From Kristen in Great Smokey Mountains National Park

writing to follow in the mail...

From Kristen in Gatlinburg

I'm now in a quandry. Several in fact. There's Northern Miles, the glory of hiking and new-found friends calling me onward, while my body throws fits from the knee down, begging rest and attention lest further damage occur. There's so much to write about, to share with my time-tested friends who follow from afar, with so little access to publish such, and the recent discovery that inspite of shutting down Facebook and sharing the link here very selectively I am infact being stalked.

Of all places I didn't want to pull off the trail, Gatlinburg is it. I have the nice little story of Tree Thug catching up with me 15 miles East of here and combing the parking lot in search of a ride for me though. It happened to be a much more efficient method than thumbing in 36 degrees and strong winds at the intersection. It's kind of demoralizing that he was still in bed when I left the shelter 5 miles back, but kind of encouraging that he thinks I'll be well, and catching up in no time. And we reveled in the goodness of trail magic.

All that to say, I'm winging it. Plan out the window. (It's a very big window). Taking it one day at a time. Yesterday I traversed the highest point of the entire trail and with one more day of hiking, I'll be 1/10 of the way to my destination. Its quite the journey and I'm thankfully still in the game.

BackLog #2: MyTrailnaming (Day 8)

It's now 1/2 a week later, and I'm starting out easily in the morning after my first 20 mile day. About 4 miles up trail I've already all but devoured all the snacks I'd left near the surface, and was leaning over a trailside spring to load up one quart before ascending Albert Mountain - since heard referred to as "Albert the [expletive] Wall"

That's when I heard them coming. Spring Breakers. You can hear Spring Breakers coming, but this bunch could be heard a mile away. 4 of the rounding the bend.

"Hey I like your hiking skirt!" called the one working the dreads.
KG: "Thanks, how's it going?"
"Great!"
"We're on Spring Break!"
"It's Awesome!"
KG: "Yeah? Where you coming from?"
"We go to school in Alabama."
KG: "Alright. Where did you stay last night?"
"Uhmmm.."
"What was that called?"
"I don't remember"
KG: "Cold Spring?"
"Yeah! That was it!"
"How about you?"
KG: "Last night I was at Carter Gap."
"Are you a Thru-hiker?!"
KG: I'm working on it
"That's amazing- Youre gonna make it" said the kid decked out in orange. "Do you write about it? Like is there a place to read about what you're doing out here? Cause I would totally follow you. But not in a creepy sort of way!"
KG: "Yeah I write. My brother posts some for me when I get a chance to call in. I'll give it to you."
"When did you start?"
"What's your trail name?"
KG: "Well, I started, ah- 8 days ago, and my name is Kristen. I don't have a trail name yet."
(this met with serious sighs of disappointment and crestfallen looks)
KG: "It's ok. I've only been out here a week. If I don't get one til Damascus it's ok. It's worth waiting for."
"Youre right"
"this is so amazing can I get my picture taken with you?"
Uhm sure
"You are such a Godsend"
KG: "Oh, ok."
"Gingersnap!!" yelled the kid working the dreads
KG: "Well there it is!"
"Are you seriously going to let us trail-name you?"
KG: "Sure"
"Dude, she's going to let us trail name her! Can you believe that?"
"I still can't believe her real name is Kristen."
KG: "Why?" (looking at the one girl in the group) "Is that your name?"
"No."
"But her parents wouldn't let her come if she was the only girl. So we told them Kristen was coming, and then they were ok with it. Kristen changed her mind though and didn't come after all so we've been trying to figure out how to explain to her parents why Kristen isn't in any of the pictures. But NOW- We have a picture with Kristen in it!!"


See, this is why I love college freshmen (give or take a year).
And no offense, but those who trail-name themselves don't get a good story with it. Patience is a virtue and good things come to those who wait.
So my trail-name is Gingersnap, and I hope out there somewhere are 4 kids from Alabama who enjoy the story, among a week of others, just as much as I.

Thin Mint even had sturdy little gingersnaps to share with me, basking in the sun with Lizard at the top of Albert Mountain. And someday perhaps I'll tell you why the name is so ironic for me to begin with.

BackLog #1: Survival of the Fittest... Smartest...Best-Allied. (Day 5)

"4 inches! Let's not hike, Let's whitewater raft!" -Steadfast

The morning before we'd all broken out of the hostel at Neel's Gap to beat feet for shelter space, be it Whitley Gap, Low Gap or Blue Mountain. I was gunning for Low, and when all was said and done we squeezed 9 hikers in, personality being anything but scarce.

It was indeed coming down in the morning and Blaine and David and I joined forces to make for Unicoi Gap, busting out 10 miles in 4 1/2 hours, stopping only for short necessary breaks, as small rivers ran both down and across the trail, cold rain blasting sideway. I still don't know if it was better or worse that we stopped at Blue Mtn shelter to eat a little something before the big descent. The thing is built backwards like a wind funnel, and I knew it. Mildly hypothermic we again got moving and halfway down I fell for the first time. Hit a wet rock slab and both feet went out from under me. Kid you not, the first thing to hit was my chin. Somebody must have rolled a 20 on my save, cause I bounced up without a scratch and we made it to the bottom and to trail magic. Shivering on the side of the road now, 4 wet miserable hikers were thumbing for a hitch into town and eventually a white 1/2 bed pickup stopped for us, courtesy of a guy named Randall, careening down 9 miles of frigid blast into Helen, GA. where we planned to share a hotel room and dry out our gear. A hot shower, down jacket and steamy laundry room never felt so warm as I maintained my well-traveled tradition of washing clothes for several others. At this point I'm feeling rather weak metabolically and my one knee is giving out. Blaine is doing valiently to keep my head in the game for the next section, and inspite of the fact that I can only get down 2 slices of pizza and a cup of French onion soup that night, I sleep well and rally for another day.

From Kristen in Fontana

Explaining how I got here is nigh unto impossible, and I have mixed feelings about it. But quite honestly givien my gender that could be said of most anything, so I won't camp there. Not only am I zero-ing in Fontana, I'm double zero-ing.

The bad news is I'm in rough shape structurally, the good news is it only hurts to hike (sadistic humor I know). The bad news is I'm losing time, the good news I'm still on the trail, which was highly debateable yesterday. It's been a 10-day progession of worsening condition and diagnosis.

At this point I'm nearly certain of a name for it. And as of today, thanks to a far away friend, I have a few solutions. What I don't know yet is which direction my knees are getting trashed from: if my body is revolting to the insoles of my boots, or the fit of my hipbelt. But 40 miles north in Gatlinberg at least there's 2 things I can work on besides quitting and an orthopaedic surgeon. At this point, Im leaning toward the pack, as my feet feel largely stellar, and several bones along my waist in some ways not so much. Amazingly enough all my muscles are quite, quite very, happy.

With that being said, I will be finding some floor space to do some Nalgene therapy, and think on a few good BackLog stories to share. Here's hoping I have Katahdin in me over the next few weeks.

From Kristen in the Nantahalas

Torrential rain and trail magic, wind and snow, hostels and hotels, shelters, campsites and bivouacs, hiking, hitchhiking and occasionally dry, warm weather and clear skies – there's not a whole lot I haven't seen in this week. It was a big deal to make the GA/NC border. So far I've made 137 miles in 12 days, which (just crunching the numbers) is an average of Pathetic, but considering the conditions is pretty close to amazing. Part of me wonders why I spent the last 7 years hoping and dreaming and working toward being wet, cold, miserable, hungry and in pain, but I'm here and for the time being, I'm going to keep going. There's really no way for me to keep up with both writing and survival so I'm sorry not to include a lot of stories of the wonderful people I've met or pictures of the gorgeous things I've seen.

But I made it to Nantahala Outdoor Center and few miles beyond. I might zero at Fontana and perhaps get a letter in the mail, but for the time being I am clean, dry, and resupplied until Gatlinburg, TN.

from Kristen on the trail

By far the rockiest and most fluvial section of the first day was climbing up Springer Mountain and back down to Forest Road 42. The first thing I did atop Springer Mountain was break my digital snapshot camera. On a rock. In a puddle.

(Not my best move ever.)

I was immediately struck by how little it really mattered to me. I was here for a hike; objects being replaceable. What is no small miracle, however, is that with some forcing and prying and a few slaps, it totally works again. So the good news is: someday you get pictures!

Finding the trail register, I simply signed in; no notes, no exclamation.

“3/5/11 Kristen Paige Gregory”

I really don't remember my first few steps of the trail, but upon reaching the bottom of the hill, I walked the rest of the day in the same grey rain on a soft path through long green tunnel, primarily deliberating whether to hike nine miles or sixteen. I had a few rough moments, but largely I was a happy camper. In the end I decided to take it easy on myself and break myself in gently (given recent conditions) and so found myself camped at Hawk Mountain shelter in the top corner. I was surrounded by an unadmitted vagrant with 2 dogs, two first timer marines, five thru hikers and a dad plus weekend groups and a few others in half a dozen poor tents in the rain.

With a little shaking disillusion between dinner and second dinner, I nonetheless fell asleep in a relatively good state of mind. It poured seriously all night long. I can't say I made a early start on day 2, but my body didn’t ache which was promising. An orchestra of fluty whistles filled the day; that's how crazy the wind was. Descending a switchback, I caught my first glimpse of the Chattahoochees. Then, upward, resumed to otherwise walk thru a blasting mist, overlooking an abyss of fog, wondering which of the foggy tops was Sassafras Mountain and which was Justice Mountain. My primary deliberation was not where I could stay, but how much of what was in my pack I could ship out at the post office in Suches.

My sites were thus set on twelve miles to Woody Gap. Other than the shelter midway, everywhere I stopped turned out to be a wind tunnel. The ridge up to Ramrock Mountain showed a panoramic view thru the trees, which was a favorite moment. But Ramrock doesn't have a top... it has LOTS of tops and lots of mini gaps, which at this point in the day was at least as psychologically exhausting as physically. And then out of nowhere, on yet another ridgewalk (only unique for skipping across spring runoff) Woody Gap slaps you right in the face, quite literally. Taillights in the fog were never yet such a welcome sight. Katherine and her dad and Andy preceded me and we were soon fed and tented as bits of snow pelted our little homes.

It was a cold, cold night, but we all woke in good spirits and somewhat rested. By the time I walked down to Suches and hitched back, courtesy of Mr. Nelson Angler. Frost-covered mountains and raspberry canes were dropping chunks of frost like oversized coconut flakes. Even with my side trip, I made a decent midmorning start and most of the day was spent ridgewalking to Blood Mountain, my first “big mountain” (800 feet in 8/10 of a mile). Clear skies and vistas! I passed up the shelter of creepiness for Neels Gap where I picked up my first mail drop and made a sudden decision to hostel and regroup. I've cooked a nice dinner and showered; it hasn't been the easiest start, but I'm not unhappy with it either. For the most part, conditions continue to improve and you should hear from me again in a week, hopefully at Nantahala.

The Dropoff

Jack the Web Goblin here - I'll be caretaker for the blog while she's on the trail. She's headed north now.

--

The day began at 7:00 am - one hour later than anticipated. With much rushing and preparation (and a few imprecations thrown at malfunctioning alarm clocks) we were out the door and on the road toward Springer Mountain and the AT trailhead.

A steady rain cut visibility somewhat on the drive north toward Amicalola Falls, but "you can't hike the AT without getting wet eventually" and so our stalwart party forged onward. The report from AFSP personnel was that Winding Stair Gap was not an ideal choice for access, so we rounded the western border of the mountain and found Forest Road 42 (an auspicious number, for any Douglas Adams fans out there) which would apparently give us an easier ascent.

Our hardy Chevy Cavalier began the trek up toward the trail, and the rain had settled the dust on the gravel road nicely; low lying clouds, however, prevented any view of potential vistas as we continued onward and upward. After ten miles or so we found the access to the trail itself - white blazes leading all the way to Maine. It's really rather astonishing, when one pauses to consider the scale of it.

And so photos were taken (courtesy of some other hikers), goodbyes were said, and excitement ran high, to say the least. It's a culmination of over 7 years of planning and preparation, and to see Kris starting her journey was a privilege we'll not forget soon. Amanda snapped a picture as she turned around for the last farewell.


A text was received later on, which I reproduce here:

"Hawk Mtn shelter - 9 miles in. been here a couple hrs. kinda wet out. doing ok. calling it an early night. <3kg "

And so it begins!

from Kristen in Maryland: "Couch Surfing"

I have a secret. Kristen Gregory turned couch-surfer. It's been kind of a secret because my impression is that Rangers are supposed to have a legitimate residence of their own. kind of goes with the territory of holding a professional career of any sort.

One would think that if I was going to be a couch-surfer I'd have taken care of that while studying Adventure Sports at a junior college in my late teens, not as a post graduate fully employed in my late twenties. But I never did go about most things in ordinary fashion or sequence, nor was I ever really dealt average circumstances.

The next part of the secret is that I absolutely love it. I like that I'm the survivor type. I like that I'm nonetheless able to accept help when things go especially badly. And I like coming home to someone.

How I've managed to collect so very many high quality friends is beyond me. You know you have truly amazing friends when the owners of the predominant of seven couches and such you've been sleeping on for the past 4 weeks make a special PadThai dinner for you in celebration of your last day of work and repeatedly wish throughout your stay that you didn't have to leave. This is in part because I like to do the dishes, and primarily because there's more than a few reasons we became friends in the first place.