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| A typical Smokies trail...beautiful but thick! |
"Hmmm...this bear sure did a heckuva job scaring everyone away." I thought to myself.
This area is usually packed given its proximity to the Cove, a popular tourist destination within the Park. Oh well, at least I don't have to worry about someone messin' with my jeep while I'm on the trail (Yeah... I know, I know... but the self-rationalization helps me cope.)
I ease into the parking space, kill the engine and turn to Bill.
"You ready?"
"Yeah man I can't wait to get out there."
"Well, we got a 3-mile hike to campsite #10 and about an hour and a half of daylight left so we better get a move on." I said as I began unloading the gear.
The "gear" wasn't much to speak of... the few camping supplies I dug up, some Ramen Pride noodles, a jar of peanut butter (for added aromas of course), a few extra sweatshirts, the necessary toiletry items (fine... it was just one and it came in a roll in case of an emergency), a fresh can of bear spray, a trail map, and a brand new shiny bright green Hasbro camping tent...all tucked neatly away in my tattered old red back pack.
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| My trusty ol' walking stick. |
The only other item joining us on our journey was my trusty old walking stick. It was one of the first things I carved when I arrived in my new Tennessee home and I only brought it out on special occasions. No...there was nothing too sentimental about it. It was a rather large and quite heavy piece of wood, I figured it might come in handy this trip, if not for walking then at least for fending off a nosy crotchety old bear in the middle of the night.
I hoisted the pack on my back, gripped my faithful walking stick and turned to Bill.
He was standing there in his faded orange tank top and blue-jean shorts...hands in his pockets.
Hmmm...I shoulda rethunk this distribution of weight. Oh well, he IS on vacation, I convinced myself. I might as well let him enjoy himself.
"So where to?" Bill asked.
"Good question," I responded. "Do me a favor? Reach into the outside pocket of my pack and hand me the Park map. I gotta see where this campsite is, I've never been there before."
"When we jumped outta planes we didn't use maps. We just followed our commander."
I stopped myself short of telling Bill that it was an almost certainty that his commander probably carried a map or at least knew exactly where the heck he was going. I on the other hand, did not.
"Just hand me the bloody map Bill," I said with a feigned smile and the best British accent I could muster.
I looked at the map and it appeared to be a simple trek. We were to follow the trail before us for about a mile and a half, it would then intersect with another trail, we'd then need to make a right and follow that trail for another mile and a half and voilà...we would arrive at campsite #10.
The only thing concerning me was wondering if we would make camp before dark. Finishing the 3-mile hike in just over an hour wouldn't normally have been a problem but the entire trek was a steep uphill climb. Though Bill was in peak physical form, a true military specimen I might add, I myself enjoyed my Snickers every once in awhile. In other words, I was going to take my time and enjoy the hike...especially since I was the one carrying all the gear.
I had Bill tuck the map back into my pack and off we went.
***************
The trail was well-marked and heavily travelled. Though I'd like to say there were gorgeous views and remarkable vistas along the way, those are few and far between in Eastern forests. Don't get me wrong, there are truly amazing sites to see, but hiking in the Smokies often involves long stretches of rhododendron thickets. Until you break free of them, your visibility is pretty limited so "seeing the sights" wasn't going to be the highlight of this trip.
Limited visibility also tends to fool your ability to keep track of distance, fortunately for us we knew distance could be roughly calculated by speed. In other words, if you know how fast you walk , you roughly know how far you walk. A standard "easy" pace is about three miles an hour, so if things worked out, in about a half an hour we'd come to the first intersection, a solid one and a half miles in.
Fifteen minutes in I was already dripping.
You always hear people say, "it's not the heat, it's the humidity"....believe it. Humidity bites. It retains heat. Earlier in the day, it had been in the high 80s. Now that the sun was setting it "cooled off" and was now settling in in the low 80s, with an overnight low expected in the upper 70s. Why the heck did I bring extra sweatshirts for us? Well...at least they'd make good pillows.
We were now closing in on the twenty-minute mark, the first mile should be in the books.
"Where's that crossroad we're supposed to come to?" said Bill, who was leading the way. "We must've walked three miles by now."
"I think it's still be up a little ways." I replied.
"Well if it is, your map is wrong. We're at least three miles in," he muttered. I could sense a little sweat-induced frustration in his voice.
"Just take a right at the first crossroad we come to, if I remember correctly, it's the only other trail we'll encounter. We should be coming to it soon," I said, in hopes of boosting his spirits.
Sure enough, we rounded the next bend and there was the next trail, a little less travelled and definitely less distinct than the main trail but a trail sure enough.
"Want me to lead?" I said, pointing out the fact that the sun was fading fast.
"Sure," said Bill, "...what the hell's that noise anyway?"
Up to that point in time I didn't realize how numb I became to the sound of cicadas. This was a big hatch year and their call was louder than normal, but it was also the sound that put me to sleep each night since I slept with the windows open. I could only imagine what a "northerner" thought of the sounds of the Deep South. The funny thing is, I was that northerner only a year prior but I had quickly fallen in love with my adopted home.
"They're cicadas Bill."
"Sick-a-whats?"
"Ci-ca-das... they're big harmless noisy flies," I said. "They won't hurt you, I promise."
"Oh I'm not afraid, you know I used to..."
"Yeah, I know Bill...I know."
*****************
Though the second trail wasn't as wide, we found the going much easier. The "uphill" leveled out considerably and it felt as if we were walking on fairly level ground. I imagined we were simply following along the contour of the mountain.
It was fun.
We even began to enjoy ourselves.
Listening to nature's chorus, breathing in the thick, humid but oh-so clean air, and taking in the gorgeous rays of the setting sun. This was going to be a great adventure after all.
The hike was progressing wonderfully... but then the downhill became quite disconcerting.
To my recollection, there wasn't supposed to be a downhill, at least one not so continuous.
First five minutes of downhill passed, then ten, then suddenly...
"What the hell is that!" Bill bellowed.
With a deep sigh, I responded, "That, my friend...is my jeep."
(To Be Continued...)
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