Reflections on Week 2: Getting Soaked While Hitting Our Stride

With severe storms stretching from Florida to Virginia today, Rachel and I have decided to spend a second day in Franklin, North Carolina. Had we not, we’d be summiting Silers Bald, which, as its name implies, is rather exposed. Instead, in the luxury of a dry, electrified room, I’d like to catch readers up on our adventure.

Rachel and I caught a ride to Franklin to resupply and to dry out. After two full weeks of dry weather and 100 miles on the trail, we paid our rain “debt” with 36 hours of showers.

Hiking in the rain isn’t particularly pleasant, but it isn’t the slog some make it out to be. In some respects, Rachel and I had actually been looking forward to it.

Mountain air, even in the southeast and on the doorstep of spring, can be painfully dry. Chapped nostrils lead to runny noses, which become rawer with each rub. Fire becomes freakishly hungry, making mere cooking risky and starting a campfire stupid.

Another silver lining of the rain is that it’s an excellent stress test for our gear: A trash bag liner doesn’t keep water out as well as a pack cover. Seam tape eventually fails, no matter how expensive the rain jacket (Rachel and I had expected to replace our rain jackets early in the trip and, in fact, did yesterday at an outfitter in Franklin).

But the best part of rain at this time of year is that it brings out spring. Daffodils dot grasses and clusters of galax (Troy and Elizabeth: This is the green or reddish heart-shaped groundcover none of us could identify), growing almost by the hour.

The spring equinox is this Saturday. We won’t send our winter gear home until Virginia, but we’re optimistic the driest, coldest days are behind us.

What Else Is Behind Us

Before jinxing ourselves further, let’s cover the developments of the last few days:

• The 100-mile mark at Mt. Albert firetower

At the base of the first firetower along the AT is an etched “100,” where northbounders cross the centennial mile mark. The firetower itself is locked to prevent vandalism, but it’s a rewarding climb nonetheless.

Rachel and I got just one view from Mt. Albert, on account of the rain, but what a view it was. I’m also a sucker for firetowers, which represent to me a slower, more ecologically minded period in America.

• The solidification of our routine

One misconception I’ve heard from a few people about hiking the AT is that it’s an unstructured experience. Although I’ve met a lot of hikers who seem to be winging it, those who succeed tend to be those who plan.

Rachel and I map out three to five days at a time, depending on the distance between resupply points and the elevation profile. We never hike without knowing our destination, our water refill points, our caloric needs based on the day’s miles, and any upcoming permit/land use restrictions. We choose campsites based not just on location, but on exposure, terrain, dead trees nearby, and more.

We also know, at this point in our hike, which tasks each of us is best at. Rachel puts up and takes down the shelter while I make meals. I hide and retrieve the bear cans. She repairs gear. I scout ahead on poorly marked trails.

• The first signs of “trail legs”

As is true of any new exercise routine, the first few weeks on the trail can be uncomfortable. This period, in which the body becomes first more and then less sore, is known as “getting your trail legs.”

Although the full adjustment takes, supposedly, 200-300 miles, Rachel and I believe we’re over the hump. No longer do we hobble into camp or end the day treating blisters. As we shed winter weight and the terrain evens out in Virginia, we’ll only feel better and more capable.

• The diffusion of hikers

The first few dozen miles of trail were noticeably more crowded than the last few. Because different hikers move at different speeds, the mob thins out by the North Carolina border. Many days now, we play leapfrog with the same couple of hikers.

Rachel and I have thoroughly enjoyed the people along the trail. Camping with ten other tents just erodes the wilderness experience a bit.

Don’t get me wrong: This has been an incredible adventure. We’re feeling strong and eager at the two-week mark, with some of the AT’s most famous and scenic miles just ahead.