Wistful. Dawn in the Smoky Mountains, at least while I visited at the beginning of September, meant cool, dark forests kissed with the fog that gave the Smokies their name. I started my first hike of the trip just after day break, parking at the almost-empty Newfound Gap parking lot and heading straight for the trees. My goal was a short out-and-back hike to Charlie's Bunion, a popular rock outcrop affording amazing views of the Smokie's foothills and land beyond the mountains that was an easy dayhike along a section of the Appalachian Trail within the park. With little net elevation change and the popularity of the AT with both dayhikers and section- or thru-hikers, I wanted to start my hike early enough to avoid the crowds that would descend on this section of trail, plus I just really enjoy early morning hiking. I'm one of the few early-risers in the world, and I will happily take full advantage of that if it means less people on a trail I want to hike.
I had the trail to myself at that early hour, and scooted along at my own pace unhampered by other hikers trying to scramble up the same tree root ladders or jump down short ledges created by boulders on the path. This section of the AT met my preference regarding trail maintenance vs a certain degree of wilderness; everybody likes well-marked trails, but I also want to feel like I'm the only person on the planet.
For most of the trail my view included the understory of a dark, thick forest of deciduous trees just beginning to feel the touch of autumn, leaf litter from previous years, and the dark wet dirt that made those mountains so fertile. Occasionally a break in the trees and shrubs allowed a glimpse of the mountains waking up under a bright yellow disk blurred by mist that clung to trees and settled in valleys, but I was mostly privy to the going-ons of the forest under the canopy of trees. It wasn't difficult to imagine a bear around the next bend or a cougar crouching on a thick tree limb above my head. My head whipped toward every noise, allowing my eyes to search for its source. I was under no illusions that I was the biggest creature out there.
I made fantastic time, reaching Charlie's Bunion less than two hours after I set out. After glancing at the sign warning parents to closely control their children, I ditched my backpack and shoes and scrambled to the very edge of the Bunion itself, peeking over the edge of the drop-off into the tree tops far below. It's a damn good thing heights don't bother me. I settled back in a nook and let my feet cool, munching snacks and guzzling water. Twenty minutes and a hundred photos later, I took my leave of the Bunion and headed back.
I saw significantly more people on my way back, considering I didn't run into a single soul out. Usually groups of two or three, people nodded politely and a few stopped to chat about the trail ahead, wondering where I'd come from so early in the morning. I even crossed paths with a pair of section-hikers who were traversing the whole expanse of the AT within the park boundaries. That got me thinking, very seriously, of attempting an AT thru-hike myself. It's an idea I've been playing with for a long time, ever since I started hiking as a serious hobby. A lot goes into a thru-hike, and I know I'm not prepared to up and leave on a multi-month hike anytime in the future Cheryl Strayed-style (the movie Wild, fyi) but it is something I would like to do in my lifetime. The miniscule section of the AT that I hiked within Great Smoky Mountains National Park was merely the briefest taste of what I would hike through if I were to thru-hike, but that short experience was all it took to kick my imagination into overdrive. I can see myself doing the whole trail, and doing it alone. Someday, I will.
What I'm listening to: Palladio by eScala
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