Trail Journal

We were up and at 'em by 7am due to some very loud flatulation by Hopin' Toe.  The shelter vibrated every 5 minutes or so from a violent burst of gas from that crazy man above us.  Blatant farting is one of Sean's pet peeves, and I knew it was probably driving him crazy.  We bid Hopin' Toe farewell as we set off with our hearts set on Clingman's Dome.  By 8:30am we summitted Thunderhead which afforded an excellent view of the cloud-filled valleys below and Clingman's Dome in the hazy distance.  In fact, it seemed so far away, it was a bit of a discouragement.  We could barely make it out and yet we had to reach the summit by 5pm.  It was going to be a long day.

We crossed over many grassy fields in the morning.  So beautiful, yet so annoying.  Dew and rainwater had built up on the grass the night before.  The result was soaked feet (and legs) for Sean and me.  I was soaked right down to the bone and my feet were slopping around in wet boots.  It was terrible.  The wetness slowed me down as I tried to prevent my feet from blistering.  Hikers are most susceptible to blisters with wet feet.  We were also traversing what is known as the "roller coaster", a ridgeline of countless, steep up and downs that proved to be energy depleting.  By 11:30am we arrived at Derrick Knob Shelter and took a good break.  I removed my shoes and socks in an effort to get my feet to dry out as much as possible.  The filth and stench of hiking for over a week filled the shelter.

We set off from that shelter and quickly came upon a maintenance crew adding runoff logs and stairs to a steep section of the trail.  Just past there, we arrived at the end of the 14-mile "roller coaster" (which we started the day before) at Buckeye Gap.  From that point on, we would be ascending 6,643 ft. Clingman's Dome.  The next 3 miles stretched on for an eternity.  The elevation didn't change rapidly, nor did we go over an rough, rocky paths.  For whatever reason, I was pushing myself too hard through this section.  I reached Silers Bald Shelter by 2pm with Sean at my heels.  I was beat and both of us were discussing how we didn't think we could make it all the way.  The trail had been extremely hard that day and we were maintaining a pace slightly faster than 2mph.

It was in this despair that a funny looking man with a hobo stick and NO SHOES came in to the shelter from the opposite direction along the AT.  He sat down next to Sean and let out a massive, nasty fart.  Trail mannerisms at their finest.  His gear was made out of some sort of tape and he was nearly blinded by his poor vision (and lack of glasses).

"You must have some kind of crazy story to tell us," I said to the man.  He smiled back.

"Why, actually, I do."

He went on to tell us about how he had trained with a company of soldiers for the Vietnam War many years ago.  He was forced to stay behind while his buddies all went into battle.  Everyone died.  He had felt an enormous amount of guilt, anger, etc. about not being there with them.  He felt like he had the right to do whatever he wanted since they were fighting for his freedom.  With that freedom, he took off his shoes... and never put them on again.  Many years later he realized he was doing it as a hollow memorial, with a bad attitude.  He decided to make some changes in his life.  To promote his new purpose in life (pre/post-support and counseling for soldiers at war) he started walking down the AT barefoot.  He also made all of his gear out of Tyvek housewrap.  This guy would make a good pair with Hopin' Toe.  I shot some video of the guy, then we headed out around 3pm feeling completely different about our situation.  If this guy could do it barefoot, we could certainly do it with boots (and all of our designer gear).

By 3:45pm we were standing at Double Gap Spring Shelter where the Spruce Firs begin (due to the elevation).  The views were becoming spectacular.  We busted up the trail as fast as we could go savoring the last few miles of the trip.  We were giddy with excitement for food, beds, HOME.  We were ready.  We summitted Mt. Buckley at 5pm, thinking we had just reached the top of Clingman's Dome.  Instead, Clingman's was just ahead, another small climb away.  Our conversation became light-hearted.  The trail was tough at this point, mainly because of fatigue.  We started passing other day-hikers.  Some were asking what was the other way.  We would laugh and reply "nothing."

Shortly before reaching the tower at the Dome, Brian jumped out from beside the trail flashing a camera.  He had electrolyte drinks in his hands and was wearing a huge smile.  We were happy to see him again and even happier to see the end just ahead.  We finished the AT section with our heads held high.

I stared down the next part of the trail with the strange itch inside of me.

I wasn't ready to go home.

Those little white blazes called out to me.  I took a few steps down the trail.  Brian and Sean asked what I was doing.  They were right, I had to go home.  I frowned and stepped off the AT, a long trip finished.  We were greeted by many weekend nancies spilling out over the summit of Clingman's.  They asked us many questions like where we had come from, what it was like out there, what we ate, etc.  I climbed the tower and looked back to the west.  A little girl asked me where we had been.  I pointed to the furthest mountain that could be seen in the distance.

"You see that mountain?" I asked.  Her parents came over and listened.  "This morning I was standing on it looking this way."  They reeled with excitement.  "I came almost 100 miles from down near the border of North Carolina and Georgia - further than you can even see here."  The parents and others at the tower were whispering with excitement.  We heard them telling other people.

Sean and I just smiled and ignored them, staring back to the west thinking about the past 9 days of our life.  We didn't really have to say anything; we knew that one of the greatest adventures of our lives was ending.  So many stories, so many lessons, so many battles - wins and losses - mental challenges, physical challenges, and -- footsteps.  Those things are impossible to put into words or photos.  Simple lines like 'the next 4 miles were hard' are impossible for a reader to understand without actually being out there and feeling the pain.

We looked down at Brian who was smiling at us from a bench below the tower.

He understood.