11.6 miles

March 5, 2018

Stover creek shelter (mile 2.8) to Devil’s kitchen campground (mile 14.4)

My first proper day on the trail. I didn’t sleep well but, but somehow I still managed to sleep in.

I shared the shelter that night with K2 and Doo. Both excellent people. K2 (Ken) had thru-hiked the A.T a few years ago and was back to hike some sections of the trail with his wife Doo (Jodie), who was in a sabbatical from work. K2 had decided my trail name should be Roo. I wasn’t overly keen on it, so I was a little noncommittal when he called me that.

My breakfast was not a great success. The granola with the instant breakfast ended up being too sickly sweet. But I ate it, because the only other option was to carry it out as rubbish. I’ll have to find another option for brekkie.

I finally got going after 8am. The first few miles were really nice, the trail crossed over several streams that bubbled away prettily, and the path meandered along a leisurely switchback. I even met a chocolate labrador!

Then the climbing started.

Gasping for air and sweating profusely, despite the cool weather, I stumbled into Hawk Mountain shelter for some lunch. K2 and Doo were there as well. I heard the call “ScottyRoo!” as I came into view of the shelter. And thus my trail name was born.

After lingering over lunch (blueberry bagel, which was gross and sickly sweet just like breakfast) I finally got going again.

That’s when the trail laughed at me. “You thought the climbing had already started? Aw hunny, no”

Sassafras and Justus mountains kicked. My. Ass.

The trail legs are definitely still a work in progress.

My overly ambitious goal was Gooch Mountain shelter at 15.7 miles. But I just did not have the legs. I camped at Devil’s kitchen campground where the only tent spot left was on a sloped site. My tent was nowhere near being pitched properly, but I was tired and it was starting to rain.

I wolfed down a Snickers bar for dinner. To my horror this also tasted sickly sweet. I forced myself to finish it, but I don’t think I can eat anymore. What the hell is wrong with me that I can’t eat a chocolate bar without retching? I blame America.

I lay in my tent, sliding to the bottom and having to constantly readjust, listening to the rain patter down on my tent, with the roof far too close to my face and amazingly I fell asleep.

DAKA-DAKA-DAKA

Whoo!

DAKA-DAKA-DAKA

Whoo!

“What the hell?” It was a few hours later at least.

DAKA-DAKA-DAKA

Whoo!

DAKA-DAKA-DAKA

Whoo!

Ok, I was pretty sure that was gunfire. That sounded far off, but the “Whoo!” was coming closer.

DAKA-DAKA-DAKA

Whoo!

I heard twigs and leaves crunching outside my tent, there was someone outside my tent. I sat up and held my breath, waiting for the inevitable call of “Get out yo tent, boy!” that was sure to come.

There was another Whoo! and I realised it was a bastard bird, who was just really bloody excited for some reason. The gunfire was from the Ranger training camp on Springer mountain. To highlight that fact there was the distant boom of artillery fire. I was pretty sure the mountain folk of Georgia did not have artillery. I finally took a breath and relaxed then flicked at my tent door to scare away the overly excited bird and attempted to get back to sleep. I managed to but I jerked awake a couple of times throughout the rest of the night, positive I had heard the twang of a banjo…