Day 13: Wet Day doubts

I was awakened soon after midnight feeling as if I was being watched. I turned my headlamp on red, back to my feet, thinking I’d see glowing eyes. There were none so I turned forward to look toward the trail.

Where the trail bent behind the shelter a red glow tinted the grass like my head lamp did. The shelter was quiet; not even a snore could be heard. I switched my headlamp off and watched. A group quietly walked around the shelter, and when they got closer and their black silhouettes showed crisper I was startled. The group cared AR styled rifles and I could see night vision goggles mounted on their heads. I soon however, remembered seeing signs in the park that warned of wild hogs, and this made me believe that this group was hunting the pigs.

I have seen professional hog hunting outfits and the near military equipment they use to slaughter hundreds of pigs a night; It’s become a lucrative business in the south. So with this thought I lost my panic and confusion and watched the group fade down out of sight.

It was a struggle to fall back asleep, as I listened to the wind blow on the ridge. However I eventually was lulled to sleep by the light taps of rain on my tarp. I was awakened again as day light muted by over cast cracked over the tree line early in the morning. It was cold and the light rain was still falling, so I stayed tucked in my quilt cat napping as it got lighter.

As time went by I could hear the shelter wake. I heard one woman mention the armed group pass and heard some say she was being dramatic. I did not rise to defend her story I had not the will to get chilled in the cold and rain.

I began to smell the packs of Oatmeal being cooked and this made me hungry. But the rain picked up so I stayed under the tarp. The smell of breakfast lingered as if the moister of the rain was holding the smell in the area. Those who had cooked and ate started to leave and passed my tent. One man who was a thru-hiker, but one I never got a name from asked as he walked by me. “You gona take an easy day?”

“I really shouldn’t.” I replied.

“Hey hike your own hike.”

“Yeah you do the same. Take care.”

I was up soon after when the water that was falling was just what the gusts of wind blew from the leaves. I took my time packing and cooking breakfast. The cold had me stiff. I pulled all my equipment under the shelter, which was now half full with the occupants still in their mummy bags. I expected most of them not to be asleep but still I tried to be quiet which made packing take longer between bites of oatmeal. I don’t remember the exact time I left Derrick Knob Shelter; I’d say after 9 at the least.

I made quick time hiking once I got on the trail, even with the off and on heavy down pours that flooded the deep tracks of the trail.

When I crossed each of the 2 shelters that were between Derrick Knob and Clingmans Dome, I found myself questioning why I stopped at Derrick Knob and did not keep going the day before. (The answer being because I did 23 miles and was tired at the reasonable time of 5:00.) I was being hard on myself and this lead to a bad mood that my sloshing boots did not help either.

The Ecosystem of this high altitude section in the Smokys was unique to the rest of the trail I hiked. The trees turned to conifers instead of the hardwoods, and the earth was tough packed clay between the grey rocks. This was slick with the rain.

I was in full mist that was so thick it felt like a sheet of water slapping me with every gust of wind. I still detoured off the trail to see Clingmans Dome. It was smaller than I expected and the only view from its peak was the mist. The wind would catch the side of my pack and turn me like it was a sail. I felt like I was in the cows nest of a 19th century ship searching for dry land, but all I could see was wet.

This mist didn’t stop the steady stream of park visitors hiking the paved trail up to the tower. I was hiking down hoping to find a soda machine at the gift shop. There was no soda machine, or many options for snacks. Just some local granola bars and high priced chocolate bars that I bought because I had snacked heavy and was near out of day snacks.

I waited at the gift shop for the mist to lessen. In the meantime a ranger first asked to see my permeant, than congratulated me with a soda and Oreos. I asked the ranger about the group I saw at midnight and he confirmed, they were for the hogs. While talking with the ranger visitors to see the tower, came to inquire about the trail and get pictures with the dirty Thru-hiker. Being wet and behind schedule I did not like this attention and answered their questions quickly and vaguely. This extra attention drove me from the gift shop before I wanted to while the mist was still heavy.

But as I dropped into Collins Gap the mist broke up and for a few minutes the sun poked rays out from the clouds. But this was short lived and a half mile from the side trail to Mt. Collins Shelter the rain came back, and by the time I reached the side trail I abandoned the days hiking for the shelter.

It was another half mile to the shelter and it was through thick forest that keep the rain from soaking me to the extreme. It was 3 when I claimed my spot. There was only one old man shirtless and in shorts letting his wet clothes dry under the shelter. How he was not shivering I don’t know, but he read a small Gideon New Testament Bible like reading a novel. Every minute or two you would hear the sound of a page turn.

I greeted the man and introduced myself as Joseph and then said “or Joedirt.” He gave me his name and did not have a trail name, and I went to change into dry clothes under the eve at the back of the shelter.

There was a fire place in the shelter, but no dry tender. I took some damp sticks and a fire starter and played with starting it. It was not a problem when I didn’t get it lit and so I gave up with not much effort.

A couple that spoke with a Scandinavian accent came to the shelter. At this point it had been raining hard for an hour and you could see joyful relief in their faces as they entered shelter.

“Good evening all of you.” The woman said. Who was short and fit, and whore glasses and hair pulled back in a tight pony tail.

“Yes Good evening to you all.” The man said, after hanging both his and his wife’s pack up off the ground. He had short greying blond hair and was tall but muscular.

“Hey y’all.” I said back, while snaking on one of my chocolate bars.

The man reading his bible smiled and nodded.

“Is this all who is here?” The man asked.

“Yeah so far, I’m Joseph, or Joedirt. Are y’all thru-hikers?”

“No just hiking the Park, we started at Clingmans Dome.” The woman said.

“Yay stopping early for the day because of this dam rain.”

“Yay no need for use to get wet and be miserable for our whole trip. We haven’t got to make as many miles every day like you thru-hikers.”

“Yeah I’m afraid I’m being lazy today. I’ve only done about 12.”

“That’s not bad most thru-hikers don’t go over 12 till after the smoky mountains.”

“Yeah well I should be on my last day in the Smoky’s, I’ve got to meet family at Davenport Gap on Sunday.”

“That’s 25 miles you can do that.” The woman said.

As I talked with the couple I found out they lived in D.C. Both were originally from Denmark, and he was a researcher and she was a college professor. They were both familiar with the trail having hiked the Whites, and Shenandoah. They hoped to hike across every national park.

“While they shared this information about themselves Red, the cheerful old man with homemade gear, strolled into the shelter.

“Is that Joedirt? You should be in Hot Springs by now.” Red said.

“Between going five miles down the BT screwing up my permeant, and wimping out to this rain I’m surprised to be this far.”

Red joined in with the conversations with the Danish and me. Then took over. He had lived in Denmark so while the conversation switched to this subject I began cooking my meal.

Then The Lieutenant, (or Dickspatcher,) stomped into shelter soaked through his military surplus gear.

“I need a fire.” He said, and through a signal torch into the wood I had previously tried to light. I was sure this would light the fire and I guess he thought the same, so I watched him pile in more wet wood into the small fire place. As soon as the flare extinguished, only smolder and wet smoke remained.

That was the lieutenant’s last flare. Desperate he muttered “fuck” multiple times from the back of his throat.

Red cracked something wise, while the rest of use stood around confused over the situation. All of which the Lieutenant just ignored and got down on his hands and knees and began to blow the few coals red. I could now tell that he was legitimately worried.

The rain had not stopped but slowed. I took off my dry shirt and replaced it with my soaked rain jacket. Grabbed my machete and went to look for a fallen dead tree. It took a while to find one that was not taken with rot. But when I found a solid log I hacked away out of the saturated to the dry, making a pile of dry tender. I then hacked off the smaller branches from the down trunk and cared them and the tender back to the shelter.

When I returned the lieutenant was still blowing on the smoldering coals, and from his exertion steam rolled off his body. At least he is staying warm this way. I thought as I began splitting the branches with a rock and my machete.

When my prep was done I approached the lieutenant with the dry wood and my fire starters. I expected to receive some anger from him because of his frustration.

“Hey I got some dry shit here.” I said as I knelled down to the fire place and began pull out wet wood.

“Thanks. You’ve got fire starters as well.” The Lieutenant said.

“Yeah I almost dropped them a few days ago in a hiker box glad I hung on to them now.”

Soon we had all the dry wood lit. Then slowly we added the wet. The fire lasted till I fell asleep.

With all of us dry we listened to the rain hit the shelter in peace. The old man continued reading his bible, although now he was laid out in his bag looking out. The Danish looked through a map of the park and made cups of hot coco. Red, the Lieutenant, and me talked about the trail. How we were all behind schedule.

There was nothing fake about our conversation we didn’t down play our concerns with finishing the trail, or as with Red and the Lieutenant wanting to finish. The Lieutenant missed his wife, and Red felt his health could be at risk, and he had too much love for his family to risk leaving them in death due to his own dream.

“I’m too old should have done this when I was your age Joedirt.” Red would say.

“To me it doesn’t seem worth being separate from her, or fair.” The Lieutenant would say.

“I’ve got nothing to go back to off trail, well not until September when I move to Montana.” I would say hiding all the truth in my statement with a smile as if joking.

There were pauses in our talk which Red would relive by saying. “We’ll hang in there.”

When I got in bed my mind filled with doubts. I thought on how ill prepared I was, and how I was behind schedule. Quitting crossed my mind. But It didn’t last long, as I asked myself what would I be quitting for? Comfort: on most days I wasn’t uncomfortable. As for this rain I’d figure it out, I had a Z-packs poncho waiting for me at Ashville that wouldn’t get saturated like my jacket.

When the headlamp of the bible reader went out I closed my eyes and mind. Accepted the 25 miles I would have to hike to make it to Davenport Gap in time, and fell asleep.

I would find out that it was 34 miles but I’d do it non the less. This was the only time on the trail that quitting crossed my mind. Even when I would become eaten up with Lyme disease I would not think about quitting.

I look back at this day and have to laugh at myself for how dramatic I felt. All over a little rain, and so real talk with good men.


Day 12: A Condemned Bear

I was crossing the dam for the third time at 5:30am. Crossing in the bleak morning light produced a much different feeling in me than in the heat of the day. It pumped me as if walking out to a hard base line as an athlete.

I was loose and ready to climb after a quick stretch at the permeant box. (I had borrowed a pen from the local who showed me where the shower room was and had finished my permeant.) I had not eaten and planned on eating once I summited the first climb. I had 2 miles.

I ate plenty of spider webs along the way; a negative to an early start on the trail. I finished the 2 miles at a 3min pace and set up my burner to prepare 2 oatmeal packets. While cooking I flipped to a random chapter in my bible, which happened to be James 3. On that day I’m sure I spaced this reading and only took a note of it out of habit. (Now, while reviewing my journal for this post I see its relevance to that day, especially verse 14, even more so for the day before.)

“But if you have bitter jealousy and selfish ambition in your heart do not boast and be false to the truth.” James 3:14 ESV

James 3 is more famously known for warning us about the power of the “tongue.” But also has much to say on pride. Since pride often leads to misusing our words, to tear others down, or lead others in a wrong direction. Confidence can make people follow, and with pride comes confidence. When we forget that our accomplishments come from the Lord and boast from our own “selfish ambitions;” we do not lead to God, this I believe is why God humbles us so that we do not lead others into wrong. Jesus warns us in Luke 17:1 that it is a terrible sin to lead others into sin, and threatens those who do with punishment worse than drowning. God protects others by humbling the prideful but also protects the prideful by this humbling them since teachers and leaders are held to a higher standard and will face judgment for the faults of their followers.

I wish I could say I quite being haughty and judging towards others but still on this day, just as my first day on the AT, I was putting all my self-worth and pride in my pace and not in the Lord. It would be on week 3; one stress fractured foot and ill-nourished body later that I would lose my pride and view myself not superior to every other hiker.

Not long after breakfast I saw my first bear on the trail. I was hiking to the tune of some song in my head when I heard a grunt followed by some thumps crashing through brush going up a steep incline. I looked up to see the black bear, it was large in the 250 to 300 range. It stopped at the top of the hill, then sat down as if winded from ascending too fast. (I’m sure it wasn’t.) I stopped to focus my eyes on it and it avoided eye contact. I thought cool and then moved on.

After Birch Spring gap, (a camp ground,) but before Mollies Ridge Shelter I saw 2 hikers going south bond.

“Hey you guy keep your eyes out for a bear I saw one not too long ago.” I greeted the two.

“Do you think it’s the bear that attacked that guy?”

“Someone got attacked?”

“Yeah just the other night, the rangers are closing down a lot of the shelters.”

“Shit, do you know if Derrick Knob is closed I’m trying to get there for the night.”

“Could be but we don’t know.”

“Well alright. Y’all have a good hike.”

“You do the same.”

The day got increasingly cloudy and mist started to form. It was easy to see how the Smokys got there name. The trail was also slick it had obviously been raining in these mountains for a few days.

Just after passing Mollies I saw my first park ranger she greeted me by asking for my AT permeant and I was glad I had filled it out.

“You know about the bear right?” She asked.

“Yeah just heard. Do you know if Derrick Knob shelter is closed?”

“Could be but I’m not sure, Spence Field Shelter is closed, that’s where the attack happened.”


“This kind of stuff wouldn’t happen if you AT hikers took responsibility and stored y’alls food correctly.”

This was the attitude of most Rangers in the park. They were all on edge and upset about having to kill the bear. AT thru-hikers probably were the culprit but I knew it wasn’t me I never left trash, I wasn’t even burning trash at that time. But too many hikers were beyond ill prepared for a thru-hiking. But by the end of the Smoky’s these would be weeded out.

I believe I ran into the aggressive bear between Mollies, and Russell Field Shelter. I came around a corner to a bear the size of the one I saw earlier. Instead of crashing away It squared up, and then began bluff charging, making a sprint to 10 yards away from me then lunging away again. I somehow was able to smoothly roll my pack from my shoulders, unsheathe my machete, and hold my pack to the side with one hand and the machete in the other all the while yelling the guarantied bear deterrent phrase. “Hey bear fuck you, fuck off bear!” After 2 to 3 more bluff charges the bear darted off the trail and I could hear it crashing through the woods out of sight. I then felt accomplished and didn’t mind the rain trickling down through the canopy.

I went up and down on a mini roller coaster till I reached Derrick Knob Shelter. I found it to be full so I was forced into overflow camping. The rain had stopped so I set my tarp up in the dry and with little problem.

Talk about the bear attack circled with everyone at the camp. A ridge runner was there and she tried to dismiss many of the rumors with truth. But most wanted to believe the most sensational stories about what happened.

The most popular being that the man was dragged out of this shelter and almost died. I would find out the truth latter that it was a man in over flow camping that was bit once on the foot after waking up to the bear sniffing around in his tent for the coconut sunscreen that he was wearing.

Also at this Shelter were the Hatchet brothers. A notorious trail group of two who rumor had it carried 80 pound packs. I had heard of them since before the NOC, but didn’t realize I was eating with them since they had there packs stored in the shelter minus there food. I heard the Wolf Pack was also close by, but they planned on zeroing in Gatlinburg the next day. I had wanted to meet both these groups.

Before going to my tent I checked the trail log and found that Geronimo was 2 day ahead. And I still hoped to catch him. I also found that Quiet and Twister ate lunch at this shelter.

Day 11: Pride Check

I was up early and organized, ready to go in less than an hour. The air was thick with humidity. This air chilled me; it being early morning with the sun still hiding behind the mountains.

The shelter still did not stir but I saw six pairs of feet tucked away in mummy bags as I left Cable Gap Shelter.

The landscape of the 7 miles of trail stood out to me with its ruggedness. Grey stone rock covered the trail in spots and outcropping of the same color lined the trail. These 7 miles to Fontana went by quick, but were slick and near technical. I tripped and nearly fell flat to my face if I had not caught myself with both hands as if engaging a push up position. Also I remember an instant of having to shimmy sideways along one rock wall to stay on trail or tumble off. I have had people ask me what physical requirements are needed to hike the AT and the only two I would say is balance and the ability do a burpee. If you don’t have these physical traits it is unsafe to hike the AT.

IMG_0235At NC 28 there was a vending machine as well as a phone to call a shuttle to the general store. I needed to resupply because I didn’t at the NOC. First I walked in to the bait shop at Fontana Lake, got a snack, and tried to resupply but the bait shop didn’t have enough. So I called the shuttle to take me to Fontana Village (2 miles off trail.)

While waiting I noticed a lot of Z-Cars traveling down the road and would latter find out that Fontana is a driving destination, and holds many driving club events. The week before was a Mini Cooper convention.

My shuttle driver was a young man of 19 who worked seasonally at Fontana on the yard crew. I could relate, being a seasonal resort worker myself. I tipped him well when dropped off at the General store and he returned to weed whacking.

The general store at Fontana had everything I needed. I bought up 5 days’ worth of food to get me through the Smokys which I planned to enter after my resupply. I was going to make it to Davenport Gap 4 day that way I could meet up with my Aunt and Uncle for a day in Ashville NC. I had agreed to this earlier and would let them know my exact plan of arrival at Newfound Gap, so I bought the extra day’s worth of food so if our schedules didn’t match I would be able to camp an extra day.

On top of my resupply I bought some bananas and ice cream to enjoy on the porch of the general store. I later planed on getting pizza at the Fontana Pit Stop (a gas station that sold food) after I found the ATM at the Fontana Lodge.

A couple came to the porch hauling 2 packs they were too clean to be thru-hikers I thought, and assumed them to be day-hikers over packing for their outing from a hotel room. (I was feeling arrogant this day.) They ignored me and went in the general store, but were soon to come out and joined me on the porch with their own ice cream.

“You a thru-hiker?” the man asked he was really tall (6’4) and had a full blondish beard and his smile showed in his voice.

“Yeah, how about y’all” I said smirking.

“Sure are I’m Quiet.”

“And I’m Twister.” The Woman said.

“Cool, I guess I’m Joedirt but just got that at the NOC, not sure if it’s going to stick.”

“Awesome, Joedirt, how many days ago was that?”

I was hoping and waiting for this question.

“Just the other day. I went from the NOC to Cable Gap shelter and now I’m hear about to go into the Smokys.”

“Sweet we just finished zeroing here today, It’s good to meet someone at our pace.” Twister said in a way to congratulate. And I felt a little humbled.

“Hell yeah we’ve been passing hikers like crazy, kind of made it a challenge, but it’ll be good to have someone around for a while.” Quiet said still with a smile.

“Yeah, I plan to make it to Mollies today. Then just three more days to Davenport Gap.”

“Nice, we plan to go through the Smokys pretty quick too, they can be pretty miserable.”

“That’s what I heard, also been told that it takes more than a week to get through.”

“To do 80miles, who told you that?” Twister asked.

“Sir Packs a’lot.”

“The guy at the Top of Georgia? He’s full of shit.” Quiet said.

I was glad to find someone who shared my dislike for Sir Packs A’lot, and looked forward to seeing them at Mollies. By the time they headed for the trail I learned that Quiet had previously hiked the AT and that both him and Twister had hiked the PCT and Arizona Trail. (They meet on the PCT.)

After they left I headed to the lodge to find the ATM passing a parking lot full of Z-cars fully decked out and surrounded by pin-ups. I attracted my share of attention and my ego was stroked more and more with each question and remark. I came away feeling overly confident in myself and proud, and I left Fontana Village with a full belly some cash and needing a good ass kicking. I wouldn’t get the ass kicking but by the end of the day I would be reminded of how inexperienced I was.

IMG_0236The Dam itself was bigger than I was expecting and the trail went right over it. (it is the biggest Dam on the Eastern sea board.) Some where there was a shower room that I planned on using but did not see it at first glance so I passed on un-showered. Across the dam I saw the sign that welcomed me into the Smokys. I was smiling with confidence ready to prove Sir Packs a’lot wrong. I saw a white mark ahead of me, (not a white blaze.) This led me down the BMT.

I zoned out for 3-5 miles assuming I was still on the AT. I don’t know how I assumed this, (there was not near enough elevation gain,) just pride that would be shattered when I stopped and reviewed my AWOL.

When I realized I had gone the wrong way I threw my AWOL to the ground snarled curses to myself. All I could do though was shoulder my pack again and back track. An hour of seeing the same uninteresting wooded surroundings of the BMT made my pride limp but I hustled physically.

At the actual internes to the Smokys I was knocked back even further when I realized a pen was not provided to fill out the permit, and that I had dropped mine. So there was more back tracking this time back over the dam exposed in the baking sun over the asphalt.

I could see a hiker coming towards me through the heat haze and recognized him as the guy I meet on Cheoah Bald.

“Hope, you got a pen,” I greeted him.

“Why.” He answered with the same confident smile I had had going northbound over this dam.

“There’s not one provided.”

“Well alright.”

Neither of us let off from our strides and passed each other. I murmured under my breath, “Fucking Prick” and was angry that he was entering the Smokys before me. Between the sun my anger and the sound of the rushing water going through the dam I lost the will to continue hiking that day. And when I found that the visitor center was closed and I would not be able to barrow a pen I decided to stop and stay the night at the Fontana Hilton an AT shelter at the dam.

It was 4pm and only a mother and daughter were at the shelter. The mother said there were more coming but they went to the village to get supplies for a party. When the party showed up I found out it was a getting off trail party as everyone at the shelter was calling it quits. They all talked of how hard the trail was, some were depressed being away from loved ones; they all missed feeling clean. So this was a big celebration for them all. I didn’t like it and it was upsetting to me. I now realized that there was nothing wrong with this since they all had happy lives to live off the trail and hiking these 166 miles lead them to appreciate it.

I drank with them accepting two lite beers, which got me buzzed. Then out of the trail came 4 Europeans with one local. The Europeans were hikers and had just finished a 20 mile day the local was showing them where the shower room was at the dam and I went with them. The shower room was one big communal shower that offered no privacy like a high school locker room. The Europeans were comfortable with this, me being American It was a little weird, but being on the trail you learn to lose a little modesty.

Once clean we all dried in the sun. (Clothed!) The local passed around a bowl, as the sun was setting. I watched Old Glory fly in the red hues of the fading light, and could faintly hear the rushing water. I was not angry or prideful I enjoyed the company around me, and answered questions the Europeans had about America, but feed them lies about myself and the reasons for being on the trail.

Storms where building over the Smokys but it was a clear night at the Fontana Hilton. I had no trouble falling asleep with the laughter of the party. I set my alarm of 5 and had everything organized for easy packing in the morning. I knew the next day I would get wet but was ready for it. I said a prayer for strength before falling asleep, and this prayer led into a prayer for humility and to live for actions not words or thoughts.

Day 10: Back At It

For breakfast I had French toast, and grits from the restraint at the NOC. Grits are a power food, every time I would eat good grits on the trail I was able to knockout big miles.

Before leaving I stopped in the store and bought a 5 dollar poncho. It was misting when I got to the switch backs climbing out, so I put it on over my pack expecting it to pore soon. What rain had already fallen made the packed clay mud slick but this didn’t slow me down. I was practically running, pumping my arms with trekking poles to pull my legs faster up the trail. I was fleeing from any part of me that wanted to stay another day.

My knee was not swollen. It felt slightly tender to the touch if I prodded with my finger under the knee cap. This I believe was a miracle, much like waking up to renewed legs my second day.

I passed many, climbing to Swim Bald. The man from MT, Red, and the couple who helped give me my trail name with Geronimo. I was hiking with a pace that could catch Geronimo I thought. I wasted no time at the Wade Sutton Memorial, or views of the Nantahala Gorge. I didn’t even stop at the top of Swim Bald.

The first rest stop I made was at Cheoah Bald; right after Sassafras Gap Shelter. I was stopped by a gorgeous view, when the skies cleared up.

I crested the trail and could see full white clouds floating at my level going through the mountains. The grass and trees were washed; green from the light rain that had just left. I ignored the hiker who was resting on a log and walked right to the edge to be as close to the clouds as possible. It was like watching fish at an aquarium. I stood behind a barrier silent, and they swam silent with their graceful flow orchestrating a feeling, which made sound to fill in the silence. Beautiful music in a sight without a single decibel.

I snapped the picture then turned to the hiker who looked young. I guessed 18 to 20.

“Incredible view.” I said.

“Yeah I guess so it was nice to eat to.” He responded while packing up his gear.

“I’m Joseph,” (I had not yet started going by Joedirt.)

“Nice to meet you Joe.” He slung his pack on.

“I got to get going if I’m going to make Katahdin in three months.” He said and hiked off.

I took lunch there, it was an early lunch. I planned to make Fontana Dam and felt confident I could. I scanned my AWOL and looked at the obstacles that were between me and Fontana. There was a long almost 3 mile descent and then Jacobs Ladder followed by 11 miles then one more climb down for three more miles.

I took it easy on the decent but steady. If I remember right the section from the NOC to Fontana challenged your balance, and thanks to the rain all the rocks were slick.

At Stecoah Gap there were 2 hikers on the picnic table they were looking in there AWOLs trying to decipher were the water was.

“High guys.” I greeted them as I came out of the tree line.

“What’s up.” The younger looking one said who had long black hair full of grease.

“Ya’ll know where the water is?” I asked.

“It’s west down this road, were trying figure out which way west is.” The other said who had short chestnut colored hair.

I pulled out my compass and checked for west. When I found it I noticed a blue blaze on a guard rail that marked a side trail. According to AWOL if you followed the blue blazes it would lead to a hostel. The water was before the hostel.

“It’s this way there’s the blue blaze.” I said.

The 3 of use started stringing the blazes together. They were scattered erratically and a little hard to follow.

“This is like the trail your girl left me last night to follow.” The long haired one said to me, and I thought it was a little weird since we just meet. But I recovered quickly.

“Well at least she made you work for it. I just called yours and she came to me.”

The short haired one laughed, and started to sing The next Episode, (the rap used in many of the Thug life internet memes.)

I left the 2 at the water source they talked like they were going to stay at the hostel, and take Jacob ’s Ladder with fresh legs tomorrow. I headed for the climb expecting it to suck. The ladder started at Sweet Water Gap, almost a mile of vertical ascent.

I won’t say it was easy, but was not as bad as I expected. I only stopped once. The hardest part to it was fighting for traction since the mud was slick. There were trees all around and for some reason it all looked scorched, not alive and green. But withered like a poorly watered lawn in August.

I stopped in the shelter afterwards to check the trail log. I found Geronimo’s entre that said Jacob’s ladder was a joke, and that he would stay at the Fontana Hilton.

I had 6 miles to go before reaching the next shelter then nearly 7 to Fontana. The next six was rough I tripped constantly over loose rocks. I saw no one as well, and a felt tired.

When I reached Cable Gap Shelter the sun was disappearing behind the mountain. The shelter was full but quiet. I decided to stop for the night and make Fontana in the morning.

I made camp in a tent pad, and had a good bear hang nearly 200 yards away. It was dark as I ate my pasta side, and as soon as I was full I crawled in my tent for sleep. The temperature was pleasant, and I felt relaxed. I thanked God for the day and my healed knee. Then God blessed me with my first night of Fire Flies twinkling around my camp, lighting the dark like less obnoxious Christmas lights.

When any one asks me what the most beautiful sight is on the AT; I have to say the Fire Flies, they hold my most vivid memories of the trail.

Day 9: Zero Day

I was sad to see Geronimo go. We spent the early morning trying bounce half his resupply from the NOC to Hot Springs NC. I followed him while eating junk food for breakfast, a Honey Bun and chocolate muffin. Once he shipped his package from the NOC’s office it was back to the trail, and 27 miles to Fontana Dam the gateway into the Smokey’s.

I said my good bye believing I would catch up to him when he would zero at Hot Springs. He said his farewell to me, “so long Joedirt.” And I would not see him again; the closes I would come to catching him is a day’s separation at Davenport Gap. Geronimo would finish the trail, not a yoyo of the trail, and not as quick as he anticipated, but I believe the trail changed for him and he was satisfied at the top of Katahdin. It was an over cast day and I watched him wide up the switch backs out of the NOC.

I headed for the Outfitter after this; it was relatively empty except for a father and daughter who I meet at Top of Georgia. I greeted them but they didn’t recognize me. I printed my park pass then shopped for the supply’s I needed.

I bought another tube of electrolytes, this time Camelbak branded. I bought a Mountain Hardware fleece, and reflective emergency bivy, as well as a heavier rope and carabiner for a bear hang system.

This new rope and carabiner was not bought because I felt normal Para cord could not hold my food bag, but only to make throwing the system over a limb easier. I would spend the remainder of my hike adjusting rope weight and carabiner sizes to prefect this system.(Since I would lose rope and carabiners too often.) There is a lot more to a bear hang than you would think; trees provide plenty of variables to make it a frustrating experience.

Once these were purchased I checked out the hiker box for free food. This is an important strategy that I wished I took advantage of more. Many hostels and some other business along the trail keep hiker boxes, were hikers can unload leftover food or gear that they don’t want to carry. Instead of it going into the trash, and wasted, it can be pasted on and appreciated by another.

The hiker box is the best place to buy your cliff bars!

In the NOC’s hiker box I found some generic granola bars and a few cliffs. There was also an emergency blanket, and I kicked myself for not looking earlier. I also pulled out a trucker cap that would define me throughout my time on the trail. It was orange with a gray front that had a black silhouette of an eagle in flight. It read “fly” in the eagle. Hikers came to know me by this hat, it would mark my spot in shelters, and hikers would call me from behind at a distance because they would recognize me for this hat.

It was now time to check into my room. I got to check in at 10 because it was not occupied the night before.

First thing I did in my room was take a bath. Then I took a dive onto the king size bed and buried my head into the pillows. I felt comfort instantly and the force that had been keeping me wake for the past week melted and I found restful sleep. I know I slept because I dreamed.

I dreamed a reoccurring dream; a dream that has been a part of my life since my early teenage years. Its theme is always the same, but the location changes and my reaction changes.

It is always about some evil; whether the man calls it a killer a beast, or spirit. This time it was a beast. The man this time looked like an old track coach I once had, and the location looked like the campus at Top of Georgia with some elements of the NOC.

The man said, “There’s a beast out there.” In an easy voice.

Drums start in an erratic beat sometimes fast sometimes slow. (There are always drums in the dream.)

“You better be ready” the man says.

At this point I always had two responses, I either armed myself and stood my ground in brave fear, or I would frantically hide and feel intense fear till I woke as the evil approached. But this time I asked the man.

“Where is it?”

“Just over the hill.” He said.

I then jumped into a pool that had made its self-available and came out covered in mud.

“I want to see it.” I said to the man and felt excited.

“Go right ahead.” He replied with a shrug.

I climbed the hill like I was stalking deer through the gullies back in MS. I could hear the beast cracking limbs, and grunting, sometimes sounding like a boar other times sounding like a weightlifter forcing up their bench max. I never saw the beast. I never do, but this was the only time I ever went looking for it, not to kill it, but just to view it out of curiosity. This also was the last time I had this dream. So far in my life that is.

I awoke feeling anxious. After the daze of sleep eased away I checked the time; it was almost 4. I left my room wanting to enjoy the Nantahala River with some of the snacks I bought earlier. As I walked to the river bank I tried to figure out what I was so anxious about. I had gotten sleep and felt I could still sleep.

There was no pleasant sun to make me feel at ease on the river’s banks. I still sat at its bank in a comfortable lawn chair listening to the flow speak its chatter as the water rushed around the bend between its obstacles.

In the time I spent out there I watched hikers gather above me by the outfitter drinking cans of beer and laughing. I stayed down by the riverside alone, and decided to text a few friends and see how the end of semester played out. They were all confused, they knew I was hiking but didn’t know why. I had dropped out of school suddenly and left without telling many. At the end of conversations I was given warnings about bears and told to be careful.

I left the river side still uneasy and bought 2 beers before the shop closed along with hot dogs and buns. At my room I called my parents and grandmother. At the end of each conversation both said.

“I’m afraid if I were you I would get to such a pretty place where there is good food and a comfortable bed and not leave.”

I then realized this is what I was anxious about, not leaving the NOC. That my knee would stay swelled tomorrow and I would tell myself let’s stay one more day. You need more sleep. Some more good food will do you good. The Predators play in the Stanley Cup play offs tomorrow you wouldn’t want to miss that. I was worried all of this would keep me there and I would abandon the trail for comfort.

So I wanted to start the trail at the moment while there was still a little light left. Hike may be 5 miles or to the top of Swim Bald and cowboy it besides the trail. Then I would have most of the climbing out of the way for tomorrows. (Except for Jacob’s Ladder.)

But I didn’t leave I stayed not wanting to waste the room my parents gifted me to get rest for my knee. I prayed for my knee, and for my own resolve to get up and go in the morning.

Then the thought accord to me that it was good that I was worrying and recognized may own weakness and want for comfort. It meant I could fight it; it wouldn’t sneak up on me in the morning and hold me at this place for an easy transaction of money for another night’s stay.

I drank my two tall boys ate my hot dogs, and watched some NHL. I fell asleep with the TV still playing, and woke around 2 to turn it off. Tomorrow I would leave rested and healed.

Day 8: The Nantahala Outdoor Center

Geronimo’s and mine’s first order of business was to get a good meal, while we waited for our hostel bunks to open up at 1 p.m.

Without a shower we took our seats and proceeded to get food drunk. I don’t know the science behind it, but drunk best describes our state after we ate our double meal; no alcohol required. We ordered two apps, chips and salsa and hummus that we shared with each other, I had fish tacos with an added taco, and Geronimo had a veggie burger. (He was vegan.)

We laughed, finding everything around us a joke, and stumbled our way to the river side to continue to wait on our bunks. The water was not too cold when I soaked my feet in the Nantahala; I laid back and felt as I was lying in the sun on a sandy beach. But in truth it had turned partially cloudy and I sat on pee gravel. The time went by smoothly and we joked about getting properly wasted at the bar that night. (But it was not open for the season yet.)

When 1 p.m. came we went to find our bunks. The hostel at the NOC is divided into multiple buildings and rooms, with a large shower house and common room with kitchen in the middle. Our room had three bunks holding 6 people. You opened the door with key cards and the rooms had air conditioning and heat, which made it the most advance hostel I stayed in on the trail. (Besides Tea Horse in Harpers Ferry.)

In the room there was one older man organizing his gear and airing out his pack. At first glance I thought he was the vet I had met on my third night, but he was not. This man’s trail name was Smoky.

“How did you get the name Smoky?” I asked assuming it came from something pot related.

“O, I long hauled for some time, so I got the name from the movie Smoky and the Bandit.”

Geronimo put on some music, Grateful Dead, and the three of us enjoyed it and continued to talk. First about the Grateful Dead. Geronimo and Smoky had much to say on this subject, my only bit put in this conversation came from listening to their last performance when it was streamed in live to the Meadow Village at Big Sky MT the previous summer. Somehow this conversation segued into long hauling back in the 80’s and its drug culture. Smoky was an expert on this subject, and shared his stories of going 48 plus hours straight fueled on diesel cocaine and many other drugs I didn’t know about.

“Now days the law has taken the fun out of it, a little cocaine never hurt nobody.” Smoky said. Geronimo and me didn’t have much to say. I just halfway agreed by talking about how ridiculous insurance was for big rig drivers. (My brother hauled for a while.)

“I only used to get the job done. My wife had me clean at home.” Smoky further remarked.

Another hiker came in as our conversation was wrapping up with Smoky. He was around Smoky’s age or older but not worn down with substance abuse. He looked like a Marine commander with short well-groomed grey hair and fit body. His pack was an Alice frame pack and carried all military surpluses gear.

“Good evening, I’m Dick-Spatcher.” He said after throwing his pack on his bunk. We all laughed.

“Interesting name, I’m Geronimo, who named you that?”

“Well it’s also The Lieutenant in polite company, a group of college kids gave me Dick-Spatcher at Tray Mountain. I was a dispatcher this last year after retiring from fire chief.”

By this time it was approaching 3 o’clock and Geronimo and I went to get showers and then see about printing park passes for the Smoky Mountains.

After my shower I got the first good look at myself in the mirror since starting the trail. I saw a much different form then the bulked 205 body that had started the trail. I had been on steroids just two weeks prior the trail and without proper nutrition and a gym to stimulate my muscles they were all leaving rapidly.

I had lost my bulging six pack, my chest was still defined but smaller. The striations I had had in my shoulders had smoothed out but my quads had become more defined, and my knee was swollen; (I had forgotten to take more Aleve.)

I carried my dirty laundry to wash. While I was waiting out from the laundry room I saw a familiar face immerge out of the trail. It was the hiker I saw leaving Gooch Shelter on my second day; the one who whore the White Socks hat.

“Hey good to see yuh!” I said, thrilled to see that he had not dropped of the trail.

“Oh high, I meet you around Woody Gap right?”

“Yeah, looks like you’ve shed some weight.”

“Yeah I’m down to 30 pounds now, been able to do constant 15 mile days.”

“Where did you come from today?”

“Wayah Bald shelter.”

“Nice me and Geronimo did a near’o out of Cold Spring Shelter.”

“You staying here tonight?”

“Yeah how about you?”

“No I’m just getting some food then going to stay in the Rufus Morgan Shelter.”

“Nice I’ll see you around then.”

I left and went to join Geronimo in the outfitter. He was at the computer printing his pass and I decided to procrastinate and print mine the next day. I looked at gear and clothing in the outfitter. I needed an extra layer and an emergency blanket. I also needed a better bear hang system. All of these things I just looked at and would decide later on whether to purchase the next day on my zero.

After collecting my laundry I went to grab some beers and hot dogs with buns, but the store was closed. So at the hostel’s kitchen I ate an Idaho potato and was surprised it still tasted good after eating a good meal.

There were 2 other thru-hikers in the kitchen cleaning up after they had cooked and ate their meal. So the 4 of us went into the common room to talk.

“What are you two’s trail names?” The woman asked whose trail name was tumble weed.

“I’m Geronimo.”

“I’m just plain Joseph now, a trail name hasn’t stuck yet.”

“One hasn’t stuck with me either.” The man answered whose name was Jose.

“What came close?” I asked.

“Cactus, me and my wife are from New Mexico, when she got tumble weed the shelter thought about calling me Cactus but it never stuck.”

“For me a day hiker wanted to call me Kicking Wing, because I was winging my hike and was saying Kick’n a lot.”

“Kicking Wing, it’s about time for you to change your name to Kicking Ass.” Geronimo said referencing the movie Joe Dirt.

“That’s the Indian’s name in Joe Dirt right?” Tumble weed said.

“Theirs’s your name Joedirt.” Everybody agreed.

For some reason I didn’t like the trail name Joedirt; I guess at that time I took myself too seriously. Geronimo liked it and used it for the rest of the night, but the next day we would separate.

Since he was hiking out the next day, we went to sleep soon after nine. Our bunk mates were already snoring. The mattresses were not good at the NOC and I wondered and worried that I would have another sleepless night. I didn’t however and fell asleep fast but woke up around 3 in the morning. I was ok with this I had a king size bed the next day.

Day 8 part 1: A Hard 12 Down

I had gone through my 7th night without sleep. The air outside my quilt was cold somewhere close to freezing. I knew the sun was coming but it had not risen yet giving the environment a muted blue tint. The birds had not woken up yet and I had not sleep yet. I hoped at the NOC I could find sleep.

My body ached like growing pains. My sight only registered life in still images as if I was constantly blinking. My mind made sights and sounds in my peripherals that weren’t scary but annoying. I felt I couldn’t hear ever syllable in conversations, and I only responded with frustration. This is the best I can describe how I felt since day 4. All these symptoms starting in a low degree but now were sever, yet I was wide awake and had energy to hike.

Geronimo woke as I was slipping into my hiking clothes.

“You’re getting an early start.” He said.

“There’s no point in staying laid down when I can’t sleep, and it’s too cold to stay still.” I said shivering.

“Guess I’ll see you at the NOC.”

“Yeah defiantly.”

I pushed hard and let my body warm up with my heart rate. I had not eaten breakfast and only planed on stopping to make it once I saw good high sun.

Less than an hour in on the day I reached a side trail to Rocky Bald and my Awol said views. I was in the golden hour of the morning, and knew I would regret not seeing the sunrise like me and my friend Taylor would have when we would camp on Wesser Bald. So I took the tenth mile extra and wasn’t disappointed. (The picture I have posted is not what I first saw.) The view mesmerized me and I stood staring in it. Then without dropping my pack I collapsed down to sit to enjoy.IMG_0217

Misty clouds were swirling in gold light. There whiteness was not diluted by this light but stood out more pure. Only the mountains and their foliage was cast gold. The clouds were moving out of the valleys by the wind almost as if they were being rushed down a path like livestock by a herdsman.

Time past, how much I don’t know, more than 10 minutes but less than an hour. Then Geronimo showed up.

“You missed it.” I said.

“Doesn’t look like it.” He replied and dropped his pack to sit.

He pulled out his phone to snap a pic, and this brought the idea to me. (Hence the picture you see.)

We ate breakfast and then made short work to Wesser Bald. Along the way we passed through Tellico Gap, a starting point for the 2 times me and my friends visited this area. In the Gap there was a Styrofoam cooler. With enthusiasm I walked to it hoping to find a soda or Gatorade in it. There was only trash. But Geronimo and I took the opportunity to unload our trash in it, so the trail angle who left it could take it away.

Leaving Tellico Gap I could picture Taylors FJ cruiser parked. This felt cereal, and some of the feelings I tried to summon up the day before were present.

The trail up to Wesser Bald felt long on my previous hikes up, but that day it was easy and took at most twenty minutes. At the top on the observation tower Geronimo and I ate breakfast. The sun was high and the winds were still. The temperature had warmed up to a comforting level, and I felt that I could lay out on the tower and sleep.IMG_0220

“The next 6 miles are a bitch Joe. Be careful with you knee I blew out my knee on my last thru-hike here.” Geronimo warned.

“We’ll see how this goes; I don’t think I’m operating on a full brain.” I said while taking Aleve.

“Have you really not slept at all since starting?”

“I think I got a nap in at Standing Indian.”

“How come?”

“Don’t know, I’ve had these insomnia spell ever since my junior year in high school. My senior year right at the end I didn’t sleep for 2 weeks.”

“What’s that like?”

“Unsurety. You just feel unsure about everything.”

“Do you feel that way now?”

“No I’m very sure just hurting and a little slow.”

We started the 6 mile descent. The first mile brought us past Wesser Bald Shelter, the only place to get water before the NOC. I needed to resupply but didn’t I knew I could get a Coke at the NOC and I didn’t want to waste any more time getting there.

I didn’t dread the next part of the descent, which was the kicker, I looked forward to it. And it would become one of the best times hiking I had on the trail. There was rock scrambles but not too jagged to slow you down. I felt as If I flowed down them despite my knee pain, which felt like my tibia and fibula were driving my knee cap out of my skin. Having the sound track of James Cameron’s Avatar playing in my mind helped with this; the musical piece where the characters are climbing the floating mountains. I would download this later and it always helped my pace when played. (Except for my last two days.)

Geronimo and I Joked back and forth with each other much like me and my old track and field friends would do as we ran the mile or two mile races. It lightened the load of a sucky situation and made it fun. Before Noon Geronimo and I were standing by the NOC’s welcome sign drinking sodas and eating chips.

“That’s how you do a Nearo.” Geronimo said and we high-fived our accomplishment.

Day 7: Familiar Ground

Geronimo and I started the trail together that morning. It was near 8 but the sun had just breached into Rock Gap Shelter.

If I remember right there was stillness around the shelter that caused me to fill uneasy. Most mornings were filled with birds waking and chirping, but not there in Rock Gap it was quiet. All accept for wind moving the canopy over us. It rustled slowly at the same beat of a rocking ship.

My Awol had a warning that made Geronimo and I paranoid as we climbed the side trail out of the gap. “White blazes on the north side of the trees are identical to the blazes on the south side. Make sure you are heading in the right direction, especially when sleepily leaving shelters in the morning.” It being 6 nights without sleep I didn’t trust my judgement, so I let Geronimo check my compass once we started the AT.

“Due north, check and go.” He said cheerfully

We made quick work of the first 3.8 miles to Winding Stair Gap, where on week days you could get a cheap shuttle into Franklin NC. There was a father son duo waiting on a shuttle (not a cheap one) at the gap. They offered us to join them. It would make the ride cheaper.

If not for Geronimo I would have gone into Franklin, although I’m glad I didn’t, and saved money for the NOC.

Geronimo and I did not take the side trail to summit Siler Bald. We knew that we would get plenty of a view when we reached Wayah Bald. This was six miles away. And my knee began to swell again as we descended.

“Shit I’d say I’m off to a good start man! Between no sleep and this knee I’d say Katahaden in 5 months.” I said with a smile and popping a couple of Aleve.

“5 months is the average time there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Yeah well it’s not the time I’ve got. Gotta make my hike in 3 no more than 3 and a half.”

“Yeah I’m yo-yoing so that’s the time frame I’m making it in.”

“Yeah well don’t let me slow you down.”

“You’re not so far we’re on pace, as long as we hit plus 25 regularly in VA.”

“I didn’t think I’d be hitting 25’s this early to tell the truth.”

“It’s not that hard you just got to put in a full day of hiking.”

“Are you still planning stopping at Cold Spring Shelter tonight then 12 to the NOC tomorrow?”

“Yeah that’s was our plan last night can your knee make it?”

“Sure why not.” I said confidently as a scam artist.

I had seen Wayah Bald before but not the back parking area, and it surprised me how popular a destination it was. It was a Saturday and a church was having a pick neck at the tower.

It was hear at the tower that I had talked with my first AT thru-hiker back during my senior year of high school spring break. Me and two friends had south bound the trail from Wesser Bald and told ourselves that that was a 14 mile hike. It was only a little over 9 really. I remembered how exhausted we were and the feeling of accomplishment I felt seeing the distance we had walked from the tower.

The view from the tower.


But standing at the tower on my thru-hike I didn’t feel much nostalgia. I let Geronimo go on ahead of me as I stayed behind just to try and summon up some feeling standing on familiar ground. But there was nothing, all that was on my mind was the king size bed I’d sleep in at the NOC on Monday.

I caught up to Geronimo At the bottom of the bald at Licklog Gap. He had gone down the Bartram Trail accidently. I did not recognize most of the trail and am glad I avoided the same mistake.

I guessed from Awol that Burnningtown Gap was were, on the same hiking trip in high school, me and my friends received trail magic. As we were tired zombie hiking through a church was set up giving out corn beef and cabbage along with cookies and mountain dew. I relived this moment with Geronimo as I told him the story. And I became hungry and thought about nothing except what I would order at the NOC.

We reached Cold Spring Shelter shortly after Burningtown Gap. The shelter appeared to be full, and I let Geronimo have what I thought was the last spot. He only had a bivy sack for shelter. I went to where the tent sites were and the wind was blowing hard. Tonight was supposed to reach freezing and my quilt was only rated for 32 degrees but I didn’t trust that rating. I knew I wouldn’t sleep but I knew I wouldn’t relax either.

I went to the shelter to cook my meal and to my surprise I was invited to use the shelter.

“Joseph take this spot we need as many people we can get in here tonight.” An old man said who later would be known as Red.

“Thanks I was starting to get worried tarping it out tonight.” I said and left to grab my stuff.

“Don’t get blown away!” one man yelled as a strong gust of wind roared over the ridge. After eating everybody got into their bags to prepare for the cold night. The sun still was shining and a few birds still chirped between the sounds of wind. The air became cold fast and was crisp. Tasting it almost felt like you could digested it like clean mountain water.

My big Agnes quilt worked to my surprise; I stayed warm. But I believe Red and Geronimo were the only ones that slept that night. I listened to the wind whistle along the ridge. It was something familiar I remembered from past trips up in this NC area. The wind always blew and I was mostly ill prepared till my friend Taylor would loan me a good piece of gear. I thought how ironic it was that I was the one hiking the trail and not him.

Day 6: A pleasant 25

Since I didn’t sleep I got myself up before sunrise but didn’t leave right away. My knee was swollen and stiff like I had it wrapped in a compression sleeve. I wondered if I had torn my ACL; I knew that you could still operate on a torn ACL, plenty of my football teammates finished out the season on torn ACLs.

I wasn’t going to let it bother me; I was still feeding off my the high I felt while running with the Holy Spirit, so I wasn’t about to call it quits over an knee injury. The only way I was coming off the trail was dead or from Katahdin. So I took some Aleve and worked my knee back and forth till it became mobile.

Geronimo came out of the shelter as I was about to step off. I was sure that just he and I and the Ridge Runner were the only people in that camp without a hangover. All I had had was the pull of Jägermeister, and he didn’t drink too much.

The camp looked sickly. Where there had been a large fire now was just wet smoldering char. Whisky bottles were scattered along the wet covering of leaves. The smell of puke was faint but in the air. When I went to fill my water bottle I saw where someone had puked near the stream. To near the stream for me and decided to make due the water I already had and fill up at the next source.

“Hey Geronimo. I wouldn’t get water hear!” I advised as I saw him grab an empty Smart Water bottle.

“Why is that?”

“Somebody hurled near the source.” I explained and he nodded.

“Where are you going to today?” I asked.

“I think Rock Gap Shelter how about you?”

“The same.”

“Guess I’ll see you there.”

“Yeah or before. my knees a little busted you’ll probably catch me but if not have a good hike.”

The trail that day was smooth, and I found myself enjoying NC more than my time in GA. There was a cool breeze like Fall and a piercing sun. The trail would alternate open and close, letting me experience the pleasant mood lifting sun and the tunnels of rhododendron.

Rhododendron tunnel going up Standing Indian.


The Rhododendron had not bloomed; some were fully green like the small patches in GA but most looked dormant. There would be much more rhododendron the further I would go into NC and by the end it would start to bloom.

I reached Standing Indian Shelter early. A group of a three men were leaving the shelter as I passed. I slowed down on the climb due to my knee and this group would leap frog with me to the summit and we would share glimpses of our personality.

It was a grandfather, a dad, and an 18 year old son. They planned to make a once a year tradition of section hiking 30 to 50 miles to stay in touch. There packs were full but speed was not their goal. This day they planned to make it to Long Branch Shelter, so that the next they ended their hike in Franklin NC.

“You doing your Thu-Hike alone?” The grandfather asked.

“Yeah, just kinda transitioning out school to work.”

“That’s a good plan.” The father said.

“You got a good office job waiting once you get done with this trail?” The grandfather asked.

“No I got a maintenance job in MT.” This startled the group.

“Yeah I guess I’ll have to take a thru-hike once I’m done with college I’m going to be in programing and won’t get outdoors much after I graduate. Like you will be.” The son said.

“Yeah well you can always change your major. I changed my like 6 or 8 times before dropping out.” I replied laughing lightly at myself.

I split off from the group when we reached the side trail to the summit of Standing Indian. I stayed at the summit to air out my wet gear from the day before, and get some sun. I napped for a small time. Not fully awake and not fully asleep. I could see my thoughts forming into dreams on my closed eye lids but could still hear the breeze move through foliage and Chipmunks scurrying in under brush off to the side of the bare rock I was on.

Here Geronimo caught up to me:

“Hey Joseph don’t take it too easy.”

“It’s a good spot to that.” I said while pushing myself upright.

We sat at the summit for a half an hour and ate lunch. I took more Aleve because my knee began to swell again and then we headed off.

On the steep parts of the descent I slowed and Geronimo went on ahead. Going down I had to make sure my hurt knee landed locked out because of the pain from engaging the knee was too great. On uphill and what little flat ground there was I would catch Geronimo. My legs were a lot longer than his.

It was probably around three when Geronimo and I reached the hand and foot scramble going up to Albert Mountain fire tower. I folded up my trekking poles to climb and it was a pleasant change from hiking.

The beginning of the scramble up Albert Mountain.


At the top there was cell service that I would use to call and check in with my parents. But first me and Geronimo enjoyed the 360 view. He continued on and I made my call.

In my call I told my mother about going through the storm just not my internal experience of going through it or nearly catching Hyperthermia. I let it slip that I had hurt my knee and this lead to my mother demanding that I take a full zero once I make the NOC, and this also got me a privet room to stay in. Gratefully I accepted.

I caught up to Geronimo at Long Branch Shelter and we debated on stopping there for the night.

“This is a newer shelter.” Geronimo said.

“Yeah and its filling up its going to be busy tonight.”

“Right about that.”

“Do you remember what Rock Gap shelter is like?”

“It’s pretty run down, and there were lots of mice. The waters decent but not like this.”

“It’s just 3.5 miles I don’t have to descend in the morning. I say we go I don’t mind the mice.”

“Yeah me neither they’re my shelter friends. Let’s go.”

We got to Rock Gap Shelter with day light. I under cooked a red beans and rice and it was still delouses. The privy there was falling down but still usable. We were the only ones there and it stayed that way.

The mice were a bigger problem than I thought they would be. I didn’t hang my food bag but slept with it by my head and shooed away the same mouse throughout the night. Thankfully I did not sleep, (not really) or I would have awoken to my food being pillaged.

I wish I could say that from here on out my time on the AT was as God honoring as this day was. As I would continue on the trail I would not be near as polite or welcoming as I was that day. Day 6 was a relaxing gift from God and I basked in it and was grateful for it. I believe I did honor him in that days’ efforts. And it payed off in good clean fun and companionships that only following the Lord provides.

No regrets and nothing lacking.

Day 5: Sir Packs and Hyperthermia: A Bad and Good Experience

Bob Sir Packs Alot, proprietor of the Top of Georgia hiker hostel, and triple crown hiker would not let me out of his sight. When I unpacked my pack to find a change of clothes so he could wash the ones I had on, he was there. When I finished my shower and opened the door he was there waiting.

“Took your time.” He said with a forced smile.

“It’s the first shower I’ve taken.” I said back friendly.

“How long ago was that a week?”

“4 days.” He startled at this information.

He followed me back to my bunk were my pack was and as I pulled out its contents to let the pack air out. He then said.

“That’s not a pack for a thru-hike.”

“It’s the best I had; besides it keeps me from carrying too much a load.”

“How much hiking have you done?”

“I’ve been hiking since senior year of high school but I spent a lot of time hunting growing up.”

“How many nights have you been out in a row on a backpacking trip?”

“4 straight.”

“You don’t have the experience for caring this small of a load.”

When he finally left, it was 30 minutes to lights out. The other guests at the hostel had cooked hot dogs and offered the two that were left. I accepted and ate that with my last pasta side.

For bed I was in a bunkroom with three other men. It was hot in there and two of the men snored to the extreme, and the other complained and got up throughout the night making a bigger racket leaving the squeaky bunk than the sleeping snorers.

Again I had a sleepless night.

When I got up I was excited for a “Hearty, hot breakfast,” as my Awol had advertised. But instead I was given a small paper bowl to fill up once with cereal, and a Dixie cup of OJ.

I ate slowly to savior the Captain Crunch while I listened to Sir Packs Alot stroke his ego with his eleven steps to success.

At one point in his presentation he discussed Smoky Mountain National Park and I learned for the first time that I needed to print a permit at the NOC; the only helpful advice I learned from him.

In the same topic he asked us.

“Tell me which of y’all thinks you’re going to make it through the park in a week.” He was staring at me.

“How long is the trail through the park?” Asked an older lady.

“70 miles mam.”

I raised my hand.

“Oh really you think you’re going to be able to do it? Well I’ve got a wakeup call for you. You’re not! You’re going to make it to Newfound Gap in a week and have to resupply in Gatlinburg by a $30 shuttle.”

He finished his spill, and the guests were dismissed but most stayed around for his pack shake down. I checked out his “Full service discount outfitter,” with “full resupply” that was advertised in Awol thinking I could resupply there and get back to the trail. There was not much in stocked and nothing discount about it.

I called a shuttle and waited for it at the road because his free shuttle didn’t leave till 1 pm. My thinking was I would take that shuttle as it returned to the hostel to the trail head.

In town I went to Ingles for my resupply; this would also be where the shuttle would pick up, so I made sure to make it back there after I killed time eating town food. Hiawassee was convenient size for a resupply but it was a long ride from the trail. Later on I would hear that it was an easy hitch but I was reluctant to hitch at this point.

I ate Subway for lunch then went to the library to charge my phone and external battery. It was sunny and hot while I was in Hiawassee but at the library I checked weather and found more storms were moving in. I was going to get wet.

For the time I was at the library I talked with one of the librarians who thought I was a drifter and had no idea about the trail. I discussed the pace I had maintained, the people I had meet and left and my dissatisfaction with Top of Georgia. At the end of these topics it was time to leave and catch my ride.

The sky was darkening when I got back to Ingles. I only waited 5 minutes and the shuttle arrived.

Sir Packs Alot let me on without any grief and we headed for the trail head. In the eleven mile drive I thought he was going to school me some more on how I should hike but he didn’t instead he just complained to me about his wife on how she was on to him about something.

When we reached the trail head and I opened my door and hear him say.



“$10 for the ride.”

“I thought it was included with my bunk?”

“Yeah but you stayed yesterday.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” I said straight to him.

He didn’t respond and after a tense second of silence between us I tossed a $10 bill at him but it drifted and landed on the floor. I slammed the door and he drove off. Two other hikers were at the trail head and when I turned towards them one asked.

“Was that a shuttle to Top of Georgia?”

“He doesn’t do pickups, and I can’t recommend it. He’s a straight up dick!”

“Well weather is going to get bad and we’re trying to get to town and ride it out.”

“You can walk half a mile down the road and there is cell service.”

They left and I changed into my rain gear that was: board shorts, and a North Face rain jacket.

The rain started and instead of starting the trail I took cover under the small eve of the trail head sign. Other hikers came out from the opposite side of Dicks Creek Gap, some joined me either waiting to hitch a ride into town or to chat and take a break from the storm.

“Where are you heading for?” Ether I or they would ask.

“Plumorchard Shelter!” “Bly Gap!” “Muskrat Shelter!” or “Fuck if I know!” we would yell at each other between thunder.

The temperature dropped as the storm went through, and when the thunder faded after half an hour I left my cover.

I left angry, and I’m not sure why. My guess I felt unsatisfied with my town visit. But it could have also been the lack of sleep I was experiencing. At this point I was starting to get paranoid from it and a little trippy. Also the amount of time I had to think filled my head with covetous thoughts and self-pity. And when the thunder started again when I was probably around Cowart Gap this only drove me darker.

What happens next is one of the most important times for me on the trail. (For those who have not read the first blog entry, I was suicidal.)

A storm blew in stronger than the one I had just sat out, while I was on Buzzard Knob. It dropped the temp into the high 30’s according to the small thermometer I had strapped to my pack. My rain jacket became saturated and I took it off in frustration. Now I was hiking shirtless with only my board shorts on.

I began to shiver uncontrollably, and was soaked to the bone. I was cold, and not just uncomfortably cold. This cold reminded me of a time when I was 13, out in an open field greasing pivot wheels, and changing their oil with my brother. It was near night and sleeting, it had rained the inter afternoon and I was soaked through my 4-H Carhartt jacket. It was the coldest I had felt, a sickly cold that tiers you. But unlike that dusk in the field with my brother.

I was all alone and cared not to try and remedy the problem.

When I sat down somewhere between Blue Ridge Gap and the GA/NC boarder I accepted my circumstance as finishing an unfinished job. I did not feel uncomfortable being cold all I could feel was the effects it had on me. My heart slowing and body shaking almost to the point of falling off the stump I sat on.

But then between the thoughts of hate, regret, and covetous, a new thought was placed. This thought was on my parents who gave me their blessing and support to do this hike. I thought how unfair it was to them killing myself on a trip that was supposed to remedy the issues inside me. At my earlier attempt of my life, my death would have just been a shock to them, but now it would be much more damaging. This caused me to pray, and take action.

The solution was simple all I had to do was put back on my jacket and get moving. This would warm me. But The motivation was lacking to do so however by the end of my prayer it was God given.

I began to run with joy. It was a joy that mimicked the joy from my salvation. I believe it was the presence of the Holy Spirit.

I ran past hikers setting up camp in the rain giving up on making it to a shelter for the night. I only stopped running when I came to the boarder and signed the registry. I started walking after this and climbed Courthouse Bald.

At the top, another storm hit and I saw lightning hit another ridge close to me. I was not going to linger so I started running again. On the way down my left foot tripped on a rock and trying to recover I caught myself in stride with my right but my body twisted and I watch my knee role out of place and then back in. The pain was sharp but too quick to bring a reaction. Like my shoulder would do before I had surgery on it. While I moved my knee felt fine it wouldn’t be till I stopped at the shelter that it would swell.

The storms passed just as not even half a mile from Muskrat Creek Shelter. I stopped toIMG_0185 take a selfie to capture my expression of my ordeal than took another for the social media. There was also a view were I stopped and I sat and watched the fog roll away and thanked God.IMG_0188

I heard commotion behind me and I looked back through the trees and could barely make out the shelter. At the shelter the first thing I noticed was all the liquor. A group of college students were having a party at the shelter.

One bearded student said to me as I entered their circle, “Here looks like you could use this,” and handed me a bottle of Jägermeister. I took 2 big gulps and gasped with refreshment and most of the students cheered.

Then I saw Geronimo come out from under the shelter, and I was more than happy to see a familiar face even if I hardly knew it.

I started to set up under the shelter on the table since the pad was packed. The Ridge Run kicked me out though, so I set my tarp up.

There was a girl and her boyfriend at the shelter who were section hiking from Springer to the NOC. Both were drunk and me and Geronimo talked with them. As the night went on the girls boyfriend whipped out his pistol for some reason I don’t remember. The Ridge Runner said nothing of this even though it was right in her face.

Under my tent I watched the party go on and did not sleep. I saw some wander away to puke, and couples sneak off to be alone. I didn’t mind the cheerful noise the party made even if it keep me awake. It was comforting and I found rest without sleep.