Project Eveningland

2/18/2023 Saturday

The winds howled against the thin, old, wet windows of the hostel. I needed a sleeping pill to get to sleep on my top bunk, in between pee trips. When I stumbled out into the common areas in the morning most everyone was already up. Lucky, hostel owner, was cooking massive piles of potatoes and toast. I wondered at the age of the crowd. I don’t know that I’ve ever been in a hostel full of olds. Well, I hope they all make it. The 1940s kitchen vibe (and appliances) definitely matched the crowd.

Chris, the Brit from the night before (trail name Unimpressed), befriended our little group. He’s 31, very tall, with prematurely gray hair and a divine—I’ll pause here to point out that Chat GPT wouldn’t ever predict the next words—Manchester accent. He cuts quite a dashing figure. All the older women at the hostel kept trying to feed him up.

Lucky, the hostel owner, was ably assisted by Disco, who just thru hiked last year and came to help Lucky because she wanted to feel a part of the hiker community before she goes back to her career in finance. She’s a mother of at least two from Atlanta who really impressed me with how she told the older crowd at the hostel (which, again, in and of itself was strange—there were like a dozen people in their 70s) what to expect from the trail. She was so eloquent and mature. She said you need to remember that there are people walking off very difficult things, up to and including, say, war or the death of a child. Alongside those folks are 20-somethings just out of college who want to see the world, or a part of it anyway. It is interesting, she pointed out, to listen to them and learn what they care about.

Disco drove us to the trailhead in a rickety Chevy suburban that belonged to the hostel. It was icy at Woody Gap, but the terrible winds from last night had abated and the temperature rose quickly. The ground had those little clusters of ice “grass” (flosslike strands of ice ejected from the ground as the water freezes) which are extremely satisfying to crunch with your boots or sweep away with a trekking pole. The work of the day—just shy of 11 miles—was to ascend and descend Blood Mountain. We were a four man crew: Bill (“Big Willy Dawg” or BWD), a retired (but still quite young for a retiree) cop from New Jersey; Mitch; and Chris, the Brit.

Blood Mountain is, as the name suggests, a Lovecraftian Ordeal. The ridges and paths ascend at unnatural, chaotic angles which are known to make a strong man puke on sight. The rocks on the ground moan softly and twitch as the many-appendaged creatures which dwell beneath move about. Unspeakable horrors all, they slither and swarm and lead short, violent lives down among the sticks and bones.

It’s actually a lovely mountain but quite a long ascent with a brutal, steep, rocky descent. There’s a very old stone shelter at the top, with commanding views of a cloudless blue sky and low mountains as far as the eye can see. Tourists swarmed at the top, and a ridge runner (or perhaps actually a forest service volunteer) chatted us up at the top. I wondered if perhaps she’d paid us special attention because of Chris but no. She was just feeling very social! Very social.

Chris led the way all day. Followed by me, then Mitch, then Bill. I fell back during the descent, which I wanted to take slow. I still fell but not even at a tricky spot. I’m fine, but very tired and sore. We hung out at Mountain Crossings. The resupply there was disappointing. Bill got a pack shakedown from a young man who gave good advice and helped him cut five pounds!

We all split the cabin I reserved making it dirt cheap and filled with, well, company. Last time I was here I spent my birthday mostly alone.

I lost a rubber piece from my earbud last night. They couldn’t find it at the hostel. Mom ordered some replacements from Amazon. Then later Mitch gave me a spare he just HAPPENED to have brought with him. He has similar headphones and the extra piece he had fits fine. The color doesn’t match.

I’m not sure I have the right food to make it to Hiawassee at mile 69, in four days. There’s an earlier access point, at 50-something, but I’d rather stay at the hostel at the farther access point. I don’t want to rush because I am sore and shouldn’t be pushing it. I could go back to the store in the morning (which I’ll walk by on the way to the trail, which passes right through the building in which the store sits). But the store part doesn’t open until 9AM and I hate to wait that long to get hiking. I’m gonna inventory my food tonight and see where I am. Weirdly, plenty of desserts left I think. That gives a sample of what kind of things go through your mind while you’re taking a break at a hostel or other lodging. It’s stressful after the forest. You really need more time to relax more fully. I think I want to double zero at some point soon and fully recharge.

I also need to buy a toenail clipper—I somehow forgot mine. I am losing my first toenail. I always lose that one. It is no great loss.