04/20
Easter morning started off right with chocolate candy, trail magic left just outside the NOC.
I have a lot of fond memories tied to the Nantahala and the Smokies, thanks to family trips growing up. It was those summer vacations that first planted the A.T. bug in my head. Being back felt like a bit of a full-circle moment. Little Kevin would be proud.
The “Rivers End Restaurant” was waiting for us just as promised. Leaving our packs outside like a couple of stray dogs, we hastily took advantage of the $15 brunch special: eggs, bacon, potatoes, biscuits and gravy, and of course, sweet tea to wash it all down. We snagged a window seat just in time to watch whitewater rafters and Olympic kayakers whip across the river below us. A little taste of what was in store for tomorrow.
With a few hours to kill, we wandered down to the gravel beach, laid out in the sun, and listened to the rolling rapids and live dad rock blasting from the bar next door. Honestly, we could’ve stayed there all day, slowly crisping like rotisserie chickens. But eventually the clock caught up with us… we had a shuttle to catch.
“Rambling Roots Hostel” was waiting. Bookie, the owner, had met us at the General Store and shuttled us back to her place. A boho-chic café turned B&B that felt welcoming the second we stepped inside. Art and A.T memorabilia hung in every direction you looked. A former thru hiker herself, Bookie was one of those people you feel like you’ve known for years after talking to for five minutes. Warm smile, easy laugh, and a sincerity you couldn’t fake even if you tried. She went out of her way to accommodate us, immediately making us feel like honored guests instead of feral animals.
The common room was already teeming with hikers, new faces, all equally thrilled to be temporarily clean and semi-upright. After a quick tour, we showered, put on some ill-fitting loaner clothes (somewhere between “high school gym class” and “failed magician”), and were shuttled off for a Dollar General resupply.
We took the scenic route back, watching the sun set over the Smokies and catching another glimpse of the wildfire glowing in the distance.
That night, we sat out on the porch, letting the last bit of daylight fade while “Scooby” strummed a ukulele like some wandering Appalachian bard who’d missed his calling at a Renaissance Faire.
Not a bad Easter away from home. A little different, sure, but memorable all the same.