BlackBerry Mercury Appears Ahead Of MWC
Nelson Suggs
It seems El Nino has chosen to continue this journey with me. I arrive at Gooch Gap Shelter in the hail. There were many hard pulls today and I am very tired. A fire is going and I prepare a warm meal. And so ends my most remarkable first day on the Appalachian Trail. Sleep comes soon!
We had an international gathering at the shelter last night. Frank Sneakers Clarkeston from Detroit, Michigan, Eric Pure Joy from Marietta, Georgia; and EricVoyager Schmidt from Woodstock, Ontario, Canada. The rain pounded most of the night. What a blessing to be in a shelter and out of it for a change! This morning the rain has backed off but the sky remains gray and threatening. The four of us enjoy hiking together into Woody Gap. What a fine experience having company on the trail. But at Woody Gap I bid farewell to these new friends for it is my desire to reach Neels Gap by nightfall.
I reach Walasi-Yi, Neels Gap, at 3:00 p.m., and am greeted with a grand smile by Dorothy Hansen. Dorothy makes the call and I wait for the free shuttle to Goose Creek Cabins. Goose Creek is a neat place with kind and gracious hosts.
The sun is trying to play its bright warm glow as I look from Cowrock Mountain. Before descending to Tesnatee Gap, I witness the sun now and again striking the Cliffs of Raven, transforming the stark gray vertical walls of granite, iced now from endless rain, into brilliant shimmering jewels, as if so many reflections from a crystal palace. Ahh, the constant, ever-changing magic, collectively known as the wonders of nature, revealed to those of us who have chosen to pass this way on this grand Appalachian National Scenic Trail!
What a neat old bunkhouse at Rainbow Springs Campground, all rough-cut butted boards, door too, with bread wrappers and newspapers stuffed in the cracks. I had the place to myself, fired up the old wood stove, read and caught up on my journals.
And so I have noticed from time to time, as my senses become keenly attuned, when it is quiet and these thought processes are in motion, will I see something, hear something, smell something, touch something, that I am suddenly transported back to those wonderful days. My first encounter with this experience occurred while passing through a beautiful grove of cedar, their aromatic, fresh, and most delightful fragrance pervading. Suddenly I was eight years old again, hatchet in hand, my father by my side, crunching through the snow, searching for that perfect cedar for our beautiful Yule tree!
As I near Siler Bald Shelter, the sky looks more and more ominous and though it is only 2:00 p.m. I decided, since the next shelter is 12 miles ahead, to pull up at Siler. And is this ever the right decision, for in only moments the rain comes hard and steady. What a luxury to be out of it, not to be faced with getting soaked making and breaking camp in its presence. Warm and dry is such a better choice!
I spent an enjoyable evening last with Jon Leuschel, a Citadel graduate and river guide for Appalachian Rivers Raft Co. at Wesser, Dan U-Turn Glenn, Osierfield, GA and Allison Wonderland Fuleky from Ann Arbor, MI.
I was right on with my prediction for a good day, for I am awarded sweeping, panoramic views today from Wayah (pronounced War-ya) and Wesser Balds. Even with the ever-present blue haze over these timeless mountains it is possible to see into Georgia to the south and Tennessee to the north.
I had the pleasure of meeting Bob McCormick popping along the trail today. Bob is a spry 72-year-old from Melbourne, Florida. He is a member of the Florida Trial Association, Indian River Chapter, also my home FTA Chapter. We shared a most enjoyable time talking trail.
On approaching these shades, between the stately columns
of the superb forest trees, presented to view, rushing from
rocky precipices under the shade of the pensile hills, the
unparalleled cascade of Falling Creek
The guests of gracious host Jon, the river raft guide, now and henceforth to be known on the trail as Class Five, we lounge and rest in the grand bunkroom at Appalachian Rivers Raft Co. Outpost. Oh, the wonders of a luxurious hot shower and a warm, soft bed. The rain comes hard and stays all night. What a remarkable day this has been. Thank you Lord for your bountiful blessing!
The sun teases us this morning after hard-pounding rain all night, but the gray, swirling mist so common to these high lofty places will have none of it and soon the eerie cloud curtain descends to darken our path and visit us along.
The day did indeed turn warm and beautiful, a fine afternoon for hiking back and forth, first from North Carolina into Tennessee and then back again into North Carolina, following the AT as it meanders along this grand high ridge in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.
This newborn community, a subculture if you will, is continually forming, much as the links in a continuous chain are formed, as the folks leaving Springer Mountain mingle, take trail names and move north toward Mt. Katahdin. A community, that for such a short time it would seem would be as fleeting as the passing mist, but within this short timeframe and within this family are created bonds and friendships that last a lifetime. I hope you will revel and take joy, as am I, in getting to know these fellow intrepids, who along with the old Nomad, and this rag-tag family, journey on.
The sun makes a show again this morning for about twenty minutes, then the gray swirling mist engulfs me once again, embracing the mountain peaks and slopes all about. The treadway today seems not the least bit forgiving but the relentless rain mostly proceeds along by another way.
Spring Beauties form a blanket of white and green rising and descending to embrace the trail from the slopes and intimate little glades all around, creating the perfect pathway for the finest formal bridal procession. Trout lilies add just a touch of yellow while the ubiquitous common violet graces the very trail fringe adding its formal gesture to greet the grand procession. I literally skip along as I weave my way through this gala of pureness. You could not bedeck a hall for the most grand occasion with any more beauty or fineness than that which nature has decorated these ridges and coves, for here is the ultimate creation of beauty in the most tender and exquisite form. Today is not a hike on the AT but rather a remarkable journey through fairyland.
The Sawteeth. What an appropriate name! Bare veined rock, leaning, weather-beaten, splintered spires, ever reaching toward the heavens. These sheer rock faces are all that remain from what must have been an incredible inferno that raged and swept clean these high places decades ago. Now, only scant, scattered evergreen, clutching and clinging to the walls and towers of granite, manage somehow to exist and survive. As I stare down and past the shards of the Sawteeth, the warm, welcome sun is lifting the remaining shroud of mist from the coves and ravines below. Revealed now is the ever-climbing line of spring, true to each spur and ridge weaving its gentle pastel-green lifeline, as if fine stitches to silk, separating the lush dark greenness of the fully-leafed forest below from the gray, forbidding harsh clutches of winter above. There is only the contrasting serviceberry indicating any life in these mile-high reaches.
I am heading out of Great Smoky Mountains National Park today. I have mixed feelings about leaving. I have tried to describe the splendor and majesty of the Park, an awe-inspiring place to see and visit, one of the most popular of all our national parks. And therein lies the rub, for the park is literally being loved to death, the sheer number, degrading the hiking experience. The treadway in many places has the bottom literally blown out, which has made progress slow and treacherous.
Signs of these old homesteads exist to this day all through these lush high ridges and valleys. An old wagon path here, a row of stately old boxwood there. The carefully placed rocks forming an old spring box, sour apple trees, a cluster of clover or dandelions, little time capsules from the past, all that remain of another time. The pioneers have long since passed, driven from their land, but I find this not an unhappy place, for that brave, independent frontier spirit that brought them to these beautifully rugged places remains and has not been driven from the land. Indeed it is here, adding to the radiance and beauty and I feel it as I pass.
Returning again to this magnificent summit has been a very emotional experience. Thousands have come since I was first here, but none could possibly have felt the intensity of the moment, then or now as I relive that memory. That article as published will be my journal entry for today:
As I left the shelter it began raining again and my spirits really dropped. There had been heavy horse traffic through this section, and I was having difficulty keeping my footing through the mud and rocks. As the rain became more intense, the trail deteriorated, and the thought crossed my mind for the first time since leaving Springer, that I might not make it, that I might have to give up and quit. Burkes Garden, Virginia, my planned destination, was still more than 300 miles ahead.
Each day reveals new wildflowers to identify. The variety and abundance of these bright, cheerful spring children offers both delight and astonishment. To pause at every turn in the trail would not suffice to fully appreciate their glorious presence! Along with others already seen, and generally in great abundance, are the birdsfoot violet, mayapple, yellow violet and trout lily.
I soon reach Spring Mountain Shelter, one of the old round-log structures. If this classic little shelter is not an original, it certainly dates back many years. And here it remains, providing comfort and safety to countless AT hikers. I want to get a few more miles in today so I push on to the next small gap, where is located a fine campsite and a small spring. I build a delightful evening campfire, prepare my hot meal, then relax for awhile before rolling in to quickly drift into restful sleep.
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