The Great Smoky Mountains (Part 4/4)
Scary views… and a scarier situation
Because we had already hiked to a waterfall, an observatory point, and following a creek, it seemed to make sense to do a hike for panoramic views, and so we headed again to Newfound Gap — crazy dangerous and twisty road — to pick up the trailhead of the Appalachian Trail to Charlie’s Bunion (out-and-back, 8 miles, moderately challenging).
The trees were different on this trail; there were no colorful leaves, on the trees or on the ground. Most of them seemed to be evergreen, with those on the ground covered in green moss, interspersed with the dead hemlock trees. The path itself seemed to be well maintained, and I wondered aloud whether the path had been formed by hikers through the years, perhaps following the knowledge of the Native American tribes in the area. (The official NPS guide states that the “Great Smoky Mountains National Park occupies the traditional lands of the Cherokee (GWY, Tsalagi), now the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians, the Cherokee Nation, and the United Keetoowah Band of the Cherokee”.) On the way back, my question would be answered. About a mile from our destination, we arrived at the Icewater Spring shelter for AT hikers.
Charlie’s Bunion was spectacular: suddenly the tree line disappeared and we found ourselves on the edge of an outcropping of rocks, ringed by some bushes that gave the illusion of providing some barrier but actually barely hid a steep vertical wall of… nothing! We ate our sandwiches velcro-ed to the rock. Actually there were several rocky spots that stuck out into thin air; the main one jutted into the abyss below as if defying it, but having hiked so far and certain that one would not come here again led everyone to climb atop, just quickly enough to take some pictures. N. took some of me, looking terrified!
We picked up the pace on the way back and were making good time. N. had just mentioned that we had only two miles to reach the trailhead when we ran into a trail volunteer, an old but fit looking older man, wielding a pick ax. We asked what he was doing. He explained that this section of the trail was collecting rain; soon the trail would be washed out altogether, so he was adding three drainage ditches to divert the water. He had been doing volunteer trail maintenance for 22 years. So my previous question about the trail was answered: any hiking trail is likely the result of dedicated volunteers who work hard so that all of us can enjoy our hikes!
Suddenly, he looked at us and asked,
“Where is your pack?”
“Oh, here,” we said, pointing at the tiny 15-liter daypack on N.’s back.
“And where are you headed?”
“To the Newfound Gap overlook parking lot…”
“Boy, then you are going in the wrong direction!”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, you’re seriously going in the wrong direction!”
“Well, isn’t this the AT? Where does this lead?
“Well, Maine!”
Charlie’s Bunion had a circular path around it. As far as we can figure, when we left the rocky outcrop, we must have come only half way (180 degrees), seen the white blazes for the AT, and smugly but inadvertently followed the Appalachian Trail NORTH! For TWO MILES!
We imagined the trail volunteer at the local bar telling his buddies, “Let me tell about these two idiots I ran into today by Charlie’s Bunion,” but he was kind and concerned for us: he asked whether we had enough water and a flashlight. His confidence that we had enough time to get back to the trailhead before dark was comforting; so was his letting us know that he himself would start hiking to the same trailhead himself. It was already 3:30 pm; we had more than 6 miles to go before nightfall.
As we began to make our way back, our legs began to feel like lead. How could we have made such a dumb mistake? It was getting darker, colder. The question, “How did this happen?” kept ringing in our heads and in our lips as we made our way back to Charlie’s Bunion. (At this rate, both of us would get bunions too!) From here, it was another 4 miles down.
N. was scraping the bottom of the barrel of his energy stores; I could also hear him breathing heavily. I insisted that we stop at the Icewater Spring shelter; we had an apple and some trail mix, the last of our food. It just so happened that an AT hiker — wait, we’re AT hikers too! — was setting up camp for the night. He was two weeks from completing the whole trail: he would finish in Georgia and be home by Thanksgiving. We asked which sections of the AT were his favorite; he said the trail in New England was challenging because of the rocks but that the scenery was spectacular. He also mentioned that the fall foliage in southern Virginia had been nice. We wished him luck and continued on our way. Three miles to go.
From the shelter, we felt encouraged because we kept running into people hiking in the same direction: when we had been on our bone-headed course to Maine, we had seen no one. We picked up the pace.
We finally arrived at the trailhead by the overlook. Only a few cars were left on the parking lot. The sun was low in the sky and the wind was picking up. It was 6:03 pm. We had hiked 12.13 miles. Time of hike: 6 hours 31 minutes.
It was only after we began to drive on the Newfound Gap road back to the campground that the enormity of the danger we were in — and sheer blind luck — dawned on us.
If we had not run into that trail volunteer, we would have blithely continued on the wrong direction and, after the two expected miles had been completed, we would have wondered who had picked up a whole parking lot with cars and moved it elsewhere. We would have been lost, with no cell signal, no idea of where exactly we were — on the AT, yes, but where exactly on the AT? — without food or water. It would have soon become darker and colder, in the Smokies, with protective mama bears wandering around with their hungry cubs. And then, when morning came, what? We would still have been lost; we would still have been without food or water. The more we contemplated a different ending to the day, the scarier we got.
We began to google “best hiking practices” and “best satellite phones.”