The plan was to take a short hike from where USFS Road 42 and the Appalachian Trail converge to the summit of Springer Mountain in Fannin County. A moderate hike of just over two miles, it was a test run for what a Jasper friend calls my “coastal legs.” Indeed, a practical beginner’s hike for this Floridian boomer whose recent climbing prowess is limited to carrying grandsons up the entrance ramps to Disney rides.
The summit represents the southern terminus of the Appalachian Trail. Located in the Chattahoochee National Forest, at 3,780 feet above mean sea level, Springer is also the highest mountain peak in Georgia.
It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. The drive from Pickens County to Blue Ridge went quickly enough. But that’s when and where my itinerary began to wobble, eventually morphing into an unplanned rescue mission.
It was around noon, so I decided to have lunch in Blue Ridge to keep up my strength. I opted for a fast-food burger and fries so as not to shock my system with a salad or some other spindly entree prior to facing Springer. Behind me at the burger place was a talk-master from a “hollow ‘bout twenty miles north” of Blue Ridge.
I mentioned Springer Mountain and he proceeded to enthusiastically impart a story about how his cousin had disappeared “up there on the trail” a few years back. It seems a sheriff found his bear-mauled remains at the bottom of a ravine.
I ordered my burger to go, food for thought still ringing in my ears.
Approximately twenty miles later, I steered my jeep onto a dirt-and-gravel road for the last seven-mile leg of the journey. Tall trees and thick brush obscured the rugged landscape beside the narrow, winding forestry road called USFS 42. I peered into the thick wood for any signs of wildlife. About half-way to the trailhead, a giant snake slithered across the road into the brush ahead. It was probably a regular-sized snake, but my imagination spiked after the bear story.
After arriving at the trail crossing, I found an AT posting-board and checked it for recent bear incidents. Just then, I heard something large stomping methodically through some nearby foliage. It made crunching noises, like a huge, starving bear plodding over small snapping branches.
I was relieved when, instead, a large hiker in full gear emerged. He had been on the trail three days and twenty-nine miles.
“Have you seen any bears?” I queried.
“A couple,” he answered.”
I waved and trekked on toward the trail, anyway.
As I wandered deeper into the forest, I heard the ominous humming of ten thousand or more killer bees. Occasionally, I stopped and listened to better determine their direction.
The sound seemed to stop and start again when I did. I learned later that instead of hordes of killer bees, the sounds came from millions of flies that breed in the shade of ledges and heavy brush throughout North Georgia. Who knew?
I arrived at the summit where a blue haze mostly shrouded the long distance views. Nevertheless, it is a beautiful place that provides a lasting impression. There are a couple of plaques embedded in the shear rock face of the summit - a truly historic spot.
On my return hike, I happened upon another hiker. He was encumbered by what looked to be a couple hundred pounds of gear. The man approached and asked if I was going near Amicalola Falls after my hike. He was visibly distressed and sweating profusely. He had punctured his potable water bladder that morning and it had leaked through his gear, food and all. To make matters worse, his wife had reached him on his cell phone and told him their four-year-old was sick back in Thomasville.Beyond that, he was totally exhausted and had grossly underestimated the time his venture should take.
During the drive back to Amicalola, I learned that Richard, a really nice guy and a good sport, teaches eleventh-grade science.
He likes to go hiking in North Georgia after school lets out for the summer. It’s his way of unwinding.He is a family man with a wife and two young sons.
Curious, I asked Richard what kind of gear he carried in his massive back-pack.
Apparently, modern hikers carry enough food, bedding, and electronics to live comfortably for a year or maybe five in the Appalachians, and all the while remain perpetually updated on current events and American Idol.
It’s the hiking with all that gear that gets to them. Richard, who you may recall grew too weary to continue his planned trek, was toting: a hammock; mosquito screen; cell-phone; DVD player; sterno-stove; gallons of water; canned drinks; lap-top computer; MP3 player; three changes-of-clothes; towels; various meals and snacks; a first-aid kit; two hiking poles; extra boots; a trash bag, and a GPS unit.
After dropping a weary but thankful Richard at his car in Amicalola National Park, it occurred to me that my lean Rambo approach to hiking might be more efficient than the over-prepared version of some modern hikers.
Besides, if I see that bear, I can run, jump, or climb my way to safety.
[Clifton, and wife Leigh, recently relocated to Burnt Mountain from the Tampa Bay area where he spent 25 years selling building materials to major accounts. Throughout this year, he will be sharing his experience as a newcomer with Progress readers.]
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| Apparently, modern hikers carry enough food, bedding, and electronics to live comfortably for a year or maybe five in the Appalachians, and all the while remain perpetually updated on current events and American Idol. |
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