The First 200 Miles

The First 200 Miles

-A section hike of the Appalachian trail

“The Journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step”-Laozi

       A lone red maple leaf stood-out on top of a sea of brown ones.  The trail was filled to its shoulders with big crispy leaves as if it had been done on purpose.  It was soft.  Our feet made satisfying crunches and smushing sounds as we put down our first steps on a very long and storied trail.

Our start at Springer Mountain.

A Side Thought

     It was a side thought really. Tamra and I had been planning a vacation around my November birthday.  Our plan included visiting New Orleans, Memphis, and then Nashville.  Afterwards she had to get home for work but I’m retired. “How could I extend my stay and go hiking?”,  I thought.  It didn’t take too long to realize how close I would be to the world famous Appalachian trail.

     “I think I want to do some hiking on the A.T.”  I told her.  After explaining my idea, she was excited for me.

     The older I get the harder time I have dealing with the darkness.  Besides in November there typically isn’t enough snow to play around with (...skiing, snowmachining, ect), and the rivers aren’t safe enough for travel yet, so I can’t get to the cabin.

     I mentioned it to my buddy Mark and he immediately got excited.  “Who are you going with?” he asked.

     “By myself unless you want to join me.”  I said.

     “Wow, that sounds great, I think I do”.  And so after looking at his work schedule and confirming with his wife he committed, setting into motion the planning of our great trip.

     No stranger to adventure, Mark is an accomplished Alaskan outdoorsman and along with his equally adventurous wife Aubrey invested in a freeze-dryer.  As it turns out freeze drying your own meals for lightweight backpacking is a game changer.  When you have to carry all of your food on your back, every ounce matters.  Additionally the commercially available freeze dried meals are super expensive and packed with additional preservatives that don’t set well in my gut over days in-a-row of consumption.

Mark taking five in the sunshine.  
It was 16 below on this day at home .

     Aubrey hooked me up with several aluminum trays that resembled cookie sheets.  Over the course of the next several days I filled them with home cooked meals loaded with sauteed veggies and moose sausage.  I made spaghetti, macaroni surprise, red beans and rice, and curried caribou with coconut milk and rice.  Aubrey put them in the magic machine and when I got them back they had lost 80% of their original weight, yet retained over 90% of their nutrition.  Simply add boiling water, stir, and enjoy!

      So it was set.  After Nashville, Tamra would fly home and I would fly 30 minutes South to Atlanta Georgia where I would meet up with Mark.  We had arranged a shuttle to Springer Mountain, the Southern terminus of the Appalachian Trail. 

     “Pile in guys; Make yourselves at home”, He said. “I’m Ron”.  I had booked our shuttle with Ron’s Appalachian Trail Shuttle over two months ago and he was nice enough to chat with me on the phone a couple of times about trail conditions.  Hurricane Helene had passed through the Southern U.S. and parts of the trail had been affected.

     Ron was quite the chatterbox and filled the hour long ride to Springer with trail tips and advice.  As our hike progressed over the course of several weeks we would occasionally recall one of Ron’s tidbits of advice.  “Here you are...Springer Mountain”.  He said.  “ Oh, and here’s your first trail magic.”  He handed us a tootsie pop and wished us luck.

The Trail

     As far as hiking trails go there is no doubt that the Appalachian trail is nothing short of superb;  It was among the best I’ve seen.  The well thought-out trail was graceful, gently-sloped, and well marked..

     Much of the was covered with leaves belonging to unfamiliar trees.  I would find out later that our towering friends included five varieties of giant Oak, three varieties of Hickory, Red Maple, White Pine and White Ash.  The only tree I recognized was the occasional Birch, but those were few-and-far-between.  There was minimal underbrush and often you could see through the forest for long distances.

Behold the most photographed tree on the AT.
It was near the Georgia/ North Carolina border.

     Since Mark was from Minnesota originally, at times I could tell he was feeling nostalgic with the sights and smells of the forest, some of which were common to the woods of his childhood.  Often Mark’s comments would turn towards whitetail deer hunting.  In fact, it was easy to imagine deer passing through the wooded mountains as we hiked.  Finally after ten days of hiking, we spotted a doe and fawn as they slowly traversed around a steep ridge out of sight. “Awesome”, said Mark.

     Another oddity for this sheltered Alaska boy was the presence of acorns.  They were littered along the trail and could be heard dropping to the ground at night.  Maybe that’s why we were seeing so many gray squirrels the size of nerf footballs.

    Along with the two whitetail deer, we saw three black bears, and several groups of rough grouse.  We were hoping to see wild boar too but they were elusive although we did see plenty of their sign as they are notorious for rooting up the ground in search of nuts, roots, and other goodies.  

     Elk had recently been reintroduced to the Great Smoky National Park and we were hopeful to see them.  Unfortunately our three days in the park were socked-in with fog and the views were limited. 

Shelters

     Each night we would end our day at one of the AT’s many three-sided shelters.  Each shelter was similar in size but differed in construction methods and features.  Several of the shelters were assembled with full-scribed log joinery that were built in the 1930’s.  Several others were made of stone, and we stayed in one that was a true timber frame with no metal fasteners.   Each shelter site had a privy, campfire ring, multiple campsites, and a source of water.

Hawk Mountain Shelter

     We only slept in two of the shelters because the field mice were on-point.  One such time I was awakened to the sounds of Mark scurrying around in the darkness to set up the tent after starting out initially in the shelter.  I found out the next morning that a mouse had run across his face;  We slept in the tent every night after that.

     In the first half of the trip our mileage varied from 8 to 18 miles per day.  After day ten, we realized that we’d better slow-our-roll  because we had arranged to fly out of Knoxville.  We made this decision early in our planning because of post-Helene trail reports.  These reports turned out to be greatly exaggerated and we could have planned to go further but we were happy with our itinerary.  “Hey there’s a hostel coming up in Hiawassee”, I discovered while pursuing the guidebook. 

 

The Green Dragon had this picture on the wall.
We stayed at five of these.

Selfie from The Fontana Hilton the cushiest of all of the shelters.
We spotted all three black bears from here; They were beach combing
along the shores of the Fontana Reservoir in the distance beyond. 

        Hostels

     What better way to slow-our-roll than to check out a hostel or two along the way?  Mark and I missed the hostel-thing in our twenties and were excited to check it out.  

     Our first hostel was The Green Dragon in Hiawassee Georgia.  Themed after Frodo Baggins favorite inn in Tolkien’s “Hobbit”, it was nothing short of fantastic.  Several Hobbit quotes could be found written in recognizable Hobbit calligraphy on the walls.  “No admittance except on party business” was posted on a laundry closet. It was a very well run and clean hostel that anticipated the wants- and-needs of the weary hiker. 

      Forty dollars at the Green Dragon gets you a little more than a night's stay.  Included is shuttle pick-up and drop off to the hostel (10 miles each way), bunk bed with fresh linens and memory foam mattress with privacy curtain, hot shower with soap, shampoo and towel, and a hot breakfast the next morning.  Also they shuttle everyone to downtown Hiawassee where you can resupply at a full grocery store.  There is also a post office, outfitter (think REI), and a local brewery.  Did I mention that they also do your laundry for you?  They have a neatly organized closet of loaner clothes organized by size.  Mark and I picked out some great outfits!  This allowed us to have all of our clothes washed; We would be fresh-as-daisies when we hit the trail!  Later that night I found all of my clothes neatly folded and stacked on my bunk. Forty bucks; We were blown away!  The two other hostels we would stay at were very similar in service and value but the Green Dragon stood out as our favorite.

Mark looking good in his loaner clothes!

Discarded hiker's shoes at the Grove hostel.
Each pair represents someone who ended their
hike here.

The Lazy Hiker brewery was a short walk from the Grove hostel.

      General thoughts

     In the end it was a good block of time to walk all day everyday through the mountains with a good friend.  With no projects to complete or deadlines to meet, or chores to do, the day’s activities were always the same: wake up, make coffee, slowly pack up and start walking.

     Unlike hiking in Alaska, the AT is pretty forgiving.  It’s hard to get lost, there are resupply points along the way including outfitters and post offices.  Other hikers are met everyday, some of which are quick to offer unsolicited advice as a matter of course.  Mark and I found this humorous but in-truth everyone we met was very nice and interesting. 

     Often we would talk, run ideas by each other, make jokes, or comment on the scenery as the sights revealed themselves before us.  But it was also a great time for solitude, self reflection, and daydreaming.  I appreciated the time to organize my thoughts, priorities and plan for all of the amazing things coming up in my life upon returning to Alaska.

     Leaving the trail

     “Dude, maybe you should break-off your stach-cycle”  He said.  We chuckled as I snapped off a 2 inch icicle from my upper lip.   We were trying to hitch a ride into Gatlinburg after leaving the trail at Newfound Gap.  I left the rest of my beard ice intact for good measure.  We were a day earlier than we expected but it was getting pretty cold with snow and freezing temperatures in the higher elevations.  One night I mistakenly left out a full bottle of water and it froze solid.  

    The line of cars slowly snaking through the windy road was continual.  It was the day after Thanksgiving in the most visited national park in the U.S. and the highway was absolutely packed.

    After only a few minutes a large black escalade pulled over.  It was a family of four returning home after elk viewing at a popular spot in the Smokies.  “Thank you so much for the ride”, Mark said.

     “No problem”, said the man who was driving.  “I had to pull over, he looked so cold with all that ice on his face”.  I chuckled at myself as I worked at pulling off the remaining chunks of ice from my beard.

     The fifteen miles into Gatlinburg took us an hour and a half with bumper-to-bumper traffic.  We chatted with the nice couple as we slowly made our way down out of the mountains.   

      Tired, cold, and hungry, our 19 mile hiking day turned out to be our longest.  We had such a wonderful hike and it was a little hard to believe that it was over.  “We did it”, said Mark as he came-in for a hug.  We had found a motel room and the relief that all discomfort and struggle was in the past was a happy thought indeed. 

    With nothing more to accomplish, our thoughts turned towards cheeseburgers and home.

Bad hair days were "standard operating procedure"

 

 “Hello Darlin”

“His boots like glass on a sawdust floor, had moves like nothin I’d seen before.”- Ella Hawkins

     “You look ridiculous”, she said.  My feelings weren’t hurt one bit and I knew she was right.  The cowboy hat I was pretending to rock in the store was pigeon-holing me as a bonafide tourist (aka idiot).   A year ago in Arizona seems like yesterday.

    “Hello darlin”, I told her as I tipped my hat proper.  She laughed out loud as the store clerk peered at us over his reading glasses from behind the counter.

     “This time would be different”, I told myself. It was a year later and although it took me twenty five minutes to find the left one,  my cowboy boots were found without too much trouble.  I put them on the counter for inspection.  They were still a little glorious although a bit tattered.  All conservative estimates in my head have last-use at somewhere around 35 years ago. 
  

     Public high school is a unique beast.  Take my word for it as a retired high school teacher with 26 years of service; sometimes kids do weird things.

     Back in my day, for some unknown reason it became popular to wear...cowboy boots.  Was Chugiak High School nestled in a hotbed of ranches, livestock, and rodeos; No. None.

     Regardless, it didn’t take too long for wildfire to spread to the underlings after several of the popular upperclassmen donned this new and strange footwear.   Before long all of my crew were all-in saving up for and eventually rocking the iconic footwear of old....the cowboy boot. 

     These boots, we all found soon enough, weren't particularly comfortable.  The heel rise creates a lot of pressure on the forefoot.  Luckily the unstoppable confidence of adolescence seemed to provide enough dopamine to counteract any manner of foot pain that may have occurred.  Besides, if there was at least a snowball’s chance that these things might turn the head of at least one cute chick, it was well worth it. (....putting out the vibes.) 

     But as they say, what comes around, goes around because now the little lady and myself are headed off to Nashville Tennessee.  There’s no way in tarnation that I'm showing up at Musicville U.S.A. in tennies or loafers; I’ll be Dang-Gone!  I figured that I should try them on first before I work myself up too much.  I tugged on the second one just as she walked through the door after a long day at work.

     “Hello Darlin”,  I announced.  I made sure to heel strike as I approached her.  I was standing at least an inch taller than normal.  I embraced her with a kiss that would have put Tom Cruise and Rebecca De Mornay to shame.

     After the laughter died down and she’d caught her breath she said something like “okay honey”. 

     Lookout Nashville. 

Headed to New Orleans, Memphis, then on the Nashville
with this hot chick.

Part 3: Iditarod Trailbreakers: Ruby to Nome

Part 3: Iditarod Trailbreakers: Ruby to Nome.

     "Life is a journey.  When we stop, things don't go right."-Pope Francis   

    

      It was the morning of the sixth day and the weather was clear and cold.  The leaders were coming and it was time to go.

     Much of the trail between Cripple and Ruby is on old mining roads.  After losing the trail briefly around the abandoned mining town of Poorman, we regained our route eventually passing an old steel bridge spanning the Sulatna River.     

      

Irondog cabin at the old Poorman townsite     

       From there we would wind our way down and out of the hills and onto the streets of Ruby. 

     "Make yourselves at home," she said.  Rachel and Ryan own and operate the Wild Iris bed and breakfast in Ruby.  She had prepared a delicious meal for us including chicken thighs, mashed potatoes, gravy and a garden salad. Four of us would stay in the bunkhouse;  It was a small heated cabin with four beds and was perfect.  The other two, (Spencer, and Kody) would spend the night down the hill at Rachel’s mom's house.   

     On the table in this cabin I found a fascinating book called “Iditarod The First Ten Years” an Anthology compiled by The Old Iditarod Gang.  It was a collection of early Iditarod stories written by a variety of authors.  I quickly thumbed through it and found two articles on the first Iditarod Trailbreakers.

      As aforementioned, I have had lingering questions about how things were done in the early years in regards to breaking trail for the Iditarod.

      What I learned

       One of the Old Iditarod Gang authors was Al Crane who contributed a chapter called "MILITARY TRAILBREAKERS LED THE WAY".  As the story goes, Joe Redington sr. was a super charismatic guy and whoever he talked to about the idea of this crazy Iditarod race was soon onboard.  The most notable of which might have been Major General Charles M. Gettys who gave considerable military support for the trailbreaking effort.  Gettys was the commander of Fort Richardson at the time and was all-in to help.  According to Crane he issued “an official order to send a team of Army snowmachiners on a winter survival skills exercise into the Alaskan Wilderness, where they would test their skill and equipment in-and-against the harsh Alaskan environment”.

     “Twenty two snow machines and that team of trailbreakers and communication specialists would be the first people over the Iditarod trail to Nome in decades.  The first since the gold-rush days early in the twentieth century;  The first to do it with a modern, motorized vehicle.”

Four members of the original military trailbreakers lined up in front
of the historic Nugget Inn on Front Street in Nome.  

       Another of the book's contributing authors was Don Rosevear who penned the what's next part of the trailbreakers story.  After the military team had finished and three weeks prior to the start of that first Iditarod, another group of five civilian volunteers set out ahead of the mushers to re-pack and mark the trail.  Rosevear was 17 at the time and was riding his Dad’s Alpine which had two tracks and one ski up front.  

Don Rosevear with his Dad's Alpine ready for action.  Photo by Don Rosevear.

      The misadventures on that first trip were many.  One of the trailbreakers named Bob Stone broke through ice on the Kuskokwim near Rohn.  After pulling Bob and the snowmachine out of the river, they were able to make it back to the safety of the Rohn cabin where they would have to cut off Bob’s frozen pants.  Ironically, Bob was the only one of the five to make it to Nome, crossing the burled arch just ahead of Iditarod’s first winner Dick Wilmarth.

     Snow machines of the early seventies were a far cry from what we were riding on our trip.  Mechanical breakdowns were a daily part of life on the trail back then.  Additionally travel through deep snow was a non-stop exercise in getting un-stuck. 

     I thought about what it must have been like riding an Alpine all the way to Nome as I packed up and stretched a bungee over the top of my gear bag.  By stark contrast, we were riding 20,000 dollar skidoos with four stroke engines and heated handgrips.  The sled I was riding was on its third trip to Nome and would be sold the next season. 

Civilian trailbreakers in 1973 in front of the Knik Bar before hitting the trail.  Photo by Don Rosevear.

         

      "Let's keep em tight," said Spencer as we dropped down onto the Yukon River.  Visibility can be a problem while running big rivers so closer spacing of the lath is necessary.  It would be a long flat ride today of 135 miles.  We would stop in Galena and Nulato to re-supply fuel and lath on our way to Kaltag where we would stay the night.  

The boys headed out of Ruby, down the hill to the Yukon.

         In Kaltag we would stay at the community hall called the Roundhouse.  It was an incredible eight sided log structure with a big wood stove and bench seating around the entire perimeter of the inside.  I'm sure the Roundhouse was the site of every wedding, funeral, and potlatch.  Before we arrived there was a big birthday party for the Chief of the village, who was turning 94 years old.  They were gracious enough to leave some of the leftover food for us.  

A minor hiccup outside of Kaltag negotiating Ten Mile Creek.

Cameron packing a soft ramp off of Ten Mile.

      

Another day in paradise between Kaltag and Unalakleet.

Taking a break at the Tripod Flats safety cabin.  Cameron, in the doorway finally finds what 
we have been looking for!

The geography in this part of the world is breathtaking.

The boys taking a break just outside of Unalakleet.

     

     The last ten miles into Unalakleet I felt like I was riding through a Fred Machetanz painting.  Low angled white mountains rolled on both sides of us as the Unalakleet River snaked along below us in concert with long bands of spruce trees.  One again, the urge to ride off and explore the landscape was undeniable. 

     In Unalakleet we stayed with Cameron's folks at their place in the middle of town.  Cameron's dad Chuck is a successful mechanical services contractor and has an impressive shop and house. Chuck himself was a trailbreaker for 14 years and was an amazing story teller with an incredible memory for detail.  I was mesmerized listening to all of his Iditarod adventures.

     Cameron's mom Marie was a sweetheart and had prepared NewYork steaks and baked potatoes for us when we got there.  It was agreed that the accomodations in Unalakleet with Cameron's folks were the best along the whole trail.   I ended up with my own room with a shower. 

Hanging out in Chuck's shop with the boys.  Race director Mark Nordman holding court.

Between Unalakleet and Shaktoolik.

Headed out of the hills to the barren coast leading to Shaktoolik.  Super windy here.

      Once we hit the coast the wind was considerable.  The ambient temperature was hovering around 20 degrees below Farenheit.  With 20 mile per hour winds, according to the wind-chill chart had us traveling along through 48 below temps.  I had busted out the expedition weight parka and down pants at our last break in the brush before dropping down onto the coast and was super comfortable.   The stark beauty of this flat barren country was breathtaking.  We warmed up at the Iditarod checkpoint in Shaktoolik and it took me a solid ten minutes to take all of my layers off once inside.  We were offered hot coffee and a grilled cheese sandwich.  "Yes please," I said. 

     It wasn't long before we hit the trail due North.  About nine miles up-trail we crossed a section of Norton sound to a crude safety cabin called Island point. From there it would be a straight, flat, ride North across Norton Sound to the village of Koyuk. 

Island Point cabin.

     Although this is a well traveled route across the Sound to Koyuk, the winds serve as a giant eraser on the daily and there was no trail to be found as we headed across.  Spencer followed a direct line on his GPS from Island Point to Koyuk and we fell-in-line stabbing tight lath along the way.  Little did we know that some of the locals in Koyuk, who were expecting us were tracking our progress with binocs and could see us coming (headlights) from miles away.  We too could see the lights of Koyuk from at least twenty miles away but it would take us a while as we methodically stuck lath into the stubborn snowpack on the sea-ice. 

Sunset while crossing Norton Sound.

      We were greeted by a local Koyuk man."You're staying over there," he said, "Five star".  The man pointed across the street.  The five star reference, in my opinion, was at least three stars off but nonetheless we wheeled around and started unpacking our sleds.  It was the mushers quarters which was the old library of Koyuk (I think). There were two toilets and two showers.  They brought us dinner cooked by one of the local teachers and we settled in with our sleeping bags and pads.

     The next morning I was up early and was recruited to help pack the mushers area nearby.  A lone red fox darted by as I was packing up my sled.  Soon we would head down the trail along the Bering Sea passing through the small villages of Elim and Golovin collecting lath on our way to our next night's stay in White Mountain.  Along this stretch was some of the coldest temperatures we would experience on the whole trip.  The prevailing wind whips from the North so the right side of our faces and bodies took the brunt of it.  I stuffed one of those cheap hand warmer packets under my facemask on my right cheek to mitigate the biting cold....it worked!

Another safety cabin break on the way to White Mountain.

           Just before Elim, I rode around the corner of the trail and could see that Jerney was visibly agitated in the middle of the trail.  "I'm done," he said "My suspension is busted".

      Upon closer inspection, one of the rear suspension bars broke and poked up into the track.  Jerney came to a screeching halt in the trail because that metal bar rubbed against the track as it spun until it had cut it in two pieces lengthwise.  Two tracks just like an old-school Alpine!

Modern day Alpine?

      Soon enough the rest of the crew came back to help and was able to replace a couple of bent suspension bars, tighten the track and off we went.  Jerney's snowmachine would roll all the way into Nome without a hitch!

     

On our way to White Mountain.

White Mountain.

         White Mountain would be our last overnight stay before Nome.  We stayed in a community center that also served as Iditarod headquarters.   We slept in the library portion of the building and I was stuffed between two tight rows of library books that didn't seem to be organized in any particular order.  I may or may-not have thumbed through a nearby book called "Kosher Sex".  Don't judge me.  

     The next day after fueling/ lathing up we headed down the Fish River and onto the trail for our final day of snowmachine travel. 

     Mid day we took a break on a large open expanse between rolling hills.  As per usual, the wind was a constant but we were trail-hardened by now.  In the near distance was a long band of willow bushes running along a small creek.  "Are those snowballs?" Spencer asked.  Upon further inspection the "snowballs" were beautiful willow ptarmigan.  Our trail would take us through these willows.  Flock after flock after flock of these plump white birds took flight as the winds pushed them all in the same direction.  I stopped briefly for the sole purpose of getting an estimate on their numbers.  Although it would be hard to claim any kind of accuracy with such a flurry my conservative estimate of 900 birds couldn't have been too far off.  

      Wonderful white rolling hills took us to the best safety cabin of all the Topkok hills safety cabin.  This cabin was built by the city of Nome and was dialed in!  There were solar panels charging batteries with an inverter providing lights and power.  A robust barrel stove with sturdy welded steel legs was set 2 feet off of the floor.  High on the wall near the door were three "golden hammer" plaque awards for excellence in construction.  I couldn't have agreed more.  We cut up some firewood, lit a fire and stayed there for about an hour and a half as the cold wind whizzed-by outside.  

     From here we would ride along the coast of the Bering Sea.  There were so many interesting gold mining cabins along this section. Before long we pulled into the last checkpoint of all:  Safety.

     Safety is a bar.  

Safety.

     Safety is 22 miles from the finish line in Nome and has a rich history dating back to the early 1900's.  Inside the walls are covered with memorabilia including hundreds of dollar bills stapled to the walls and ceiling.  Each dollar bill is written upon with markers.  We all signed a dollar bill and stapled it to the ceiling as well....when in Rome!

Check out this cool article in the Safety bar about the Trailbreakers by Jay Croft.

The excitement was real as we got closer.

The Bering Sea

Kody zooming by with a full box of lath.

     

Under the burled Arch on Front Street in Nome.

     That night we whooped-it-up in Nome.  Many people thanked us and bought us drinks at the bar.  Myself being the oldest member of the crew found myself ducking out a little earlier than the rest.  We would stay down the road about a mile at the old youth detention center.  It was a cold clear night and it felt good to stretch my legs. As I walked along the streets of Nome, I couldn't help but feeling a touch of melancholy in my heart   It had been a glorious wild ride but now it was over.  A certain song played over and over in my brain as I pulled up my hood up and slowly strolled back to my bunk. Song link