12. Chefing It Up (Wesser Bald to The Jump Up NC)

There’s nothing like a fresh carrot on the climb. As my friend Colin can attest, carrots taste twice as sweet and 1.3 times as juicy in the backcountry. They say there’s no caloric value, but who cares? Eating food consists not of statistics but of enjoyment and fuel. Whoever has eaten a carrot then climbed a mountain knows that the carrot powered then up the mountain, calories or not. And that the carrot was delicious.

By this point, most people seem to have trail names. Trail names are a time-honored tradition. People bestow a tail name on others perhaps based on something they say, eat, do, did, make, wear, or vibe. Recent examples include Bubbles and Jersey Redneck, Wednesday and Coyote.

At the hostel, as I was making a big, fragrant curry, a girl named Escargot gave me the trail name Chef. Especially since it was bestowed by Escargot, I had to accept.

It makes me feel like I’m on the cooking show Chopped. “How’s it going, Chef?” “Thanks, Chef!” “Hey Chef, could you grab that for me?” “Where are you headed, Chef?” It feels pretty cool. 

Plus, I really do miss cooking. When I got to the hostel, many seemed super excited to go to the brewery and get a burger. Unappealing to me. The process of chopping sweet potato and broccoli and carrot, simmering, adjusting the spice levels brought me as much joy as the consumption of the meal – itself a source of much joy.

This said, I hesitated about using the name for awhile. Perhaps people would expect me to make them a meal at any hostel. What if I didn’t want to do that? Or what if I showed up at a restaurant and said, “Hey I’m Chef, now what will you make me for dinner tonight?”

The first night I introducd myself as “well, I guess you can call me Chef,” my friend Solo asked, “Hey Chef, what’s for dinner tonight?” “Some rice from a bag wrapped in a tortilla,” I responded. That’s the other problem: most of the time on the trail I just don’t have the culinary resources to make anything worthy of being called Chef. The contradiction and the silliness is kind of the point, I realized. No one said trail names should make perfect sense. Did I mention I like carrots on climbs? Maybe it makes sense after all.

Also, I like the idea of a chef crafting a meal, which is a creative expression. Writing is some attempt at creative expression – I have a lot cooking on the back burner. Or I can cook my way up a big mountain. Or cook up some positivity on a stormy night. 

Like this: the rain fell in waves, each drop indistinguishable in a warm roar from the tin roof. What a fun way to cook up an alternative to ‘it was a loud night in the shelter because of heavy rain.’

I also gave my first trail name: Appaloosa for Olivia, because Olivia’s from Kentucky (the land of horses?). Appaloosa is a cool sounding word. Plus, Olivia is free-spirited and likes to go far, two characteristics I think are true of horses (I don’t actually know anything about horses other than that Appaloosa is a cool-sounding house variety). 

The morning clouds opened over the Nantahala valley, revealing a gorgeous view. The only problem was I was quite hangry. I finally made it down to Nantahala Outdoor Center, a huge company by the river. They have everything: a store, a restaurant, a hotel, a kayak school, wilderness medicine school, zip lines, outfitter, guided rafting, and probably other things. It’s a outdoor person’s dream. It gave me the chance to restock and shower, then continue on up the climb out of the river valley.

By some measures, the Nantahala is the deepest gorge east of the Mississippi. Cheoah Bald, 3 miles ahead of where I camped, rises straight up one steep ridge from the Nantahala River 3200 feet. However, this is a highly folded region, and the Nantahala did not cut the gorge. More information in this thorough blog from Philip Prince. Having hiked down one side and up the other today, I can testify to the fact the gorge is both steep and deep. I am perched on the edge of the gorge, near a rocky outcrop called The Jump Off, anticipating the morning light over the Nantahala.