We got a pretty early start on Monday morning, stopping by the local public servant's office to fill out permission forms to stay on the mountain - that already belongs to we the people - without being accosted by gun-toting agents. Here we were informed that the Mt. Le Conte shelter may be full. I responded that it was no big deal, we had brought a tent and we could just camp nearby. The public servant warned me that this would violate a government regulation and possibly subject me to attack by the aforementioned gun-toters. I reassured him, indicating that we would do it anyway to honor the rebellious spirit of the great men who founded the nation he worked for. His response was less than enthusiastic and he appeared to be quite confused. Although visibly distressed, he managed to look up the Le Conte shelter log and found that there were indeed open spots available. We received our government permission papers and distanced ourselves from the bureaucratic center as quickly as possible. 

We hit the trail and enjoyed our trip up the mountain despite the fact that we were in the heart of the busy season for through-hikers on the Appalachian Trail. We decided to hustle on to the top and wait until we reached the shelter to have lunch in relative comfort.

The trip up really wasn't too bad. Its demanding, but not murderously so like Colbert Ridge or the east face of Mt. Princeton. And since Olivia and I were accustomed to making round trips in a single day, this seemed to be a relatively relaxing pace.

After reaching the summit without incident around 2pm, heavy clouds rolled in and some scattered rain began to fall. The temperatures plummeted. We had anticipated temperatures as low as 50 degrees, so we packed sufficient clothing and equipment for 40 degree conditions. Talking with other climbers, we were told that the forecast called for temperatures as low as 38 degrees overnight.

After resting and reconsidering our plans, we decided that we really didn't want to spend the night in conditions that would test the capacity of our equipment and that perhaps we should go down before nightfall. It was really a difficult decision and we weren't sure what to do.

Just as we got our gear packed up and decided to head down, a hard thunderstorm opened up and forced us to don our rain ponchos. The trail turned into an eight-inch deep miniature river, soaking Olivia's boots (mine were more waterproof than hers) and both of our pants legs from the knees down.

After twenty minutes, we stopped at the Mt. Le Conte shelter on the way down to wait out the storm. It was too cold to descend under those conditions; it could easily lead to hypothermia. But as we waited, the storm got worse. The rain turned to hail, and the hail to sleet, and the sleet turned back to rain. The clouds completely covered the mountain top and visibility was reduced to about thirty feet. The temperatures continued to drop dramatically and it was downright cold... 38 degrees in late June!

Our opportunity to descend never materialized. Around 5pm it became obvious that we wouldn't be able to safely descend. If we continued down, we would have to go in the dark, in thick clouds with terrible visibility, in hard rain and high winds, with wet boots and temperatures just above freezing. So the decision was made for us... we were stuck at the shelter.

So I focused on getting settled and making us as warm as possible for the night. The shelter is just that - a bare shelter, with only one full wall and an open-air front. We selected sleeping spots on the lower bunk near the wall where we would have the most protection from the weather. While Olivia set up our sleeping pads and blankets, I took our rain ponchos and snapped them together. Then I found several old nails and used them, along with our climbing poles, to create a makeshift wall out of our ponchos. Now we would be protected from the wind on three sides.

I also started gathering scraps of firewood in case we needed to start an illegal fire to keep warm overnight. Federal bureaucrats had already posted signs inside the shelter saying that fires were no longer permitted. This was a punishment for hikers who had sinned against the state by burning wood (gasp!) in the past. Government agents threatened to steal $50 if we attempted to keep ourselves warm by using fire, as had millions of other outdoorsmen over the past six millenia. Obviously, my next chore was to get other climbers (there were about 8 of us pinned inside the shelter that night) to commit $10 each toward the fine should we get caught. Fortunately, we had a few independent thinkers in our midst and we covered the potential fine with no problem.

As it turned out, our makeshift cubbyhole was sufficient - barely - to keep us warm and a campfire wasn't necessary. Two of us did light up cooking stoves but we never really figured out if that would have been considered a violation of federal regulations. In the name of Patrick Henry I sincerely hope so.

We slept fairly well, listening for bears (which were active in the vicinity) and hunkering deep inside our sleeping blankets while the wind beat against our poncho wall. If the temperature had dropped another five degrees we would have been mighty cold though. We were at the extreme edge of what our equipment would endure.

The next morning we awoke to sunny skies and perfect conditions. We cooked a breakfast of freeze dried cheesecake (better than it sounds even when you eat it from a bag with a spoon), showered comfortably under our portable campfire shower, and spent considerable time taking in the view at a beautiful point called Cliff Tops during our descent. The view from Cliff Tops is incredible - you can see the entire Smoky Mountain range, even 50 miles across the state line and into North Carolina.

Olivia and I landed back at the trailhead around 4pm, and then we drove back to a hotel in Gatlinburg to enjoy our traditional post-climb pizza dinner. This time we were at Best Italian Pizza on Gatlinburg's main drag, and they have some of the most delicious pizza you ever put in your mouth. We spent the next day at OberGatlinburg stuffing ourselves with fudge and riding the Pirate Boat until we nearly passed out.

All in all, it was another fun adventure on one of the most scenic mountains in the entire Appalachian range.