The story so far.

tl;dr Tiarnan still not dead.

I'm writing this in a Hotel room in Helen, GA., before you condemn me for falling off the trail, some back-story.

Raiford is, a friend from work, an eagle scout, and Georgia born and raised, so my odds of survival took a distinct uptick when he decided to join me on the beginning of this adventure. (This also lowered the chances that my coworkers think I'm actually drinking by a pool in Buenos Aires.)

Tim, another friend from Atlanta picked us up and brought us to the trail head. (Thanks again Tim.) Thanks to some directions we got from the guy on the gates of the national park we were dropped at the car park by Springer mountain, .9 miles into the trail, and not the 'approach trail', the 9 mile trail that brings you to the beginning of the A.T. Completists that we are, we hiked back to Springer so we could begin properly.

(I've added a couple of photos to this post, but as I'm lacking a preview feature god knows what they'll look like or where they'll appear.)

We had a good opening day, getting to hawk mountain shelter, 7.8 miles in. There we met the thirty-plus lunatics who were also trying their hand at thru-hiking, and were starting on April 1. Tent pitched, food made, we settled down for the night. Today's major campcraft errors were pitching the tent on too large a hill, and having to be shown how my stove worked by Raiford.

The next day we hiked the twelve-ish miles to Woody Gap. Another beautiful clear day, from the top of Ramrock mountain we could see the Atlanta skyline 60+ miles away. We camped behind the carpark at Woody's gap, cleaning up some of the trash we found there. (Who visits beautiful, pristine wilderness and abandons the box from their tent?) Campcraft faux pas: Snapping a tent peg. Ultra light, Ultra hollow, now in two parts.

From there it was off to Blood Mountain, third tallest in Georgia and tallest Georgian mountain on the trail (4461ft).? Another beautiful day, too hot for my liking but clear blue skies all the way. We met with Raiford's father on the mountain,  and I decided to part ways with them to get to Neal's Gap, the first outfitters on the trail, early the next morning.

The next day I picked up some supplies in Neal's and hit the road by 9:30. Making good time, I seemed to overtake many of the people that had left before me. By 3pm I'd made it the 11 miles to the Low Gap shelter.

The night before in the cabin, all the talk had been of a storm, but as I'd stood on top of a mountain with full visibility all around me for miles and ner a cloud in the sky, I assumed it was probably wrong.

Hubris is thinking 'I know if I really push it I can make the town 20 miles away and I'll be in a hotel bed if the storm hits'.

This turns out, not to be the case.

To make that plan work, I'd need to do 10 more miles, over a couple of mountains, starting tired in the afternoon.

I failed. I was at a clearing when the weather turned, exhausted and 3 miles shy of the town I quickly bedded down. Tired but happy I lay in my tent, only extreme force of will got the sleeping pad inflated and the sleeping bag out. It was lucky I set up right.

A while later, I was smuggly drifting off to sleep. Lying there, enjoying the pyrotechnics of thunder, lightning and hail. I hadn't made the town, but the tent was up and I was safe, dry inside, and miles ahead of schedule.

Then the tent fell.

No sense of drama. No slow hint that something is wrong. I'm just suddenly awake and trying to breathe canvas. The sky is constantly bright, the thunder unending, and the hail is big enough to hurt my face through the tent.

I try and hold up the roof and work out what's gone wrong. The peg I broke in act two, and forgot to replace at Neal's Gap, has let go.

And then a second peg pops.

I'm now inside a slack, slowly filling, canvas bag. Rain falling hard enough that going outside will soak me instantly. Thinking about it I decide there's no way to fix it without making it worse. I might get the tent pitched, but in that wind it's not got a better than 50/50 chance of holding. So I give up. I guess that my mat is thick enough and my sleeping bag good enough that it'll hold till morning. I was more or less right. 6am when I woke up with a shiver is more 'morning' than I usually go for, but it counts.

The storm broke about 7, and I crawled out to see the damage. Tent and bag soaked, but otherwise not too bad, some collateral damage but an Irish habit of double bagging everything meant that I had some clothing to get into.

I dragged myself over the last mountain to town, 3 miles that felt like 15, and caught a ride into town and this fine motel.

As I sit surrounded by my dripping things, I miss my friends and my creature comforts, bit I know I'm walking again tomorrow.

Talk soon.
And for both of you that got this far, your endurance trumps mine!
T.