04/30

After a good night’s rest full of dreams I couldn’t quite remember, we set out on our longest day yet, a 13 mile trek to Clingmans Dome.

Now dubbed “Kuwohi,” it’s the highest point on the AT, with legendary views spanning seven states and a concrete tower that pokes out above the pines. We marched down the trail like the eighth and ninth dwarfs. Hi ho, hi ho, up the mountain we go.

The gummy must’ve worked some extra magic the night before, because for once, I wasn’t in pain first thing in the morning. We made good time and reached the paved tourist path up to the lookout tower. Before heading up, we decided to make a half-mile detour down to the gift shop, hoping to snag a few snacks. My personal mission: steal toilet paper from the bathroom. Having officially run out the night before, I earned my “Wilderness Explorer” badge upon using a leaf for the first time. Not quite Charmin’s “ultra soft”, but not bad.

The paved path was crawling with tourists, all blissfully unaware of the real hike up the mountain. Two very different trails to the same, slightly disappointing destination. At 6,643 feet, we were covered in clouds. The “legendary view” was more of a “legendary fog.” Could barely see 20 feet in front of us, let alone across seven states. A bit of a letdown, but we didn’t have time to sulk, we still had 11 miles to go. Toilet paper and candy in hand, we said goodbye to the pavement and stepped back onto the rocky trail.

As the day wore on, the clouds grew darker. Distant rumbles of thunder foreshadowing the night to come. Cold, wet, and tired, we reached “Icewater Spring Shelter” around 6 p.m.

“There’s room in the shelter for you two!” shouted a bald man in khakis.

“No thanks, we prefer to tent,” Nick replied, unknowingly rejecting a direct invitation from a park ranger.

We walked past him and up the trail, looking for flat ground to set up camp. A few minutes later, the ranger came up and politely reminded us of the park’s shelter requirement. A bit embarrassed we hadn’t clocked the uniform earlier, we nodded along and then basically ignored him. The shelter might’ve had space, but it also had close quarters and a good chance of norovirus. I’d rather take my chances in the rain.

He had no choice but to walk away, leaving us with a passive aggressive remark about our “slow mileage.” Rulebook Rudy shuffled back to the shelter, while we hiked down to meet our friends from the night before.

Laying out our ponchos, we had a Picnic on the grassy mound overlooking the mountains below. A few hours of dinner conversation and multiple rounds of cliffside Uno later, we exchanged socials in case we didn’t cross paths again. Kinda sucks. We finally found a group we really vibed with, just in time to say goodbye.

As the moon beckoned us to sleep, we hung our bags from the bear cables and crawled into our tents. Another long day behind us. Many more to go.