Pinhoti Trail Thru Hike: Part 2

The Town of Cave Spring, Georgia

The day after crossing the state line, we hike for miles through a beautiful pine forest. The trees stretch on forever over our heads and the ground is soft, our footsteps silent. I see deer weaving through the trees in the distance, the first major wildlife sighting of the trail. Later, Gray Squirrel will pinpoint this section as his favorite on trail.

Eventually we come to the town of Cave Spring, Georgia. We cruise through the long miles and make it in time for lunch. The town is quaint, reminding me of a southern Stars Hollow (the town in Gilmore Girls). We stop at the first restaurant we see. Since the Pinhoti doesn’t see too many hikers, I am not sure if the townsfolk will know what to think of us- we could easily be mistaken for bums. I drop my pack and timidly step inside. I introduce myself to the host, explaining that we have been hiking and might smell bad but would love a bite to eat, and would they mind if we put our packs somewhere. In response, his whole face lights up, “You’re hikers? Yes! Welcome! We love having hikers here, put your packs here in this corner. Where would you like to sit?”. We opt for a table on the patio and a cheery waitress takes our order. As we enjoy beer and burgers, the host, who turns out to be the owner of the restaurant, joins us for some conversation. Not much longer a man with white hair walks up to us “Are you the hikers? Hi, I’m the city councilman!”. He sits nearby and proceeds to get us up to date on the local happenings and how much the town appreciates the Pinhoti Trail and hikers. Not too much time passes before someone else approaches us, this time it is a man who owns a landscaping store nearby but wants to start carrying supplies for hikers as well and he is interested in what we think he should carry. I feel like royalty, being approaching so eagerly by so many locals. When we go to leave, we find out our bill has been paid for by a neighboring table.

The Spring of Cave Spring

The historic inn that was recommended to us is full for the evening so we settle for a motel. We are warned against staying there, but I have stayed in many cheap roadside motels and figure it can’t be that bad. I am wrong, it’s incredibly grimy, complete with a moldy shower curtain, damp towels, grimy walls, and dust so think on the baseboards I could write my name in it. The carpet is ripped and frayed and I find a centipede in my bed. We distract ourselves with a resupply, and fetch water from the prized spring in town. For dinner we meet up with the Nobo/Sobo hikers we’ve been crossing paths with.

The next day, we have a 20 mile road walk to look forward to. We opt to get a ride to the northern end of the road walk and hike the 20 miles back into Cave Spring to enjoy another night in town. The northern portion of the road walk is quiet, weaving through quaint neighborhoods. We enjoy breakfast at a gas station deli, striking up conversation with a Korean War vet as he plays the lottery. We “hike” for a mile along a busy highway, the roar of traffic is deafening. I am relived to turn off on an exit ramp to the bypass. Here, we have several miles along a 6 lane road, but the traffic is surprisingly minimal and it’s just a matter of moving forward. It’s a long day, but we are able to keep up a 3 mile an hour, or faster, pace. The last portion of our day is through quiet neighborhood roads again. Back in Cave Spring we meet up with our nobo/sobo friends for a gourmet RSVP only dinner at the same restaurant we ate at when we first got to town. A young kid dressed as if he works in a body shop introduces himself as head chef and proceeds to serve us with top notch recipes of his creation with cheeses I can’t pronounce, and wines far too fancy for me to tell the difference. It’s great to have the feeling of a tramily, and I enjoy listening to the stories of the other hikers.

Two Roads Diverged in a Yellow Wood…

North of the Cave Spring road walk the trail follows an old railroad bed and the hiking is easy. We pass through rural areas with reminders that we are in the deep south. We enter the Chattahoochee National Forest, and Alan Jackson sings on repeat in my head for the next several miles. The forest is beautiful, and we appreciate being back on trail. But the trail soon turns into a labyrinth of trails, side trails, and forest service roads. At each intersection it is a blind guess- there are no blazes anywhere. Gray Squirrel’s frustration is palpable and mine isn’t far behind. We walk a mile in the wrong direction before we realize it, then must hike back up a steep hill to find the trail. While I am continuing to enjoy the arrangement of wildflowers along the side of the trail, I also start finding pieces of trash more and more frequently. It isn’t long before the occasional piece of trash turns into a whole pile, dumped out of the bed of a truck by someone with a vehicle that could handle these dirt forest service roads. Full TVs, couches, car parts, and other absurd objects interrupt the serenity of the forest. In the distance, we hear shotguns and around us we can see that the occasional sign or very rare trail blaze has been used for target practice. I am thankful I didn’t decide to hike this trail alone.

My body feels great, though, and I can tell I am much stronger after nearly 250 miles. On the ascent to John’s Mountain I push a 3 mile an hour pace for a few hours, racing myself to the top. The view is rewarding, and I have a friendly conversation with a forest service worker while I wait for Gray Squirrel to catch up.

Up to this point, we had experienced no rain while hiking, only the one storm while in Talladega and the other when sleeping in a shelter just after crossing into Georgia. Now, rain was forecasted for the next morning. We decide to wake up before sunrise, to get as many miles in as possible before it hits.  We get a few miles in by headlamp, then move through the dawn light as the clouds roll in. The rain starts lightly around 10am, but we still have several miles before reaching the town of Dalton. Gray Squirrel is worried about a hurt foot, and thunder is in the forecast so we decide it is best to stick together. But as the rain starts coming down in sheets I find myself shivering in my rain jacket. I am hiking slightly slower than my regular pace to stay with him. I turn and apologize “I have to hike faster. I’m freezing, I need to get my heart rate up”. Quickening the pace helps some, but it’s still not fun to hike drenched. I reach the bottom of the mountain and drop my pack, running back to check on my hiking partner after a series of thunder and lighting. He catches up and we start the four mile road walk into town. I have to sing ridiculous songs to myself to stay focus. I force an overly enthusiastic smile at every passing car, trying to convince them and myself that I am having a grand old time. I can’t understand why I am still so cold and miserable- I have done my fair share of hiking in the rain and never been this bad before.

Gray Squirrel in his rain gear- which proved much more efficient than mine!

At long last, we see a sea of fast food restaurant and chain hotel signs greeting us from the other side of the interstate. Bojangles is the closest spot, and I dive into its shelter eagerly. I peel off my Gortex rain jacket just to find that I am completely soaked underneath. It looks like I just went for a swim. It’s no wonder I was so miserable- my rain jacket was absolutely useless. When Gray Squirrel arrives and peels off his rain jacket he is still mostly dry. I eye his dry shirt, jealous. We eat fried chicken and kill a few hours, waiting for check in time at our hotel. The woman behind the counter eyes us suspiciously, then locks the doors to the lobby, closing the inside dining space. She doesn’t specifically tell us to leave so we continue to enjoy our meal. When we finally make our exit, I give her a genuine thank you for allowing us to stay, hoping to leave a good impression for hikers that may come after us.

We dry out in hotel room and enjoy a much needed shower. We spend the rest of the day lazily scrolling through our phones and watching true crime shows. We top of the day with fajitas and margaritas.

The Long and Winding Road(walk)

I came into this hike knowing very little about the trail. I had heard rumors of long road walks but didn’t know how many miles, or where those road walks would be. In the town of Dalton, we are faced with our final, and longest roadwalk. The rumors we have heard indicate it is the worse yet. We have more rain in the forecast and I get a message from my partner saying he will actually be driving through north Georgia on his way home from a work trip. I convince him to take a small detour to visit us in Dalton. We wake up early to get started on our roadwalk before the rain comes in. The “trail” follows the main road through town, six lanes of speeding traffic. But it isn’t long before the chain restaurants give way to residential areas with pristine landscaping. The traffic is loud but there is a sidewalk to follow, and crosswalks at every intersection. We make good time moving forward. Eventually we turn off the main road, stopping in a gas station for a caffeine fix at the corner. The sidewalk continues to guide our way, and I am thankful to avoid having to jump out of the way of moving cards. Eventually the sidewalk ends, but traffic is minimal and we walk through sprawling country side. Near a horse farm, my fiancé swings by in his work vehicle and picks us up. The rain starts just as we are driven back to our hotel, where we enjoy a nice lunch. My partner leaves, and Gray Squirrel and I spend the rest of the evening watching true crime again- all the other channels are infomercials.

The next day, well rested and with a full resupply, we Uber past the 8 miles of road walk we completed the day before and are dropped off near the horse farm where my partner grabbed us. We have nearly twenty miles of road walking left. We start through more rolling countryside and I find it peaceful. “This isn’t so bad,” I think, scoffing at the fearmongering I had heard from other hikers about the Dreaded Dalton Road Walk. But it isn’t long until we turn onto a more trafficked road and it gets significantly worse. The shoulder of the road is about 3 inches, then it drops into a deep drainage ditch. The traffic speeds by with no regard to rouge pedestrians. I can’t criticize the drivers- it is not the road you would expect to see hikers, and there are no street signs to alert them that there may be pedestrians in the area. I am forced to jump off the road for every car that comes by since there is no wiggle room for them to swerve. I am used to my pace on roadwalks being fast, but it is impossible to maintain a reasonable pace here.

The trail intersects with the Trail of Tears Historic Route, and there are a few historic sites that give us an excuse to step off the road for a while. I ready the historical plaques, then hike on in silence as I ponder the difficulties that faced the original inhabitants of this land.

A Frigid Finale

At long last, we reach a meandering country road with minimal traffic. The Pinhoti Trail signs point us down the road, and I enjoy the view of old barns, babbling brooks, and one lone flame azalea. Here, the trail finally renters the forest. Gray Squirrel cruises ahead while I take a snack break. Hiking onward, I pass a plaque that officially welcomes me to the Blue Ridge Mountains, the mountains of my “backyard”. I feel a sense of homecoming. It isn’t long after this plaque, fulling removed from the roaring sound of traffic and civilization, that a russling to my left catches my attention. About a hundred yards away on a neighboring mountain slope, a black bear slowly meanders through the bare undergrowth. She is a safe distance away, so I enjoy a long moment of watching her move. Finally, I call out to her, alerting her of my presence. She runs off. I give a few more shouts into the woods, in case she has friends nearby, then continue on my way.

These dwarf-crested irises grow wild along the trail. They always bring a smile to my face.

At camp that evening, we feel a chill creep in. It grows stronger overnight, and the next morning I dress in all my layers before we get started. Gray clouds are creeping in and the temperature continues to plumet. About halfway through the morning, I smell smoke on the wind. I turn the corner, and in a clearing at the end of a dirt road two guys about my age are enjoying a car camping trip. I invite myself to join them at their fire, appreciative of the warmth and their company. They talk about how much they love winter camping and I scoff. Personally, I can’t wait for the warm weather to settle in with a bit more permanence.

Throughout the day, we start seeing runners on the trail. We had heard of an ultramarathon happening on the Pinhoti and realize we must be in the middle of it. Eventually, I see some tents and vehicles through the trees. It’s a checkpoint for the runners. I know there will likely be food and other goodies but I don’t get my hopes up, I know its not for us. But upon arriving at the aid station, we are greeted eagerly by the people manning it. “Are you thru hikers? Do you need some Trail Magic?” “Does a bear shit in the woods?” I respond, and eagerly accept their snacks and hot chocolate. Chatting with one of the crew members, we realize we have a few mutual friends. The ultra-running world and thru hiking world often overlap.

This large tulip poplar was begging for a hug!

At camp that night, it is even colder. We make a small fire, but dive into our tents before long. It is our last night on trail, and while I am excited to wrap up this adventure, I wish we could have ended it on a higher note. The cold always gets me down.

Our final day on trail greets us with more cold weather and gray skies. It doesn’t take long before small flakes of snow begin tumbling down. Of course. I am cursed to experience snow on pretty much all of my hiking adventures. It doesn’t accumulate, but I curse it none-the-less.

Blow downs and otherwise damaged trail becomes more and more common for the last several miles. I actually don’t mind the added challenge of clambering over dead trees and the occasional bushwhack. It is feeling more and more wild, and every corner reminds me of my mountains back in North Carolina. Keeping our feet dry is also impossible, as creek after creek appear. I might try harder to stay dry, but I know there is a wide creek coming up that we must cross, and sure enough it makes its appearance just a mile or so before the terminus. It can’t be rock hopped, so I roll up my pants and go for it. The shock of the cold is revitalizing.

At this point, Gray Squirrel and I are hiking together and decide to stick together so we will reach the terminus together. It pops out of the woods with an intersection to the Beaton McKaye Trail. We dance up to it victoriously. I take about a thousand pictures, then enjoy a victory beer I have been carrying. We high five each other, then head back the way we came, looking for our side trail to a nearby parking lot.

We made arrangements ahead of time to be picked up by a local trail angel. They run into some delays so we wait for some time nervously, not sure if we are in the right spot. We meander the area and start coming up with some alternative plans when the trail angels arrive, with a warm car and a box of homemade cookies. Their hospitality on the ride back to our car (which we have kept at Mulberry Gap for a small fee for the duration of the hike) is the icing on the cake.

To the Pinhoti, with Love

Since finishing the Pinhoti Trail, I have had several hiker friends ask if I would recommend it and I always say yes. I can’t claim that it is the most beautiful or spectacular trail. There was no section that stood out as particularly epic. But I don’t hike for the fleeting moments, or for the grandeur. I hike for the intimacy with nature, for the redundance and meditation of walking, and for experience. The Pinhoti was a quiet and gentle trail, and perfect in the spring for a wildflower enthusiast like me. The long road walks were less than ideal, but not enough to detour me from the trail, and in any case, they could be easily skipped. I enjoyed watching the mountains rise out of the flatland over the course of 300 miles. And most of all, I really loved the community around the Pinhoti. There was so much enthusiasm for the trail from the communities, I often felt like royalty walking through.

A few months after I completed my thru hike, I was invited to attend the first ever Pinhotifest in Sylacauga, Alabama. This event, inspired by the popular AT Trail Days in Damascus, was hosted by Kimm and Nathan from the Pinhoti Outdoor Center. I sold my artwork alongside other artists and vendors, and enjoyed revisiting with several folks I met on my hike. The event was small, but successful and I look forward to returning in the future.