My 19-year old son and I left at 7:15 AM Tuesday morning. We loaded the car with a day's gear for hiking, prepared for any weather due to where we were going - Roan Mountain, Tennessee, about a 2-1/2 hour drive from home.
Our plan was to begin at Carvers Gap on Hwy. 143 in Tennessee and hike some 6ish miles north on the Appalachian Trail to Overmountain Shelter and then hike back to Carver's Gap. I hadn't seen Overmountain Shelter, but had heard about it. A large barn that I'd heard backpackers speak fondly of.
My son and I had Yerba, my daughter's dog, in tow. Or maybe Yerba had us in tow.
We three hit the trail around 11:00 AM. My son prompted me to take my backpack, as opposed to my hiking hip pack, since I needed rain and weather gear, along with my food and water for the day. Weather on the Roan can change suddenly, going from clear skies and 90 degrees to rain storms and 65 degrees, in a matter of an hour or less. On more than one occasion, I'd experienced the extremes of the magical Roan.
Oh, how I love Roan Mountain. It's like a call of the wild for me. The evergreens with moss and imaginary gnomes that peek from the tiny spruces growing from the forest floor. The rhododendrons. The blueberries. The balds. The balds. The balds. The view of the ocean of mountains as far as the eye can see.
My son hikes much quicker than I, so we agreed to part and meet up at Overmountain Shelter. We had walkie-talkies with us; cell service is not reliable in the North Carolina/Tennessee Mountains. Many folks don't realize that Mt. Mitchell, North Carolina, is the highest point east of the Mississippi River in North America. Roan Mountain is almost the same height as Mt. Mitchell.
Yerba decided to stick with my son. I was solo.
The day was beautiful. Crystal clear sky. It was perfect. The temperature must have been in the 80s as a high for the day.
I'd decided to take the day off work due to some emotional trauma from the day before when my then therapist had verbally assaulted me, accused me of things I had no idea I had committed, and had abruptly and harmfully slashed communication with me adamantly stating he wanted no contact with me in any form. The situation had sent me reeling into past territory of self-blame, doubting my reality, self-distrust, feeling small, and a slew of other unhealthy emotional responses - my soul felt led to slaughter. My son had witnessed my downturn and suggested a day on the Roan.
After a few hours of hiking, I arrived at Overmountain Shelter, the large red barn graffitied with messages from years of visitors. Some backpackers were hanging out. We talked a bit. Trail talk. "Where are you from?" "How far are you going?" "Have you trekked this route before?" "Seen any bears or snakes?" "How far to the water source?"
I asked if they'd seen my son, by chance, describing his appearance. They hadn't.
I waited for over an hour, but no son. I kept trying to reach him on the walkie-talkie, but to no avail. Hmm. I had to make a decision as to which way to go. But I also needed water; my son had the filter. Someone offered their filter for me to use. I found the water source, cameled up, filled my two water bottles, returned the filter to the owner with sincere gratitude saying a silent prayer of blessing for his kindness, and decided to continue north on the AT. Worst case scenario is that my son and I miss each other and I come out at Hwy 19E some 9 miles north. Son knew I was on the trail, so I wouldn't be lost.
After about 1-1/2 miles I meet up with Yerba and my son hiking south; they had hiked about 3 miles beyond the shelter and then turned around. We discussed a plan. He'd continue south back to the car at Carvers Gap; I'd continue north and come out at Hwy. 19E. He'd drive the car over to 19E and pick me up. Estimated time of arrival for a meet up at 19E - 9:00 PM. I still had a good supply of water, so my son kept the filter with him; he was about out of water and would need to stop and refill at the shelter.
Yerba deliberated back and forth, first following me then turning about to run back to my son. Finally she stayed with me. My son ran back to me and gave me her leash. On the AT, once a hiker is deep in the trail, a good trail dog goes off leash. Yerba is a great trail dog.
I was glad to have her company. Little did I know at the time that it would be 11:00 PM before we would exit the woods and make it to Hwy. 19E.
I'd never hiked this part of the AT, this deep into this section north of the Roan, this section known as the Roan Highlands. I had no idea the pleasure and magic that awaited me as I crossed over a ridge and beheld before me the largest balds I'd ever seen with my naked eye.
I was awestruck. No words to describe the beauty before me. It was a fairy tale. A dream. There were no people, just me and Yerba and the huge spread of green fields. Crystal blue sky, large and wide. The mountain ocean as far as eye could see.
Yerba ran and ran and ran, flushing birds out from the tall grasses, her head and graceful body bounding upward through the gold and green.
I tasted the clouds. I held the sun. My heart warmed and thrilled. Tear drops of gratitude and the greatness of life.
This is life in all its grandeur. Large. Expansive. Open. Raw. Wild.
The sun kissed my cheeks. The wind stroked my skin.
Communion.
Home.
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| 0803//2010. Grandpup Yerba along the Roan Highlands... the trail "melting into the horizon" as clouds roll in. |
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Home Among The Balds (part 1 of 3)
The Woods Have Eyes (part 2 of 3)
Cocoon Shelter (part 3 of 3)
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