Camping on a bald

After a lovely day of hiking and chatting with seeming herds of young men (campers mostly) all head to the old red barn, we returned to our favorite campsite overlooking Jane Bald. I set up the tent and Joe put together the chairs which use our air mattresses for support. We sat and watched the clouds and occasional tiny hikers thread their way along the meandering patch over Jane Bald through the rhododendron and the wild flame azaleas. Joe puffed on a cigar. It was bliss. We sat on a rock outcropping and I had consolidated the coffee pot and cups, the food bag and the trash bag as well as the stove into a kitchen area. The massive slab of rock was in different levels, creating footrests and cook top and there was a nifty and protected fire pit, blackened with use.

We decided to gather wood, not a simple task on a bald, but we collected a nice assortment of sticks and twigs. After about 25 matches (and with only about 15 left) we gave up and left the firewood for campers with better matches and less wind. It was a beautiful campsite, but very exposed.

I cut up some carrots and put them in a pot to cook and then added water and the package of chicken soup. It was about halfway cooked when we felt giant splats of rain. What a surprise - we had watched the weather from a 360 degree vantage and were pleased to seem storm clouds pass 45 minutes ago and hadn't looked up since. Joe wasn't waterproof, so he sprinted to the tent. I grabbed the food bag and followed. But I didn't turn off the soup. I assumed the rain would blow over but we sat in the tent, watching the sides suck and heave under a deluge and high winds.

So now we're in the tent, worrying about the liquid gas from the stove continuing to feed to the burner even though the flame is undoubtedly out. I wait until the lightening is more than 10 miles away and dash out to turn if off. I leave the rain soaked soup behind.
Back in the tent we adjust, move the wet clothes to one end and play some gin rummy with the head lamp.

Morning came with no reduction in the torrent. Can you see the rain and wind straining the tent in the picture? No strain on Joe! We broke camp in sheeting rain, packing out our gear and several additional pounds of water. My boots were full of water in the morning, but they had been wet for days, anyway. Incredibly, even in the dense fog and unrelenting rain, we encountered enthusiastic hiking groups with ponchos and sticks asking us if we had spotted the elusive Gray's Lily.

Down at the parking lot it struck home that we were 40 miles from our car. And in spite of the AT book claim there was no cell signal on the ridge top or even at the parking lot. I left Joe with our packs and took his cell phone up the hill toward the ranger station. In about 1/4 mile I got a signal and began to call for ferry help. Nothing but voice mail or busy signals. I left messages and left the pocket of cell phone reception to return to Joe. Suddenly I heard a racket behind me and saw an odd character. About 70, the man had on gaucho pants a cammo raincoat and work a necklace of dog tags, key s and a flash drive. Around his waist was a belt that jangled with dozens of bells -"my bear bells" he said. Lou was his name, or his trail name The Joker. A part of a local hiking club, Lou was certain that one of their members could take us to Hampton, Tennessee. So we waited and talked with many others around - other hiking clubs, including the Old Farts Hiking Club. Funny guys.

I went down to another part of the lot and began talking with a man about a hawk-like bird we had seen the day before - solid black like a crow, but bigger. He replied, "that's a raven; you don't see crows above 4,000 feet." He immediately offered to ferry us to Hampton, most generous since he lived in North Carolina.

So off we went in his Honda Element. Chuck is a trauma nurse who moved to the area for the cool elevation and the hiking. We had a delightful conversation and 30 minutes later he dropped us off at the McDonald's just as the rain resumed. with our remaining $4 we bought two cups of senior coffee and an order of large fries. Then we called Laurel Fork for a ride.