Homeward Bound, the Rattler, & the Bear
It was raining lightly when I awoke at Whiterock Gap. I love the way fog rolls through trees in the mornings, hiding some and revealing others with little puffs of smoke. Today would be a big day. It was day four of the hike and I would cross into Georgia, finishing the North Carolina portion of the Bartram Trail. Homeward bound I was! From the gap I climbed up and around the north ridge of Jones Knob. I think there would have been some good views, but the mountain was blanketed with fog and mist, so I saw nothing but whiteout. It was alternating between misting and light rain, and as I pushed through the overgrowth, the plants released their tiny buckets of water onto my legs and shoes. My feet made squishing noises as I stepped along, revealing to all that a large, soggy mammal was tramping around their mountain hideaway.
I stopped to fill up on water shortly before crossing highway 106. I took a little break at the stream, dropped my pack, grabbed some water, and tried to rinse my legs off a little. I had pushed through a lot of thick brush coming down the mountain, so I did a quick tick check. Still nothing! I was kind of amazed at this point that I hadn’t found a single tick so far. I wasn’t using any bug spray. I did treat my shoes/socks/clothes with permethrin, but I was hiking through shoulder high brush relatively frequently. Maybe I was still just a little high in elevation for ticks, or maybe they were more concentrated on other game trails. Regardless, I was happy that yet another check came back clean.
After I crossed highway 106, water was suddenly abundant. I passed over numerous streams, some of which had beautiful cascades that just seemed to pop out of nowhere. The Bartram Trail has a rather unceremonious crossing into Georgia just north of Hale Ridge Road, so when I got to the road I attempted to fashion my own border crossing sign in the dirt with sticks and pinecones. I noticed that once I entered Georgia, the trail was definitely a bit better maintained in that there were far fewer overgrown sections than I encountered in North Carolina.
After Hale Ridge Road, I passed numerous places to camp, small creeks, and a fantastic surprise view of what I think was Spoonauger Falls as I got closer to Rabun Bald. Prior to the falls, however, I came upon another rattlesnake stretching itself across the trail. The sun had finally come out for a little bit, and the snake was basking in it, as reptiles do. The trail was quite steep to my right, and full of heavy overgrowth and impassable to my left. Going around the snake wasn’t going to be possible. Its head was pointed into the brush, with its body elongated over the trail, its rattle clearly visible, but calm. Honestly, I probably could have just stepped over it and been fine. It was not agitated or in a striking position. However, stepping over a rattlesnake is still a bit out of my comfort zone, if I can help it. I looked around and, as luck would have it, found a long stick that was roughly an inch and a half thick at the base. It was about ten to twelve feet long, so I decided to use it to gently “urge” the snake to move off of the trail. I slid the stick over from a safe distance away and gave it a little nudge. Nothing. I gave it another nudge and, boom, it was definitely awake! It got a little agitated, moving slightly towards the stick, investigating and ready to strike, but realizing it was just a stick. With a little more soft coaxing, it finally relented and slithered about three feet off the trail into thicker brush, with its head pointed safely away from the trail. It did not dig in and try and coil, and it never rattled, probably because I was far away and very gentle with the stick. To be on the safe side, while I’m sure it looked silly, I got a running start and kind of did an air jump past the spot where the snake had slithered off the trail. Whew! Crisis averted, I marched on towards Rabun Bald.
Rabun Bald has a viewing tower and is accessible to day hikers. When I arrived, the first thing I noticed was that there were a lot of flies buzzing around. I have noticed this on balds before, though I am not sure why. I’m sure it has something to do with the ecology of the balds, perhaps providing a suitable habitat for flies to complete their life cycles, but I do not know for certain. I climbed the short flight of stairs up to the tower and was able to get a pretty nice view, although I could also see a big storm rolling in (or away, it is often hard to tell!). I could feel my wet shoes and feet start to release steam as the sun beat down on them now that I was out from under the trees. I decided to have a snack, but ended up shoving it into my mouth quickly and moving on because of the flies. I still had a little ways to go before making my miles for the day and I was hoping to get to camp before the looming storm caught up with me. I was tired, though, and my feet were burning. I couldn’t tell what was going on with them, but the tops of them felt like they were on fire. I also had an interesting wound on my calf that was oozing some kind of yellowish liquid. My guess was that I had gotten ripped up by a briar and had a reaction to it. I considered the possibility of poison ivy, but historically I’ve been very resistant to ever having reactions to poison ivy. This wound itched a little, but not as much as I imagine poison ivy would. It appeared to be a more isolated cut from some overgrowth. Either way, I was looking forward to examining all of my wounds further once I finished walking for the day.
I originally thought I would find a place to camp at Salt Rock Gap, but I didn’t find a water source there, which I now needed. I stopped to relieve myself, and as I finished and walked on I stumbled on a large black bear about 40 feet away. It saw me at the same time and bolted off, unfortunately in the same direction as me, parallel to the trail. It was one of the largest black bears I have seen in the wild yet. It had more of a cinnamon color to it, and when it ran off it tore through the woods at an incredible pace, crushing small saplings in its path. I definitely wasn’t going to camp there now! I wasn’t excited that it was heading in the same direction as me. I kept hiking and singing to make sure the bear knew where I was. About a minute later I heard it crashing through the brush away from me yet again. I assume that it ran in parallel to the trail and eventually stopped to see if I was gone, which of course, I was not. I hoped that this time it was headed in a different direction. I didn’t hear or see it again, but I was left with the feeling, justified or not, that it might not stray too far and that I might be camping (and eating) near it later that night.
I now felt like I needed to hike farther away to be safe. I decided I would continue around the next mountain and head towards Wilson Gap to camp. I picked up my pace as the sky was darkening. It was getting late and the storm was now close with little daylight left. My feet throbbed as I pushed myself to hike faster, all the while talking to myself and singing little songs to hopefully keep the bear from trying to ease back closer to my position. I got to a place near Wilson Gap that had several tent spots and a shallow, spring-fed creek, with a pool at the back where the water came out of the ground. This would be home for the night. It started to sprinkle as I set up my tent, raining harder as I pounded the final tent stakes in. I needed to filter water, but I wasn’t going to make it. I dove into my tent as the heavens opened up, and sat there, damp, worn out, and hungry. I didn’t want to mess with my feet until I was ready to stay in my tent for the night, so instead I decided to cook dinner. Normally I wouldn’t cook around my camp after just having seen a bear a few miles back. But, with the rain pouring down, I really didn’t have much choice. So, I cooked a rice side in the vestibule of my tent, and ate it while sitting on my sleeping pad. I’m not going to lie – it felt great sitting there eating a hot meal in my tent, protected from the elements and listening to the sound of the pounding rain. It rained so hard that condensation from the inside of my tent was spraying my face, knocked loose by the force of the raindrops outside.
I was fairly sure that the bear earlier was probably sniffing my rice side in the wind. It probably knew I was having the Spanish Rice flavor Knorr side with some textured vegetable protein. I talked loudly to myself in my tent, as if that would really change the situation. After an hour or so, the rain slowed to a sprinkle and I climbed out of the tent to pee and filter water. As I was finishing filtering water, the skies once again opened up, having only given me a fifteen minute window to do my business. I dove back into my tent once again, this time with no intention of getting back out. Of course, at this point I realized I had not hung my food bag yet. I would have to do that later when the rain eased up. I was fading fast and knew I couldn’t stay awake much longer, so I set about examining my feet. I discovered that the burning was from abrasion. All of the moisture and grit in my socks had rubbed the tops of my feet and toes raw, in addition to giving me several relatively benign blisters. I wanted to disinfect them with a good searing from my hand sanitizer, but at this point I also realized that I had lost my hand sanitizer! Retracing my day, I figured that I must have used it when I stopped to gather water before crossing into Georgia and forgot to put it back in my pack. I was ticked with myself for doing this – I hate accidentally littering on the trail. I also now had no way to sanitize my hands. Oh well, the hike was almost over – I would be fine. Since my sanitizer was by a noticeable water source, I hoped that another hiker might pick it up at some point. And this, my friends, is one of the reasons I pick up trash on trail. Not only is it my responsibility, but I’d like to think that what goes around comes around when accidents happen.
Circling back to the topic of routines from chapter 1, while too much routine can be inhibiting, losing items on trail is a great example of where routines are useful. Having a gear check routine after rest stops probably would have helped me avoid leaving the hand sanitizer behind. I also find that camp setup and takedown routines really help me to increase my efficiency and speed at making and breaking down camp. This time is valuable, especially when I am hiking long days, it is raining, or when I want to journal or film before bed. Routines definitely have an incredibly useful place in hiking, and in life. Perhaps the litmus test for whether a routine is healthy or inhibiting could be asking the question: “does this routine add to, or detract from, my happiness?” If the routine is additive to happiness, then it is healthy. If the answer is that the routine does not add to happiness, or detracts from it, then it warrants scrutiny. Why have it? Of course, we could go down the rabbit hole of whether our routines impact others, but that is a whole different ball of wax. My point around routines can simply be summed up as: they are useful and even drivers of happiness, unless and until they reach a tipping point whereby they become inhibitors to living our best lives, whatever that may mean for each of us.
I decided to leave the foot doctoring until the morning. That way my feet could breathe, dry out, and hopefully some of the raw abrasion would heal on its own overnight. The storm picked up as I lay there rapidly drifting into dreamland. I watched lightning light up the sky through the veil of my tent, each time illuminating my insignificance in this world. I hoped that the thunder would dissuade my bear friend from following the scent of the dinner I cooked in my tent. I still had my food bag as well and knew I would fall asleep before the storm let up enough for me to find a tree to hang it from. Fortunately, I use a hermetically-sealed Opsack that prevents food odors from escaping, and then wrap that inside my Zpacks food bag. Times like these make me glad that I use the Opsack. I stuffed it all inside my pack and hoped for the best. Within minutes, I was sound asleep.
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