As a man with one foot in Tennessee and one foot in North Carolina, I'm happily obliged to traverse through the Smoky Mountains as I move from place to place. I've visited them dozens of times, but I've never been as immersed in them, or as moved by them as I was while hiking this past week. Perhaps it's because the wildflowers were just really pretty this year. Or perhaps it's because I saw them while BACKPACKING! Yes, after years of avoiding it, I finally donned a pack on my last spring break ever. And while the smart kids headed out to the beach to get tan, I headed out to the mountains to get thoroughly exhausted (and kinda tan?? but just on my arms).
This trip was probably the most difficult physical feat I've completed. Although we avoided rain, sickness, and many of the common backpacking troubles, backpacking on the best of days is still really hard, especially for a first-timer. Hiking largely uphill with a huge pack, meager meals (by my indulgent American standards), sleeping on a board next to strangers - are definitely not on my usual itinerary. I was extra thankful for the small things I had already been doing during the ordinary time of life to prepare, like running and fasting. I don't think I could have done this kind of trip during most times of my life, but I was glad that I had been building endurance and capability over the past three months which was put to the test in these three extraordinary days. You gotta be ready for adventure when it comes!
Yet despite the difficulties, backpacking really is
the way to camp. Rarely have I felt the amount of independence that comes with having everything you need on your back. And rarely have I ever felt so deep in the mountains before. It was exciting to think that the nearest road was a day's walk away, and to see a view of the mountains that only a fraction of visitors get to experience. I found myself thinking much on
Edward Abbey and the satisfaction of having to earn these vistas rather than have them delivered to me after a brief car ride. Backpacking demanded a respect for the terrain and a partnership with nature - I sure didn't feel like its master while out there.
Also I got to drink a TON of creek water which made my creek-obsessed, 12-old-self very happy.
I DRANK THIS CREEK (the water is clear don't worry)
While on the trail I spent much of my time birdwatching. An ornithology class I took this semester to pad my schedule has given me a surprising interest in this hobby and has even more rapidly accelerated my ascension in Old Man Daniel, but I'm cool with it. As birds go
deeper and deeper into my heart it gets more and more rewarding to spot them, and to actually hear their individual voices as they sing. Unfortunately the birds were fairly spread out compared to Radnor Lake, but when I could afford to take my eyes off the trail my head was on a swivel to find the warblers, which stayed (frustratingly) hidden.
looking for those warblers
Oh and yes the people were great too ;) No really - it was a great group to go with. Good conversations, excellent trip planning, and history facts abounded, making it a perfect group for a first backpacking trip. My outdoorsman knowledge was put to shame by the first night, providing a needed dose of humility to my inflated former-boy-scout ego.
I hadn't met most of them before and was anxious to make a good impression (we would be spending a lot of time together, after all). So I decided that a good baseline would be to take everything in gratitude without complaining. I quickly found that the crew was friendly and welcoming, with no need for imposed maxims, but I figured I would stick to it anyways. This was easy enough for the most part, but heavily put to test on the second day - the uphill day.
i wore those shorts for the whole trip
appalachian trail junction with emily, long time bloggerfolk
Although one would expect the route to the Rocky Top summit to be a continuous climb, it is delightfully punctuated by a small summit between the mountaintop and the Spence Field shelter where we were based. And it was this small hill that finally got me. We had spent the afternoon on top of Rocky Top, in a grassy patch of clear field perfect for napping and taking in the view. The sun had set, and we were descending down the downhill trail back to the shelter. Mostly downhill that is, except for trek over the in-between summit.
As expected, the trail turned steep again. And this final tiny incline, this insult to injury after a day of uphill hiking finally broke me. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I'm pretty sure it was something with the sentiment of "this dang hill."
This comment was met with shared understanding (it was a dang hill, after all). The horizon simmered with burnt pastel shades, and the forest fell silent again. But I knew in my heart that I had goofed up. After nine uphill miles, the Smokies had finally cracked me with their tiniest slope. AND I WASN'T EVEN WEARING A PACK. We had previously dropped all our stuff off at the shelter. I thought it laughable that after several miles uphill with a pack that was who-knows-how-heavy, it was a tiny deviation in an unencumbered, downhill route that finally got under my skin. Just goes to show ya.
Despite this momentary frustration the trip was definitely a great experience and it would be awesome to go again sometime... once my joints stop hurting and I have had much Baja Burrito. I don't think I could have lasted another day, but strangely I do miss the mountains and the feeling of being a small wandering hobbit in the wilds. But now it is time for queso, a shower, and pajama pants - all the good things of home and hearth. Until next time, bloggerfolk!
-dh
