Postcards

A highlight was the outstanding switchbacks that the A.T. maintainers had installed to go up Pond Mountain just south of Watauga Lake and U.S. Rt. 321.  Those switchbacks can be a model for the whole A.T.

The rocks at Laurel Falls were a dramatic highlight ... one that a hiker is not likely to forget for years to come!  The shuttle by Sutton Brown on the back roads in that region were highlights in themselves.  At one point, approaching a hairpin turn, it was necessary to look back over our shoulder to see if there was any approaching traffic!

Subsequent e-mail from Mr. Kellogg: The work you and your trail maintainers did in constructing the switchbacks to go up/down Pond Mountain was outstanding, and deserves as widespread recognition and appreciation as possible.  I truly believe that those switchbacks are so well done that they should be cited as an example of excellent switchbacks for A.T. trail maintainers from Georgia to Maine!  The slope, levelness of trail widthwise, trail stabilization on the down-slope side, construction of the steps at the turns (including firmness, characteristics for durability, height of steps), and trail marking are really great.  Please express my congratulations for a job well done to the individuals who performed the work on the Pond Mountain switchback project...as well as my appreciation, and my admiration of their altruistic dedication to A.T. trail maintenance! Many people recognize the fine work you are doing!

In the Roan Mountain, Tennessee area the Trail follows a road through a small neighborhood for about a quarter of a mile.  I was crossing this section on Easter Sunday, looking forward to getting back into the woods so I could find a place for lunch.   Before I could do that, a large collie came running from behind a line of parked cars to greet me.  A woman came out to bring her dog back.  I asked her the typical "How ya doing," and she replied happily, "Fine.  Would you like some lunch?"  I eagerly accepted, and squeezed between the parked cars into one of the most memorable scenes of my hike.

In their front yard, a dozen little kids ran freely, getting into little kid mischief.  Without breaking stride, one yelled, "Look, a hiker!"  It was a welcoming and friendly outburst, as if a good friend had unexpectedly stopped by.   The rest of the family, ranging in age from teens to great-grandmothers, were all sitting on the front porch laughing and talking while trying to keep the children at bay.   Before me lay three picnic tables full of food: chicken wings and roasted ham, tossed salad and vegetable platters, Jell-O eggs and vanilla pudding - I was hit with that rush of sensory input that thru-hikers get when they step out from the woods into civilization.  My trance was broken when she gave me a plate and told me to have at it.  Hiker hunger took over as I sampled from every plate on the table.

I learned that this was an annual Easter get-together for the Campbell family.   Martha, a great-grandmother, held the event that brought in Campbells from both the Carolinas and Tennessee.  It is incredible to look around and see four generations of one family all at once.  Helping hikers is nothing new for them; Martha's late husband once had a water spigot available for hikers, but the pipe froze one winter and she has been unable to fix it.  An A.T. aluminum marker nailed to the bam door is a symbol of the family's support of the trail.  She told me stories of tired hikers whom her husband put up in the barn.

After eating my fill and then some, I helped hide Easter eggs for the kids and watched them turn the yard inside out in the search.  They were all given water guns as prizes, and I definitely received my share of squirt attacks, all in good fun.  I still had miles to walk though, so we said goodbye, and they left me with a Nalgene full of ice water and plenty of memories.

At Moreland Gap Shelter that evening, I recounted my story to two other hikers.   We decided that, because I was taken in like one of the family, I should be called "Campbell's Kid."  I had walked nearly four hundred miles without a trail name, so I decided that it was time to adopt one.  The great part about the name was that whenever other hikers asked me where my trail name came from, I could spread the story of the Campbell's generosity.

Whenever I told this story to other hikers, many were in disbelief.  Their memories of that section were stories of bumed-down shelters, hiker booby traps, and harassment from locals.  Most remember being on guard the entire day and anxious to get through the section.  I was admittedly nervous myself that morning, but the fact that no incidents were reported in recent years was reassuring.  After meeting the Campbells, however, I learned that most people were friendly, only a handful of troublemakers had given the area a bad name.  I remember that everyone who drove past me on that road walk smiled and waved to me, and I wondered what had happened to all the bitter locals we had been warned about.  I realized that while hikers should be wary because there have been problems in the past, we should not immediately jump to the defensive.  Instead, if we greet people with friendliness and respect as we would anywhere else, perhaps we will make an impression on those who have been unfriendly to hikers in the past.  If we open our minds for them, perhaps they will open their minds and maybe even their hearts for us.

Webmaster's note: since this report was written, the A.T. has been relocated off of Campbell Hollow Road, and no longer passes in front of the home mentioned in the article.