Week Two: Always Zip Your Pockets

Day Eight

Waking up in a hotel room was truly a glorious way to start my second week on trail. I watched the lightning from the storm we were hiding from light up the sky through the night, and while we didn’t seem to get any rain at our lower elevation, the folks who stayed in the mountains got quite the show.

Breakfast was in the hotel lobby, and Diva, Squeak and I took the chance to absolutely maximize our calorie intake. Individually wrapped bagels, pastries, cups of cereal, muffins, packets of Nutella and peanut butter galore. 

We drank our weight in fruit juice and caught up with Son Driven, the trail angel who cooked us bratwursts a few days ago and also was our shuttle back to the trailhead!

As we ferreted away extra snacks to put in our packs and returned to our room for one final sweep, I felt ready for more time on trail. An evening in a hotel had been super nice, but the North was calling, and the only way to get there was to put more miles underfoot.

The ride to the trailhead was occupied by the frantic downloading of audiobooks, podcast episodes, and playlists that I should have remembered to download the night before. However, as the final download finished, we pulled into the parking lot at Dick’s Creek Gap. 

There was actually quite a crowd at the gap that morning, as many had done as we had and hopped off trail to avoid the storm. We saw Little Chef, UFO, Mowgli, and more new faces as we all strapped on our backpacks and prepared for the day ahead, making sure snacks were in the right places and chapstick and hand sanitizer were easily accessible. 

As with most gaps along the trail, you have to climb down to get there. This means, of course, that you then have to climb up to get out. And climb we did.

Fortunately, I was in good company. Squeak and I talked for a few hours that morning, only pausing when we huffed and heaved up the inclines that never seemed to end. 

It was a Sunday, so there were still some weekend warriors on trail, folks who utilize their free days to hit the trails and endure the scent of the thru-hikers they pass. We crossed ways with a number of people that day, and the question that would transcend days or miles or state lines was “You going the whole way?”

By whole way, they meant, of course, to Maine, to which I always responded “Fingers crossed!” which got a decent chuckle out of a few and silence out of most. 

The crowds of thru-hikers didn’t stop at the trailhead, either. On trail I met Deathmarch, a young hiker heading to school for elementary and middle school science education, two older gentlemen also heading north, briefly a hiker named Roadrunner, and more!

A common sentiment seemed to pass from hiker to hiker that day: “Muskrat Creek”

Muskrat Creek Shelter lay about 12 miles from Dick’s Creek, and the second shelter of the day. And apparently the site of the day’s great hiker migration. As more and more folks said they were headed to Muskrat, I felt a slight sense of panic. With all of these people headed to the same place, there surely wouldn’t be enough space.

I kicked my butt into a higher gear, determined to make it to the shelter early enough to get my choice of shelter spot or tent site.

But the busy shelter wasn’t the only big news of the day. Between us and our camp for the night was the Georgia/North Carolina border.

As midday faded into early afternoon, I spotted a small crowd gathered just a few minutes away. And I already knew why.

The first real milestone of my thru-hike had arrived. My first state complete. Nearly 80 miles of hiking. I did a little hop as I passed the sign on the tree, to the scattered claps and chuckles of the gathered hikers. UFO and Little Chef had packed out a mini bottle of tequila and passed it around for celebratory shots.

It was gross, as tequila tends to be, but it certainly made the moment more memorable and the salt they brought to go along with it was a welcome treat!

Diva was also there, and knowing he would soon pass me going uphill meant I didn’t stay at the state line very long. In hindsight, I wish I had taken a moment longer to appreciate my peace and naivety I was existing in. For I had no idea what was in store for me in the following miles.

The greeting you get from North Carolina truly makes you feel like you’re not welcome. Immediately after the border crossing, you’re thrown into the gnarliest uphill of the hike so far. It’s as if they’re saying “Welcome to North Carolina! We hate you.”

Squeak was ahead of me on the trail and we both trudged the uphills. She kept looking back at me, and we would both groan loudly or curse to each other in shared misery and keep our slow march upward.

It felt like the longest uphill in the world. The shelter was only about three miles from the state border, but each step felt like it took immeasurable effort. 

However, slowly but surely, we made it.

And, as hoped, we arrived at the shelter early. Squeak grabbed a spot in the shelter, and Diva and I set out to find two good tent spots, which we did after a little searching. 

As Diva and I pitched our tents, a steady stream of hikers began to roll in. Everyone who stayed in town that weekend had set their sights on this shelter, and soon there area was full of pitched tents and the shelter was bustling, every open surface covered in Smartwater bottles and camp stoves, sparked up and softly boiling whatever flavor ramen or instant potato its owner had chosen for dinner.

It was fun, don’t get me wrong, but it was also a reminder that The Bubble is a real thing.

The Bubble is the term often used to describe the huge bubble of hikers that often starts in the spring and travels north each hiking season. It also often means completely full shelters, poorly stored food, and germs. 

Most of the folks in my little hiking group were wary of The Bubble, so we decided to try and push a little over 20 miles the next day and try to escape this wave of hikers.

Dinner was tortillas, pepperoni, Cabot Seriously Sharp Cheddar Cheese (if you know you know) and an assortment of condiments. It was delicious! One of the best parts of leaving town is that first dinner of packed out foods where you can kind of get around the rules of refrigeration.

I went to bed in my tent content, and surrounded by friends, and hopeful for the day to follow.

Day Nine

We woke up on day 9 to a clear, frozen sheet on everything. It was cold. Like, cold cold. As I packed up my tent and tried to pull my tent stakes from the ground, my fingers got so cold they lost their function. I had to keep pausing as I packed up camp and warm my hands back up, even with a pair of liner gloves on.

Eventually, I got all of the tent stakes up and I shook as much frozen rain off of the outside of my tent as I could before stuffing it into the mesh outside of my pack. My bear canister was frozen shut as well, but after a bit of fighting I got it open. Now, I don’t like cooking in the mornings even on a good day. I rarely use my stove, and on days with such low temperatures the goal is to get moving as soon as possible. So I grabbed my snacks for the day, finished packing, and  started hiking with the hope of warming up quickly. 

However, as the miles began to pass, I was not getting warmer. I had on my rain jacket and rain pants, the hiker equivalent of a sweat suit, but was barely trapping any heat. I sped up, hoping to generate more and more heat. 

After about an hour, I knew I was close to a shelter, which meant an opportunity to use the restroom without digging a cat hole. Yippee! As I hiked in, the shelter was empty as it was already well into the morning.

I dropped my pack my a log and grabbed my privy essentials. It was a rather spacious privy, and my spirits were high.

And then. The unthinkable happened. 

As I leaned over to open the lid of the privy, I watched in slow motion as my phone fell from the foolishly unzipped pocket of my rain jacket right. Into. The privy. 

I think a little piece of me died in that moment. But I am a steward of the trail. And Leave No Trace principles (and the fact I bought this brand new iPhone 16 about two weeks before starting my hike) meant there was only one course of action.

I had to retrieve my phone from, essentially, a poop pit.

I was fortunate in two major ways during this horrific incident: firstly, my phone had not fallen into “the motherload,” but instead had fallen far to the side of the center of the gross. Secondly, this particular privy had a convenient gap between the platform and the composting area. 

The retrieval, therefore, was swift, but still one of the bravest things I will ever have to do.

I held that phone with two fingers by the corner as if it burned to the touch. It was like I could feel the germs coating everything, not only the phone but now my hands and everything nearby.

And remember, I still hadn’t gotten to use the restroom yet. But boy, I still had to. I quite literally tossed my phone onto the ground in the direction of my pack and went about my business in a privy I was now way too familiar with.

As soon as I was finished, it was time to deal with the phone. I cleaned that thing over and over and over again. I used baby wipes, hand sanitizer, soap and water from my partially frozen bottle (remember, it was still absolutely frigid). I used all of the alcohol swabs from my first aid kit. I washed my hands about 14 times.

This was the first time I truly, for a moment, considered quitting my thru-hike. I developed debilitating germ issues during the COVID pandemic, and the idea of continuing with anything without first sitting in a bath of disinfectant for a month seemed  impossible. 

But of course, I was in the woods. That wasn’t an option. The only option was to keep walking, and keep cleaning my phone, and pray I didn’t get sick.

So that’s what I did. The day stayed freezing, I kept washing my hands and didn’t check the map on my phone all day because I wanted to touch it as little as possible. 

I was alone all day, anxious and cold. And then, finally, I saw a familiar form on the trail ahead of me. It was Squeak!! Seeing a friend after a morning in the trenches was such a mood lifter. 

I told her I didn’t think I could hike over 20 miles that day like we planned. She told me she didn’t think she could hike over 20 miles that day like we planned, either. She told me her ankles were really hurting. I told her I dropped my phone in the privy. We both laughed and texted the others that we would be stopping early that day.

We set up camp at a campsite in a nice wooded area and in the afternoon sun I finally started to warm up. Everything seemed just a little less bad.

Hikers Free Hands, Sticks, and Deathmarch set up camp right nearby. I made ramen for dinner and after the longest day of my hike thus far, fell asleep early and hoped tomorrow would be kinder.

Day Ten

When the sun rose on day 10, things continued to feel just a little bit better, moment by moment. It was chilly again but not debilitating. Squeak was packed and on her way before I was, as was often the case. 

The frozen rain from the night before dried in the previous afternoon’s sun, so the packing process was much drier and quicker than the day before.

I left camp with a slight pep in my step (despite and ever aware that my phone had been poop-ified the day before) as the first real stop of the day was the Albert Mountain Firetower and the 100 mile mark! Once I made it there I would officially by 100 miles into my thru-hike, my first real milestone. I was so ready to reach and surpass that spot. I think I needed a win, and I started hiking quickly to get there.

The incline up to Albert Mountain was truly brutal. After a pretty standard 2 mile climb, you have to, step by step and stair by stair, haul yourself and your 30 pound pack up 400 feet of elevation gain in half a mile. 

Though brutal, at least it was short. And soon enough, the fire tower came into view just over the crest of the mountain. I hustled my way the last few hundred feet and was greeted by a stunning view of the mountains around me and the spindly legs of the fire tower.

I don’t typically do well with heights, but I wanted to celebrate my 100 miles in style. So I shook out my nerves. I grabbed my celebratory blueberry frosted poptart and my water bottle of electrolytes. And I began to climb.

I got up the first set of stairs to the first landing. 

And I decided that was enough bravery for the day. I sat right on that first landing and ate my poptart and enjoyed the view. There were no other people around, so I congratulated myself and when there was no more pop tart left, climbed back down the single flight, hauled my pack back onto my back, and began to hike again. After all, 100 miles down still meant 2,097 miles to go.

Luckily, the excitement for the day was far from over. You see, a few miles ahead the trail crossed a road that lead right into Franklin, NC. And we were all ready for a night in town.

The 6 miles from Albert Mountain to Wallace Gap weren’t too bad, a few uphills but the motivation of food and showers are consistently major boosts to hiking pace. 

Diva was ahead of us, ever the speed hiker, but Squeak and I arranged to meet him in Franklin. A shuttle service ran through the mountains, taking hikers back to Franklin. When the shuttle arrived, guess who was already on board? Diva! He was picked up about 3 miles ahead of us. 

We made our way into Franklin and checked into a motel. Hostels are fun and social, but when you have a group of 3-4 hikers, a motel or hotel room almost always ends up being less expensive. Jolly was meeting his dad for a resupply so didn’t join us for this town visit, but that left three of us in a motel room which worked out great. 

We checked out Franklin’s main downtown drag, including Outdoor 76, an outfitter that had a cool variety, including the exact sleeping bag liner I needed to add to my sleep setup before we hit the cold weather in the Smokies.

After checking the area out, our hiker hunger was running rampant. Over the next few hours I ate: one massive Diet Coke, a cheeseburger made with both beef and sausage plus onions, fries with every condiment on the table, a Greek salad that could feed a small village, and an entire appetizer of fried mushrooms. We also stopped at Ingles for a food resupply. 

(I also purchase more alcohol wipes and disinfected my phone about 5 separate times over the course of the evening. I then decided I had done absolutely the best I could to clean everything, and did my best to let it go.)

This day ended up being my highest spend day since starting the trail, and it was worth every penny. We watched Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them on cable while we ate dinner, sorted our gear, and quickly grew tired and went to bed by good ol’ hiker midnight at 9 pm. 

Day Eleven

We were up early on day 11, with another full day of hiking ahead of us. Diva and Squeak went to a local church that hosted a free breakfast for hikers. I decided to stay back, and finished off my (kinda old at this point) pepperoni, cheese, and tortillas.

I also relished in the little bit of alone time I got while they were at breakfast. I washed all of my cook kit, played my podcast out loud, took time to reorganize my pack, brushed and braided my hair. It’s hard to find time truly for yourself when you’re on a trip like this, and while I sipped my instant coffee in the room by myself I felt relaxed and like my brain got the little break it deserved.

The hour of our departure inevitably arrived, however, and we loaded back into the shuttle that dropped us off the day before. Squeak and I were heading back to Wallace Gap and Diva a few miles ahead, and we planned to meet at the shelter that night. 

The shuttle arrived at Wallace Gap with truly impeccable timing, as Jolly emerged from the tree line just as Squeak and I disembarked. What luck!! Diva shouted a joyous greeting from his seat on the shuttle, and as we watched and waved him off to his destination, a silly energy filled the air.

We updated Jolly about the past few days, including discussions of the crazy weather, the phone-privy-incident and celebration of not getting sick thus far, our adventures in Franklin, and all of the moments during which we missed him. It was so fun to be hiking together again!

We arrived at Siler Bald Shelter in the early afternoon. Jolly had been walking for a while before we joined that day, and Squeak’s ankles seemed to be really bothering her. I, on the other hand, was still buzzing with energy. 

Squeak and Jolly decided to set up camp at Siler, and I ambitiously pushed on, aiming for Wayah Shelter, making for a 14 mile day. I knew that’s where Diva would be, and I was feeling great. So waving goodbye and with hopes to see them again in the next few days, I set off again.

There were a few steady climbs but with some good music in the headphones the time went by quickly enough. I arrived at Wayah Bald in the mid afternoon, with the sun still up and a determination to finish the final few miles quickly. I climbed the small observation tower and took in the view for a moment. There were some other hikers at the base, and I asked them if they’d be willing to take a photo of me. They were so nice and we chatted for a minute, but I was still in a bit of a rush and soon I was back on trail.

I made it to the shelter quickly and almost without incident, except for one ankle twist that I prayed wouldn’t swell up overnight (it didn’t, thank goodness). Diva was already set up in the shelter, and he introduced me to Tall Boy, a woman from Canada with a fantastic energy and a great sense of humor. The hikers I had seen on the bald soon arrived too, and I officially introduced myself to Peaches, Pooh Bear, and Shorts. 

Diva and I were the only Americans at the shelter that night, and we had a blast and great conversations with our international trail mates as we all made dinner, did our camp chores, and got tucked into bed.

The view of the color-shifting sky was a lovely thing to see as I drifted off to sleep after another long day. 

Day Twelve

Day 12 began the way I somehow knew it would, but hoped it wouldn’t. It was raining when we woke up. The clock read 7 and there was no way I was getting out of bed. 

Diva and I lay in our sleeping bags hoping to wait out the deluge at least a bit while Peaches and Pooh Bear got up and ready. 

I turned my phone on to check the weather, and as my cell service kicked in my phone pinged with a message from my mom. “Please call me.” 

My heart sank. I already knew what that message meant. I called her and got confirmation of my belief. My grandad had passed away late the previous night. He had been sick for a while, but even with some level of preparation I was still struck to the core by the news.

I tried to think of anything to say in response, anything to express my love and to comfort my mom, but I fell silent as tears threatened and I tried to stop them from falling in front of these people I had only just met.

Grief is an incredibly difficult thing to handle even in the absolute best situations. I was not in the best situation. But as is often the case when in the woods, there are only so many options for proceeding.

I desperately didn’t want to get out of my sleeping bags. My heart hurt, and the rain continued its incessant descent. I could stay there in the shelter all day, if I wanted to. Jolly and Squeak might even hike to me and stay at the shelter that night. I heavily considered just doing nothing.

But it was going to be bitterly cold that night, and the only thing harder than getting up and going in the rain is getting up and going in the freezing cold. Diva decided to head to a shelter about 16 miles away.

I thought about what would actually make me feel better, what would actually help after receiving that very difficult news. I decided what certainly would not help was a cold night where I would likely get poor sleep. So I decided to push a mile past the shelter Diva was staying at and head straight down to the NOC, the Nantahala Outdoor Center.

The day truly passed in a blur. I was simply moving my feet as a means to an end: a bed inside at a hostel. I texted to reserve a room and let the hostel owner know when I’d be at the NOC and just kept trucking. My progress was only stalled by a few trees that had blown down over the trail in recent storms.

A few moments stuck out in my memory. I remember an especially precarious rocky turn in the trail that jutted out over the side of the mountain, causing heights-fearing me to scooch on my butt down around the corner, during which a day hiker confidently walked around me and said “Looks like you know what you’re doing.” I remember one tree across the trail took a significant amount of time to navigate over. I remember listening to Taylor Swift’s album The Tortured Poets Department and giving myself the duration of the album (two hours and two minutes) to make it to the NOC.

I did a bad job of eating or drinking enough water that day. I was so determined to get into town and out of the woods that I didn’t stop moving. 

Finally, after a long 5-mile descent, the river that hosts the NOC came into view. I made it. I felt awful, in body and soul, but I made it. I sat by the water as the temperature began to drop and ate pretzels as I waited for my ride to the hostel, which arrived only a few minutes later.

The hostel owner was incredibly kind, and took me to the grocery store where I picked up ingredients for a very comforting chickpea dish my mom makes at home. When we got back to the hostel, I really didn’t feel like talking to anyone, so I cooked my dinner with my headphones in and ate while listening to my podcast. 

I slept quickly and soundly that night, and didn’t have any dreams.

Day Thirteen

I woke up early to give myself a slow morning, something I like to do when I’m not sleeping outside. I sat for a bit with my cup of coffee. I was still tired from the strange day before but was very glad I slept inside as the night had been even colder than I expected.

I texted Diva to arrange our meet up at the NOC. I cooked myself a pancake and egg breakfast and packed my bag. Things still felt a bit automated at this point, but there was lots on the agenda for the day, and no real option except to do the damn thing.

I caught a ride back to the NOC and got a hug from the hostel owner as she dropped me off. 

Diva was there when I arrived, and we went inside for our first task of the day. As thru-hikers, we needed backcountry permits to pass through Great Smoky Mountains National Park and stay overnight at the shelters there. The lovely folks at the Nantahala Outdoor Center print tons of hiker permits each year, and Diva and I needed to get ours.

As we waited for the papers to print, we walked around the outfitter there. Peaches, Pooh Bear, and Shorts arrived soon after as well, and we took up residency on the climbing crash pad set up on the top floor. Our permits arrived quickly, and we charged our devices and did a little shopping while we waited for the restaurant next door to open. 

We waited and waited and our appetites grew and grew. I was very glad I made myself breakfast, as poor Diva hadn’t eaten anything in anticipation of an earlier opening time at the restaurant. However, our patience soon paid off and Diva, Pooh Bear, Peaches, Shorts, and I were some of the first people to be seated in the heated porch area that we joked was reserved for the stinky hikers (but we were probably actually correct with that one). 

A round of coffees and waters were passed. Menus were glanced at but a consensus was swiftly reached. Everyone was getting the burger. Folks around us on trail had been talking about this burger for miles, so while other options were enticing, the burger was the clear choice.

The food was delicious, and we talked and laughed and enjoyed views of the river while we ate. Soon, our plates were clear and bellies full. 

It was time to face the music. We had to keep hiking. It was early afternoon by this point, and we had a 7-mile day planned. Easy, right? Unfortunately, this 7 mile stretch is notorious among hikers as being an incredibly difficult climb. It is, truly, entirely uphill. About 3,300 feet of elevation gain with no relief or downhill until you reach the shelter.

So, we all put in our headphones, locked in, and got walking. Soon I was hiking alone, taking it step by step. I was listening to a true crime podcast and about 5 miles in I realized how awful I felt. Physically I still felt fine, but the mental weight of listening to this awful story while also slowly slowly hauling myself up this hill was miking the whole experience worse than it needed to be. I switched from podcast to the Wicked soundtrack and the rest of the day went much quicker.

The shelter was already busy when I arrived, with a good number of folks doing exactly what we did by taking a day just for the 7 mile climb. Diva and I met Hammerhead and his dog Chicken Joe, Goose, and Gunga Din, and soon our friends from the night before had arrived as well.

We all agreed that the day had kind of sucked. There is a certain sense of comradery that forms on the Appalachian Trail, especially after a truly miserable day. Everyone is walking the same trail, so you all physically go through every up and down together. That evening, we laughed off our hard day and remained thankful that it was now behind us. As usual, we went to sleep with the sun.

Day Fourteen

I woke up feeling rested and ready for the day ahead, which was a good feeling as Diva and I were planning our longest day yet: 22 miles from Sassafras Gap Shelter to Fontana Dam.

Fontana Dam is the last real stop thru-hikers make before entering Smoky Mountains National Park, and we were ready to start increasing our miles. Diva is a faster hiker than I am, so we parted ways in the morning with plans to meet at the Fontana Dam shelter.

I fueled up with coffee and breakfast, packed my large collection of snacks into various pockets, and took off. 

The morning was difficult. Without the challenge of a bit climb right in front of me, or a crowd of hikers around me, I found myself surrounded by quiet. The grief of my grandads passing hit me hard. 

I spent the morning crying whenever the trail went flat or downhill, and texting my sister and mom while I walked. It was so hard not being home and with my loved ones, and I was tired of walking.

But I couldn’t stop. I had to get to a shelter for the night, and knowing Diva was going to Fontana meant I was too as it would have been even worse to find myself at a shelter alone with nobody I knew at the end of the day.

So on my feet carried me, and the sun broke through the clouds, and very gradually I started to calm down. I reminded myself to eat and hydrate, and took it one step at a time.

Back home in Virginia, my boyfriend was out on a camping trip along the AT as well, and I almost felt I could send and receive good energy from him through the trail itself. It was a comforting thought, at least, in the same way it helps to think of the people you loving seeing the same moon as you every night. 

Around midday, I was working through an uphill and singing to myself, thinking I was alone in the woods. However, I was caught off guard by a day hiker coming the other direction. As I was exhale-singing, he appeared over the hill with a chipper voice asking, “Hey, is that Hamilton??”

It was, in fact, as I am a semi-retired theatre kid and showtunes fill much of my Spotify. I stood him it was (and was honestly a bit impressed by his recognition) and he replied “Broadway, nice!” before passing by and continuing down trail.

Trail names are a big part of trail culture. Your trail name is essentially a nickname you go by for your hike, and folks often use the same trail name for their entire hiking “career”. I had been offered a few trail names before, but none felt quite right. And then, when this day hiker said “Broadway,” it clicked. My headphone were always playing showtunes, and my theatre kid background was formative to the person I am today. So, I took it! That day, I got my trail name Broadway, which is what I’ll go by for the rest of my thru-hike.

The miles for the rest of the day passed at a decent clip, and in the afternoon I was truly hustling, the Fontana shelter growing ever closer and myself growing ever more impatient. The last mile felt like the longest mile of my life, but finally I arrived!

The Fontana Dam Shelter is one of the most popular on the AT because of both its proximity to a road and its proximity to the entrance to the Smokies. It’s a two-sided, two-storied shelter with actual restrooms including showers, a parking lot, a fire pit with loads of picnic tables, and a gorgeous view over Fontana Lake. Its affectionate nickname, “The Fontana Hilton,” does justice to the luxury of this shelter compared to most along the trail.

I arrived to quite the scene at Fontana, with a trail magic cookout for hikers (burgers, hotdogs, goldfish and Little Debbie cakes, I even got a delicious cold White Claw!), a city of tents set up, and tons of familiar faces!

Diva was there, of course, and he had already settled in by the time I got there, showered and fed and happy. But we also saw Chortle and Scorch, who I met on the first night of my hike. We saw Grouse and Birdwatch, who we met on the shuttle into Franklin, and two of their friends. Everywhere I looked there was friend, old or new. A welcome end to a long day. 

I called my mom that evening. It was the first phone call we’ve had since I started trail besides the brief call where she told me about my grandad. It was so so good to catch up and check in. I was super homesick, and just wanted to hug my mom, but hearing her voice was as close as I could get. We talked past sunset, and after our call I was exhausted but felt a sense of calm, and I felt the love and support of home.

Upon my return to the shelter post phone call, Diva and I decided that before entering the Smokies, we’d take our first zero day. That meant the next day would be about rest, eating good food, and doing whatever chores we needed to get ready for the town-less stretch of national park. 

That night, I fell asleep among friends.

 

As always, the adventure continues. Thank you for reading and until next time!

M