[at-l] 2 Merry Years ago...

A year ago yesterday, Marty and Alice took me back to Hot
Springs for to which I could resume my hiking. It was
raining/sleeting. Marty was drivin'. We met Wingfoot at the
restaurant (Smoky Mountain Diner, me tinks). 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
wants 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.

I forgot to tell you this: I believe that every day from
Erwin to Springer was either raining, sleeting, snowing or
no more than 25*. This is VERY true.

Now, a year ago today...

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
head-setted world,
"BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!! 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 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. 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.
"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. 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 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
of the hike, if not more.

(This story can be read on my homepage, too. I have an
article covering
Hot Springs to Springer at
http://Felixhikes.tripod.com/AT/ew.html)



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



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