RETURN TO THE AT - October 1998

On and off during my summer vacation to New Mexico, I wondered if my friends in South Carolina were truly planning another trip on the AT. I was excited about the prospects of hiking with them again. For one thing, I knew I could do it. On our first try I worried if this 60 year old novice would have the stamina needed to keep up with the rest of the group. To my great delight, I did just fine. Secondly, I was prepared for cold fall weather. This time I had a warm hat and gloves, something I sorely needed during our spring walk and had neglected to pack. There was no telling what kind of weather an October outing would bring. Thirdly, there were a few items I could do without, to make my pack lighter. I did not take binoculars, or the gym shoes not worn of the first junket and I did not carry the first aid kit I brought along last time, for I knew two others in the group had theirs.

The news of this outing came only two weeks before departure date. I had no time to get my muscles in shape. On my first AT hike, for a month before the trip, I would strap my pack on my back, don my hiking boots and go about my housework. While extending the time a little each day and gradually putting a little more weight in the pack, by the time we were ready to leave, I was able to carry a forty pound pack for long periods of time without tiring. Now I was out of shape, because I had been spending my time vacationing, relaxing and even spending some days primarily behind the wheel of my car. No way to toughen up. No time to remedy the situation.

All but one person from our last hiking group came this time. We also added three new hikers, so now we were nine, if we count the basset hound. The spring break hikers enjoyed reminiscing about that trip and showed off any newly acquired equipment. I found a hiker’s thermometer in a camp store out west. Mindy, our leader brought out a fancy cook kit of nesting pots with a set of containers in the center to hold small quantities of two different liquids and four separate cooking spices. The gals had also made a variety of beef jerky for snacking on: original flavor, frontier, sweet and spicy, and my favorite, Hawaiian.

The food for lunch and dinner, we divided evenly. Along with this, we each carried our own snacks, pitas, drink mixes, and breakfast. Nine-thirty Friday morning, Ginny, the camp caretaker piled us and gear, in her pick-up truck for a drive to the starting point. We were dropped off on a logging road west of US 178. Packs on our back, Ginny took a group picture and promised to meet us on Sunday at our destination.

The weather was picture perfect as we began walking along with joyful abandonment. The trail left the road and ascended steeply northward, up a series of steps that entered a mixed deciduous and evergreen stand. It was a surprisingly difficult fifteen minute climb upward. At the top, a level area of fallen logs gave invitation to sit. I was huffing and puffing as I made my way to the logs, cursing under my breath, that I hadn’t prepared my body for this. I sat beside Mindy, who offered me a piece of jerky. Just the thought of it made me want to gag. My heart was still pounding and my lungs were panting. I didn’t remember climbing being this hard the first time out. I silently wondered if I was really prepared for what lay ahead. Was I that out of shape? Once my breathing returned to normal, I had a long drink of water and decided a snack would not only taste good, but maybe give me some energy for what lay ahead.

Considering we had only gone about a tenth of a mile and we had 6.9 more to cover on our first day, we had to move on. I did so, without feeling the candor and bravado I had started out with. The trail continued to wind with staggered steps generally paralleling a logging road. At about half a mile, the trail turned sharply west until the steps ended and we walked through an oak glade. At .7 miles, more steps were ascending steeply and then for a brief time we joined the old road before leaving for a ridge line.

By the second mile we were pacing ourselves well, stopping every twenty minutes to so to get a drink or just catch our breath. We walked beside a stream and crossed over several times by way of foot logs. We found the remnants of an abandoned liquor still in the stream south of the trail. We knew what it was, for it was reported on our guide notes. These notes, which Mindy acquired for us were very helpful in keeping us informed as to what we might find along the way. They were also a great assurance that we were in the right place on the trail and not lost. However, being aware of what we had already trod, and the notes for that section only commenting with the adjective, “steep”, I really wondered what lay ahead. I noted, we were now being told, “Trail winding and steep; possibly treacherous if icy conditions exist.” Well, there was no ice. It was a pleasant day and violets flanked the steps. We would trudge on. Yes, the trail did wind and very little of it was on level ground. I think the steps were presumed treacherous because we were on a hillside and a slip off the path would mean a long tumble to level ground. Complicating this, was the fact that many of these stair steps had handrails, but in some places they had deteriorated, were rotted away or completely missing.

Following stream beds we encountered many picturesque, babbling waterfalls. At 3.9 miles, we walked along a trail ridge through groves of piedmont rhododendron and mountain laurel. The buds that would need to set over the winter were already formed. As the trail descended into a hemlock stand, we looked for a spot for lunch. Slices of apple, chunks of Gouda cheese and fresh bagels hit the spot.

On the trail again, we passed through fields of doghobble. A vine, so named, because it’s fine, strong tendrils web the ground, and could easily trip most any dog trying to bound through it. This vine, very pretty with its small, shiny green leaves was common throughout much of our hike. Frilly lichen decorated some trees.

Our trail continued up and down. At approximately 4.3 miles we crossed a wooden bridge over a cascade. This was the first of a series of bridges. Made of 2 by 6 planks, there were usually three planks, side by side crossing streams, or chasms. These bridges were about 10-15 feet long and I usually felt quite safe in crossing. However, once or twice the chasm was quite deep, and in one case there were only two planks instead of three. During these moments, I recall how my throat tightened, my hands turned clammy and I truly wondered if any of the rest of my party was as scared as I was.

At a stream we stopped to fill our canteens. The cascading water looked clean and was quite cold. We did pump it through our purifying system. Actually, I sat and rested, while Marty, Marcia and the boys fetched and pumped it. The boys were such a blessing to have along. So well mannered, and while walking ahead, if there was a fork in the road or a rough spot, they would stop and wait for the slower hikers. Any problem and they were there, ready and willing to help out the less agile.

By this time we are on our fifth mile and I am exhausted. Knowing I’m not the only one who is tired, helps. Even Daisy is napping! Before us is an open valley, forested with deciduous trees, wild hydrangeas, magnolias and a carpet of Christmas fern. I’m hoping this “flat land” will continue. This area was home to many early settlers and also the site of 1982 logging activity. We crisscrossed several deserted logging roads already. We supposed they were used now, only during hunting season.

At 6 miles, amidst pine, partridgeberry and a flower named “Oconee Bells” was the site of Laurel Fork School, built about 1900, now completely gone. I wonder how many homes were there and where the relatives have gone.

The trail descends, narrows and joins a logging road. Guide notes say, “Good camp site,” but we cannot find it. I, along with several others say we just can’t go on. However, the area does not have a space large or clear enough for camping. So half of our group rests while others scout around for a spot. They return saying they have found nothing, we must move on. Half-mile later we finally locate the site.

We set up camp, get a fire going and enjoy a supper of CousCous with dried tomatoes, pecans and pepperoni on floured tortillas. Ginger snap and cream cheese sandwiches for dessert, mmm…good. There has been talk that bears could be out. So, after cleaning up supper, Mindy and the boys string all our food up on ropes away from the tents, where hopefully bears won’t get it. The stars are out and it’s a beautiful evening. But, it has been a rough day and we turn in. It feels wonderful to lay my bones down in the tent for a lovely night’s sleep.

I awake at about 11 pm to a tremendous racket. What in the world is it? It took my tent-mate, Mindy, and I a moment to realize we were camped quite close to a logging road and a bunch of “locals” had camped out to play with their ATV’s. With music and beer flowing, the vehicles raced up and down that road till three o’clock in the morning. At least our food was safe. No respectable bear would come within a mile of that fracas.

Morning dawned with heavy dew. Surprisingly, my body was not as sore as I thought it would be. Figuring we had walked 7 miles yesterday, 5 miles today would be a piece of cake…Then I read the trail guide: “This beautiful rugged 5.7 mile trail segment contains both the steepest ascent and descent on these sections of trail built by Duke Power Company.” Oh-boy, better eat a good breakfast!

We broke camp and began hiking again. We passed the campsite of our noisy neighbors and found our trail crossed a suspension bridge. A little further we followed a spur trail leaving the main trail south, to the top of Laurel Fork Falls. Very pretty.

Back to the main trail, we begin the gentle ascent of Jackie’s Ridge. At various places along the trail we can look back to see spectacular views of the falls. About a mile down the road, we see where a spur trail again leaves the main trail, this one descending to Lake Jocassee and the Laurel Fork boat access point. Two couples come up the trail, as surprised to see us, as we were to greet them. They questioned us, completely amazed that we had spent the night in the woods. I’m sure we looked bedraggled and they, on the other hand, were well dressed and elegantly coiffured. Though they didn’t say, we were quite certain they had a boat moored at the lake. We parted and continued up the AT, laughing at what we thought the refined yachters were saying about us.

The next couple miles we work our way up and down, sometimes ascending to a ridge top amid pines and mixed hardwoods. Other times descending onto the old road and through rhododendron-lined ravines beside a small stream. As the descent becomes steeper, we stop for lunch. This time it is summer sausage and mild cheese along with the drinks and snacks that each of us carry.

Lunch finished, we continue down the trail. At one point, the steps, with no rail to hold on to, are so steep, that I, and several others, alternate backing down or sliding down on our bottoms. One lady could not make it until a boy offered to carry her pack down for her. Continuing on our steep descent, the trail passed through a cluster of large beech and hemlocks.

Views of Lake Jocassee are revealed through the trees. On a wooden bridge we cross Rock Creek. Doghobble is again abundant and the trail narrows and climbs steeply and steadily.

My leg muscles are aching and I realize that we had little flat trail today. It has been almost constant steps, either up or down. We continue a steep climb up to the ridge and go less that one-tenth of a mile before beginning another steep descent. We take a lot of breaks, but they never seem quite long enough for my legs to recoup. Finally, we reach the lake shore. Nestled amongst the pine trees, close to the shore, we set up camp again.

It is the perfect camp site. It is close to a beautiful lake, under tall pines, and the woodland floor is covered with soft pine needles. There is a group of youth camping down the road from us, but far enough away not to disturb us, and definitely, no logging road nearby. …a very peaceful setting.

Just knowing we were over half way and figuring we had definitely finished the hardest part of the trip, I completely enjoyed the evening. Supper was excellent. Would you believe “beef stroganoff”? Mindy found all the ingredients in freeze dried form, by adding boiled water in proper amounts and order, “Wow” was it good. Dessert was equally fantastic, a decadent chocolate pudding. The boys kept asking for the secret ingredient. I think in time they figured out it was “Kahlua.” The moon rose and sent a shimmering beam across the lake. I played my harmonica and the gentle glow of the campfire brightened the smiles of my backpack buddies.

With no ATVs or blaring radios, only the gentle lapping of the water and calling of distant water fowl, we slept undisturbed till the sun was high. After a leisurely breakfast and a final pack up, we headed out toward the suspension bridge that crosses Toxaway Creek. The bridge swayed and bounced as I gingerly walked across it.

Built by the Duke Power Company, it is one of the longest wooden footbridges in the Southeast, 220 feet long, and suspended 25 feet above the river level. The view from the middle was spectacular, with mist rising in the morning light.

And guess what was at the end of the bridge? Stair steps!! Up!! I started counting, but quit at 100. You know the saying, “What goes up must come down.” Not one day of this season’s hike was going to be easy. I guess that’s good. It gives one a sense of accomplishment.

Today’s hike was shorter. Within a mile, we were at the boat access at Cane Break. We had about an hour to wait for the pre-arranged pontoon boat to arrive. Lunch was tabouli on tortillas. The boat ride was a wonderful way to end our journey. It took us back from North Carolina to South Carolina. We sailed along in the sunshine, sitting down and enjoying the view. As our eyes traced the spikes of the mountain ridges we had followed on foot, they didn’t look to be the challenge they had been.

Ginny met us at the boat dock and took us back to the Thornwell Camp to get our belongings. We agreed it was a much more strenuous hike than our first one, however, the weather had been lovely, no ice or snow. So it was a trade off. That’s the beautiful thing about hiking. It is never the same. There are unique and special moments to be found each and every time. Thank God, for another priceless backpack trip.

I give you thanks, dear Lord above, For all your living, giving love.
For mountains, towering high, to climb, For valleys, cool, and hills sublime.

For oceans, rivers, lakes and streams, For sun’s bright rays, and soft moonbeams.

I thank you, Spirit, breath and fire, For all the gifts that you inspire.

For love, that seems to have no end, When shared with family or a friend.
For fellowship at feast and meal, For hugs and laughs and smiles that heal.

For all these gifts, wondrous and true, I offer now my thanks to you. Amen.