TRAIL DAY 57
Sun, Apr 17, 2016 B-Hiker put on her stuffed-to-the-gills pack and hiked into her future. Not too long after, I hoisted my lesser load to older shoulders, summoned Theo to nuzzle into his saddlebags and we were underway by 9:00 a.m. We crossed the bridge, looked back at the resort and began our hike on the road with the sun at our backs once again.
At the trailhead there was the first of many signs warning about bears. The Watauga Lake AT shelter was closed due to bear activity. Perhaps spooked by that sign I found the country I was passing through to be prime bear territory. It just seemed like where a bear would want to hang out. The land was different than anything we’d been through before. High rock cliffs rose on both sides with large boulders “flaked” off and lying on the ground, the ragged edges of the source threatening overhead.
In about 1½ miles we came to a long stone stairway down to Laurel Falls. Just before we began our descent, a group of eight hikers, some with day packs and some without, came by and preceded us down the steps. I asked who they were and they said they were volunteers helping out on the trail over the weekend. I followed them down to the falls which are perhaps the most beautiful falls on the whole trail – did I say that before? Well, I think they were the widest for their height.
As I was watching the volunteers having a good, peaceful time, I noticed in the distance a gal who decided the cold water was too tempting and thong-covered, she made her way to the water’s edge. She had a trim, tight figure for the purpose and was completely unabashed in her naked pleasure. Her friends didn’t seem to pay any attention to her shenanigans. No one went near the falls and that, according to AWOL is a good thing. He notes after a warning symbol: “Do not swim close to falls. There is a dangerous whirlpool.
It was time for Theo and me to climb back up the steps and follow the path under more towering layered cliffs then back down to the Laurel Branch River farther north. The trail took us right to the river’s edge on a narrow table of rock leading around another high cliff. From here it led up more well-maintained stone steps away from the river and then into the woods for a steep, 1,800′ climb to the peak of a poorly named summit called Pond Flats. It was dry and pointed. What were they thinking?
I pushed hard up the climb passing a multitude of brilliant displays of nature’s grandeur on the grand and smaller scale. At the top I rested, alone until a hiker or two passed with only a nod. We were all working on this terrain and our energies went to climbing.
The descent was much the same as the climb – steep and long at approximately 3 miles up and 3 miles down. I remember signage on the way down, turnoffs and nearing the lake at the bottom. The journeying soul just hangs on to these things.
After crossing a road, I was at Watauga Lake, a name I would never forget. It was a warm sunny afternoon. Medicine Man was there talking with a gal who was a veterinarian. When we met earlier, he had said that he had a Golden and was hoping to get him out on the trail – and here he was – very handsome and a good bit younger than my senior citizen. In a profile shot I thought master and K9 looked alike.
I left Medicine Man for the sandy beach. It was sparsely populated so I didn’t mind stripping to my black, could-be-a-bathing-suit boxers and in I went.
It was cool and refreshing after the 8.6 miles of hiking so far that day but I didn’t stay in too long. There were a few miles more to cover before day was done. It was close to 3:30 p.m. and time for a late lunch.
My pack and clothes were at a concrete table near the beach and it was there that I prepared lunch. I noticed that a couple behind me had a cooler with ice and I asked if they’d mind if I helped myself to some if they didn’t need it. They were happy to oblige and then offered me something cold to drink and hotdogs from their grill. I had three. They were recently married and were enjoying the lake with the wife’s mother. The husband had his kayak along.
They asked where I was hiking and, as I did in the south, I answered, “Dare I say Maine.” As usual that drew great surprise, admiration and a host of questions.
We were good friends in short order and then it was time for Theo and me to hit the trail. As I made my way along the southern shoreline of the southwest finger of the lake, I saw the husband in his kayak waving good-bye. It was a nice interlude – another memorable time in a day soon to become all the more memorable.
The trail followed the shoreline pretty closely and, as I would come to find out, whenever that was the case, the trail was particularly rocky, rooty and convoluted. In time the trail left the shore and headed into the hills where there had been a controlled burn earlier in the day. We’d been able to see the smoke from the beach and smoke was still rising from embers as I hiked.
I climbed a few short rises, still fighting gravity even if briefly.
On the descent from the first rise, I came to the Watauga Lake Shelter which was closed for bear activity. Nonetheless, I would stop on the trail into the shelter to get water at a stream. There was no incident and I carried on.
Sometime within the next mile or so, I mistakenly got off the trail on a “path” leading down to the lake. It may have been cleared for some conservation effort. Realizing my error, I turned around and climbed back to the trail before getting too far off course.
The trail twisted and turned loosely following the shoreline and came to an area on a finger of land stretching out into the water where there was a fire pit. The area was clean and inviting and I was tempted to camp here for the night. But I would be alone by water bears need and spreading smells from cooking. I thought of Uncle Bob’s advice to cook away from camp and thought perhaps I’d cook supper here and move elsewhere to camp but decided to just keep going.
Soon the Watauga Dam came into view and we hiked the road up to the top and began crossing. After pausing to take in the views, we finished crossing and began a steep climb up a service road away from the lake and back into the woods.
As we neared the top of the steep road-climb in late afternoon, we could see 5 hikers sitting in the road as if in a pow-wow. The road was needed only for service vehicles and personnel to get down to the dam and traffic would be highly unlikely.
I saw tents set up in a gravel section off to the right near a trail leading down to the lake. Another tent was set up about 50 yards farther down the road in grass off to the side.
I chatted briefly with my fellow-hikers taking only slight notice of the fact that they were all a good bit younger than I. Nonetheless, we were all thru-hikers and that was enough to permit me to enter their circle.
After taking my pack off on grass just beyond the gravel section, I joined the circle for a little conversation. The pow-wow members were “El-Tejano” from Texas, “Juan,” “Clutch,” “Sweet Potato” and “Monster.” As we chatted, Medicine-Man and another hiker or two arrived and wondered if they should join us, continue on or head down to the water to camp. They chose the water and made their way down the side trail. I remember thinking by the water with bears could be a problem.
The gavel seemed the best place for me to set up my tent in space remaining nearest the road. It wasn’t easy getting the stakes to thread through the sizable gravel, each piece immovable in the way of the sinking stake tip. I had to jimmy each stake and twist and somehow pound and force it down into the gravel bed. There was no breaking through to soft dirt. Eventually all 6 of the 8 stakes found a home in the gravel and it was time to set up for supper.
In the grassy area near my tent, I found a place to sit against a log and eat. As I was eating, Monster came over and we chatted for quite a while. He was from Germany and got his trail name because he carried a monster pack which might cause another hiker to crumble but he just cruised along with his load at an incredible rate. Remembering Uncle-Bob, I was beginning to wonder about these muscular Germans on the trail.
On arrival, Juan was playing a practice banjo during the pow-wow. He played throughout my dinner as well. When I finished eating, hikers’ midnight was an hour past. Since we’d been warned so frequently about bears, it was time to hang my food so I started looking for a branch near the trail down to the lake not far from where I’d had supper. Monster suggested I hang farther away from the tents. That made good sense so I headed back down the road toward the dam and found a nice big tree where the AT turned back into the woods.
That morning I had left BBR with a full resupply of food – enough to get me to Damascus, Virginia, the next resupply stop. My bear bag was heavy because all three meal bags were full. Sometime before, I had decided to put my GPS device in my supper bag so I would see it and remember to send my signal to those following me. I hung everything that smelled like food, including used wrappers, spoon, snacks – but not my stove because all I did with that was boil water. That’s almost all you ever did on the trail.
I hung my bag using the PCT method which I described at Fontana Lake, March 17th, Day #26. This was touted as a sophisticated method. We were good – time for bed. We were all in around 9:00 or 9:30. I slept with my head toward the road and, as always, Theo at my feet.
The next thing I knew there were noises outside my tent and I heard Juan playing his practice banjo again. I thought, “Common guys – what are you doing up at this hour? We were all in and sound asleep. Cooommmon.” I didn’t say anything but I did check my phone for the time. It was 12:37 a.m. You tend to remember these things.
Soon I heard a loud, “Hey!” and then another. And Juan was still playing. Now I wondered just what they were doing – perhaps they weren’t partying. But I figured whatever the situation, they had it under control. There was no sound of panic or running or screaming – just sharp noises and then quiet. I tried to go back to sleep.
“Sojo! You awake?”
“Yea.”
“We think a bear got your food.”
Everything came clear, including the banjo. I had read you should make noise to scare off a bear and playing music was noted as one way to do that.
This was not a party. This was bear control. Bear scare. Food preservation – a matter of safety.
I made my way out of the tent and down to where I had hung my food.
Sure enough. The bag was gone. The rope was on the ground. There was nothing else of mine to be seen.
Clutch’s bag had also been attacked, torn open and contents strewn about. Sweet Potato, the only gal in the pow-wow, had brought a bear proof Ursack bear bag. You didn’t even have to hang these. Its ropes and material could not be torn or severed. People would just put them on the ground and tie them to a tree. You could see the bear’s teeth marks in Sweet Potato’s Ursack and, but for some crushed items inside, all was intact.
I examined the rope briefly and retrieved it for further inspection in the morning.
The bear had come down from the Appalachian Trail turnoff to the road and found the food bags. I have read that a bear’s sense of smell is 7 times that of a bloodhound. Would that they could be used by the Transportation Security Administration (TSA).
One of the hikers had heard noise outside his tent and emerged to see yellow eyes in the woods. He had made loud noises but not enough to wake me at that moment. Others got up and scared the bear off. He then came back. This happened repeatedly. My bag must have satisfied him. I suppose if I’d left the GPS on, I might have tracked him down but I was satisfied if my encounter with him or her was over for good. Since some of the Clutch’s food was scattered about I resolved that I would look for remnants of my bag in the morning up along and beside the trail because that is where the bear came from and where he returned.
Since the bear had a good stash and there wasn’t anything else readily available, it seemed he was done for the night – and so were we. . . .
Day #57 Black Bear Resort > Watauga Dam 13.0 miles