Oats (and Thru!) on the Pinhoti: Days 2 and 3

Day 2, Sunday

I woke up to the brightness of the morning sun illuminating the inside of my tent like a lighthouse. It was bright; I couldn’t snag a couple more ZZZs even if I wanted to. After the traditional heart-warming morning pets with Thru Dog, she quickly reminded me she’s never quite grasped the concept of a netted tent interior. She insistently poked around where she thought the door was and followed the fly until, bested by zippers once more, she nudged her nose as far as she could to a small corner of the tent and lay down. I’m not sure if this was her attempt at pouting or she simply gave up on the puzzle with a single investigation check. Probably both.

We thanked our campsite, and the familiar southern Appalachian forest greeted us as as headed north once more. A mile or two into the morning, I indulged a long-standing and only moderately silly idea. I looked at the scene before me and slowly, intentionally, blinked. My imagination worked over time as a kid, and I picked up the belief and subsequently convinced myself that when you blink, you save a particular scene or memory, and in Heaven you get to scroll back through them like a highlight reel. The scene in front of me was one I wanted to remember. And not just remember, savor. The sun was at the perfect angle to light up the pollen in the air like dust through the trees, and the leaf litter on either side of the trail was thick, crunchy, and undisturbed.

After about 8 miles of gradual rolling ridges and switchbacks galore, I approached a main road crossing. At the exact moment I emerged from the woods, crunching on the gravel underfoot, Kimm (you remember her from yesterday!) pulled into the lot. The last campsite I passed was called Kimm’s Camp, so I was definitely in her neck of the woods; I waved enthusiastically, and she put an electrolyte drink in my hands as soon as I shut the passenger door. Kimm offered to stop into the Dollar General as we made our way through the weaving roads of the Alabama back country, and I convinced myself in the moment there was plenty of food to hold me through to the next resupply. If I didn’t, that was future Oats’ problem.

I can confidently say that the Pinhoti Outdoor Center has the charm of all the best hostels on trail I’ve stayed at. We played I-spy until we found our signatures on a couple of the boards hanging around the interior, and I signed the 2025 Pinhoti board they had set up next to the door. Though by now they’ve certainly finished or continued onto the Eastern Continental Trail, I saw a couple familiar trail names in the handful of signatures collected so far this year.

After a quick 3-mile slack pack between road walks, I busied myself organizing gear and troubleshooting water filter quirks with POC caretaker Monk, a long-time hiker who matched my enthusiasm for long trails. My close friends and family don’t thru-hike, so it was nice to feel seen in such a specific and vulnerable way as we talked about the many opportunities and inherent joy in the outdoors.

Not including yesterday, the last time I saw Kimm and her partner Nathan was the previous fall at Pinhoti Trail Fest in Sylacauga, Alabama, where I received the worst news of my life. After an incredible day of trivia, swag, and facilitating Thru pets, I curled up on my camper’s small couch to scroll on my phone for a while. My brother and a couple of buddies reached out to me throughout the day to tell me that my immediate family was safe (and confirm I was as well), but there weren’t any details. The first video I saw immediately sent me into a panic attack. It was barren and rocky and flooded with mud water. It was Chimney Rock.

I eventually composed myself to ask for support, and alongside the Jolly Gear fam, Kimm and Nathan comforted me through some very human moments and gave me the courage to load up the camper and head directly back east the next day.

(Chimney Rock photo pending)

So that’s how, on the evening of Day 2 on the Pinhoti, Thru and I found ourselves enjoying an absolutely incredible home-cooked meal and celebrating Nathan’s birthday. There was even a fence around the yard for Thru Dog!

Nathan had a story to add to Kimm’s detailing of the 200-mile race aid station they manned over the weekend. Thirty miles from the end, a runner staggered up to their aid station. The threat of not finishing pushed him to a stroke of hiker trash genius. He used styrofoam from a water cup to support the arch of his foot, almost like an insole.

The experienced table of locals took turns telling me what to expect from the trail ahead, and the best places yet to come. And I learned that carpenter bees don’t sting! Their fuzzy, plump bodies mesmerized me as they crawled in and out of the holes they burrowed into the wood of the porch. Another fantastic channel I’ve seen on Hiker TV.

Back at the POC, on the precipice of hiker midnight (9pm), Monk unlocked the heavy door leading from the hostel to the store. There was a map wall that Nathan said I needed to check out before leaving, and it was just as satisfying as I imagined.

While I originally planned to be back on trail that night, it didn’t take much convincing for me to accept Kimm and Nathan’s kind offer of a bed in the hostel. Looking over at Thru on the couch, and around at the dry, warm room, I relented almost immediately. I knew I made the right choice when I started to hear heavy rain striking the metal roof overhead a few hours later, cozily snug in my sleeping bag on the bottom of a bunk bed, my pup snoozing just a couple feet away.

Day 3, Monday

My first act of the morning was to ask Monk if it was possible to push the shuttle time back. The rain showed no sign of slowing since it started overnight, but according to the radar the worst of it would move on by 8am. My second act of the morning was to fall back asleep. After a final push to leave my cozy down cocoon, It was time to face the consequences of my actions face consequences of my actions as Future Oats. As I cursed Past Oats for her less than satisfactory planning, I took a peek at the bin of discarded hiker food in the corner. There was a huge score – half a bag of animal crackers – and I also snagged 2 packets of sunflower seeds for the salt. That will do!

Two hours later, Thru and I waved goodbye to Monk as we disappeared up the deeply eroded gravel road leading to Trammel Trailhead. In case you’re keeping track, I absolutely yellow-blaze (take shuttles or hitch road walks). I admire thru-hike purists, you absolutely have a stronger will than me, but if I can skip the miles of highway and the occasional close call with a car, catch me in the passenger seat.

There was a water carry over ten miles, so I removed all my reservoirs and cameled up to prepare to dry camp if needed. We were aiming for the next site with water – 13.7 miles up trail – and while I expected us to make it with time to spare, it didn’t hurt to be cautious, especially with Thru Dog tagging along.

Bumping the shuttle back helped, but it still rained a couple of hours that morning. The adventure stops being fun for me when both the rain and the cold are hanging around. Thankfully, it wasn’t particularly cold so neither Thru or I could be bothered. Eventually, the rain stopped, revealing incredible panoramic views as we ridge-walked along (and dripped on by overhead leaves, a repeating theme for the rest of the day). The rain droplets gathering on Thru’s outer layer sparkled like little stars against the black of her coat. Occasionally, she’d have herself a good shake, threatening the minuscule amount of dryness I could achieve while I walked.

After 17 miles Thru and I approached camp to the tragic finale of Hadestown, with plenty of time to set up for sunset. I oriented my tent to catch the last rays over the mountains in the distance, and started nibbling on various snacks. You can bet I blinked intentionally in the direction of the setting sun a couple of times before it slipped under the horizon. I fell asleep to thoughts of lesbian necromancers (Gideon the 9th is a great audiobook, if you’re curi0us) and what gear in my pack I already determined were superfluous, to be ditched at the earliest convenience.

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