everything in its right place

Up late last night enjoying a live webcast from Santa Barbara, the band's last gig of their 2008 tour.

Ahhh, The holiday is here, and with it the opportunity for some outdoor recreation. There's lot's of good stuff going on. Forward Progress.

fay

Thank God for this rain.

It's sorely needed.

Go Adam C!

update snail bait

A dozen or so times in the last couple months, I've sat down and tried to write something substantial for this blog and failed. The words have clotted in my brain.

I've been an anxious blur through the dog days of summer. Sure, there has been a little relaxation; but that fleeting moment was just the eye of the storm. It can be tough for a tumbleweed to take root. And yet somehow, here I am.

This rusty mailbox marks the spot: 21 E Zeb Vance St., Marion, NC 28752. I rent a gray trailer in this town, which is situated in the foothills of the state. Economically, McDowell is a relatively poor county compared to Buncombe. I'm thankful to have procured a steady paying job here.

Beyond a steady paying job, I have the privilege to teach. I proctor academic support and teach Earth and Environmental Science at the McDowell Early College with Lily. This is the major draw. The faculty and students are the sort of people that endear you to a community.

The hectic first week of school is over. My 9th grade students stare at me blankly under the forest shade of a rare undeveloped strip of land at the edge of campus. The drone of petroleum along the adjacent I-40 corridor threatens to drown out all conversation.

I ask them about the land, trying to get a sense of what they know already. Where there's apathy, there's opportunity. I think I'm a cinched hose ready to burst with enough energy to blow the lid off each young mind before me. And that's what keeps me alive...

Because when the whistle blows, I return to a place where molten asphalt burns skin; where multiplying red lights oscillate behind the heat of noxious greenhouse gases; where overweight shirtless men mow small rectangles of fescue.

And when I get back to my own vinyl sided shoe box at the end of the day, I see in the mirror my own decay. The plate keeps spinning into the next frame.

postcard from mcdowell county

summer harvest

cloud cuckoo land

flying high

a scar that won't heal

August is here and I'm excited and a little apprehensive about the work ahead of me. Meanwhile, the call to lace up the running shoes is getting stronger. Perpetual inspiration rains down on me here in the Appalachians. Adam Hill's 17 hour and 20 minute traverse of the Smokies has renewed my interest in old haunts and unfinished business:

(Adam traversed the Smokies some six hours faster than my time five years ago!)

Adam's report:

On Friday afternoon, July 25th, four wayfaring strangers descended through the gorge of interstate that stretches its long arm across the North Carolina/Tennessee border into a land unfamiliar to them. This foreign land seemed to offer no place for rest, so they went about exploring the land beyond the beaten path in search for a place to rest their heads for the night...

Jimmy Barnes was from a weather beaten brood that had lived off of the land for generations, untouched by the spoils of the civilization that loomed from over the giant ridges that surrounded him and his family (those of the Smoky Mountains). Three of the strangers approached him amidst the settling dust of the gravel road leading up to the church in which he attended (having left their funny hairdo'ed friend behind to put foot to the trail in search of a clearing for a tent or two). As the clouds of dust departed, he seemingly welcomed them with open arms, and proceeded to see how he could help these fellow "mountain men"...Drew Shelfer, Charlie Roberts, and Brian Beduhn. After explaining their plight, a lovely pavilion on the Brown Missionary Baptist Church grounds was offered up to the travelers as a place to stay the night. This haven was positioned between the church building and a cemetery carrying gravestones with generations of the church's namesake etched in the stone. Jimmy, unaware of the adventure that these friendly strangers were about to embark upon, was thanked, and then he continued about his business. The three then carefully navigated the road back down the mountain in order to pick up their friend, Adam Hill, who was sporting a self inflicted hair cut that he had dubbed a "mohullet"...that's right, a mohawk in the front and mullet in the back...or, punk rock up front and party in the back!! Needless to say, there were ulterior motives in leaving Adam behind. The party had not wanted to scare off any of the locals that might be willing to help out. The celebration began and they started by partaking in some of the beauty that had unfolded around them (fly-fishing, exploring the icy cold waters of Big Creek, and some competitive rock skipping). After growing weary they assembled under a nearby bridge, next to their fishing and rock skipping spot on the Pigeon River, with Mike Day and his daughter Jessica, then headed back up the mountain road.

The Brown Missionary Baptist pavilion couldn't have been a better place to set up camp for the night. Dinner was cooked, stories were shared, and running items were sorted for the next days adventure...the SCAR (Smokies Challenge Adventure Run). The Challenge was this...to run the length of the Appalachian Trail within the boundaries of Smoky Mountain National Park, in a day. After a fitful night of sleep, the challengers arose from under the pavilion chuckling about the visiting coon dog, the snoring B-Rex, and the advice of their new friend Jimmy Barnes, who had said, "If anyone bother's ya'll, just tell 'em that you spoke with Jimmy Barnes!" After all was packed, they were off to meet up with the other challengers at the northern boundary of the Appalachian Trail in the Smoky Mountain National Park...Davenport Gap. Denise Davis, Brian Kistner, and Byron Backer (who was driving aid up to Newfound Gap) were there, anxiously waiting, at 5 am. After greeting one another and getting everything together, everyone was off in sort of a staggered fashion...The rain started within the first couple of miles, slow and steady, yet intermittent. It felt very good to the runners, as they had been duly warned and worried about the potential heat of attempting this traverse on a summer's date such as July 26th. As the runners crested the ridge beside the beautiful Mt. Cammerer the rain began to come down harder and faster. The trail had now become a flowing creek bed and would remain this way for close to 30 miles! The rain that had felt so good then became troublesome, as an injury along one of these 6,000 foot ridges would have certainly led to hypothermia (yes...in July!). However, as the runners spread out along the traverse, each entered into their own land, as they concentrated on steadily navigating the rocky, fir forested trails.

As I (Adam) ran, the juncos jumped and chirped at my feet. The sound of the rain was mesmerizing, and I knew that the game plan was about to change. I had a carefully laid out strategy that I had been hoping would get me to my seemingly unrealistic goal of a sub-20 hour finish on this close to 72 mile trek. {The Appalachian Trail runs through the Smoky Mountain National Park for 71 miles from its northern terminus at Davenport Gap to its southern terminus just before getting to Fontana Dam along Fontana Lake. Adding a near mile road section across the Dam to the Fontana Dam Visitor's Center seemed like tradition for the hearty souls that had completed this before me, and I was willing to follow suit- although some start from the Visitor's Center heading north. I was heading southbound on this journey, and knew of it's near 19,000 feet of cumulative elevation gain, as we would head up and over some of the biggest mountains in the Blue Ridge during our traverse} I happily splashed through the water filled trail, realizing that my scheduled rest stops would not be happening as frequently as I had hoped. This, however, allowed me to simply set everything on cruise control and enjoy the ride.

Through the rain and fog the trail appeared magical, as the birds continued to serenade me while seemingly playing chase with this crazy "mohullet" fool that was disturbing their cadence. I plugged along, laughing at their game, while steadily climbing Cosby Knob. I then came to a halt and watched as a majestic black bear sauntered off into the woods. As I continued on, I began clapping to scare off any other four legged friends that could be lurking about, even picking up the pace a little bit as I rolled over the knob. The miles flew by, and the ever-present views of this ridgeline trail were hiding on the other side of dark, rain filled clouds. Landmarks and mountain peaks were being picked off one by one. The trail and scenery along the flanks of Mt. Guyot (the second highest peak in the park at 6,621 feet) were surreal, as a cloud had settled amongst the dense virgin forest. I couldn't help but to be thankful for this very moment. Along the rock outcroppings of Bradley's View the rain began to settle, and there was a glimmer of hope that the day might reemerge from its baptism of water. Sure enough just before I ran around Charlie's Bunion, the rain had stopped. I took the opportunity to finally take my shoes off and empty the rocks and dirt out. I re-lubed my feet (as I was sockless in my Asics racing flats!!) and other crucial areas, then continued on towards the usually crowded Newfound Gap, and the site of our one and only resupply point at 31.2 miles.

Newfound Gap sits at an elevation of 5,048 feet, and is a buzzing epicenter of Smokies tourism. It sits at the corner of Newfound Gap Road and Clingman's Dome Road, and provides visitors of all shapes, sizes, and differing languages a chance at a rugged hike in the Smokies. As I leapt over rocks and roots on my decent from Icewater Springs, I passed several day hikers and backpackers, but they kindly moved aside and let me by (behold the power of the "mohullet"). I worried a little that I would have trouble spotting our aid, but immediately saw Byron and Jessica in the parking lot as soon as I arrived, 6 hours and 49 minutes from the start. I let out a cheer, and quickly found Mike's truck, which held the crucial items that I would need to replenish my now empty pack. I spent exactly 24 minutes and 35 seconds there (drying my feet, eating, re-lubing, packing my pack with the necessities) before I was bounding down the trail once more towards the summit of Clingman's Dome (the highest peak in the park and the highest peak on the whole AT at 6,643 feet). It was only a few minutes later that I bumped into my buddy Matthew Johnson who had driven up from Asheville to get a little running in and help out any way that he could. We high fived, then he ran on with me chatting about the day. After enjoying his company for several miles, I was off again on my own. Clingman's Dome came and went, and was surprisingly uneventful. I then entered the new world of the southern side of the Smokies.

The rocky, water filled trails dried out, and I was introduced to a different type of hardwood forest that seemed split down the middle by grass covered balds. As I was lowered from the fog of Clingman's Dome, I spotted a doe that quickly protected her very young fawn. I nodded and paid my respects to the deer, then went about dropping to a spring beside Double Springs Gap Shelter in order to refill again, as the heat of the day had started sucking the water from my pack dry. Rejuvenated, I quickly made my way over Siler's Bald and glanced at the horizon to try and catch a glimpse of what I knew to be my nemesis, as well as the main crux of this adventurous trek...Thunderhead Mountain. I had blocked from my memory the difficulty of this section of trail, as I had backpacked through here before. The nightmarish teasing that the twists and turns of this trail take around this mountain range abruptly awakened that memory. False summit after false summit appear only to drop you off of rocky ledges into yet another hollow. Eventually you come to a spot where the mind does a double take as your eyes lock onto Thunderhead's towering 5,527 foot summit. I almost burst into tears at this spot as I was running around a bend in the trail, only to jump from my skin as I almost kicked a very large, coiled up timber rattler! Unsure of who would be following behind me, I tossed rocks and sticks at the rattlesnake until it finally became annoyed and rattled it's way off into the woods.

I had hoped to be sitting on the summit of Rocky Top (the 5,440 foot western flank of Thunderhead) at around 12 hours from the start. I slowly sat my weary body down on a boulder, letting out a sigh of relief while glancing at my watch. I had not made my goal, but was only about an hour behind. Feeling a little bit dejected, I sat in the sun and soaked up the views as I gathered my thoughts about the continuing terrain that remained. I had remembered Mike Day saying that beyond Spence Field there would be some stellar trail, which dropped at a gentle angle from the side of this beautiful but torturous mountain. I put my pack and shoes back on, and set off with new vigor as my feet longed to find this path. Before I knew it, I was running at an amazing pace along a soft, winding trail. Animals seemed to be greeting me everywhere as birds serenaded me along, a rabbit hopped beside me before darting off into the thicket, and a wild boar snorted at me before crashing through the saplings. I came upon Russell Field Shelter and ran as quickly as I could past some backpackers, who were staying the night there, to find the piped spring in good working order. I would fill up here for the last time, and knew that it was worth the extra half mile that it made me travel. Back up on the AT I forgot about looking at my watch, and just enjoyed the journey as I tried to run as fast as I could in a new challenge to see how far I could make it towards Fontana Dam before having to turn on my headlamp under the darkness of night. The miles rolled by and Mollies Ridge Shelter came upon me very quickly...I couldn't believe my eyes. I crested over the ridge from which it was perched, and descended into what felt like a marathon race pace as I pushed off the soil in an effort to make it 3 more miles to the Gregory Bald side trail before dark. Coming just short of this mini goal, I was forced to stop and get out my light as I climbed one of the last uphills of the day before I would ascend Shuckstack and get a glimpse of the lights of Fontana Dam. With only about 7 more miles to go, I looked at my watch and couldn't believe what it beamed...could I actually go under 18 hours!?!

Shuckstack came quickly, and I wasted no time cruising over the ridge into the final 4 miles of the day! My legs did not appreciate how rocky and steep some of the downhill sections were coming off of this final mountain summit. This was of little consequence, though, as I knew what I had to do. I carefully picked my way around rocks large and small, only to stop briefly alongside a cliff to look up at the stars and say a prayer of thanks! I then ran on, trying not to think about how the lights of Fontana Dam kept looking farther and farther away as I supposedly traveled closer and closer to the finish. Finally, my feet felt the firm sting of the asphalt, and I clicked the split button on my watch (this is the actual southern terminus, which I reached in 17:18:48!!). I dug deep from there in order to run as fast as I could to the dam, then made the turn into the lights. I felt as if I was crossing a vast canyon amidst alien lights, as they glowed through the fog and mist rising from the waters of Fontana Lake. I reached the other side of the dam beside the Visitor's Center, stopped my watch, and let out a primal scream!! I was through...it was over...sweet relief! It had taken me 17:28:01 to complete the SCAR! I took off my pack and sat on the curb beside the Visitor’s Center in awe of the fact that the journey was complete, and that a dream that I had harbored for years...was realized!