Out of the Woods

As I'm sure many of you are wondering, let me dispel all doubt

As of 4:10 PM on November 4th, 2011 I completed my Southbound thru hike of the Appalachian Trail.

But before I go into detail about that, I must first pick up where I left off in North Carolina...

I had made it in to Franklin just before a heavy rain set in, so I was lucky enough to be able to take a 0 in town and wait for the weather to clear. And man, was it ever a nice trail town. Not necessarily from an attraction standpoint, but there was soooo much food there...chain restaurants, local eateries, and grocery/convenience stores...i ate pretty much constantly the whole day....walking around in the rain is no big deal when you have a nice warm hotel room to go back to and you get to eat lots of hot and delicious food!

But alas, once the weather cleared, it was time to move on. I crossed over the NC/GA border shortly after.

When I left Franklin, I had enough supplies to make it 70 miles, but I was seriously considering going into Hiawasse, GA, a town just across the border. I was still in the mindset to push hard, but I had little reason to do so since my parents weren't coming until the 5th and moving quickly would only leave me with more time to have to kill later.
I pondered the situation briefly, and once I reached the road to town, I decided I'd go in. And luckily for me, as I emerged from the woods, I saw a red pickup parked in the trailhead parking lot...with someone in the driver's seat. It was kind of odd to see a truck parked directly by the trailhead with someone inside, but I figured he might’ve been waiting for a friend or something, so I wasn’t too overly concerned. I decided to approach the truck to see if I could bum a ride. But as soon as I got within 10 feet…

"Hey man, need a ride?!"

Apparently I wouldn’t have to ask at all. It was my lucky day.

“Sure!”
“Throw your pack in the back and hop in.”

I threw my pack in the back of the truck and got in the passenger’s seat. But then I immediately noticed something odd about the truck...there was a gaping hole in the dash where the radio was supposed to be, and the ignition had exposed wires coming out of the side of the steering wheel. Sketchy.

"Where ya goin in town?"
"Umm...a motel, I guess."
"Great, I know just the place!"

The man fired up the truck and we left the parking lot. We hadn't been driving 2 minutes when the situation turned even more concerning…

"So whaddaya smoke?"

Apparently he's one of those people that thinks because I'm a hiker I have to be both a huge pothead and a huge hippie.

"Nothing, really..."
"SERIOUSLY?! You don't smoke anything?!"

No, sketchy ass redneck driving probably stolen truck, I don't.

"Nope."
"Oh..well do you drink?"
"Sometimes"
"Cool man, I know some guys that make moonshine real good! You want any?"
"No"
"Bullshit! Of course you do! You just don't know you do.”

The driver continued to try to attempt to peak my interest in other assorted illegal activities (dog fighting, puppy milling, drug manufacturing, arson, fraud, and at least a dozen other felonies) all the way to town, while simultaneously recounting pointless stories from his life that pertained to each one.

Example:
“Yeah I went out there by that river one time with a bunch of that moonshine and set a whole fuckin’ tree on fire. And they didn’t send nobody out or nuthin. I thought I was gonna catch the whole forest on fire…”

I kept my answers as close to one word as possible. Why he decided to choose a random hiker from out of the woods to confess his crimes to, I really don’t know. But luckily, grand theft auto was never brought up; there was at least a chance the truck we were riding in wasn’t stolen after all…

After about 20 minutes, we reached the motel.

“There ya go man. My name’s Mike, by the way”

He extended his hand to shake. I took it.

“Foot-z. Nice to meet you.”

Total lie. I would’ve actually preferred never to have met him. But then again, he did save me at least 3 hours of walking…

“Oh, I almost forgot, I have something to give to the owner of this place!”

Mike got out of the truck and headed to the lobby of the motel. I got my pack out of the truck bed and pulled out a small notepad and pencil. If this truck was stolen, I wanted to at least have SOMETHING to give the authorities. I took down his plate number and quickly hid the notepad out of sight. A few moments later, Mike reemerged from the lobby and started heading back toward his truck.

“I gotcha all set, Foot-Z. That guy in there’s gonna give ya a discount on your room seein as how you’re a hiker an such.”
“Thanks, that sounds good.”
“No problem. Oh and hey, you ever change your mind about wantin anything, you just tell the guy at the desk and he’ll give me a call. I can get ahold of pretty much anything. So long!”

He hopped in his truck and drove off. Criminal or not, it can certainly be argued that he did a good thing by giving a car-less hiker a ride to town. There may be hope for him after all.

I put my pack on and walked into the motel lobby. Despite being dropped off there by a sketchy redneck, the place actually looked fairly nice.

“I’d like a room for the night, please.”
“Sure thing. The hiker rate is $42.50 including tax.”
“Very well.”

I handed over my credit card to the clerk. While we were waiting for the machine to warm up, I decided to try to get the full story on Mike. The clerk obviously knew him, and it’s not like I would stir up any trouble by asking around since I was simply passing through town to begin with.

“So that guy who dropped me off here…what’s his deal?”
“Who? Mike? Oh yeah…he’s a coot. Notorious character ‘round these parts. Lives just across the border in North Carolina, but he comes over here and parks at the trail heads to offer hikers ‘free’ rides. But I’ve heard he drives ‘em halfway to town and then says ‘ok, free part’s over…if you want a full ride it’s gonna cost you’ and if they don’t pay he kicks ‘em out of his truck and makes ‘em walk…”
“Geez. I don’t get it, though, that didn’t happen to me?”
“Probably cuz he thought he could sell you sumthin…”

The machine had warmed up. The clerk swiped my card and handed me the receipt to sign.

“But if he’s such a bad guy, why do you let him come around here?”
“Well hell, I don’t like him at all. I just know he ain’t got many friends, an if he gots a problem with you he gonna find a way to get at you somehow. I ain’t lookin to see my business get hurt.”
“…He confessed to at least 4 felonies on the drive over here. It can’t be that hard to get him arrested.”
“Sure. But he ain’t never been caught doin nuthin. And you gotta have proof to get ‘im locked up.”

I signed the receipt and slid it across the counter.

“I hear ya.”

He handed me back a room key.

“Room 301.”
“Thanks.”

It’s amazing what people you can meet in these small towns. It’s even more amazing how ineffective law enforcement can be. In Fairfax, VA cops will harass you for just LOOKING suspicious…the idea that a character like Mike is free to come and go without being “encouraged” to stay away by local cops is mind boggling.

Whatever. I just hike here.

The next morning I was back on the trail once again. Only this time I had less than 70 miles to go, and was very excited to be so close to finishing. Georgia was a cakewalk, all things considered. Sure it had some rough spots, but the terrain was easy to travel on, and the elevations were more conducive to rolling hills than actual mountains…

But they got that Blue Ridge Swag. So I guess that makes them cool. Or something.

A day and a half later, I had made it to Neel’s Gap. One of the finest outfitters on the trail, and the only building the trail passes directly through:

They also have a hostel run by legendary thru hiker “Pirate.” It was truly an honor to stay there…the rules, no doubt, were written by Pirate himself:

Even more awesome was the fact that dinner was included with the bunk/shower price, and Pirate is a fairly good cook. He made us BBQ chicken, beans and cole slaw. We had healthy portions, but by this point most of the hikers at the hostel were full fledged Southbounders. Our portions were no match for our insatiable hiker appetites. All of us were still hungry after dinner. I don’t blame Pirate, though; he’s used to feeding Northbounders starting early in the season…after 30 miles, they haven’t put their bodies in an almost immeasurable caloric deficit. No matter. In a few days I would be home and have as much food as I could eat.

After dinner, I went outside to turn my phone on and check my messages. I had great cell service thanks to the fact that the hostel (and the trail) was directly by a road, but as it turns out I had an urgent message from my parents. I called home.

Turns out that my parents were NOT coming to get me as originally planned, and I would have to find my own way out of the woods and back home. Granted, they said were both sick and felt bad they couldn't make it, so I couldn't blame them. They said they would cover the cost of the hotel room and ensuing flight home, as well. So really all I needed was a ride to the airport...

I went back into the hostel, looking concerned. One of the other hikers, Folken, took notice.

Folken was an interesting character. I met him just across the Georgia border at one of the shelters I had gone into to snag water. He had come up from Miami to start section hiking the AT, and he wanted to knock out Georgia all in one shot. So he parked his car at the US Forest Service road a mile from Springer Mountain and got a shuttle out to the Georgia/NC border to hike South.

When I met him, he was getting a late start from the shelter. He was on day 2 at that point, and was already having serious blister issues. His pack looked twice as heavy as it needed to be, and he was clearly not in long distance hiking trail condition (although not blatantly out of shape). I spent some time talking with him giving advice about this and that, and I scoured the shelter for anything useful left behind to help him out…I had only gotten 1 blister within the last month, and only because I swapped out boots in Damascus. I wasn’t carrying any blister-aid stuff with me.

Luckily, I did find some super glue in a tent repair kit that was left behind. I gave the whole tube to Folken.

“Here you go.”
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Put it on your blisters.”
“What? Why would I do that?”
“Just trust me. You ever heard of a thing called ‘New Skin’?”
“No….”
“It seals your blisters and adds a layer of protection while your skin heals up. Super glue is pretty much the same stuff. And it won’t sweat off.”
“Oh! I see…”
“Yeah, just put a couple layers of glue on it and let it dry. You’ll be good to go in no time.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and gave an expression as if I had just saved his life.

“Thanks man! I was wondering how I was gonna get through today.”
“No problem. I’ve been doing this for a little while…”

I headed out of the shelter, thinking nothing of it and doubting I would ever see him again. But yet here he was several days later at the hostel…granted he came in around 9:30 pm (5 hours after me), dehydrated, hungry, and tired, but hey, he made it just the same.

“Dude, what’s your deal?”
“My parents got sick and aren’t coming to get me.”
“No shit?! No ride from Springer?”
“No. And now I gotta figure out what the fuck I’m gonna do. I heard there’s a hostel around here that’ll pick you up and drive you to the airport, but I haven’t done any research on that and I have no idea where it is.”
“You could always just walk home. The trail goes right near your house, right?”
“Sure. But then I’d be a damn Northbounder. Can’t let myself do that.”

Folken laughed.

“No sweat man, I’ll give you a ride.”
“Say what?!”
“Yeah, my car’s already parked there, and I have to go right through Atlanta to get to Miami. It’s totally not a problem.”
“No shit?! That’s awesome! Thanks man!”

Well….that solved that problem. Trail magic saves the day again.
I split the last part of my trip up between two days. I could’ve just knocked out the last 30 miles from Neels Gap in one day, but Folken was going to take two to get there, and I would’ve been stuck there by the road waiting for a day. So I did a 10 mile day to a hostel, and a 20 mile day to wrap up the last of my thru hike. I hit Springer in the late afternoon, but ended up doing Folken’s last mile with him back up to the summit around sunset.

And with that, Folken and I hiked back down to his car, and left for Atlanta airport.

My Prolonged Excursion on the Appalachian Trail had officially come to a close.

The Hot Springs Tubs, The Smokies, and The Dam Tourists

As exciting as crossing a state border is while hiking on the AT, for the last 200 or so miles, it's been hard to say exactly which state I've been in most of the time. The state borders of North Carolina and Tennessee both use the Appalachian mountain range as a natural demarcation point, and the trail runs directly over the tops of the mountains, creating jurisdictional issues for both North Carolina and Tennessee.

Example: Years ago, Tennessee had a law on the books that stated that no campsites or shelters along the AT were permitted to have stationary privies (or outhouses). Therefore, to get around this regulation, newer shelters in Tennessee were built as close to the trail as possible, and the outhouses were built several yards away...in North Carolina.

Well. I guess Tennessee finally got its shit together...

All kidding aside, though, the last few hundred miles have been particularly interesting. Now that I'm getting deeper into The South, I'm starting to hit the towns that I'd heard about from Northbounders since way back in the beginning of my trip. Especially Hot Springs, NC:

A VERY hiker friendly town, and home to a major trail attraction:

Hot tubs. But not just any hot tubs. Hot tubs heated with “natural mineral water.” Apparently there is a hot spring in the nearby river where the water is heated naturally through fissures in the earth's surface, and the water is collected and pumped into the tubs. Hence the name “Hot Springs.” The tubs themselves are in roofed enclosures surrounded by high wood fences, and the attendants take on an attitude of polite discretion...almost like they expect the patrons to engage in otherwise questionable behavior. But I supposed they set it up that way...the hot tub enclosures do indeed create a sense of privacy.

Good thing, too. Me and 3 other hikers decided to take a 0 in Hot Springs when it started raining cats and dogs, and we definitely took advantage of the Hot Springs hiker rate. We sat in one of the hot tubs and pounded beers for an hour and a half while watching the rain come down in sheets just a few feet from the tub enclosure.

And there were suckers out there hiking in that. Ha. Sucks for them!

Once the rain cleared up, though, it was back on the trail and time to head farther south towards The Great Smoky Mountains of Tennessee.

Of course, some shelters along the way had better accommodations than others. Like this great piece of hand made furniture:

And the sad thing is that I'm almost positive it would hold up better compared to some of the shit that Ikea puts out...

But in a slightly different category, I also came across this FAA backup navigation tower:

And is this an intensely worded sign, or what?

I don't think they're kidding, either.

Once I was in the Smoky Mountains though, the trail took on a new dynamic. The Smokies are a HEAVILY used area (the park estimates the Smokies have over 9 million visitors annually), which meant that I was no longer sharing the trail with comparatively experienced hikers anymore, but I was once again forced to be subjected to the ignorance of out of shape day hikers who really have no business being out there anyway, as well as section hikers who come to the sad realization that hiking is hard work and the great weekend trip they had planned is no longer fun for them. Yet these are minor annoyances compared to having to deal with one of the trail's most dangerous creatures: The American Tourist.

While seldom seen in the outdoors for more than 3 hours at a time (and even more rarely on the trail itself) The American Tourist is a stunning example of nature's ability to manufacture fauna of questionable use. Their habitat is typically ranges anywhere there are roads and well graded trails/pathways to follow for a short distance to some notable landmark. They may take on many different physical characteristics, but ALL of them will display at least one if not more of the following attributes:

1. They will be carrying a large oversized camera, and will use it to take lots of pictures of things that are simply not interesting.
2. They will often impede a thoroughfare, road, or other highly trafficked pathway in order to take a picture of something that is not worth the aggravation of the people they are holding up.
3. They will complain incessantly when the path they are taking from the parking lot increases in elevation even slightly.
4. They believe the world around them is part of their vacation. Therefore, they will act as though everything in their immediate vicinity has been placed there solely for their amusement.
5. They have an overwhelming desire to have something to impress friends and family with once they return from their vacation, but they have an extreme lack of common sense. This then, leads them to do particularly dumb things.

And in line with attribute 5, here are some amusing stories about American Tourists in the Smokies:

A Tourist was attempting to take a picture of a bear. He intentionally approached the bear to get a better picture, but got frustrated when the bear would simply look down and sniff the ground instead of looking up at the camera. So the Tourist kicked the bear in the face to try to get it to look up. The bear responded in kind, and bit the man's foot off.

That one might be good, but this one takes the cake:

A Tourist sees a bear cub nearby. He hands his wife the camera, and walks over to it. He then picks up the bear cub, and tells his wife to take a picture. The bear cub, having no desire to be picked up, slashes the man across the chest and completely guts him.

But I digress. The point is that The American Tourist ultimately has an extremely limited knowledge of outdoor activities, but does enjoy the IDEA of the outdoors as a whole (meaning they liked the pictures they saw of it in the brochure they picked up in the hotel lobby and decided it would be fun to take a trip out).

Which is exactly why crossing a parking lot in the middle of the Smokies near its most popular attraction is a bad thing for an experienced AT thru hiker to do.

The AT crosses Newfound Gap Road near Clingman's Dome, the tallest mountain on the trail and home to a popular photo op from an observation deck on the summit:

Admittedly, the view from the deck is kinda cool, but nothing as spectacular as some of the others I have seen from other vantage points on the trail.

Yet the parking lot a ways before it is, for lack of a better word, a shit show. Crowded, noisy, and jam packed with people and cars, both coming and going. And because it is the most formidable obstacle within sight, the AT naturally must run straight through it.

Now I realize that crossing a parking lot does not sound like a very difficult thing to do. And inherently, it is not. Yet it is the severe infestation of American Tourists that makes it a daunting task. I was literally not in the parking lot for 10 seconds before I was stopped by a short, elderly woman.

“Do you speak English?!” She demanded.
“...Of Course?” I responded in an inquisitive tone.
“Oh well I saw some other guys a ways back that look kinda like you, but they don't speak no English.”
I was determined to restrain myself from being mean, so I thought of the most neutral thing I could say and quickly spit it out.
“Okay...”
She fired another question almost immediately.
“Did you come from MAINE?!!”
“Yes, but I--”
“--Well Bless Your Heart! How long you been out?!”

I answered the woman's questions for several minutes, but I soon realized that a sizable crowd was starting to surround me and I was no longer taking questions from just the elderly woman. I quickly realized I was becoming a tourist attraction, and needed to get moving before my patience was tried to the point of me starting to get mean.

“Alright guys, story time's over. I'm gonna get moving...”
I bolted for the woods on the other side of the parking lot and picked up the trail again.

Come to think of it, I would really appreciate it if the park put up “Do not approach hiker” signs.

Luckily, I had great weather through The Smokies, though, and I was only subjected to annoying tourists for maybe a day or two at the most. The views were alright, but most of the fall colors had disappeared at the higher altitudes (5,000-6,800 feet).

Before I knew it, I was out of them entirely and had made it to Fontana Dam, NC.

The Dam itself was built on Fontana Lake, but the neighboring resort town (named for the Dam) was simply a small village built to house the workers that built the Dam back in the day. Still, the scenery around the Dam and the Dam itself look pretty cool:

But like most Dams, there was a Russian Chemical Weapons facility directly beneath it. So I naturally had to bungee jump off of the Dam, land on the roof, cut a hole in it with my sweet laser watch, and blow it to smithereens (James Bond reference)

Yet now, about 70-ish miles past Fontana, I am lucky enough to see a second peak of color. At lower elevations, fall colors are still very much evident, and the trees that were holding out on turning their leaves have now given in:

So here I sit in Franklin, North Carolina. 107 miles from finishing the AT at Springer Mountain, Georgia. I'd say I am about 5 days from finishing (in hiking time), but my parents are slated to pick me up on November 5th (about a week from now). Therefore, I will definitely have some extra time to kill in the near future, but my guess is I'll spend it in Neels Gap (the last town stop, 30 miles from Springer) and just hang out. It's great to know that I am this close to the end...I've had a blast during this whole trip, but honestly...going home sounds pretty good to me, too.

Virginia Part 3, The Peoples Republic of Kincora, and the Crazy Hostel Neighbor

So. Picking up where I left off in Virginia…(since I haven’t really been in a place long enough to get free time to write or get access to a decent computer. But now, I seem to be in luck and have both.)

The rain continued to be an issue for about a week, but then started to clear up. In that time, I made it to a town in Southwest Virginia called Catawba.

Truth be told, there isn’t much in Catawba. Certainly not a big town by any means, the only buildings in the town center are a gas station/convenience store, a somewhat larger general store, and a post office. Yet there is one attraction in Catawba which thru hikers in both directions look forward to getting to for months. It’s simply called “The Home Place”

It’s not much to look at from the outside; it is merely a quaint house perched at the top of a series of rolling hills about a mile and a half outside of Catawba’s downtown (if you could even call it that). But do not be fooled by its meager appearance. The Home Place Offers what could be argued as the Appalachian Trail’s best restaurant cuisine.

From left to right: Spicy honey mustard, sweet tea, biscuits, green beans, fried chicken, ham, corn, beans, lemonade, roast beef, mashed potatoes, apple butter, and cole slaw.

All the food is home made, and every ingredient comes from local sources. It’s served family style, which means that you and whomever you go with (no matter what your party size) sit at one table and all the food is brought to you at one time and you may eat whatever you wish.

The plethora of delicious food isn’t even the best part, however. The BEST part is that it’s an all you can eat place. If you run out of something, you simply ask a waiter for more and they bring you another serving of whatever.

But with a hefty hiker appetite, it’s amazing that they can manage to make any money on groups of hikers at all. It only took 5 hikers about 10 minutes to completely clean out every plate, pitcher, and bowl of anything they brought us. We subsequently got 4 more refills of everything, and still had room for dessert.

And lucky for us 2011 thru hikers, we had a place to go after we were done with our delicious dinner. In the early 2000’s, there was a hostel in Catawba known as the 4 pines run by a man named Joe Mitchell. Apparently, it was a major trail destination, and those hiking back then always had a great time stopping in. But Joe got married around 2006, and the hostel was unfortunately closed at the demands of his wife.

But in early 2011, Joe divorced his wife, and reopened his hostel. Which means that us 2011 guys are the first hikers to be able to stay at 4 pines in over 5 years. Lucky us.

The hostel and Joe’s house as seen from the trail on a nearby mountain.

Yes. Joe owns a deaf dog.

One thing I could not get over, though, is the fact that I was still in my home state of Virginia, but I was very very far from home. And things kept happening around me that made that point more apparent…

Before going to The Home Place, we stopped by the hostel to drop our stuff off and get cleaned up. Joe offered to provide us with a shuttle down to the restaurant, so we were out waiting in his driveway for him to get his truck. About 800 yards away in a clearing across the road, some deer were resting on the side of a hill. I made some comment about how it was a shame that deer weren’t in season at the time to which Joe’s 13 year old son, Josh, replied “Well theys in season fur me!”

He then disappeared into the garage and reappeared moments later with a .270 hunting rifle which was nearly as big as him strapped to his back.

“Geeze man, I was kidding.”
“It’s youth day today! Anyone under 16 can kill any deer with any gun! It’s great.”

He proceeded to cross the road to attempt to get closer to the deer, but they saw him advancing and started to trot towards the treeline. This would not have been a problem, but direct access to the clearing was limited by his neighbor’s fence line, so Josh wasn’t able to move up on the deer quickly enough. Realizing this, he stopped moving, un-slung his rifle, rested it on his neighbor’s fence post, and quickly cracked off a round.

No deer immediately went down, but it was possible that one of them was hit and had fallen just out of sight inside the treeline. Josh begin to navigate around his neighbor’s fence towards the clearing, when his neighbor emerged from inside her house and began to yell at him and wave at Joe to come over.

“Alright guys, let’s go see what she wants and I’ll take y’all to dinner.”

We all got in the truck, and Joe headed across the road. His neighbor was furious.

“Did you see what your boy just did?!”
“Yeah, he shot at a deer.”
“On MY property!”
“This ain’t YOUR property. This is Jim Layton’s place!”
“That’s some BULLshit, this is MY property. I pay the bills here.”
“No. Jim Layton owns this place. You’re just a damn RENTER!”
“Yeah, well we’ll see what’s what. I’m callin the law.”
“Good, you do that.”

Joe then looked at Josh.

“Well, what’re you waitin for? Go see whatcha done, boy.”

Josh shrugged, and then headed up the hill to the clearing to check for signs that he had hit his deer. Joe turned back to his neighbor.

“Ima take these hikers to dinner, and I’ll be back. You know where to find me if you got something more to say…”

He then backed out of the driveway and headed for the restaurant.

Turns out Josh never hit the deer, and Joe was given a citation for improper hunting supervision…apparently, you have to be 100 yards from any dwelling before firing any weapons; giving Josh’s firing position 25 yards from the house would’ve been generous. Joe got the ticket, though, because Josh was a minor and apparently wasn't old enough to know better. Or something.

Now I’m assuming these types of incidents are a regular occurrence down south, but in all the places I’ve lived, nothing like that would’ve ever happened. People in the suburbs of DC simply don’t have the opportunity to hunt deer from their front yards, but even if they did, I don’t think many people would. Nor would anyone bring up a personal distinction between someone renting a property and someone owning a property in any form of disagreement. The whole thing seemed fairly absurd to me…

Still in my home state…but a LONG way from home.

After leaving Catawba, however, I came upon several trail points of interest:

A continental divide…

The site of the plane crash that killed Audie Murphy (most highly decorated soldier of WWII)

And a randomly placed sign that simply read “Captains”

I had no idea what the sign meant when I came across it (and almost went by it) by I figured that I would never be in a situation again when I would come across a random sign in the woods and have the option to follow it somewhere. So I got off trail and made my way down a small narrow path when I eventually came upon a zip line crossing a large creek to someone‘s backyard.

I gave the zip line a closer look. Clearly it was made for hikers, but I seriously doubted its ability to hold me. I debated turning back to the trail, but it was still early in the day and I figured the Captain would provide some sort of trail magic soda or food. Definitely didn’t want to pass that up, even if the zip line was rickety.

I threw my pack down and started to untie my boots. I hadn’t forded anything since Maine, but the water in the creek was calm and only about ankle deep. It wouldn’t be too difficult to switch shoes from my boots to my five-fingers and walk across the creek. I had almost got my first boot off when I heard a voice behind me.

“What the hell are you doin’ boy?!”

I turned. An old portly man was standing across the creek on the opposite bank.

“Are you the Captain?”
“Sure am!”
“Well hi! I’m Foot-z”
“Glad to meet you. Now what’re you doin’?”
“I was gonna ford this creek here. The zip line doesn’t look too--”
“Hell no! You leave your pack there and get in that swing right there. I’ll pull ya across.”

I still didn’t trust the zip line, but I wasn’t about to argue. And If I fell in, at least my pack would be dry.

I got in the swing.

“Alright, now give that tree a good kick and shove off!”

I kicked the tree and flew across the creek, inches above the water. I made it to the opposite bank just fine.

“Come getcha some soda.”

I followed the Captain from the bank of the creek to his back porch. We chatted a while over some soda, when I noticed something rather unusual. An enclosed wood box with a door on it sitting on his porch:

"Say Captain, what is that thing?"
"Oh that? It's a sauna."
"No shit?! That's awesome!"
"Yes but it...doesn't work.."

Ha. Right. What he means is doesn't work for HIKERS. No worries, I wasn't about to ask him to use it anyway...

We continued our conversation, and he gave me advice about the water situation farther south, and helped me get back across the creek. We said our goodbyes, and I headed back to the trail. Despite all the weird people out here, there are PLENTY of good ones.

That night I ended up at a great camp site on top of a mountain. Great views, and the sunset looked awesome.

The nice weather didn’t last, though. On October 1st, I got snowed on. Big time.

Some of you might think this is a majestic and beautiful thing and I am a lucky person for witnessing the first snowfall of the year. But I can assure you that I am not. At 4,500 feet, on top of a mountain, hiking through 2 inches of snow in shorts and a t-shirt that are soaked from falling snow with boots that aren’t waterproof (at least anymore) is not a fun experience. I was totally unprepared. Mainly because October 1st does NOT take place during the winter.

Luckily, the snowy weather was only really for a day or so, and then the good weather resumed. This was an especially good thing because the section of trail known as the Grayson Highlands is a fairly exposed region at high altitude. A very pretty place, complete with picturesque views and wild horses

Would you believe the horses don’t like Snicker’s bars? Tried to give him one and he spit it out. I was offended.

A day after leaving the Grayson Highlands, I arrived in Damascus, VA and took a well deserved 0. I made it a point to stop by the outfitter and get geared up for winter, as well as obtained a new set of boots (totally free thanks to Merrell’s on-trail replacement policy.

Check out the difference:

Left boot: 0 miles
Right boot: 1,390 miles

And not only did I get new boots, but one of my good friends from way way back in the day goes to UVA-Wise, a university in a town not far from Damascus.

She was nice enough to let RedBeard and I stay at her place for a 0 day and relax. We even got to go to class with her. It was fun, but I definitely feel a bit for her roomates and her classmates…RedBeard and I did shower and were relatively clean when she picked us up/when we went to class, but by this point even our town clothes seem to have a damp, harsh smell to them that won’t come out no matter how much they get washed. We probably didn’t smell too good.

Still, it was good to take a 0 and spend a day not hiking. Thanks for everything, Megan!

Then, once out of Damascus, Red Beard and I pressed on further south into TN to reach the famous Kincora Hostel, owned by the legendary trail maintainer and switchback manufacturer, Bob Peoples.

Some words on Bob Peoples. Bob has been involved with the trail as long as anyone can remember. He takes trail maintenance very personally, and frequently organizes crews to clear blow downs, dig anti-erosion ditches, create stone “steps” over/down obstacles, and add switchbacks (periodic gradual inclines up mountains). It is said that Bob Peoples himself has added roughly 16 miles to the trail over the years just in switchbacks alone, although I do not know how true that statement is.

Yet because of his ability to effectively alter the earth’s terra firma at will, AT hikers often jokingly speak of Bob People’s as a trail version of Chuck Norris; an ultimate badass who can literally do anything he wants, even the physically impossible. Common jokes about Bob Peoples include “Bob Peoples gives his boots blisters,” “Bob Peoples can slam turnstyles” and “Every time Bob Peoples builds a switchback, an angel gets its wings.”

He bought the property he lives on now simply because the trail crosses a road less than a mile away from it and it is an optimal location for a hostel. He then built the hostel himself, but only charges $4 a night to stay there (merely to cover the electric and water bills run up by the hikers).

The name “Kincora,” comes from a Celtic phrase meaning “kindness of the heart.” The hostel, attached to Bob’s main cabin residence, consists of one large main building and a treehouse.

Main hostel:

Treehouse:

Inside of treehouse:

The living room of the main building. It has sort of a “club house” type feel:

The walls and ceilings of Kincora are covered with the finishing photos of literally thousands of thru hikers. I plan to send him a copy of mine when I finish, too:

The bunkroom:

And no joke, the man even has a pet raccoon.

The only sad part: Bob Peoples, the man, the myth, the legend…wasn’t there. He had gone to an AT sponsored event up in New England and wasn’t due to be back for several days. Quite disappointing indeed.

The good weather held out for a good few days after our stay at Kincora, though. The fall colors are definitely in full bloom here in TN:

And coming over the Roan highlands was simply beautiful:

But then weather took a turn for the worse, and I hunkered down in a hostel about 20 miles from Erwin, TN for a 0. It’s nowhere near as famous as Kincora, but the lady who runs it, See-see, LOVES Southbounders and has a collection of our footprints on her kitchen floor:

Her logic: Her hostel is at mile marker 364. Therefore, she believes that lots of people can walk 364 miles away FROM Springer...but not everyone can walk 1,816 miles TOWARDS it.

Well...can't argue with that.

Her plan is to fill every tile on the floor with footprints and then seal the whole thing. It seems a bit goofy, but I do like the idea and was happy to help her out:

The main thing about this hostel, though, is the paranoid schizophrenic neighbor next door. The man is seriously a disturbed individual. He is retired, but now spends his life creating trouble for See-see as well as the patron hikers who stay at her hostel.

For starters, the man gets up at 4:30 in the morning (EVERY morning) and runs his ATV up and down the road right next to the hostel, revving the engine and screaming out incoherent phrases in an effort to wake everyone up. He spends maybe an hour using his ATV, but then switches to his lawnmower as a noise making device. Of course he doesn’t actually mow his lawn with it…he props it up on its side and ties the handle down so it runs until the gas tank is empty.

He also makes it a point to put up signs on the trail saying things like “Hostel closed due to death in the family” even though the hostel is still very much open. Or he does things like tear down signs at the trail that point hikers in the direction of the hostel, meaning anyone with their eyes peeled for directions could be mislead or miss the hostel completely.

And according to See-see, the man is simply doing all of this just to get her to move away. She says that before she moved in, the man was alone for miles in either direction. Yet after she moved in, the man decided he wanted her gone and started making life difficult for her.

The following actions have been taken to remedy the situation, all to no avail:

Law enforcement involvement: See-see ignored. Local law enforcement sides with “native” residents (her neighbor) and not “outsiders” (See-see) who move into the area.
3 Civil lawsuits: Verdict for the plaintiff (See-see) in all 3 cases. No effect.
2 Mediation attempts (local conflict resolution in lieu of court): Neighbor feigns forgiveness, temporarily ceases, and then resumes activities.
Countless hiker negotiation/conversation attempts: Hikers are ignored. Or he simply calls them hiker trash and tells them to go away.
See-see’s dinner invites/acts of genuine kindness: See-see ignored/snubbed.

If I was planning on sticking around there for longer, I’d definitely do SOMETHING to try to get him to stop and step in to try to help See-see. But solving the problem might take a while, and it’s just not the kind of time I have.

It had been raining off and on all day yesterday, but I’m at the point in my hike now where I’m close enough to the end that I am in no scheduling time crunch. If I don’t want to be cold and wet, I can take the day off and stick around a nice cushy hostel. With TV. And Internet. And a computer. And Ice cream.

Man. Finishing the trail for good never seemed like a better idea...

Had much better weather today, though. As well as an unexpected slack pack opportunity to Erwin when a hiker rolled into the hostel late last night and bought a shuttle to the next town in the morning from See-see. She ran our packs over to the local outfitter, and we were able to make the 25 mile run without a full loadout.

Awesome stuff.

And now, I have 339 miles to go. So very very close...it's about fricken time. The woods are nice and all, but I definitely look forward to the day where I don't have to get up at 7 in the morning just to hike all day. Sleeping in is nice. I just don't really remember how to do it.