The weather did not improve the next day. In fact, as I climbed over Hemp Top Mountain and Big Frog Mountain I endured some serious rain, hail, and a really nasty lightning storm. The two peaks fall in close succession, with Hemp Top to the south and Big Frog to the north reaching over 4200 feet in elevation. I’ve hiked through some bad thunderstorms before, but this one was definitely high in the ranks of some of the worst I’ve experienced on trail. The wind was especially gusty, making me quite nervous about falling trees. I heard several trees snap and tumble down the mountainside. Watching trees fall like this in close proximity is arguably a reason to pack adult diapers as part of my storm kit. The speed at which they fall and the chaos of the damage they cause as their beefier limbs take out other trees and branches on the way down is impressive. There’s no shout of “tiiiiimbeeer!” and little time to get out of the way of a tree that is falling like this. At one point I stopped and cowered under a rhododendron thicket beside the trail. I don’t even know why I huddled under the rhododendron. I think one particularly close lightning crack just made me think that if I kept walking I would become a nature-made shishkabob. It only took me about 3 minutes of not moving and continuing to get soaked before I realized that all I could do, at that point, was to move. And to move FAST. It would keep my body temperature up and get me the heck down the other side of the mountain.
What I didn’t realize at that point was that I was already at the top of Big Frog Mountain – I had passed over both peaks in my haste to move quickly through the storm without even realizing it. I was starting down Big Frog, which at the time I thought must be Hemp Top, when I was finally able to check the map app on my phone by huddling over it. This can be very difficult to do when it is pouring rain, even if you have it in a plastic bag or waterproof case. It’s hard to activate a touch screen when the surface you are touching is wet and your fingers are cold. When I got the app to open and saw that I was already heading down Big Frog, I was quite surprised and felt a sense of joyous relief. It is never a good feeling to be climbing higher during a lightning storm, so the fact that I could blaze my way downhill now was a huge mental boost. People have since asked me, “I heard Big Frog is a really tough climb – was it as bad as they say?” All I can say is “I don’t know” because I ran over it before I even knew I was on it.
I finished that evening at the west fork of Rough Creek with another charming, mossy green campsite beside the stream. It was a repeat of the night before – I was soaked, the rain started up again, and I dove into my tent with the Great British Baking Show, reveling in tarts that would not set and the mistaken use of salt instead of sugar. I can’t say that my spirits were down though. I think that my lower moments were during the actual hiking over the previous two days. Sometimes it was scary due to the proximity of the lightning and other times just very uncomfortable being cold and wet, needing to hike faster to stay warm, and wondering how my feet would hold up after being wet for so long. Getting to camp and getting dry-ish and in my tent kind of left me with a feeling of accomplishment. Yes, those moments were tough, but I got through them, and I was ok. It felt kind of good, and having a little rainy day reward with the downloaded Baking Show episodes was a really nice touch to cap off the day.
I’m starting to hone my practice of using coping tools on trail. I’ve learned that they are incredibly useful for helping me to stay positive during those “embrace the suck” moments. Had I prepped a little better for this hike, I probably would have listened to music or podcasts during those storms, but either way, I’ve learned a few things, such as:
- Whatever tool I will use for coping with rough conditions can’t be something that I otherwise utilize or enjoy during a normal day. It has to be reserved for those difficult moments or it does not carry enough value to boost me up.
- It is valuable to have a reward for camp, whether that be in the form of a coping tool or food item, and that also cannot be the same as something I would normally use or eat. This is where my downloaded Netflix episodes come in handy if I only use them during these tough moments.
It isn’t that I haven’t known these things in the past, but I am definitely guilty of neglecting the value hierarchy and dipping into these items outside of the conditions for which they were intended. For example, I listened to podcasts a lot on the CDT, so when I listened to them during hail storms and snowstorms, there was no additional unlocked value. It was just more of the same. That’s not really an extra boost when I need it. Ironically, what made me get more in tune with this idea of a value hierarchy was thinking about how we have had to work with Lucy the Cat to take medicine. She takes medicine twice a day and we have to get her to take pills. It takes a LOT of extra value to even get her to remotely entertain this exercise, but we finally found a treat that would work. Now she walks right up to us to take her medicine. In fact, she will cry for it. She does this not because she wants the medicine, but because the treat has a high value in her mind, she is willing to take the medicine to get it. Taking medicine is the only way she gets that type of treat. To sum all of this up, I have learned that I am no different than a stubborn cat that likes treats and requires additional motivation to do uncomfortable things.
The next morning was misty, but not actively raining, which was a nice break. I still got soaked fairly quickly, just by way of walking through brush that was hanging low into the trail, pregnant with two days of rain on its foliage. The BMT pops out of the forest at the Ocoee River right at Big Thunder Campground. I have paddled the Ocoee many times, as well as mountain biked on the Tanasi trail system in this area. It was nice to see this familiar place via a different activity. There were trash cans at the campground, so I stopped to empty my trash bag and have a snack. Earlier in the morning I passed a group of Germans hiking towards me on the trail. It struck me as fitting – only Germans would be up, out, and happy hiking along in those conditions. Thinking about it made me want to go hike in Germany. I have been to Bavaria once before for pleasure and the mountain ranges there are stunning. Also, I feel like hiking with Germans would yield some good lessons on fortitude.
I crossed the Ocoee river and the busy road that runs along it, then started climbing again. There was some nice ridge walking in this section. The rain held off and I descended down off the ridge to Lost Creek. This would be my home for the night, with an easy walk into Reliance, TN the next morning. I passed Lost Creek Campground, which had a local presence via a few tents, and chose a site away from others just past an ATV road that crossed the creek, though it looked like it would be a pretty deep crossing for any ATV on that particular day. I didn’t see a soul the rest of the evening. I enjoyed sitting by the water while making my dinner, skipping stones across the creek, and generally just enjoying the fact that the rain had stopped. I tried to make a fire in the fire ring, but was unsuccessful. Everything was just too wet for the level of effort I was willing to put into it. Before calling it a night, I may have strolled over to the creek where all the rocks were to search for straight edges. I flipped a few over – no arrowheads. I wondered if the Rat Pack had returned to Florida yet and recovered from their likely hangovers.
I crawled into my tent before the sun went down and watched a dozen or so ants crawl around on the outside of my tent. I figured they were probably drinking water off of it, but who knows. Ants are such industrious and ambitious creatures – I’m sure they had a master plan of some type. Perhaps they were plotting to carry the tent away with me inside it. “If we can just get this dude back by the nest, we’ll be able to eat for years….” If that were the case, they had ample opportunity, for I fell fast asleep before the moon could arrive to illuminate this great caper unfolding.
The morning walk along Lost Creek into Reliance was stunning. I didn’t film a single bit. It was just too good, demanding my undivided attention. Along the walk, though, I had to pause to check out a hot spot on my right toe. I definitely had a blister forming on the outside of that toe, so I taped it up with leuko tape and moleskin to hopefully prevent further irritation and continued on. I passed a trout fishing outfitter camp on my way in. They had a fire going as it was quite chilly. I’m not sure if they were fishing in Lost Creek, on the nearby Hiawassee River, or both. They waived over at me, which always feels good when you’re walking into a town. I much prefer this to a bunch of houses with no people around and the sound of angry dogs barking….
Webb Brothers Texaco station and outfitter shop is right on trail along the beautiful, wide, Hiawassee River. The river’s name has several different spellings and pronunciations, depending on where you are. In Georgia, we call it the Hiawassee River, probably because it flows through a town by the same name and spelling. You’ll often see it spelled “Hiwassee” in Tennessee, and pronounced accordingly without the removed “a.” The reality is, the people who originally named this river were the Cherokee, so neither of the above spellings or pronunciations is really accurate.
Webb Brothers felt a little like stepping back in time, but in a good way. The folks there were very friendly and hospitable. I had mailed myself a resupply box, so I picked that up and then bought a bunch of snacks and some lunch. They had gas station style boxed sandwiches, so I ate a few of those, and then polished off some Hostess cupcakes. To be extra healthy, I washed it all down with a couple of sodas. While I realize this is pretty disgusting fare, my body develops an intense craving for calories, sugar, and fat on these hikes. That, combined with the typical absence of healthy alternatives means that I don’t really think twice about it and just eat what I think I want. Despite our largely sedentary lives, the human body still knows what to do when it realizes that we are doing something out of the ordinary. The cravings are there for a reason, though I’m pretty sure “Hostess cupcakes” is not specifically coded into my DNA. I’ll take ownership of that poor, but delicious, choice.
Webb Brothers has a nice setup with a swinging bench overlooking the Hiawassee. I laid out my tent, quilt, and a pair of socks to dry in the sun, which was beating down with purpose. As I sat on the bench enjoying the view, a small green lizard creeped along the iron railing towards me. It spread itself out and pushed its body into the railing. I assume this was to absorb the heat, since lizards are cold-blooded. Nevertheless, it looked as if it were enjoying some kind of spa day, with little regard for the fact that I was getting rather close to it to check it out.
I had been thinking a lot about my late father-in-law, Ron. He had passed away almost a year prior the previous summer. While he had been in poor health for a while, the cancer that he passed away from was a rather sudden diagnosis, and his runway of life after that was quite short. It was a sad and confusing time, with the complications of a global pandemic making it hard to know what the right and safe things were to do. Fortunately, my wife was able to drive back to be with him during this period. I stayed back to take care of the cat and homestead. Unfortunately, while I was able to talk with him before he passed, I was not able to see him in person again. When I hiked the Appalachian Trail, Ron enjoyed reading about that adventure and got into following other hikers on their journeys. Talking about exploring was always something we bonded over. In general, he was the kind of person you could talk with forever about just about anything. Up until this point, I hadn’t really processed his death. When he got sick, it was just about getting through it, and doing what I needed to do to support my wife. Then my wife returned, life continued, and work got even more relentless than it had been. This really felt like the first breather where I had the time and space to process his death.
It was natural to think about Ron on trail because I think he understood my need to go on these adventures more than most. He also had a kind of devilish sense of humor. I remember talking out loud to him as I climbed up Hemp and Big Frog Mountains in the lightning storm. “Ron, you’re messing with me aren’t you? No, you would be this cruel. You’d be more likely to materialize as a berserk squirrel or something…. Right? Well, hey, if you can maybe put a good word in with the dude in the attic about maybe not amusing himself by hitting me with one of these lightning bolts…..” I was only half kidding around in my moment of situational begging of the gods. I do feel Ron’s presence on trail sometimes. Maybe it’s a bird that looks at me a little funny, or a squirrel that I could swear threw a nut at me. But I do feel like he’s out there, now hopefully able to see it all for himself.
On this particular morning at Webb Brothers, I was convinced that the sun-bathing lizard in front of me was Ron. I looked around to make sure no one could hear me, leaned forward and quietly uttered “Ron….? Is that you? It’s you isn’t it? It’s you.” The lizard just stared at me, but it DID stare into my eyes like it was sending a message of sorts. The lizard move was totally one that Ron would have made, so I decided it was his way of checking in on me, letting me know he was out there somewhere. A bird appeared in the thicket behind the lizard and announced his presence with a very forceful song, akin to blowing a trumpet for a king’s arrival. I was starting to feel like part of an audition to play St. Francis of Assisi.
It was nice to have a feeling that Ron was somewhere out there in the universe, even if only in memory. My wife would be the first to say that I am definitely not the guy who talks about ghosts and the afterlife and those types of supernatural beings and phenomena with any kind of confidence or admittance that they exist. However, there is no denying that no one really knows what happens when someone passes away, and looking at the wondrous world around us full of amazing adaptations of life, while the end of our human lives may be a very real thing, it’s hard not to think that it isn’t the beginning of some other type of journey, even if our brains cannot possibly conceive of what form that may take on. I know this much – if you asked me if I wanted to trade in my eventual death for a ticket on the immortality train, I wouldn’t take it. Messing with the natural course of things feels like bad juju, and while it would definitely be a stretch to include death in my list of trails that I’m looking forward to seeing sooner than later, I would have a certain kind of FOMO (fear of missing out) if presented with the option to never take that path. Everything in life is shaped by our own lifespans. Ephemerality is an ingrained part of the human condition. Without it, this world would be a different place, and it would be difficult to find meaning in things if they did not eventually turn to dust, including even myself.
My chat with Lizard Ron got interrupted when a guy in a tow truck pulled up. A little scraggly dog hopped out and proceeded to walk over to me, sniffing my shoe and then bumping face first into the swing. “He’s blind,” Tow Truck Guy said, as Lizard Ron decided the room had gotten too crowded and scurried off. I turned around and, I’ll admit, the first thought I had was “wow – he looks just like a tow truck driver in a tiny town like this in the middle of rural Tennessee would look like.” He was dressed in overalls but wore a look of having lived a hard life, the kind of life one would inevitably live in a valley like this. Lots of rain and snow. Cold winters and humid summers. The reality is, thoughts like this say more about me than anyone else. I entertain them, then try to ignore them so that I can have a better shot of really getting to know who someone is. Otherwise there is no learning, no acceptance, no understanding – just life through stereotypes, fears, and superficiality.
I chatted with Tow Truck Guy for a while. Apparently he had grown up in the area. The little dog liked to sit in the cab of his truck and hang his head out the window. Though he couldn’t see, there was definitely nothing wrong with his little nose! I’m not actually sure what Tow Truck Guy arrived at Webb Brothers to do, but it is highly possible it was just a social visit, which is kind of nice. He offered me a ride to where the trail picked up again off the road. I thanked him, but told him that I wanted to have continuous footsteps and walk the trail roads and all. He then left without even going into the store, though I heard him talk briefly with the owner. I often wonder what that experience would be like – to grow up in a very small town and spend a lifetime there. We live in an age of unprecedented mobility fed by the democratization of information, albeit still with barriers for the less privileged. The young guy working the counter at Webb Brothers even told me he was finishing up his degree at University of Tennessee and wanted to find a job where he could work remotely, live out of a van, and travel. He and Tow Truck Guy couldn’t have been more different, but they both grew roots in the same place. Times change, places change, people change. Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, but they always have and always will.
I saw Tow Truck Guy again at another business establishment after I crossed over the Hiawassee. It looked like some kind of restaurant, though I thought that everything on this road other than Webb Brothers was closed. The little blind dog barked at me from the cab. He could still hear me, even if he couldn’t see me. God knows he could probably smell me (and it would still be another week before I would shower). I veered away along the river and rejoined the trail.
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