#130 Punchbowl Shelter to Cow Camp Shelter - Day 64: ATMM 797.8 to ATMM 812.9
Her tragedy is deeper than mine, far more reaching, permanent, yet when she’s finished telling her story she listens to my story with the compassion of an old friend..........................
5/4/22
Last night’s storm woke me when too-close-for-comfort lightning struck, illuminating the inside of the shelter, which was followed almost simultaneously by shelter-shaking-thunder. Rain fell so hard I began questioning the integrity of the shelter’s roof.
I worried about the two guys who decided to camp in their tents, but figured if it became too dangerous for them they’d run to the shelter. Lightning strikes and high winds, which can knock over trees, can be disastrous to someone in a tent.
I woke to find my shelter partner was already gone. Many hikers rise with the sun or even before sunrise to get an early start, usually hiking a few miles before stopping to prepare breakfast.
The storm was over but it left a dense fog behind. The ground and the air are both saturated with moisture.
I walk over to check on the two guys who slept in their tents. They say the storm that lasted most of the night caused them to get very little sleep. All of their gear is soaked. They regret their choice, wishing they’d have slept in the shelter. If nothing else their gear would be dry.
Wet gear is one of the unfortunate side effects of traveling by foot through the wilderness. It’s one of the many discomforts we learn to tolerate.
Hiking down the foggy mountain, I cross the Blue Ridge Parkway again. Moments later I cross a gravel road with a waterfall beside it. I stop to filter water.
Completely forgetting that the trail crosses the eight hundred mile threshold, I nearly walk past it. I first see the pitiful looking stick formation that seems to read “BOO” but then noticed the impressive pine cone work of whoever took time to gatherer them up and lay them down in proper “800” formation.
About a mile and a half later I walk out of the clouds and cross an old dirt road where I see Trouble loading her pack. She’d stopped here late last night just before the storm hit. I see the dry rectangle on the ground where she slept. We talk briefly before I move on.
Something I later learn about her that influences my 2023 hike is that she doesn’t carry a tent, but rather sleeps on a silver reflective pad and a sleeping pad inside her sleeping bag with a down quilt draped over her. She just lays them out and sleeps wherever - beneath bridges, on old roads, on open mountain tops, with no protection from the elements. In undesignated camp spots with no fear. She’s a true stealth camper. I’m intrigued by this style, and elements of it appear in my 2023 section hike.
The trail runs through the remnants of Brown Mountain Creek Community, where a former slave gained his freedom after the Civil War, and then purchased over two hundred acres of land here in the Appalachian Mountains. He built a community with other former slaves. He eventually bought five hundred more acres of land.
The trail parallels the perfect stream in this area, fifteen feet wide and flowing in that perfect range somewhere between trickling and rushing. Every stone appears to have been deliberately placed by the hands of an artist. The sun beams work their way through the leaves of the trees seemingly for the sole purpose of sparkling on the water.
In contrast to this beauty, your buddy Sprawl a mess.