Walk on the Wild Side

An Expedition of Discovery Along Georgia’s Appalachian Trail

By Heather KW Brown

    I can’t recall how many days had passed or even my exact whereabouts in Wyoming when it happened. All I know is that somewhere between when we started at the snowcapped top to the moment, days later, when we rounded the bend into a meadow of colorful wildflowers, I realized how gratifying being in the woods could be.
     Elemental in a sense, yet too elusive to pinpoint, the whole attraction seemed strange coming from someone who grew up living seven minutes from the beach. The only wilderness I could access at the time was the Atlantic Ocean — a liquid forest as far as the eye could see.
     It’s true, for me, communing with nature entailed seashells and sand; my sense of adventure stopped just shy of becoming a camp-under-the-stars-and-potty-in-the-woods kind of girl. Yet, there I was schlepping a backpack teetering near 45 pounds through the Wild Wild West with a friend who had somehow convinced me (obviously during a temporary hiccup of sanity) that this would be “fun.” My definition of fun had to shift ever so slightly, of course, but much to my surprise, it was. We talked, laughed, even sang our way up and down the trails, while other times, we quietly hiked yards apart, alone but together. Oftentimes these were the best moments, with our minds allowed to amble aimlessly as our feet mechanically followed the path set before us.
     Now, with trails in California, Oregon, Wyoming, Montana and North Carolina many miles behind me, I decided to dust off my hiking boots and hit the trail again. And I do mean the trail.

Photo courtesy of Julie Clark

The Longest Yard
     The Appalachian National Scenic Trail, commonly known as the “A.T.,” is a 2,100-mile footpath carved in the wilderness that stretches through 14 eastern states from Springer Mountain in Georgia to Mount Katahdin in Maine. Along the way, it meanders purposefully through more than 60 federal, state and local parks and forests, tracing the majestic ridgeline of the Appalachian Mountains.
     A Massachusetts regional planner and forester for the U.S. Forest Service by the name of Benton MacKaye (rhymes with eye) is credited with the original idea. The concept, as he envisioned it, was a path interspersed with planned wilderness communities. The part of his idea that caught on was the notion of a 1,000-mile footpath that would run from the highest point in the Northern Appalachians (Mt. Washington, New Hampshire) to the highest point in the Southern Appalachians (Mt. Mitchell, North Carolina). Over time, the route changed to what it is today. The project opened as a continuous trail in 1937, and in 1968, the Appalachian Trail became a National Scenic Trail, essentially a one-of-a-kind linear national park.
     What makes the A.T. so different from other national parks is that it was developed and continues to be maintained by volunteers. Locally, that responsibility rests on the dedicated shoulders of the Georgia Appalachian Trail Club (GATC). Created by volunteers with a passion for the trail, the club provides a variety of recreational outings for its members, but most importantly, it manages the A.T. and educates the community on ways to protect it. Currently about 600 members strong, only about 50 can be credited for keeping the trails in shape.
     Superseded by the 2,650-mile Pacific Crest and the 3,100-mile Continental Divide trails, both out West, the A.T. will always be the first and arguably the most popular long-distance trail. Georgia has the unique distinction of being home to the trail’s southern terminus and has become the ideal starting point for the thousands of people setting out to hike northbound each year. Anyone who hikes the A.T. from end to end is considered a “2,000-miler,” while “thru hikers” are those brave souls attempting to complete the A.T. in its entirety in a single season. Then, there’s “section-hikers” who tackle parts of the trail at a time, go back to life elsewhere, and pick the trail back up months or years later until they finish. And finally, there’s me, the day hiker.

Adventure on the A.T.
     I’d love to say — for the sake of research, of course — that I set out to hike Georgia’s portion of the A.T. But I won’t, because I didn’t. Besides, I prefer to earn my hiking stripes by the day instead of by the mile, and because “I” was technically a “we” as my 7-month-old son came along for the adventure via Baby Bjorn from which he could comfortably see the world and wildly kick his legs if I slowed down too much.
     Truth be told, as we set off on our first-ever A.T. outing, slowing down was the least of my worries. It had been a long time since I’d been in the wilderness and the A.T. is, after all, not merely a walk in the woods. What if I got tired or ran out of water? What would I do if I spotted a bear or crossed paths with a snake? And could I still bring myself to use Mother Nature’s resources if another option wasn’t available? One thing is for sure, if I saw a bear or a snake, I’d run like the wind and all other “concerns” would assuredly render themselves irrelevant.
     Luckily, David Nation, the information director for the GATC, and his 10-year-old son Justin led the charge, serving as our guides for the day. The 2-mile roundtrip excursion from Woody Gap to Preaching Rock was an ideal introduction for an out-of-shape new mom such as myself — no hurdling over fallen trees, no jumping over streams, and no bushwhacking of low-hanging branches.
    “We have this wonderful resource practically in our own back yards, and most people never take advantage of it,” said Nation, who did his first day hike in 1978 and has been hiking the A.T. ever since. He’s hiked all 76 of Georgia’s A.T. miles several times, in addition to the Approach trail and side access trails, which aren’t counted as part of the A.T. “It doesn’t matter if I’m out for a day hike or a weeklong backpack, there is always something special about spending time on the trail. The fact that it’s there for anyone who takes the time to use it, makes it an opportunity that shouldn’t be missed,” he continued.

Photo courtesy of Winton Porter/Mountain Crossings

Life on the Trail
     Out on the trail, you can expect a few things. Expect to see something you never thought you would. Expect to chat through the silence on the way up and savor it on the way back. And don’t be surprised if you meet people by the name of Bean, Briarpatch or Big Stick.
     Hikers on the A.T. typically have a trail name; some are self-named, while others are given, but they almost always tell a little something about its owner. My mileage, the grand total of which hovered around a mere 4 miles after two visits, was hardly worthy of a trail name. But, with a slight grin, Nation said his moniker was Briarpatch “and if anyone asks how I got it, all I’m going to say is that it looked like a shortcut on the map.”
     Speaking of shortcuts, normally hikers reach Springer Mountain via the 8.5-mile Approach Trail from Amicalola Falls State Park, but alternate (ahem, shorter) routes are available off of U.S. Forest Service Road #42. Careful not to rack up too many miles too quickly, lest I graduate into a hiking category that is quite honestly too big for my boots, I opted to check out the coveted summit of Springer Mountain from less than a mile away.
     This time, I tagged along with a different guide and dragged another novice with me. My guide was John Cavender, a GATC member since ’97 who has logged some 400 miles on the A.T., many of which he was, get this, paid to hike. The novice was none other than my editor, who although she has a fondness for frogs, otherwise steers clear of all things icky and enjoys a good adventure so long as the term “roughing it” doesn’t apply.
     Every state along the trail hires a ridge runner who is paid to hike the length of the trail during the season, which typically runs from the end of March through mid-November each year. “I always thought it would be a neat thing to do. And I have an obliging wife who said if you think you can do it and they’ll let you do it, then go for it,” Cavender laughed. “Plus, it helps keep me in shape and it’s a lot of fun.”
     As the ridge runner in ’02 and ’03, Cavender’s duties primarily consisted of providing general support to hikers and campers, including giving directions and educating hikers on the importance of minimizing their impact on the trails and its resources. He also reported the conditions along the route and its trail-related facilities to the GATC.
     Cavender routinely hits the trails with a heavy-duty forest service radio and an oversized bamboo stick. “This stick has kept me from falling several times,” he said, adding it’s also how he earned the moniker Big Stick. Created just wide enough for a single hiker to pass at a time, the A.T. is not a smooth, dirt path as some people may assume. It’s riddled with rocks and tree roots, often drawing your attention back to the rugged path and away from the colorful array of wildflowers that lace the trail.
     As we hiked, Cavender stopped occasionally to educate us about life on the trail. We learned, for instance, that a white blaze on a tree means you are, indeed, following the A.T.; a blue blaze indicates a nearby water source, shelter or privy. Neophyte hikers take note: a water source on the trail typically refers to a spring or stream, the levels of which can vary drastically.
     Shelters or “lean-tos” are spaced anywhere from 5 to 10 miles apart, and each site offers cleared areas for tents, as well as a privy and bear cables. Now, allow me to elucidate the point behind these bear cables. They are not, as you might assume, to trap a pesky black bear who happens to be en route to your food stash. Rather, they were designed for hikers to suspend their “smellables,” as Cavender would say, to prevent unwanted four-legged visitors from coming to the campsite. Not that it will provide too much relief, but should you encounter a bear during your stay, just remember it’s only a black bear, which is, by nature, not aggressive. The army rangers who are based in the vicinity at Camp Merrill, on the other hand, are in training to be precisely that. I only mention the rangers because they often scurry through the forest during odd hours practicing their ambush skills, and there’s a good chance they’ll be carrying weapons.
     Also remember that the A.T. is designed to get you out of the rat race and into nature. When nature calls while on the trail — and it will — you’ll be happy to note that a privy is a manmade structure that to all intents and purposes is an outhouse. And while shelters are heaven-sent during heavy storms or freezing cold weather, should you read this article and become inspired to camp overnight, I highly recommend sleeping under the stars and leaving the shelters for the more experienced hikers. (Don’t ask; just trust me on this one.) Suffice it to say, it’s there to keep you out of the elements, and like it or not, there’s a chance you and your fellow hikers won’t be the only creatures in there.
     Larger shelters can hold up to 14 people while the smaller ones hold about half that. Etiquette dictates that space is available on a first come, first serve basis, yet according to Cavender, “When there’s bad weather, there’s always room for one more.” Going hand-in-hand with this philosophy are the outdoor ethics known as Leave No Trace, which basically encourages campers and hikers to leave the trail cleaner than it was upon arrival.
“It doesn’t matter how good the intentions are, we don’t want people to leave anything behind,” Cavender said, recalling the story of a ridge runner who found an office chair at one campsite and ultimately had to carry it out of the woods over his shoulders like a hunting prize.

One-Stop Shop
     Part store, part hostel Mountain Crossings, located at Neels Gap 30.7 miles from Springer, is the only place along the A.T. where the trail runs through a manmade structure. Yes, the trail runs, quite literally, through the building. Built in 1937, the building now known as The Walasi-Yi Center originally served as an inn and restaurant. It was placed on the National Register of Historic Places, and in 1983, it became an outfitter that services hikers.
    “I always ask people why they’re hiking the A.T. and a lot of them really don’t know,” said Winton Porter, who bought the shop five years ago. “There’s a mystery of the outdoors for people — the wilderness, the fresh air, the quiet — take your pick. The thought of living off the land, drinking out of puddles, it’s intriguing.”
     With thousands on their way to Maine and thousands more passing through on a day or weekend hike, Mountain Crossings is easily the most popular retreat for hikers on the A.T. in Georgia. And unlike anywhere else on the trail, hikers have the opportunity to lighten their load and have it shipped back home.
    “We see between 1,500 to 2,000 hikers a year and ship about 9,000 pounds of gear back every year,” Porter said, estimating that, on average, only about 10 to 12 percent of thru hikers actually make it to Maine.
     Even non-hikers should plan to cross paths with Mountain Crossings at some point, if for no other reason than just because it’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen. The inside of the shop has two faces: one dedicated to regional pottery and local artists, the other dedicated to outdoor enthusiasts. And not that you could, but whatever you do, don’t miss the “Museum of Old Soles.” “Some people collect stamps. I collect boots,” Porter said proudly, adding that there’s never a dull day around his shop. “We try to get boots with at least 1,000 miles on the A.T. We have just over 300 boots right now. I’m the dog that caught the car and I know it.”
     It’s a humbling experience to look around his shop and see these “old soles.” Mainly because it’s only then that the preconceived notions of hiking the trail dissipate. Many of these thru hikers are ordinary people who have accomplished something extraordinary. Not a brawny, muscle-strapped man, but a single mother of two, a blind man with his dog, a recently retired husband or a couple celebrating an anniversary.

Trail Notes
     It was not even a mile to the summit of Springer (.9 to be exact), but as Cavender pulled a plastic bag out of a metal mailbox built into the same rock that marks the beginning or end of the A.T., I knew our feat was significant. The bag contained a notebook known as the register. Located at each shelter, it’s primarily used to locate hikers on the trail but it’s also filled with reflections of those who have come and gone from this very spot. For some, it was the beginning of a journey, for others, the much-anticipated end. Funny, sad, reflective, or simply to the point, the entries were inspiring, nonetheless. And it was all there in black and white for me to see.
    “Whether this day marks the beginning or the end of a thru hike, a section hike, or a day hike, this journal is for you to read apprehensive thoughts on the hike to follow or the exhilaration of feelings you wish to express about your accomplishment or just record your passing by including date/ time/name/trail moniker/hometown/state.”
     So there I sat, scribbling in this tattered notebook filled with other people’s memories, adding one of my own. Who knows, maybe I’ll find myself leaning against this very rock again one day with a different pack, a different mission and with a trail name, finally.
     The A.T. beckons. Statistics indicate that more than four million people use some part of the A.T. annually, most for short hikes lasting an afternoon, a day or a weekend. One thing is for sure, with roughly 76 miles in Georgia, someone is hiking in your back yard. Might as well be you.

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