Winter Adventures on the Appalachian Trail

Written by Barbara Marie Kraus

Photography by Barbara Marie Kraus

          Winter hiking and camping are not for everyone - we realize that.  We often get asked why we would want to trudge through an empty leafless forest just to spend the night in a tent on a mountain in the dead of winter. While most people would rather sleep in a warm cozy bed, we like being bundled tightly into our down mummy bags with only a thin piece of nylon between us and the elements.  To us, laying and listening to the random rhythm of raindrops and the heave and hoe of wind howling through the trees is to listen to the music of the land and the breath of the earth.  It settles our souls, and soothes away the anxiety and stress brought on by the din of modern life. These raw, outdoor adventures help us appreciate the ease and abundance we enjoy in the Western world. 

          For three days and two nights Michael, a life-long, experienced outdoors-man and mountaineer and I, a professional photographer and occasional trekker, will hike and camp along the Appalachian Trail in North Georgia over the New Year’s weekend.  We will carry everything we need in packs on our backs and hike a total of twenty five miles.  Our final destination is the Lodge at Amacolola Falls where we will enjoy two nights of comfort and ease.  The weatherman is calling for rain on our first night camping and dry weather on the second with temperatures ranging from lows in the high thirty’s to highs in the mid-forties.  We are looking forward to relatively mild weather and hope the forecast is accurate but conditions can change quickly in the mountains so we are prepared.

          We have just finished a big home-cooked breakfast at the Hiker Hostel north of Dahlonega, GA.  It’s about 10:30 am and a very pleasant fifty three degrees as our shuttle driver, Patsy drops us off on the forest service road at Justus Creek.  She takes our photo, and wishes us well as we load our packs up onto our backs and head off along the creek on an old hunting path that Michael remembers from years ago.  The small footbridge that once crossed the creek is now gone and we have to carefully scoot along an icy log to get to the other side.  While the creek is less than twelve inches deep, neither of us wants to start our hike with wet feet.  Within minutes we spot the familiar white blaze that marks the Appalachian Trail.  This section of the trail is beautifully maintained with log steps set into the hill and large stones that make crossing the creek easy.  The climb south over Justus Mountain is steep and gets our hearts quickly pounding.

          The sun is shining through drifting clouds and it is wonderfully tranquil hiking through the stark winter forest. The leaflessness of the trees allows us to see the rise and fall of the land which normally hides behind the forest foliage at other times of year. Small pockets of old snow can be seen in the shaded valleys and icicles hang off rocks.  Along the path, ice crystals have pushed up out of the ground which creates a wonderful crunching sound as we step on them. In contrast to these wintery signs, lush green moss clings to downed trees and blankets small areas of the forest floor. I pause to take a photo of the primal forest scene and a bird can be heard in the distance breaking the stillness. As we hike down the backside of Justus Mountain to Cooper Gap.  We stop to rest at the forest service road that passes through the valley and are startled by three mountain bikers who whiz past us in a blur, As we load up again,  the whisper of a slight wind in the upper reaches of the trees can be heard and the scattered clouds of earlier have begun to thicken. After another steep climb we pause to rest along a ridge on Sassafras Mountain. Through the trees, the North Georgia Appalachian Mountains can be seen fading into the distance.   Michael and I plan to thru hike the Appalachian Trail one day and it is rather daunting to think that these rolling hills, born millions of years ago are only a small part of that more than twenty one hundred mile journey.

        By mid-afternoon the sky has started to darken and the temperature has dropped.  We are expecting rain tonight but hope that we will have time to set up camp, cook and eat before it starts. Around 4:30, we see the Hawk Mountain shelter through the trees. To our delight the campers who have already arrived are busy chopping and splitting downed limbs to make a fire. This shelter has a loft in which a group of three young people from Mobile, Alabama have set up their tent and settled in. The main floor of the shelter has been claimed by a father and son team from Richmond Hill, Georgia who are also busy setting up. We greet them and decide to pitch our tent about forty feet from the shelter near the path to the privy.  By the time we finish setting up, the groups staying in the shelter have built an outstanding blaze in the fire pit.  The temperature has continued to drop and it will certainly be colder than forecasted by dark.  Despite the cold, we enjoy exchanging hiking stories and equipment reviews with our new friends while we cook dinner on our tiny folding camp stove at the shelter picnic table.  Tonight's fare is whole wheat couscous with foil pouch chicken marsala. It tastes especially good after a day of hiking. By now the sun has been down for almost an hour and everyone is starting to feel the chill. We sit on logs placed around the fire pit while we eat, simultaneously warming our feet and our bellies. Before long we feel the first rain drops.  Luckily the clouds do nothing more than spit while we finish eating and clean up. It's only 7:00pm when we bid the others good night and head off to our tent. Just as we settle in the rain increases, and we have no trouble falling asleep to the steady patter of drops on the fly of our tent.

          We wake around 7:30 am. It’s warmer this morning but only slightly. The temperature is still in the thirties. Unfortunately, there is no chance to building a fire on this wet morning so we decide to linger in our down sleeping bags until almost 8:30am before crawling out to greet the day. The rain has stopped but the mountain is now enveloped by a thick mist which creates an eerie and hushed landscape of darkened shapes and shadows. The campers in the shelter start to stir as Michael fires up the stove to boil water. Soon we are enjoying hot coffee and instant grits with homemade beef jerky.  Hopefully it will give us the energy to deal with any challenges we may face on today’s hike.  We will continue south on the Appalachian Trail towards Springer Mountain.  Depending upon how far we hike, we will have a choice of shelters that we can stay at.  The weather forecast is for dry weather but this moisture is looking persistent.  While rain is fine at night and we have waterproof clothing, hiking in the rain is usually difficult and unpleasant.  We hope the sky clears soon.

          At 9:50 am we say good bye to the others and hit the trail again. The path is still shrouded in a thick fog making the de-saturated landscape fade quickly away.  Our already simplified existence is further reduced to the trail and a few trees on either side like a scene in a plastic snow globe.  Around lunch time, we reach another forest service road and make a short detour to visit the historic Hickory Flats Cemetery.  Most of the graves date from the early 1900's and are indicated by only unmarked stones. We wander about looking at the graves as we eat but soon get back on the trail.  Rather than climbing as expected, the thermometer continues to drop and to our surprise, tiny snowflakes start to drift down through the bare branches of the trees. The snow is so fine it melts away as it touches the ground. It is pretty to watch but we hope it will not cause problems with our hike.  Within an hour we reach a side trail which takes us west to Long Creek Falls.  This charming creek tumbles over a twenty foot high rock face and then travels down a series of smaller terraces before disappearing around a bend.  I set my camera on a large boulder and set the timer, racing to stand beside Michael before the shutter clicks. It’s the perfect vacation photo op.  As we turn to leave the falls, we meet up with a hiking family who has parked at a forest service road about a mile away. They are the third group of day hikers we have met on the trail so far today.

                   It is now about noon and there is another noticeable change in the weather as we stop for a snack at a wooden footbridge that crosses a stream. The snowflakes have started to get larger and are starting to stick to the broader leaves of the rhododendron bushes. It’s not long before the air is filled with fluffs of white and  I am reminded of my childhood in Canada as I watch the floor of the forest is slowly turn white. We hike for more than two hours watching the snow collect and enjoying the wintery sights. We reach Stover Creek shelter but nobody has yet taken up residence and we press on.  To our dismay, we soon notice that the snow is starting to change again. The fluffy white flakes have suddenly become small and hard.  Icy pellets sting our unprotected faces and start to collect on the sides of branches and leaves creating the illusion of razor sharp edges. As we begin our ascent of Springer Mountain, the wind whips up even more, and by the time we reach the summit it is bitterly cold and blowing hard. We make our way to the shelter and to our surprise find that it already has a lodger.  A man whose trail name is ‘Catfish’ and who thru hiked the Appalachian Trail in 2011 has decided to relive his hike with an overnight stay. It’s 3:00 pm and he is snuggled into his sleeping bag reading the shelter journal. We stop to chat for a few minutes but have already decided to get out of the severe wind of the summit and press on to the next shelter at Black Gap. As we reach the plaque that marks the southern terminus of the Appalachian Trail we are astonished to meet three hikers wearing shorts and carrying very light gear.  The temperature is well below freezing with a wind chill in the teens but they seem unconcerned.  Wishing them well, we press on down the other side of Springer. The Appalachian Trail ends on Springer Mountain and we are now on the Approach Trail which will lead us to our warm bed at the Amacolola Falls Lodge tomorrow.   With that in mind, we press on.

                    The next shelter is still a mile and a half away; the only way to stay warm is to keep moving. The descent is steep in places and we are stiff with cold.  We have to hike slowly and carefully.  The wet conditions last night and the plunging temperatures today have created pockets of ice on the trail.  Our packs make us top heavy, making it difficult for us to catch our balance if we slip.  Thankfully by 4:30 pm we reach the shelter at Black Gap. We are happy to be done with the trail and its dangerous conditions for the day. This shelter is a three sided structure with a small overhang. Not one of the fancier huts but it will provide us with a place to set up the tent out of the bone-chilling wind. Michael heads down a steep slope to a ground spring to fill the water bottles while I start pulling the tent and fly from our packs. I haven't felt my toes or finger tips since the top of Springer and all I can think about is crawling into my down bag inside the tent. Michael returns with the water just as I am getting the fly fastened on the tent. He quickly assembles the stove and begins boiling water while I unroll our sleeping pads and pull the sleeping bags out of their stuff sacks, shaking them out to get loft in the down. The tent is ready just as I start to shake with cold. I remove my boots and crawl fully clothed into my sleeping bag.   

                    I usually do the cooking when we are on the trail but tonight I am totally spent.  I have put myself in Michael’s able hands.  Lucky for me, he is a veteran camper, hiker and international mountain climber.  This weather doesn't faze him one bit.  He is trained in search and rescue and basic wilderness first aid and has helped fellow hikers avoid hypothermia in the past.  I take comfort in the fact that he is in control.   Within minutes he hands me a steaming cup of miso soup and turns back to boil more water to cook the noodles for Pad Thai. He expertly adds the dehydrated veggies I prepared at home, before he drops the pouch of Pad Thai sauce into the water to heat. In record time I'm eating a hot delicious meal and beginning to regain feeling in my extremities. We finish eating and Michael makes a second trip to get more water. We will need it in the morning for breakfast but more importantly, it will keep us from freezing tonight. He boils a second pot of water and carefully divides the steaming water between our two Nalgene bottles. Soon we are both cocooned in our bags soaking up the heat from our makeshift hot water bottles. For a special treat I serve us both a square of dark chocolate with sea salt which we savor as we listen to the roaring of the winds in the trees above.

          Morning is sunny but still very cold. I would rather stay in the warmth of my sleeping bag but I have no choice but to get up.  My refusal to venture out to the privy in the freezing wind last night has made a visit first thing this morning critical.  Michael starts to boil water for coffee and then heads out to see if he can find any animal tracks while the stove does its work.  I find that I am not the first to visit the privy since the snow stopped. A single set of fox prints leads the way and back.  Michael locates coyote tracks about 5 yards from the shelter.  It is evident that we were not alone last night.  We both return to the shelter to enjoy our morning coffee.  I have to make up for abandoning my cooking duties last night and start mixing the batter for sweet potato pancakes.  Thirty minutes later we have eaten and packed up.  Even though the sun is shining, the temperature is still in the twenties and I am eager to get moving to warm myself up.  As we walk up the path from the shelter to the trail, the aurorean light is quickly erasing all thoughts of last night’s discomfort.  The landscape is pristine white and a lone bird sounds off as we start to climb the gentle slope up Black Mountain.  As we reach the crest of the first rise I have to catch my breath.  Last night’s storm has transformed the forest into a magical land of cut crystal.  Every tree, bush, and strand of grass is coated in ice.  The effect is almost blinding as the morning sun sparkles and reflects off the branches and leaves.  Looking up, the trees appear to have diamonds hanging in clusters from their branches.  We hike slowly.  I have my camera out and I’m trying to take photos of everything knowing full well that modern technology is incapable of capturing the full scope of this experience.  That storm last night was not so bad after all, I think to myself.

          Slowly the enchantment of the mountain top fades as we descend into Nimblewill Gap.  Within a short distance the snow has totally faded away and the warm sun has melted the ice.  We pass a couple out on day hike, who tell us that the Len Foote Hike Inn gives hot coffee to hikers who stop there.  The thought of a warm room and hot brewed coffee makes the decision to detour over to the inn an easy one for us.  By 11:30 am we are sitting in the Hike Inn family-style dining hall with a number of other hikers, enjoying not only hot coffee but vegetable soup and desserts left over from the previous night. The food and drink are free, though we generously add to the donation box as we leave.  Feeling happy and full we pause in the inn’s reception area to sit on a comfy sofa and look at the antique hiking equipment on the walls.  A large synthetic stuffed black bear wearing a Hike Inn employee t-shirt watches Michael thumb through an informational booklet.   Eager now for the comfort of our room at the lodge, we head out and don our packs once again.  The Hike Inn is 5.5 miles from the Lodge at Amacolola Falls and all I can think about is a long hot soak in the tub.  The path between the Hike Inn and the Lodge is popular and we pass many people out for day hikes or heading to the inn to spend the night.  It’s almost 2:00 pm when we emerge from the woods onto the paved road that leads up to the Amacolola Falls Lodge and within minutes it comes into view.  The sight of hikers in full gear plodding into the beautiful lobby is not uncommon; however we are the only ones around today.  As we check-in, the clerk asks if we would like a cart for our packs.  Michael and I smile at each other as we decline.  Another few yards hiking won’t hurt us and I can already hear that bathtub filling.

THE END