|
|
Musings
of a Thru-Hiker Sassafras
Gap to Cable Gap It did not take long for my guilt over leaving the Orlando Boys out of the shelter to be overcome by sleep. My body was tired; the steady climb out of Wesser had been a challenge. I slept soundly only occasionally awakening to the sound of Dick Cate's and Scott's snoring, still it was good to be among thru-kikers. A misty rain greeted the early risers at the shelter and made for a damp breakfast. Behind the shelter I could see where the Orlando Boys managed to make camp. There was no sign of movement from their tent. A
traditional hiker's
breakfast was the standard
fare. I diligently ate my oatmeal
as distasteful as it was. I had
never acquired a taste for
oatmeal to enjoy
eating it, but I was concerned with calories and sustenance so I
reluctantly choked the gruel down. Bob
headed out first, followed by Scott and me, and
soon thereafter
Al and Dick
Cates. The
morning mist
slowly turned to a cold
drizzle, visibility was limited, and rain gear became the order of the day.
Within the first few miles we
began to spread out, and each
assumed his own pace. Bob was far ahead and pushing farther with each step.
I stayed in sync with Scott. I
was still tired and aching from the fall the previous day, and the climb up
Cheoah Bald left me short.
The others laughed as I mentioned the dire need for a few decent
switchbacks. It
was perfect
weather for GoreTex: forty
degrees and raining. Dick Cates
passed me and was now immediately behind Scott as I paused to fill my
tired lungs with
air. Scott ploughed on
without paying much attention to the trail and missed a sharp turn, shortly both
Scott and Dick Cates were looking
down a
rock face wondering where
the trail
went. I waited for them to
backtrack and enjoyed the banter between them.
Dick Cates intoned "I thought you knew where you were going, instead you
wander off
the trail
down a drainage ditch."
Scott was not to be bothered and told him not to follow blindly.
It was at this juncture we noted the
trail curved
and proceeded uphill, and
another truism of the trail was recorded: whenever in doubt, go uphill (ie. take the most difficult route). The
roller coaster ridges soon scattered us along the trail.
The rain became heavier
and cooler, and I finally stopped to put on my rain pants.
My rain jacket covered my upper body and occasionally was opened to allow
steam to escape from my
polypropylene shirt. We
pushed on
for a couple of hours looking for the next spring and planning
lunch. Sweetwater Gap had a
small seep
before it,
and we decided
to lunch
there. Just as we approached
the spring, a small patch of blue sky broke open in the clouds.
The rain stopped as we filled our water bottles
and sought a
place to lounge for lunch.
Dick Cates decided to push on while we were about the business of lunch. Lunch
is usually a light affair, but often it requires some work
to properly set
up. I
sat on a log at
angle leaning on a limb for a backrest with my legs slung over the another log
in a slightly reclining position. My
pack was open, and meals, and gear were spread out around me so that I could
reach anything
without moving. Just
as I started eating, it began to pour down rain.
The rain was even colder than before, and having no shelter we scrambled
to re-pack
our gear
and choke down
lunch in
the same breath.
With only the meager beginnings of lunch ingested, we were moving on down
the trail looking for a
better spot
to resume lunch.
It never came. As
we ascended
the next
ridge, the
rain turned
into a thunder storm.
Lightning was crackling down around us. The
wind blew furiously with
still over five
miles to
go to Cable Gap.
On one side of the ridge the air was hot and steamy;
on the other side of the ridge it was cold and frigid.
The edge
of the front
was stalled on the ridge
line. The force of the winds was
tremendous. Our speed increased as
we frantically tried to get off of the ridge and away
from the lightning.
The trail did not cooperate.
As we rounded Hogback Gap and continued to push on to Cody Gap, it began
to hail. I
was shivering increasingly
as ice collected between my
pack and
my back. Without
effort I repeatedly scooped handfuls of hail off the back of my neck. Occasionally,
it was necessary to remove my
hood in
order to
attempt to regulate
my body
temperature. My head
was cooking in a sauna while my arms and lower body were shivering from the
cold. These episodes were very
brief as
hail would quickly
fill the
open hood
and slide
down the skin of my neck.
This continued for over an hour and a half.
We were getting closer to Cable
Gap, and Scott
had noted that the guide
book did not mention water at the shelter, however there was a stream one tenth
of a mile before the road crossing that was two tenths of a mile from the
shelter. Neither of us had any
desire to come back for water in this weather so we agreed to fill the water
bags and carry them into the shelter. When
we reached the stream, it had swollen to a torrent
from the
rain. So much
water was passing over the
rocks, that the debris in the stream were clearly visible.
The water was cloudy and muddy and ice cold.
Within a
few minutes
we reached the
road, and
were anxious
to get to the shelter.
We walked for ten minutes and grew concerned.
The shelter was supposed to be only two tenths
of a mile
from the road.
Reluctantly we stopped and reviewed the guide books and the maps.
We were cold, tired, wet, and afraid that we had missed the turn off to
the shelter. After another
ten minutes of hiking, it occurred to us that the shelter might have been down
the road well off of the trail. The
extra water weight was
getting heavier
by the step, and
we contemplated going back
to the road, but decided to push ahead once more.
Finally we came to the shelter. Al
and Bob were lounging
around dry
and warm. The shelter was
one and two tenths miles from the road, and not two tenths of a mile as stated
in the guide book. Even though it
was not mentioned in the guide book a spring bubbled up in front of the shelter. We
quickly unpacked and sought dry clothes. I
pulled on everything that I had including a stocking hat and polar fleece
jacket. I changed my socks and
hung my boots and gear
around the shelter to drain. Half an hour later Dick Cates, who was ahead
of us since
lunch, showed
up. He had been roaming up
and down the road looking for the shelter since the guide book
was wrong.
Shortly three
runners strolled into
camp. One went for water,
another went to the privy, and the third stood under the edge of the roof in
shorts and soaked cotton shirt shivering in the cold. I offered him my jacket, as Bob fixed him hot chocolate
and instant
soup. In return we got fresh fruit. The
three were doing a thirty
mile run. Last year in a weekend
they covered the entire Smokies, over seventy miles of the Appalachian trail in
a weekend.
Of course they carried no gear, only snacks and water bottles.
They had a ground crew that carried
food, tents, and gourmet
dinners. This time they were not
prepared for the weather and were fortunate to find us.
The one was close
to hypothermic and needed
hot food and dry clothes. They
pushed on several more miles to Fontana, and left us finishing their fruit and
eating our lipton dinners. The
three sided shelter was welcome relief from the cold relentless rain.
It provided a dry place to eat, sleep, and be "sheltered."
Although it was small
and full, we were grateful to be there.
Fontana in the morning. Peace, Slim |
|
|