“Happy Halloween Ike! I enjoyed reading your most recent blog post. What an incredible experience. My curious mind has to know…how does the photographer follow you? Is he rafting as well? I’d like to do some solo hiking/camping in the spring possibly out west. Any favorite destinations?”
(3 hours later) “Or….you can let me buy you dinner so I can pick your brain. I have a ton of questions and I can never be sure if REI is telling me the truth or just trying to sell me everything in the store 😉”
“Lol. There’s not actually a photographer. I never found anyone who enjoys the type of adventures I like to have, so I go alone most of the time. I take my own pictures using a tripod and timer or remote. I’m always up for dinner. My thoughts on gear may be a little spartan though..”
That was how our relationship had started, innocently enough with some texts about backpacking. I guess anyone with half a brain would have realized that gear was maybe not the prime motivator here. In all fairness though, I had probably set the stage a few months earlier by responding to one of Lu’s Facebook posts with this gem.
Lu: Would anyone else like to come over and vomit or have diarrhea on my carpet? I have so many questions for God when I die…the first of which being: Why did you have to make me a cat person?
Me: Where do we sign up?
We had known each other for years, but not well. Once we started talking though, it was easy to imagine a future together. The thing that really captured my imagination was the possibility of a life with a truly adventurous spirit. And that she made me laugh with literally everything she said. Eventually, it was time to put this promise to the test with her first real high mileage ultralight backpacking trip, and we settled on the Great Smoky Mountains.
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The ride from Michigan to Tennessee was a long one, and we rolled into Newfound Gap around evening. Lu made up a bed in the back of the car while I lit up a cheap portable grill and cooked a couple of avocado bacon cheeseburgers for dinner. Afterward, we caught some sleep, huddled together beneath some green army blankets as the temperature dropped. In the morning, we brewed up some camp coffee to warm our hands (a green mountain dark magic that I can still remember as I write this) and prepared to set out. Lu was so excited that we skipped breakfast in favor of hitting the trail.
When out hiking, I usually try to time my breaks to coincide with a view. It seems sad to spend 30 minutes sitting at the side of the trail in the woods, only to come around the corner to find some beautiful panorama that you then have to walk on by. So, as noon approached, we started looking for a scenic place to stop for lunch. We were trying to hold out for an awesome mountain view, but those were seemingly hard to come by in the dense woods of the Smokies, a fact that would become a running joke over the next two days. Soon, I could tell Lu was getting hangry. It turns out that I have a little more patience when it comes to waiting for views. Lu just wants to eat when she wants to eat.
As an aside, I have learned since then that on any trip, be it backcountry or front, the snacks need to come at regular intervals, or else. So as the trail curved around a wooded hillside, it seemed like the best we were going to do for now. I made some salami and cheese roll ups then brewed a little more coffee, just instant this time. Another thing I quickly learned about Lu is that there is never enough coffee. At the end of this trip, we’d be lucky enough to find a packet of instant on the ground along the trail as our supply had long since run out.
“Right behind this massive wall of trees blocking the way!”
In an effort to keep Lu engaged, I was doing my best to show her some of the flora and fauna along the way. I pointed out fresh bear sign, spring ephemerals like trillium and trout lilies, then stopped to dig up some Indian cucumber for her to try.
“I like when you dig me up a snack!” Lu exclaimed. “It’s like, ’Here is some bear shit, and right next to it is this thing you should eat’.”
At last, we made it down the mountain to Deep Creek, a beautiful bubbling stream full of mossy boulders and waterfalls. Lu was enthralled. “I’ve never been to a place like this that wasn’t full of people!”
We set up camp that night in a little clearing by the river. As we pitched the tarp, a doe wandered into the campsite, seemingly unafraid. She foraged among the branches for a while, walking this way and that as we watched enthralled, then slowly made her way down the trail. We sat on a log sipping a glass of red wine and eating chicken Alfredo before turning in for the night. The sounds of the bubbling brook soon had us asleep. I always tend to sleep better next to water for some reason. I think it’s because it drowns out the night noises my imagination likes to turn into bears.
We woke the next morning and quickly set out. We had a big hiking day ahead of us.
We loved every minute of our time along Deep Creek, but eventually the stream and trail parted ways and we began a long climb up the mountain following Martin’s Gap Trail. We would be climbing upward for the next 4 hours.
“No, it’s Scrotius,” Lu replied.
Also, as a photographer, I really love it when Lu fills the pockets of her pack with garbage
For the remainder of the afternoon, we set about the business of climbing the mountain. I don’t recall it’s name, and we would never see a view from its side, but I nicknamed it Escher’s Mountain, because it seemed like we were always going up and always curving toward the left, seemingly without end. Every time we thought we had climbed as high as we possibly could, the trail would veer left and there would be yet another climb ahead.
“Which way do you think the trail is going to head from this point?” I asked Lu as the trail thinned out up ahead
“I don’t know,” she quipped, “but I’m going to put my money on up.”
She paused, then giggled. “I think we’re going up some more”
At many points, the trail would narrow into a faint goat path weaving along the mountainside, leaving only enough room to place one foot in front of another. Constantly having to side-hill was also putting considerable pressure on our ankles, and Lu had sprained one a few months earlier. Lu, who had a deathly fear of heights, did her best not to look down the steep mountainside and kept up a steady stream of commentary to allay her terror.
”I love this stick,” she yelled, brandishing her trekking pole at one point. “Every time we have to do cliff-work, I’m bringing this stick. And if I can’t bring this stick, I’m not coming!”
“Oh good! I’ve never seen one of these before” Lu noted in a droll voice.
”I’m really looking forward to the challenge.”
Somewhere near the top of the mountain, now on the Thomas Divide Trail, Lu stopped. She was looking pale and dizzy. We sat at the side of the trail and I pushed snacks at her and did some mental math about trail miles and timing. It occurred to me that 25 mile mountain days on someone’s first extended backpacking trip was probably not such a great idea, and we were still very far from the car if she couldn’t make it. I was suddenly real worried, and angry at myself for such poor planning.
Luckily, after a couple granola bars, Lu rallied and got to her feet. We pushed up some more until eventually it seemed like there was no more up to be had. Exhausted, we stopped to rest on a log at the mountain top along a narrow ridge line.
“I bet that view is really amazing!” Lu exclaimed, “Mountains as far as the eye can see, on either side of this dead tree forest blocking our view. It was totally worth a seven hour climb straight up…”
As we prepared to move on, Lu got off to the side of the trail to care care of some business. Almost as soon as her pants were down, we suddenly heard voices, and moments later two trail workers with chainsaws made their way into the clearing. By this point, Lu had scrambled herself back into array, and we mumbled an embarrassed greeting as we moved on. There did seem to be some kind of enchantment surrounding her though. Although we hardly saw anyone on the entire Mountain-to-Sea trail, every time Lu dropped trouser, people instantly seemed to appear.
As the old saying goes, what goes up must eventually come down, and we were finally doing so too. Down and around, down and around, we were now traversing the Kanati Fork Trail. I could tell Lu was tired, because she had stopped bantering and was focused grimly on the path ahead. It soon became clear that we were not going to make it to our designated campsite at Kephart’s shelter. I started scouting for a place to stop, but there was relatively little level ground to be seen, though we only needed a very small footprint. Every now and again, I’d pop off trail at a likely spot, only to quickly rejoin the trail and move on.
At last, as dusk descended, we crossed the Oconaluftee River, filling our water bottles for the evening. A faint deer path crossed the trail by the river, and on a hunch, I followed it for a few hundred yards. The trail passed through some rocks, crossed a small creek, and then opened up into a beautiful meadow full of wildflowers. Lu exclaimed in delight, then gracefully sank to the ground in exhaustion. We had found our home for the night.
We had lugged a platypus full of good pinot noir up and down the mountains all day, so as soon as camp was set up, I poured us each a glass and we sat down to unwind. Now suitably fortified, Lu was in a noticeably cheerier mood, marveling at the wonders of the day, particularly the many bubbling streams. As we relaxed and chatted, I got to work on dinner, what my friend Ted called “Thanksgiving in a bag”. It was a heavenly combination of mashed potatoes, stuffing, rehydrated chicken, and cranberries, served with a topping of gravy. “I’m thankful for you,” Lu murmured, happily sipping her glass of pinot.
We started our morning hiking upward again along the Kephart Prong trail, named after Horace Kephart, an early proponent of National Park status for the Smokies. We were both a little sore from yesterday’s climb. “It’s that tightness in your calves that tells you you’re alive,” I said convincingly. Lu just looked at me blankly.
Today, we’d be climbing the Southern slopes of Mount Kephart, following the Dry Sluice Trail to its intersection with the Appalachian Trail. One of the most striking features of this section of trail were the “footlogs”, an increasingly rickety series of logs with wobbly handrails, spanning some of the rivers and creeks that cascaded down the mountainside. Lu’s vertigo prevented her from truly appreciating these little bridges, and she crab-walked across them with growing trepidation as they grew higher and narrower.
“That was horrible!”
Another creek crossing, and another footlog.
“This one’s not so high up,” Lu tried to convince herself. “It’s going to be ok.”
Midway across, she let out a little yelp. “It’s wobbly! You can’t see, but it’s leaning all the way out. She continued across, painfully sidestepping until she reached the far side, then raised her arms in victory. “Wooo!”
We continued up trail, soon arriving at yet another wet crossing. Lu cut down to the rushing river, kneeling to test the water temperature with her hand.
“There’s a perfectly good footlog right over there,” I offered helpfully, pointing to the rather thin log suspended high above the stream.
“I’m heavily debating the water,” Lu returned gravely.
I briefly lost Lu when she went to fill her water bottle by Kephart shelter while I studied the map. When she hadn’t reappeared after 10 minutes, I checked by the stream, but she was no where to be found. She had missed the nearby water source and headed relatively far down trail to the last stream we had passed. After a tense 20 minutes, I finally found her coming about up trail again. I was manifesting my worry about losing her as anger, and Lu was real pissed that I had seemingly sent her on a long hike for water. When we were finally able to speak to each other again, we continued onward.
Things dried out along the aptly named Dry Sluice Trail, where we walked in the fog along rutted forest trails and through bright green tunnels of rhododendron continuing ever upward.
“This is the green, creepy part of the mountain,” Lu commented, “Do you like it?”
Finally she stopped, and pointed ahead, “Can you see the view?”
I looked up ahead into a dense patch of fog. “No,” I replied.
She gave me the thumbs up and a big smile, “We are at the top of the Smoky Mountains after 4 hours of climbing. Beautiful view. You’ll see.”
She was right. Minutes later, we hit the Appalachian Trail.
We headed along the well trod trail until Lu suddenly let out a scream.
“Oh my god, oh my god, it’s the side of a mountain! Do you see it?”
“What?” I asked, “There’s a view?”
“Four hours!” she yelled in jubilation. “Four HOURS! Straight up!”
She pointed wildly, “It’s a smoking mountain!”
Steam was indeed rising off the top of the mountain in the cool morning air.
Lu giggled again, then confided in a low voice, “I made that mountain my bitch!”
We left the main trail to hike a narrow rocky trail toward Charlie’s Bunion. The trail was separated from the cliffs to our right by a narrow band of rhododendron.
“Lu!” I cheered, “You are almost at the top of the cliff.”
She was sinking lower and lower as she climbed the narrow rocky trail, seeming to wilt in slow motion until finally melting into a puddle against the rock to her left.
“Wait, I asked befuddled, “What’s happening?”
“I think it looks the same ,” she replied. “It looks the same from right here.”
After two days of not seeing anyone, the AT was a bit of a shock. We were constantly passing groups of hikers heading up toward the Bunion, looking (and smelling) all clean and sporty in their color-coordinated hiking clothes. Suddenly, just a few hundred yards from Newfound Gap, we heard a shout, “It’s him!”
I looked up from the trail in confusion to see Justin, Mike, and a handful of students I knew. Turned out, they had been taking advantage of the change to a virtual curriculum during Covid by driving cross-country, doing their coursework from the car, and stopping to hike all the national parks along the way. We chatted for a while, and then after swearing them to secrecy (my work at the university had mandated travel restrictions at the time), we made our way back toward the car.
This may have been our first backpacking trip together, but it wouldn’t be the last.
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