In The Mountains of Northeast Georgia
- Paul Theroux, The Happy Isles of Oceania
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(June 7, 2012). I’ve heard it said that the art of
backpacking is in knowing what not to
take. Accordingly, I had packed in what I thought was a minimalistic fashion,
trying to take only what I needed for three or four days at a time. Clothes,
bed roll, tent, emergency supplies (first aid kit and so forth), writing
equipment, food, and water made up my list of “essentials.” None of that
weighed much individually, but collectively it added up to well over sixty
pounds and threatened to burst my pack, not to mention a couple of disks in my
spine! Luckily, the full heat of summer had not yet arrived and the daily high
temperatures were only in the seventies.
Part of my map was gone, so I wasn’t
sure of the distance at the time, but the plan called for me to hike six and a
half miles, to the northwest up 17A, then to Chopped Oak Rd, and then to Lawson Lake. It didn’t seem too far at
the time.
Regardless, I was winded and
sweating like a hog before I crested the first hill. Each step quickly became
more of an act of will than a natural action and perspiration dripped down my
face and into my eyes, blurring my vision. My hair became soaked, and even
before noon came, I began to think in the back of my mind that I had seriously
screwed up.
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| Finally Arrived! |
I did see two things that that
morning that brightened my mood: one was a beaver down in a drainage ditch, so
engrossed in nibbling on some tender vegetation that it never even noticed me
watching until I called out “Good
Morning!”; and, two, the sign stating that I had finally, officially,
arrived in the Chattahoochee Forest.
To my dismay, instead of encountering the total wilderness I was
expecting, highway 17A continued to sprout little side roads filled with homes
and farms. My fantasy of “hiking until I was tired” and then camping to rest
quickly fell apart; much of the landscape was filled with privately owned
lands. Hopeful that I would find less civilized land further down the road, I
kept hiking. Traffic was light, with a car or truck passing every few minutes.
The sun climbed higher in the sky and the temperature followed. My allotment of
four liters of water began to seem insufficient.
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| Beaver |
To make matters worse, the oatmeal
I had for breakfast, combined with copious amounts of “GORP” (Good Ole Raisins
and Peanuts), while mostly healthy and good for energy, had an undesired effect
on my digestive system -- it became necessary to climb the steep banks
alongside the road on several occasions to find a bit of privacy. Meanwhile,
biting flies swarmed en masse and
took turns trying to find what little bit of
unprotected skin I might have missed when spraying on my bug repellent.
I was not a happy camper, yet there was nothing else to do but place one
foot in front of the other and trudge onward. Even had I chosen to go back, I
couldn’t begin to afford to. I walked on, trying to ignore the pain of the pack cutting into my
shoulders, the protests of my lower back, and the sweat dripping into my eyes.
By early afternoon I had made good
a couple, maybe three miles, and then climbed a bank along the road as it
crested a gap in the mountains; a cool, strong wind was gusting through the
opening and I took a moment to stop and rest, sitting on my pack, while
enjoying both the view and the coolness of the breeze. My body was aching in
places I had forgotten I had while a munched on another handful of GORP.
Meanwhile, below me, I saw a red pick-up truck with a camper on the back drive
by, slow down, and turn around and stop. With trepidation, I clambered down the
bank to see what was up; I couldn’t know that this would be the beginning of
the very last shred of “the plan”.
A young man, maybe in his
mid-thirties, rolled down his window. The driver smiled over at me. And then,
with a quality in his voice that expressed a sincerity I was grateful for, and
a bearded, long-haired look that reminded of the biker bar I used to pass by,
he introduced himself as Ralph and explained that he saw me walking along the
road and wanted to be sure that I was okay. “I’d sure be happy to do anything
that would help you,” he said. I was a little touched as I looked around the cab,
trying to gauge its safeness. A little black and white dog jumped around the
back trying to come forward to greet me; Ralph gently pushed him back. The dog
affectionately licked his hand. “He must
be cool,” I decided.
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| How To Make Moonshine |
The other man identified himself as
Jay and stepped out to help me with my pack, which I was gratefully shrugging
off. He picked it up and casually put in the camper. As a stepped up into the
cab a bolt of pain rain down the back of my right leg, proving that my lower
back was out of place enough to be pinching the sciatic nerve. I explained that
I was just going up to Lawson Lake, off Chopped Oak.
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” he said.
“Too many homeless people there. Sheriff’s gotta go out there all the time and
take care of it. Not a good place for a woman.”
“Well, maybe I’ll just keep on
going. It looks like there used to be a road there that connects to Pine Ridge.
I’m heading in that direction anyway.” I
said, trying for nonchalance.
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” he said.
“We got bear everywhere. It’d be too dangerous. And snakes too. It’s snake
country over there. Ain’t no place for a woman.”
Meanwhile, he turned the pickup
onto Pine Ridge and I could plainly see farms on each side of the road. There
was a house on either side, and a crowd of people standing in one yard. It
didn’t looking very “wilderness-y.”
Having just refused the well
intentioned and accurate advice of one of the locals, and having already
regretted it, I decided not to make the same mistake again. “Yeah, maybe you’re
right; maybe we should turn around.” He looked for a place to turn around while I frantically
tried to come up with a backup plan.
“You know, you’d be welcome to stay
at my place, no strings attached,” he smiled.
“That’s really nice, thanks!” I replied.
“You know, I came up here to hike and camp and fish, and that’s what I really
want to do right now. I was hoping the solitude might help my writing.”  |
| Moonshine Kit |
“Well, the mountains of Northeast
Georgia ain’t no place for a woman,” he grumbled. “They make moonshine around
here,” he warned, “and if you happen across the wrong spot they’re likely to
shoot ya. Better you stay at my house. No one would bother you or anything, and
we got plenty of room and plenty to eat.”
“I really appreciate that,” I said
with a smile, “but I thought there was a road back towards town that cuts into
the forest to the south, maybe a mile long. It might be fun to go back in there
and explore a little.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” he said
seriously. “I think they’ve been building back in there, and the owners there
are on the corner won’t let anyone down that road.”
“Really? --”
“Or maybe they got moonshine or
pot. They’ll shoot ya for sure.”
“Well, it’s a public road from what
I can tell I think that maybe I’ll give it a try. I need the exercise anyhow.” He shrugged.
“Mountains of Northeast Georgia ain’t no place for a woman.” He
slowed the truck down. “Here we are.” He pointed to a dubious looking, red
clay-road right next to a house. “I’m gonna go up the road aways so they don’t
see.” He drove past the house there by the little road with no name, turning
into the driveway of a different little house with an extra room and garage
nicely added on. I admired the perfectly manicured yard while hastily sliding
out of the truck, my legs again experiencing a bolt of pain as I twisted wrong.
I tried to nonchalantly stretch my leg behind me, hoping to ease the
discomfort, first one then the other.
We expressed sincere good-bye’s
while I recorded his number in my diary (a three college ruled tablet). I
promised to call him next time I went to town and let him know I was okay. (As
my money dwindled faster than expected, I had to let my cell phone expire).
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| Glore Rd and US 17A, Georgia |
He drove away as I breathed in
deeply of the moist, fragrant countryside. Ahead of me was the road that had
become just a little bit intimidating.
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