Lions, Tigers, and I WANT TO SEE A BEAR!

Considered an utter nightmare to some yet a right of passage to a thru hiker, we want to lay our eyes on a bear, and one of our best chances is in the Great Smoky Mountains. With only 28 miles left in this national park, my fingers are crossed to set sight on one of said kings of this castle…in the safest way possible, of course.

My trek through the Smokies has been warmer than anticipated with temps climbing into the 70s during the afternoon and dipping into the 40s at night. Quite a contrast to the historical ankle-deep snow that is forecasted through the end of April each year. However, the ascents have lived up to their reputations, testing both my lungs and my calves. “Why do they ‘make’ us go ALL of the way up JUST to come ALL of the way back DOWN?!?”, I ask the universe. These are referred to as “PUDs”, I’ve learned.

Pointless ups and downs.

The Appalachian Trail follows the border of North Carolina and Tennessee. Therefore, not only have I no clue which day of the week it is, I have no idea which state I am in at a given time. The epitome of wandering. However (fun fact alert!!), if there is a privy at a designated camping area, then it’s in North Carolina territory, and if not, then you’re in Tennessee.

Mind. Blown.

My days are exceedingly busy. Non-stop, to be exact. The birds wake me up around 6:30am, and I marinate in my sleeping bag until 7-ish when my bladder won’t allow me to hide from the reality of the cold that awaits me. Then it’s GO time! Contact lenses in. Stove ignited in the vestibule of my tent for java. While the filtered water comes to a boil, I brush my teeth, never letting an eye off of the flame as this is a flammably risky maneuver. Titanium mug full of coffee in hand, all the while still cocooned in my sleeping bag from the waist down, I dress my top half from the mound of clothes that I’ve slept with so that they’re warm as I don them. I attempt (key word) to comb my hair with the fraction of the comb that I possess. Sunscreen. Disengage phone, beacon, and headlamp from their battery packs and systematically return them to their stuff sack in the 1 and only way that they’ll fit. I exchange my cozy Smartwool leggings for shorts and my sleep socks for my liners and hikers, still warm and mermaid-like in my bag. “BUT MOM, I DON’T WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL!!”

It’s time.

Pssssssstttttttt… I deflate my sleeping pad. Game over. Now, I either continue to lay upon the frozen, root and rock laden ground that my sleeping pad was protecting me from, or I get the hell up. The miles aren’t going to walk themselves. I roll up my pad into its designated sack. Stuff my sleeping bag into my pack. On top of that goes my stove and electronics, and underneath that goes my sleeping clothes and pillow.

I emerge from my tent.

Off with the rainfly, down with the poles, out with the stakes. Tent in bag and tarp in mesh, I swap out my Crocs for my trail runners and hike to retrieve my bear bag that I’ve hung the evening before. Any and all with a scent gets hung 200 feet away and 100 feet above from where you sleep, from the branch of a tree, to prevent bears from breaking and entering. I eat the oats that I’ve cold-soaked overnight to save on fuel, set aside in a gallon zip lock bag what I’ve planned to eat for lunch, and pack my remaining food on top of the pyramid of belongings in my pack. It’s finally time to cinch it up!

We’re 90 minutes in, and I haven’t even begun to walk yet. Me? Methodical?? Noooooooo. Never.

I walk (A.K.A. climb, crawl, trip, mount, scramble). Eat. Walk. Hydrate. Walk. Repeat. As in, repeat for roughly 9 hours per day.

Did I mention eat? Many have asked and assumed that I am rapidly dropping weight. No. I’ve actually gained weight but have lost inches. I’m eating in the ballpark of 5,000 calories per day. Sometimes hunger calls and sometimes my waning energy does. I have become a machine that needs fuel to function as I am asking it to. It is a known fact that men finish their thru hikes looking as if they’ve escaped from a concentration camp and women as Olympic athletes.

Welcome to the gun show.

I’ve been completing my day’s hike and arriving to camp around 5-6pm each evening. No sooner that I drop my pack with utter fatigue, it’s time to put my morning in reverse. Up with the tent. Off with the wet clothes and on with the dry. To the stream to filter the water. To the stove to simmer the supper. To the tree to hang the bear “don’t eat my food or me” bag. The contacts come out. The headlamp off of the head and into the juicer. And me back into my cocoon.

“Hiker’s midnight” comes at 8pm-ish. When the sun goes down, it’s time to sleep. I’ve never slept so hard, plentifully, and peacefully in my life. After recent years of struggling with insomnia, I feel quenched. This time is to be respected. Our bodies and minds need to be recharged just as our electronics do. Talking on the phone at camp (even if the reception would allow) is comparable to taking a call in a movie theatre.

You just don’t do it.

I miss talking to my friends and my family, you know who you are. The hills are too steep to hold a fruitful conversation while I’m on the move, you can hear a pin drop at camp, and in town I’m racing against the clock to find a laundromat and eat my weight in tacos before I find my way back to the trail. HEAR this- I AM WITH YOU. To the hilt as I always have been, just differently for now.

On a lighter note, of ALL things, I’m craving macaroni salad. Straight up, old-school, mayonnaise-based, deli-style macaroni salad. Can I get a mail drop?!? Tossing unrefrigerated mac salad into a cardboard box and shipping it to Tennessee can’t pose more of a health risk than the “ramen bombs” that I’ve been eating! What’s a “ramen bomb”, you ask? It’s an entire package of ramen noodles, complete with your seasoning of choice, mixed with an ENTIRE package of instant Idahoan potatoes. A sticky, starchy, salty, pot of absolute heaven. Try it. Trust me on this one.

As we say on the trail, “It’s bomb o’clock somewhere!”

4th quarter and I MOTORED through our first 3 days in the Smokies and successfully reunited with Deja and my peloton crew that was forced to split in Fontana! The stars were aligned and we’ll be finishing and exiting the Smokies together on Friday evening if all goes as planned. Statistically speaking, 50% of thru hikers have waved their white flag and left the trail to return home by the time that they reach Hot Springs, North Carolina. I’m scheduled to arrive there next Monday or Tuesday, so short of an ankle fracture, I’ll have made the cut!

Another fact worth mentioning- I’ve deduced that the ratio of men to women out here is about 5:1. One word.

Bad@$$.

I used my bandana to clean my pot post-ramen bomb. Then to blow my nose into it. Then as a headband.

I drank from the faucet of the bathtub at the Quality Inn in Gatlinburg where I stayed last night.

I used body lotion as leave-in conditioner because I legitimately could not get a comb through my hair this morning.

I used shampoo to wash my dishes.

While my clothes were in the dryer, I went to dinner in a very public, sought after Mexican restaurant in a rain jacket and rain pants. And NOTHING else.

I packed out (brought from town back to trail) my leftover guacamole from said dinner in a used Craisin bag. It’s all that I had.

I am savage.

A savage who possesses more eye shadow palettes in her storage unit than any woman who has ever set foot on this footpath. A natural city-slicker, I am.

Enigmatic, I know. I want it no other way.

I’ve walked 208 miles over 3 states and summited to the highest peak on the entire Appalachian Trail, Clingmans Dome. I will continue to put one foot in front of the other.

Now about that bear…

Crossing Fontana Dam Bridge into Great Smoky Mountain National Park

Thumbs down to the additional quarter mile hike off trail to retrieve water 👎🏼!

I placed grits, Raisin Bran, nuts, dried cherries and flaxseed into an empty Talenti gelato container and topped with filtered water before bed, and in the morning I had a delicious cold cereal full of protein, fat and carbs. The consistency of thic… — I placed grits, Raisin Bran, nuts, dried cherries and flaxseed into an empty Talenti gelato container and topped with filtered water before bed, and in the morning I had a delicious cold cereal full of protein, fat and carbs. The consistency of thick oatmeal, but chilled. I honestly love it!

Clingmans Dome, an unobstructed 360 degree view once you walk the ramp to the top

Dancing Wind, a successful 2010 thru hiker, said goodbye to her successful corporate banking career in Manhattan and met her husband, Red Stick, on the trail. 2 children, a goat farm in Florida, and a puppy later, she serendipitously crossed paths w… — Dancing Wind, a successful 2010 thru hiker, said goodbye to her successful corporate banking career in Manhattan and met her husband, Red Stick, on the trail. 2 children, a goat farm in Florida, and a puppy later, she serendipitously crossed paths with me as I descended into Gaitlinburg and we hiked together for miles as she taught me a *great* deal.

Hitched with Johnny into Gaitlinburg from Newfound Gap. He approached us, eager to tell us of his goal to hike all 900 miles of the Smoky Mountains. He’s made it to 600. Johnny is 80 years YOUNG. — Hitched with Johnny into Gaitlinburg from Newfound Gap. He approached us, eager to tell us of his goal to hike all 900 miles of the Smoky Mountains. He’s made it to 600. Johnny is 80 years *YOUNG.*

Tramily together again to complete the Smokies 🙌🏼!

1,972 bottles of beer on the wall, 1,972 bottles of beer…

Packed out hot dogs from Gaitlinburg and kept them warm in the Jetboil. Why do hot dogs come 10 to a pack and the buns 8? This has to be remedied.

Shuttle driver, Neal, originally from Great Britain

Paid off to camp with Rivers, a massage therapist by trade!

Naked and Afraid

A Fungus Amongus