by Jeff Alt
“Wow! You guys have accomplished an awful lot since leaving us at the Elkmont campground yesterday morning,” Mom said.
“All that in less than two days; no wonder I’m so hungry!” I said.
“Don’t worry, Bubba Jones, I packed a big lunch to eat,” Mom said.
We followed Dad, Mom, and Grandma through the parking lot to our vehicle, and helped Dad load our packs onto the roof of the Jeep. While Dad fastened our backpacks to the roof rack with bungee cords, Mom broke out the cooler and assembled a smorgasbord of deli meat sandwiches, carrots, chips, cookies, and lemonade on the tailgate of our vehicle. Papa Lewis, Hug-a-Bug, and I went straight for the food. I’ve never felt so hungry!
We all watched in amazement as Hug-a-Bug ate as much as I did (two sandwiches, several handfuls of chips and three cookies). Impressive, considering I’m nearly twice her size and she normally eats half as much as me!!
We thanked Mom and Grandma for putting together a midday meal, cleaned up our mess, and piled in the Jeep. Dad steered us out of the parking lot.
CHAPTER 7
CELEBRITY SIGHTINGS
AT NEWFOUND GAP
We drove for several miles along Clingmans Dome road, with plenty of stunning mountain vistas to stare at, before coming to an intersection with Newfound Gap Road. A right turn would take us twenty miles to Cherokee, North Carolina and a left turn would take us fifteen miles to Gatlinburg, TN.
“Hey, Clark, turn left and pull into the Newfound Gap viewing area,” Papa Lewis said from the passenger seat.
Dad steered our Jeep left, and a few hundred yards later veered into the Newfound Gap parking lot. We found a spot to park among hundreds of other vehicles. People milled about everywhere, enjoying a stunning blue-hazed ridgeline view of endless mountains. We all stepped out of the Jeep, and for the first time I noticed how stiff and sore my muscles were from all the hiking.
“This is Newfound Gap,” Papa Lewis announced.
At one end of the parking lot stood a massive two-story, half-circle monument made of stone. It looked very official—a perfect location to give an important speech.
As we walked across the parking to get a closer look, Papa Lewis explained, “This is the Rockefeller Memorial, where President Roosevelt dedicated the Great Smoky Mountain National Park, on September second, 1940.”
“Is this named after the rich Rockefeller dude that Colonel Chapman talked into donating five million dollars to make this a national park?” I asked Papa Lewis.
“That’s right! A donation that big deserved recognition. The monument was built on the Tennessee-North Carolina state line.”
After Papa Lewis shared all these historical facts about the presidential dedication, we stood beneath the monument looking up at it with new appreciation. But it didn’t look right without a president standing up there. Hug-a-Bug looked over and saw my grin.
“Are you thinking we should time-travel back to President Roosevelt’s dedication?” Hug-a-Bug asked me.
“You just read my mind, Hug-a-Bug.”
“Bubba Jones, I had a hunch you would want to experience the park dedication. You will need to take us to September 2nd, 1940,” Papa Lewis said.
I led everyone into the tree line, out of view of all the tourists. This would be the first time Mom, Dad and Grandma would join me as I time-traveled. We all held hands to make sure we went together.
I placed my hand on the family journal sticking out of my cargo pants pocket and said, “Take us back to September 2nd, 1940.”
I heard a popping sound and everything felt different. The air was a little cooler. The trees were the same kind, but they didn’t look the same. We were wearing different clothes. We could hear the chatter of lots of people like we were at a busy festival. We stepped out of the trees, and everywhere we looked there were people dressed up in nice clothes from an earlier period. There must have been at least two thousand people gathered at Newfound Gap. Men and boys wore ties and suspenders. Women and girls wore long dresses and skirts. Some wore uniforms. Our family was adorned in similar clothing and we blended right in. A convoy of old-fashioned black cars was parked near us. The Rockefeller Memorial was decorated with flags. A roofed bandstand was on the left side of the memorial and a roofed shelter flanked the right side. Everyone in the parking lot was facing the memorial. Hug-a-Bug and I squeezed between the mass of people and found our way to the front row. A large circular sign with the words “Department of the Interior” and a picture of a buffalo in the center hung on the rock wall of the Rockefeller Memorial, below a podium draped with a red, white, and blue cloth. A man whom I immediately recognized as Franklin D. Roosevelt stood at the podium. Dozens of important-looking and well-dressed men and women sat in rows of chairs behind the president.
A voice crackled over a microphone, and a hush fell over the audience. You could now only hear the wind in the trees.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the president of the United States,” the voice announced. The crowd erupted in claps and cheers before again falling silent. A moment later we bore witness to President Roosevelt’s dedication of the opening of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park:
“Here in the Great Smokieswe’ve come together to dedicate the mountains, streams and forests to the service of the American people ....” The president continued for several minutes, and was followed by more clapping and cheering.
Mom, Dad, Papa Lewis and Grandma found Hug-a- Bug and me in the crowd after the speech, and we all walked together back to the tree line until we were out of view. We all held hands once again, I placed my hand on the family journal, and I took us back to the present. We stepped out of the forest and saw our Jeep parked nearby, reassuring us that we were back in the present. Nobody seemed to take notice of us.
We all walked back over to the Rockefeller Memorial and climbed the steps up to where we had just witnessed President Roosevelt deliver the park dedication speech. With the president’s words still fresh in our minds, Hug-a-Bug and I playfully took turns pretending to make the speech ourselves. Other tourists were standing up on the memorial with us, and we overheard a man and woman whispering back and forth on how impressed they were that we kids were able to quote parts of a presidential speech given over seventy years ago. Hug-a-Bug and I smiled, knowing they would never believe we had just heard the speech live, as Mom snapped pictures of us and posted them to her Facebook page.
As we descended the steps from the Rockefeller memorial, I noticed a sign posted along a trail at the foot of the memorial, with the heading ‘“Appalachian Trail” and “Katahdin Maine 1,972.0’ miles.” With all the excitement of time-traveling to the park dedication, we hadn’t paid attention to this sign until now. As we stood there, we caught a whiff of an awful stench, a combination of dirty socks, sweat, and body odor. Seconds later, the source of the offensive odor walked by, apparently following the Appalachian Trail. Two men with hiking poles in each hand and carrying large, heavy backpacks paused near us, looking around. It was obvious these guys had been in the woods for a while, and we changed our position to get upwind of the smell.
“Where are you going? “ I asked them.
One of the hikers looked over at me and responded, “There.” Lifting his hiking stick up and using it to point to ‘Katahdin Maine 1,972.0’ on the sign. “We’re thru-hikers.”
Other people overhearing the hiker’s answer crowded around and began peppering them with questions and snapping pictures.
“Thru-hikers are people who walk the entire Appalachian Trail continuously from Georgia to Maine, all in one season,” Papa Lewis whispered to us. “These guys have already walked over 200 miles from Springer Mountain, Georgia and they plan to continue for another 1,972 miles.”
“Whoa, that’s a long walk,” I said.
“The Appalachian Trail, also known as the AT, is the state line between Tennessee and North Carolina in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. The AT starts in Georgia and follows the ridge of the Appalachian Mountain
s through fourteen states, all the way to Maine,” Papa Lewis said.
Knowing how hungry she was after just two days in the woods, Hug-a-Bug pulled out two granola bars from her pocket and asked, “You guys want some snacks?” waving her granola bars in front of the hikers. They quickly snatched the bars from Hug-a-Bug.
“Thank you! When someone does something nice and unexpected along the trail, it’s called trail magic,” one of the hikers told Hug-a-Bug. He tore open the wrapper and shoved half of the bar into his mouth. In two bites he ate the whole thing. Other tourists began giving the hikers more snacks.
“Every year, a few thousand hikers attempt to walk the entire trail. But, only a few hundred finish. Others walk it in smaller bits over time,” Papa Lewis told us. We stood with the crowd gathered around the thru-hikers.
“Who was the first person to walk the entire trail?” I asked Papa Lewis.
“The first solo thru-hiker was Earl Shaffer in 1948. No one believed he did it because no one ever had done such a thing. He had to prove his accomplishment with photos and journal entries,” Papa Lewis said.
“I would like to meet him,” I said.
Hug-a-Bug, Papa Lewis, Mom, Grandma, and Dad all knew the drill, and followed me back into the tree line and out of view once again, and we huddled together.
I placed my hand on the family journal and said, “Take us back to 1948 when Earl Shaffer hiked across Newfound Gap on the Appalachian Trail.”
A popping and hissing sound erupted and the forest looked slightly altered. We stepped out of the tree line and walked back to the Newfound Gap parking lot. It was obvious we had traveled back in time. We were wearing clothes similar to when the president made his dedication speech. The parking lot was filled with old-fashioned 1940s-era cars and tour buses. People milled about everywhere taking pictures and enjoying the view. We heard gears grinding as a tour bus climbed into view, up along Newfound Gap Road, from Gatlinburg. The bus turned into the Newfound Gap parking lot and came to a halt near the Appalachian Trail sign. The bus doors swung open, and a dark-haired man wearing an Army-issued canvas rucksack stepped off the bus.
“That’s Earl Shaffer,” Papa Lewis whispered as we stood near the bus and the trail sign.
The bus driver hollered to Earl, “Watch out for the bears and rattlesnakes and be careful.”
“I’ll be fine. Thanks for the ride.”
They were even scared of the bears in 1948, I thought.
As Earl neared where we stood, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to meet him.
“Are you Mr. Shaffer?” I asked.
“Yes I am. How did you hear about me?”
Earl’s face was a deep red and his nose was blistered with sunburn.
Papa Lewis chimed in, “We heard there was a man attempting to walk the entire Appalachian Trail and you look like you’ve been in the woods for a while, thought you might be him.”
“You found me. I just picked up groceries at Ogle’s Market in Gatlinburg and caught a bus ride back to the trail. I have lots of miles to walk yet today. I better go,” Earl replied. He shook our hands and then continued walking north on the Appalachian Trail.
“Wow! We just met the very first thru-hiker, right here in the Great Smoky Mountains,” I said proudly.
“Earl Shaffer went on to become the first person to walk the entire trail. His backpack and gear are now in the Smithsonian museum,” Papa Lewis told us. “The AT is marked by a white painted marking on trees or signs along the way. There are three walled lean-to shelters spaced along the trail for hikers to camp in. It takes hikers four to six months to complete a thru-hike. Thousands of hikers have completed the trail, but Earl Shaffer was the first.”
“Hey Papa Lewis, who was the first female to walk the AT solo?” Hug-a-Bug asked.
“Grandma Gatewood hiked the entire trail in 1955 at the age of 67, becoming the first woman to walk the trail solo, and she walked it two more times after that.”
“Bubba Jones, can we meet Grandma Gatewood please?” Hug-a-Bug asked.
“Let’s do it!” I replied.
We left the parking lot and walked back to our time-travel hideout in the tree line and once again, huddled together. On my command, we time-traveled to Grandma Gatewood’s 1955 thru-hike at Newfound Gap.
We stepped out from the woods and into the parking lot which was now dotted with 1950s-era cars and tour buses. The vehicles looked newer than the ones we saw when Earl Shaffer walked through, but they were still old-fashioned. We stood in the same spot along the Appalachian Trail where we had just met Earl Shaffer moments ago.
“Look over there. Here comes Grandma Gatewood,” Papa Lewis said, pointing across the parking lot towards the Appalachian Trail.
We saw a gray-haired woman step out from the woods where the AT spits out onto Newfound Gap Road. She crossed the road and into the Newfound Gap parking lot and walked straight towards us. As she drew closer, we noticed that she wasn’t carrying a traditional backpack. As a matter of fact, she didn’t even really look like a hiker at all. She had a duffel bag perched over one shoulder. She wore a flannel shirt and long pants. She was wearing tennis shoes and she had a tree branch she was using as a hiking stick in one hand.
As Grandma Gatewood closed in on where we stood, Hug-a-Bug spoke up. “Grandma Gatewood, is that you?”
The old woman stopped and looked at Hug-a-Bug and answered, “That’s what they call me.”
“I’m honored to meet the first solo female thru-hiker,” Hug-a-Bug said as she held out her hand to Shake Grandma Gatewood’s.
Grandma Gatewood stopped and shook Hug-a-Bug’s hand.
“How come you’re not carrying a backpack or wearing hiking boots?” Hug-a-Bug asked.
“That stuff’s for wimps. You don’t need it,” Grandma Gatewood answered.
Grandma Gatewood continued, “I suppose you heard I sleep under a shower curtain too? Well, it’s true. Who needs a tent?”
Then Grandma Gatewood smiled at Hug-a-Bug and continued along the trail.
As she walked out of sight, Papa Lewis gave us some more facts. “Grandma Gatewood was sixty-seven and had twenty-three grandchildren when she hiked the trail. Some people were concerned for her safety when they met her along her journey. But she did it. She completed the whole journey. At the time, only five men had completed solo thru-hikes—no women.”
We stepped back into the trees once again and traveled back to the present. The two present-day thru-hikers had resumed their hike, leaving behind the group of tourists that had encircled them. We all watched them walk further down the AT, just as Earl Shaffer and Grandma Gatewood had before them.
“That sure is cool how one man took this long walk on the AT and how so many others have followed in his footsteps,” I said. We watched the thru-hikers until they faded out of sight down the trail.
Hug-a-Bug proclaimed, “I want to hike the Appalachian Trail someday. But, I think I want more than a shower curtain to sleep under.”
“We will make sure to hike on the AT while we’re here,” Papa Lewis answered.
Hug-a-Bug smiled . “Awesome!”
“Many people experience the AT for the first time right here in the Smokies. The AT continues in the park for over seventy miles. But, that’s not the only trail here. There are over eight hundred miles of trails in this park,” Papa Lewis explained.
“Come on, let’s go explore another area of the park,” Dad said as he led the way back to our Jeep.
CHAPTER 8
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN
When we got into the Jeep, Dad gave us a rundown of the next leg of our adventure: “While you were hiking, we moved our basecamp to the Cataloochee campground, on the southeast side of the park,” Dad said. He downshifted the Jeep to keep us from going too fast on the steep downgrade heading towards Cherokee, North Carolina. “And I have some exciting news! My brother and his family are driving up from Atlanta, and they are going to join us for the rest of our Smoky Mountain adventure!
”
“Awesome! We get to spend time with Uncle Boone, Aunt Walks-a-Lot, and Cousin Crockett!” Hug-a-Bug shouted.
You see, our extended families all have nicknames, too, based on each one’s unique love of adventure and exploring—trail names, I guess you could call them. Uncle Boone’s real name is Jack and his trail name is in the spirit of the famous frontiersman, Daniel Boone. Aunt Walks-a-Lot’s real name is Terry and she earned her nickname because she loves to hike. Cousin Crockett’s real name is Anthony and his trail name comes from the famous Davy Crockett.
“Why didn’t you tell us they were coming before, Dad?” I asked.
“We invited them, but they weren’t sure they’d be able to make it. Boone just let me know yesterday, while you guys were out hiking. I wanted to make sure they were coming before I said anything—this way it’s a nice surprise for you!”
Uncle Boone’s family lives so far from us that we hardly ever get to see them. The Great Smoky Mountain National Park is the halfway point between our home and theirs, and we have always wanted it to be our family meeting place. Now it was finally happening! I couldn’t wait to see Crocket—he’s a year younger than me and two years older than Hug-a-Bug. The three of us were playmates as toddlers until he moved away. Thinking back, I remembered that he had had trouble learning to walk—his left leg hadn’t seemed to work right.
“Hey Dad, did Crockett ever learn to walk?” I asked.
“Your Uncle Boone and Aunt Walks-a-Lot have taken Crockett to lots of doctors and therapists over the years, and I understand that he is walking now.”
As we drove, I rifled through the family journal and pulled out the torn sheet of paper with the cipher code on it. Not knowing the secret message felt like unfinished business.
“I sure would like to find the rest of this code,” I said, studying it in the backseat with Hug-a-Bug. “We should try and find your long-lost cousin while we’re here, too, Papa Lewis.”
“That would be nice, Bubba Jones. I just don’t know where to begin. It has been so long since we’ve seen each other—forty years to be exact.”
