Saturday, May 11th, 2024, 0650-1810
Fontana Hilton to Chambers Creek 98, mm 222.6
26.7 miles, Gain: 4340′, Loss: 4420′, elevation 1745′
It was a big mistake pitching my tent so near the bathroom. Between the noise of people coming and going and the horrendous stench much of the night, I didn’t sleep very well. Yet I also heard the dogs barking intermittently down at the shelter, so I was glad I didn’t stay there either. I guess all options were bad. I should have just kept hiking a ways into the Smokies, permits be damned.
Not surprisingly, I got packed quickly and was the first hiker out of there. So long AT comrades…in 2 days I’d gotten my fill of them (yet I opted to be immersed in them for nearly a week at Trail Days and loved it). I saw the beginnings of a beautiful sunrise over the lake and was in a hurry to get to the dam to witness it. But just as soon as I dropped down the hill, the fog seemed to explode through the valley and everything went blank. Halfway across the dam, I heard voices in the mist and looked over the side to see two fishermen in a boat. They looked up at me with surprise. They were the last people I saw for another 2 hours. I departed the AT after another mile, as it turned west to go up the spine of the Smokies, while the BMT stayed low along the lake. The Lakeshore trail offered just what it promised, but also a few small overland ups and downs. Overall the lakeshore parts were rather monotonous and boring, but there were historical relics here and there to spice things up.
Whole communities existed in the valley before the Fontana dam drowned them out and the area became part of the National Park. As such, there were many parts of the trail on old rail and road beds, plus rusty skeletons of cars, elaborate bridges, overgrown gravesites, forgotten foundations, and lone chimneys. There was even an intact house from 1928, the Calhoun house, preserved to a degree by the park. It’s porch and chairs provided the perfect early lunch spot, as I watched turbulent Hazel Creek rush by. There were also interesting outreach boards, describing the logging and mill town of Proctor.
Many river-sized water courses seemed to be mislabeled as ‘creeks’ this day. Water was still running high everywhere and I was glad there were bridges over the largest creeks. I rock hopped over 100’s of smaller ones, struggling to keep dry feet. I heard a large tree fall nearby and there were lots of blowdowns to climb over and thru, many obviously fresh from the May 9th storm. I spooked some animal but couldn’t see it…I suspect it was a hog. As for people, I passed one guy near his tent, a trail runner, and 4 backpackers. From time to time, I heard boats going by. Otherwise it was a very quiet day and the hours just kind of melted by. I made it to my designated campsite by 3 pm. I took a short nap there, but it was a no-brainer to continue on.
After watching the weather forecast for a few days and being a bit traumatized by all the rain over the past week, I’d decided to try to push bigger days, collapsing my itinerary from 4.5 days into 3.5. Namely I wanted to see if I could make it to Laurel Gap shelter in 3 days, a distance of nearly 85 miles from the Hilton. The reason for this was that the rain was due to return Monday night. I was lucky to get 3 nice days, mostly sunny, but then it was supposed to rain for over a week. My itinerary had me staying on top of Mt Sterling on my 4th and final night, but I hadn’t been able to repair my leaking tent yet and didn’t fancy another downpour at nearly 6k’. After trying so hard to stay on schedule with my permit, I of course abandoned it the very first day in the Smokies. But I figured the most important thing was that I had gotten a permit and paid for 4 nights…and now would probably only be using 3. Also, since this part of the park was rather remote and absolutely desolate, I didn’t imagine I’d be taking anyone’s space at an overcrowded campsite. Even on a weekend, there was no one else at the campsite I ended up at.
It was a long day and my feet were hurting after being on the same slant nearly all the way. But I found a really nice flat spot on the hard-packed sand along the lake. There was a turkey pecking around when I arrived, guiding me to the location. It was a sweet spot, even though I knew I’d be covered in condensation the next morning. The view was worth it and I slept well, despite a nearby whippoorwill calling much of the night. The repetitive noise was still a far cry better than listening to hiker chatter and barking dogs. At least it was a natural sound…do I sound like I’ve become an old curmudgeon? Probably. It’s a product of hiking alone for too long, perhaps.