Newfound Gap To Fontana Dam

Fresh off our first hike on the Foothills Trail, Mule and I decided to tackle the Smokies the week after Christmas. What WERE we thinking?

As I sit here in an influenza-induced delirium, I have decided that there is no better time to document the journey Mule and I undertook the week after Christmas 2013. Bear in mind that over 5 years have since passed, certain memories are a bit spotty, and I’m putting this together partly with Mule’s photos because I didn’t take many photos myself. I was carrying a real camera on this trip but it was cold AF, so apparently I didn’t feel like fooling with it much.

We headed out on Dec. 26th for the Hike Inn just below Fontana, and things quickly went downhill. Somehow, Mule got hit with food poisoning. While we were driving alongside the Ocoee River, I was pulling over every 15 minutes so that Mule could hurl. By the time we reached our destination, he was pretty wiped out. Definitely not in great hiking shape. Jeff from the Hike Inn strongly advised us against shuttling up to Davenport Gap that day (our original plan) so as is often the case, we turned to Plan B- we would take a zero to let Mule get his strength back, then shuttle to Newfound Gap and hike back.

Mule managed to recover fairly quickly, but we still felt it prudent to do low miles the first day. So the next morning, Jeff shuttled us off to Newfound Gap, from where we had decided to hike a short distance NOBO to a shelter before reversing course.

Jeff deposited us at the large parking lot not long after daybreak. It was cold that morning, and it would stay that way all week, with temperatures in the low teens some nights. We were dressed accordingly.

The trail was a steady 1100 ft. elevation gain over 3 miles, which wouldn’t have been bad at all, except that the trail was a solid sheet of ice. Apparently it had a lot of seeps that had frozen. Footing was pretty sketchy, and I actually found myself wishing that I had brought my microspikes.

So how cold was it exactly? Cold enough that when we took our first water break we discovered that our water bottles had nearly frozen solid. I ended up placing mine inside my pack up against my back to keep it warm enough to avoid freezing.

We hiked slowly, partly because of the icy trail and partly due to frequent rest stops- I didn’t want to push my hiking partner too hard while he was recovering. Nonetheless, we reached Icewater Spring Shelter around lunchtime. It was a clear day, so we had great views from the front of the shelter.

We were the only folks there for the moment, which gave us some time to check things out. The shelter was fairly large (occupancy 12) and had a fireplace as well as a tarp hanging over the front entry. These were clues as to how cold and windy it could get. We made lunch, filled our water bags with non-frozen water, and lazed around the rest of the afternoon. Gradually, other hikers started to trickle in and somebody got a fire going in the fireplace. By nightfall, we were at capacity with a fun and mildly rowdy group.

Once it got dark, it got COLD. The fire in the fireplace was crucial, and the tarp helped contain the heat just enough to be bearable. Plus, we had 12 bodies worth of body heat to share.

Right at hiker midnight, 3 more hikers showed up, and somehow we made room for them. I distinctly remember that one of them was wearing cotton gym shorts and a cotton shirt (both soaked with sweat), and hauling a 60 lb. pack that included a DuraLog that was obviously useless since we already had a raging inferno going. That outfit was a recipe for hypothermia, and it remains one of the dumber things I’ve ever seen on the trail. Never mind that he had also hiked 2 hours in the dark on a sheet of ice. Day 1: 3.1 miles.

The next morning, Mule said that he felt back to 100%, so we decided to add a 1.8 mile round trip to Charlie’s Bunion, which was just a little ways NOBO. On such a clear morning, we knew that the views would be well worth the extra miles.

The trail danced along the ridgetop, but it wasn’t too windy. Just cold. There was light snow on the shaded slopes.

At Charlie’s Bunion, the views were indeed vast. It seemed like we could see 100 miles in all directions.

We then trotted back the way we’d come, passing the shelter and then the junction with Sweat Heifer Trail. I remember wondering WTH was a sweat heifer. Probably something you find in a bar at 2AM.

We finally reached Newfound Gap, and since it was around noon it was much busier than when we’d departed the previous day. A bunch of tourists stared at us like we were lunatics, and a few even asked us if we were really hiking (what gave them that idea?). We darted across the wide parking area and picked up the trail on the other side, dropping down near a creek before beginning a long but (kind of) gentle ascent of around 1,200 ft.

This was the day I learned about snacking and keeping blood sugar levels up. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and had skipped lunch (cold and the first several days on trail both blunt my appetite), and halfway up Mt. Collins I bonked HARD. It was probably a good thing that I had a hiking partner- Mule insisted that I stop to eat a Snickers and hydrate. 15 minutes later I was rejuvenated, and wiser for the experience. I now snack 4-5 times during the day and haven’t bonked since.

About a half mile before Indian Grave Gap we passed through two fenced enclosures that were protecting some specialized type of high altitude beech forest from marauding wild boar. Based on how different things looked inside the fenced areas, they were working.

We finally reached the half-mile side trail to Mt. Collins Shelter.

Right before we reached the shelter, it started to snow heavily. We were excited at the prospect of getting a bunch of snow because we were too stupid to think about how that would impact our hiking the next day. All we cared about was that it would be pretty. But after 30 minutes and at least one inch of accumulation, there was this weird temperature inversion and it turned to rain. I think this was the only time during the trip that the temperature got above freezing.

Shortly thereafter, we were joined by a father and son who we would end up leapfrogging with the next two days. They tormented us with their dinner of reheated pork chops. They smelled SO good. That is what planted the seed that led me to becoming a backcountry foodie. Day 2: 10.2 miles

During the night, the temperature had dropped again. We had our breakfast, packed up and hiked up the side trail back to the AT. A half mile later we crested Mt. Collins at 6,155 ft., where we began to hit some intermittent snow and gusty winds.

After a little bit the trail started to roughly parallel the approach road to Clingman’s Dome. We dashed over to the road just as it reached a parking area with buildings. We figured that we’d at least use the restrooms. But they were locked. Given the 40+ mph winds, sleet/snow mix hitting us sideways and frigid temperatures, I’m not sure why the Park Service felt like they had to protect the bathroom from off-season vagrants. It’s not like anyone other than hikers would’ve been up there. We said foul things about them, but not for long because we were freezing our asses off and we were hungry.

We ended up huddling behind a small building and attempting to fire up our stove, but the swirling winds kept blowing it out. Somewhat desperate and maybe even a little bit nervous at this point, we cobbled together a windbreak with some stray wooden pallets and our CCF sleeping pads. We cooked and ate our lunch with a quickness, then hauled booty the rest of the way up to Clingman’s Dome itself.

There was no point going up to the observation tower, as visibility was nil and the weather was fit for neither man nor beast. Apparently, the views are spectacular on the rare days when the weather is clear.

We discovered an unlocked metal door at the base of the walkway that opened into a long room that smelled of hobos and cat pee, thus explaining why the earlier bathrooms had been locked. But we were at least able to enjoy a brief respite from the weather.

Feeling slightly better, we scurried quickly back down to the AT. Once we re-entered the “green tunnel” we were largely sheltered from the wind. Clingmans Dome is the highest point on the AT at 6,611 ft., thus we began a steady descent. Several miles later we crossed the Goshen Prong Trail junction. Yet another weird trail name. After descending about 1,200 ft. we reached Double Spring Gap Shelter. It was not the uplifting moment it should have been.

The grounds around the shelter were an absolute hog wallow. We had to painstakingly pick our way through just to keep our shoes free of mud. And the shelter itself was obviously well-worn and filthy. Whoever had stayed there last had pretty much trashed it. We spent the better part of an hour tidying the place back up to a level of respectability.

By nightfall we were joined by an interesting sister-brother combo. In this particular case it was the sister who was the expert backpacker, and she had brought along her brother for his first-ever night in the backcountry. I have never heard a male whine so much in my life. While his sister did the work of two, he sat there and griped about the cold, the food, the cold, his sleeping bag, the cold, the lack of cell service…..She was visibly embarrassed. Sissy boy would’ve curled up in a fetal position at Clingman’s Dome and waited to die. Well before dawn, she had had enough. I woke up at 5 AM and they were long gone, presumably having bailed. Day 3: 7.0 miles.

I don’t remember a lot about the next day. I had developed a head cold, and the entire day was spent hiking slowly in grievous wind and cold. Mule says that I was pretty much on autopilot.

I do recall reaching a bald with wide open views (presumably Siler’s Bald) and seeing these thin wispy clouds dancing in the air like flames. My synapses weren’t all firing, but I had enough of them working to be mesmerized by those clouds.

It was so cold that the rhododendron leaves were about as curled up as they could get. The wind just made it that much worse.

Mule led us to Derrick Knob Shelter and left me curled up in my sleeping bag to get warm while he went out and got water and enough firewood to burn all night in the fireplace. He then got a roaring fire going. He is a hiking partner without peer.

The relative warmth, followed by dinner and some medication, perked me up for a little while. Just in time to welcome a group of 5-6 hikers who arrived just after dark. They were all college buddies from somewhere in Florida, and they were half-frozen to death. They greatly appreciated Mule’s fire.

I vaguely remember that they were pretty funny guys, but apparently I crashed early even as the group partied well into the night. I hate that I missed that. Day 4: 7.4 miles.

I actually felt really good the next morning, which was fortuitous. We had bigger miles to make. This day turned out to have the best views of the trip, and also featured a chance meeting with another hiker that I’ll never forget.

The first mile was spent descending down to Sugartree Gap at around 4400 ft. We then began what shows on the elevation profile to be a merely 900 ft. ascent to the peak of Thunderhead Mountain. Other hikers had warned us that this was a fairly tough climb, however, and at the time it felt like it was three times the elevation gain than it actually was. Plus, it was one of those soul-sucking climbs with many false summits on unnamed knobs.

Oh, we gave those knobs some names. But they’re not suitable for print.

We did have fine views from Thunderhead, once we finally got there, but it was the views from Rocky Top shortly thereafter that stole the show.

The descent from Rocky Top was very pleasant, and before long we were crossing Spence Field.

We made great time and reached Russell Field Shelter in time for lunch. Strangely for a lunchtime though, the shelter was packed with an extended family group. We soon learned why.

The group leader was one David Dinwiddie, who turned out to be one of the grand old men of the Smokies, and a man linked with two of the great real-life dramas in the history of Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

It was New Year’s Eve, and his family convened every year on that date at Russell Field Shelter to continue the search for his missing relative (nephew I think). Dennis Martin was a 6 year-old boy who had disappeared on a family hike at that very shelter back in 1969. You can read the story HERE. David chilled me by telling me “his bones are out here somewhere.”

David himself was the center of another misadventure, this one with a happier ending. He was hiking to Tricorner Knob Shelter in a near blizzard when he stumbled off the trail and rolled about 100 feet downhill, sustaining a compound fracture. As the blizzard picked up (in temperatures that went below zero) he burrowed into his sleeping bag and hoped. FOR FOUR DAYS. He was ultimately rescued but lost portions of his feet to frostbite, and parts of a couple fingers too from what I could see in person. The full story is HERE.

David claimed the rescuers carried him part of the way off the mountain in a body bag and that he lost about 60 pounds during the ordeal. That latter comment sounded a little exaggerated, but there’s no doubt that he was lucky to have survived.

We ate lunch, and then hit the trail in early afternoon with 9 miles already under our belt. We reached Mollies Ridge Shelter well before dark, and there was more entertainment awaiting us there.

There was already a group of three people there- two guys and a lady, all middle-aged, and each were burnt out fried East Tennessee rednecks. The good kind. MY kind of people. They were sporting ginormous backpacks, because they were planning to stay for a few days and had brought the requisite supplies. Namely, moonshine and weed. These folks literally had to blaze up before they did anything. Need to make a run to the privy? Gotta fire up a J first. Need to go get water? Gotta spark one up to get ready. But they really were great folks. My judgement here is possibly clouded by the willingness with which they generously shared their ‘shine.

They had also brought a saw. We had heard that the low that night was going to be single digits, so Mule went out and sawed up any and all deadfall remotely close to the shelter. We had that fireplace cranking all night long, and thanks to the added warmth of fire and corn squeezins, we slept very well. Day 5: 12.1 miles.

Mule and I were packed up and ready to leave at dawn. We were ready finish this hike, find real warmth, and destroy a McDonald’s. Our shelter mates woke to bid us goodbye, but of course had to light up some doobs first.

Sure, it was downhill all the way, but we were starting to get our hiking legs, and we made quick work of the trail between us and Fontana Dam. We skipped a side trip to Shuckstack Tower in our lazer-focused determination to reach Big Mac nirvana. About 3 miles up from the dam, we ran into a group of 3 college-aged hikers wearing jeans. We had heard that a big snowstorm was expected that night, and I thought about stopping to talk to the guys and check on their preparedness. I didn’t, and I regretted it. Search & Rescue took them off the mountain sometime during the night. They turned out to not only be unprepared, but also made bad decisions to compound things.

We reached our car around noon, and it didn’t take us long to head in to Robbinsville and wipe out their McDonald’s. I had 2 quarter pounders with cheese, a Big Mac, a fish sandwich, large fries and drink. Hiker hunger strikes again. I still weighed 10 pounds less on my scale when I returned home.

Surviving this challenging trek cemented in our minds that we were backpackers, and that we needed to do more weeks together on the trail. And of course we continued to learn things about gear and clothing choices that would allow us to cut weight on future hikes, hikes that we hoped would be warmer! Day 6: 11.4 miles. TOTAL 51.2 miles.