The Georgia Loop Day 3: Trail Magic
Field Notes III.XVII: Backpacking and photographing the 60 mile Georgia Loop
Welcome to Field Notes!
This is part 3 of the 4 part Georgia Loop series. Check these out to catch up-
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I remember when I was small. Probably 10 years old, back in the mid 1980’s. Our family friends had a remote cabin near Montreat, NC. Every summer we would go there for the 4th of July and they would take us on various hikes in the surrounding mountains.
I remember being told about the Appalachian Trail. At that age I did not have context for the scope of it. I just knew that it was long. Pam, a sort of distant surrogate aunt to me and one of the best hikers I knew, asked me a question on one of our hikes one day.
“Do you think you’d ever want to hike the whole thing?”
“Oh yeah, I’m going to hike the whole Appalachian Trail.” I stated that with confidence, but it was the naive answer of a child who only knew that he liked to hike and loved these mountains. It was the answer of a child who did not understand the kind of obstacles that life and society so frequently put in our way as we move through adulthood.
But who knows. Maybe one day I will.
An owl softly hoos far in the distance. My eyes open and I am pulled from the dark waters of sleep. It is another dank and chilly morning. I can feel it without having to see it. As I sit up in the tent, something is off. I can’t quite figure it out what.
Condensation covers the inside of the tent walls. It’s wetted the foot of my quilt where it touched. My head brushes the fabric and heinous water droplets roll down the back of my neck. Oh. The tent uses a single trekking pole as a support and I didn’t extend it out when I set it up last night. It’s too low and the walls were too close to the ground. Maybe that helped with the rain, but it blocked the ventilation. Dumb mistake, but not the worst thing to have to deal with.
Will I ever escape this fog? It shrouds the forest around me yet again. At least the rain has stopped. I hunch under the low tent vestibule with coffee. These conditions bear an undeniable sort of beauty, but the atmosphere is heavy and laden with ghosts. These ghosts are merely impressions though, and have nothing to do with what it truly good about this journey. Besides, I have been looking forward to this day on trail.
I leave No Name Gap behind, knowing that atop the climb ahead should be a clearing that may be of interest. I thought of reaching it yesterday as a place to camp, but the site there was described only as “possible,” so I opted not to chance it.
Arriving there, I find that the campsite is actually very nice. It’s flat and positioned in the forest, just before an opening into a wide grassy field. That grassy field, however, dissolves into the pale nothingness of an unfinished world beyond. All is silent. The scent of wet earth lingers in the still air.
The fog completely obscures the trees on the far side. Though interesting, there is no point in staying long. These conditions won’t be changing anytime soon. I walk on into the formlessness ahead, trusting the path will be there. Proximity begins to reveal stark forms of winter-bare trees ahead. A surreal feeling of the dissolution of the self morphs into a sense of oneness with the natural world. The trail ahead starts to become apparent, just as my own form vanishes into the obfuscating mist.
The surreal fog begins to dissipate following the Duncan Ridge/Benton MacKaye Trail down from the hilltop. Many birds loiter nearby, staying silent in the damp chill. I see them darting through the rhododendron. Are they Nature’s emissaries, observing and weighing my rectitude? Maybe they have answers to all of the sacred mysteries, but I don’t know how to ask them the questions. Perhaps they are just beings in nature just as I am a being in nature, and so the birds and I are one.
A different world unfolds as the trail joins a stream and follows its gentle tumbling dance with gravity downhill. The rhododendron forms archways overhead. In the distance, the faint roar of rushing water grows louder as the path approaches it. It is Long Creek Falls, but different than the one I’ve visited before on the Chattooga River. Though I don’t know what to expect, I have it plotted on the map and am excited to photograph it.
Several paths begin to merge and a side trail leads toward the waterfall. I eagerly follow the short path, soon coming to the fairly low but powerful Long Creek Falls. It is still early and overcast, meaning good conditions for waterfall photography.
A clear view of the base of this waterfall is blocked by a terrace of boulders. However, a tree with sprawling gnarled roots provides an interesting foreground.
I try to work efficiently with my photos because, though I’m not in a rush, I don’t have a long time to stay. But I do have time to prepare a second coffee of the morning.
Sitting on the rocks sipping the wondrous dark nectar, I look to the sky between the trees. In the short time I’ve dallied here the clouds have almost completely cleared. It’s going to be a sunny day!
Taking the side trail back leads to a junction of trails. There is a sign. I have reached The Appalachian Trail. Since the start of The Georgia Loop two days ago I had been following the Duncan Ridge Trail. Yesterday it merged with the longer Benton MacKaye Trail and connects to the AT here.
Now I have a choice. I can start north on the AT for the return half of The Georgia Loop. But, I am almost certain that the DRT does not officially end until Three Forks Gap. That means another mile or so south on the AT, only to turn right around and hike back north. Of course I am going to do that. I have to finish the Duncan Ridge.
And so I follow the AT down a flat and easy stroll next to Long Creek. A couple of backpackers pass by heading north, a man and a woman. They have AT thru hiker tags on their packs, but I don’t stop to talk. I’m not yet heading that direction. Then, I pass an older man also heading north. He is smallish with a big white beard and white long hair. Spindly legs stretch from his shorts and he totes a tiny backpack. That man looks like he knows a thing or two. But, we pass each other by and he is gone.
Shortly after I come to Three Forks Gap. There is a road crossing and a sign. It names the Benton MacKaye and the AT, but I find no reference to the Duncan Ridge Trail. Without any climactic end to finishing the DRT, I do an about face. In this instant I am now headed north on the Appalachian Trail at the start of thru hiker season!
The Appalachian Trail is much easier to hike than the Duncan. It’s wider, much less rocky, and worn by untold many more hikers’ footfalls. For the first time in two days sunlight tumbles through the branches above. Excitement fuels my steps and my spirits soar. Up ahead those first two backpackers are eating snacks on a break. The old man has caught up with them and they are in deep conversation. I don’t interrupt. Just nod and pass by.
A gentle climb reaches a dry area of open forest. A small gap in the trees to the right leads to a grassy field beyond. My eye catches movement. Four soldiers in camo are moving through the field in wedge formation. Recessed in the trees, I stand watching them. They nearly pass by before one of them notices me. Possibly Army Rangers, or candidates in Ranger school, as there is a camp not far from here. They continue their movement and I do not interrupt.
As soon as the soldiers have passed I hear a voice behind me. It’s the old man. A few moments of formality pass as he asks me about thru hiking and I ask him the same. But somehow the rules of etiquette governing what is ok to converse with strangers about do not apply the same on trail. Superficial bullshit evaporates in the late morning sun. Almost immediately he is speaking of God and I of Nature. We talk of life and death and epiphany and pilgrimage and philosophy. It is an utterly raw and real conversation that almost frightens me as I’m having it.
This man was a Vietnam Vet who fell into drinking and drugs. Then in 1976, the year I was born, he found God and abandoned all that vice. He retired in 2016 at age 61 and a few days later was thru hiking the AT, having never done anything of the sort before. He then hike the Pacific Crest Trail and the Continental Divide Trail and the Camino de Santiago in Spain and bicycled from Mexico to Canada and other long adventures I hadn’t heard of before. Now he hikes to connect with veterans on the trail and others who struggle, to hopefully offer them some help. This man knows a thing or two.
He asks, and so learns that I’m a cop. He then asks to pray for me. Sure, why not? The man grasps my hand in a handshake and stares me straight in the eye, unblinking. His grip is crushing. At first I try to match it, but realize I cannot do so without obviously trying to. The best I can offer is to unflinchingly match his gaze. He begins his prayer, and it is not a short one. The longer it goes the harder he bears his old man strength into squeezing my hand, simply to drive home the impression. Finally it is done and I thank him. We say farewell and he continues down the trail while I pretend to watch the soldiers in the field a while longer.
The sun shines brightly in an unbroken cerulean sky. Distant rolling mountain tops are visible through the trees. The pair of hikers come from behind at a quicker pace than mine. I smile and let them by. Hightower Gap is upcoming and there is a possible viewpoint. I set a goal of taking lunch there.
By the time I make it to the viewpoint the small rocky knoll is already occupied by those other two. And right behind me comes the old man, who I have somehow gotten ahead of. Such a weird confluence. But suddenly it’s an Appalachian Trail yard sale as we all explode out packs across the ground to dry our gear, soaked from yesterday’s rain, in the warm sunshine.
I realize that I never asked the old man’s name. His trail name is ‘OT’ for Old Timer. He got it back on his first thru hike at age 61, when the majority of the other thru hikers were just out of high school or in college. He wears the name proudly.
The other two are a genetic researcher who gave up her job to hike the trail, and a graduate student. That emphasizes some statistic OT has of how AT thru hikers have a disproportionately higher education level than you’d ever expect. After lunch they pack and start off down the trail.
I am packing my things as well when OT wants to mention something related to our earlier conversation. “Don’t confuse the creation with the creator” he says. “Hmm. Well, OT, that’s the thing. I don’t perceive a separation.” I know he sees things differently and wants to impress that on me. I’d love to listen and keep talking, but we hike at different paces.
I should have taken off my shoes and socks to dry at lunch. Changing my socks for the final push in the wet yesterday worked wonders for my feet. Now, however, both pairs of socks are damp, my shoes are still damp, and I’m feeling hot spots develop on the bottoms of my feet. Its not long before I conclude that I have to do something about it. A dirt road meets the trail up ahead at Horse Gap. I find a log to sit on and start taping my soles.
A new backpacking couple makes their way into the gap from the south. Just then, a red Subaru covered in stickers cruises up to the gap on the dirt road. The driver’s window rolls down and the white bearded occupant calls out to them.
“Excuse me! Is this the way to the Atlanta Airport?”
This guy is trying to be funny. I ignore it and continue taping my feet.
“Hey, can I ask you a question?” He directs it at me.
“Sure.”
“Do you believe in trail magic?”
I laugh! “Oh, yeah!” It clicks and I can’t believe it. Trail magic and trail angels are people who come to various points along the AT to offer support to thru hikers. Of course I’ve heard of this, but didn’t really expect to encounter it.
His name is Robert Sutherland and his Subaru’s name is Max Forester. He brings folding chairs strapped to his roof rack. He has water. He has plastic bins of candy or granola bars. Squeeze tops for Smart water bottles. Hair ties for those with long hair. Safety whistles for the ladies. He enthusiastically offers it all to us. I never have a chance to mention to him that I’m not actually a thru hiker, but I don’t think he would care. Even so, I decline all that I can, accepting only a granola bar in the end.
The other two hikers are British and doing their first AT thru hike. Their names are Roo and Laura Wells. Laura is blogging for a thru hiking publication called The Trek. Are you kidding me!?! Of course I read The Trek!
We laugh, tell our stories, and smile so wide it hurts. Then OT arrives in the gap. He and Robert greet one another and within a few moments they are speaking of God. OT places his hand on Robert’s shoulder and prays for him. Robert then does the same for OT.
Someone asks for a photo. That is all the ice breaking I need. With my camera attached to my pack strap, I ask for photos as well and everyone graciously agrees.
I say my good bye’s and push ahead at a quick pace, lifted by euphoric feelings. I do want to cover some extra miles today in order to make tomorrow’s walk a bit shorter. Can I make it to Gooch Mountain Shelter? There are a couple of tent sites with views beyond that. Can I make it there?
A guy approaches hiking SOBO. He asks if I’m thru hiking and mentions my pack, a Durston Kakwa 55. He has one also, and it has served him honorably over many, many miles. He explains that he tried doing a yoyo thru hike last year but was unable to finish, so he is doing that now.
He asks my trail name. When I tell him I don’t have one, he says it reminds him of a man he met on the AT who’s trail name is “Easily Forgotten.” Unbelievable! I recently finished listening to a podcast with Easily Forgotten.
I walk on into the afternoon with the birds now singing vibrantly in the surrounding trees. Delicate small flowers adorn the hillsides. Bloodroot is blooming. Rare to see in the region I live in, here I pass through sprawling patches of these tender white flowers scattered across the forest floor to either side of the trail. The name bloodroot derives from the red sap that oozes from its torn leaf, but I cannot help but recognize a metaphor. Tied to this land by blood. Rooted to this earth. There is a dirt covered pearl of truth in there somewhere.
I find myself struck with emotion and I’m grateful to be walking alone. My eyes well up. I truly cannot believe how incredible it has been to meet other people who share my passion for all of this. People who love the lows as well as the highs of living out here in the wild. People who appreciate all these wondrous little serendipities. Who see transcendent connection of everything out here. I am so damn happy!
A large wheeled barrel of water sits at the side of a dirt road at Cooper’s Gap. Apparently it is courtesy of the US Army, left here for hikers. At least that is what a backpacker in sweatpants here tells me. He looks like he’s struggling. His pack is massive and my guess is that his gear consists of items picked off of the shelf at Walmart. He talks defeatedly only about wanting pizza and Chinese food and mentions maybe ending his thru hiking attempt at the Georgia state line.
There’s not much I can do for the guy in the moment. I have to leave him to his own choices, just as I choose to continue on down the trail.
It is only 4 pm when I reach Gooch Mountain Shelter. This is a peaked two story open structure with tent sites all around, and a water source. A lot of hikers are already set up here, so I know I won’t stay. I don’t even try to join this group or their conversations. Instead I make my way to the water source to fill up.
A man ahead of me is also filling his water. He’s a thru hiker from Maine. I soon learn of his friend’s epic road trip from there to deliver him to the start of the trail and about the incredible foot pain he has from hiking in boots too large. His feet are hard to size, he says, but he’s continuing his thru hike.
My goal becomes reaching a tent site to the north of Walnut Cove. The map indicates it has a view. I am very eager to have a view. But the walk is still far, and I am now burdened with carrying my night’s water with me.
Evening is approaching as I near the spot. There is a small view, but the site is already occupied by a group of young people. With 5 or 6 tents set up on all available spots, there is no room. I pass them by as they sit circled around their dinners and overhear them speaking about God.
I have one more option. Just ahead is one more small peak with a tent site and a view. I can push for that. It is all or nothing and I can only hope that the site is not already taken. There is a climb to reach it, but the distance is not far.
It is a perfect site, and I am the only one here. The view does not look towards the mountains. But it is a view.
I photograph. I make my dinner as darkness falls. Several times I catch myself looking back down the trail, hoping to see OT ambling up the hill. I wish I had 2000 more miles to continue our conversations delving all the mysteries. But he does not come.
I crawl into my tent and nest under my quilt, laying quiet and still in the settling night. This was just one special day on the Appalachian Trail. Though I’ve been on sections of it many, many times, this was a first among other hikers intending on going the full distance.
“Oh yeah, I’m going to hike the whole Appalachian Trail.” I hear that confident voice of my 10 year old self in my mind. Will I ever really have the chance?
Out in the darkness, great horned owls begin calling back and forth in the distant valley below.
That was a good day! Drying out was a huge relief and I had so much fun meeting AT thru hikers. It was tough having to tell everyone I met that I’m not thru hiking. Oh well, the dream is still alive! Thoughts?
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Great travelogue, Erik! The joy you experience and document so well reminds me of one of my favorite quotes from Joseph Campbell:
"People say that what we’re all seeking is a meaning for life. I don’t think that’s what we’re really seeking. I think that what we’re seeking is an experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the purely physical plane will have resonances with our own innermost being and reality, so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive."
WOW. you weren't joking when you said you thought I'd like Day 3; it was incredible! From the way you introduced us to your confident 10 year old self saying you'd hike the full AT, to meeting OT, the Trail magic, and how you ended with your 10 year old self again...simply captivating.
A part of me was cheering as I read your reflection on how happy and tearful you were after all your encounters. That right there is the quintessential Trail experience...well that + some incredible hiking. Being with people who enjoy each moment of the triumph and hardship just as much as you.
I loved your conversation with OT...what an amazing human. And your thoughts on not seeing God separate from nature...AMEN TO THAT! ugh just so much goodness to unpack here. I'm so happy you got some AT time...maybe someday you WILL get out there and do the full thing...maybe you'll beat me to it ;) after all, if OT can do it at his age, I know you can too.