September 10, 2024
I’ve been following the stories of a friend of mine as he hikes the northern part of the Appalachian Trail. Craig King was my predecessor as president of the Alabama Jaycees back in the 1980s. He attempted a thru-hike a few years ago but came up short. He’s finishing the northbound section now.
Several years ago, I wrote a blog about my family’s three-day version of the Appalachian Trail. I hope you enjoy our little adventure.
Words matter! And the order of words matters! In 2002, I mentioned to my wife, Lane, that we were running out of time to take the kids hiking on the Appalachian Trail. The offending words came later in the discussion. “A last chance for a family vacation before the kids start attending college!” Our oldest was already in college.
My wife prefers a family vacation on a beach or at a spa, not hiking through woods, wildlife, and bugs in the middle of the summer. But she relented, and we left on the trail for four days and three nights.
I read trailjournals.com and purchased an excellent book to help us map our trek. Because we had such a short time to hike, I chose the most difficult 27-mile section in the lower half. We began our sojourn at Nantahala Outdoor Center.
After an early breakfast, we hit the trail! Our first stop was Cheoah Bald, about eight miles away and approximately 3,500 feet higher than our start. Despite what I expected, there were zero downhill trails. As an Eagle Scout, I was sure this would be a snap. Our crew consisted of Chandler (20), Ashley (18), Finch (16), our niece Gena (11), and our twins, Kathryn & Kary (10).
We spent our food shopping time buying dehydrated, imitation food, some of which actually had a taste. However, my niece purchased “real” food like Vienna Wieners.
Late that afternoon, we reached Cheoah Bald. The view was breathtaking, as promised! We had three tents, which took us only 6 hours to pitch. (Well, it seemed that long.) We also had a large “bladder” to store water for cooking and cleaning. Finch headed down the path to fetch it. (This may be the only time I use the word “fetch” in a blog.)
Probably the most utilized tool throughout the hike was the foldable shovel. Hike etiquette required anyone answering the call of nature to traverse at least 100 feet from the trail, dig a hole, and then hide any evidence that humankind had been there. For every 1,000 feet forward, someone called for the shovel and took a divergent path into the hinterlands.
Our first night in the tents brought thunder and a spectacular light show. However, I wasn’t very pleased with our vantage point at that peak. I was having second thoughts. Maybe we should head back to where we came from. My son, Finch, would have none of it. The truth for me was that my boots may have been broken in, but my feet weren’t. I had already developed a nasty blister, which would affect me for the next three days.
The next day, we headed for the Sassafras Gap Shelter. We never saw a bear, but we had some fantastic views and one of the longest black snakes I’ve ever seen. We reached the shelter, which was more like a three-sided stage than a “shelter.” We had read that some of these places may have mice, so you need to hang your gear up off of the ground. We never saw the critters, but we heard them scurrying all around us during the night.
The other interesting feature was an outhouse. Well, it was really a latrine, with one wall providing a barrier between it and the shelter. One felt that you were on a throne, exposed to all of God’s creatures. It was better than the shovel-ready versions we had been using.
We woke up for our final day on the trail and headed for Fontana Dam. I could barely feel my feet inside those @#$%! boots. Chandler, the artist, left wonderful drawings on some of the “sign-in” books, complete with nicknames of our crew!
Our two cross-country runners, Ashley and Finch, had
developed a system of hurrying ahead to a destination, dropping their packs, running back, and helping Kathryn and Kary with their packs. Their loads seemed to grow with each step. I’m still amazed at their perseverance.
After what seemed like a hundred “false” finishes, we saw the parking lot – the final destination. One more cruel turn, though. We still had about a mile uphill until we reached Fontana Dam. The backpack relays finally gave us the victory we had pursued! There it was! Fontana Dam and showers! As I left the shower, my son ran up to me with my boots. “You left these,” he remarked. “Yes. Yes, I did! Take them back. I don’t ever want to see them again!”
We were out of the woods, but the challenges continued. We drove for hours before finding a fast-food place to grab some real food. We had left later than expected and still needed to find a proper lodge. I didn’t anticipate the Babe Ruth baseball championships, which had used up every room within a 100-mile radius. We reached the state of Alabama before we lucked into a room. It was after midnight.
We were so exhausted that I thought we would sleep forever. I didn’t. I woke up at 4:00 am with terrible pain where my blisters had repeatedly attacked my toes—especially the big one on my right foot. In the dark, I reached down to check it out and realized I couldn’t feel anything when I touched it. Looking down, I noticed that my toe was pitch black. “Oh, no”, I thought. “I’ve completed this whole journey, only to lose a toe after it was all said and done.”
I limped to the bathroom, turned on the light, and looked down. I couldn’t feel anything because the bandage was still on the blister. The blood had dried, which gave it the appearance of frostbite as I had seen in movies of Mt. Everest climbs. I would survive, although it would take a few weeks to heal.
There was one more surprise. When we arrived home in Mobile, my wife had remodeled and repainted our kitchen during our absence. It was beautiful. We had no idea that she was doing this. She still chides me about having a “last chance” family vacation.
I must admit, though, that the memories of our Appalachian adventure still go on!
God Bless,
Tommy
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