Oats on the Pinhoti: Day 13

Note: This article was originally published on The Trek and can be found at the link here. Oats’ packing list for the Pinhoti Trail can be found on Build A Pack at the link here.

Day 13, Thursday

After stirring from a couple dreams that prove I’m definitely bisexual, I saw headlights pull up through my room’s window at The Hearn Inn and heard tires crunching on gravel. I threw my things together, double checked I hadn’t missed anything, and locked up behind me before once again slugging my pack in back and climbing into the passenger seat of Sparky’s truck, more Pinhoti Trail ahead to be had.

This was another yellow blaze. (Purists, eat your heart out.) There was a road walk out of Cave Spring I was warned about, and after a particularly rough last day on the Appalachain High Route I wasn’t craving any more time with asphalt and fast-moving cars. When Sparky and I reached the trailhead it was still dark outside, the birds still silent, waiting for the sun to rise and start their singing.



I started early, I slept in a bed, and the trail was wide and flat; it was a day of movin’ and groovin’. Sparky mentioned that the first 10 or so miles of my day were along an old railroad bed that followed the river, so I’d be cruising through the morning. Then, I’d head up a climb for some miles of ridge-walking through the afternoon.



The old Rail Trail passed by numerous private residences, often with a small creek or mound of earth separating the trailers or homes some hundred feet past their property line with the woods. I thought about the horror stories I’d heard on the Appalachian Trail of hillbillies leaving fish hooks hanging at eye level, a trap set to discourage hikers from passing through. 

There are all kinds of reasons folks who live along long trails aren’t the biggest fans of the hiking community (trash, noise, and trespassing among them), and there are also plenty of folks out there who choose to donate large swaths of land to help preserve it for generations to come. Between the numerous NO TRESSPASSING and BEWARE OF DOG signs and the staggering list of generous trail angels along this stretch that I had saved in my phone, the Pinhoti seemed to have a good mix of both in this neck of the woods.



I followed turkey tracks and blooming redbuds for hours until I eventually scurried down a steep ledge, empty bottle in hand, to a yellow-coated creek for clean water. I savored every bite of my morning pack of S’more Poptarts and realized I had hit 11 miles by 10 a.m. Ten miles by 10 a.m. was my rule of thumb for an impressive morning, so I was quite pleased (and somewhat surprised) by my progress. 

I’d come a long way from puking twice on the first day!



I spent the hours listening to the history of the Trail of Tears, which apparently the Pinhoti overlapped with no small amount. According to Chuck and Josh over at Stuff You Should Know, the Trail of Tears was originally named for the tears white settlers shed as Native Americans were dragged from their houses, denied their possessions, and forced to undertake what turned into a death march across the country. 

The majority of my feelings on the matter can be summed up in this bit by Bo Burnham, except that I had a history teacher in high school who kicked American ass (deservedly) and didn’t skimp words when heinous atrocities occured, no matter if it was our Motherland who enacted them. I will always be grateful for her influence in my life, my brother’s life, and so many of my close friends through those incredibly formative years. I wouldn’t be the person I am today without her passion for teaching.



The ridge had some fun surprises for me in the form of danger noodles. The first looked like a black and white Kingsnake (though enthusiasts are welcome to correct me here), and the next couple were large black rat snakes. I’ve always been fond of these round-headed predators, as they often feast on mice and rats. Every single one I passed was lying almost fully extended across the trail, and didn’t seem to mind when I approached. They either kept a lazy eye on me as I maneuvered around them, or slowly started to pull away towards the woods as I got closer, but thankfully, I spotted all of the snakes first, so I easily avoided startling them.


As the afternoon passed, I managed to startle one lone turkey from her roost. She wasn’t scared enough to fully take flight, but when she clocked me she loudly crunched away through the leaves and up the ridge from my position on trail. It was cloudy all day, which made for ideal hiking weather, except when the sun poked through for a couple of minutes at a time and I started immediately pouring sweat in response. 

I eventually decided I must’ve been the first hiker to pass through that day. Every spider in the forest seemed to have the same idea to weave their webs eye-level across the trail that morning, leaving me to wave my trekking poles around wildly like a wizard casting spells before I caught them face-first.



Eventually the forest turned to timber farm, and a worker honked to me from his large machinery, currently wrapped around a thin pine about 40 feet tall. We exchanged waves and both continued on with our business in the woods.

In the last half mile of my unintentional marathon day, I saw something… unexpected, to say the least. Across a small valley, about 100 feet down from where I figured the trail must be, a large black vehicle smashed into a tree hanging at an awkward angle, its front completely crunched.

“HELLO?!” I shouted across the valley towards the car. Nothing in reply. 

“HELLO?! Is anyone down there?” Nothing.



I checked my phone. No service. I briefly considered blasting as the crow flies straight towards the vehicle to make sure no one needed a helicopter or CPR. I decided the path that made the most sense was continuing on the trail and looping around to eventually end up directly above the vehicle, even though it initially took me away from the crash site.

The campsite I’d been aiming for was about halfway to the campsite, at the vertex of the trail around the valley. I smiled as I approached, immediately grateful. I was no longer alone.



I finally caught up to Heartbeat! That turned out to be the trail name of the hiker who bought Sparky a burger the day he took me back to the Pinhoti last week after I dropped off Thru back home. I’d been seeing him in the trail logs; he even once left a message, “Catch up, Oats!” for me with a smile. With my marathon day, I suppose I finally caught up. He was an AT Class of 2014 thru-hiker currently undertaking the Eastern Continental Trail, of which the Pinhoti is only a small part.

We concluded that the crash was likely old, and at the least not an immediate emergency, so I plopped down and changed into my camp shoes, pronto. It was my first marathon day of hiking since the Colorado Trail in 2020, and my feet were feeling it. 

While he wasn’t planning on camping there for the night, Heartbeat and I opted to explore the crash site together while it was still light out. I found myself slipping several feet through the deep leaf litter as I made my way across the ridiculously steep ridge to the car. Heartbeat was already there, poking around in the passenger seat, the door wide open.



We made our perception checks. Heartbeat must’ve beat at least a DC 15 because he pulled a fake $100 bill out from between the seats, but I think I must’ve failed based on my findings; a childseat, and a Jason mask propped up in the trunk, staring out through the missing back windshield back up towards the trail overhead. Based on the leaves, pollen, and vehicle condition, we concluded it must’ve been there at least a couple weeks, but not more than a couple months. There was no sign anyone was hurt in the crash, and no license plate. Notably, the airbags hadn’t even gone off, something that definitely should’ve happened if they were working properly to begin with.

After our investigation, Heartbeat and I headed back to the campsite where our gear lay, and I began setting up for the night. We shared stories, goals, a fruit roll-up, gear knowledge, and jewelry in the form of trail map necklaces from the owner of Bead by Bead Adventures, Tina Tempest! While I wore a Pinhoti Trail beaded necklace, Heartbeat wore his Appalachian Trail necklace double-wrapped around his wrist, snug next to a friendship bracelet a tramily member made for him back in Florida. As a small drizzle began, we bid our goodbyes and pledged to cross paths again up trail.



From the long day of hot hiking, I developed a couple of heat rashes across my calves, which I soaked in the cold creek of the campsite. There were some incredibly impressive algae blooms clinging to the rocks and lining the waterway downstream. I looked down at my hands and noticed an ashy, red rash stemming from my thumbs across the top of my hand, which had been getting drier by the day. I could feel small bumps as I ran my fingertips over the affected area, but at least the heat rash across my calves started to calm down.

I spent the last rays of light for the day stretching and snacking. While peepers were consistent company, tonight I fell asleep to the melodies of proper ribbits and croaks from toads and frogs along the creek.