Getting There: Travel to Cades Cove in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Make two lefts into the picnic area and park at the far end of the picnic area parking lot.

Poet Carroll Bryant once wrote, “Don’t bite off more than you can chew because nobody looks attractive spitting it back out.”

Most people comply. We sink our teeth into safe, manageable bites. We follow the familiar. We undertake the understood. We pursue the predictable.

Nothing wrong with that. The bulk of life consists of competently handling safe, manageable tasks. A guarded, conservative approach, according to Poet Bryant, saves us the embarrassment of spitting out excess food. No one wants to be the young, red-faced bovine mishandling his first cud.

Every once in a while, though, I recommend biting off more than you think you can chew. Be bold. Color outside the lines. Choose a task that awakens your butterflies, dilates your pupils, and tightens your sphincter. 

A few months ago, I was approached by Erika, a friend who shares a common Christian faith. That, and a love for Mexican food, is about all we share. (I’ve also shared carne asada and a hot tub with her padre, Flavio, in northern California, but that’s a different blog.) 

Erika is an energetic, Hispanic Pocahontas. I am a sluggish, Caucasian Captain John Smith. Erika is a young, flexible teacher of yoga. I am an old, frangible writer of blogs. Erika is short, thin, brown-skinned and fit. I’m the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Erika is married to Kevin, a bearded outdoorsman cut from Duck Dynasty cloth. I’m married to Janet, a beardless crocheter. Erika doesn’t hike. I’ve done some hiking. We’re different.

Erika wanted to go on a challenging hike—to bite off a little more than she could safely chew. The kind of hike that, if accomplished, she would never forget. A trek that would, at first thought, awaken our butterflies, dilate our pupils, and tighten our sphincters. Rejecting Poet Bryant’s advice, Erika wanted to throw caution to the wind and venture out into the wilderness. She had entered my wheelhouse.

Joining us as charter members of the Eastside Striders were Brian, Valerie, and Bri Wininger—one half of a sweet, home-schooling family from our congregation. Unlike Erika, they had done a fair amount of hiking, though nothing north of 10 or 11 miles.

It fell on me, Fob W. Pot, to choose our route. I wanted a Smoky Mountains hike that would be long, physically challenging, and would reward us with stunning, panoramic vistas, lots of rushing water, and some time on my beloved Appalachian Trail. Our chosen trek would begin with a nearly 6-mile, 3500-foot ascent, followed by 10 miles across and down a ridge, which would add up to 9+ hours of hiking and over 40,000 steps! Chew on that cud! 

We made it to the Cades Cove parking lot by 8:05 a.m. on Saturday, October 3^rd, 2020. We walked over to the picnic area restrooms and I discovered that the restroom door I had entered on my previous visit had a picture of a woman in a skirt next to it. To the woman who was in the stall next to me, in case you ever read this, I sincerely apologize for my creepy behavior.

We, the Eastside Striders, said a prayer and were on the Anthony Creek Trail by 8:15 a.m. As the designated tour guide, I knew that we needed to keep moving at a decent clip to finish before dark. Within the first few hundred yards, I realized that wasn’t going to happen. After about three minutes of hiking, Erika stopped to bond with a butterfly and collect the first of a dozen or so colorful Fall leaves she would adorn herself with. Brian released the first of several dozen booming, mountain-shaking belches. Meanwhile, teenager Bri posed for scenic photo shoots and Valerie stopped to listen to and identify birds. Based on our pace over the first half mile, I calculated we would finish our hike by Thanksgiving.

I exhorted our crew with a cry of “Vamanos, por favor!” After being informed the “V” is silent, I started calling Valerie “Alerie” and that stuck as her trail name. We eventually got into our hiking groove and began the 5-mile ascent along the Anthony Creek and Bote Mountain trails to the Appalachian Trail. Along the way, we talked. By that, I mean Erika talked. Erika has a lot to say and makes a point to say it all. She learned to talk shortly after exiting the birth canal and hasn’t stopped. Fortunately, she’s interesting. I learned Mexican history and several Hispanic words, including “Órale!” (an exclamation expressing approval or encouragement) which, for the rest of the day, I unfortunately pronounced “Orajel!” (a pain relief gel for severe toothache). 

As we hiked, I watched Erika and Bri stop at interesting rocks and downed tree limbs to raise their legs above their head because…well…they can. In 2000+ miles of hiking the AT, I can’t recall a single time a fellow hiker stopped, looked at me, and then raised his hiking boot over his head. Yoga people are odd.  

I was also asked to lead us in several mini “dance parties” featuring songs from Queen, Prince, and The Greatest Showman soundtrack. Yes, rather than complain about the long, arduous climb to the top, we partied like it was 1999. Never a dull moment with this crew.

After a few hours of hiking, singing, dancing, panting, navigating rhododendron tunnels, and listening to Brian belch, we arrived at the AT and turned left (AT North). Had this been June, we would have been overwhelmed with the most spectacular display of mountain laurel on Planet Earth. Even in October, the grassy pastures, shade trees, and variety of flora and fauna were reminders of a loving, Creator God. 

Arriving at a particularly scenic spot along the ridge, I informed the group it was break time and that Fob wanted to take a short AT nap. Ten seconds into my nap, I heard “dog pile!” and soon felt Erika (aka Loca Leaf Catcher) and Bri (aka Panting Puppy) crowding my personal space and wanting to play. After a few more yoga poses and photos and a handful of Swedish fish and beef jerky, we continued our journey northward.

About a mile and a few more ups and downs later, we reached the summit of Rocky Top, a rocky peak along Thunderhead Mountain. How appropriate that as I rested along the rocks and sang Rocky Top, the Tennessee fight song, the Volunteers were in the second quarter of their game against Missouri. We took in the views of Fontana Lake, Shuckstack Fire Tower, Clingmans Dome, and Mount LeConte, ate lunch, and visited with a handful of other hikers enjoying the rocky summit. 

After a half hour enjoying each other’s company and God’s magnificent creation, we began our descent off Rocky Top. Brian motivated us with another in his repertoire of ear-splitting belches. Alerie called him the “Belchin’ Yeti” but I misunderstood her so he ended up with the trail name, “Belgian Yeti.”

We made a quick detour over to the Spence Field Shelter so the ladies could experience the joys of an AT privy (outhouse). Then we traveled three mostly flat miles along the AT, highlighted by more yoga posing, mushroom sightings, bird identification, and dance parties. By the time we reached the Russell Field Shelter, which sits right along the AT, we were exhausted. I know this because Erika had (momentarily) stopped talking. After visiting with some section hikers at the shelter, we began the 5.1-mile descent back to Cades Cove.

Our descent was notable for what didn’t take place—complaining. Yes, we were tired and aching. Our legs were wobbly. Our armpits were clammy. My feet were mostly numb. We reeked of sweat and beef jerky. We were ready to be done. But we didn’t complain. I love that. I have a deep respect for any person or group of people who have every right to complain—to moan about their circumstances—but choose not to. Complaining is contagious. So is having a good attitude. This group chose the latter approach and, by doing so, passed the most important test of the day.

My take-aways…

1. Don’t enter a restroom if there’s a picture of a lady in a skirt by the door.
2. Life is about the journey, so try some yoga poses, listen for birds, collect pretty leaves, and have a dance party or two.
3. Appreciate Christian friends. You’ll need their encouragement to finish life’s journey…and they’ll need yours.
4. Don’t complain.
5. Once in a while, bite off more than you can chew. Those bites are the ones you’ll remember.

Tale of the Tape – Abrams Falls Trail

Starting Location: Abrams Falls Trailhead, Cades Cove

Roundtrip Distance: 5.2 miles

Total Elevation Gain – 675 feet

Highest Elevation – 1758 feet

Level of Difficulty: 

Out – Easy – 2.5

Back – Moderate – 4 

Additional Photos –available in an album on my “Author Steve Johnson” Facebook page

Getting There

Travel to Cades Cove in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Take the one-way loop road 4.8 miles to the far western end.  Just after crossing Abrams Creek, turn right on a gravel road and travel .4 miles to the parking area and trailhead. 

A hike can be memorable for the trail itself—the flora and fauna, sweeping vistas, and geological features encountered along the way. The main attraction may be the destination it takes you to—perhaps a historic lodge or a spectacular view. A hike can be memorable because of the people you are with—the friendships formed or renewed along the way. A hike can also be unforgettable due to a wildlife encounter. Let’s take a look at these factors in order.

As a trail, the Abrams Falls Trail is average. I mean, it’s fine…there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just not exceptional, noteworthy or particularly challenging. It runs alongside Abrams Creek, but the water is mostly inaccessible due to thick rhododendron growth and steep drop-offs to the creek. There are no sweeping, panoramic views.

What sets Abrams Falls Trail apart, and makes it special, is the destination…the magnificent water oasis known as Abrams Falls. Love this place! The falls themselves are gorgeous—worthy of a selfie or two. Even better, the falls dump into a grand watering hole that is perfectly cool and refreshing after a 2.6-mile hike in hot, clammy armpit weather. This is a place where you can spend all day—and many families do. 

Which leads to warning #1. In the late morning of July 16, the day we visited, the place was packed…especially along the rocks surrounding the falls and watering hole. I would guess there were 200 people playing in or near the water, picnicking, and enjoying nature. Despite the close proximity along the rocks, I didn’t see a single person in a mask. Not one. I’m not judging—everyone has to make a personal call on when to mask up. I fall somewhere in between the “never maskers—it’s all a conspiracy” and the “always maskers—any time you step outside.” I’m just letting you know that if you plan to sit on or meander along the rocks at Abrams Falls on a busy day, you will likely have people travel well within 6 feet of you, and they will likely be unmasked. My personal choice was to mask up until I was alone out in the deeper water, and then back on the trail. You do what’s right for you.

Warning #2: The water near the base of Abrams Falls can be deadly. In fact, there have been 29 water-related deaths on this trail since 1971. As a result, Backpacker Magazine once listed the Abrams Fall Trail among the Top 10 most dangerous hikes in America—not for the trail itself but for the water hazards. The Falls are inviting, but strong currents at their base have swept even capable swimmers into unseen traps. You jump off a rock into seemingly deep water and land on a log, or slide off a slick rock, or get sucked underwater by a strong, unseen undertow. There is plenty of safe water to play in at Abrams Falls—just be smart about it.

Thus far, I’d give this trail a C for the trail itself and an A+ for the destination—the falls. How about the company? That calls for an A+. I was accompanied on this hike by my beautiful wife, Janet—more on her in a minute. We were joined by Brad and Jenny Diamond, some of our closest and dearest friends on the planet. We could walk 5.2 miles in circles around a Walmart parking lot and enjoy our time with these people. I don’t know if it’s our shared memories, common interests, Christian bond, or some combination, but we are truly blessed to know them. And I was thrilled to have them on this hike.

Throughout the hike, Brad peppered me with questions about my AT hike, and I offered my perspective on gear, suitable tenting locations, and other topics. I never tire of talking about my favorite trail. As we climbed a hill on our return journey, I was waxing eloquently about some AT topic and turned my head to look at Brad and Jenny, who were right behind me. With my focus off the trail, I stepped on an unstable rock and fell flat to the ground, skinning my knee. No one else in our foursome fell that day—only the “AT expert.” Humbling.  

Finally, we come to the fourth factor in grading a hike—cool wildlife encounters. And, yes, we had one! About halfway to Abrams Falls, as we approached a 90-degree turn to the right, Lil Jan was in the lead, followed by Jenny, and then Brad and me. I suddenly heard Janet softly say, “Whoa!” I looked up just in time to see a medium-sized bear exit the trail directly in front of her and head up the bank!

A few observations:

1. I hiked 2189.1 miles on the AT and saw a total of 5 bears—none closer than maybe 10-15 yards. Jan goes less than 2 miles on Abrams Falls trail and practically high-fives a bear…not fair!
2. I did some research on her reaction…saying “Whoa!” The “whoa” cue or command is considered essential to the training of a pointing dog. Whoa means to stop and stand still until released. In hunting situations, you can imagine how valuable this command is. In hiking situations, a few feet from a bear, said command is far less valuable or effective, especially when spoken softly.
3. Sadly, my instinctual reaction to seeing the bear was to extend my left arm across Brad’s chest to stop his forward momentum—to save him. In effect, I was saying, “Brad, do not go forward—there’s danger ahead! Whatever this bear plans to do to my wife of 32 years is something she must deal with on her own.”

As we collectively caught our breath and wondered whether we had a change of underwear in our packs, a man who had been hiking about 15 yards in front of us approached. He said, “I got it on film!” and proceeded to show us several pictures of Janet, the bear, and Janet with the bear. The bear looked chill. Janet had that same look on her face as she gets when she catches me washing whites with colors.

The man with the “money shots” offered to send us the pictures, so Janet gave him her e-mail and phone number. As I write this, nine days later, we’ve yet to hear from him. Major bummer! Lesson learned: always exchange contact info, so you’re able to follow up. Maybe someday we’ll hear from him.

Janet and I discussed her bear encounter and tried to recreate the scene from memory—everyone’s relative distance from the bear and each other, Janet’s and the bear’s reactions, etc. Not having an “actual” photo to share with you, we found one that best represents the scene as we remember it.

Final Grades for Abrams Falls Trail:

The Trail: C

The Falls: A+

The Company: A+

Wildlife Encounters: A- (w/ potential for upgrade if/when we receive photo)

Bottom-Line: This is an enjoyable, fairly easy hike for people of all ages; not so much for the hike itself, but for the outstanding Abrams Falls that await you. Wear swim trunks and bring a loved one. If your loved one shows even the slightest inclination to skinny dip in The Falls, just reach out your hand, stop their momentum, and softly whisper, “Whoa!”

My quest to hike the Top 20 trails in the Smoky Mountains continued on Thursday with a trip up the side of Mount LeConte, the third tallest peak in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. 

Tale of the Tape – Mount LeConte:

Elevation at Summit – 6,593 feet

Starting location – Alum Cave Trailhead

Total Elevation Gain – 2,763 feet

Average Elevation Gain/Mile – 500 feet

Level of Difficulty: Strenuous, overall; more specifically, Trailhead to Arch Rock – 2; Arch Rock to Alum Cave – 4; Alum Cave to Summit – 7 (add 1 to those numbers in winter/icy conditions)

Roundtrip Length – 11 miles

Side trips near summit to Cliff Top and Myrtle Point – 1.1 miles

Total miles hiked – 12.1 

Getting There:

The Alum Cave Trailhead is located 8.7 miles south of the Sugarlands Visitor Center (near Gatlinburg), along Newfound Gap Road. The parking lot is on the left, although you may have to park along the road due to the popularity of this hike, especially during peak tourist season and on weekends.

Bottom-Line Up Front:

This is a spectacular hike! Nowhere else in the Smokies will you find the combination of stunning vistas, flora & fauna, a challenging (but reasonable) climb, a flowing river, interesting geological features, history, and a historic lodge and shelter near the summit. I hope to do 18 more hikes in this series, but I doubt I will find one that surpasses the overall experience climbing Mount LeConte.

July 9, 2020:

After a 1-hour drive from my home in Maryville, I parked my car along Newfound Gap Road, across from the already full Alum Cave Trailhead parking lot. In response to a lecture from my VA doc earlier this week on skin care (melanoma runs in the family), I sprayed on some SPF-30 and then coated that with a layer of DEET. With that pungent combination of chemicals on me, it was unlikely anyone would violate my 6-foot COVID protection zone. 

After a quick glance at the trail map, I stepped on the trail at 8:27 a.m. Right from the start, you can’t help but fall in love with this trail. For you parents with kids, elderly, or disabled, the first mile of this trail is a soft gentle slope that runs along the gorgeous Alum Cave Creek. The inner kid in me kept finding perfect spots for walking the creek, soaking my feet, having a picnic, or just hanging out. Along the way, there were several neat footbridges, with cables to hold on to as you cross. If you can’t do the 1.3 miles (2.6 round trip) to Arch Rock, do a mile. If you can’t do a mile, do whatever you can. Some trails make you work to get to “the good stuff.” This hike starts delivering the good stuff within the first few steps.

After 1.3 miles and about 30 minutes, I reached Arch Rock, a giant rock that has eroded from many years of freezing and thawing. That erosion has left a hole in the center of the rock, and the trail takes you through the hole via a winding staircase! As you exit Arch Rock and the rhododendrons that surround it, you will be in Narnia! Not really, but you will say goodbye to Alum Cave Creek. However, there are smaller trickles of water that flow off the mountain at various points throughout the hike, and a water pump at LeConte Lodge, so water is plentiful.

From Arch Rock, the trail picks up a little intensity but is by no means difficult. I continued passing individuals, families, and small groups—97 people in all, during my ascent. (Yes, I kept count. Why? Because I’m a total nerd and must always have some sort of data to process. Don’t judge.) The payout for continuing along this stretch is that you begin to catch some panoramic views—specifically, the Anakeesta Ridge off to the left. The other thing I noticed was that I was sweating profusely. Seriously, I know a lot hikers—and none of them can out-sweat me. Not even 2 miles into the hike, my shirt and shorts were drenched and drops of sweat mixed with DEET and SPF-30 were flowing into my eyeballs, causing irritation and blurred vision. Not cool!

At Inspiration Point, I stopped to view the sweeping vistas and take a few pics. I also overhead a woman hiker tell a friend to take a few steps along an opening in the branches to the left at the far end of the Point and then look down. I followed suit and discovered one of the scariest drop-offs I’ve ever seen. (If you do this, be sure to take 3 steps and not 4!) 

After a mile and 30 minutes from Arch Rock, I reached the next major milestone: Alum Cave. It’s not actually a cave so don’t get your hopes up. Instead, it’s a 500-foot long, 80-foot high, concaved bluff. Over the past 200 years, the bluff has been used for mining Epsom salt (to dye homespun clothing a reddish brown) and saltpeter (used by the Confederate Army to make gunpowder.) Depending on the time of the year you visit the “Cave,” you’ll be met with either trickles of water from the top of the bluff, or skull-piercing icicles. I found a nice, isolated spot in the shade of the bluff, next to a trickle splash zone, for a 10-minute break…where I consumed a Nature Valley Granola Bar and the first of 7 liters of water/Gatorade.

Sadly, most folks end their hike at Alum Cave. But if you’ve got the time and ability to continue on, continue on. This third and final section, from the Cave to the summit, covers about 3.2 miles and takes about 95 minutes, depending, as always, on your pace and number of stops for pictures. This final section is more demanding, featuring plenty of steps carved in stone or hand-made. At various points, typically near narrow jagged rocks next to drop-offs, there are cable handrails to assist hikers. I suppose they would be helpful in icy conditions, but they were unnecessary on the day of my hike. There are certainly narrow sections with sheer drop-offs where I wouldn’t let children run freely, but nothing too dangerous if you pay attention. Any trail can be dangerous if you’re stupid.

As I approached LeConte Lodge, the trail flattened and I found myself surrounded by a dense spruce-fir forest. The slight breeze and cool temperature (68 degrees, roughly 23 degrees cooler than in the valley below) invigorated my wet skin with a tingling sensation like when you rub Noxzema all over your body. It reminded me of some of the alpine ridges I encountered in Maine and elsewhere on the Appalachian Trail.

At 11 a.m., I arrived at the historic and rustic LeConte Lodge. Nothing opened until noon, so I found a spot on a picnic table behind the Dining Hall to devour a PB & J and some Cape Cod sweet & spicy jalapeno-flavored chips. As I ate, a middle-aged woman exited the back of the building carrying a white bundle of linens. We exchanged greetings as she placed the bundle in a compartment under the building.

“So that’s where you hide the dead bodies?” I commented.

She smiled and replied, “You’ve got to keep that a secret. How did you know?”

“I know a dead body when I see one.”

“You sound like a funeral director.”

“No, but I’ve watched The Walking Dead.”

“Well, oddly enough, I happen to be a funeral director.”

She spoke those words just as I put the last big bite of PB & J in my mouth. As I slowly chewed, my brain was spinning. I know a good story when I hear one, and this one had potential. I mean, how does a funeral director end up at a lodge atop a mountain, doing laundry at 6400 feet? Just as I washed down the peanut butter and began to ask that question, she ducked back into the Dining Hall and I never saw her again. I guess you’ll have to make up your own plot for that story!

Recharged, I put my pack back on and continued the short hike to the summit, passing the LeConte shelter along the way. The shelter looks very similar to the many AT shelters I’ve seen and slept in, and offers a cheaper and even more rustic alternative than staying at the Lodge. Due to the virus, they are allowing, even encouraging, those with shelter reservations to tent nearby.

I briefly stopped at the Mount LeConte summit to snap a photo of the large rock cairn. There are no views at the summit, but if you continue on another .5 miles from the shelter (.7 from the Lodge) you reach Myrtle Point, which would offer the best views of the day, even with some clouds shifting about. Oddly, I had the Point to myself, so I sat on a rock, took in the nearly 360-degree views, and prayed. 

On my way back to the Lodge from Myrtle Point, I did a .5-mile loop that took me to another outcropping and viewpoint known as Cliff Top. Unfortunately, by the time I reached it, I was inside a cloud and my only view was of a squirrel having lunch. On my way back to the Lodge, I spotted a beautiful fawn off to the right, munching on grass and watching me closely.

Back at the Lodge, I made my way to the office, donned my mask, and went inside to buy a Gatorade packet and t-shirt. Normally, there would be tables set up for people to hang out, play games, and visit, but COVID-19 sadly put an end to all that, at least for now. Instead, people were spread out on the grounds/benches across the sprawling compound, with a lot less mingling going on than I would guess is typical at this place. 

Next stop was the Dining Room which was also cleared of tables and benches due to the virus. Fortunately, they were still making their famous homemade cookies, so I bought one and ate it outside as three squirrels threatened to take it from me. The cookie alone was worth the 32,337 steps I took that day. Sack lunches are also available.

Before moving on from the Lodge, a quick shout out to Paul Adams, an explorer who took dignitaries to the top of Mount LeConte to help convince them on the idea of a national park. He later built a cabin atop the mountain (which would eventually be transformed into the Lodge) and helped forge the trail up the mountain. Good work, Paul!

At 1 p.m., with thunder clouds booming nearby, I decide to begin my descent. Twenty minutes later, a light, refreshing rain began to fall and lasted for about 30 minutes. Just prior to reaching Alum Cave, I approached three young ladies in their late-teens/early-twenties staring at something on the side of the trail.

“What are you looking at?” I asked.

“I say it’s a mouse but she thinks it’s a rat,” one of them replied.

I drew closer and examined the rodent. “I’m afraid you’re both wrong. That’s a mole.” 

“A mole! Seriously?”

“Yep, I’m quite familiar with them. One of them slept under my air mattress at a lodge in Maine a few years ago.”
“Really? Wow!”

Noticing how impressed they were with my mole knowledge, I continued.

“These guys are blind.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, watch this.” I moved my hand closer to the mole and waved it but the mole didn’t react. “See.”

“Wow!”

Okay, technically moles are colorblind, not blind, although they see poorly. All I know is that at 54 years of age, there are few things I can say or do to impress young hikers. Apparently mole swag is one of them.

After a few more pictures and miles, I reached the trailhead at 3:15 p.m. and began the journey home.

Verdict and Recommendations:

An outstanding hike, with a little something for everyone. Be sure to check out photos from this hike in an album on my “Author Steve Johnson” Facebook page. You can also check out Benny Braden’s excellent video tour of the hike at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=piTbs37qzco.

If you have the money, and want to split the 11-12 miles of hiking in half, stay overnight at the Lodge. You’ll need to book a cabin well in advance—2020 spots are all full, as are the waiting lists. Lodge rates and other pertinent info are available at http://www.lecontelodge.com. (Also, FYI, a longer, but easier hike to the Lodge is via the Trillium Gap trail (6.7 miles), the less steep route the llamas use to resupply the Lodge three times each week.)

For a cheaper and more rustic experience, I would suggest tent camping near the shelter, which has bear cables. To do that, you’ll need a backcountry permit, available at https://smokiespermits.nps.gov/index.cfm?BCPermitTypeID=1

Or, do the hike all in one day, and then pop some Ibuprofen.

Before my next hike, I plan to study moles in more detail. Did you know they use movement and scent sensors on the tip of their noses to find prey and other moles? Now you do.

My bucket list has three new entries.

The first I shouldn’t mention. It would be premature, perhaps even inappropriate. Despite making several comments, outright and subtle, I haven’t obtained spousal approval for it. Not even close. My mentions of it have brought only stares, puzzled looks, and a few dismissive comments…like when I suggested that our bedsheet doesn’t need to be tucked under the foot of our queen mattress.

Still, I’ll mention it. I want to “thru-kayak” the Missouri River—the longest river in North America. Beginning in the Rocky Mountains area of southwestern Montana (near a spot where Sacagawea was kidnapped by the Hidatsa during a raid on a Shoshone camp), the grand waterway flows 2,341 miles to St Louis, Missouri (near a spot where my youngest son, Kyle, aka B.W. POT, frequents St Louis Cardinals games).

My kayaking experience? Limited. 30 minutes on a pond in Montclair, Virginia. 120 minutes in a tandem kayak on Alaska’s beautiful Chilkoot Lake with my even more beautiful wife. And a strenuous, windy, 120-minute family adventure in sea kayaks off the coast of Bar Harbor, Maine. That should be sufficient. I mean, how hard can it be to paddle a boat downstream for 3 months? I just need spousal approval. And a kayak.

That brings me to my second new bucket list entry. This one, a result of our recent move to Maryville, Tennessee, is not only approved, but underway! Over the next several years, I plan to hike the Top 20 trails in the Smoky Mountains…accompanied by my better half whenever possible.

So, on August 12, 2019, my assault on this bucket list item began. Tale of the tape…

Trail Number 1 – Newfound Gap to Charlies Bunion
Roundtrip Length: 8.1 miles
Total Elevation Gain: 1640 feet
Avg. Elevation Gain/Mile: 405 feet
Highest Elevation: 6122 feet
Trail Difficulty Rating: 11.38 (strenuous)
Trip Photos: posted in a new album on my Author Steve Johnson Facebook page

My hike took place on my way to pick up Janet in South Carolina, where she had spent the week caring for her injured sister. Earlier, she had informed me that this particular hike was just outside her definition of fun. Thus, I would journey solo.

With my worn AT backpack, two 2-liter bottles of ice cold water, a few books, two PB & J sandwiches, some chips, and an apple, I generously applied lube and left our apartment at 7:30 a.m. for the 90-minute drive to Newfound Gap. On the way, I caught the day’s weather forecast on the radio—the heat index was expected to top 100 degrees, one of the hottest days of the year. Although initially concerned, I remembered I had two things going for me: a morning hike, and one that would begin at a much cooler 5049 feet above sea level and climb to over 6100 feet.

I arrived at the large Newfound Gap parking lot at 9 o’clock and was surprised to see only about a dozen other cars at the popular tourist area. Stepping out of the car, the memories came flooding back. I remembered arriving at that same parking lot on Day 21 of my AT hike, accompanied by Princess Elle, who anxiously awaited the arrival of her boyfriend. On that 2016 day, we received “rock star” treatment as people approached us like tourist attractions to ask us about our thru-hikes.

Fast forward to 2019—no rock star treatment this time. I was too plump and clean-smelling to be confused for a thru-hiker. Less visibly, I was wearing cotton underwear, a trail anathema. I strapped on my pack and walked across the parking lot toward a sign marking the way to head northbound (actually eastbound) on the Appalachian Trail. “Hello, old friend,” I mumbled to myself, then began my ascent.

America’s most glorious trail wasted little time in putting me on a steady, uphill climb, with white blazes marking the way. Once again, my mind began processing the myriad memories from my AT hike. The canopy of trees that form a long green tunnel. The need to keep my head down, much of the time, to plot the next step forward, factoring in rocks, roots, trees, and other obstacles. My ears peeled for the sound of anything unexpected. My arms and legs pumping in unison like a machine. Sweat beads forming on my brow. Muscles twitching in my calves and thighs as I propelled myself forward. The perfect intersection of my physical, mental, spiritual, and emotional selves. (Warm banana pudding has the same effect.)

Man, it was good to be back!

My first milestone, because an ENTJ like myself always must have a goal, was to cover the nearly three miles to Icewater Spring shelter without stopping. Along the way, I passed five couples, two dogs, and a child who, to their credit, had embarked on much more leisurely treks. While it wasn’t the right time of year to catch blooming wildflowers, I enjoyed stunning views of the North Carolina Smokies to the south.

At about the mile point, I encountered my first and only snake of the day—a harmless garter snake. Moments later, I glanced down and spotted a tick crawling along my left forearm. Fun fact: During my 2016 hike, I encountered only two ticks over 2100+ miles—both on my arms—one embedded and one crawling. On this day, I encountered a tick within the first mile of my hike. Okay, so that fact wasn’t all that fun.

As I climbed, I looked forward to my return to the Bunion. I longed to stand alone atop the famed rock, surveying the vast wilderness around me. Incidentally, the name Charlies Bunion was derived when Charlie Conner went on a hike with Horace Kephart, a friend and one of the early visionaries for a national park in the Smokies. When they paused to rest near the now famous rocks, Conner took off his boots and socks, revealing a rather severe bunion that resembled the rocks in front of the men. Kephart observed Conner’s feet and said, “Charlie, I’m going to get this place put on a government map for you.” And that’s precisely what happened. Had Horace hiked with me, rather than Charlie, the place would be called Steves Toenail-Fungus.

As I continued my climb along the ever-narrowing ridge, I glanced at my watch every few minutes to note the change in elevation. I’m not mentally at peace unless I have some sort of data to process and make sense of. It helped me pass the time during long stretches alone on the green tunnel in 2016. You might call me analytical…or simply a nerd.

At the 3-mile point, I arrived at my first stopping point, the Icewater Spring shelter, which is named after the nearby spring that flows from a pipe in the middle of the trail. I sat on the bench at the front of the vacant shelter, and the memories returned. I remembered sitting on that very bench, three years earlier, in sub-freezing weather, surrounded by dear friends who came to be known as the Great Smoky Mountains Bubble.

It was at this very shelter I met John Just who was hiking the AT to draw attention to his rare, genetic Fabry disease. We also encountered a sweet, though slightly overwhelmed couple, accompanied by their 9-year-old daughter, a telescope, guitar, and canned goods…but no sleeping pads. The poor girl tossed and turned, shivered, and cried out throughout the night. I felt bad for her. I hoped that she would survive the night. I also hoped that if she didn’t survive the night, I might get a share of her food.

Speaking of food, I made quick work of an apple and PB & J, as four section hikers from Indiana arrived and chatted with me about…guess what…the AT. I opened the shelter log, signed in with a note, and scanned a few of the entries. The day prior, a hiker with the trail name Spirit had been there. He/She wrote, “I am infinitely grateful for the woods and the peace it brings me. I am 90 days sober and feeling better than ever. It’s always a bit scary leaving the comforts of society for the outdoors for weeks but it is always worth it… ‘into the forest I go, to lose my mind & find my soul – John Muir’.” I appreciate the note and hope this hiker finds what they’re looking for. Not all trail magic takes the form of food.

Before departing the shelter, I established the Icewater Spring shelter library by placing my two AT hiking books and devotional book, secured inside clear, protective storage bags, on the upper bunk inside the shelter. Maybe God has someone in mind to read them.

Back on the trail, I snapped a picture of the Icewater Spring, then continued mostly downhill about a mile to a sign marking the Charlies Bunion spur trail to the left. With it being a Monday morning, I anticipated having the place to myself. I would be able to climb the famed bunion alone, with the peace and serenity of the Smokies surrounding me. As I carefully walked along the narrow ledge with an extremely steep drop-off, I took in spectacular views, including Mount LeConte, and considered how easy it would be for someone to misstep and die.

As I rounded the final turn, I looked up and was shocked to discover the glorious bunion was covered with unsightly humanity! Bummer! But, hey, no problem. I would hang out at the base of the bunion and chat with a couple as we waited for the large, brown-skinned contingent to climb off the famed rock. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Despite glancing at my watch and then glancing their way several times, they didn’t get the hint. For the next 10 minutes, they laughed, took in the views, and chatted in a language appearing to be Spanish, although I wasn’t close enough to confirm.

Needing to get back down the trail, and unwilling to wait any longer for them to show tourist etiquette and gracefully exit, I got an idea. I cautiously approached the base of the rock and, using the pseudo-Spanish I learned from my friend Terry Reeves in Honduras, said, “Hola. Mi nombre es Steve, aka Fob. Me gusta…uh…una foto…uh…on that bunion you’re sitting on.”

They looked at each other, laughed, and motioned for me to join them. Yes, it was an offer to join the party. The party on the bunion. Or, as they say in Guadalajara, la fiesta en el juanete.

As I scrambled up the rock, using both hands to keep my balance, one of the male rock occupants said something to me. I couldn’t tell if it was “que es un Fob?” or “queso Fob” (a rare cheese) or perhaps something else. My ear canals were sweaty. Not wanting to be impolite, I replied, “Es una larga story…for another tiempo.”

At the top of Charlies Bunion, I quickly assimilated to my hosts’ lives and culture. We smiled, high-fived each other, laughed for no reason, posed for a few photos, and bonded in ways that transcend language and nationality. This wasn’t the moment of quiet, solitary beauty I had anticipated, but it was special…really special. Trail magic, in fact.

Realizing they had no plans to leave the bunion, and might even live there, it was time for me to gracefully exit. I gave them a few more fist bumps, started down the rock, and looked back to say, “Gracias, amigos.” They smiled and said something I couldn’t quite make out. It might have been, “Fob, eres el mejor.”

I made my way back to the trail, and turned westward toward Newfound Gap. A few miles later, I caught up with another couple and their son who were plodding along. Craving conversation in my native tongue, I asked if they had been to Charlies Bunion…they had. I asked if they had met the delightful Hispanic people atop the bunion.

“Yes,” the man said. “But they’re not Hispanic. They’re from India.”

Boom.

That brings me to my third new bucket list item: learn Hindi.

Until then, this first of 20 planned hikes of the Smokies will remain… la fiesta en el juanete!