We sat silently eating lunch at the picnic table with a thruhiker we hadn't yet met. It was a bit awkward. I guess no one had the energy to meet someone new.
After half an hour of avoiding eye contact we headed to "the captain's," a trail angel who offers free drinks, wifi, and a place to camp. The best part was that his house was located across the creek, and in order to get there one had to ride on a zip line swing.
I glided to the middle of the creek and watched the waters swirling inches from my boots before pulling myself by the rope over to the opposite bank. We didn't stay long, and soon took another exciting ride across the creek.
Then came the struggle over an extremely rocky trail; it was the longest three miles of my life. I looked over to my right to see a pristine flat backcountry road running parallel to the trail. What?! Why not send us hiking on that? There were no cars, so someone should use it, and it would save so much time and pain. A few times the trail turned toward the road, giving me hope that the trail makers had finally gotten their heads screwed on straight and would send us along the road, but then the trail would turn away, causing ever more frustration as I stumbled along, the road mocking me. Finally we crossed it and headed up the last of the hill to a view and a campsite where we settled in for the night.
The day was broken up into perfect six mile chunks with shelters, making it easy to stay motivated and on pace. We were headed through a field when thunder rolled overhead. Why were we always in terrible exposed spots when it stormed? I ran the remaining length of the field into the trees as the heavens opened up and it started to pour. I suggested hanging up my tarp and waiting out the storm before crossing the next open space. Both of us were content to sit under the makeshift shelter as the rain blew past.
We emerged to face the stupidest hill ever. Apparently Virginia doesn't believe in switchbacks. Once we got to the ridgetop it was easy going, and soon we were at the cutoff to the shelter, which was .4 miles off trail, down a steep path. No way. We set up camp right there at a tiny cleared area. As we cooked dinner, the guy we had eaten the silent lunch with came up the hill and sighed. "Aw man, you guys took my idea! I went down to she shelter for water and was going to camp right there," he said, pointing to where Firefly's tent lay. "There's still room! There's still room... behind that log," I assured him, preferring not to camp alone with only Firefly. He sat down and pulled out his guidebook. "Sorry we took your spot," I said (though it was actually Firefly who took his spot). "It's no one's spot," he chuckled and then moved on. He had a point.
A heavy fog settled over our camp as I climbed into my hammock, and soon my stuff was damp. Then the rain started, and the storms. Lightning cracked two seconds away from our ridgeline camp, and brought with it the usual uneasiness that we might get struck. Firefly claimed that was the worst storm we had been in, but I was still more scared in the Smokies.
We slept in, as only natural after a potentially life threatening experience. A steady stream of hikers came up from the shelter, claiming how we were smart for camping there and not having to make the climb up the hill. I was puzzled as to why they didn't camp there as well if they all thought it was such a good idea. Everyone was a buzz about the storm the previous night.
We passed the silent lunch hiker down the trail, taking down his tent. "How about that storm last night!" He shouted to us, grinning like we were old friends.
After an ankle breaking ridge walk across slabs of rock we came to the eastern continental divide. Under the signpost sat four bags of trail food. Though they were clearly some backpacker's rations, they were arranged perfectly in a way that suggested to take them. I assumed someone was tired of carrying it so they dumped it. So I dug in. Firefly was more cautious. Maybe someone would come back for them. Maybe we shouldn't take anything.
I looked at her in disbelief. Here we had a wonderful gift lying at our feet. If it really was someone's food they were coming back for, they would have hidden it in the bushes or up a tree or behind a rock or under a log. Not by a sign on the trail for all to see. I shouted into the empty forest to make her feel better, "is this anyone's food?" No reply. Eventually the lure of food was too strong and she gave in, grabbing a protein bar.
Down the hill we met Rick, a wonderful trail angel, who had a lot of donuts. We ate three and took the remaining dozen to go because he needed to leave. The donuts were worth their weight, especially because Firefly carried all of them.
Though it was getting late and we still had a ways to go, we decided on a whim to soak our legs in the creek. It was hot, and the cold water felt amazing. Our soak was cut short with distant thunder so we continued on. Many people were hiking late, for there were four or so hikers getting water at the stream before the shelter. This shelter was far off trail as well, so we joined the silent lunch hiker at a small camping area. He had made a fire so I took some time to dry out and warm up. Finally we had a conversation, the silence broken for good. I still don't know his name.
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