Day 23, Baker Branch to Chief Vann House State Historic Site

I was awakened at 4:45 this morning by the sound of thunder. After 30 minutes of lightning and more thunder, the threat of a thunderstorm ended without any rain.

When Tengo and I left camp at 7:45 a.m., there was still no rainfall. For the first 2.5 miles of the day, we walked along Baker Branch to where it flowed into Rock Creek.

The trail crossed Baker Branch and a feeder stream a couple of times, which required a little extra care. The streams were wider and deeper than yesterday.

The morning sun was beginning to climb above the trees as we walked through a large wildlife meadow.

We followed old logging roads for nearly all of the first 10.8 miles. Some were gravel roads regularly maintained by the U.S. Forest Service and some were barely recognizable as roads.

Tengo and I had to stop and spend time looking for the best way to get across Rock Creek without getting our feet wet. The spot we found was about 25 yards upstream of the trail, and we successfully rock-hopped across.

We stopped for lunch when we arrived at the last campsite listed by FarOut before the trail turned to follow paved roads. We had been eating a few minutes before I realized a misty drizzle was falling. It was so light it was barely visible.

I used the break as an opportunity to check our options for where to stay tonight. A couple of motels to consider were located about two miles from the trail in Chatsworth. We figured we could probably walk farther than that and agreed to wait until we were closer before making a decision.

The only person we saw on the trail today arrived as we were packing to leave our lunch spot. He was a bikepacker. Everything he needed to camp overnight was strapped to his mountain bike.

Knowing the climbs we made the last couple of days, I knew he would likely be walking his heavy bike up some of them.

The last two miles of trail before the paved road included a 300-foot climb and a 500-foot descent. The misty rain that started at lunch continued off and on. When I stopped to check my radar app, I saw that the rain would not become much heavier and would end soon.

A granite tablet stood next to the trail a tenth of a mile before the road. Text etched into it was difficult to read because of years of dirt and mildew. In a close inspection, I could read it was placed there 18 years ago.

The wordy marker described how the land in this section was acquired, listing the people, agencies, and organizations involved in the transaction. It also showed the distances from several landmarks, like Flagg Mountain, Springer Mountain, Clingman's Dome, and Mount Katahdin. Nearly all of the mileage was inaccurate now because of trail rerouting.

The sun was shining by 2 p.m. when we arrived at Dennis Mill Road. A large barrier with a "road closed" sign stood there. This was a startling sight because we didn't know about the closure.

After clicking around icons on the FarOut app's map, I found a hiker's comment posted at a point farther up the road, which clarified the situation. It explained a bridge was closed less than a mile away. It couldn't be crossed by cars but was safe for hikers.

When we reached the one-lane bridge, we found why large concrete blocks had been placed in front of it. The bridge was so old and rickety that it seemed it could barely support the weight of a couple of backpackers.

After crossing the bridge, the trail turned at Old Federal Road. The sun had dried up the rain from the pavement by now, and the temperature was getting hot.

Old Federal Road was called Georgia Road when it was completed in 1805. This was Cherokee Nation land then, but white settlers had secured rights that year to construct the road under the Treaty of Tellico. The road was renamed the Federal Road during improvements in 1819, though no federal funds were used.

The road fell into disuse by 1840 when travelers found better routes. That apparently was still true today because we didn't see much traffic. At least here, the road had a small shoulder to walk on.

A convenience store stood near the end of the 1.5-mile trail segment on Old Federal Road. We stopped there for a much-needed cold drink.

The safety of a narrow shoulder on a lightly traveled road ended when the trail turned from Old Federal Road. We were now on a road leading to Chatsworth. The traffic was picking up here, and there was no shoulder to walk on. We either had to walk on the outer white line or step off the road. Walking next to the road was often impossible because the ground sloped steeply from the pavement.

With the sun beating down and the hike requiring more concentration, my frustrations began to rise. Then, just when I needed it, something unexpected happened.

I saw up ahead a woman walking out of her house. When she reached the end of her driveway, she placed two bottles of cold water next to the road. Then without waiting for us, she returned to her house.

She was already inside when we walked to the bottles. She may have gone back inside because of COVID-19 concerns. We did our best to tell her we appreciated her kindness by waving when we spotted her standing in her doorway.

Tengo and I arrived at another convenience store at 4:50 p.m. and bought another large cold drink. During the break, we decided to not go to Chatsworth. We agreed our other idea of getting a room in Dalton made more sense. And though we were hot and tired, we had enough energy to complete 21 miles. We could end the day at Chief Vann House State Historic Site.

And indeed, this plan would be better so long as we survived. The traffic continued to get heavier. Many of the motorists were heading home from work. They were driving at least 50 mph, often faster, and the last thing on their minds was hikers walking along the road.

Each time I saw a car coming toward me, I looked directly at the driver to make sure I was seen. The sun was now at a low angle and the road was in and out of shade. Being seen by drivers wasn't a certainty.

Tengo and I talked about taking a shortcut, but we decided against it so we could stick to our intentions of hiking the whole trail. That may have been a mistake.

At the time, we were walking at rush hour on one of Dalton's main arteries. We decided to stay on the trail because we knew it would soon turn to follow a side street, and we thought that would be safer. Instead, the side street turned out to be the most perilous section of the trail.

If the Pinhoti's planners chose the side street to get it away from traffic, the opposite happened for us. The street was hilly with short view distances, and it appeared to be a regular commuting route.

In the thousands of miles I've hiked, many were on roads and highways. Some were unenjoyable. This section of the Pinhoti Trail was the most harrowing of all.

Again, the road didn't have a shoulder. What's worse, we had nowhere to step off to get out of traffic. Tengo and I could only lean away from the cars and trust the drivers saw us. When cars approached in both directions, the driver on our side had no choice but to pass within inches of us.

"That was too close," I said or thought more than once. I won't repeat what else I said.

We miraculously arrived unscathed on the grounds of Chief Vann House State Historic Site at 6:15 p.m. The trail entered the side of a wooded lot that surrounded the house. The house was not open when we arrived, so we didn't see much of it as we followed the trail around the site.

The Vann House was built in 1803 and 1804 by James Vann, a Cherokee chief and one of the richest men in the Native American nation. One of his sons inherited the home following his death. It was stolen from the family when they were forced to Oklahoma on the Trail of Tears.

After the Vann House passed through a series of owners, it was sold to the state in 1952 and was restored a few years later.

When Tengo and I exited the grounds, we felt done for the day. Speaking for myself but also likely for Tengo, we were also relieved to be alive.

We crossed the intersection of state highways 52 and 225. A family-run food stand called Four Way Drive-in was a short distance away. We walked there for dinner.

Derrick, our shuttle driver on the day we flipped to the northern terminus, wasn't available to pick us up, so we took an Uber to the Days Inn in Dalton. We decided to not repeat our unsatisfactory stay at Super 8.

Tomorrow will be the last day of my hike. I'm glad I'll be alive to see it.