“A Lodge Called Folkestone”
by Bob Kranich
(Excerpt 10)
“The Lodge Called Folkestone”. You may wonder why the first half of the book is about my many adventures throughout the USA. Well, this first part explains just why my interests changed from hot rodding cars to backpacking. How the idea of a lodge came about, and just how the lodge came to be in North Carolina and next to the Smoky Mountain National Park, Deep Campground to be exact.
I arrived at the first spring none too soon, for the hollow clink of my canteen told me it was empty. Hunger pangs also beckoned, reminding me that it was time for a cold lunch of peanut butter, crackers, chocolate bar, and Kool-Aid drink. I liked to snack, so I had planned during the rest of my hike to eat between-meal tidbits to keep me going. This didn’t stop the loss of ten pounds and two sizes in my waist by the time the week’s outing was over. I thought to myself, I may have discovered a new weight loss plan! My blue jeans were so loose when I returned to my car that I had to stop in a mountain town and have a nice elderly lady seamstress take them in.
As I plodded along, I was getting higher in elevation. I took note on my contour map that I had started at Bryson City, about 1,700 feet above sea level, and now I was on the main level of Noland Divide. The trail was at 4,700 feet, and still climbing. I was only making about one and one half miles per hour, and had gone up about 3,000 feet in the last five hours. I had begun to notice a vegetation and temperature change. The hardwoods had given way to pine and scrub oaks, and now it was warmer. It was much cooler along the stream. I know that as one goes higher in elevation it is supposed to get cooler. But I’m sure that the reason for this warmth was the scrub vegetation, and the sun beating down on me.
This reminds me of back home in Florida. Then I heard a sharp, very loud rattle. It rose in pitch to shrill vibrato. I stopped dead in my tracks! Before me on the trail, about three yards away, was a rattlesnake slowly moving away from me. Its rattle was warning all the time. The snake slowly moved off to the side of the path and coiled. I picked up a few small rocks and tossed them off to one side of him near the trail. The snake then slithered off into the woods. I quickly went on by, putting a lot of distance between the snake and me.
That is enough excitement for one day. A few miles ahead, I came to Upper Sassafras Gap. I got out my map and found my location on it. Where I was, the Noland Divide Trail, was on a ridge between two higher elevations, and was intersected by another trail coming up from the west. Mountain names are practical, and I noticed a lot of Sassafras trees in the area. There was a rotted trail sign and post lying on the ground, a victim of the forces of nature. I turned the sign over and saw that it noted that there was a campsite down the trail.
The sun was beginning to set, and my canteen was going dry. I decided that the one mile downhill to the primitive campsite marked on my map would be the most favorable location to camp that night. As I started down, I could hear the gurgling sound of rushing water. At this point, I found out just how useful a walking stick could be. Going down in a moist forest with a fifty-pound pack on my back was not as easy as the phrase “downhill” sounds. After starting down and going only a few feet, I suddenly found myself lying down in that moist forest! I grabbed a stout limb lying nearby to use as a walking stick. I soon found that it was the solution, for the stick served as a third leg.
The camp was definitely primitive. It was in a small clearing near Noland Creek with very tall hardwood trees all around. I quickly laid out my plastic ground cloth, Ensolite pad, and partial covering, and then proceeded to cool myself off in the creek. The water was mountain ice-cold, but felt wonderful to me on my first day out. I took out my large nestle pot and filled it with water. Then away from the stream, I washed up both myself and my dirty clothes. I dumped the soapy water where it would not be close to the stream.
The sun was going down very fast. I was down in this hollow with heavily wooded ridges all around. It was like looking up from the bottom of a funnel, all dark around the sides, but light on the top.
I got out of my pack a remarkable folding candle lantern I had purchased at a camping store. It measured four by four by seven inches, and folded up to no more than one by four by seven inches. With the light situation taken care of, I lit my one-burner Coleman white-gas stove, and heated some of that clear mountain water. The powdered soup, hot cocoa, and cookies tasted delicious. I sat there and ate my supper listening to the bubbling and gurgling sounds of the creek.
I never thought a ground bed would feel as good as this one did, but I think a tired hiker can sleep anywhere. Before long, the music of the night sounds lulled me to sleep.
I was awakened by early morning sunlight filtering through the trees. “I’m ready for breakfast!” I said out loud. My stove made fast work of the water. The instant oatmeal and powered orange drink served the purpose.
All my equipment easily went back into place. I rolled my sleeping bag last, and stuffed it into its sack. I took a moment to look around to make sure I had left no trash and enjoy the peaceful environment. My camp sure looked different in the morning light. Last evening’s shadow mystery was gone.
I used my, “put on the pack” method I had devised yesterday, and started back up the mile climb to yesterday’s ridge trail. When I got to the top I needed a good rest and a snack. I got out some red licorice and my contour map. Clingmans Dome was twelve miles in front of me. I had probably done about eleven miles yesterday.
Even though I was sore today, I felt good and was in high spirits. I liked to sing some folk tunes I had written on a small pad as I hiked along. I would do this if the trail was not too steep, and I had some breath. Some of this Appalachian hiking was suited for that. Even though over all I was gaining in elevation, many times the trail went down for a bit.
As I hiked along, I noticed that the foliage was changing into gnarled and twisted pines, combined with evergreen and lush fern and moss undergrowth. I could tell that a ranger or maintenance person must have passed this way a few days before, for there were signs that the trail had recently been cleared.
Quite a few miles had passed by, and I heard the faint sound of automobiles ahead. I stopped, checked my map, and saw that Clingmans Dome was up ahead. I hadn’t wanted to venture out along the road, but in this case it would have to be done to get to the Appalachian Trail.
It was like coming out of the far side of a tunnel when I left the lush forest, and came out on the Dome’s access road. Out here, the sun was bearing down mercilessly, and I had just drained my canteen...again! I decided that the next hike I go on, I will take two canteens. I looked up the road to the approximate location of the parking area, and could see that I still had a long haul to go. But I decided to get on with it.
As I hiked along, I realized that being out in the open like this has its advantages as well as disadvantages. Because of the cleared areas, the view of the beautiful Appalachian mountains with the puffs of smoke-like condensations rising from many of the hollows was breathtaking. This road hike was going to be much more than I had expected. It turned out to be at least two miles.
I had begun to notice, as I hiked along, that the tourists’ cars were slowing down as they passed me. Of course, I was hiking on the left side of the road facing traffic, the only sensible way. They must have thought I was an old mountain man. A hiker can certainly arouse the curiosity of flatlanders. I found this out just as soon as I reached the parking lot. By that time my tongue was literally hanging out, and I made a beeline for the water spigot.
As I drank my thirst away, I became aware that more and more people were crowding around the water spigot. I felt a rush to give a turn to those around me, but to my surprise, no one wanted to drink. All were wide-eyed and their focus was on me! First, one question, then more and more...I was photographed and marveled at, and questioned again. I even had to pose for one couple. It was a relief when I was able to bow out, move down the trail to a more secluded spot, and eat my lunch.
From the Author:
This is a new book. It is about the Lodge I built in the Smoky Mountains, near Bryson City, and Deep Creek campground, North Carolina. Having been from Florida, I know that a lot of Floridians love to visit the Smoky Mountains National Park. Therefore hopefully you will enjoy my story of the building of “A Lodge Called Folkestone”.
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