Day 20 & That’s a Wrap!

Day 20: Gennett Poplar to the Northern Terminus!

My quilt didn’t fully dry and loft back up from the rain the night before, so I was COLD last night. I finally fell asleep in the early hours of the morning, but felt exhausted when my watch alarm went off. Once again, I just wanted to pack up quickly and get moving to warm up.

There were a few miles of trail after Gennett Poplar that were rugged and not maintained. It seemed a storm had passed through years ago, and I had to climb over dead trees and do some bushwhacking between stream crossings. I wasn’t upset though. We had a (relatively) steep and fun climb to the highest point on the Pinhoti, Buddy Cove Gap, and the trail was surrounded by rhododendrons along the way.

We zoomed down the mountain through wild boar territory, making lots of noise as we clambered through. Sparks pointed out fresh hoofprints in the wet earth, and I saw where they dug up the sides of the trail in search of food.

At a turnoff, Outlaw and Llama hiked toward our pickup point, while Sparks and I veered right to reach the northern terminus of the trail just 0.3 miles away. The last river we had to cross was wide, but calm. It rose above my knees and had a clay kind of bottom that sucked at my feet as I moved through it.

Reaching the end of this trail made me feel proud. I learned how to thru-hike on the AT. This time, I got to thoroughly enjoy the adventure, build on my prior experience, and make new memories with people I love — all while being reminded of my grit and endurance.

We crossed the river to head back to the trail intersection, and continued on to where Sarah from Toadshade Hill hostel would pick us up.

One more non-Pinhoti crossing to get to our pickup point!

I had a lovely conversation with Sarah in the car. And also remembered that I get carsick on mountain roads.

Back at the parking lot, Llama’s car wouldn’t start, so Outlaw drove us to get a new battery, and eventually we were on our way back to Outlaw’s family’s home in Peachtree City, Georgia. On the car ride, he introduced me to Marcus King (I know, I’m late), and we talked about the things we were looking forward to in the coming months. I appreciate Outlaw’s easygoing, quiet presence.

A couple weeks ago, when Outlaw was trying to teach me how to play spades, his trail journal was on the table. It was open to a page lined with neat columns, each row a quiet record of something he was counting. The top of every column bore the name of one of my Appalachian Trail friends. I realized it was the score for a game of Farkle we’d all played in Maine last summer. Outlaw was always the scorekeeper.

As he and I drove away from the Pinhoti, I thought about how maybe you can see the gentle way he loves people when you look at his journal, chock-full of game scores. The way he dutifully did the job no one else really wanted to do, documenting a story we’ll carry with us as long as we can.