last cabin had just been booked. The bunk house seemed like a hangover clinic, so we opted for the lawn. The party seems to be moving to the yard though, and it includes roosters, leaving a very small sleep window. Not to overly complain, though, as we are enjoying the company and funky farm, a very chill scene. It reminds me of the woodsy Oregon Country Fair (nothing at all like a county fair) near our home.
We would have loved to rent this treehouse cabin, but we are thankful for the showers and food and company.
Day 20, 15.5 miles to Roaring Fork Shelter
Last night the rain chased the party away to the bunk house porch and we fell asleep to the sound of soft spring droplets. In the morning, the rooster got started, but a thunderstorm hit and shut the crowing down completely. Eventually though, the rain began to pour down the hill and rush under our tents, driving us out into the kitchen for coffee. We threw everything in the dryer, toweled out the tents, and got climbing.
It was the usual “leaving town, straight up” kind of morning, with a huge initial climb and several smaller ones. The rain began again and we disappeared into ponchos and just plugged away at the miles. We scurried on to stay warm, until dropping into a gap with a road and a trail magic tent. For a few minutes we ran with excitement, imagining hot cocoa or chili. The trail magic had ended though, leaving us just the awning for shelter and a cooler with cold drinks (brr) and cheese slices (yay). Our lucky friends who arrived earlier got sandwiches and peach cobbler.
The trail climbed again up to Max Patch, a rolling bald with grassy hills, much loved and somewhat threatened by overuse. The views were modest in the rain, but lovely mist filled the valleys below. The shelter was several miles down off the bald, and while we no longer needed to stay in one, it felt snug with more rain expected and Alpaca and other friends inside.
Today’s funny realization was at lunch, when we talked about meeting for dinner, and realized we are just walking to our next meal. That’s what thru-hiking is about, really, just walking to the next meal for months and months.
Day 21, to Hot Springs, North Carolina, 18.5 miles
After a long hustle eighteen miles down into Hot Springs, North Carolina, we headed right to the Airbnb, where our friend Tex had invited us to stay. The house was newly renovated, post hurricane Helene, but you could see the high water line in the garage where we put our packs. It was a stone house with a distinctive style; this town must have had a very busy mason who built many walls and buildings. We were in the pizza parlor later, enjoying dinner, when Tex got a message that two friends who had been following for a few days had arrived at the house, and one was asleep in the living room, very sick with vomiting and diarrhea.
The table became silent for a minute as we all processed this, and then we began to work our way through this trail drama. Norovirus—scourge of the AT—was asleep on Tex’s couch, in the body of a very sick 22-year-old woman. Tex left to talk with them, while the rest of us debated our next move. I have a highly questionable immune system and Flora was headed to a three-day music festival; catching this was not a risk we could take. Three of us slept on the lawn, one left for a hostel, another a hotel, and one took his chances upstairs, while Tex nursed the victim until her mother arrived from Maryland in the morning. Patient zero’s hiking buddy was ill by morning, but TicTac was sick even sooner, so she must have been exposed before the house. Everyone was sad to see someone so intensely ill, and worried it was coming for us, too. Plus the house had been a treat we had walked towards for days.
Anthropologist Margret Mead said that the first sign of civilization isn’t tools or shelter, it’s a healed femur. Anyone who broke a femur only survived because others cared for them, carrying and feeding them for months as the bones knit together. Surviving a broken femur required a community that wouldn’t leave you behind when things went terribly wrong, with compassion and cooperation. Yesterday, Tex was excited to treat everyone to a fantastic zero day, in a beautiful house, with showers, laundry, and a fridge stocked with beer. Instead, he stayed up caring for a very contagious person in their worst moment, not complaining as it all fell apart. I am grateful for this thru-hiking community, who would not have left anyone in the Serengeti with a broken femur.
