Before the day could really be said to have started, I awoke to the sound of a car pulling into the trailhead parking at around 5am. When hiking, I always try to camp well away from public roadways, just to have that extra insurance against becoming victom to a Saturday night pickup truck full of beer and poor judgement. But here I am at 5am lying low in the back of my Highlander wondering about the intentions of the approaching vehicle. It pulled into an empty space (thankfully not next to my car) and shut off the engine. Then another car pulled in to the gravel lot and stopped behind the first one. The occupants got out, but instead of arguing about which caliber makes the largest exit wound, the voices expressed relief to have “finally arrived.” Car doors opened and closed and everyone got into the second vehicle and drove away. From what I could tell, they were hikers who had driven for most of the night from somewhere far away and needed to park a car at the AT exit location while the second car was used to get everyone around to the starting point. I love to backpack, but not at 5am.
So that was a long story, but was told primarily to remind me to follow my rules about camping near roads.
I emerged from the car around 6:30am and did my preflight check of all the things. At a little after 7:00 I walked over to the Laughing Heart Hostel, which basically adjoins the parking lot, to see if I could locate “Chuck.” He was there, ready to get me over to Davenport Gap. While driving, he told me about his hiking adventures. His trail name is “Chuck Norris” due to a minor resemblance to the Walker, Texas Ranger star. He looked as if he could possibly select a lucky child to throw into the sun – but I didn’t ask. I have a friend who really liked Walker, Texas Ranger because he said that each week he could get the “violence of Texas justice and the morals of Christian teachings” all in a single hour of television.
Chuck dropped me off at Davenport Gap and I started my hike. Just before the first road crossing, I found some “trail magic” where some thoughtful soul had left several Gaterade bottles of multiple flavors for hikers to enjoy. I selected the blue flavor. It wasn’t cold, but it was wet and it tasted good as I hiked the bridge across the French Broad river and crossed under Interstate 40.
Around lunch, I had completed my climb of Snowbird mountain and took the side trail over to the large humming whirring FAA VHF Omnidirectional Range (VOR) antenna transmitter located at the summit. These transmitters are spaced all across the US to assist air traffic with navigation. 30 times a second the VOR signal sweeps around 360 degrees pumping out thousands of watts of signal power. I could imagine my fillings starting to melt, so I quickly got back to the trail and headed on towards Max Patch.
I had not seen a single other person all day (except the two motorcyclists at the VOR) until I neared the Max Patch summit. Then I saw everyone. Apparently its a thing to watch the sunset from the top of this huge grassy bald. There is a parking lot about a half mile from the top and no less than 100 people were all up there milling around, taking photos, having picnics, flying drones, and even one couple getting married as the sun set over the far mountain range. I set up my tent in one of the few clearings that were made by, I guess, the Forest Service for tent campers. No hammock camping here.
The stars are now starting to emerge as all of the tourists retreat to their cars and head back to whereever they came from. I have opened my tent flap and can just now see the Milky Way emerge as it is sprawled across the center of the sky on this clear moonless evening. From across the field, I heard a young woman camper yell “I just saw a comet! Did you guys see that?” I did not correct her.
Doctor Photon