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Special
mountain adventure awaits
at "Hike Inn" in the Georgia mountains
By Martin Register
Reprinted from The Dahlonega Nuggett
{Editor's Note: this 2,000 word essay appeared
in the Dahlonega Nugget's July 3, 200,2 edition. It is longer than
normal for this forum. But it is one of the best stories on hiking
in the mountains that I have seen, and though long, I commend it
to you. For more information, go to the web site at www.hike-inn.com---eeb.)
DAHLONEGA - - Many places claim to offer a place to "get away
from it all".
The Len Foote Hike Inn really means it. Situated at a lofty 3,100
feet in elevation and located between Amicalola Falls and Springer
Mountain, the Hike Inn offers a genuine wilderness experience in
a comfortable setting, five miles by foot from Amicalola Falls State
Park.
The Hike Inn is located east of Frosty Mountain in the area where
Fannin, Gilmer, Dawson, Lumpkin and Union counties converge.
Once you have settled in, you realize just how little those manmade
boundaries actually mean. All you know is that you are deep in the
wilderness, blissfully free of anything but the essentials.
The brainchild of the Georgia Appalachian Trail Club and administered
by its non-profit spin-off, the Appalachian Education and Recreation
Services, the guesthouse is a model of conservation.
Completed in 1998 and surrounded by the Chattahoochee National
Forest, the inn is named for Leonard Foote, a conservation officer
for the Georgia Department of Natural Resources for over 30 years.
Foote died just three years ago. "He was very important to
this part of the country," said Eric Graves, general manager
of the inn. "He wrote three books on wildflowers, won Georgia's
highest award for conservation. The Mark Trail comic strip was based
on Leonard Foote."
A display case in the office of the 20-room bunkhouse features
awards given Foote by The National Wildlife Federation, American
Motors, The Georgia Sportsmen's Federation and the DNR, among others.
"He had a real interest in and knowledge of wildflowers,"
Graves said. "And he made people realize that if we all practice
conservation, if we protect the habitat for wildflowers, then we
protect it for every living thing."
Fittingly, considering Foote's lifetime of work with wildflowers,
there are at least 75 species of wildflowers on the acreage surrounding
the Hike Inn alone.
Hiking in
I begin my hike just before noon, leaving the parking lot at Amicalola
Falls State Park and immediately ducking into the cool, moist air
of the Hike Inn Trail. It shares the path with the Appalachian Trail
Approach to Springer Mountain for a short distance before splitting
off to the right.
Within minutes, I have crossed the Chattahoochee National Forest
boundary. It has also started raining, and I realize I have violated
the cardinal rule of hiking: in the daypack I carry on my back,
there is no raingear.
But the rain is cooling and stays at a drizzle as I follow the
mostly wide, easy trail. Mile markers at various points mark unusual
trees or patches of plants which flourish in various microclimates
as the elevation rises 500 feet over five miles.
Gradually, the rain slackens, and I become more aware of a musky,
skunk-like odor, not altogether unpleasant, but most certainly pervasive.
At mile marker 2.5, the halfway point of the trail, I learn the
source of the smell: sprawling masses of Galax, a plant which grows
in abundance in this area of the Blue Ridge.
All along the trail, springheads, seepages and small creeks make
their crossings, most stepped over on stones, others crossed by
boards, larger
ones by footbridges. They are the headwaters of Cochran's Creek.
Along the trailside, the orange fire of flame azalea is still ablaze,
and white mounds of blossoms cover late-blooming rhododendrons.
My only companions for the entire five miles consist of noisy squirrels,
leaping through the canopy of oaks, poplars, American holly and
conifers.
It is amazingly quiet, so much so that I can hear even the tiniest
stream from a great distance. I know when the trail will dip by
the sound of running water.
In the last mile before I reach the inn, I come across a patch
of running ground pine, also known as running cedar. Indeed, the
plant does resemble sprigs of cedar.
Actually, the plant is a club moss, part of a family whose fossil
history dates to the Paleozoic Era, known as the period when marine
invertebrates, primitive fishes, land plants and primitive reptiles
appeared.
For some reason, this strikes me as particularly interesting, and
I linger for awhile, studying the plant, imagining the way it once
was, 100 feet tall and sprawling across vast savannas. A short-lived
drizzle begins again, and I turn my attention back to the trail.
The walk is easy in most spots, moderately steep in others, and
three hours of ambling brings me to an opening and the welcoming
sprawl of the Hike Inn, looking for all the world like a beach house
standing high on stilts in a clearing high on a mountain.
Not a Holiday Inn
The Hike Inn is not a Holiday Inn, nor is it intended to be. It
is friendly, homey, built entirely of wood, and the bunkhouse is
surrounded completely by porches.
You get an idea of the way things are done upon your arrival. Upon
crossing the stone patio, ascending the steps to the office and
checking in, you are handed a cotton bag containing sheets, pillowcases,
a towel, a washcloth and a small Kraft bag. Into the Kraft bag will
go any trash you have brought in. When you leave, you will pack
it out with you.
Each utilitarian room has two bunk beds and an oscillating fan,
although on a rainy night I will simply close my screen door and
listen to the rain falling on the roof. But first, Graves shows
me how the bunkhouse connects to the bathhouse, which connects to
the dining room, which connects to the sunrise room. The sunrise
room has parlor games and books and showcases what must be a fine
dawn as the sun rises over a deep valley.
The Hike Inn, patterned after the "huts" of the White
Mountains along the Appalachian Trail in New Hampshire, is the place
so many of us thought we were headed toward in the environmental
movement of the 1970s.
Completely odorless composting toilets. Low-flow shower heads.
Solar panels producing electricity. Water heated by the sun after
being pumped to Plexiglas containers on the roof. Shredded paper
products and kitchen scraps broken down by bins of earthworms. Worm
compost used to fertilize organic gardens. Rainwater funneled through
rocks, collected in plastic buckets and directed into cisterns.
Wood-burning heaters for the
long winter.
Many of the features are in place because that's the way the operators
want it. But obviously, there are good reasons for reaching for
a sustainable lifestyle, chief among them the fact that the Hike
Inn sits in a remote wilderness, and using as little electricity,
creating as little waste as possible, just makes sense.
Still, the atmosphere is calming and refreshing. Those wanting
television, stereos, telephones, a toilet in their rooms, a full
bar or room service, those who do not enjoy hiking in the wilderness,
those people need to stay elsewhere, perhaps at a Holiday Inn.
Star Base
To make things even more interesting there is Star Base, a sort
of modern-day Stonehenge, aligned so that the sunrise at the summer
solstice strikes the formation at a circular cutout, which projects
a beam of light into a cave directly behind the structure.
Star Base also has stones aligned to mark the winter solstice and
the spring and autumnal equinoxes. "I knew the concept of the
equinox and the solstice, but now that I've seen it actually happen
here, I understand it a lot better," Graves said. "It's
hard to explain. It just becomes so clear when you actually see
it."
There are Adirondack chairs for lounging in the sunny location
of Star Base, but the spot offers still more things to see.
On a clear day, Dahlonega, some 15 miles to the east, is clearly
visible below, most particularly the gold dome on the campus of
North Georgia College & State University.
To really experience the Hike Inn, it is best to arrive well before
7 p.m., dinnertime during the summer months. Peak season for visitors
occurs during the wildflower season in the spring and during the
fall foliage season, Graves said.
Some 75 percent of visitors come from the metro Atlanta area. On
the day of my visit, guests include an older woman and her two granddaughters,
two teachers, and three men from Tennessee who are installing more
solar panels.
Those of us who have not met while wandering the grounds will meet
at dinner, served family-style at the ringing of a bell. I barely
have time to take my shower and change clothes before it's time
for a diverse spread of food.
One by one, each visitor tells his story as everyone lingers over
dinner. Two women, in their second day at the inn, have spent the
day hiking to Springer Mountain, about 4.5 miles from the Inn. They
have returned exhausted.
The approach to the beginning of the Appalachian Trail on Springer
is notoriously strenuous, and prospective AT hikers are often cautioned
to avoid the stretch because of the resulting high rate of attrition.
"We do this every year," the grandmother says. "It's
good for the girls, and I want them to always remember what I'm
about."
Like most hikers, the guests are friendly, open and eager to talk.
Most of us end up on the patio after dinner, where Graves gives
a slide presentation, tonight on wildflowers-all 75 varieties known
to exist on the property.
I hear names I'm not familiar with. Trout lily. Leaf anemone.
The patio is the only place on the property where smoking is allowed.
Following the wildflower presentation, I hang around to smoke a
cigarette, then realize I am tired and the entire place is preternaturally
quiet. I head to my room, fall immediately asleep and awake a couple
of hours later to the sounds of distant thunder and raindrops pattering
on the roof.
I awake in the morning to the sound of the breakfast bell. It is
8 a.m. The breakfast is hearty and filling, and everyone seems to
be taking their time before striking out back toward Amicalola.
The others choose to go back on the five-mile trail to Amicalola,
but I decide to hike a mile to the north, connect with the AT approach,
then turn back to my parking spot.
Another world
The first thing I discover is that the mile to the Approach Trail
is much more steep than the trail on which I hiked in. Moving ever
higher in elevation, I find myself enveloped in mist, which swirls
in odd patterns on unpredictable winds.
The fog is so thick I can see no farther than 10 feet down the
trail, and water drips continuously from the sea of leaves above
me. I push onward, and by the time I reach the AT approach, the
woodlands have taken on
an eerie, otherworldly feel. And I like it.
From here, Springer Mountain is a scant 3.4 miles, and I am tempted,
but instead I turn to complete the other 4.3 miles to Amicalola.
The approach trail is a very different animal from the Hike Inn
Trail. Frequently steep, always rocky and muddy from the previous
night's thunderstorm, the trail demands careful footing and attention
to detail.
The mist has not let up by noon, and I sit down to rest from the
constant effort. From that point on, however, the trail begins a
consistent downhill plunge, which isn't as easy as it sounds. Those
with knee or ankle problems should perhaps stick with the Hike Inn
Trail, since walking for prolonged periods down slick, steep, rocky
mountainsides can test even the most healthy joints.
The walk downhill is, frankly, tiring, and again today I seem to
have the woods to myself. Just before I reach the parking lot, I
cross paths with a man and his dog. At about the same time, I begin
to hear the telltale sounds of traffic, and when I reach the clearing,
a radio is blaring.
I'm back at the edge of civilization. And that's not necessarily
a good thing.
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Number
2.31, July 26, 2002
