Project Eveningland

3/3/2023 Friday

As I began the long climb out of the NOC, the rain held off and I felt a kind of thermal equilibrium—the damp and cold were exactly right to counterbalance the heat created by my body. I listened to a new playlist I created last night as I climbed. Best new song of day: “New Beginning” by Phoria.

I walked the ridges as fog came and went. Light rains visited, but never lingered long enough for a rain jacket. Enormous rhododendrons form mini-forests which cling to even the highest ridges. They often loom above, perched at the top of a steep climb, waiting impassively. Glistening.

I thought about other rainy days in my life, or perhaps days where rain threatened but never seemed to come. I remembered walking home from high school on a wet autumn afternoon, reading the script for a play we were putting on. Mom would have made me something hot to eat when I got home. The leaves there and then looked and smelled as they do here and now. It is easier to walk through the rain when you know that home and family wait at the end.

I refilled my water at a mossy, rocky little waterfall. Heavy duty snacking. A fig bar and a bag of nuts with raisins. All told over 700 calories.

I caught up with Bill just before Sassafras Gap Shelter, where we both broke for lunch. I ate a large bag of peanut butter crackers with additional peanut butter from a packet spread across them (ca. 700 cals), a tuna salad kit (minus the relish which I mailed to hell this morning), and I can’t remember what else. There were two people sleeping in the shelter midday—that’s unusual but I think they were zeroing there waiting out the nasty weather forecast for tonight.

From Sassafras gap, I climbed to Cheoah Bald, which I think Emma Gatewood wrote about, so it must be an older part of the trail. More ridges. Lonely ridges. Stopped for a brief break at a gap. I texted the hostel where I made reservations last night so they could send a shuttle at the right time. I texted the wrong number (though I followed directions!) but we got the necessary information to all parties in the end.

The winds picked up and the rain got more serious. I passed three hikers going sobo—one had a turkey claw tattoo. Seemed more local, more hunter-y.

The descent to Stecoah stretched on longer than the signs promised. I was on the lee side of the ridge until right before the parking lot. When I emerged the true nature of the rain became apparent. It blew across the road in sheets. 2-3 cars (none of them my ride) were waiting out the heavy rain. Bill was huddled beneath a trail signboard that had a generous overhang, not that it helped at all. It just wasn’t oriented in the right direction. Bill had called the hostel (I’d told him which I was staying at) and they’d told him they were already on the way. A man in an SUV stopped to tell us that there was a tornado warning and that one had touched down nearby. Hmmm. I moved back to the lee side of the hillside and found a spot that blocked enough wind for me to use the umbrella. The hike was almost 14 miles.

We were soaked to the bone when our ride showed up. The mountain roads and cigarette odor and manual transmission made the journey a long one (it was also objectively longer than indicated when I made my reservation over the phone). Tina (I think?) was friendly and had worked hard to get to us as soon as she could. She stopped at Subway so we could get dinner. I bought a footlong ham and cheese with two bags of chips and two cookies. There was a Gatorade to go with the feast, but I think I left it in the car.

I’m in a rather miraculous tiny home. It has a little bathroom and kitchen and even a tiny combo washer/dryer which more or less “baked” my laundry. It’s fine. I appreciated the hot underwear.

I’ve been staying indoors quite a lot this past week. I will likely get a room at Fontana Lodge tomorrow so I can take my time and sort through my resupply box and ready myself for the Smokies. Six days up there in March is no joke. After tomorrow night, I likely won’t sleep indoors until Hot Springs.