June 15 (continued)

The park begins with a nice, long climb to the top of "The Shuckstack," quite a name for a mountain if I've ever heard one. I went up a 60-foot fire tower with poor railings (kind of scary, but a great, if somewhat hazy, view) and then made it up towards the shelter even though I missed the last water source and arrived with, well, no water.

And as I rounded a corner, there was my friend, Mr. Bear. My reactions: shock, camera, surprise. But he was timid, and gone before reaction number two could capture an image. Various estimates say there are anywhere from 400 to 1600 bears in the Smokies. In most places, bears are very timid, at least in the last 400 years, because that was when the learned to associate humans with guns. However, with hunting prohibited in the park, they now associate humans with food, to the point where rangers sometimes go after them with beanbag guns to try to keep a bit of fear, and separation, in the populations. The bear went galomphing in to the woods. Bears really do galomph — but they galmoph at up to 30 mph, so you can't outrun them.

In addition to the bears, the Smokies are very rich in life. Supposedly there are more species within the park than in all of Europe! The park, indeed the entire Appalachian Mountain range (especially in the South) is practically a temperate rainforest, and in the summer it can feel tropical. There is thick foliage, diverse species, and lots of rain — nearly 100 inches in some places; particularly near where I was hiking right now. Thus, the fact that forest fires need to be suppressed in the area is folly. Forest fires are important to the local ecosystem, yet they are put down by the local forest service.

There is a very interesting history of forest fire propaganda. Smokey Bear, the governmental anti-fire representative for more than six decades, was officially created to inform people that wildfires hurt the war effort in World War II, when timber was an important resource. Word on the street, however, has it that Smokey Bear (not Smokey the Bear, and definitely Smacky the Frog) was created to feign, or at least exaggerate, the danger of forest fires and get the Forest Service more money after the depression, a time when the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) and other such agencies got the bulk of the funds. (Remember, the Forest Service is mostly interested in harvesting the forest; forest protection is often an ancillary benefit.) And in a rainforest, just getting a fire going is hard enough, yet they go to great pains to keep them from starting and putting them out. The Forest Service got hooked on money to fight fires, and did so with such aplomb that "fuel" which would normally be burned in natural cycles built up, culminating in events like the 1988 fires in Yellowstone.There is, of course, a drought in the south this year (not that you'd notice it), so I won't be going setting any wildfires any time soon. But we don't need to throw good money at propaganda to prevent them.

The bear was gone, but I wasn't content. I proceeded to bang my hiking poles together. And started singing songs. After four renditions of Barrett's Privateers (Stan Rogers is really good to sing, since it can be deep and booming and has catchy tunes) and some bear songs (Bear, bear, go away, etc) I reached the shelter. Dismayed to have no company (Surprised, too, this is supposedly the nation's most visited national park) I made dinner, almost burned down the shelter (I really only wound up adding a burn mark to the cooking area, there are many there already.), added Tennessee to the list of states to which I have been, and went to sleep.

June 16 — 17.2 Miles today, 191.1 miles from Springer, 1983.5 Miles to Katahdin, Net elev: +910 feet.
Climbs: 3,4,4,4,4,3, Wx: 80s, 70%, Shelter: 4, Dinner: +, Overall: 4.

Today, I started slow and finished fast. On-trail procrastination. It was chilly, too, in the morning, the first time I have worn more than a t-shirt whilst hiking. I needed to make 18 miles. And I needed to make it up a hill, up the "long, green tunnel" indeed (as it is called by many who become bored in their travels). So much of the trail is mental. It might not be the longest or hardest of the long trails in the country, but it is the granddaddy, and it is psychologically challenging. Every day you wake up and you have to hike. Especially when you need to make 18 miles per day to finish out on time.

Tonight, I'm at another re-done, non-fenced shelter. The shelters used to all have "bear-proof" fencing across their fronts. It makes you feel better (of course, then you might as well just build a fourth wall, or at least a screen), but encouraged poor camping techniques and human-bear interaction, as people wouldn't hang their food or keep a clean camp. But I missed out on that bit of the past. Tonight, at least, I have company.

There are bugs out, too. And horses. Goddamn horses. Before we rag on horses on the AT, let's give an exhaustive list of the pros of having horses on the AT (like we did with dams). Okay, now that we are done with that, the negatives. They tear up the trail. They poop ALL over the trail, and do the owners care? No. They attract bugs. Their feed spreads invasive plant seeds in to the wilderness—it's not supposed to, but the horses' owners don't especially care. Plus, you have to get out of their way, and if you are running, the riders will scold you. C'mon NPS/GSMNP/Dept. of Interior. Get the bloody horses off the AT!

Dinner, however, was great: masala sauce and coconut milk and rice, etc. No horse meat. And pudding. Fabulous.

June 17 — 22.9 Miles today, 214 miles from Springer, 1960.6 Miles to Katahdin, Net elev: -180 feet.
Climbs: HC, Wx: 70s, 50%, Shelter: 4, Dinner: 4, Overall: 4.

It was a good day, until I resprained my ankle. Yup. I did it again. I stepped on a water bar in a funny way and hyperextended my upper ankle. Oh, yes, a high angle sprain. I could not be more excited.

I got up to Clingman's Dome, at 6641 feet the high point on the trail. It's all downhill from here. Sort of. The top of Clingmans (Down here they say "Clingums"; parse that one.) is like Mount Washington, with a bigger, higher observation deck (that looks very weird) and a lot of Joeys (although no overpriced snack bar or cog rail station), or whatever their southern equivalent is (Billy-Joey's perhaps?). Some memorable summit quotes: "Let's climb that mushroom thing", "We made it all the way [up the half-mile, paved trail]!". Although once on Washington, I heard a couple of drivers/coggers, not ten feet from the actual summit, which is actually left uncovered by buildings, have the following conversation:
Person 1: "You want to go to the summit? It's right over there."
Person 2: "Nah, it doesn't do anything for me. Let's go to the snack bar."
And you wonder why America is obese. I had breakfast atop the summit—warm oatmeal with peanut M&Ms—and then hiked on along the much quieter trail.

I made Newfound Gap for lunch and a toilet break, and it was bustling. With people driving through the park. The Smokies are picturesque, the northern part of the trail more rugged and steep, yet almost everyone who visits sees a rest stop on US 441. The park was seemingly empty, except for Clingman's, Newfound Gap and a mile of trail on either side.

I made it to another occupied shelter around dark. It was only late in the day that my ankle really started to bother me. But I walked along, a bit in the dark, made dinner, and went to sleep. 23 miles tomorrow to a hostel. Yippie.

June 18 — 23.3 Miles today, 237.3 miles from Springer, 1937.3 Miles to Katahdin, Net elev: -3430 feet.
Climbs: 4,4,4,3, Wx: 70s, 80%, Shelter: -, Dinner: 4, Overall: 3.

I was the first of my sheltermates to awaken today and up and left pretty quickly, with the promise of a hostel at the end of the day. The sun and fog were playing tricks, and I was more than happy to hike through the trickery. It would be downhill, overall, but most of that occurred at the end of the evening. My ankle, however, did not want to cooperate. I scarfed down some Vitamin I (ibuprofen) and never really felt good along the trail. I was determined, however, to get out of the park.

The fact that the trail loses a lot of elevation near the end of the day did not do good things to my ankle. After cresting Mount Guyot at nearly 6400 feet, the trail proceeds to lose elevation until crossing the French Broad River around 1400. As I pounded down towards the river, with light fading and my legs throbbing, I was able to take in some wildlife (a mother and a cub black bear, and an owl), but they were a minor solace. I crossed the river and the Interstate— the first of several—and made my way up towards the hostel. It was about a mile, and it was nearly dark, and by the time I got to the road, I was prepared for anything.

What I got is real backwoods Appalachia tonight. No screen, space between the boards in the bunkhouse, a one-seater toilet (real showers, though), and a poor excuse for the Internet. I'd walked in to find the place deserted, although the proprietor showed up a few minutes later and showed me around.The pizza at the hostel—frozen, heat it yourself—is $10. Right. I grabbed some $2 chowder from the honor-system store and chowed down. I may go hiking tomorrow, but with the searing pain down on my ankle right now, I may not.

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© 2006, Ari Ofsevit. Appalachian Trail Thru Hike, Georgia to Maine, June 4 to October 17.