Chapter One: Georgia’s Endless Mountain Wilderness

Day 0 June 5, 2020 Friday

Pittsburgh, PA to Len Foote Hike Inn, GA

Today was the perfect day to start my hike. Here in the lush green hills of northern Georgia, it was clear and sunny, with temperatures in the low 80s. Already late afternoon, the time was about 5:00 PM as I stood for a photograph under the stone arch, just behind the Amicalola Falls welcome center. This iconic arch marks the beginning of the approach trail to the Appalachian Trail (AT). As I passed my starting point, there was an initial steep ascent up to a reflection pool at the base of the falls. People were fishing, sitting on benches or just strolling all around this picturesque pond. Gazing the crowd, I could see that I was the only person wearing a backpack. Everyone here seemed so relaxed and carefree, but I had this intense feeling, like I was on a mission. Continuing on from here, I began a steady climb up the 604 wooden steps to the top of the falls, all the while wearing my 50-pound L.L.Bean backpack. To say this was “not easy,” would be a gross understatement. This initial stair climb would prove to be a sobering introduction of things to come over the next several months.

My weight at this point was 210 pounds, having lost about 10 pounds over the last year during my four- to eight-miles-per-day training regimen at nearby North Park, near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Always without a pack on my back, my pace was a rock steady three miles per hour. I was pretty sure that I could maintain this even wearing a pack. I recall thinking that I could easily knock off 20 to 30 miles per day with no problem. I had also wondered what in the world I would do with the remainder of my daylight hours after a seven to 10 hours per day hike? How naïve I was! I would soon learn that a one- to two-mile-per-hour pace would become the norm. The realities of what I had just embarked upon were evidently still eluding me. By the end of my journey, my weight would drop to 160 pounds.

When I finally reached the top of the wooden stairs, the path next led me to a footbridge over the Amicalola River. Below me, there were impressive views of the falls cascading over the many ledges of metamorphic bedrock, accompanied by the sound of rushing water. In the far off distance, I gazed at the serenity of the surrounding hazy mountains. A solitary stick of incense that someone had left burning on one of the bridge posts gave the whole experience an ethereal feel. I continued on, following the blue blaze AT approach trail until about 5:40, when I reached the intersection with the green-blaze trail to the Hike Inn. My plan for the night was to stay at the Len Foote Hike Inn, a rustic lodge nestled in the Georgia Blue Ridge foothills. There is only one way to get to the Hike Inn; you literally have to hike in through the Chattahoochee National Forest for about five miles. This was a moderately easy trail, and as I began my trek, I could hear the occasional low bellowing of hoot owls and the far away knocking of woodpeckers, while the path slowly wove its way through the lush green Georgia forest. A mildly fragrant assortment of wildflowers, mountain laurel, azaleas and rhododendrons were in bloom all around me. Finally, following a few very pleasant hours on this trail, I arrived at the Len Foote Hike Inn at about 8 PM.

Earlier in the day, I had arrived Atlanta at 2:16 PM, collected my 50-lb. L.L.Bean backpack in baggage claim, and met my shuttle driver Mary outside the terminal. Mary and her husband Don own a shuttle service for AT hikers, known as “The Further Shuttle.” I had done some research to look for a shuttle before leaving, and Don and Mary’s name were highly touted in all of the reviews. We drove for two hours north to Amicalola Falls State Park Welcome Center, arriving there at 4:40 PM. I thanked Mary for the ride, and then changed into shorts and short sleeves. Amicalola Falls State Park is in northern Georgia near the start of the AT, situated on the boundary between two physiographic provinces: the Blue Ridge to the northwest, and the Piedmont to the southeast (Figure 6). The U.S Geological Survey defines physiographic provinces as simply, “…distinctive areas having common topography, rock types and structure, and geologic and geomorphic history.” All bedrock under the park is Precambrian in age, consisting primarily of metasediments, such as quartzite, metagraywacke and slate. These began as mostly sedimentary rocks, which were later deeply buried and changed into metamorphic rocks following hundreds of millions of years of intense heat, pressure, and repeated deformation the mind cannot imagine. My trek to Damascus would be almost entirely within the Blue Ridge province hiking over these very old rocks.

The original plan that I had was to just make it through the first three states of Georgia, North Carolina and Tennessee, finishing right over the Virginia border in Damascus. I had never backpacked for longer than about a week, and this hike was going to be 470 miles from Springer Mountain, Georgia to Damascus, Virginia. “But its just three states,” I thought to myself. “How hard could that really be?” The thought of all those days in the wilderness and sleeping on the ground each night was exciting and intriguing, but I wasn’t sure if I could actually do it. I had recurring issues with my right knee since it was scoped for a torn meniscus about 25 years ago, following a collision with an 18-year-old opponent while attempting to head a ball during an indoor soccer match. Also, and unrelated, two of my lumbar disks had been severely herniated and caused recurring back problems, intermittently plaguing me for at least as many years as the knee. The thought of carrying a 50-pound pack such a distance was just a bit overwhelming, not to mention sounding outright foolish. It wouldn’t be until about two weeks into my adventure that I realized, “Wow, I think I can actually do this.” I then said to myself, “Yes, I am going to hike the entire Appalachian Trail!” Little did I know at the time what challenges and adventures would lie ahead for me.

The air had cooled with the approach of dusk as I walked up the front wooden steps of the Hike Inn to a covered entryway and removed my backpack for the first time since I started at the visitor center. Suddenly I felt a sensation of weightlessness and had to take a few steps to regain my balance. I entered into the reception area and was greeted by Ann, who was waiting for her last arrival for the day at the front desk. She explained how everything worked with the dining room, bunkhouse and washhouse. She brought out a towel, sheets and pillowcase, and directed me to my room in the bunkhouse around the corner. I opened the screen door to a campy fragrance of a tidy cedar walled room with bunk beds on the left and a shelf on the right. I put down my pack and took out a few items, and then ambled over to the dining hall, where the cook staff had graciously saved a dinner for my late arrival. The food was deliciously gourmet, more so than I had expected. On the surface I felt a sense of normalcy as I chatted with a family who had returned to play a board game after dinner. Inside of me I felt an inexplicable sense of nervousness and excitement. Soon I was back in my room for the night. I remember thinking to myself, “this might be the last time I would sleep in a real bed and eat a regular meal for dinner, for perhaps a long time.”

Day 0

6 miles