A Thousand and One Appalachian Tales

In 1778 two Indian scouts searching for stolen horses discovered the springs at Hot Springs, where a hotel was built in 1782. A road to Tenn. established in 1795 gave access to the Warm Springs Spa.

During the 1890s Warm Springs was renamed Hot Springs, and the Mountain Park hotel was built there. It was a handsome rambling structure and could accommodate 1,000 guests. Nearby were the famed springs, which contained many mineral elements. There was a spring house for drinking water and a bath house in which baths were built in the springs themselves. During the years when health-seekers believed in the efficacy of mineral waters, Hot Springs was one of the most popular resorts in western N.C.

Appalachian Trail Guide, Tennessee - North Carolina, Eighth Edition, pg 169

©Copyright 02001. Fresh Ink. All rights reserved.

Hot Springs. Strider had been speaking of this town since they left Fontana Dam. That, and Snowbird Mtn which, from Davenport Gap Shelter, lay directly ahead.

It was another fine day on the Appalachian Trail. After crossing NC 284, the Trail entered the Pisgah National Forest and NC Wildlife Management Area. From there, it was a short hike to the summit of Snowbird Mtn(4,263 ft) and a grandstand view of the Great Smoky Mountains. You could tell Strider was glad to be back, not so much by the ear to ear grin on his face but by the fact that he had mentioned Snowbird practically every night for the past two weeks. Clearly he had some sort of bond with this mountain.

After lunch it was a short hike to Groundhog Creek Shelter for the evening. They were still two days away from Hot Springs and hot showers.

The next day was filled with extraordinary views and panoramic vistas. The finest by far was Max Patch Mtn (4,629 ft). From Max Patch it was a short hike to Walnut Mountain (4,280 ft) and then to Walnut Mountain Shelter for the evening.

Day 27: after an early morning hike over Bluff Mtn(4,686 ft), the small band arrived at Hot Springs in the late afternoon.

Hot Springs was a small happy town. There was a Jesuit Hostel where Düg, Zero, Strider, and many others stayed and then there was The Inn, run by former thru-hiker Elmer Hall, where Rebecca, Pablo and Mom, Ken Bushpig and many others stayed. The Inn was country living done right and although Düg could not afford to stay there, he did manage to make a reservation for dinner.

But the real attractions were the hot springs from which the town derived its name. They hid across the field, opposite to the Laundry next to the river, in an old boarded up wooden building with No Trespassing signs on it. This used to be a mineral springs resort in the 1800's. Inside were these tubs filled with a warm, greenish water stuck to a thick layer of scum and grime which floated on top. It looked positively disgusting but that did not stop many a thru-hiker from taking a quick dip into those magical mystery pools. It was like an obligatory part of the Trail experience; to miss a dip in the hot springs of Hot Springs would have been like finding Ponce de Leon's Fountain of Youth and not stopping to have a drink!

That night Düg enjoyed a fine Vegetarian dinner at The Inn. There were many other thru-hikers there that evening and many familiar faces. Beth and Chandra were there. Chandra shared a story about the friendly skunks she met at Ice Water Springs Shelter in the Smokies. She planned to have the pictures developed and sent ahead. Apparently the skunks made quite an impression on her.

The next day Düg went to James Gentry's hardware store and fashioned a genuine, bona fide, patent-pending, hands free, water delivery system from an old plastic soda bottle, some washers and a piece of plastic tubing he bought from the store. The idea came from Strider who was sporting one of his own. James was kind enough to drill a hole through the soda bottle's cap and Düg was in business. He secured the bottle to his pack with some rope. It didn't look pretty but it worked like a charm. He visited the Post Office for his food drop and the local grocery store for additional supplies. Then, he called home and kept his family updated. Before leaving San Antonio he had mailed them a large poster sized map of the Trail. This they used to diligently keep track of his journey with a red thumbtack.

The next day, as he prepared to leave he found out that Strider was staying behind. Someone had slipped him some powerful mojo and he was well in the grips of it. He had a grin which lip-wrestled somewhere in the back of his head. Düg was saddened to be saying goodbye to this good friend. If it wasn't for the divine providence of meeting Strider at Addis Gap Shelter, Düg might have gotten off the Trail way back in Franklin, NC. He owed him many thanks.

And now Düg was moving on and Strider was staying behind. He was at a loss. He asked Strider if there was any last minute advice he could give. Strider took Düg's Trail diary, "Did Ed Garvey Sleep Here?" and with a smile wrote, "Go slow, go far." Then, he faded away, leaving behind only his Cheshire Cat's grin and many fond memories. Thanks Strider.

"As to the gods, I have no means of knowing either that they exist or that they do not exist."

Protagoras

Düg followed the white blazes out of town. He crossed over the French Broad River via a bridge then followed Silvermine Creek Rd along the riverbank. There the Trail turned sharply to the right and continued up. After a brisk ascent by switchbacks, he emerged at Lover's Leap, with awesome views.

"Lover's Leap, a huge rock face above the French Broad River, visible from Hot Springs, was supposedly named by the Cherokee Indians when a maiden of their tribe, Mist-on-the-Mountains, threw herself from the crag after her northern lover, Magwa, was killed by a jealous rival, Lone Wolf. The Cherokee shared this area between the Great Smokies and Big Bald with the Creek Indians as a neutral hunting ground."

Appalachian Trail Guide, Tennessee - North Carolina, p 169, eighth edition

As was becoming par for the course, leaving Trail Towns meant crowded accommodations for the next few days and leaving Hot Springs was no different. In spite of a wide spread of tents pitched like a small village, Spring Mountain Shelter was filled to double the maximum occupancy. This was mostly due to the wet rainy conditions which quickly rolled in from the north. They slept head to toe, packed in like Sardines. There was even one thru-hiker who floated above in his own private hammock. In the morning he would lay there and cook breakfast while everyone else scurried about.

Despite the weather, Düg continued on to Little Laurel Shelter. This was just as crowded. Once again the guy with the hammock slept above. Düg considered again the pros and cons of having a tent.

Thankfully, by Jerry Cabin Shelter, after a break in the last three days of rain, folks had begun again to spread out. Instead of the 16 or so from the previous nights, now they were down to only twelve. The next night, at Hogback Ridge Shelter, it was cozy and quaint, not nearly as bad as the last two nights. As he sat by the fire, pouring over his data book and Philosopher's Guide, somehow it came to his attention that it was May 7th. He had been on the trail for a little over a month now.

In the morning, after an early start, Düg reached Sam's Gap and US 23. This was a paved road with houses. He took a chance and knocked on one of the doors. A lady came to the door. He apologized and explained that he was thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail and was wondering if he could use her phone to call his mother. She, being a mother herself, was naturally touched. Luckily, his mom was home and he was able to wish her a happy Mother's Day. He thanked the lady and returned to the Trail feeling positively radiant. How many other thru-hikers thought to call their moms that day?

Back on the Trail Düg met a Trail worker measuring the Trail. He had a stick with a wheel on it. The stick recorded a click every time the wheel made a complete rotation. It was the Trail worker's job to roll the wheel along the Trail and then count the clicks.

Düg chatted with the man for a bit then pushed on ahead to where he ran into Rawhide. Rawhide was one of the other thru-hikers Düg had been sharing shelters with since Hot Springs.

Together they continued over Big Bald (5,516 ft.)to spend the night at Bald Mtn Shelter. The next day, with a final push, they made it to Erwin Tennessee and Nolichucky Expeditions. There, Crocket Bunkhouse, with bunks and hot showers, greeted them.

That night Düg met up with AT. AT said that his relatives wanted to pick him up for a weekend at their chalet and they wanted him to invite some of his fellow thru-hikers. AT asked Düg if he wanted to go. He was honored and said yes. That night arrangements were made. Düg, AT, Zero, and Steve Trailnameless, would meet up at Elk Park on Saturday, the 14th. They had it all planned out. They would slackpack from Elk Park to Hampton on Sunday and then get back on at Hampton. Slackpacking, they discovered was a loop-hole, a perfectly acceptable solution to the Purist's Dilemma. Slackpacking more or less involved sending ahead one's backpack and then hiking to it, hitching ahead and hiking back, or some sort of variant thereof.

The next day Düg hit the PO and the store, stocked up, and headed out. From the Crocket Bunkhouse, he entered a thick Hemlock and rhododendron forest and emerged at Beauty Spot (4,437 ft). This was a natural grassy bald with breathtaking views in all directions. Particularly captivating was Roan Mountain which loomed directly ahead. He stayed there for lunch then continued on.

He had clearly hit a groove. Any problems he once had with tendonitis were long past. He had acclimated to the conditions of the Trail and was now on his way to becoming a well tuned thru-hiking machine. But there was still one nagging little dilemma which simmered up through his subconscious. He was still without a Trail name.

Then, as he reached Deep Gap, like a ton of bricks it hit him. His whole life had been a journey. It was in many ways similar to the thru-hike he was on now. He had always questioned the things other people expected him to believe, had always sought out the mysteries for himself. To this end, he considered himself to be what he thought of as an Agnostic, though perhaps he misused the word. To him, Agnostics were people who did not simply accept the tenets of belief, the mythos, given to them. They questioned them. Agnostics were simply people brave enough to admit that they didn't know, that they didn't have an answer.

But, Düg was not content to just ask questions. He was a skeptic, filled with incredulity, but he was also a naive idealist. He was jaded by the disposable consumerism of the so-called New Age Movement but he was also aware that there was something more, something ineffable, that skepticism by itself could never find. The Jewel in the Lotus. In this sense, his Agnosticism was not an uncertainty about the existence of God but an uncertainty as to what that meant. To him it was not a case of whether or not God existed, clearly something did and everything else was a matter of semantics and vocabulary. Rather, it was a case of whether that something was knowable. It seemed to him that to summarily explain everything in terms of God was to say that it was not. To this he could not agree. He felt somethings were knowable. He felt that as some things became known, this knowledge could only increase. Furthermore, he knew that as knowledge increased it would do so exponentially. He understood that if we did not destroy ourselves first, a great and wonderful future awaited us. It was all but inevitable. Yet there were no guarantees. He was not without faith, he was without the certainty of belief. It was not that he did not believe or that he was without the desire to believe. Rather it was that he was not conditioned to act as if his beliefs were true. He contained them in semi-permeable fields. He entertained them like ideas. But he realized that a belief may or may not be true. It's fundamental characteristic was uncertainty. It was only through a conditioning process akin to hypnosis that the fundamental uncertainty of a belief was ignored, forgotten and denied. To him, this conditioning process was like putting to sleep the very treasure God had given him!

So it seemed that, in many ways, he was an Agnostic Monk, though by that he meant no disrespect to others. He simply felt that this reflected a kind of childish innocence. It reflected a method in which he sought to explore the conundrums of existence for himself. Indeed, in many ways, it was this very exploration which had led him to Deep Gap, to that very moment. It was as if he had always been The Agnostic Monk but it was so obvious that, without the context of the Trail, he had simply failed to notice.

For as long as he could remember, Düg had always wanted to see things for himself. He wasn't content to merely view the world through the cathode ray tube of a couch-potato's paradise. He had to go out and view the world for himself. This was how he found himself in Germany, how he found himself in Texas and how he found himself on the Appalachian Trail.

And so there he was. It was like a brilliant satori, a joyous flame which melted away the prison of his mind, if only for a moment. For a brief instant there seemed a perfect symmetry, a totality that was as awesome as it was indescribable. It was as if everything in his life had conspired to bring him to that moment, to that astounding realization. It was devastating. Düg Fresh, reborn as The Agnostic Monk, was humbled by the sheer magnitude of that immeasurable moment. He wept from gratitude. It remains indelible to this day, a shining, omnipresent wormhole back to that eternal effervescent eigenstate.

Finally, near evening he reached Cherry Gap Shelter where he again ran into Coot and Tumbleweed again. Rawhide was there as well, as was Zero, Steve Trailnameless and AT. Around a dancing fire, they stayed up late into the evening sharing Trail experiences.

The next day, The Agnostic Monk passed over Little Bald Knob (4,459 ft.) en route to Clyde Smith Shelter. He moved quickly through the countryside. The last lingering of inertia was long left behind. He had learned to fly.

©Copyright 02001. Fresh Ink. All rights reserved.

Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.

The Bible, Authorized King James version, Matthew 18:3

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