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.