My adventures on the Appalachian Trail led me to some amazing places this week, but nothing compared to sitting perched atop the summit of Max Patch. Considered the “crown jewel” of the Appalachian Trail, this mountain bald rises approximately 4616 feet in western North Carolina and provides unparalleled 360-degree views of the surrounding Appalachian mountains.
My surreal experience on this famous mountain reminded me of Taoist themed paintings; whereby the human component exists but is only a small detail in the larger sum of the natural world. I too, felt infinitely small.
Under the silky stratus layered clouds hiding the summits of distant peaks I told my friend Chris that I felt the gravity of Earth could stop at any moment, but if I grabbed the grass beneath us would it be enough to prevent me from being hurled into outer-space? It’s a bizarre thought, unless you have sat on the apex of Max Patch and looked upon the massive pinnacles encircling it like a jagged crown.
I felt both dizzy from my smallness, while simultaneously empowered by the grandeur. Not even the might of Rainier held this power over me. It’s something I will never forget.
This was my maiden voyage on the Appalachian Trail, and we did it big and in style. We hiked nearly fifty miles, over the course of 3 1/2 days, from the northernmost area of the Great Smoky Mountains to Allen Gap, NC.
Over the course of our voyage we camped on the extremely windy summit of Snowbird mountain next to a FAA navigation/weather facility, in a mouse-infested lean-to shelter on the peak of Walnut Mountain, and a hiker hostel in the trail town of Hot Springs. Along the way we met a few winter thru-hikers, several friendly locals, and a couple of dogs who wanted to make friends.
It is a long held tradition that hikers on America’s first long trail be given trail names. One of the rules is you can’t name yourself. That is in poor taste. I was fortunate enough to be dubbed with a great trail name on my very first trek on the AT.
Meeting some girls at Hurricane Gap, Chris introduced me to them as “Pickles” and they laughed. I thought about it, and sure why not? If it pleases the ladies then it must be good.
It’s actually a very old nickname that was given to me by a coworker at the airlines, but Chris liked it so he christened me as such.
Chris already had a trail name that was given to him by another Sheltowee Trace hiker: Mr. Incredible; aptly named since the boy can run circles around even the fastest of the grizzled old hikers. So, together as a hiking team, we were the “Incredible Pickles.”
And at times, I really did believe we were in an incredible pickle. The miles on the Appalachian Trail are nothing like Sheltowee Trace miles. I really had no idea what I had gotten myself into.
The trail plummeted thousands of feet into deep gorges, and then brutally rose again to the apex of every summit. At times, I seriously believed that my feet would no longer carry me. A routine 15 miles in the Kentucky woods felt like 25 miles on the AT.
There were very long ridge walks, with limited access to water sources. The relatively high altitude made for more labored breathing. On some of our summits it took hours to reach the top of the mountains. We bagged at least 6 named peaks.
When we didn’t make our prescribed mileage per day, we completed our trek by night. Our headlamps carried us into the dark and foreboding wilderness, with high winds, creaking trees, and skulking, glistening eyes in deep shadows.
This hike was probably the most physically and mentally demanding thing I have ever accompished. I had no idea the AT was this awesome.
The trail town of Hot Springs was fun and well-deserved. We stayed at the hostel called the Laughing Heart Lodge and the proprietor was kind enough to give us a discounted rate.
Chris and I got directions to the local tavern (he had a major hankering for pizza, and I wanted beer). The tavern had both. It was amazing to be able to approach the front-glass doors of this establishment in our full hiking regalia, backpacks, hiking sticks, smelliness, muddy clothing and all. No one gave us a second glance.
Hot Springs instantly reminded me of the fictional town on Northern Exposure. Everyone knew everyone, except for the AT tourists (who were all in a good mood because they were on vacation). The locals were very accommodating and as a result the atmosphere was permanently festive.
I sat at the bar crammed between locals and tourists (both of which were very interested in my hiking endeavors).
I had an incredible time (I think Chris did too). I suppose, much to my parents chagrin I have been bitten by the AT bug. Even as I sit here typing this trip report I am thinking about my next Appalachian adventure. It’s only two days away!
I will soon be making my way to Springer Mountain Georgia for a thirty mile trek over the New Years weekend! I never knew I would become an adventure junkie.