Oats (and Thru!) on the Pinhoti: Day 1
Note: This article was originally published on The Trek and can be found at the link here.
Day 1 Saturday
The 5-hour drive to Heflin, Alabama from Western North Carolina was uneventful, and I channeled my pre-trail anxiety into belting upbeat songs and a musical or two. At one point, someone wove between the lanes of the highway somewhat recklessly. I gave them a huge thumbs down and frown as they passed me on the left. I feel the thumbs down communicates “I’m not mad, just disappointed”, which is much more the vibe I’m going for at 7 in the morning instead of flipping the bird. I woke up with the realization that my period, which I’d started the weekend before, was practically over and done. That’s one less thing to worry about. I was determined to make it at least 6 miles north on the Pinhoti Trail before setting up camp that evening.
Right around noon, I pulled into the gravel lot behind Heflin City Hall. It felt familiar; a Mexican restaurant, a couple grocery options, some antique stores, family cooking, and overall not much more than what you need reminded me of many small trail towns I’ve visited and treasured over the years. Located next to City Hall was Elevated Grounds, owned by a trail angel who was frequently referenced on FarOut (my digital Pinhoti Trail map) as a fantastic resource for hikers in the area should they need anything.
A friendly face greeted me as I pulled up, one I may have recognized from Pinhoti Trail Festivals of years past, but my faulty memory of faces and names couldn’t recall. The warm, smiling woman introduced herself as Tigger, and as she did, I heard a familiar voice call from the grocery parking lot: Kim from the Pinhoti Outdoor Center!
Looking into the sun was… a choice. Tigger middle, Kimm Wright left
Kimm and her partner Nathan have executed Pinhoti Trail Festival for 3 years now, and I can honestly say it is one of my favorite events to return to each Fall. They are very involved in the hiking community through volunteers, trail towns, and managing a network of trail angels. As she walked over, I let Thru out of the backseat and hooked leash to the headlight, then after an excited greeting began to organize the gear that would be my home for the next 3 weeks.
We shared a wonderful conversation as Thru photosynthesized on the warm asphalt. I counted out the days of food I would need until my first resupply and double-checked my water levels with the mileage of the first source I’d encounter on trail. I don’t carry a stove or cold-soak; I’m much more of a snack person. My appetite isn’t great anyway, the first couple days of a hike, so I went pretty light as Kimm filled us in on the 200-mile race she was manning an aid station for that weekend. She was in town to grab supplies, and the timing to catch us before we left was just perfect.
The shuttle wasn’t more than 2 hours, and Tigger and I spent 90% of the time talking about our pups. She had an old lab named Chigger (a combination of her trail name and her partner’s, Chuck). A bad storm hit recently, so along the drive Tigger pointed out a few large areas of tornado destruction along the way, including an entire high school building that looked like it’d been stepped on by a giant. Thankfully, her home was untouched as we waved at her family as we passed by. If I kept an eye out, paths of tornadoes past may be visible while I ridge-walked.
Even with Thru’s various pieces of gear, I knew I had a relatively ultralight pack, so I planned 14-18 mile days the first week to ease myself into walking all day every day again. Remembering the Achilles tendonitis that took me off the Appalachian Trail for three weeks in 2019, I recommitted to stretching a couple of times per day and listening to my body. And after the first hour or two of constant exertion, my body had something to say.
I puked at the top of the first climb. I assume it was a mix of anxiety, chugging water, and being in the worst physical shape of my life. Throughout school, I played a sport every season (yes, marching band counts as a sport), and most of my jobs in my early 20s were pretty physically demanding and kept me in good shape. But a series of unfortunate events this fall pulled me into a pretty deep depression, and the last few months even a stroll around the neighborhood was rare.
The hiking was gradual, the scenery beautiful, and the trail well-maintained. It didn’t take Thru long to start chomping up water at every creek crossing, which were plentiful. Instead of lapping it up, she tends to bite water when it’s deep enough for her to stand in, Hungry-Hungry-Hippo Style.
Today was the first of many road walks. It was only a couple of miles, through the Alabama countryside past farms of cows and horses, and families enjoying the late afternoon on their porches.
Whether I’m alone or have Thru with me, my biggest fear with road walks is unleashed dogs. The Lone Star Hiking Trail in Texas taught me that most country dogs, if their property doesn’t have a fence, consider the road their territory. And some will defend it. Thankfully, there were no dogs along this stretch that didn’t keep their distance. There was, however, a general store with a confederate flag out front, and a comment on FarOut saying they don’t serve POC. Sweet Home, Alabama.
About 8 miles into the day, close to where I planned to camp, there was a creek crossing with a metal-grated bridge, specially designed to withstand the constant flash floods that were common in these parts. I urged Thru up the steps, but she put one paw on the cow-tread like metal and I could tell immediately there was no way she was going to walk across of her own volition. I hooked her to the south end of the bridge, crossed, removed all my gear and dropped my trekking poles, and proceeded to carry her like a big baby across the bridge. As I crossed carrying Thru, two heads popped out of tents set up next to the creek. The two women came out and introduced themselves, and kept Thru company while I went to collect the water I’d need for dry camping. As wonderful as the conversation was, it was my first night on trail and I wanted to spend it alone. After giving some O ring advice and wishing the pair happy trails, Thru and I headed north once more as the evening stretched on.
I puked when I got to camp, too. This time it was mostly dry-heaving and yellow bile, as I hadn’t really eaten much that day. I set my tent up to the setting sun, and by the time I fully settled in it was dark.
Thru enjoys hiking, sure, but she loves when her dinner surpasses mere dry food. I’ve learned to bring a couple small cans of wet dog food on trail to mix into her dry food. I also snagged some dehydrated lamb and duck treats I from our favorite local pet store earlier that week, and she seemed satisfied with these offerings. After cleaning the bowl, she happily settled in the tent on her sleeping pad and pawed at me for her nightly attention and pets. Tonight it featured a special kind of wet dog smell, but it had it’s usual effect, and warmed my heart. Too queasy to dig into my own food bag, I fell asleep quickly and prepared for the vivid plot-driven dreams I always have under the stars.