The first three to four days of a long hike often find me feeling out of sorts. This is normal for me; it’s my adjustment period. During that time I am usually having fun, but not yet in a groove. I’m getting used to sleeping outside again, tired from walking all day, and still adjusting to the weather and outdoor living. This happens regardless of training, and (I recently discovered) even with hikes that fall in close proximity to each other. I think part of it is the realization that I’ve just left “point A” and need to make it all the way to “point B.” Uncomfortable weather during the first few days will generally exacerbate these feelings, as one might expect, and that would certainly be the case on the Benton MacKaye Trail.
The BMT starts an immediate descent down Springer Mountain to the gap at Three Forks, which as I mentioned already, is where my interest in the BMT really began. It felt magical crossing over Noontootla Creek on the wooden bridge and heading up to Long Creek Falls. I saw an aspiring AT thru-hiker taking a break at the falls, and took a break myself to enjoy it. I’ve been to Long Creek Falls quite a few times, but these old familiar places feel extra special when I’m passing them on a special journey. After Long Creek Falls, the BMT banks west away from the AT and the two trails do not meet again for almost 200 miles until a short section just before the entrance to the Great Smoky Mountain National Park.
The day warmed up nicely and I tramped merrily along, enjoying the occasional mountain laurel bloom. After Long Creek Falls, the trail travels through rhododendron thickets along a small stream before the inevitable climbs begin. Day one was largely uneventful, and despite getting a late start close to mid-day, I made it to my intended destination with plenty of light left: the swinging bridge over the Toccoa River. This bridge is one of the more iconic images one might see when reading about the BMT, and at 270 feet long, it is fairly impressive. It is just that – a giant, wooden, swinging bridge across the river. There are many places to camp along the Toccoa River, though one must accept a certain amount of local traffic. It is a popular place for day hikers, campers, and as a respite for those breaking up the 14-mile paddling trip that is the Toccoa River Canoe Trail. This was all fine with me. I found a good, quiet spot on the south side of the river and threw my pack down. I could see two guys catty-corner across the river, studiously building a fire and setting about with camp chores. They were definitely not backpackers. I filtered some water and chose a spot to pitch my tent.
I had the four corners staked out and was just getting my trekking pole inserted, which provides the essential structure for the tent much like a structural beam in a house, when I felt something brush against my legs and a whirlwind of furry commotion ensued at my feet. It was a dog and it was so quiet I didn’t even hear it before I felt it! I could immediately tell that it was no threat to me. Quite the contrary, it seemed happy as a clam, both to be alive and to have found me. To the dog, I was now officially The Most Interesting Thing on the Trail in the Last 5 Minutes. You can actually watch this unfold in Episode 1 of my Benton MacKaye Trail Thru-Hike YouTube series. After jumping up to greet me, the dog promptly took a few digs at the ground in front of my tent, and plopped down in the vestibule area for a rest. He made visible decisions as to whether or not to play with the tent guy lines as I moved back and forth adjusting them. What you won’t see in the video, is that he hung around for a while. After about 5 minutes when no one showed up to claim him, I walked back up the river bank towards the swinging bridge to see if perhaps he came from that direction. There was no one else on my side of the river, or so I thought. I considered taking him across the bridge for a look, since he was following me wherever I went, but that seemed like a bad idea. You know what they say about getting lost – stay where you are. So, we headed back to camp and he hung out with me for a while.
After about 20 minutes, I heard a faint whistle and the dog took off into the woods. Several minutes later, a young man, shirtless, wearing pants and suspenders, appeared with the dog on a leash. He was camped down the river a ways and apparently the dog had taken off on a little exploratory mission. Suspender Guy apologized, at which point I told him what a nice dog he had. The dog was less than a year old and otherwise well-trained. We then paused to watch as a group of paddlers came careening down the river in their sit-on-top kayaks. One got stuck on a rock and had to scooch back and forth with his body to wiggle the boat free. It was great entertainment, and if Suspender Guy, his dog and I had popcorn and soda it would have completed the picture. I’ve definitely been Stuck-on-a-Rock-in-a-River Guy before, the subject of someone else’s entertainment. There’s nothing you can do but roll with it. I once got caught in a recirculating hole in a section of rapids on the Ocoee River in Tennessee. Basically, I paddled my kayak over a pour-over formed by the rushing rapids flowing over a protruding boulder, and the water on the other side was swiftly and violently flowing upriver. It may seem at odds with physics, but such features in whitewater can literally stop a kayak (and the person in it) and hold it while the rest of the river world travels downstream. They are powerful features, and while inanimate, can feel “mean.” I am trained to paddle out of such situations, but that doesn’t mean the river won’t have its way with me first, and that day it definitely did.
Try as I might, I couldn’t pull myself out of that hole. I leaned downstream and dug my paddle in trying to find downstream-moving water. Working to claw my way out, I flipped over and rolled back up at least three times before finally breaking free, exhausted. The best part was that there was a huge, all-female paddling group that happened to be passing by at the time. One by one the fleet of women in their mid-twenties to early thirties paddled by, until a group of them realized I was spending an uncomfortable amount of time in said hole, floundering like a wet turnip with a large piece of plastic attached to it. They formed a small gathering in an eddy and cheered me on as I continued to buck and ride in my own personal amateur water rodeo. It wasn’t the kind of cheering that an olympian or great athlete receives. It was more of a “bless your heart” kind of cheer. The one where side looks and laughing are involved, as well as at least one person readying a safety rope and another probably wondering if I could swim…. So, I have a certain amount of compassion for gawking at river train wrecks, but one still must gawk. It is the law of nature, and so gawk we did at the paddler stuck on a rock scooching in the middle of the Toccoa River.
The rest of night one was uneventful and I woke to a beautiful morning where my breath hung crisply in the air. I always enjoy seeing the early morning sun rays pushing their way to the forest floor through cracks in the canopy. It creates a rather mystical feel, and this morning was no different. I noticed my shadow cast over the ground, my dark half standing tall and larger than life, and took a picture of it. Why is it that shadows never look like how we picture ourselves? Do they represent the curated lives that we illuminate for others to see? Are we casting shadows at work, in our social engagements, and on social media? Maybe they are trying to show us what we could be without self-imposed limitations and unnecessary facades. Perhaps they are there to inspire us to try harder to be our original selves, whatever that might be. I am not sure, but I know better than to get lost in my own shadow, so I took the picture and got moving.
After the Toccoa River, the BMT starts to climb again and passes the junction with the Duncan Ridge Trail. I thru-hiked the Duncan Ridge Trail in the fall of 2020 as part of a 60-mile loop that combined the AT, BMT, and Duncan Ridge. Up until I reached this junction, I had hiked all of the BMT before. Once I passed the Duncan Ridge Trail, the rest of the journey was all fresh and new. This was exciting to me and put extra pep in my step as I climbed up and down the surrounding ridges.
Day two was hot and I was really grateful that I had brought a sunscreen stick. I walked through a long controlled burn area that had very little cover from the blazing sun. Having the sunscreen saved me from becoming a trail lobster. I passed two older-than-me gentlemen at a gap where I had planned to camp. They were doing a section of the BMT and the first and only people I would see in Georgia with backpacks on. The next day would be their finish in Blue Ridge. I got some water from a small stream at the gap and chatted with them for a bit before pushing on. While I had planned to camp there, there wasn’t enough room for another tent. I would need to find a stealth spot for the night.
It took me a few more miles of rising and falling with the trail. I made it to a dirt road that was familiar and realized that I was at yet another section of the Toccoa River I had paddled before. There is a stretch of river that forms a giant horseshoe bend where you can actually park at the bend, walk a bit upstream, paddle down river to the end of the bend, and walk back to your car and you will have paddled eight miles, with only a short walk back to your car. It’s great! I’ve paddled it twice solo, specifically because it is one of the few runs where one can “self shuttle” and handle the logistics without needing two vehicles. I knew I was close to where the BMT crosses the Toccoa River a second time, and so I needed to head up the hill and find a spot on the ridge to camp for the night. After that, it was just a downhill road walk to my breakfast and resupply point: the Iron Bridge Cafe.
I climbed up the BMT, resigned to finding some kind of spot at the top of the ridge before heading back down to the river. While there were no campsites on the map, usually in places like this that are sandwiched between areas heavily frequented by locals and visitors, you’ll find a campsite somewhere, or at least a decent place to stealth camp. Sure enough, at the top of the ridge I found an area that had a semblance of a fire ring, was relatively flat and lightly covered in leaves. Just down from this were two giant wooden teepee structures. Those were a little creepy and had fire rings in them. I found myself hoping that the local boogeyman wasn’t going to decide to come up and use his boogeyman sheds, e.g. the teepees, to do boogeyman things that night. I was super tired after walking a lot farther than I planned, so my eyelids didn’t give my imagination a chance to see if it was right.
The next morning I woke up bright and early excited about the Iron Bridge Cafe. It’s always great having a breakfast spot on trail. My plan was to eat some hot food, resupply, and charge my electronics. It would be four days before I would reach Reliance, TN, my next resupply location. I made it down to the Toccoa River and started a short dirt road walk on Shallowford Road. There was a self-service trail magic station right beside the river! Trail magic can come in many forms and generally refers to acts of kindness people perform for hikers, such as offering food or rides. I honestly did not expect to encounter trail magic on the BMT. I think the house across the street probably set this up, though I am not sure. There was a place to sit and rest, some water, a food pantry and a gear box. It was pretty amazing! I took a Mountain House freeze-dried meal and a pack of Little Debbie Cosmic Brownies. I wasn’t sure what to expect in terms of resupply goods at the Iron Bridge Cafe, so the Mountain House felt like a solid hedge in case I ended up buying four days’ worth of gummy worms and peanut butter crackers. This little trail magic station really picked me up! I hung around for a bit hoping maybe the responsible party would show up, but no one did.
Not too long after that I crossed the Toccoa River for the second time via a big iron bridge, and on the other side was (logically) the Iron Bridge Cafe. I’ll admit that when I walked in I was a little taken aback. There were some interesting “sayings” on the wall and it was very clear that guns and god were pretty high on their priority list. That said, I’m a fairly open-minded person and I generally find people in these trail cafes and shops to be quite friendly and open to all types, even if it might not seem that way from the appearance of the grounds. This was true for my experience at the cafe – nice people and accommodating. They also run a tubing business on the river. I had a great breakfast burrito there and some coffee and watched a light rain begin as I ate. I was able to resupply with enough food to get to Reliance, though selection was limited. There probably aren’t enough BMT hikers to drive up stock of the most popular foods, but they had some ramen, granola bars, and Pop Tarts. I put a serious dent in their small supply, though they may have had more in stock that I just couldn’t see. It’s also possible that the pandemic had an impact on their ability to keep stock. Either way, I had just what I needed, a full belly, and was able to charge my phone and battery pack. I was grateful for their hospitality and wobbled out like a stuffed turkey into the mist.
I had a fairly long road walk during which I was kind of paranoid about loose dogs since I was walking by a lot of houses and farms. It was also challenging because the shoulder was quite thin in some places, so I had to really watch for oncoming traffic. But, I got through it intact and was rewarded with a beautiful view of Fall Branch Falls not long after the road walk turned back on trail. The side trail to the falls is quite short and it is definitely worth the effort. There were several people with high-grade camera gear taking photos at the base of the falls, and I could see why. Two large cascades came plummeting down in true Southern Appalachian glory. If you’re ever up near Blue Ridge, a tubing trip on the Toccoa River and a trip to Fall Branch Falls would be a great day-long adventure. There is a parking lot close to the falls, making it easily accessible for a quick trip.
I continued on and made it to the main highway into Blue Ridge. I’ve driven up this road many a time, usually when I have been heading to the Ocoee River for some paddling. This time, I got to be the froggy in my own, real-life version of the classic arcade game, Frogger. There are four lanes with a turn lane and cars were moving FAST. I ran across the first two lanes of traffic and stood in the turn lane, breaking the crossing up into two chapters. I was all too aware that I probably looked like a tempting game of “Hit the Hobo” for some of the oncoming vehicles. But, I made it across ok and quickly disappeared back into the woods. I sometimes wonder if people driving by question why a person would be disappearing into the woods like that. If they don’t know anything about backpacking or hiking, I can see how it would seem odd, or like I’m some kind of weird forest burglar or something. I don’t know what one might burglarize in the forest, but I’m sure I could find a squirrel cache or something.
I was now officially on private property. There are a lot of rental cabins in this area, and Sisson Property either owns and/or manages some of them. As I entered the private land there was a little free library box just off trail. My wife and I stop by these frequently on our neighborhood walks back home, so I went to have a look at their selection. Of course, this was curiosity only – I wasn’t going to carry the weight of a physical book!
That evening I stayed at the only place one can legally stay at on this stretch of private land – Indian Rock Shelter – which I believe was established by, or with sponsorship from, Sisson Property. The shelter itself was great – it had a log book and sketch book for hikers to record their stays and leave some interesting “art work” if they so desired, and was very clean. The books made for entertaining reading. There were only two real challenges. The first was that there was no privy. The shelter is surrounded by rhododendrons and trees, but there are cabins and houses that have full view of the shelter. There’s a creek running right in front of it, so even if there were a place out of view to dig a proper cat hole, the water source is too close. So, my first warning about staying at this shelter is, you need to have enough mastery over your domain such that you can delay a read of the proverbial morning newspaper until you hike away from the private land, which takes a while as there is a road walk that follows.
The second challenge was that there was a black carpenter ant nest in the corner of the shelter. As soon as I set my gear down, they began marching out to thoroughly investigate it. Very thoroughly, in droves. It was so bad that I ended up moving my sleeping pad to the lower floor of the shelter, and even then I had ants crawling on me until about 1:30 in the morning. It might have been a little easier if I’d had a sleeping bag, but I was using a quilt, which they could crawl under to get in. So of course, they did. I would wake up to a couple of ants in my quilt crawling up my legs and fall back asleep, only to have the situation repeat itself. At one point I considered setting up my tent, but a trekking pole tent won’t really work inside a shelter, and there was no good place outside of the shelter to erect it. Regardless, I got through it.
Earlier in the evening, an amusing crew paid me a visit. There were some college students from Florida staying at one of the cabins for spring break. They had clearly been drinking for a while and paraded down from their cabin to the trail in front of the shelter, libations in hand. One had a robe on, one was carrying a guitar. They were all very “rat pack-esque.” They came to chat and one guy told me I should look for arrowheads on the trail. He said they were everywhere and that all I had to do was look for rocks with straight lines, then use my trekking poles to flick them over to see if they were arrowheads. I thought to myself “yeah, if I do that, it’ll take me a year to finish this trail…” At the same time, I couldn’t help but think that, if this were true, how was it that I had not seen a single arrowhead on trail, ever? They never played the guitar, but after they wandered on I heard it about five minutes later through the trees, like the last few notes of an off-duty drunken minstrel’s carefree song. It fittingly reminded me of college life – few cares yet in the world and life lived easily in the moment.
The next two days were full of thunderstorms. It was pouring rain when I left Indian Rock Shelter and did not let up until that evening. I had read warnings about a very unfriendly dog on the road walk I would tackle that morning. People wrote about how it ran out into the road and bit them. Ironically, I had been worried about the dog, but now it was pouring rain and thundering and lightning. No dog would be out in this. I smiled to myself as the rain pounded its way into every nook and cranny of my body. The universe has a sick sense of humor sometimes. Be careful what you hope or ask for. You might get it, but it’s unlikely to come in the form you desire. Deliverance from one calamity may come by way of the delivery of another.
After that road walk, I headed back up into the mountains. It was all climbing. Bear Den, Fowler, and Flat Top Mountains. I don’t remember much about them as I was just trying to stay warm with the rain coming down. Luckily, the rain gave me a short break as I made it into camp along the South Fork of the Jack’s River. I absolutely love the Jack’s River area in the Cohutta Wilderness. It is lush, green, full of rhododendron, mountain laurel and moss. It is really stunning, and there are lots of trails to hike in the area. I had just enough time to get my tent set up, but then had to duck back in and cook dinner in my tent as another storm rolled through. I was definitely feeling a bit down about the weather. These journeys are always more challenging when you’re soaked, just as life feels harder in hard times. The challenge (and difference from real life) is twofold – it can be uncomfortable and it is voluntary, and so the temptation to quit rather than continue to endure any hardship can be powerful at times like these. Also, one of my poor choices was not bringing a contractor bag pack liner for the hike. I historically have not used one, but decided I would try it for this hike. Even with everything in dry bags, the gear inside my pack still gets wet in heavy rain. I decided at the last minute not to use a plastic contractor bag as a waterproof liner inside my pack, in which I would then put all of my gear. It only took one solid day of rain to make me regret that decision.
Nevertheless, I was ok, and I had brought a secret weapon on this hike in the form of what I would call a “coping tool.” You see, it’s true what they say about long-distance hiking. Sometimes you have to embrace the suck. But, a little reward can go a long way. While it may seem sacrilegious to some to mix modern comforts with natural environments, I had downloaded a season of The Great British Baking Show on Netflix before starting the hike, just for moments like this. So yeah, I sat in my tent with my wet gear and the rain pouring outside with a smile on my face, watching amateur bakers fret over finicky choux pastry and curdled creme pat. Everyone has at least one guilty pleasure, and that is one of mine, though I guess it isn’t really “guilty” because I feel no guilt about it. It works as a great coping tool to pick me up on hard trail days! I drifted off to sleep that night damp and spent but dreaming fondly of all the baked goods I could eat when this journey was finally over.
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