Into the Croatan

MST. Chapter 12. Segment 16 (Part 3)

Sep 07, 2023

This is my serialized story of hiking the Mountains-to-Sea Trail (MST), a 1,175-mile route that crosses the state of North Carolina. I’m hiking west from Jockey’s Ridge near Nags Head on the Outer Banks of the Atlantic Ocean to Kuwohi (formerly Clingmans Dome) near the Tennessee border in the Great Smoky Mountains. If you’d like to start at the beginning of my story, click here.

See the Mountains-to-Sea map at the bottom for reference.

I am looking forward to hiking a key section of Croatan National Forest. Three weeks ago, with fires burning 32,000 acres of this forest and with the news reaching the Outer Banks that only 10% of the fires were contained, I held off walking this section of the Mountains to Sea Trail. Now the day has arrived to go into the forest and see the impact of the fires and if I could have hiked this three weeks ago.

But first, in walking the three miles to the entry point, I discover a small cafe in the cute town of Newport, my last touch of civilization before entering the Croatan. With a policy of frequenting all cafes along the way, I go in and order a Red Eye. I don’t often drink Red Eyes, but with a 17+ mile hike in the forest while carrying a forty-pound pack, it seems wise to bring a heavy dose of espresso and coffee into the equation. Kate, the owner of Stable Grounds Coffee, adds a toasted bagel topped with fresh strawberries and agave, and I can’t help but be grateful for the wonderful breakfast interlude. What a good omen for the day ahead!

The gate into the Croatan Forest is closed but the MST marker indicates this my route regardless. So, around the barrier I go, and the farther I walk down the fire break, the more remote it seems. Soon, it is truly just me and endless stands of Longleaf Pine. I see acres of these protected trees all around me with the bark at their base burned, even as the foliage of pom-pom like needles crowning the trees seem to be thriving. Surely this isn’t from the fire of three weeks earlier. This must be from a more of a “controlled” burn to suppress grasses and other tree species.

Five miles later, though, the impact of fire on the longleaf forest is more pronounced. Trees appear to be severely burned. The ground has been bulldozed of all vegetation and the sandy-white topsoil is now churned up and almost impassable from the tracks of so many vehicles. This, then, are the aftereffects of a fire. Was it from three weeks ago or several years earlier, I can’t tell, but hiking several miles through this sandy mash-up of vehicle tracks becomes more and more difficult with the weight of the pack on my back and ever-so-tiresome, sinking-in-sand impact on my thighs.

I stop to recharge at one point, finding a perfectly suitable burnt log to sit on and eat a lunch consisting of another “treated” bagel - this time, not toasted, but one that I coat with peanut butter and honey. As I eat my bagel, I notice a seedling rising from the sand and am reminded that, in time, nature will always try to restore the landscape.

An hour or so later, I reach a black bog of standing water which stops me dead in my tracks. Here I am in the middle of nowhere with no solution I can see of walking around the black soup. Though there appears to be grass on either side of the fire break, I can see it covers bog water all the way to the impenetrable pocosin-like vegetation of thick bushes and forest.

I realize my only option is to go forward stepping on plant clusters that quickly sink into the muck. Finally, in forcing the issue and semi-hopping through the bog, my shoes become totally caked in black sod. The bog water has soaked up my pant legs and my socks are now too wet in a dripping, black-like sleeve to continue without serious ramifications on my feet. So, after a forced break on the other side of the bog to clean and dry my feet and change my socks back to what I wore before lunch, I put on my wet shoes, hoping they will dry as I walk on into the warm afternoon.

Coming out of the forest late in the day and hiking up the long dirt road, I am not prepared for what lies ahead. Entering the town Cape Carteret, I have the strangest sense that I have arrived in Oz. I walk past a large oval race track paved and painted with slanted lanes for NASCAR-styled cars. Open and covered stands for the sports car public to cheer on their favorite drivers are on either side of the track, and, of course, the pit area for the cars is extensive. Built so close to the national forest, it seems strangely incongruent to where I was only thirty minutes ago.

Am I in a Twilight Zone episode? Is this a Rip Van Winkle-effect taking a hold of me? A boy with a crew cut and striped tee-shirt and riding an old bicycle waves as he peddles past. I decide I’ve returned to the 1950s. How else to explain this oasis of Americana after so much forest, churned up sand, and black, shoe-sucking muck.

I am tired, I must admit. I have walked 23 miles and have reached the end of my reserves for the day. The carbs from the the bagel for breakfast and the one for lunch have worn off long ago. My feet are sore and I need to get them out of my still-too-damp and muddy shoes. I want to stop for the night, but the MST directions I carry indicate that I should continue walking to go back into the forest before finding a place to camp of my choice. As I walk I can’t decide what to do.

A mile or so later I reach a busy highway, part of which, I see from my directions, I’ll need to walk before heading back into the forest. I stop and lean against a large, metallic, electrical box near the road to catch my breath and think about my life. I am trying to visualize what the final piece of the day and evening will look like and how much further I will need to walk before I can put up my tent.

Surprisingly, out of the blue, I hear a stranger calling over to me. He is on the other side of the busy highway in nicely creased slacks and a baby blue polo shirt. He looks like he just came from a country club nearby, and he is holding up a plastic bottle of water, which, I finally realize, he is offering to me.

I wait for a lull in the traffic and hobble across the highway. The man hands me the water and says, “Hey, you look like you might need this.” The bottle is cold and the first sip is wonderful. I did need it and can’t help myself from taking a few more gulps. It turns out, he says, he saw me from the window of his insurance agency in the small shopping center behind us.

I am so grateful. What an amazing thing to do to come out in the heat of the afternoon with a bottle of cold water for me. Would I have done this if the circumstances had been reversed? Though I really don’t know, once more I am provided with a lesson to take to heart, to pass on, even, when I have a similar opportunity. I am so very grateful for this gesture and try to be kind, standing with him on the side of the highway, by answering all of his questions, but, in truth, I need to sit down.

I see a Days Inn down the highway in the opposite direction from where I need to go and decide, right then and there, to book a room. Five minutes later I say a goodbye to my insurance angel and slowly walk along the side of the busy road to the motel. Soon I am sitting on a cushioned chair in the lobby - free of the backpack - enjoying the last of my gift of cold water. Later, after a shower and making a strong effort to wash the black bog dried on my pants and caked socks, I get into bed. Maybe in an hour or two I’ll make dinner. In the meanwhile, I check my feet and feel blood blisters on both footpads. I rub the welts from the tick and chigger bites from two days earlier and, then, force myself to stop. The itch is endless, but I need to close my eyes.

The last three days on the Neusiok Trail and in the Croatan National Forest have been tough, but, so too, the hikes have been incredible. I am glad, I realize lying in bed at the Days Inn, fire or no, I am glad I separated this segment of the MST from the hike on beaches of the Outer Banks or from the roads taking me across the marshes of the Down East. I am not sure I would have appreciated the beauty as well as the hardships I encountered here if I hadn’t separated this portion of the state-long trail. Tomorrow will be the final leg of this segment - a final hike in the Croatan of some thirteen miles to reach my designated campground where my support team, Karen and Helen, my wife and daughter, will pick me up. Tonight, though, I’ll eat dinner in an hour or two from a dehydrated meal stored in my backpack, courtesy of water from the motel room and my little camp stove, and get some much-needed sleep.

Heart, Hiking, Here & Now

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