Tray Mountain: A Tale of Frost, Fear, and One Man's Inner Courage

A note to readers: What follows is one of the finest articles we could cull from our print archives. It is an inspiring story of heroism and cowardice, fear and triumph. The names have been changed to protect the identities of those involved and some grammatical errors have been changed in exchange for new ones. We hope you enjoy this first installment of "From the Archives".--the editors

Tray Mountain
Part I: Trail Mix

It was a bitterly cold December morn as the two young men confidently saddled up their gear for a three-day, two-night trek on the most dangerous section of the Appalachian Trail in Georgia. In the bright morning sun, their enthusiasm ran high until they stepped out of the truck. Patrick MacManus, the eldest and a former Boy Scout, shivered and said, “Dang nab it, it’s cold!” and got back into the truck. Larry “Lashes” O’long, a young blond, spent the majority of the morning re-packing his backpack with three of everything while MacManus stood patiently in the wind, repeating at intervals, “It’s cold. Boy is it cold. It sure is cold. Think we will meet any chicks? Man is it cold!”

At last, after Larry had taken his pack on and off numerous times, they set off down the trail. Five minutes later they took their first breather and consulted the map. A breathless Larry looked back on their progress and the glorious vista and said, “I can still see the truck.” After several more hours of hiking and countless references to the map, they could still see the truck, but they pushed on despite the burnings in their legs and lungs.

The section of the trail that they were on, as the map showed, followed a ridgeline up and down many tall, steep, rocky, bear-infested mountains. In fact, it was known to many as the “Trail of Really Big Bear Tracks”. They made there goal for the day the shelter on the far side of the tallest mountain they would face, Tray Mountain. Little did the two men realize the stark terror that lay in wait for them on the other side of Tray Mountain.

The men plodded on through the cold and checked the map. Nearing lunch, MacManus pointed out a sunny, warm, grassy dell in a valley where they could eat lunch, but the younger Larry pointed at the map and insisted that they continue. Instead, they ate lunch on a cold, wet, dark stone, where a bitter wind whipped through their meal of trail mix and canned Vienna sausages, making it really hard to hold the map. It was to be the first of many mistakes Larry would make that fateful day.

Finally, as the sun began to slide down closer to the horizon, the two young men saw the monstrosity that is Tray Mountain. Larry saw its great height towering above them and looked at the map, hoping he was lost. MacManus took the lead, bearing up the rocky trail as it twisted back and forth across the steep slope.

When the two felt they could go no more, they crested the summit. They were on top of the world. Miles and miles of mountains and valleys stretched out as far as the eye could see. Not another human being or evidence of habitation could be seen in any direction. All was as is was when the Creator spoke it into existence. A gentle frost covered the ancient hardwood forest surrounding them. “What no chicks?” observed a tired MacManus. Miles to the south Yonah Mountain was easily distinguishable. Far off to the west, Brasstown Bald could be made out against the darkening sky. “Darkening sky?!” said a concerned MacManus, “We need to make camp.” Larry got out the map. Their night of terror was about to begin.

Tomorrow: Tray Mountain, Part II: It's Only the Wind