Loving NE Georgia: A Backpacker’s Tale (Part 3)

Toccoa, GA

                It was about seven on a Sunday morning, the air was cool, and I had gotten more chilled on the train, so I was eager to go into the lobby and warm up; unfortunately, this station was currently unmanned and there was no one around. I did find a little heated waiting room, complete with rest rooms, and spent a few minutes warming up and trying to reorganize my pack (my bed roll kept coming undone). I only had one stop to make, and that was at, what I thought, was a Wal-Mart so close to the station I should be able to see it. Sadly, as I walked in widening circles around Toccoa, I could not find it. 

                I had checked Google Maps before I left, and according to that, there was a Wal-Mart less than a couple of blocks away; what I didn’t know was that it had been relocated to a site four and half miles away since. Luckily, I ended up on the right road and even going in the right direction, but I was already exhausted, my shoulders ached, and each step with my pack was becoming more and more of an effort, especially on the hilly parts.

                One can only guess what people driving by in their cars thought as I struggled up the road, panting like a choo-choo train, sweat pouring off my face, hair tangled and matted. The sun came up strong, and the temperature rose quickly. A car stopped at a red light, and I desperately motioned for the driver to roll down her window. She did, and I asked for directions.

Mellissa S,
Toccoa, GA

                “Well, I’m going there too!” she replied. “Want a ride?” I gratefully accepted, shrugging off my pack and wedging it into the back seat while trying to wipe the sweat from my eyes.

                Mellissa Spencer, my benefactor, was a lab technician at a nearby hospital just on her way home from work – she was the first of many people who have stunned me with their kindness. She not only took me to the Wal-Mart, but she waited for me, too! By now, my money was about one third of what I thought I would have, so I hurriedly bought about half of my list of “necessities,” just figuring I’d have to do without the rest (there are necessities, and then there are really necessities). Mellissa and I headed out -- at long last I was on the final leg on my journey to the Chattahoochee-Oconee National Forest! 

  

Panther Creek, GA

                We talked on the way, she graciously offering to take me all the way there, saving me about eight miles of hiking. She told me about her husband and family; I asked her about fishing in this area. She mentioned that her husband always went to Panther Creek, and that he always did well; he liked to use a white rooster tail. She explained that it was probably a better place to go then what I had planned, which was to start out at Toccoa Reservoir, and then hiking up Highway 17 to US 441, eventually to Rabun Lake, Seed Lake, and Burton Lake.  After, I would circle around to the beginning of the Appalachian Trail, once the weather cooled towards the end of summer. Hopefully I would be able to enjoy some of the fabled Georgia trout fishing, once I had enough for a license. (I didn’t know it then, but there were several issues with that plan). With a disconcerted, worried look in her eyes, offering again to take me to Panther Creek, she dropped me off. Of course, I refused her kind offer, hanging on resolutely to “The Plan.” I have to admit, she really touched my heart with her laughter and kindness; turns out that maybe my brain was touched too, because “The Plan” immediately fell apart. 

Toccoa Reservoir, Toccoa, GA

                For one thing, I was expecting this to be in wilderness; after all, it was surrounded by National Forest, but it wasn’t very wild. There was a golf course on one side of the lake and a store on the corner. A gate led to a road that went a short distance along the wooded side of the lake, and I bypassed this, found a likely camping spot near the water, and set up camp. That afternoon and evening it slowly sunk into my understanding that this was, after all, a reservoir, the City of Toccoa’s water supply, and probably I shouldn’t be camping there. (It turns out that the local police often chased homeless people away from here). 

                To make matters worse, it had begun to rain heavily, and I discovered that there were ticks everywhere! Hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands, perhaps, all waiting at the top of every weed and blade of grass there was. (One got in my hair and dug into my skull, where it apparently lived quite happily for over two weeks until I was finally able to get it removed). Though I had no license yet, I did fish a bit, and spent a large amount of my limited remaining funds in the nearby store, buying bread, eggs, night-crawlers and so forth. Otherwise, the night passed without event.

                I broke camp early the next morning, wanting to get out of there before I garnered any unwanted attention. My gear was wet from the rain, but I painstakingly packed up my dripping, muddy tent, managed to get everything back in my pack, and hit the road.

Loving NE Georgia: A Backpacker’s Tale (Part 2)

Into the Frying Pan

 

Jacksonville Greyhound Bus Station at Night.
(Courtesy of The Times Union)

Without fanfare, I was dropped at a friend’s business only three miles from the Greyhound Bus Station on June 2nd, where I spent the night sleeping on the floor. Early in the morning I hiked from there to the bus station, where I accumulated my first layer of sweat, despite the relative low temperature of 70 ° F. I nervously waited outside the door watching the night people and the homeless chatter back and forth, handing out more than a few cigarettes in the process, and thankfully, not getting mugged.

The bus was filled with bored, sleepy people, as it wound its way up the Interstate and then through scenic coastal South Carolina. I felt numb, but when I dozed my dreams were filled with beautiful mountain forests, dancing streams, sparkling campfires, and lunker trout.

I got off the bus in Clemson, SC early that evening and had until morning to find the Amtrak station.  It was to be more challenging than I expected. I asked at the Greyhound how to get there (my cell phone was unable to get on the web), and a harried employee casually pointed me in the direction. With great difficulty I donned my pack and headed off in the pointed direction, immediately beginning to sweat in the 75 degree temperature. The street I understood to follow ended abruptly.

I thought Clemson was a beautiful city, but I couldn’t find anyone who actually lived there to clarify the directions, although I asked literally dozens of people. The station was only a mile distant, but I must have walked five times that. I kept walking, looking, while the straps of the pack – which I hadn’t figured out how to adjust correctly – began to cut painfully into my shoulders. After an hour, my legs trembled with each step, and I was bathed in perspiration. All this, and I hadn’t even got near a hiking trail yet! A local cop shadowed my travel, cruising by at a slow speed every few minutes. I began to worry, a little, about making this trip. 

Finally, after a couple of hours, I found the Amtrak station and shivered through the night with my only clothing choice being shorts and a tank top (I had left everything else behind for lack of space). Someone said it was almost 50°F by morning. I did meet some nice folks though, and we talked with one couple while watching some birds trying to teach their young to fly. The train arrived on schedule, and I was on my way.

Amtrak Station - Toccoa, GA

I watched through the windows during the short trip, growing more and more excited as each mountain side and patch of forest we traveled by revealed itself under an occasional street lamp as I strained to make out details in the predawn greyness and morning fog. 

My earlier trepidation vanished. 

Dawn broke as I arrived at the Amtrak station.