Trail Journal

The Asian kid kept at it most of the night, so by 5:30am I was awake and ready to go.  Sean and I walked over to the Fontana Dam Visitor's Center as the sun began to rise to the east.  I took a refreshing shower, then we crossed the dam and headed in to the Smokies.  We passed by the sign welcoming us to bear country and a killer ascent to Shuckstack around 7:15am.  By 9am we had summitted Shuckstack and climbed the tower there.  The 2,200 foot climb wasn't as bad as I had pictured it, but it was also early in the morning.  To the northeast we could see the Smokies stretched out before us like regal castles daring us to approach.  Our determination picked up here and we went so hard and so fast that we were keeping a 3mph pace.  We slowed on a final ascent in to Mollies Ridge Shelter, our stop for lunch.

Signs at the shelter announced the presence of dangerous bears that had been attacking backpackers at that location.  The only sign of life we saw was a lone turkey.  Sean took about an hour nap at the shelter as I reviewed the maps and had lunch.  We set off, again, at a hard pace as a small rainstorm accompanied our voyage to Russell Field Shelter.  At this shelter we gathered some really nasty, stagnant water from a small pool about 100 yards down a side path deep in the woods.  Two older gentlemen were relaxing here after a "grueling 4 mile hike" from a parking and recreation area just north of the shelter.  Their clothes were all scattered about drying after a thorough wash.  These guys would have a pretty hard time hanging with us.  They stared intently at a hand-held GPS unit as they tried to compute mileage, elevation change, etc.

"Incredible!  We climbed over 700 feet on the trip to this shelter," old guy #1 mused.

"Oh, is that so, well no wonder we're tired."  Old guy #2 looked our way.  He informed us that we could move their stuff around to make room in the shelter.  We politely replied that we would be traveling on to the next shelter.

"Tonight?" Old guy #1 was confused.

"Yeah, it's no big deal," I replied.  They both looked at each other, then went back to their ramblings about GPS, maps, and bears.  We left shortly after.

Within a mile of the shelter we saw our one and only bear on the trip.  He was in a thicket of Rhodes, less than 20 yards away munching on something tasty.  He was so scared by our presence that he shot off into the woods before we had much time to react.  He was small and probably not quite an adult.

We reached Spence Field Shelter by 6pm, just a few moments before a major thunderstorm hit.  At the shelter, an old drifter named "Hopin' Toe" introduced himself.  He was a friendly, strange old man who had a tendency to fart - often and loud.  He rambled on and on about this and that, and I found his ramblings quite amusing while Sean found them terrifying.  Sean ate dinner quickly and quietly then tucked in to bed before 7pm.  I was left to hear all about Hopin' Toe's life and musings.  The guy was quite strange for many reasons.  He referred to instant rice as a "four course meal" and would smoke a blunt of herbal tea at least once an hour.  He was a dedicated smoker but had run out of nicotine days earlier.  All he had left was a few pieces of paper to roll and herbal tea to smoke.  Strange indeed.  He was very crafty, and he sat in his sleeping bag most of the night making things up on the second platform of the shelter.  I could have sworn one of the things looked like a small crack pipe, but when I asked, he showed me that he was actually making small candles about 3cm in height.  What you would do with such a small candle, I have no idea.  But he lit one to show me nonetheless.  He also carried a small radio which he kept dialed in to true southern country music most of the time.  At one point he even showed his cunning skill for music by popping out a small harmonica and playing the most wretched, he-haw performance with a harmonica I have yet to hear to this day.  He verified the origin of his trail name by hopin' his toe up and down to what he thought was the beat (which, as a drummer, I will inform you did not resemble anything of a beat or even a constant tempo).  It was entertainment pure and simple.  I smiled and thanked him as I reached for my snow stake, my only real hand-to-hand protection in the woods.

In the distance, a lone coyote sang us to sleep.  I slept with that snow stake inches from my right hand ready to spring up at any moment.  Hopin' Toe seemed nice, but he was unpredictable, and I was not about to let him get away with anything.  A lone, brown shelter mouse played with my pillow all night long as I slept hard on my last night of the trip.