Roan Mountain

We're in Roan Mountain, Tennessee, which is a series of bald mountains, very high altitude 5000-6000 feet, very high altitude for the Appalachians. Views from everywhere span many mountain ranges until the most distant an highest are difficult to distinguish between cloud and earth. And to add to the spectacular beauty, the mountains are full of rhododendron and wild flame azalea, both in full and radiant bloom. It's much like a moor, with low, scrubby brush, shimmering grasses, lichen-covered massive outcropping of rock and 12 ft high rhodos dotted about randomly like grazing bison.

I came here as a child with my grandfather who was a tireless naturalist and tourguide for me. I was very young but it must have been the same time of year because the rhodos were in mad blossom and I reportedly ran about in wild delight to his great pleasure. I've never been back until now, and we drove 7 hours to get here. We're in our tent on the ridge beyond Jane Bald and the wind is madly whipping the tent fly. We barely found a campsite in time, off the trail, a flat area with some privacy. It was almost dark.

Joe lit the stove and I made hot tea for us as the mist closed in around us. We are tired and glad to have cozy sleeping bags and air mattresses. I think we'll sleep well. For dinner we had carrots and hard boiled eggs (double yolk, from a South Boston farmer). It's all about the weight when you backpack, so we'll eat the heavy carrots and oranges early on as well as the eggs, which won't last. Not like it's hot, though. I expect it's in the 40's with the damp wind making it even colder. In the night I took a bandanna out of my pack and tied with around my head because my ears were really cold.

We're still sort of clean and relatively uninjured and not yet sore. There's no way to really train for camping but we aim to take it slowly and enjoy the world, off the grid. I work so hard that this kind of spectacular isolation is soul feeding and restorative. I also love the complete sense of self sufficiency.

The fly is whipping on all sides of the tent with a wild crunching. It's almost like the surf. I hope I wake up to see the sunrise. Doubtful.

A full day of hiking

We woke up with such a heavy dew that it penetrated the tent fly - or maybe the dew condensed inside? At any rate, drops of water were falling on us. Chilly. It was a magnificent morning.

After packing up we we ascended Grassy Ridge hiking through a 15' tunnel of vibrant rhododendron on a deeply rutted path. The ground is so full of organic matter that the trails wear down with use. Water furthers the process. Grassy Ridge's meadows are sparkling with wildflowers in the grass. After about two hours we returned to the AT and descended through a forest for several miles. At the Stan Murray Shelter we met a couple, El and Bill, who are from Banner Elk, where my great Aunt Alla lived. I spent many summers there with her and in her lovely home is where she taught me to weave. El said that some of the people I knew when I was a child are still in Banner Elk! How crazy to connect in a gap so far from civilization!

El and Bill are retired and hike 3-4 times a week! But we were surprised by the number of single hikers we encountered. I doubt there is a constituency at the city jail who hike. I was thinking about that assuming that without summer camp or college near mountains, exposure and access would be limited. Urban kids have minimal opportunity to discover and come to love the natural world. I know know a woman who takes less advantaged children camping - a lot. What a lot of trouble, organizing the food, the water purifier tablets, the route and gear. Such a gift to share with these girls.

The woods are full of a brave, industrious little bird with a grey and white striped tail and a white beak - a junko. I've also heard owls and hawks and seen many birds swoop through the woods and meadows.

We are camping tonight on Little Hump mountain in the middle of a cluster of boulders. All around is the grass bald with occasional trees only. We are so tired we won't even see the sunset tonight. Our packs are too heavy. And the first full day is always the hardest.

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.