[at-l] Nine

[Felix]

I've mist a few days of this....a lot of days, axually. But, here are some more 
of my cut and pasted memories:


12/22/98 Alice and Marty Kauzlarich (?) took me back to Hot Springs 
(from their house in Walnut, NC) . It
was raining/sleeting. Marty was drivin'. We met Wingfoot at the
restaurant (Smoky Mountain Diner?). Alice and Marty ate a ran.
Wingfoot and I had a nice, long chat. It confirmed what I've always
said: I like Wingfoot. It also confirmed something I wasn't sure about:
I wasn't going to join ATML when I got home. I am not the type of guy
Wingfoot wanted on his list. I am probably not the guy a lot of you want
on this list. I digress. Anyway, I knew that the message I would bring
back from my hike wasn't the message that Dan was gonna want on the
list. I realized that over coffee.

I left town in a cool drizzle, a little past noon. Walking out of the
last trailtown was a bittersweet thing. It was dark and cold when I sat
down on a Bluff Mt rock for a Snickers Bar. It was much darker and
colder when I got to Roaring Fork Shelter. I think it was a little after
8. There was another guy in the shelter, asleep. I quickly woke him. We
had a nice long chat. He was a mind doctor of some sort. I played with
his while he studied mine. (Minds, that is). It got VERY cold that
night. It warmed up enough to be raining the next morning,
though....

12/23/98
The psychologist guy got up and left early. I talked to him from the
comfort of my sleeping bag. I finally got up and left at around 9ish.
Almost the second I left the shelter, it started drizzling. It was
raining steadily by the time I started up Max Patch. The winds picked
up, as usual. The Smokys were now clearly visible. Clearly visible in
the sense that I could see that they were socked in. It was an
incredible feeling to be looking at those mountains knowing that the
next day I would be entering the Granddaddy of them all. As I climbed
higher on the side of Max Patch, the winds and rains increased. Then, as
I was 50 yards from what appears to be the summit, Brother Cain's "Fools
Shine On" rockin' my headsetted world,
"BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!! This is
a warning. The National Weather Service has issued a Severe Winter Storm
Warning for all of Western Carolina and Eastern Tennessee." What a rush
to be standing on Max Patch, looking at the Smokes, and hear that kind
of weather report, while watching it get ready to happen. Incredible.

I picked up the pace considerably after that. I stopped for a break at
Groundhog ? Shelter. I was freezing, wet. I knew that I was either
staying there, or getting out of there soon. Too cold for standing
around. I headed up Snowbird in a steady, heavy rain. I almost regretted
leaving the shelter until I remembered that I could try to get to Mt.
Moma's instead of Davenport Gap Shelter. "Hmmm, cheeseburgers" I
thought. Cheeseburgers, indeed. I trudged on. It was a little after 4:00
when I crossed under I-40. When I got back into the woods, the clouds
and rhododendrons made it look much, much later. When I got to Davenport Gap,
it was dark. I stood on the gravel road, cold rain falling, Smokys mere
feet in front of me. "Felix," said the cheeseburger. "Yes?" I replied.
"Go to the light, boy".  As I walked down the muddy road, I could feel
the magnificence of the Smokys to my right. I couldn't see it, but I could
 surely feel it. It was wonderful.



I walked what seemed like 6 hours in that rain and fog. It was only
about 45 minutes, though. When I could finally see the lights of Mt.
Moma's through the fog, I was happy. I walked in the door at 15 minutes
'til 6. Every eye in the place was on me. A long-haired, long-bearded,
soaking wet hiker walks in an hour after dark? He's crazy. God, I love
being crazy.

"You got someplace where hikers stay?" I asked a room full of quiet, starin' 
folx.
"Well, there's the bunkhouse," a bewildered woman said. She said
something to the man next to her and he left the room. "Go to the pink
bunkhouse and I'll get you a plate of food."
"How about one of those Texas Cheeseburgers" I thought. Well, I liked
the thought of it so well that I said it, too.
"The grille's closed. I'll get you a plate of food."

I went outside to wander around the parking lot in the pea soup fog and
rain. I saw the bunkhouses, but couldn't tell which one was pink.
Finally, the man who had left the room walked up with a flashlight and
space heater and directed me to the pink bunkhouse. He told me to put on
some dry cloths and come back inside and get my food. I did.
I looked at the disposable cameras on the counter. I could not buy one. Luck was
taunting me. It knew that I had $11, American. It knew that my 'room' was $10. 
It
knew that Mt. Moma took no credit card. I took the single remaining
dollar and bought a Pepsi. I took my Pepsi and a picnic basket of food, and a 
towel,
with me back to the bunkhouse.

I cuddled up next to that space heater and ate. Ham, sweet potatoes,
dressing, green beans, cranberry sauce, rolls and the best cupcake I've
ever had. Easily, this was the most special Christmas Dinner of my life.
It was in a room no bigger than 10X10. I sat on the floor. I ate alone.
After dinner, I took a long, hot shower. Life was good. (Thanks, ATW)
This night will remain as one of the most sentimental, special nights of the
hike, and my life.

"The heart is a tender thing..."

12/24/98  I got up and went in to Mt. Moma's to tell her
thanks for dinner and Merry Christmas. She said, "Well, ya better sit
down and have a cup of coffee." I did. I also had a cup of cake, with a
little Santa on top. We talked for a while. It was very nice. I went
outside, to the payphone, and called Pokey. I hadn't talked to her in
six weeks. Since the day she left the Trail in Linden. It was good to
hear the old girl's voice. I cried. She cried. She said "You're breakin'
my heart here." I suppose. I hung up, turned and walked across the
parking lot in another heavy rain. Emotions were leaking out of my very
existence (I don't even know what that means other than it was an
emotional little walk)

I got my Smokys permit at the Ranger station and Ranger George gave me a
ride to the Trail. We had a nice chat. His two-way radio kept talking
about roads being closed and how bad the weather was. Kinda exciting. He
let me out and said something like "I'm supposed to tell you to be careful, or 
something. But, I know you won't. Good luck." I headed into the Smokys. The 
Trail was covered with chunks of ice the size of golf balls. I cranked the 
Walkman and hiked
on. My thoughts were swimming in the conversation I had had with Pokey.
I wasn't paying attention to much around me other than the Rhododendrons
that were hanging down on the Trail, covered with ice.

I got to Davenport Gap Shelter and stopped for a quick snack and to
check the register. As I sat there, I heard a God-awful sound. A tree
had come crashing down just behind the shelter. Actually, it was just
the top half. But, with the extra weight of the ice, the sound was
incredible. I thought "Wow!!!" I went back inside the shelter. Another
crash. I went back outside and did a little closer inspection. It was
just then that I realized that I was in the middle of a full-force ice
storm Every tree was bent, or sagging, because of the extra weight of
the rain and ice. Trees were popping, exploding. A tree would groan a
few times, and then, at a point nature chose to be the weakest, it would
explode and the top would plummet to the ground, ice flying off the
branches at impact. It was so cool, and scary.

I decided I wanted out of the shelter. I figured I'd have a better
chance seeing a tree coming at me from outside. I signed the register
and headed up the hill. The next few hours were some of the most
incredible hours I've ever spent. Watching nature do her thing, from the
inside, was amazing. Climbing through treetops with branches covered in
ice as think as your wrist, listening as the next top falls 30 feet in
front, or behind you, is an indescribable experience. (That's why I'm
doing such a poor job of describing it.)

This went on for nearly two hours. As I climbed higher on the ridge, the
air got warmer, and the rain remained rain. I could still hear trees
falling below me. I was glad it was over, but glad that I'd been part of
it, too. It rained every step this day. I took a break at Cosby Knob and
not again until Tricorner. The shelter there was a mud pit. It usually
is. Somewhere is a transcribed copy of what I wrote in the register that
night. I'll look for it.

...it cleared enough for it to get cold. Freezing cold. I woke up the next 
morning, 
12/25/98, Christmas Day, and headed
up a crunchy, frozen Trail. I was glad. Crunching is better than
sloshing. The sky was actually clear above, and the valleys below were
full of the 'smoke' that is the namesake of these mountains. At one
point I saw what I thought were bobcat prints. I don't know if there are
bobcats here or not. It could have been a fox. I don't know if there are
foxes here or not.

I made really good time this day. I was surprised to find the Trail
crowded from Icewater Spring to Newfound Gap. It was a beautiful day.
Mid-twenties and clear. I got to Mt. Collins shelter a little before 5.
That shelter is a beautiful place just before sunset on a crisp, cold
Christmas evening. The fire the two boys from Cincinnati had built was a
beautiful thing, too. I'll never forget the one who looked at me and
said "That fire'd cost you $8,000 if you bought the wood at a
convenience store." I laffed then. I laff now.

I had an enjoyable evening with these two guys. They didn't necessarily
practice some of the LNT techniques the way I'd have liked for them to.
But, they were harmless, overall. They gave me my first-ever drink of
Jaegermeister. Nyquil from the liquor store. They also gave me
hair-covered cheese and salami. In the dark, it all tastes the same. I
smoked a cigar.




-- 
Felix J. McGillicuddy
ME-->GA '98
"Your Move"
http://Felixhikes.tripod.com