Dick’s Creek Gap 2123.9 to Indian Grave Gap 2138 (14.1 miles, 2138 total miles)
I woke up at 5:30AM on one of the downstairs couches of Bruce Leaf’s home feeling sick with anxiety. It was a full hour before my alarm was to go off, but my heart was beating fast with nerves that had been plaguing me since the evening before.
We were set to hike 16.7 miles through an entire day of rain and cold temperatures. Both the cold and rain set me on edge on trail, not to mention the fact that I was so close to the end, and anxiety was setting in about what my life would look like post trail. I had a general idea, but I’d been existing in a bubble of safety for six months, and was afraid of what reentry would feel like.
I’d gone through it once before, but I left trail with the partner I’d met out there, moved to Connecticut, and officially adopted Frankie right after. This time I’d be departing alone, back to where I’d been living but now with one of my best friends as a roommate who’d moved in during my absence, and no Frankie there to welcome me back. However, I could visit Tika soon and meet the new addition to her family, Buggy. Tika had become a mother while I was gone, and I was excited to see the little one.
In other words, things wouldn’t be the same when I returned as I’d left them, as they shouldn’t be. Life at home does not remain static on a thru hike, as I’d learned many times from both my own and others’ experiences. Speculating and worrying wouldn’t do me any good, but me knowing that and my brain knowing that were two entirely different things.
Thru hiking feels like a sort of time warp. Time expands and stretches on trail, so that weeks can feel like months, and months can feel like years. It also seems to have a fountain of youth effect on me. I can’t begin to count the number of people who’ve met me on trail and sincerely believed I was somewhere around 22 years old or less, displaying shock when they find out I turned 30 this year.
I lay in bed for an hour, attempting to meditate the anxiety away, letting my feelings come up and dissolve in the act of being acknowledged. Meanwhile, the sky lightened outside the rows of windows surrounding me, and rain began falling in a steady patter outside. Jonathan Prine, Bruce Leaf’s majestic long haired cat padded around the two basement rooms where several of us slept, the bell on his collar tinkling softly.
I heard the sound of people upstairs in the kitchen minutes before my alarm finally did go off. I reluctantly made my way out of my quilt and new sleeping bag liner and put the finishing touches on my pack, readying to slack today. I also layered up in my rain gear, making waterproof coverings for my socks out of bread bags, which I’d learned from the others in the group. I hadn’t tried it before, but I was willing to give it a go.
I also asked Bruce Leaf if he had disposable gloves I could put over my regular gloves, which were not waterproof. He pulled out a box for us, and also a couple pairs of electricians gloves, insulated on the inside with thick latex on the outside. At the last minute I grabbed a pair and stuffed them in my pack, just in case. It would be only too easy to get hypothermia in the cold rain without taking proper precautions.
Bruce dropped us off at the Rusty Bike Cafe in Clayton around 8AM, where we received many curious stares when we all piled into the diner in our rain gear rolling eight deep. Several of us ordered the banana bread French toast, which was served topped with sliced bananas, chopped pecans, and a praline sauce. It was possibly the best French toast I’d had all trail, narrowly beating out the bananas foster casserole at BeeCh Hill in Daleville.
I felt a bit better with food in my stomach, and when our next shuttle arrived at 9AM, I was comforted to know we still had another half hour ride in the car to enjoy the last little bit of being dry for a while. I’d found out the shuttles were indeed provided by the outfitter in town, and we got to know Papa Smurf as he navigated the winding roads with ease in a big white passenger van with enough space to fit us all comfortably.
It was just after 9:30 when we we’d donned our light packs and were starting up the 2.3 mile climb of 1,200 feet up the first mountain. I headed out after all the others save for Lentil and Looseleaf, as they were still adjusting umbrellas when I left, dearly missing my own hiking umbrella back at home.
The rain was coming down steadily, and I was bundled up except for the shorts I was wearing under my rain pants, though my leggings were in my pack just in case. I also had a pair of disposable gloves on, unsure of how warm I’d be getting while climbing in the chilly rain.
The climb was in two parts, with a flatter section in the middle. I put on the podcast I’d started while night hiking a few evenings ago, needing something to distract me. Close to the top I began heating up quite a bit, so I stopped to remove my fleece.
It was hard work, having to first tuck away my earbuds in my rain pants pocket where my cell phone was dwelling, then taking off my hoods, my hat (for I’d fortunately found my trucker hat under my pack liner and it was keeping the rain off my face), my rain jacket, and my fanny pack.
I’d also had to pull down my pack cover, open my bag and pack liner in preparation, then remove my fleece, pack it away, and do the whole ritual again in reverse, all while pouring rain fell upon me. Even worse, when I got moving again, it didn’t take long for me to realize I’d made a mistake, and was much too cold without the fleece.
I held out as long as I could, finding out my rain gear was only water resistant to a point. Soon, when I stopped to pee I saw that my legs were red raw with cold, and drops of water were wetting the middle of my hiking shirt from my rain jacket, though it was zipped all the way up. Not long after, I could feel moisture seeping through my rain pants, steadily dampening my shorts underneath.
I was loathe to try to put my leggings on, knowing taking my shoes off would increase the whole production. As I descended to Deep Gap and began climbing Kelly Knob, I knew I at least needed to put my fleece back on. Although it sucked to do, I was much more comfortable with it back on. I also removed the disposable gloves and stuffed my cold, wet, numb hands into the thick electricians gloves.
I felt a bit better after that, beginning a mile of descent off the knob, picking up a little speed, but knowing I was still going extremely slow. I saw I was two hours into the hike, trying to feel good about that, and not dwell on how much farther I had to go. I switched to Order of the Phoenix, only an hour left in the audiobook, knowing when it was done I’d be three hours in.
I ran across a hiker I recognized from yesterday morning at the shelter. He had a kind smile and sage air about him somehow. Today he was slackpacking going north, most likely provided for by the Hostel Around the Bend nearby. I found out later from the others his name is Manchego, and he told me I was doing great as he passed me by going uphill.
It was a nice thing to hear, and a bit further on I saw Beer Girl also slacking north. We greeted each other very briefly, both wanting to keep moving because the only way out was through in that moment. When the book ended, I used my phone quickly to see how far I’d gone, disappointed I’d only traveled 6.17 miles in three hours. I could only take my phone out for moments at a time because I was fighting hard to keep it dry lest I obtain water damage to it.
That was my most difficult point of the day, realizing I still had 10 miles to go. I was barely eating or drinking anything, not wanting to stop for the cold. I did need to readjust the bread bags that were tucked into my socks every so often, which required pulling my gloves on and off, a rather annoying procedure.
The forecast had called for one to two inches of rain over the course of the day, the same amount that had been projected for the day we took our zero for Hurricane Nicole. It certainly was coming down relentlessly, but I was forced to admit I needed to stop and eat something as noon came and went.
Huddled under mountain laurel trees that mercifully still had some leaves, I mixed caffeine into a Gatorade I’d packed out and downed half of it, taking out a PB&J I’d made the night before and a snickers bar. I ate the sandwich while walking, the food and caffeine reviving me a bit. I switched on some music, hoping it would help the time go faster.
I had a few miles of easier and more gradual ups and downs, and felt myself finally beginning to pick up a bit of speed and ease in my hiking here and there. The bottom of my fleece was soaked, but I was warmer than I had been without it. I tried to imagine how terrible it would be to try to camp in the freezing cold tonight, all my things frozen overnight, and was so grateful I’d get to go back to the house this evening. It could be much worse.
I turned off my music at one point, and began hiking in silence, letting my mind spin out and try to recalibrate while I moved. It seemed to help, as I engaged in a walking meditation of sorts. The rain had stopped for half an hour of glorious respite, before continuing on, varying slightly in intensity here and there. Once in a while large droplets would hit my head with quite a lot of force, and I thought how the sound of rain falling in the forest really is quite pretty.
Once in a while, the fog would lift around me a little, and the dead, wet leaves on the forest floor would appear a little clearer and detailed. When I stopped and sat to readjust my bread bags again, I was surprised to see an opossum directly on the trail, about fifteen feet in front of me. It was the biggest instance of wildlife I’d seen since deer in southern Virginia, and I was surprised to see this normally nocturnal creature digging for insects nonchalantly so close to me.
It felt meaningful, somehow, and it scampered away into the woods when I got near enough. As I kept going, I was surprised out of my reverie when I heard a voice right behind me, seemingly out of nowhere. “I’m so glad I caught you,” it said.
I whipped around, and yelled in shock, finding Looseleaf standing there unexpectedly. He’d somehow run up behind me without making a sound, and after I recovered from my surprise, he told me that Lentil had tried to call everyone to tell them to stop at the next shelter because there were roads Bruce Leaf could pick us up at earlier than our planned end at Unicoi Gap.
He said he thought I was about a mile and a half from the shelter, and was going to run back to hike with Lentil. I appreciated him catching me because I was planning on waiting at the spur trail for them, as the shelter was .2 off, since I wasn’t sure if everyone was supposed to stop there or not. Happy had suggested it at breakfast, but I didn’t know where we’d landed on that.
I climbed for a while until I reached the turnoff for Tray Mountain Shelter, following the blue blaze till I saw the others in the shelter, huddled up and watching Parks and Rec on Flamingo’s phone. They’d been there since 1:00, and I’d just arrived at 2:30, so they were all trying to keep warm.
I used the privy, ate snacks, and finally changed from shorts to leggings, which made a world of difference. Still, as I waited for the other two for about twenty minutes, I felt my body become colder and started pacing the shelter to keep warm.
The others were finding ways to keep moving as well. Flamingo gave Milky Moo swing dancing lessons, Shade Tree paced, and a couple group hugs ensued. Happy and Flamingo both showed off their upper body strength by doing as many push ups as they could.
When Lentil and Looseleaf arrived, Looseleaf made us all laugh by announcing the day was going so great we might as well quit while we were ahead. We spent some time while he tried to get in touch with his dad, finding out which roads were accessible or not. The Expedition only had 2WD, which was normal for vehicles in Georgia and rental cars in particular, so the next option he could reach us at would be Indian Grave Gap, 3 miles further.
I was good with that, as it would only cut our day by 2.6 miles that we’d have to make up tomorrow, and would save us from having to hike Rocky Mountain in the rain that was still coming down.
We set off around 3:45, Shade Tree and Happy in the lead. Lentil took off so fast, though, that Looseleaf and I jogged to keep up with her, passing the other two on the downhill. The top of Tray Mountain was quite beautiful, a bit rocky, with deep green moss and foliage that glowed in the overcast lighting.
Running downhill for the better part of 3 miles, over wet leaves and slick rocks didn’t seem the best idea, but my shoes still had strong treads and overall it went much better than expected. I hadn’t ran on trail in ages, but it felt good, all of us so happy to be within reach of the lovely home we were currently staying at, where we could take hot showers and be warm and dry again.
Lentil and Looseleaf pulled a bit ahead of me, and when I caught up I was surprised to see them talking to someone, who turned out to be Looseleaf’s dad. He’d hiked about a mile uphill past Tray Mountain Road, which was practically flooded, to meet us. Everyone else arrived behind us as we kept descending, and spirits were high as we hurried toward the big white SUV that shone through the trees like a beacon as we approached the gravel road.
Wet and muddy, we loaded into the car, thanking Bruce Leaf profusely for rescuing us. Painkles and Milky Moo kept breaking into song, teaching us a chant Painkles had learned on a prior cross country team. We drove through Helen, which I recognized from an Atlanta episode of the same name I’d watched not too long ago on trail, admiring the Christmas lights and German theme of the town.
We then stopped in Cornelia to get takeout from a Thai restaurant, ordering so much food that they’d had to give us both a bag and a large box to hold it all. Bruce Leaf secretly paid for all of our dinners, which was so kind on top of everything he’d already done for us. We arrived back at the house after dark, eating, showering, doing laundry, and getting our packs ready for hiking the next day.
It took me a while to get everything done, not turning in until midnight. Flamingo had moved into the bunk room downstairs, letting me have the queen bed that he’d been sleeping in. I had a great time sprawling out and getting cozy under the blankets. It also made packing easier as I could put away my quilt and bag liner so I was just about fully packed up.
It felt so good to have the day behind me, and I was proud of us all for what we’d accomplished on such a cold, rainy day. I was incredibly grateful for Looseleaf and his dad accommodating us all and treating us to such a special time.
It was hard to believe we only had another three days till Springer, the southern terminus, and then one more to hike the approach trail to Amicalola Falls, the spiritual end of the trail. It had been a long, crazy ride, and it still wasn’t over quite yet.