05/13

It rained through the night. The tent fly was soaked through by morning, sagging under the weight of its own misery. Miraculously, I stayed dry inside, save for the corners that always seem to collect condensation no matter how I pitch the thing. A snail had made its way up the mesh wall and was doing laps like it owned the place. Everything outside was covered in a slick film of mud, which made morning chores feel less like a routine and more like a punishment.

Getting out of bed is a Herculean task out here. After a long day of climbing mountains, the idea of standing up and doing it all over again feels absurd. I linger as long as possible, earplugs in, blindfold on, pretending sleep is still an option. Then reality sets in. Time to get the bear cans.

I do my signature somersault out of the tent, not because I’m agile, but because my feet are so stiff and sore in the morning that it’s the only way out. I hobble into the brush wearing muddy sandals and a blank stare, grab the cans, and make breakfast: a Clif bar and chocolate breakfast essential powder. Then it’s time for the sacred ritual of putting on cold stinky clothes, tearing down the soggy tent, and jamming it all into my pack.

We started the hike with an immediate uphill. Only 0.8 miles, but steep enough that standing up straight felt like a liability. Eventually, the path opened up into a field of tall sweetgrass and dandelions swaying in the breeze. The sun broke through the mountain tops and everything felt still. Peaceful. For a moment, I just stood there breathing. I want to remember this place and I want to return to it, even if only in my head.

The trail led us toward “Big Bald Mountain”. Most of these climbs come with promises of “spectacular views,” and while many are beautiful, just as many are disappointments. But Big Bald… Big Bald delivered. Three rocky, unrelenting miles up, and then suddenly we were standing on top of the world. A true 360 degree view. Grassy and wide open in every direction, nothing in the way. The best view on the AT so far. We lingered, soaked in the sunlight, the space, the silence.

Eventually, someone came up and let us know there was trail magic down below. And not just any trail magic Bojangles. We practically floated down the trail and chatted with the trail angels, soaking in the absurd luxury. After weeks of manifestation, I finally got my chicken biscuit! Then, like clockwork, the thunder rolled in.

We still had four miles left and a thunderstorm hot on our heels. The sky cracked behind us as we raced up the last steep climb of the day, “Little Bald”, burning every calorie that biscuit had promised. Exhausted and soaked in a matter of minutes, we gave up the pretense of staying dry. Sat right down in the middle of the trail to massage our feet in the rain. There was no getting wetter, only more wrinkled.

We made it to “Whistling Gap” by early evening, just in time to collapse. Someone had started a fire, which would have been nice if it hadn’t been fueled by plastic... We ate our instant mashed potatoes amidst the noxious fumes before crawling back into our damp little nylon homes, hoping for rest. Always another big day tomorrow.