Appalachian Trail, Part 3

I felt no pain, but I was depleted of energy with every step and gasp for oxygen I took up Little Hump and Hump Mountains. It became worse with every false summit we encountered. I had stayed positive most of the trip, but it becomes devastating when you think you have reached the ultimate peak and see yet another in front of you when you think you can’t take another step. All I wanted to do at this point was get to the end of our section of the Appalachian Trail (AT), but I didn’t speak it.

Looking back on climbing Hump Mountain, Dee Ann and I can’t agree on the sequence of events. She heard a loud croak like a monstrous frog, but quickly realized it didn’t make sense. There was no place in the steep terrain for a frog. She looked up and saw a monstrous bird, instead. It continued its loud croaking as if it were sending sonar out to find prey. Its wings were bent like an osprey’s, but it looked as large as an eagle as it circled us.

Dee Ann yelled back at me to look up and said something snarky like, “It’s probably waiting for your dead body!”

Ha! I heard it croaking, “You’ve done it, keep going!” And it motivated me to keep moving.

And that’s the beauty of memoir. One person’s memory is another person’s lie. I remember the “frog-bird” happening as we descended Hump and Dee Ann remembered it appearing as I was dying at the end of the ascent. I also stick by the name she called my day pack (“1/2 day pack”) and she says it was my “lunch purse”. I have to give her that–“lunch purse” is definitely funny. I suppose I should concede it all to her point-of-view that day–after all, I was nearly delirious and she was bopping around talking to strangers like she had just walked across the street to meet them.

Either way, she was dreading the descent down the mountain because of the trauma it would add to her knees and I, on the other hand, was ecstatic to be able to breathe while going downhill. And then there was my husband Jim who never complained about any of it because he is always grateful to be hiking and would prefer to be doing it 24/7. The summit was hot and the sun was making its presence known. The 360 view was magnificent. After a decent break at the top, Dee Ann pointed out the darkening clouds of a thunderstorm over Grandfather Mountain, miles away.

“We have to get down, NOW. If those clouds make it over here, we’ll be fogged in and won’t see a thing in front of us. It will be dangerous. We are already going to have dusk closing in on us as we get to the end of the trail.”

As we descended the mountain, my brain was screaming, I did it! It’s all downhill, now! Wrong. I could see another mountain, although smaller, looming after a short walk through some flats. Holy cow. NO! I truly didn’t know how I would walk another mile, let alone five, going up more hills. Then, I noticed a group well in front of us, turning to our left. Yes! We would not be ascending that next mountain!

What I failed to realize until we walked the flat gap and turned left, was this part of the trail went up into a scrub woods. Up. Up again. Even though we would be traveling at lower elevations, my body had already succumbed to the uphill fight and I was physically and mentally exhausted when it came to any more uphill walking. And then, as the next downhill part of the trail came, my right knee began objecting. Great. My body can’t take another step uphill and my lungs can’t get enough oxygen if I do, and now my knee is on the verge of blowing out, going downhill.

Of course, it took much less time to get off the mountains than it took to get onto them, but it should have taken even less time than it did. I was still gasping and stopping on the uphills and attempting to walk sideways to relieve the pressure on my knee as we went downhill. The next two hours were spent retracing the same types of mini-biomes we had encountered on the way in, on another section of the trail. They were beautiful, and if I had been in a different frame of mind, I would have noticed and appreciated them much more than I did. We left the trail at Yellow Mountain Gap, next to another mountain stream, as the rain was beginning to settle in for the night and the next two days. At the end of the trail, we had gone 10 miles in almost as many hours. Our time and speed were nothing to brag about, but the overall accomplishment felt incredible. Except Jim and I were too exhausted to take it all in at the time.

Dee Ann asked if we wanted to hike in the rain the next day; maybe do a short hike. As any hiker knows, initially getting your gear soaked is the worst part; hiking in the rain is fine after that, unless it is too windy or too cold. Jim and I decided to spend the following rainy day in the camper, recovering. It was a good decision.

The day after that was our last full day in Tennessee. I was awakened by the reverberating BOOM, BOOM, BOOM of heavy metal. I instinctively realized it must be a bear at the bear-proof dumpsters at the campground’s entrance. Then I heard a vehicle leave and go up that way. I’m sure the bear wasn’t able to get into the dumpsters, but it sure gave them heck until the vehicle had time to get up to the entrance and shoo it off.

We met Dee Ann, had breakfast, and decided to take a driving tour of the area in the rain. We went to other sections of the AT with great views and marveled at the beauty all around us, talking about our amazing ten-mile hike. We ended our day with laughter at The Escape Room, an escape room adventure in Kingsport, TN.

It was a most memorable and beautiful way to continue our pursuit of outrunning Jim’s Alzheimer’s and I have to say it is now one of the highlights of our lives to have hiked on the AT. We had an amazing host and guide. When you don’t know how far you can still push yourself, it is a comfort to know you are hiking with the best. She allowed us to keep our focus on putting one step in front of the other while she took on the tasks of planning, food, logistics, safety, and time management. She upheld our dignity when more than once, she told other hikers we were “big-time hikers from way back”. Thank you, Dee Ann Smith. I hope the experience was a tiny bit as memorable for you as it was for us. We thank Phil and Sampson, too. We will never forget your gift to us because memories that fade while on Earth actually go with us into Eternity. We love you.