George Brown
By George Brown

With backpack in hand, I arrived at the entrance to Cades Cove in Great Smoky Mountain National Park at 11 a.m. last Saturday. My brain, if not my body, was ready for an afternoon hiking adventure.

I spent a few minutes consulting with Tom, a senior ranger, about trail options. I learned that Tom, age 77, is a seasoned hiker, having completed an 11 mile “trail conditions inspection hike” just the day before. Tom described two great options. The first was a 15 mile loop that would include a three mile stretch of the Appalachian Trail. As he described this hike I imagined myself encountering an “older” northbound thru-hiker who would tell me fascinating stories about his experiences on the trail, thereby reinforcing my confidence to one day follow in his and Grandma Gatewood’s footsteps.

When Tom completed the trail description, I asked if he had ever hiked the AT. “Only sections”, he replied. “A long time ago Uncle Sam cured me of wanting to carry a heavy pack and camp in the heat and rain.” Tom went on to describe one of his camping experiences in the U.S. Army. “As a matter of fact, I was sworn in 51 years ago today”, he concluded.

I thanked Tom for his service as he began to describe the second trail. “It’s only eight and a half miles, but you will find it to be every bit as beautiful and challenging as the AT loop, just a little shorter.”

My heart longed to tackle the AT loop, but my body and the brand new hiking boots I’d purchased a week earlier advised otherwise. Wisdom prevailed, and nearly five long hours later my knees and feet both thanked my brain for making the right decision.

When one visits Cade Cove the hope of seeing bears is always paramount, and I was not disappointed. About 15 minutes out I happened upon a momma black bear and her two cubs about a hundred feet off the trail. Now if you’re thinking I’m about to share the story of a near death encounter where I managed to save myself with my backpack, you’re going to be disappointed because that momma bear didn’t seem the least bit troubled by my presence. She kept an eye on me but made no aggressive moves as I calmly laid my walking stick down and slipped my camera from a side pocket to take a couple of pictures.

The next two hours were uneventful except for soaking up the beauty of the dogwoods and wildflowers, and the crossing of several trickling streams that washed the cobwebs from my mind.

During those two hours, which were a steady, demanding climb toward the ridgeline of the mountain, I hadn’t seen another soul and was beginning to wonder if I would. Suddenly, nature’s sound of silence was interrupted by voices behind me. I paused to catch my breath as three young couples came up the trail at an alarmingly rapid pace. As they passed I noticed, unlike me, none were breathing heavily or perspiring, and there wasn’t a single ounce of fat on the whole bunch of them. We briefly exchanged greetings, then, after they had moved on up the trail a ways, I resumed my sweating and heavy breathing as I slowly trudged onward for another 45 minutes to reach the ridge.

Upon arrival, there sat the three couples, laughing and relaxing as they enjoyed sandwiches and soft drinks. I had intended to rest at this point myself, but instead

I briefly nodded and headed on out the ridgeline trail. I found a spot with a scenic view to rest and eat my lunch of water and granola bars, wishing I had picked up a sandwich at the Subway shop in Townsend. While taking my break another hiker, perhaps in his mid-40s, came from the opposite direction and we exchanged bear stories before we both moved on.

The three mile stretch of the ridgeline trail was moderate with many scenic views, and I made good time reaching the sharp right turn where the trail makes a steep two mile descent. I had gone only a short distance down the trail when I heard voices again. It was the three young couples who, after a very long break, had again overtaken me. I stepped aside allowing them to pass but noticed that they stopped at a sharp hairpin turn about 50 yards down the trail. Their voices grew quiet and I could see they were talking about me, or at least it appeared so.

When I reached them I found the hairpin turn was a mass of jutting roots and rocks and the trail dropped about three feet as it made the turn. Not wanting to embarrass myself by falling right in front of these young hikers, I cautiously navigated the turn. All six watched in silence as I did so.

Then a bearded 24ish looking fellow, who appeared to be the group leader, broke the silence. “Sir, are you ok?”, he asked. Maybe it was just me, but from the tone of his voice I heard him saying, “Old man, are you going to make it?”

Clearly, these young folks were concerned this slow hiking old man, whom they had passed twice, might suddenly collapse and die along the trail, and they would never forgive themselves for leaving him alone. Or worse yet, he might slip off a steep edge of the trail, crush his skull on a rock and lie there for days before cadaver dogs could sniff out his bones, picked clean by buzzards, bobcats, and bears, leaving only his backpack to identify his remains.

I looked from one to the other, observing the genuine concern on their faces as I pondered how I might answer the young man’s question in a manner that would relieve their anxiety about my supposed emanate demise. Then, without seriously thinking about it I repeated something an old fellow (about 68 like me) had recently said when I asked how he was doing.

“Way’ll”, I said, dragging the word out in two syllables with my best Tennessee drawl “I reck’n I’ll be okay, see’ns I’m gonna turn 80 on my next birthday.”

I wish I had a picture of the expression of relief and admiration that slowly crept upon their faces. They all began to smile and an 18ish looking girl, who appeared to be the youngest of the group, looked at me like I was her great-grandpa, and in a sweet voice she said, “Oh my, that’s wonderful, sir.”

In that brief moment I’d gone from looking like a decrepit 68 year old man, who had most likely escaped from a nearby nursing home, to being a hearty, almost 80 year old mountaineer who could thru-hike the AT, as easy as not.

Content with my answer and now confident of my abilities, the six youngsters cheerfully bade me farewell and headed down the trail. After resting my rubbery legs for a few minutes, I slowly followed. Finally arriving back at the welcome station, I greeted Ranger Tom. After my encounter with those young folks I wanted him to know a search party would not be needed to rescue me from the mountain. To my delight Tom had never doubted my abilities for a moment. “Next time you’ll have to try the AT loop”, he said. And with confidence I replied, “Yes, I believe I will.”

George Brown is a freelance writer. He lives in Jackson Township.