[at-l] This crap again...

[athiker at smithville.net (Felix)]

(Sorry if there are any 'time continuity' issues in this. I've tried to remove 
all the '7 years ago...' references and just went with dates and figs) 


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.


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