Hills, Hollers, and Stories

Sarah at Fontana Dam

From Sarah:

Jay has already mentioned how the AT tends to follow ridge-lines, up and over mountains, then down between to gaps, stamps, or swags.  Our first night together, we camped on a ridge line just before Stecoah Gap, and woke to a deep red sunrise between slate-blue clouds on one side of the ridge and a huge three-quarter moon setting on the other side.  Talk about a beauty spot!  On our third day, as the morning rain blew itself out, I could look back and see clouds pouring over the gaps as I hiked above them on the ridge.

            On Wednesday we climbed Shuckstack Mtn.  “What do you suppose a ‘shuckstack’ is, anyway?” Jay asked as we were looking at our day’s itinerary. 

            “I reckon it has to do with corn shucks.  Maybe the mountain is in the shape of a corn ‘stook’, where all the plants are piled in a pyramid” I suggested.  Sure enough, after a couple of hours of hiking, we spied an appropriately pyramid-shaped, steep-sided little peak ahead and above us.  The trail curled between two ridges, then rounded the outer edge of Shuckstack, slowly ascending, and acting as if it had no intention of getting to the top any time soon.  “Maybe this isn’t Shuckstack yet”, I said dubiously.  “Or maybe we won’t hit the top of it.  This trail looks like it will just go around, behind, and beyond the mountain.”  But, just as I said this, the trail started gaining some serious elevation with lovely switchbacks, and before I knew it we were standing on top, out of breath from exertion and breathless from the view.  An old abandoned fire tower still stood at the very peak, and we quickly dropped packs and scrambled up for a 360º unimpeded view of Fontana Lake, misty blue ridges, and miles of wilderness.



Sarah climbing up the fire tower

            On our way down, as I stepped off the trail and behind a tree for a little privacy, I discovered another reason for the name ‘shuckstack’.  The whole side of the mountain was made of flattened, concave rocks, piled higgledy-piggledy, ready to tip and slide at the slightest pressure, just like a huge pile of corn shucks at the end of a shucking party.  Not the easiest place to do a bit of private business, and it gave me a renewed appreciation for the firm footing of the trail.

            On Friday, we woke to a little rain and a LOT of mist.  Pyro told me he was “walking the clouds”.  I thought that was a good description of walking along a narrow ridgeline, featureless fog within spitting distance, and all sights and sounds muffled to pianissimo.  With not much to look at, I retreated into my imagination, and began telling myself all the Grandfather Tales I could remember from my childhood.  I told myself tales unique to the southern Appalachians, such as “Mule Eggs” – where a mountain farmer gets the best of a city slicker;  “Only a Fair Day’s Huntin” – a boasting tall tale of geese, trout, and deer; “Wicked John and the Devil” – a tale explaining what foxfire is when it isn’t; and “Snakebit Hoe Handle” – a tall tale with a small ending.  Then I told myself stories that were mountain renditions of European fairytales, such as “Cat Tails” – a Cinderella who wins the day through hard work, a kind heart, an intimate knowledge of her surroundings, and a bit of judicious lying.  There was also “White Bear Whittington” – a rather earthy rendition of Beauty and the Beast.  If Disney had been from the southern Appalachians, his movies might have been a good bit different!



Sarah and Jay inside fire tower

           Those tales took me to a flat ridge near Clingmans Dome, the highest point on the AT, at 6,643 feet.  Since I couldn’t see more than 15 feet ahead of me, when a southbound day hiker materialized out of the mist, I cheerfully asked him if I was nearly to the top.  He looked at me with a panic-stricken expression and exclaimed, “Oh my gosh, no!  You’ve got a killer of a hill in front of you!”  Well, that was a little daunting to hear, but I figured I might as well tell myself another story.  Just about then I ran into Jay and Blair, who had been waiting for me.  I delightedly began telling them “To Market” – a story of a married couple whose love and trust helped them triumph over the wiles of sharp bargain hunters and scoffing neighbors.  There is nothing more enchanting to a storyteller than a captive audience, and I thoroughly enjoyed my climb up the ‘killer of a hill’ to the top of Clingmans Dome.  Blair was very polite and said he enjoyed the story, too.  Jay has heard several of these stories before.



Sarah fell asleep on the car ride
down the mountain

            The end of my 70 miles through the Appalachians came all too soon, and I slept most of the plane ride home.  My time on the AT with Jay was bewitching, and I look forward to more this summer.