311.7 miles, 666,619 steps

Though far from the tropics and overlooked as an enticing travel destination, my sights have been set on Erwin, TN for some weeks now. Aside from the typical delights of scrumptious meals, abundant supermarkets, and comfy lodging, this locale hosts a priceless diamond in the rough: Pal’s Sudden Services. Though I’m not usually one for fast food, Pal’s is not your average quick-serve fare. Bumping into this Tennessee-local chain on a SCUBA trip two years ago, I was pleasantly surprised by one of the tastiest burgers I’d ever dined upon. I don’t mean to overhype, it’s no 5-star experience, but I’ve been eager to revisit this elusive, uncommonly enjoyable joint since I learned of its habitation in Erwin. Sometimes it’s looking forward to the little things that brings Heaven on Earth (with an onion slice).

Voyaging to this port of call charted me through rough waters. If you require any evidence that I need your prayers, read on about the inclement storms and other strange happenings. Continued gear troubles, more resupply mishaps, and lack of foresight ended this week 33 miles short of where I’d hoped to be. Closing out a full month on the trail, the past few days were a culmination of February’s lessons and struggles. Though not quite hitting the mark this week, I’m grateful to have survived four weeks of hiking.

Day 23: Monday, February 26

Standing Bear Farm/Hostel to Walnut Mountain Shelter – 20.0 miles

Kicked the week off with a pleasant stroll. As I departed the hostel at 7:05 AM, I was eager to get back to it. I’ve largely become accustomed to the hiker life and feel like the AT is where I belong right now. Though I planned to limit myself to 15 miles, I was making excellent time. At lunch, I made a deal with myself that if I was an extra good boy and put in 5 more miles to the next shelter, I’d let myself have an additional nice meal in the town of Hot Springs.

As I alluded to last week, Hot Springs, NC is located directly on-trail. Knowing I’d encounter the town and its grocery stores after just 33 miles, I stocked up on just 2 days of food at the hostel. I’ve overheard other hikers leveraging midweek resupplies at hostels, outfitters, and trail towns. I decided to try out this tactic for losing weight (without speed). My pack was 10 pounds lighter than typical at the start of this week.

The elevation profile was much milder than the Smokies. Even though I hurdled two peaks and camped on a third, the transitions between the 3 were gently-graded “U” shapes. Most of the time I was at maximum stride. Combined with the warm mid-60s and a gentle breeze, most of the day was blissfully serene. A profound joy abode in my heart throughout the afternoon. GSMNP had tilted my perspective too much toward “the trail is a challenge to endure”, so I was reminded that there are many aspects of the journey to be delightfully savored.

Max Patch was a unique sight (other than the FAA Air Traffic Control facility atop Snowbird Mountain). Originally cleared as a cow pasture and designated “Mack’s Patch”, you’ll understand why the name was changed if you say it out loud. With thin grass carpeting the summit, it offered a panorama of the neighboring ridges. Quite a few locals were enjoying the spot. The lichen on the surrounding trees was boldly colored, like the copper oxide that coats the Statue of Liberty.

Day 24: Tuesday, February 27

Walnut Mountain Shelter to French Broad River – 13.5 miles

A gentle rain set a somber mood. This was not like last Friday’s downpour, at times I barely needed my jacket. I looked forward to encountering Hot Springs, since I’d heard so many good things about it. But I wouldn’t set foot into civilization before a dicey episode.

Halfway to town, at Garenflo Gap, I spied a dog with no owner in sight. Roughly 70 pounds and built like a St. Bernard, but with a tan coat and black face. I suspected no threat: I’ve met dozens of hikers with dogs, and a few were lax about leashing their four-legged friend. Perhaps the owner was just out of sight, or at worst this was a runaway, I rationalized. Like 90% of canines I’ve ever met, it greeted me with barks upon sight. He was poised on the road which runs through the gap, about 5 yards to the right and 2 yards above me.

When I was a few steps from the road itself, the dog lunged into my path. Its behavior instantly turned aggressive: crouching low, baring its teeth, and mixing growls with shriller utterances. The dog was slobbering a bit and I couldn’t quite tell if it was rabid, but the threat was apparent. I’ve seen many puppies play-fight at the dog park, but I instantly knew this was something else. Only 5 feet separating us, my self-defense training kicked in. Reflexively, my feet snapped to a boxing stance, my hands pointed my trekking poles (which are metal-tipped) toward danger, and my mouth cried “Hey! HEY! Back off!”. Keeping my body facing forward, I backed up the trail, eventually remembering to not look the creature directly in the eyes.

Thankfully, the dog seemed keen on just “guarding” his territory rather than pursuing me, and stayed put. Once I’d established a good 20 yards of distance, I phoned the county animal control and reported the incident to their voicemail inbox. While I was blocked from proceeding along the AT, it takes a left hairpin turn through the gap. Navigating via my Garmin GPS, I scrambled up a steep embankment and stumbled through brambles to skirt around the dog (not ceasing to bellow this whole time). Reunited with the path, I hurried on, with barks fading into the distance. I relocated my knife from the back of my pack to the shoulder strap.

The encounter set an eerie tone for the gray afternoon. I contemplated how I should be a bit more alert when key details seem off, thanking God I’d prevailed unscathed. The off-putting mood was not helped by a strange man I passed 30 minutes later. Coming from behind, it seemed he was struggling under quite a lot of weight, shuffling along with a chock-full 70L pack and a white reusable grocery bag in his left hand. I announced my presence with a friendly “Hello”. Silence. A bit closer now, I called out “Howdy” in case he hadn’t heard me. He stopped, sidestepped several feet to the right without turning around. With the potential for danger fresh on my mind, I kept my eyes on him and inquired “Are you alright?” as I strode past. Still no reply, not even diverting his straight-on gaze. Maintaining a cheerful tone but internally alarmed, I concluded with “Have a good hike” and turned the corner. Nothing seemed threatening about him, though I was relieved to be maintaining a strong pace downhill. Checking over my shoulder through the next hour, I did not see him again.

After these bizarre occurrences, I was more anxious than ever for the haven of Hot Springs. Arriving at 3:00 PM, the town was about what I expected. Still too early in the season for its usual crowd of hikers and rafters, other foot traffic was infrequent and probably local. Soon greeted by the sign for one of the town’s two open eateries, I entered the Smoky Mountain Diner. The chicken tender sandwich was masterfully crafted, the toasted bread complimented by the perfect amount of light mayonnaise. After gobbling up the accompanying curly fries, I paid a visit to the outfitter. Dismayed to not find my desired headlamp or new rain jacket (Friday’s deluge indicated it was time to retire the 12-year-old article), I departed with only a second pair of sock liners. I went to rest at the Visitor Center, attracted by the free WiFi. It occurred to me I could just order the needed gear through REI and have it sent to where I’d be staying this weekend. I obtained four day’s sustenance and some fresh(?) fruit from the Hillbilly Market and Dollar General, the latter featuring a notice explicitly prohibiting spitting upon the main entrance. Emanating the scrappy vibes of a modern American small town and home to a not-quite-awake trail culture, I’ll rate Hot Springs a 3 out of 5 convenience stores. But the Smoky Mountain Diner gets 6/6 cushy old-fashioned booths.

Ambling down the street and munching a carton of blueberries, I crossed the bridge and followed the steps to the banks of the French Broad River. Knowing the night would be a comfortable 52 and not desiring to spend $30 to bunk at the nearby hostel, I established camp on the sand. Not too far from a small rapid, the song of the river lulled me to sleep at the end of an eventful day.

Day 25: Wednesday, February 28

French Broad River to Pump Gap – 2.9 miles

Backtracking to the Smoky Mountain Diner for a famed breakfast skillet, I didn’t make positive yardage until 8:30. I’d planned a shorter day, sauntering just 11 miles to shelter before the heavy rainstorms projected (as of yesterday) for 6:00 PM. The first 3 miles were a rugged and steep exit from the valley, the strain exacerbated by the greasy southern meal. Pausing to recover, I refreshed the forecast. The storm was now scheduled to hit in the middle of the day, perhaps as soon as an hour, with thunderstorms farther north sporting 45 mph gusts. Welcome to spring in the mountains. I could no longer guarantee arrival at the lean-to before showers. Plus, the high-altitude exposed location was a no-go with lightning in the area. I pivoted to tenting at my current location, nestled at just 2000 ft with short trees to provide wind cover. I didn’t want to return to town, unsure if I could beat the rain and wanting to get every mile I could (safely) from the day. A similar valley awaited me just 3 more miles ahead, reducing the mileage penalty but with unknown camping suitability. I figured stopping now gave me plenty of time to pitch my tent well for the storm.

Waking up from a nap around noon-thirty, the rain was still yet to come. From what I could load on the radar, it seemed the bulk of the system shifted farther north, but I still didn’t trust the exposed shelter. I resolved to accept the abridged day as additional rest, putting the extra sleep to good use by starting early the next day. Some moderate showers around 3:00 were the only effects of bad weather; still, I focused on being thankful for being spared the stormy blast instead of resenting the extra miles I might have squeezed out. Lounging on my sleeping pad, I updated my planning spreadsheets after reading a bit of scripture (having finished Acts, I’m revisiting Samuel through Maccabees). Tomorrow’s pack is always a little bit lighter.

Day 26 – Thursday, February 29

Pump Gap to Jerry Cabin Shelter – 23.6 miles

Determined to make up for lost time, I shouldered my load at 6:45 AM. The morning brought unique trail features. Coming up from a shallow valley, I spied a concrete dam spanning a moderate ravine. Ambling on revealed a pond maintained by the dam, complimented by simple plank benches and several nesting boxes. I allowed myself a few minutes to harken to the symphony of birdsong as the early sun streamed through the dormant tree branches. After following the serpentine track through a rolling meadow, I reached a one lane bridge to cross over the highway. I knew the AT had several overhead crossings over major roadways. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I find the prospect of these road bridges novel or even entertaining. Perhaps the break in the wilderness monotony is refreshing, or that spotting these bridges in the past built my anticipation for the through-hike, but they bring me a certain joy. I considered waving to drivers as I passed, but no traffic was to be found on the asphalt below.

Midday brought its trials. Lunchtime revealed that, once again, I hadn’t planned my provisions quite right. My meal strategy in weeks past depended on foods best bought in bulk: oatmeal, couscous, butter, and so on. To pursue lower weight through a midweek resupply, I attempted to substitute most of these items with others that can be bought in smaller units. For breakfast I’d snagged individual instant oatmeal packets, but I misjudged how many I required to fill me up. For lunch I turned to several pouches of instant mashed potatoes, but only later did I realize they demand a whopping 2 cups of water to prepare, more than double than usual (keep in mind I have to filter all my water, which consumes 15-25 minutes each day). Plus, the taters did not prove nearly as filling, even with the extra backup portions I’d acquired. To make matters worse, it’d slipped my mind to bring snacks like beef jerky or energy bars. Just like last week, I was not quite satisfied with most of my meals, the hunger building with each calorie deficit.

Immediately after lunch led to a 2000-foot climb. Demoralized and exhausted, I paused halfway through for an early dinner around 3:00 PM. While my tried-and-true tortillas slathered with peanut butter lifted my energy and mood, I had to fight for each step upward. Like last week’s climb into the Smokies, I was brought to the end of my own strength. Knowing I needed to trust in providence and lift my mind above the anguish, I alternated between whispering the Jesus Prayer and calling out “Lord, be my strength!”. The sun broke through the clouds, casting my shadow before me. My silhouette invoked the mental image of the Good Shepard walking a few paces in front of me, leading me to green pastures and waters of repose. Praying through what I could remember of Psalm 23, I nearly wept at the line “Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me”. Reading this over a few days later, the memory still waters my eyes. Approaching the crest of the hill, elation and relief surged in my heart, grateful for the courage and patience to overcome the mountain, one step at a time.

The day finished by scrambling across a stony ridge, flanked by white cliffs (which my camera would not capture well through the trees). Summiting Firescald Knob had me weaving around, over, and between heaps of boulders. It felt like a true mountain expedition, following the natural contours of the landscape rather than cruising along a paved trail. The dense vegetation and proliferate ferns bestowed a jungly vibe, despite the altitude and February cold. The peak afforded a complete panorama. To the southwest, I could follow the ground I’ve covered, all the way to GSMNP. To the Northwest, foothills quickly collapsed into a level Tennessee valley, speckled with farms and cities all the way to some mountain range on the horizon. The Southeast view into North Carolina went no more than a few miles, quickly obscured by an array peaks. Despite the sun coming down and several miles to go, I took ample time to appreciate the contrasting landscapes set around me.

Aware that tomorrow would be a rainy day, I intended to press on through darkness to attain maximum distance. Still without a head lamp, I improvised a chest lamp by securing my phone flashlight with the backpack’s sternum strap. This illuminated the trail enough to enable safe footing around roots and rocks, as long as I tread slowly. Realizing progress with this setup would be minimal and elevate the risk of injury, I pulled into shelter after half and hour.

Day 27 – Friday, March 1

Jerry Cabin Shelter to Rector Laurel Road (and shuttle to Uncle Johnny’s hostel) – 9.7 miles

When I awoke, the realization sunk in that the week’s mileage goal was impossible. Though back-to-back 22-milers are not inherently impossible, I didn’t have enough food to fuel those distances. Furthermore, today’s precipitation posed a major safety concern. Unlike last Friday’s rain that ceased mid morning, this was an all-day affair with significantly colder temperatures. Even if I could stay warm while soaked-through and malnourished, I’d have to sleep through a 20-degree night without the chance to fully dry out. At best, I’d scrape through a restless night. At worst, the climate was a perfect recipe for hypothermia, frostbite, or worse.

Pondering my course of action, I scarfed down breakfast and lunch to ensure I was well-fed enough to ward off shivers. Since it was Friday, I added tuna to the mashed potatoes instead of the usual chicken. A few bites rapidly introduced me to the horrors of prepackaged fish. I absolutely could not tolerate the retched taste. While I’m sure I would have made the decision to get off-trail without the assault to my taste buds, this misfortune immediately brought me to a “That’s it, I’m out of here!” resignation.

Thankfully, this portion of the trail is a large curve, keeping fairly close to Erwin. Though I had planned to make it far enough to walk off the trail into the hostel, several good exit points existed every few miles. Wanting to limit rain/cold exposure, I scheduled a shuttle to pick me up at the soonest road crossing. Donning every layer I’d packed, I launched from the dry lean-to into the freezing rain. Thankfully the nine miles were all downhill, helping me keep a brisk pace even when soaking wet.

As I walked, I fought off the dismay of quitting the week early. I had to confront the inner drill sergeant that drives me to obey marching orders. I reviewed the preponderance of factors that necessitated the evacuation and reflected that I’d pushed hard for the last three weeks. More than 25% of through-hikers quit by this point, and if I needed to endure extra slowdown to not join them, then so be it. As we say out here, it’s a through-hike, not a death march.

I reached the road just before 1:00, the driver waiting for me. Seeing my poor condition, he offered a hot chocolate free-of-charge, which I gladly accepted. He was the friendliest driver I’ve had, and we kept up pleasant conversation all the way to the hostel.

The hot shower and change of dry clothes washed away any regret of heading to town a day early. After collecting my packages containing the long-awaited headlamp and rain jacket from the main counter, I hunkered down near the bunkhouse’s blazing wood stove with a piping bowl of instant Mac and cheese. Having the bunkhouse all to myself, I expected a solitary evening to rest and edit this trail update. But lo and behold, a familiar face glanced through the window and strode through the door. I met “Ready” last week at Standing Bear Hostel, though I neglected to mention it (if I were to catalogue every personality I meet, these posts would double in length and time to compile). An older gentleman not quite retired from the Christmas tree business, we commiserated about the downpour and marveled at the highlights from this week’s section. Not wanting to brave the weather into town, we placed a delivery order of Italian food. I offered to split the delivery fee, but he generously paid it in full and chalked it up to “trail magic”. Though he went back to his cabin quite early to rest before heading out next morning, I was glad to spend a few hours with this cheerful and kind soul.

Day 28 – Saturday, March 2

Erwin, Tennessee

After being cooped up from the gloomy weather, I was stoked to explore Erwin. This particular hostel is just on the outskirts of town, offering bikes for guests to come and go as they please. After a peaceful morning ride alongside the Nolichucky River, I grabbed a table for my favorite breakfast treat: chocolate chip pancakes. Pedaling along Main Street brought me to Steel Rails Coffee House, where I hunkered down for a few hours to sip hot chocolate, book next weekend’s hostel, and review my trail log.

Once the outfitter opened, I swung by for some rain pants and a new pair of shoes. I started off in waterproof footwear to counter potential snow drifts in the Smokies, and with the soles delaminating these boots were clearly at their end. Even though snow is not out of the question for some time, I opted for trail runners. Like a tennis shoe but with a stiffer sole and amplified tread, these are much lighter and easier to dry out. After upgrading my entire rain system, I’m finally prepared to stay much dryer during wet spells and reduce their impact on my mileage.

Taking most of Friday off means hitting the trail again on Sunday, so I attended Saturday evening mass. Chatting with the priest afterward, I learned he also grew up in the Dayton Ohio area, attending the church where I was baptized. I also met Tom who offers trail magic, meaning he provides refreshments on the AT for free to support the hiker community. He mentioned stopping by Indian Grave Gap, so I might bump into him on Tuesday…

At last, I found myself before the teal façade of Pal’s. Now, Pal’s doesn’t have a dining area and is drive-through only, but pedestrians are allowed. I waltzed up to the window, placed my order, and after a few minutes I was suddenly served my burger, fries, and shake. Making my way over the the picnic benches outside the neighboring Food City, I dove in. Have you ever had a meal so good that you hardly remember it, too caught up in the taste? The burger was cooked perfectly, and I liked mine with lettuce and tomato (and mayonnaise). It was complimented by the side of Frenchy Fried potatoes and a milkshake spun to a properly drinkable consistency (yes, Cookout fans, those are fightin’ words). Worth every bit of sacrifice.

Having addressed my inadequate rain system, I leveraged mathematics to improve my selections for the week’s food. Engineer that I am, I developed a spreadsheet that scores food items by calorie density, packability, and cost per calorie. Cataloguing each food item into the database, I believe I made smarter decisions about meeting nutrition and caloric intake. I managed to fit 3000 more calories in the bear canister, all the while not increasing costs. Of course, I mix up flavors and other small details so I don’t tire if eating the same thing again and again.

Pebbles

New birds: Downy Woodpecker, Canada Goose, Field Sparrow, Common Pigeon

Songs in my head: Leaning on the Everlasting Arms by the Hillbilly Thomists, Calypso by John Denver, His Cheeseburger from VeggieTales, It’s Not Over Yet by for King & Country, and of course Cheeseburger in Paradise by Jimmy Buffett. If you’re unfamiliar with that last one, that would explain why some of this week’s jokes didn’t make sense to you.

Hikers / Trail Names: Pocko & Distant Dreamer (retired couple who had to quit a through-hike due to injuries, so they’re sectioning the remainder)

🎶Making the best of every virtue and franchise🎶,

Max “Frassati” Stelmack