Racing Diego to Pearisburg Pt. 1

This was the section hike that went anything but as planned.

Mule had 3 of his 5 kids competing in our state high school swim meet, and he didn’t get back to town until 2 AM Sunday morning.  He spent a (too) hurried 30 minutes packing, and we were off racing to Woods Hole Hostel.  We would later learn that Mule probably brought the wrong sleeping bag, forgot his neck gaiter and left his wallet behind.  The perils of hurrying.  At least his kids kicked butt at the meet.

We had to stop at a convenience store somewhere in Virginia to purchase Mule’s 7 days worth of breakfasts and lunch snacks, and the selection wasn’t adequate.  Poor Mule ended up with a lot of beef jerky and granola bars.  The look on the cashier’s face when he dumped it all on the counter was priceless.

We pulled in to Woods Hole Hostel around 10:30 EST.

We were greeted by Neville, who quickly whisked us off on our shuttle down to I-81.  We had a great conversation along the way.  At about 12;30 we were deposited at the drop-off point and began our hike.  At this point, both of us had gone over 30 hours without sleep, but the excitement of starting a new hike gave us some early energy.

We hiked through some old abandoned fields and orchards coming up from a stream, and at 1.2 miles crossed a stile and entered the woods.  By the way, I loathe stiles.

At nearly 2.5 miles we came upon the old Davis Path campsite.  There used to be a shelter here, but due to abuse it was torn down in 2008.  The privy remains, however, and I consider a privy to be the more crucial of the two structures.

We had some gentle climbs through the woods, and our lack of sleep started to catch up to us.  We passed a father/daughter SOBO thru-hiker team featuring Rocket- aged NINE.  A total little badass.  I wish I’d taken her picture. 

Mule broke out his iPad and played a few crucial tunes to keep us moving.  “Ante Up” got us over a knob and brought us to a rare view on Day 1.

Somewhere towards late afternoon we passed something unexpected.

I don’t have all of those miles hiked yet, but I do have most of them checked off.

At dusk we finally arrived at Reed Creek, where we intended to camp.  The first few campsites we found were quite “moist,” but eventually we found one that was acceptably dry.  We got my HMG Echo II tarp set up, and while Mule worked on our water supply, I got to cooking dinner.  The One Pot Pizza Pasta was a smashing success.

After dinner the temperature started to drop, and since we were both sleepless for about 40 hours at this point, we went straight to sleep and slept like petrified logs.  Day 1:  6.6 miles.

We didn’t wake up until after 8:00 the next morning, and discovered that in our sleep-deprived stupor the previous evening we had forgotten to put the food bag UP.  Something- probably raccoons- had gotten into our food and trash.  Fortunately for us, our ziploc bags foiled most of their efforts at getting our food.  They had better luck with our garbage, but that was easy enough to clean up.  We kicked ourselves for being so stupid.  It just as easily could have been B’rer Bear instead of raccoons.

The climb up from the creek bottom led us through some drier oak woods, where we happened upon this little fella:

Although garter snakes are probably the most cold-tolerant of our snakes, I wasn’t expecting to see one when the temperature was still in the 40’s.  Like any good southerners do when they encounter a snake, we poked at it with my trekking poles.  To make sure it was alive of course.  At least we didn’t call it a “moccasin.”  Many southerners think all snakes are moccasins that need killing. Most feared of all is the copper-headed rattling moccasin.

We then came out into a still-used but kinda beat pasture that had a long, gentle climb.

We then began a long leisurely descent into the Rich Valley, again through some overgrown pastures.  A line of large, obviously planted trees hinted at an old driveway, but we saw no evidence of the actual homesite.

After crossing VA610 at the bottom of the valley we then climbed some more actively used pastures for about a half mile.

A mile later we found ourselves at the VERY low bridge crossing the North Fork of the Holston River at the old Tilson’s Mill.

Apparently, this old mill dates back to before the Civil War and operated into the 1940’s.  It is the last surviving structure of a small community of stores, businesses and a post office that served the area decades ago.

Another mile ahead we crossed VA42, from where there is pickup to Bear Garden Hostel a short distance to the east if so desired.  We continued on and came upon a nice view.

We also came upon our nemesis- the lost bear hunting dog.  Not for the first time either.

The name on the tracking collar said “Perry,” and Perry was one dumb SOB.  He latched onto us like herpes- he wouldn’t go away.  We figured we’d let him follow us to whatever was the next road we crossed.

Well, we didn’t cross another road that day.  Instead, we arrived at Knot Maul Shelter near dusk.

Notice the pile of leaves partly obscured by my black food bag?  Those leaves were placed by ME to cover an excrementary disaster- clearly somebody had nearly shat themselves to death there recently.  There were also surgical gloves and bandages in the fire pit.  We figured something bad had occurred, but regardless, it was nearing dark and we had nowhere else to go- we were stuck with Camp Crap.

*We learned later from several hikers that 2 nights before our arrival, a solo hiker had gone down to get water and slipped, striking their head on a rock while falling, and fell unconscious for nearly 24 hours with their feet in the cold water. When they came to, their feet were non-functional. They crawled back to the shelter and were found by some hunters and carried out. Word was that he was probably going to lose his feet.

Mule went off on a water run, and I had some Massaman Beef Curry waiting for him upon his return that he said was the best meal of the trip.  Perry did his best to ingest my mini scrubbie and be a general PITA.  We fed him the leftovers and a handful of Fritos.  At least he laid down and was quiet when it was bedtime.  Day 2:  7.7 miles.

During the night we got a light dusting of snow.

We also got lower temperatures to match, probably around 25F.  As a result, we weren’t terribly motivated to leave our bags and eat breakfast.  However, the general spazzing of Perry had us wanting to find the nearest road ASAP, so we got moving.  We had a pretty easy downhill stroll for several miles, crossing several small creeks.

After about 3.5 miles we reached a very nice bridge over Lick Creek.

Lick Creek not only has native trout, it hosts one of Virginia’s two populations of the endangered Tennessee Dace.

Amazingly, we acquired a SECOND bear dog after this.  I must be the Pied Piper for stupid lost dogs.  Thank goodness a mile later we reached a forest service road.  Mule tied the dogs up to a tree next to the road, and of course they started tangling themselves up.  We felt kinda bad about leaving them there, but if they had continued to follow us for 50 more miles they were going to starve.  

At this point the miracle we’d hoped for came to pass- Perry’s owner drove up in a pickup truck.  He’d been tracking his collar and figured we were on the AT and would cross here.  We learned that his last name was Perry, and that the dog was actually named, appropriately enough, Homer.  He tossed Homer into his dog carrier, where his comrades greeted him with snarls.  Poor Homer apparently was at the bottom of his pack’s pecking order.

The other dog belonged to a different hunter, and he pulled up 2 minutes later as well.  Both owners said we had done the right thing in tying them to a tree by the road, so we felt a little better about that decision.  Since they were both nice gentlemen we didn’t let them know that their dogs were so dumb they probably couldn’t tell a bear from a skunk, but we let that go.

No longer encumbered by intellectually-challenged canines, we turned to face the over 2,000 foot climb up Garden Mountain.  The first half of the climb was uncomfortably steep, and as we gained elevation it started to snow again.

The grade lessened over the latter half of the climb, and eventually we came out on a ridge crest that had some large recently mowed fields, as well as impressive views of the adjacent Clinch Mountains.

It was cold and windy on the exposed ridgetop, but the two brave hikers soldiered on.

We continued to slowly climb the better part of 2 miles along the ridgetop, passing a pond and a spring before coming to a gravel road leading to a spring just shy of the shelter.  Mule, awesome hiking partner that he is, went to fill our 6L DromLite while I waited.  We then finished the final 0.2 miles to Chestnut Knob Shelter, an old repurposed fire warden cabin “renovated” in 1994.

While it’s stone walls suggested a cold tomb awaiting us inside, any shelter was welcome at this point.  Sadly, there was no fireplace.  We were both frozen and had cold wet feet upon arrival.  We did our best to warm up.  I cooked some Ethiopian Chicken and Red Lentil Stew with couscous for dinner, and then we turned in not long after hiker midnight.  Bourbon may have been consumed.

Two hours after dark, a SOBO thru-hiker named Gritty showed up.  Good dude, and pretty hardcore to have hiked 2 hours in the dark in those conditions.  Day 3:  9.0 miles.