For the last 3 months, I have been planning my fourth section hike of the Appalachian Trail. My first was in October 2015, then in May 2016, and back again in October 2016. In summer 2017, I moved to Florida and the mountains were no longer a 2 hour drive away. This summer though, I have felt the pull of the trail. There is something very special about the Appalachian Trail. Well, there are many special things about it but, outside of the obvious natural beauty, the majestic mountain views, the people of the trail, there is also something unseen, intangible and magical, the thing that pulls you back even after the most painful, miserable hike of your life has you saying you'll never do that again. I've said that four times in my life now, and each time I've gone home and started planning the next hike!
This time I planned to start Saturday afternoon at Hog Pen Gap (mile 38) and hike to either Tray Gap (mile 56.7) or Dick's Creek Gap (mile 69). I thought Tray Gap was more realistic and, in my planning, arranged a shuttle driver to meet me there to return me to car at the end of the hike on Monday afternoon. So, over the last few weeks I printed and studied my guides and my maps, booked the day off work, arranged for my mom to watch my kids and dog, and got my gear prepared. I was as ready as I could be. So, I got up at 5am on Saturday morning and headed north. Six and a half hours later I was driving up and down mountain roads, surrounded by the glorious fall colors of the changing leaves, having my breath taken away at every turn.
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| When I went back to the mountains in October 2016 for my third section hike, I drove around a corner at some point and there were my mountains in all their glory. I felt over- whelmed with emotion and words, and pulled over to the side of the road to write this on a note on my phone. |
I was filled with emotion, the feeling of "coming home", the way I always feel when I get that first glimpse of these mountains.
At 1.15pm, I pulled up to Hog Pen Gap parking lot, changed shoes, strapped my pack on, stretched, and got started. The sun was shining, it was cool but pleasant, and I grinned when I saw my first white blaze a few minutes in. This was going to be home for the next 48 hours or so.
The first few miles of this section are uneventful, there are no jaw-dropping views, no major elevation changes, but I was mesmerized by the colors. There were so many different shades of green, orange, red, yellow and brown. The trail was a patchwork of colors, with the occasional dry leaves mixed in, crunching underfoot as I walked.
I stopped a couple of times to get a snack, or adjust my pack, but mostly just kept walking at a leisurely pace for the first few hours. I was feeling good when I reached Low Gap Shelter, and took the side trail to the shelter to eat my lunch and refill my water bottles. Two smiling faces greeted me as I descended towards the shelter. Chris was sitting at the picnic table eating, and Sidney was in the shelter eating. They greeted me and we introduced ourselves while we ate, and I refilled my water bottles. Chris was a local, out for the solitude for a couple of days. Sidney, like me, had driven 7 hours to the trail, but from Missouri. He had hiked south to the shelter and was heading back north and home the next day. I finished eating, fixed my hot spots (places I know I usually get blisters) with tape, adjusted my shoes again, and headed back up the hill to the trail. I have no idea why I didn't take pictures of Low Gap Shelter area, but I wish I had. It's like the setting of a Thomas Kincade painting - a low grassy area surrounded by mountainsides, with a shelter, a picnic bench, and a stream running through it - picture perfect!
When I hit the trail again, it was about 4.30pm. The sun was due to set at 6.38pm and I only had two miles to go to my planning camping spot at Poplar Stamp Gap. When I planned this stop, I had a vision in my mind of how the area would look, and for some reason I envisioned it on the west/left side of the trail, just past a larger camping area on an old logging road. Well, I never saw a logging road, but I saw a campsite on the east side of the trail, and there were already a couple of tents there. The campers and I exchanged hellos and I kept walking, looking for Poplar Stamp Gap, knowing my site was just after it a half mile. Obviously, I passed another site a short time later, with room for one tent, and there were a couple setting up their tent there. Again, we exchanged pleasantries and I kept walking. Shortly afterwards, once again headed downhill, I realized my elevation didn't match up to where I believed I was. I stopped and checked my maps and guides and, sure enough, I realized that I had made it to Poplar Stamp Gap quicker than I expected, and that first site I had passed was it. I considered that I only had an hour to find a spot and set up before the daylight was gone, and started to panic. I was about to backtrack that mile, but my gut instinct kicked in and I stopped to breathe. I felt certain there would be another site ahead of me, although there was not one in my guide. I considered my options, and went with my gut. I hadn't passed anyone walking the other way for a couple of hours now, so I decided I would walk ahead and, if I didn't find a site in the next 30 minutes, I would set up right there on the trail before the sun was gone.
So, with renewed determination, I picked up the pace and kept going. About 10 minutes later, I walked around a bend and saw it - the perfect site. A nice, small clear area, with patches of moss, a fire pit, valleys on both sides of it, a mountainside in front of it, and a short trail/ridgeline extending behind it. I walked around the site for a few minutes and it felt good, it felt right. Without rushing, I had my tent up, a fire lit, dinner cooking and a bear rope hung, all before the sun went down.
Even after the sun went down, I sat by the fire a while, enjoying it's warmth. I had changed into dry, thermal layers for the night and it felt cozy by the fire. The wind was blowing in the trees towering above me, but I was protected at this lower elevation and didn't feel it, just heard it in the constant howling and rustling though the leaves. I finished my tea, got myself ready for bed, climbed into my sleeping bag, and lay there watching the fire die down. After a while, I zipped my tent up (usually my moment of panic when I feel vulnerable and defenseless), snuggled into my bag, put in one headphone and put some music on low. I felt calm, and not scared at all, which was unexpected. There was a peace in knowing that the nearest road was 7 miles in one direction and 8 miles in the other, and that all other hikers out there were already settled into their own nests for the night. I started to drift off to sleep, but woke up shortly after, shivering. The wind had really picked up and the temperatures had really dropped. The forecast was for 39F, but with the wind, I believe it was right around freezing or just above. I pulled out my clothes bag and added another underlayer, and put on my gloves and puffy coat. I now had four layers of clothing on, plus handwarmers in my bag, and another down blanket tucked into my bag as a liner. I eventually dozed off but not for long. I woke with a start to a light outside my tent! I froze, grabbed my knife in one hand and my trekking pole in the other, and lay there holding my breath for what seemed like eternity. Until I realized... it was my headlamp. I had my headlamp on over my woolly hat and had turned over in my sleep and bumped the on/off button against my backpack that was by my head. I freaked myself out with my own headlamp!!! When I realized that I relaxed, but then I was cold again and I basically spent the rest of the night just laying there with my eyes closed, wishing for sleep that never came.
I must have dozed off at some point, because I woke up to the light of the sun shining in through the tent by my head. The wind was howling and it was bitterly cold, but I opened the door to see the sunrise, and wasn't disappointed. It had just risen over the horizon and was gleaming through the trees, transforming their yellow leaves into a bath of warm gold.
I wasn't quite ready to leave the relative warmth of my tent, so I tied the door open and made some coffee, then lay back down for a while looking at the colors of the leaves changing as the sun made it's way slowly into the sky. Every moving ray hit the leaves at different angles, and I felt like I was being treated to my very own private production from Mother Nature. It was a moment to remember.
I eventually finished my second cup of coffee, washed up, and changed clothes, and began packing up. It was difficult to leave the tent and I was frozen by the time I'd pulled down by bear bag and loaded up to leave. I said goodbye to my special spot and promised I'd visit again on my way to Maine one day. Then I headed north in the blustery wind. I soon came across a small stream, and stopped to refill both my water bottles, which had been depleted from dinner, tea, and coffee this morning.
I wasn't in pain, since I have long since learned to stretch at every opportunity and have kept my legs pretty strong by using the elliptical at the gym, but my heel blisters were bothering me, despite wrapping them BEFORE they began to blister and re-taping them before leaving camp. My second toes are longer than my big toes, so they were hurting a little from the downhill areas, but not badly (my shoes are a full size larger than my normal shoes to account for swelling and this). My collarbones were a little tender from the bag straps but not unbearable. So I kept walking.
A little while after crossing the stream, I started on a long gentle ascent to Chattahoochee Gap. This area was vibrant with colors, and being on a ridgeline, afforded mountain vistas to both my left and right. I had stopped to take it all in and record a video, when I heard a rustle of leaves on the trail behind me and a voice called out "good morning Tina!". It was Sidney, he had risen early and was headed back to his car to go home to Missouri. We walked together a while, discussing the temperatures, the terrain, and our plans. Then he bade me goodbye and good luck and went on ahead.
