From Mack White Gap, the Pinhoti Trail stretches southward, a ten-mile ridge walk through the crisp fall leaves of the Chattahoochee National Forest, before spilling down to Georgia State Route 100.
Not quite a road walk, though close enough, the trail clings to the roadside, occasionally meandering out of sight. I’d been told that this section was notorious for encounters with vicious dogs. Several barked at me from their yards, harmless, and the few that I saw roaming free looked malnourished, cowering and hiding at my approach. Breaking my heart and sapping what little momentum I had left.
Camping wasn’t allowed along this stretch, so I dropped below eye level to the dry bed of Coon Creek, outside of a town called Poetry, Georgia. An artist’s colonyof poets. I set up my rainfly just as it began to rain and crawled inside, to check the weather. One of the perks of having a working phone.
There was a storm rolling in that would last all night and into the next day. And here I was, camped in a creek bed.
The rain hammered my tiny shelter, hidden from view. If the creek decided to flood, my body would be swept away without anyone ever knowing I’d been there. Moving camp meant getting soaked, and I was too tired to care. So I stayed, lying awake and listening to the rain, thinking about those neglected dogs. I fell asleep watching weather radar as the storm intensified. Listening for the sound of rushing water to signal it was time to run.
By morning the creek was only a few deep, muddy puddles. I packed in the drizzling rain and walked the last bit of trail through wet grass and out to the beginning of the twenty mile road walk that most people skipped.
I made it five miles before catching an easy hitch from the appropriately named Atticus and his owner, into Cave Spring for a half gallon of chocolate milk and a microwave burrito, shivering, reluctant to return to the trail.
I could be anywhere, doing anything.
Why was I out here?
#pinhotitrail #thruhike