TRAIL DAY 24
Tue Mar 15, 2016 Today we would be getting ever closer to Fontana Lake as the day moved on. It was a dry, clear, sunny and quiet day. Notwithstanding the numbers at the shelter the night before, Theo and I were alone on our hike as we were 99.9% of the time. It was so peaceful that I took a few videos to capture it. When I hiked on The Long Trail in Vermont and came upon something that took my breath away, I would take a video and blab on and on about what I was seeing, wanting to convey in speech at the moment what I was experiencing. Now on the AT and a little older, I didn’t want to say anything. I wanted the silence to speak for itself.
But let me take a moment – we have the time – to share a little of The Long Trail with you. It is said that much of the AT is a “long green tunnel” but that is especially true of The Long Trail, making a sudden, unexpected view all the more spectacular as it did on Roosevelt Mountain. Here is an excerpt from my journal about that experience on Saturday, September 15, 2012:
At the summit, the trail led to a rock outcropping with absolutely no growth interrupting a 180° sweep from east to west with nothing but breath-taking, mountainous terrain in between. Standing there, after the ordeals of the day – hoping for water; the cliff with Theo; the arduous up and down of several peaks with every single step carefully negotiated so as not to end up in a broken heap at the foot of some steep, rocky descent – standing there, after intense foot-level focus mile after mile, hardly able to realize that what had happened was real, that the forest, the deep, dark, challenging woods had spit you up like Jonah onto a spot of land from which you could see forever. I was – yes, standing there. . .standing there not knowing how or why I had been granted such a vision, such freedom from struggle, such a reward for persistent effort and quiet faith. Our lives, from start to finish, can’t be any different. We walk through hardship upon hardship, not knowing but believing some reward we cannot see lies ahead.
The reward for all the hardship of the Long Trail to this moment was spread out before me like a banquet for the soul, for the heart, for the body, for the eye. I could not keep this to myself – the goodness had to be given, shared, spread about. And so should all of life be: a standing on a hard-won promontory one believed would come in some form and letting the sight of what no man could make indwell and ripple out into eternity touching all of life with the vision, the beauty, the in-the-fleshness of it. I cannot contain what I see. I cannot contain what indwells me so deeply and of such value that you must take it from me as a primitive warrior would consume the heart of a valiant opponent in battle to take into himself the courage and bravery and strength for the struggles to come. Take it from me – drink it in – take the body and blood of this sight. . . .
A short film was all I could give in my frailty. A thimble full of ocean. A whiff of pristine elixir in the utter silence of the eternity we touch even now. . . . Oh, Divine Master, grant that this taste abide with me – that it remain ever fresh, ever renewed, ever open, ever given, ever taken, ever true and real and present in flesh and eternal soul as when the foam of ocean and firmament of stars filled my soul mid-Atlantic in the middle of the night so many years ago. . . . Come, Oh Divine Master, come. . .abide with me. . . .
I reach for religious value and tradition, hope and meaning trying to grasp and so to retain what occurred on the top of Mount Roosevelt – but, blasphemous and blatant – not even all the doctrine nor all the oooz and unction of all the altars and sacrifices seem to contain that moment – so profoundly selfish, innate and personal was it. Only the barer knows the weight he carries. Only the divested knows the lightness of being, load released. Fruitless it is to sum it up or institutionalize it. The moment remains a moment. . .and all our longing cannot impart it, or bottle it up. It remains where it is in the world, in time and in memory. I cannot express, nor give away, that moment standing there.
And so, as in this life, we move on. . . .
As we do now.
Somewhere early in North Carolina, between Bly Gap and Steocoah Gap, I met several hikers whose trail names I noted: “Quicksand,” “Nutella,” “GI Joe,” Lassie, “J Man” & “Pete,” “White-Rabbit” & her dad, “Little-Tree” and “Totts.”
“Portage” deserves special mention. He was a Yalie, as am I; he is an English major, as was I; he sang in the Spiswinks quartet while I sang with the Augmented 7s; he would be returning to Yale as a senior and a baritone with the Whiffenpoofs; comparisons stopped there. I think he stated that he was a Christian and revealed that he loved poetry and mountains. He was certainly impressive but a little unapproachable. He seemed caught up in some elevated status as if he could walk through a line of fire and not be hit. His path was sure and he was in total control. He soon went his way certain to finish ahead of lesser folk. But maybe he was fearful underneath. Maybe there was something he was guarding. I feel compassion for him as these thoughts surface. May his travels bring many blessings. I wish we could have connected more.
The trail was of moderate difficulty with long, easy sections and some short steep climbs. I can almost hear the quiet of that day. Perhaps the character of the trail and the easy weather allowed my attention to shift to things like – blazes. I had seen a framed photograph of a blaze up close somewhere and thought that I might frame one myself. I remember assessing several as I hiked along, getting closer to the lake all the time and taking more and more pictures just in case I found one better than another.
I remember so well descending to Fontana Lake and seeing for the first time a dark and light green plant off the trail to my left. It had 3 leaves and a central stem or bud which I never saw in bloom. I’d never seen one of these before and would later learn that it is illegal to pick them – perhaps endangered or rare – though I saw many more farther on.
After a long but pleasant and relaxed hike, I came to NC 28, Fontana Road, which led westward to Fontana Village. There was a parking area where the trail met the road. It was for the Fontana Village Marina down a long ramp east to the water. There were restrooms, a vending machine and a phone to call for a shuttle. I hung around for a while considering what I might do. Soon others arrived. Some went to the Village. I decided to call for a shuttle to a hostel about 20 miles away, not far from Stecoah Gap, called Cabin in the Woods.
In a half hour or so, Donna, one of the owners, showed up and we headed for the hostel. I had called Baltimore Jack in Franklin and asked him to mail my package to The Hike Inn near the Lake but they were full so I called The Cabin. Fortunately, the Inn was on the way and we stopped to pick up my package. While there, the owners got talking and the gal from the Inn told us there was a Norovirus scar in The Smokys and one or two hikers had to be helicoptered out because of serious dehydration. The next shelter north, called the “Fontana Hilton,” was closed because of contamination. It’s got the fancy name because it had showers. I had no particular interest in staying there so it wasn’t a big loss.
But Norovirus. That was no fun. I definitely wanted to steer clear of that ugly intestinal bugger. A warning and instructions had been posted at the Sassafras Shelter and included this comment: “Outbreaks are more likely in areas with multiple people in small spaces, such as hostels and shelters.” And what was particularly delightful about this statement was that hikers were required to stay in shelters in The Smokys. So: don’t get norovirus but you must stay where it hangs out.
The Smokys (the Tennessee spelling won over the North Carolina spelling as the official name – no “e”) were the first controlled area for a NOBO on the AT. There would be rangers and Ridge Runners checking on you – and, yes, looking out for you. Dogs were not allowed unless they were registered service dogs.
The whole idea of registering Theo as a service dog was strange. I wasn’t blind. I didn’t need him for mobility or anything else I could think of as official service. But, he could not do the whole trail with me unless he was registered.
I went online to register Theo and found countless hits. Perhaps because it sounded official, I chose the National Service Animal Registry. I hate to say it so bluntly but, “It’s a farce!” Pay your money, get your card – VOILA! SERVICE DOG!
I didn’t have to prove anything. I could have declared that I needed him for emotional support – my family would have no trouble agreeing – they maintain that Theo and I are from the same litter.
I chose mobility as my category of service and wrote to the doctor who did a partial knee replacement for me in May of 2014 for a letter. He was happy to write that any weight the dog could carry for me would add to the longevity of the replacement.
With registration, I got a plastic card, a certificate and some badges. I took a picture of the certificate and my doctor’s letter but carried only the card. I never needed the pictures and needed the card only twice.
The Smoky “gestapo” as I thought of the rangers required all service dogs to be on a leash! More on this anon.
Norovirus; leashes; shelter requirements all made me a little resentful of The Smoky police. I’d come out to hike the AT. I wanted to be alone with nature. I didn’t want government and society on my back each step.
After the noro-scare, we got my package and drove on as the noro-thing took on that mysterious, what’s-that-going-to-be-like quality. But, in time all such mysteries would be met with the just-keep-walking mantra.
The Cabin in the Woods was a great place to stay. At some point on our drive there, Donna told me that the only bad thing about the place was the horror movie of the same name because a Google search brought up the movie first. Adding “hostel” fixed that.
The ride to The Cabin was typical of rides in the mountains of the south. There is no straight road! S-curve upon S-curve greeted the driver. While the reason for this was rather obvious, it was unusual for someone coming from the much flatter, mid-Atlantic regions of the country. Motorcyclists probably loved leaning into the curves.
And so it was that we wound our way to The Cabin until finally turning left onto the gravel drive to our destination.
“The Cabin” was five rustic buildings all very well maintained on an immaculate property. Because Donna had cats, Theo and I were relegated to The Coop down the drive at the end of the property. This was a stroke of good fortune because The Coop was the most private and the very nicest accommodations on the property! And it was clear that someone with a flair had decorated it in a comfortable-cottage style. With its little deck and screened-in porch looking off into the woods, it was absolutely delightful, prompting a video walk-through.
On arrival, Donna showed me around and told me where dinner would be. I settled in and made the trek up the gravel drive to the far side of the lodge where there was an entrance into a long, well-appointed kitchen. At the far end was a counter from which the excellent food was served. Beyond the counter was a large, clean, rustic table of blonde wood. I would sit at the table with my back to the windows onto the drive. I looked the table into a great room with wonderful lodge furniture and a large fireplace on the wall to my left. Stairs opposite the fireplace led up to a loft area and the second floor where Phil and Donna lived. Immediately to the right as you entered the lodge was a doorway to the bathroom and another bedroom beyond.
It was a perfectly delightful spot with very nice and with-it people.
Phil was genial enough but he was not that happy with the lodge business and hikers. You could tell his head was elsewhere and conversation proved he and Donna were divorced and working their way out of their mutual Cabin involvement. Donna was going to keep the Cabin and he was heading to Florida where he had a boat.
Back at The Coop, I spread out my gear which always took some doing in order not to lose anything. Entering from the screen porch, there was a couch to the left, a table at back center in a kitchen area. The bathroom with shower was to the back right and the bed was front right. There was handsome and comfortable furniture on the porch with a TV and VHS videos.
I took a good, hot shower, got ready for bed and crawled in for a good night. It was too early on the trek for any claustrophobic feeling to occur but that would come later. The Coop was pure comfort.
Day #24 Stecoah Gap > Fontana Lake (Cabin in Woods) 14.0 miles