Leaving hotel calafornix

Let’s get married! Jen Crass laughed and told me to take a hike. I asked her to drop me off on the Appalachian Trail. Jen’s roommate, Orion, taught me to presquash sliced bread to help retain its shape, lent me a hammock and down sleeping bag. I did an overnight in Jones Gap State Park. I hiked back up in to the woods. There was a bright orange red salamander every ten feet. They didn’t even move, and didn’t even look like they were real. If you picked one up, it barely stirred. There was an unbelievable amount of them gathered on the trail. It was a fire magic salamander trail. The next day when I hiked out they were still there. When I got to a fork in the trail, one heading to the parking lot and the other a continuation of the Jones Gap Trail, a guy came walking up the Gap trail. I asked him if he’d seen all these bright orange salamanders everywhere and he said no. He hadn’t seen any. He walked past me and continued up the trail I’d just come down. I was standing there at the fork thinking about the thousand salamanders I’d seen, and how this guy hadn’t seen any, when he hollered back to me, “Oh, here’s one!” Thank goodness, I thought I was going nuts.

Tiger paws were painted on the road to the trail, the University of Clemson was nearby and this was tiger country. Jen happily dropped me off at Dick’s Creek Gap. If you’ve never tried a walkabout you should. Some people say that when you’re alone for a while, something happens, a change. They are correct. Things happen out here that don’t happen inside a box. Whistling “Zip To De Do DA” you get to the part about the bluebird and one flies over your shoulder, and you get it. I’d just entered the woods when I scared up a tremendous covey of grouse that roared into the air all around me. Much better than tigers, let’s go with “The Sound of Music”. Cue the doe. Immediately, one figures out not to whistle the tune from “Jaws”. You don’t want manifest a great white shark out here,“Deliverance” was filmed just downhill.

No IPODs allowed, you’ll step on a rattlesnake. Plus, the forest has its own symphony. So I’m hiking along thinking how fortunate I am to be free. Free to whistle up whatever I want while everyone else is working at their job and how slick I am to have slipped out of it so easily. Over the rise and through the woods the sound of girls giggling can be heard, real forest music. It turns out, Lee, a forest service employee, guy about my age that looked a lot like me too, was teaching a dozen stunningly gorgeous chicks about forest ecology. I enjoyed a wonderful snack with these Georgia belles, of course they had tea. I slipped up a little bit here cause I literally had the jam and bread in my backpack, but was so overwhelmed with what was going on I forgot to pull it out.

Admittedly, it kind of burst my bubble a little bit (and you can imagine how swell it was) to think that Lee was at least twelve times as fortunate as I, after all, here he was getting paid to teach a bunch of young women about nature. He certainly had this thing all figured out, “part of the solution” so to speak. As I waved goodbye to the forest fairies, Lee, looking like he’d lost control of himself for a second, quietly offered to trade places with me.

Standing Indian Mountain was beautiful. It was a good time and place to hike because there were still flowers on the azaleas and rhododendrons but many had fallen off creating a carpet of color. The berries were just starting to get ripe as well. A misty rain was falling as I silently slipped past four guys in a tent. I met Casey and Casey at Runaway Knob Shelter. They were attempting to hike the entire trail. In order to avoid the main flow of thru hikers, and that whole soap opera, they had decided to start in Virginia and head south to Georgia and then catch a ride to Maine and hike back to where they started in Virginia. They also explained that this solved the icy start and finish problem at the trails northern terminus, Katadin. Apparently, the exodus of thru hikers from Springer Mountain headed north is a real circus. Casey and Casey saw the whole parade go by just a few weeks ago.

I watched as Casey showed me how to start a fire. He patiently collected a handful of half tooth pick sized sticks arranged them in a pyramid and used a lighter to get it lit. I fried pancakes in lard and slathered them in jelly I’d brought. We shared a meal and they told me that women gain weight when they hike the trail and men lose weight. It looked like Casey had gained the ten pounds that Casey had lost. They pointed out that this made the man lighter and quicker so he could travel more efficiently and gather more food, and the woman got a ten pound reserve in case she got pregnant. I was staring into the fire thinking about hiking the trail with Johnna, when Casey told me that women smell very strongly after a while in the forest. Later, it became apparent he found this exciting. He was a long liner fisherman and showed me the most efficient knot to use when tying my hammock to the tree. Casey also explained that the way to avoid getting blisters was to take your shoes and socks off and let the skin on your feet cool down every time you took a snack and water break. This worked out to about every 45 minutes, and was the best recommendation I heard on the trail. I immediately adopted all of his techniques, realizing the unbelievable wealth of knowledge this guy had and how fortunate I was to run into Casey and Casey at the beginning of my hike.

Throughout the rest of the trip as I sat there next to the creek, or laid out on the rocky overlook, relaxing, drinking water, thinking about how nice it was, other hikers would come upon me. I’d have my boots off and sock liners and socks hanging on a twig somewhere, and the interloper would say, “Must have sore feet huh?” No, my feet are fine. How about yours? Most admitted their feet were painful and they were suffering. I’d tell them how I’d met Casey and what he’d told me. The funny thing was only one guy took my recommendation. When he took his shoes off, his feet looked like hamburger. I imagine that the people who had admitted to me they were in pain had feet that were in a condition somewhere between “hamburger” and “brand new”. Yet only one out of a hundred that I had this scenario with took their shoes off and let their feet cool down. Some were going in my direction and complained about how much their feet hurt yet continued not to take my recommendation. Later in camp they would take their shoes and socks off. Some of their tricks included powder, Vaseline, and duct tape. None of these methods appeared to work as well as taking your shoes and socks off everytime you take a break. The penalty for not doing this is severe.

“Where do you shit?” is the #1 question I’m asked when talking about this trip to people who’ve never done anything like it. “How to shit in the woods” is a book. The best thing to do is go far away from drinking, eating, and sleeping areas and sling it around, not using any toilet paper.

I decided to climb up the Wesser Bald lookout tower and checked out the storms approach. When I got up to the top and looked at the tremendous electrical storm that surrounded me, I thought I was in error. I couldn’t get down fast enough and half jogged with my sore knee down the ridge in the pouring rain laughing about how stupid climbing up in tower was in an electrical storm. I was thinking of taking shelter and staying dry. Boom! It looked like the transporter beam from Star Trek and it either hit me or just missed me to the right. Either way, I came to face down in the mud thinking the guys wouldn’t believe this. I’d had been better off in the grounded lookout tower. My skip had turned into a limp and when I straggled, laughing, covered in mud into view of the shelter the band burst into laughter. It looked like I had been struck by lightning.

The band had a battery powered alpine snow stove. This little gadget was shaped like a soup can and had a fan in the bottom that blew air up through a grate and would roast anything that would burn. Someone hiked up from the gap with a bottle of vodka (white lightning). We had a big party that night. The next day I had to walk backwards down to the Nantahala River. I couldn’t take a single step forward my knees hurt so bad. It took me a while to figure out I could still walk backwards. The band thought this was an interesting technique later on when they caught up with me. For the remainder of the hike, I carried a permanent walking stick and an expendable one that I burned for dinner. I met a couple of hikers heading south that told me there was a terrific amount of trash that someone had left at the top of Cheoah bald. They asked me to please burn it and carry the metal and glass out. They explained that it was raining and that’s why they didn’t do it themselves. I agreed to do it.

I stayed at the river hostel Saturday and Sunday night. When my dad graduated from the University of Florida he was notified that he was being drafted into the army, off to Vietnam. He joined the navy the next day, eventually getting on the U.S.S. Nantahala. The land of the noonday sun, it gets this name because the mountains are so steep the sun doesn’t come out till noon. The river was packed with young people and families for the weekend. They were having a river rodeo. It looked like fun. After a day of rest I got a late start on Monday. After I’d hiked uphill for a few hours the trail split into twenty paths that spread out to an overlook. I had lunch and took a nap. When I woke up I headed down the trail. An hour later I got to a spot where a tree had fallen down across the trail. I noticed as I climbed over the tree that someone had slipped in the mud and then I realized that I had slipped in the mud this morning going around a tree just like this. I felt like an idiot. I sat there and thought about heading the wrong way. Was I back here at the river for a reason? What does all this stuff mean? Cue the 57 year old guy, gray hair and beard, excellent shape that coaxes you along.

It started raining when I got to the trash pile on the top of Cheoh Bald. It was getting dark. The place was a dump, several tents, mattresses, shoes, sleeping bags, coolers, and trash. I ended up solving this riddle. It’s the helicopter pilots setting up a place for their dames. I managed to get a fire lit in the pouring rain and burned it all. I checked the trash for fuel tanks but it was a can of chili that exploded. It seemed kinda spooky this night and this chili bomb was startling. Fortunately I had I slicker on. I manage to get the fire started again and another one exploded. I got it started the third time and finally burned it all except the metal. There was a bunch of creatures running around this night and I didn’t sleep very long or deeply. I met a girl the next day that was wearing a Winnie the Pooh shirt.

I reunited with the band in Fontana Village. The band made for Fontana Dam and decided to stay at the shelter along side the resivore. I left my walking stick leaning against the dam, followed them to the nearby shelter and explained to them that I didn’t like reservoirs. The banjo guy wanted to know how come I felt this way considering the view, all the water in reserve for its agricultural and municipal use, and power production. It almost seemed like I was crazy. I explained to him that when they damned the river it extinguished, possibly never to be seen again, the entire river valley ecosystem. The reservoir than fills up with mud quickly, or at least a lot faster than predicted. The “poisonous chemicals” flocculate or stick to the mud making the mud poisonous. During the last half of its “life” the resivore is so full of mud it hardly reserves water. When the reservoir is full of mud the water will flow over the top of the damn. This will look like a concrete waterfall for a short period and then the water will undermine the dam. The damns will fall like dominoes and all the poisons mud will flow to the sea. Most the people live next to the river I added. They laughed very briefly.

Instead of camping next to the poisonous resivore, I headed up the hill. Someone had thrown my walking stick off the dam and into the resivore. I hiked into the Great Smoky Mountains and spent the night at Mollie’s Ridge shelter overlooking Devil’s Tater patch. I tried hiking along silently, not whistling anything up and immediately snuck up to a huge white tail buck that exhaled in a snort and simultaneously reached top speed. Wow, that was neat! Next I slipped undetected into huge group of monster boars, this is the most dangerous thing left in North America. I let the pigs know that I had snuck up on them. They exploded into action. The next morning I tried the silent sneaky hike again and literally ran into a bear quietly eating berries. I decided that sneaking around in the woods was not cool at all. For the rest of the trip I whistled, sang, and hummed.

When you hike up here in the Smokies you’ll get a quick acid rain lesson. Apparently, all the coal and gasoline we’re burning is creating acid rain that is melting our forests. Insects move in and attack the weakened trees. It was still kind of pretty and the trees hadn’t given up trying yet. When I got to the top of Clingman Dome parking lot and the observation tower there was a fresh box of Krispy Crème donuts for me. I ate half of them right there and took the rest with me and split them with a couple of hikers later in the day.

Met the “Naked Wolf” a large man who insisted I shed my christen name and take another. I’d heard this before. Apparently, “the magic people” adopt a new name for whatever reason. I told them I was Jolley and they all said that wasn’t good enough. At least fifteen or twenty of these magic people told me that I was the most magical person they’d ever seen, they specifically talked about my aurora. It was intensely purply and sparkly a few said. If you never try walking around in the forest for a while you may never know what this is.

Trail Angels appear as if out of nowhere and deliver the goods. Until you’ve imagined a ham sandwich and iced tea lunch while walking through the woods and stumbled out into the next clearing and discovered a roast beef sandwich lemonade meal given to you by a family of picnickers, you might not know they exist. At Newfound gap I found a picnic and a ride into Gatlinburg where another guy treated me to a burger, shake, and fries. I had scheduled a mail drop in Pigeon Forge and got on the Dolly Trolley to get there. I slept on the hill behind the gas station and stepped out to the street in the morning thumbing a ride to the post office. Someone drove by and hurled an insult at me and I laughed. Immediately a white van pulled over and I got in. This guy was cool and actually made bamboo walking sticks. He gave me a ride to the post office and I got my letters and packages.

The bamboo staff fellow suggested I hike back up a side trail to the Appalachian. He dropped me off at Greenbrier Cove and gave me a very nice bamboo staff. I hiked up the Brushy Mountain trail to Mt. LeConte shelter. By law in the Smokies one must camp at the shelters. There are bears out here and they’ve certainly figured out that we carry food. There was a man and his son in the shelter, and I was laying out next to a small fire watching the Milky Way fly bye. It was probably the clearest brightest star show I ever saw. A mother bear and her cub came into camp and I casually got up and headed for the caged shelter. Momma bear chewed up my water bottle. This wasn’t as funny the next morning.

The Boulevard trail led to the main and the boulevard had just recently fallen down creating a rock slide that was neat to see but hard to hike over. At Cosby Knob shelter there were some neat fellows. In the morning I went to the open faced latrine with a complimentary shelter shovel. While in process the fellows shouted to me from the cage that a bear was approaching. The bear scared the shit out of me, but not figuratively. The bear was hungry but I wasn’t carrying any food and imagined that I didn’t taste well as I walked past the bear a foot away. I talked to the bear as I walked by, good morning. The fellows in the cage could not believe this. I packed up my stuff and left while the bear circled the cage, and the fellows trapped inside, fingering the chain link with its paws. See ya fellows!

Just before Intrastate 40 I stopped at Mountain Mama’s and got a hamburger that I’m pretty sure someone bought for me. I’d walk in to a local place with the money for lunch and someone would either be there or show up just after I did. They’d ask what I was doing, and then would buy me lunch. This was the typical scenario, and as I became conscious of what was happening it got to be really funny for me.

The NC State Police wouldn’t let me hike down 40 even though it was closed from a rockslide. I was headed for Fog Hollow off the highway a few miles down from the gap. It looked like I would have to take the long alternate road. As soon as I made this decision I got picked up back at the restaurant by a couple headed that way. They were really nice folks and dropped me off at Fog Hollow. This is where Jen’s parents live, on the farm. This was an extremely pleasant stop and I gained 10 pounds before the week was up. They had some work to do stretching barbwire fences. First I did a few repairs, earning enough money for a pair of sweet Danner hiking boots, and then I was off.

One evening I met a father and son that were headed south at a shelter. They said they were intent on hiking into the night as they were scheduled to get picked up by mom at the gap road today. It was getting dark and the trail I’d just travelled over leading to this place was probably the most treacherous Cliffside difficult section I’d seen and told them so. I recommended they head out in daylight tomorrow. They decided to wait for better visual conditions and prepared to stay in the shelter. I strung my hammock up nearby. It got dark. BOOM! Somebody, likely a local terrorist, had discharged what sounded like a shotgun in our direction from 50 yards away. I rolled out of my hammock and scampered into the bushes and trees for cover. The father nervously asked, “What’s going on?” Somebody’s shooting in our direction. “Where’d you go?” I’m over here in the bushes. He and his son were “trapped” in the shelter, easy pickings. A.T. hikers are easy targets, and some of the locals love “hunting” people. The shelter journals are full of horror stories.

Washing clothes out here is easy, just put them under a rock in the creek for a while. The hard part is getting them dry. This challenge led me to the rediscovery of the Aboriginal Telephone. Take one of the hammock lines and tie up the wet clothes in a very tight ball. Then tie the other line to the ball and spin dry it around in the air above your head. This creates a loud wild humming vibe. The further you get the mass away from you the longer the distance of your Aboriginal Telephone Call. Try doing this till someone shows up. This is really fun and works great! Sometimes you have to let it ring for a while. Wait till you see who shows up. The spirited characters who showed up told me about how they felt as they approached this call, way out here in the middle of nowhere. I only did this in the daytime.

When I returned to the trail I was 10 days behind the 3 man band and was catching up with them. They were leaving messages for me in the trail shelter journals. I was a day behind them and looking forward to reuniting when they left a message that they’d had enough and were getting off the trail. The area of Yellow Mountain is known for its electrical disturbances and as I hiked through it sounded like I was under high voltage power lines such was the crackling hum in the air. I stayed the night at a converted barn/shelter and strung up my hammock next to the barn. After supper I lay in my hammock enjoying the cool mountain night. I saw what appeared to be two headlights coming up the valley towards the barn. I thought it was probably some locals heading up to cause mischief and almost grabbed my stuff and fled to avoid a problem but figured at the rate of their approach they’d catch me in the process of fleeing and decided against it. One of the two bluish lights split and became two for 3 lights coming up now. I figured it must be 3 people on foot with lanterns as it didn’t look like a pair of headlights anymore, plus I couldn't hear an engine.

As the bluish purplish lights got closer I realized there were no humans, just 3 spherical lights about the size of volleyballs. One of the “UFO’s” went around the back of the barn. One of the strange lights went into the barn and illuminated it from within. The third light came toward me, went under the hammock and circled up to come to a stop just inches from my face. It appeared plasma like, or a cloud of electricity in a perfect sphere, almost like a poorly functioning fluorescent light bulb or a magic crystal ball. It paused in front of my face for what felt like a minute and I stared into it. I felt like it was “looking” at me. I’ve read about stuff like this, but to experience it was incredible. To think about how or why this thing came all the way up the valley to have a “face to face” meeting with me just about proved to me that there was no “coincidence” and that things “coincided” for a reason or that there was “something going on”. It made a tremendous impression upon me.

The trail crossed a creek just below a waterfall and I figured I’d try to catch some crawfish. This is as far upstream as a crawfish could crawl and there was a large one under every other rock as I worked my way up to the waterfall. I’d collected about half gallon of them when I looked over my shoulder and saw a guy with gray hair and beard sitting on the other side of the river watching me fill up my sack. He shouted out over the din of waterfall, “Looks like you’ve got this all figured out”! I asked him if he wanted to have some jambalaya for dinner. He couldn’t believe I had all the ingredients but I was getting pretty good at this whole fantasy dinner thing in the woods. His name was “Mala” and he said he picked this name up in Hawaii while living in the jungle eating fruit. He was a Vietnam vet that had spent the last several years hiking the trail. He pointed out that the Florida Trail could be easily reached from the end of the A.T. and said he spent the winter down in Florida. Mala knew a lot about walking around in the woods and we talked about some of this stuff while I cooked up the jambalaya and berry cobbler. He was quite impressed with all the good food I was lugging around. All he had was a few cans of fruit cocktail. I thought this was interesting considering we were surrounded by the fruit that grew on the side of the trail. Mala showed me a couple of scars he’d gotten on his upper lip and told me never to drink from a can that had been opened with a can opener.

After an early dinner a storm rolled in and just before the rain hit a half dozen of the blue lights I’d seen a week before materialized out of the leading edge of the storm. They floated around in the air about two hundred feet above us. Mala said he’d seen them before too and called it St. Elmo’s fire. Elmo is the patron saint of sailors and his fire is usually associated with ships. It was nice to see these balls of light or ball lightning with another person after the up close and personal experience I’d had the week before. We decided to hang out together for a while and made plans to go into Boone, NC the next day. We agreed to meet up at the road down at the gap later in the day. Mala was behind me and by the time he got out to the road I’d lined up a ride into town. We were dropped off at the “Mellow Mushroom” pizza joint and waited for a friend of his to meet us. After climbing around this country for 20 years Mala said he had friends in most places. His friend turned out to be an incredibly gorgeous young lady, Trista. The pizza was great and she invited us to stay at her place for a few days.