AN APPALACHIAN CHRISTMAS STORY

One of ARBORETUM's good friends is Felix from Indiana, also known as Rob and as "ATHiker." One year, Christmas found him on the Appalachian Trail, in the process of through-hiking it from Maine to Georgia.

This is his Christmas Story:


"BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!! This is a warning.The National Weather Service has issued a Severe Winter Storm Warning for all of Western Carolina and Eastern Tennessee."

What a rush to be standing on Max Patch, looking at the Smokys, and hear that kind of weather report, while watching it get ready to happen. Incredible.

I picked up the pace considerably after that. I stopped for a break at
Groundhog Gap Shelter. I was freezing, wet. I knew that I was either
staying there, or getting out of there soon. Too cold for standing
around. My arms could barely move and my fingers couldn't open a Ziploc.
I headed up Snowbird in a steady, heavy rain. I almost regretted
leaving the shelter until I remembered that I could try to get to Mt.
Moma's instead of Davenport Gap Shelter.

"Hmmm, cheeseburgers" I thought. Cheeseburgers,
indeed. I trudged on. It was a little after 4:00
when I crossed under I-40. When I got back into the woods, the clouds
and rhododendrons made it look
much, much later. When I got to Davenport Gap,
it was dark. I stood on the gravel road, cold rain falling, Smokys mere
feet in front of me.

"Felix," said the cheeseburger. "Yes?" I replied.
"Go to the light, boy". As I walked down the muddy road, I could feel
the magnificence of the Smokys to my right. I couldn't see it, but I
could surely feel it. I could smell it. It was wonderful.

I walked what seemed like 6 hours in that rain and fog. It was only
about 45 minutes, though. When I could finally see the lights of Mt.
Moma's through the fog, I was happy. I walked in the door at 15 minutes
'til 6. Every eye in the place was on me. A long-haired, long-bearded, soaking wet hiker walks in an hour after dark? He's crazy. --God, I love being crazy.

"You got someplace where hikers stay?" I asked a room full of quiet, starin' folx.

"Well, there's the bunkhouse," a bewildered woman said. She said
something to the man next to her and he left the room. "Go to the pink
bunkhouse and I'll get you a plate of food."

"How about one of those Texas Cheeseburgers" I thought. Well, I liked
the thought of it so well that I said it, too.

"The grille's closed. I'll get you a plate of food."

I went outside to wander around the parking lot in the pea soup fog and
rain. I saw the bunkhouses, but couldn't tell which one was pink.
Finally, the man who had left the room walked up with a flashlight and space heater and directed me to the pink bunkhouse. He told me to put on
some dry cloths and come back inside and get my food. I
did.

I looked at the disposable cameras on the counter. I could not buy one.
Luck was taunting me. It knew that I had $11, American. It knew that my
'room' was $10.

I knew that Mt. Moma took no credit card. I took the
single remaining dollar and bought a Pepsi. I took my Pepsi and a picnic
basket of food, and a towel, with me back to the bunkhouse.

I cuddled up next to that space heater and ate. Ham, sweet potatoes, dressing,
green beans, cranberry sauce, rolls and the best cupcake I've ever had.

Easily, this was the most special Christmas Dinner of my life. It was in a room no bigger than 10X10. I sat on the floor. I ate alone. After dinner, I took a long, hot shower.

Life was good.

This night will remain as one of the most sentimental, special nights of
the hike, and my life.

That was 8 years ago tonight.

(ATHiker's stories have been published in hiking magazines and online.)