Trail of Terror, page 27
“How do we know if one of the damn things is about to charge?” Marcy fretted.
“Look out for little things such as: hair standing up on the back and hips, pinned back ears, wide eyes with lots of white showing, a lowered head or tossing of the head, and of course if it starts moving toward us,” Rachel explained.
“How do you know all this — you some kind of elk expert?” Marcy asked.
“I went elk hunting with my dad a couple of times,” she shrugged.
Just at that moment, they heard a loud multi-tone squeal that began with a low frequency “growl,” then a loud dog bark, finally progressing to an eerie high-pitched “scream” that lasted for several seconds.
They both looked at each other, frozen with fear.
“What the hell was that! It sounds like the Ringwraiths from The Lord of the Rings!” Marcy wailed.
Rachel knew immediately what the sound was: a bull elk. It bugled for multiple reasons. One of the main reasons was to announce his presence and to locate other bulls. But the “bark” was one of the bull elk sounds that nobody wants to hear.
“It’s a bull elk warning to the other elk in the herd that he’s seen something suspicious,” Rachel said quietly. “Don’t move!”
“Something suspicious — like what, wolf or cougar?”
“No…us,” Rachel retorted, as she slowly looked around, but it was too dark for her to see where the bull elk was.
“Omigod, omigod…I didn’t sign up for this!” Marcy wailed.
The bull elk emerged from browsing in the willows near the trail. He was huge. This was his herd. Rachel found it amazing to watch how effortlessly the big bulls could move through the willow bushes with his gigantic rack of horns. He strode slowly with a stately demeanor with his head aloft, then walked majestically toward his harem of females.
He had massively thick antlers, which made Rachel think of royalty bearing an enormous crown. Impressively big antlers that made it appear much taller. She estimated the male elk’s antlers to be nearly four feet above its head, making him around nine feet tall in all. Huge…a mature bull weighing in about 850-to-1,000 pounds.
Rachel said quietly, “Grab your water bottles and get ready to run back to the camp — and I mean run like you’re about to race Usain Bolt in the 100-meter Olympics.”
“Why?” Marcy asked. “Looks like he’s going to his herd.”
“He’s displaying a full range of warning signs: his ears are laid back and the hair on the back of his neck and above the hips are standing up. He’s smacking his lips, tossing his head upward like a horse — that means he’s pissed off,” Rachel declared. “Behavioral clues.”
Both women slowly grabbed their bottles of water and carefully stood up.
The bull suddenly whirled without warning. It started galloping like a horse toward them, hooves pounding the ground like hammers. Within a few strides, the huge elk advanced almost close enough to stomp them with its front hooves. Then for some unknown reason it stopped — Marcy screamed louder than a jet fighter plane leaving an aircraft carrier.
They fortunately were able to run safely away with adrenaline-juiced speed, back to the safety of their campsite. They built a campfire just to be sure the bull wouldn’t come near.
It was quite the learning experience for them. An adult elk was nothing to mess with.
“I guess you can’t expect to scare away a bull elk the same way you might startle a deer on the trail,” Marcy exclaimed when she changed her pants. “Do me a favor and don’t tell anybody I wet myself, okay?” she fretted.
“Not a problem,” Rachel laughed, “I almost let everything loose myself. Hopefully, this will be the only dangerous close-call on our hike.”
The two women were very nearly mowed down by the panicked elk. It was only by sheer good luck that they were not trampled and escaped injury.
Score one for the women, this time.
When Rachel texted their GPS location to her mom and dad that night, she told them everything was “fine and going better than expected.” No mention of their encounter with the elk.
CHAPTER 44
RACHEL AND MARCY LEFT Hogpen Gap bright and early the next morning under blue skies and continued their long ten-mile slow hike northward to their next destination, Chattahoochee Gap, near Jack’s Knob Trail. While this stretch of the Appalachian Trail had limited views because it was heavily forested, they did trek through several lush, green forests that bloomed with abundant purple, yellow and red wildflowers because of the warm weather. The terrain in some places was rocky and rugged, other areas were moss-covered and shady, and filled with tall ferns. Those places reminded Rachel of Sherwood Forest from a Robin Hood movie.
Typical of high ridge trails though, there seemed to be limited water sources, especially on the “balds.” Balds were mountain summits or crests they walked through, that were covered primarily by thick vegetation of native grasses or shrubs occurring in areas where heavy forest growth would be expected. Why some mountain summits were bald, and some were not seemed to be a mystery to Rachel: Some were coated with dense stands of spruce and fir trees, whereas an adjacent summit a mile or two away might be almost entirely devoid of trees. She suspected it might have been due to the particular location, growing season and climate.
They mostly saw small animals like squirrels and chipmunks — they seemed to be everywhere — but what concerned the women the most was they had obviously entered bear and snake country. Clues of their presence was everywhere. They saw numerous trees with the bark rubbed off the trunk between two and six feet off the ground that the bears had used as scratching posts and let everyone know this was their territory. Thankfully, so far, they hadn’t confronted any black bears on the trail. They’d seen plenty of venomous snakes though, mostly Eastern timber rattlesnakes and copperheads. They quickly learned that both reptiles seemed to lurk mainly along drier, rockier sections of the trail.
Later that day, physically exhausted after having climbed over Horsetrough and Turkeypen Mountains, they caught glimpses and through-the-trees views of Brasstown Bald to the north, Georgia’s highest mountain summit, on the rocky stretch of trail.
As the afternoon was winding down, they reached a small freshwater natural spring, a tiny trickle that tunneled between several fern-covered rocks. Rachel consulted her maps and commented, as they filled their water bottles, “Did you know…downriver, this small spring flows 430 miles south, to become the Chattahoochee River, one of Georgia’s major waterways and a water source for our city of Atlanta?”
Marcy replied wearily. “Maybe we should put a message in one of our empty water bottles and send it downstream.”
“What would you say?”
“My note would say, ‘Help, save me, I’m in the middle of the Chattahoochee Forest — send rescue helicopter with lobster and steaks quickly!” Marcy said wryly.
They finally arrived at their camping destination at Jacks Knob. During this second week of hiking they learned the amount of elevation gain on a hike was the one factor that determined the difficulty. They both understood how much elevation gain they could comfortably handle and what was too much: If the trail gained 1,000 feet in elevation over one mile, they considered it quite steep and added an extra hour to their trip.
They found two mountain climbs in one day to be exhausting, but three or four were downright grueling and excruciating on their bodies. They found daily time and distance hiking estimates were fine and dandy, but they didn’t account for the weather, water replenishment, or potty and lunch breaks. On average, if the Garmin or map said it took five-to-six hours to reach a campsite destination, they knew it would probably take them nearly double that time without killing themselves.
Rachel and Marcy were becoming veteran hikers. Both learned quickly how to walk in very rugged terrain with heavier loads. They also knew how to regulate their body temperatures by layering or adjusting walking speeds, drinking and snacking frequently to keep their energy levels up, how to pick a good camping spot and set up their tents quickly. Both women could now find where they were with a map, and how to navigate using the Garmin and a compass. So far, they really didn’t need the Garmin or a map — all the campsite areas and shelters were well marked so it was hard to get lost if they were following the trail markers. However, Rachel knew that could change quickly if there was an emergency.
They met scores of other hikers of all types, genders and personalities along the way. Every day they met an average of ten to twenty new hikers, all of them friendly and eager to take a few moments to greet them and introduce themselves.
Out of curiosity, Rachel asked them if anyone had run into the two women from Germany up the trail. The replies were all negative. Nobody had passed two women by that description. It’s as if the two Germans had fallen off the face of the earth. Rachel surmised maybe they quit, or perhaps had suddenly decided to take a scenic side-trail. That was possible.
Odd, Rachel thought — neither seemed to be the type to suddenly quit. Of course, she was also on the lookout for the huge, strange bald-headed evil looking tattooed man, but the few people she asked said they hadn’t seen anyone by that description either. After all, it was a big place.
The following morning, they ate their oatmeal breakfast, packed up their gear and left Jack’s Knob, and headed eastward for another long ten-mile trek to their next stop, a shelter named Unicoi Gap at the base of the rocky mountain.
Another arduous day.
Their walk began with an immediate climb of Blue Mountain’s lower elevations, hiking almost southbound before switching back sharply and reversing direction several times. It turned out to be a nearly unrelenting climb from the trailhead, scrambling over lichen-covered boulders and climbing through green, fern-filled forests at Henson Gap. By noontime, the trail finally reached the summit of Blue Mountain, where they found themselves surrounded by tall wildflowers, all stretching in different directions to catch sunlight in the dense forest. There, they stopped for a much-needed break to have lunch and take a rest.
After lunch, they resumed walking, passing through a scattered grove of large rhododendrons, then the walking became easier as the trail began an extended descent down a rolling ridgeline to their destination, Unicoi Gap.
Like every other evening, Rachel texted their GPS coordinates and location to her mom and dad. They messaged back that she had not received any letters or notification from hospitals about residencies. This was starting to worry her a little.
“How much further to the North Carolina border?” Marcy asked, as she lay on her sleeping bag, exhausted.
Rachel consulted her Garmin. “We’re still about three days away — we’re 30 miles from the shelter at Standing Indian Mountain near Chestnut Ridge.”
“My God, it sounds like we’re entering Indian country in some John Wayne movie,” Marcy remarked.
Rachel pushed several more buttons on the Garmin, scrolled down the display screen and replied, “After we cross the border, we’ll be entering the great Nantahala National Forest wilderness area,” she explained. “Most of it was, and part of it still is owned by a group of Native Americans called the ‘Eastern Band of Cherokee Indian Nation’ tribe.”
“Really — wonder if we’ll see any?”
“Now this is interesting,” Rachel commented, not bothering to answer her question. “It says here the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians is a federally recognized Native American tribe in the United States, who are descended from the small group of 800 Cherokee who remained in the Eastern United States after the Indian Removal Act moved the other 15,000 Cherokee to the west in the 19th century. It was called the “Trail of Tears.” The Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians is one of only three federally recognized Cherokee tribes, the others being the Cherokee Nation and the United Keetoowah Band of Cherokee Indians, both based in Oklahoma. Its headquarters is in the town of Cherokee, North Carolina in the Qualla Boundary, south of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.”
“Yeah, but I’m just not into Indians that much — at least since I learned in history that us pioneers were the ones who always got arrows in their backs,” Marcy replied philosophically. “However — in case you haven’t noticed — I’m still single, and looking and failing miserably at suitable men, so I’m keeping all my options open these days.”
“Yeah, me too,” Rachel sighed.
+++
THE WALK OVER THE next three days was more of the same, but more physically challenging for the two, since the trail wound through some of the most remote and rugged sections of Georgia’s Appalachian Trail in the Tray Mountain Wilderness area. The first day, it took them eleven exhausting hours, climbing northward over eight mountains, until they finally reached their next campsite at Addis Gap. There they found an old rock foundation where the Addis family lived for generations until 1942. A small grassy clearing was all that remained at the 19th Century homestead. They camped there for the night and had a wonderful view of Powell Mountain to the north.
The second day they left for their next stop at Plumorchard Gap, the northernmost stretch of the trail that offered little in impressive summit views. Instead, it led them through nearly nine miles of the most beautiful fern-and-moss filled forests they’d ever seen. The hike followed a small stream, a tributary of Dick’s Creek, which some miles away cascaded in the stunning waterfall at Dicks Creek Falls. They stopped to take some pictures and eat lunch. The trail climbed in elevation steadily, passing the first of many campsites at under a half mile. After lunch, the trail continued to climb, ascending toward Little Bald Knob, then they crossed through Cowart Gap before beginning still another unwavering climb. They soon passed Buzzard Knob and began to walk through dense groves of rhododendron. They finally reached Plumorchard Gap after hiking nine arduous miles…only eleven more miles remained until they crossed over the North Carolina state line to reach their next waypoint: Standing Indian Mountain.
The third day they left Plumorchard Gap early in the dawn’s heavy mist as the sun was beginning to rise; their next campsite was an eleven-mile hike that would take them deep into the thick woodlands of the Nantahala National Forest in North Carolina. Within an hour, the trail passed through forests filled with fern and gnarled mountain laurel in a descent to Blue Ridge Gap. They started to pay extra-close attention to their surroundings and made a special effort to be noticeable, since they were now entering an area that was well-known for bear activity since berry bushes were abundant everywhere. Hiking onward, they crossed a gravel road and passed two off-trail campsites and a trickling spring near Rich Cove, then the trail steadily climbed toward the Georgia border. Later that day, they came to a large, mossy, gray rock outcrop that towered over the trail just before they crossed the Georgia-North Carolina state line.
After crossing the North Carolina state line at Bly Gap, they took a break and stopped to take pictures of a humongous centuries-old gnarled, oak tree. Just past the tree, there was a small clearing where they decided to stop again, to relax and enjoy the panoramic majestic views of the distant rolling peaks of the Nantahala National Forest.
It could only be described as tranquil and picture-perfect beautiful as they sat next to the trail.
Until that is, they encountered their first closeup experience with black bears.
CHAPTER 45
SUDDENLY, OUT OF NOWHERE they heard sounds of an animal. A hundred feet ahead of them, the bushes next to the trail parted and a large female bear appeared with two cubs. The animals began to cautiously amble forward, sniffing the air.
The two women began to take pictures of the three bears.
“What do we do now?” whispered Marcy, “doesn’t look like they’ve spotted us yet.”
“Keeping our distance and not surprising them is the most important things we can do,” Rachel replied. “Most bears will avoid humans if they hear us coming.”
“Well, we need to do something quick, Doctor Robinson — they’re getting closer!” Marcy whispered urgently.
“Stand up slowly,” Rachel said, talking calmly. “We need to warn them of our presence. Make lots of noise. If the bears hear us, they’ll usually take off. But grab your canister of bear spray and keep it handy — just in case.”
“You first!”
Rachel stood up, waved her arms over her head and shouted, “Hey, bear! Hey, bear!” several times. Marcy stood and began to shout also.
However, the big mama bear did not stop.
“Hmm…our voices should have identified us as human and not a threatening prey animal,” Rachel said. “Usually, they’re curious, but pretty easy to scare off.”
Suddenly, the mother bear stood up to her full height, sniffed the air and let out a loud, “Woof!” Then it dropped down and proceeded to an old log beside the trail and pushed it over to reveal a cache of grubs and insect larvae. The three bears began to feast on the juicy bulbous insects.
“Now what?” Marcy trilled. “It stood up, they’re probably gonna attack us to fatten themselves up before the next winter hibernation!”
“No, she’s not — a standing bear is usually curious, not threatening. We move on to ‘Plan B’ — give them plenty of room and walk around,” Rachel replied nonchalantly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do.
The two began to move away slowly and sideways; this allowed them to keep an eye on the bears and avoid tripping.
“Moving sideways is non-threatening to bears,” Rachel explained. “Whatever you do, don’t run!”
“Why not?”
“Because they may look slow, but bears can run as fast as a racehorse both uphill and down. Like dogs, they’ll chase fleeing animals,” she explained.
They slowly made a wide arc around the three bears, giving them a wide berth, but the bears just ignored them anyway and continued to eat. The just sat there pulling the rotten log apart.
