It’s been brought to my attention that the last few posts have sounded a touch “trail-weary.”  An accurate assessment, I must admit.  After over 2000 miles and more than 6 months, it happens to everyone.  No matter how gung-ho you may be at the start, no matter how much you prepare, there will come a time in everyone’s hike when you just want to be done and you wonder what the hell you’re still doing out in the woods.  There have definitely been days like that lately.

I’ve really struggled with the cold weather, especially through the Smokies (or, as we took to calling them, the Great Sucky Mountains).  A couple of nights last week, it was down in the teens, with highs barely clearing freezing.  It makes it incredibly difficult to drag yourself out of the sleeping bag in the morning, the only place you’re actually warm, knowing that you’ll be cold all day long.  This just confirms my belief that I have no interest whatsoever in any sort of alpine or arctic travel.

The Smokies are one of the coldest sections of the AT,
 with much of the trail above 5000 ft. We had some pretty cold
temperatures, heavy frost, and snow and ice.

We came upon this little guy near the top of Mt. Guyot.
He had fallen and couldn't get up, so we lent a hand.

We’re also both struggling a little physically at this point.  Pancho has tendonitis in both Achilles tendons, which has prompted us to cut our miles back dramatically.  He starts strong every morning, then after we break for lunch, his heels tighten up and he ends up hobbling for the rest of the day.  I’ve also had some sub-par hiking days, feeling generally fatigued and out of energy.  The cold compounds the problem, since I don’t feel like eating, drinking, or stopping to rest.  Hiking lower miles and getting to camp and going to sleep earlier, I get easily frustrated, since there’s no good reason that I should feel so exhausted.  But, then Pancho points out that we’ve walked 2000 miles.  There might naturally be a bit of fatigue setting in right about now.

We took an extended break in Gatlinburg, hoping to rest Pancho’s heels and ease the tendonitis (not successfully), and also to celebrate our 12th anniversary.  We bypassed the heart-shaped hot-tub honeymoon suites in favor of the Hilton Garden Inn.  Many thanks to all the great folks there who took such good care of us!

On the tower at Clingman's Dome, the highest point on the AT.
The photo was taken by an Amish teenager--not bad for his
first experience with a camera.

I love these national park structures from the 60s, like the
visitor's center on Mt. Washington. It's like a
Jetsons spaceship landed on the mountain.

I have to say, we were not thrilled with our Smokies experience (see pejorative nickname above).  First of all, you’re theoretically required to stay in the shelters.  Prior to hitting the Smokies, we had only stayed in 2 shelters.  Sleeping in a rodent-infested hut with a bunch of strangers is not what I had in mind when I wanted to do this.  Fortunately, thru-hikers are allowed to camp, if the shelters are full, which they were on our first two nights in the park.  After that, we just tented anyway, assuming that no ranger was going to head up the mountain in sub-20 degree temps to issue tickets to wayward thru-hikers.  A second weirdness about the Smokies: the shelters used to have chain-link fencing and gates across the front.  The park is notorious for bears, and apparently, fencing in the hikers was originally deemed a good way to keep them safe.  As opposed to say, teaching people the proper protocol for camping in bear territory.  There is something perversely hilarious about hikers peering out at the bears, like they’re the ones in the zoo.  If only bears had a sense of irony…. (only one of the shelters we saw still has the fencing in place—the others have been remodeled)  Perhaps my biggest issue with the Smokies is the park’s ridiculous approach to poop.  Historically, there have been no privies at the shelters in the park, though, now many have been added.  Instead, the shelters had a “toilet area,” where you’re supposed to do your business, digging your hole and burying your stuff.  Well, let me tell you, the toilet area is basically a sanitary minefield, with little blobs of TP everywhere.  And, I certainly don’t want to dig beneath the surface, as it were.  What moron thought this was a good plan?  The argument is that privies are expensive to install and maintain.  In the most visited park in the national system, does it really provide a satisfying outdoor experience to have people dodging surface turds?  Rant on park management officially ends here.

A snowy Smokies trail.

Pancho at the Fontana Hilton, the shelter at Fontana Dam.
One of the largest shelters on the trail, it also boasts
a bathroom with hot showers and a great view of the lake.
We had the whole place to ourselves.

At the moment, we are waiting out a nasty, rainy day at Nantahala Outdoor Center.  Since we hit Fontana, on the TN/NC line, I feel like I’m back on home turf.  I’ve been coming up here my whole life, rafting, paddling, and hiking, and it’s like NOC is the first taste of home.  This will be our final post from the field. Friday afternoon, my folks are picking us up on the side of the highway outside Franklin, NC, to head home for Thanksgiving.  We could finish by the 24th (it’s about 135 miles from here), but since we host, we need a few days to pull it all together.  So we’ll have an opportunity to indulge the hiker hunger on Thanksgiving (we may have to have a turkey of our own), then hike it off.  After all of the family leaves, we’ll be back on the trail for the last miles.  There will be more posts after we get back, for the last section and the re-entry to civilization. It may be a week early, but we are both thankful for all of our family, friends and the new friends met along the way—hope y’all have a safe and happy Thanksgiving!