A brief and beautiful hike during a severe drought

It seems like it was longer ago, but a mere three years ago this October Mule and I did one of the laziest weeks ever. We started at Sams Gap and hiked 43 miles generally downhill into Hot Springs. And then, because we were lazy, and partly because we enjoyed Hot Springs so much that we wanted to end the hike there, we shuttled down to Max Patch and hiked back, thus avoiding a killer southbound climb leaving Hot Springs. Sue me. This is one of the advantages of section hiking. And I was kinda fat then.

Unfortunately, I’ve lost the photos from the first part of that hike and a few from the second as well. I was carrying an actual camera on this trip, and it wasn’t all that great.

North Carolina, and in fact much of the southeast, was in the midst of a pretty severe drought at the time. We had gorgeous weather as a result, but water was HARD to come by.

Our driver Mary shuttled us up to Max Patch road on the morning of October 12th, and we made quick work of the 400 ft. ascent to the summit of Max Patch itself. The 360 degree views were utterly amazing. We were half tempted to just pitch our tents there for two days.

There were actually some fire rings and what sorta looked like established campsites, which made it really, really tempting. We hung around for the better part of an hour and took it all in. There were of course a couple dozen other folks milling around, mostly day hikers.

Mule thought it was the coolest place ever.

Eventually we realized we had 8 miles to hike, and it was late morning already, so we headed over the bald and down towards the woods.

As we entered the woods there was a small stream that we probably should’ve taken advantage of.

A little shy of 2 miles into the day we entered an impressive rhododentron “tunnel.”

A short while later we crossed over a grassy field.

Less than a mile later we passed the side trail to Roaring Fork Shelter. By the time we reached Lemon Gap 5.2 miles into our day, our water bottles were empty. The alleged stream before the gap had been dry. And the stream after the gap….dry again. We were banking on the piped spring at Walnut Mountain Shelter.

We reached the shelter at 6.5 miles. The guys who had stopped there ahead of us said that they had been unable to find the spring. It turned out to be on a poorly-marked and overgrown side trail….and it wasn’t flowing. Shizzle. Our notes told us that the next water source was over 4 miles away, and we were thirsty NOW. With nothing else to do, we continued on.

In a stroke of great fortune, we found a seep a mile later that appeared unusable until Mule crafted a “pipeline” out of a series of rhododendron leaves that resulted in a small trickle.

Knowing we were going to have to dry camp that night, we spent a LONG time filling every water reservoir that we had. This proved to be a good call. The so-called brook at Mile 8.2 was indeed dry.

We began the climb up Bluff Mountain but stopped shy of the summit at an established campsite that may have been Phil’s Gap.

I believe this may have been the first night that I pitched my Echo II tarp.

It was getting chilly, so Mule took advantage of a conveniently-placed boulder and used his industrial firefighter skills to crank out a nice fire that reflected heat towards our shelters.

IIRC we had some chicken panang curry and Ballast Point Mango Even Keel for dinner. The beer helped us conserve our water. Day 1: 8.6 miles.

Back in those days I was still fooling around with cooking breakfast. I have since decided that I don’t want to carry that extra food weight, nor do I enjoy spending the extra time to cook when I should be hiking. Not a big fan of having to clean pots in the morning either.

But on this particular morning, I whipped up some berry pancakes and hash browns, and they WERE pretty good as Mule’s expression attests.

After we broke camp we hiked a short distance to the summit of Bluff Mountain (elevation 4439 ft.) and then descended along some switchbacks, crossed a dry streambed and some old woods roads, and eventually came to Garenflo Gap (2500 ft.) at 3.7 miles.

It turns out that it was actually a bit longer to Deer Park Mountain Shelter, which appeared to be empty when we arrived. That is, until the resident mouse scurried out to greet us.

This was an old shelter, built around 1938, and it showed.

We were alone when we arrived, but an hour or so later we were joined by five SOBO thru-hikers who had resupplied earlier in the day in Hot Springs and hauled their now-heavy packs up a 3000 ft. climb to the shelter. They were all bitching about how heavy their packs were. I told them “guys, my pack is heavy too….in fact, I was hoping y’all could help me out with that.” Absolutely not they all said, their packs were already too heavy with food. “Well, MY problem is that I brought too much tequila.”

You have never seen five heads pivot in unison like theirs did, like O RLY?

As it turned out, I cooked up a killer sour cream skillet enchilada dinner with refried beans and spanish rice (as well as queso and pico), and had brought a bunch of Packit Gourmet’s most excellent margarita mix….and some reposado tequila. Enough for seven hikers in fact. Mule and I quickly had five friends for life. After dinner, our new friends built a nice campfire and brought out some herbal supplements iykwim. We stayed up later than usual listening to their thru-hike stories and pretty much laughed our asses off. By the time we turned in, we weren’t worried about mice any more. Day 2: 7.3 miles.

The next morning we got up early, hoping to get breakfast in Hot Springs. The three mile jaunt down the mountain went quickly, and before we knew it we were at the famous Smoky Mountain Diner.

They happily seated our smelly hiker trash selves, and we proceeded to order the better part of their entire breakfast menu. We had platters of food EVERYWHERE. And we ate every darn scrap of it too. We then waddled back to my car and drove home.

I would be remiss if I left out mentioning where we’d had dinner the night before our shuttle. Spring Creek Tavern is another must if you visit Hot Springs.

We ate on the patio and had massive burgers and fries. And a craft beer or three. Highly recommended. Day 3: 3.1 miles. Trip Total: 19.0 miles.

Playing catch up, unsuccessfully

I got a pretty early start the next morning, actually getting on the trail before a thru-hiker (Jack)! I was dreading the roughly 1,500 ft. climb up Brush Mountain, which other hikers had described to me as anything from “a healthy workout” to “the work of Satan.”

Well, the fearmongers were wrong. Imagine that. This was actually one of the better graded climbs I’ve encountered on the AT, with plenty of switchbacks where needed. I only paused briefly several times as the trail contoured over knobs with partial views. Gotta take pictures ya know.

There were quite a few serviceberry trees, aka shadbush, in bloom. They are an old favorite of my parents. Some Amelanchier species are shrubs, but this species was a tree that reaches 20 ft. in height. The berries are supposed to be tasty. They bloom in early spring before most other flowering trees, “when the shad run.”

I kept expecting the trail to eventually degenerate into a rocky mess at some point, but it never did.

90 minutes after I began, I had finished the 2.1 mile climb and reached the crest of the ridge. A nice surprise awaited me.

Not 5 minutes later, Jack arrived. We chatted a bit but then I took off and left him to have himself a snack as well. The wide, level, grassy trail along the ridge nearly blew my mind.

Obviously the trail was making use of an old forest roadbed, but I sure wasn’t going to complain!

After a little ways I came upon a small pond. This was a water source that wasn’t marked on Guthook, and it may have been ephemeral. It was full of small frogs. Probably newts too.

The trail continued to be glorious, so I made really good time.

I eventually reached the short side trail to the Audie Murphy Monument. I couldn’t pass that up, so I went on up to pay my respects.

Murphy died in a plane crash at or near this site just before his 46th birthday. He was one of the most highly decorated US soldiers in WWII. His military awards included the Medal of Honor, 3 Purple Hearts, 2 Silver Stars, 2 Bronze Stars, and the Distinguished Service Cross, as well as honors bestowed by the French and Belgian military. As a fellow vet I had to salute him before I left. They don’t make guys like him anymore.

It was a sunny day, and I was reminded that hiking on such days before leafout results in sunburn.

Eventually the trail began a long gentle descent. Like my earlier climb, the grade was mild and there were plenty of switchbacks. Periodically the trail would contour over a knob. The trail tended to utilize north-facing slopes, so it was drier, and the vegetation changed. I frequently saw birdsfoot violets.

There were also some more views, this time of the valley to the north of the mountain.

As the elevation continued to drop, things finally got moister, with the appropriate changes in vegetation. I finally found a trout lily in bloom.

Finally after 6.5 miles I reached VA620 at Trout Creek. There was a large cleared camping area there, and Jack had somehow managed to arrive before me.

Jack was actually just leaving, so I took advantage of the solitude to take an hour-long nap. I still hadn’t recovered from my near all-nighter on Sunday. Plus, I’m old enough now to nap whenever I feel like it. Ain’t no shame in my nap game.

I might’ve slept longer, but these big fuzzy black gnats found me and started harrassing me. Every once in a while, one of them would deliver a nice bite too. I flashed back to my small DEET bottle at home with regret. I never seem to learn, bring the @#%$* DEET, every time!

I crossed the road and climbed 50-60 wooden stairs clearly designed to suck whatever rest your muscles had just gotten right out of your body.

The trail quickly reached a small rocky ridge and followed it for a while. Small skinks and fence lizards were scurrying everywhere, but thankfully no snakes. I kept a watchful eye for copperheads and rattlesnakes nonetheless. Especially copperheads. Rattlesnakes at least warn you with a rattle. Copperheads are lazy and sometimes just stay on the trail until you either step over, or onto, them.

1.2 miles after the road crossing I reached the junction with the side trail to Pickle Branch Shelter. It was only about 3:30 in the afternoon, but the next shelter was 14 miles away, and the rugged climb to Dragon’s Tooth lay ahead. This was all dry trail, so if I pushed ahead I was going to have to carry 4-5 liters of water to make dry camp. I was willing to do so, but a quick perusal of Guthook revealed no campsites ahead until after Dragon’s Tooth. Ugh. I was kinda forced to turn right down the 0.3 miles side trail to the shelter.

On the way down I met Jack again, who had gone down to camel up. We chatted for a few minutes, and I learned that he is something of an author. His real name is Rod Riley, he lives out west, and he wrote a Clancy-esque thriller called “Cloud Peak” that has 38 reviews on Amazon, all 5 stars. It sounds like a neat book, and I’m going to order it. In fact, I’m going to do him a solid and link his book HERE.

There were some fields along the side trail that made me wonder if they were old orchards, but they looked too “clean” for that. The subsequent mooing at dusk provided answers.

Shortly after, the trail went up over a hump and dropped down to the shelter.

I was alone upon my arrival, but a half hour later I was joined by a very interesting young lady named Oats, who declared herself fully capable of sharing a shelter with a Snorlax. Obi Wan came by to get water, and then Oats and I were joined by an older guy named OTB (Off The Bench).

I turned out that Oats was almost out of food, and I had a 2-person dinner to cook that night, so we worked out a deal where she went to the water source and filled my Hydrapak in return for some dinner. This particular night’s culinary treat was Youvetsi, a Greek beef stew with orzo and vegetables. It turned out better than I expected, and I had enough to not only feed Oats and myself, but to also share a little with OTB, who was wracked with hiker hunger. They gave it a major two thumbs up.

Oats had a very interesting personal background, and we had a long conversation that lasted until hiker midnight, at which point we were both DONE and fell asleep while listening to cows moo and coyotes yip. Day 3: 8.0 miles.

I got up at 6:30 and studied my options for the next 3 days. I knew that I had to make 33 miles over the next 3 days in order to return to my car by Saturday evening. That’s only 11 miles per day, and normally that’s easily done. But this terrain had been tougher than I’d expected, and I’d only done 8 miles each of the past 2 days. Not only that, but Dragon’s Tooth and it’s difficult climb and descent lay ahead today. The next shelter was 13+ miles ahead, and if I could reach it a pair of ten mile days would get me to my car, so I made that my goal for the day.

It was a good plan. But then the dragon bit me.

I got an early start by my standards (7:45) but decided to carry 5L of water in case I needed to make a dry camp. It wasn’t horrible; I was probably at or just under 30 lbs. even with all that water weight. But it didn’t help.

The 4+ mile ascent to Dragon’s Tooth was a more typical AT climb, with multiple rocky patches and several significant rock scrambles. But it started easy enough with a gentle climb through a young poplar forest.

There were multiple large rock piles that suggested that in the past this may have been a large pasture that had been cleared by a settler.

Eventually the climb got a little steeper, finally cresting at a ledge on a prominent knob.

The first of many rocky patches soon followed. It’s pretty obvious that Virginia is made of rock. Not dirt.

Eventually the trail actually turned to the south and began a more strenuous and rocky ascent.

Occasionally views opened up to the east. They gave me a nice excuse to stop for a picture, water break, and some wind suckage.

As I climbed further I passed a site of importance to thru-hikers.

The rocky climb continued, made even worse by the cloud of large gnats that followed my head despite the cool temperatures and stiff breeze. They would periodically go all kamikaze and dive bomb into one of my eyeballs. Good times.

Less than a half mile from Dragon’s Tooth were multiple ledges with great views.

Suddenly, I reached the 0.1 mile blue-blazed side trail to Dragon’s Tooth itself. Here I met up with a thru-hiker named Ewok. We went down together and arrived at a pretty impressive monolith.

We hung out and took pictures for 5 minutes or so then hustled back up to the trail junction, where I noticed that Ewok was almost out of water. I offered him a liter of mine, which he gratefully accepted and then went off ahead of me while I took a brief blow.

The descent was a rock scramble like I’ve never done before. There were several points where metal handholds had been bolted into the rock, without which I wouldn’t have been able to proceed.

Once the most challenging rock scrambling was over, the trail still did some serious rocky up and down stuff where you had to watch your step. Which is where I failed. My left foot slid between two rocks while my momentum was carrying me forward. Some gymnastics with my trekking poles allowed me to spin and slide my foot free, but not before straining the heck out of my tibialis posterior tendon. Trust me though, it could’ve been a lot worse.

It was hard to tell if this was a significant injury. My ankle was barking, but fully functional. So I kept on going.

I passed a young unprepared-looking couple dayhiking on my way down, just after the trail (for me) niced up a bit. They were about to hit the bad stuff. The young lady innocently asked how the trail was ahead of them. Without thinking, I deadpanned “you’re going to die.” This caused them to nervously confer and ultimately decide to turn around. I felt kinda bad about that. I didn’t really mean to be a fearmonger. Then again, they looked like prime S&R material.

The sign above was at the western edge of a broad flat area in Lost Spectacles Gap, which looked like it had room for a dozen tents. I stopped here to have a snack, then continued on.

Around 2 miles later I found myself at VA624. It was around 2PM and I’d come about 7.5 miles in 6+ hours. Not bad at all for me considering the terrain.

Despite the roadkill, I was hungry. About a third of the mile to the right was Four Pines Hostel, where a lot of thru-hikers had been staying. About the same distance to the left was the famous Catawba Grocery, which had a grill. Which means cheeseburgers.

I chose cheeseburgers and went left. ALWAYS go to where the cheeseburgers are.

This is why I always carry cash. A short while later I was sitting with 3 other thru-hikers including Obi Wan at the picnic tables out front, making quick work of 2 quarts of Gatorade Zero, 2 chili dogs, a cheeseburger and fries. FWIW, Catawba Grocery was very friendly and offered a full set of typical resupply options, including fuel canisters.

While we were feasting, the blue shuttle van from Four Pines pulled up and disgorged a bunch of thru-hikers, including Oats and Ewok, who exclaimed “there’s the guy who saved me” and gave me a big fistbump.

All of a sudden it was 3:00 and I had a decision to make. Could I hike 6 more miles to the next shelter on a barking ankle? I wasn’t sure. And then I overheard the thru-hikers talking about thunderstorms rolling in tomorrow morning; most of them were planning to zero at Four Pines as a result.

This was my last feasible bailout point too. I felt like a lot of things were guiding me towards making the safe call, so I asked the guy driving the van if he could ask Tom to pick me up when he got back. 30 minutes later Tom was loading my pack into his car.

Tom by the way is a GREAT guy. He was once again properly tipped after he dropped me off at the HoJo’s on 220 in Daleville, where I had foolishly made reservations for Saturday night. They were nice enough to move it up to the current Thursday. But I have to tell you, the HoJo’s is a dump. Obviously built in the 60’s and unmaintained since that time. My room had the stale odor of long ago cigarettes and fat sweaty salesmen. I heard every word of the heated argument the couple had in the room next to me. And the “full hot breakfast buffet” was nothing more than do-it-yourself waffles and muffins. No eggs, no meat. I see now why the thru-hikers were all targeting the Super 8. You are hereby forewarned. Day 4: 7.2 miles. Trip Total: 28.1 miles

A cool rainy morning greeted me before my drive home, and my ankle still felt tweaky, so I guess I made a good call. Certainly I wasn’t going to have had good weather when I would’ve hit McAfree Knob. The plan is to return and pick up this hike in June, perhaps in better fitness and hopefully in better weather.

So many things go wrong, and it all begins before I even set foot on the trail

Since the beginning of the year, I had had April 6-14 blocked off on my calendar for a section hike, one that was originally intended to be longer. But then life happened.

I am a USA swimming official, and my local club team was hosting it’s annual meet on the 6th. I felt obligated to work it, even though I no longer have kids on the team. And then that afternoon I had to speak at a funeral service for a friend who had unexpectedly passed. And if that wasn’t enough, our family then had to drive to Indiana for my oldest son’s senior college swim banquet (he swims for Ball St.). That was an 8 hour drive split over two days.

The banquet ended at 5 PM. I was detained an extra few minutes by a fellow swim parent who gave me an amazing gift of a case of Three Floyds Zombie Dust. One of the best gifts I’ve ever received.

So, I hit the road at 5:30 for an 8 hour drive to Daleville, Virginia. And somewhere in the mountains of West Virginia, traffic came to a complete standstill for over an hour. I finally stopped at a backwoods Bates Motel for 2 hours of sleep before awaking at 4:30 to finish my drive.

By the time I arrived at Outdoor Trails in Daleville at 7:15 AM, I was a fairly sleep-deprived mess.

I was supposed to have a shuttle driver waiting for me at 7:30.

He didn’t show.

Outdoor Trails didn’t open until 10:00, so I did the only thing I could do. Wait. And think terrible things about my AWOL shuttle driver.

At about 9:45 I wandered back up to the outfitter (still closed) and was soon joined by a hiker named City Slickah (from Boston). He happened to have the number for the shuttle driver at nearby Four Pines Hostel, and he called and hooked me up with Tom. I was profusely grateful- he’d saved my hike- so when Outdoor Trails opened I bought him a pair of gaiters.

Tom arrived around 10:30 with another passenger already in tow, a diabetic with infected blisters. They were searching for an urgent care clinic, but the one in Daleville had a 3 hour wait, so Tom decided to hustle me off to VA42 (Sinking Creek) before continuing the search for a doc.

I was dropped off a little after 12:30 and gave Tom a generous tip for helping me out.

However, this had me 4 hours behind schedule, so I quickly hoofed it across the road and ascended rolling pastures with views of nearby homes.

Shortly after entering the woods, I passed the famous Keffer Oak.

This tree is the second-largest white oak on the AT, with a circumference of 235 inches. It is estimated to be over 300 years old.

The trail began a rocky climb up towards the ridgetop. The stone stepwork was appreciated.

As I reached the ridge (a climb of ultimately over 1,300 ft.) I noticed bad weather rolling in. I tried to quicken my pace, but the trail was often rocky and contorted, which slowed me down. And eventually, the weather caught up to me.

At first it was just a drizzle, but the intensity of the rain quickly picked up. On went the rain jacket and kilt.

Small hail joined the party, and then up ahead looming out of the gloom was a large electrical tower. Naturally, right as I passed nervously under it, the first flash of lightning appeared, followed by booming thunder. More lightning bolts flashed around me. Being on a ridgetop during a lightning storm is a good way to die prematurely, so I bailed down off the trail and huddled under a small rock ledge for 90 minutes like a hobo until the lightning stopped and the rain tapered off.

Now pretty well soaked, cold, and nearly 6 hours behind schedule, I settled for stopping at Sarver Hollow Shelter, 0.3 miles down a side trail. I was the only one there, which was a bit surprising (I was hiking amidst an early thru-hiker bubble). I unpacked, hung up what I could to dry, put on my windpants and Micropuff vest for warmth, changed into dry socks, and kicked back to think about the status of my hike.

I had planned to stay this evening at Niday Shelter, which was 6 miles further down the trail. I ended up reasoning that I could make up those miles over the next 3-4 days without too much trouble. If things broke right.

Satisfied that my section hike was still on track, I went in search of the water source described in Guthook as a “deep pool.”

With nothing better to do, I decided to make dinner, a very tasty meal of Somali Spaghetti. I then checked on my gear (progressing adequately towards dryness) and fell asleep listening to owls around 8:00. Day 1: 4.2 miles.

As is usually typical for me, I was slow to get going the morning of Day 2. I slept in until 7:45, but once awake I took care of water, breakfast and packing fairly quickly and got back to hiking by 8:30. The climb back up the shelter’s side trail wasn’t terrible, and 15 minutes later I was back on the AT.

The trail along the ridge of Sinking Creek Mountain was plenty rocky.

There were several slightly sketchy areas of rock scrambling that were a bit challenging for this middle-aged guy with below-average flexibility.

Fortunately, the trail rewarded me with some beautiful views to the southeast after several miles.

At around 4 miles I reached a sign marking the Eastern Continental Divide. When we were kids we used to joke about how you could pee into two oceans at once from such places.

Water sources are scarce on these ridgetops. Here’s the best one I passed by this morning.

At around 12:30 I reached Niday Shelter after hiking about 6.5 miles. It was a perfect time and place for lunch.

I had planned on a quick snack lunch and a short nap, but I was soon joined by a procession of thru-hikers, all of whom were interesting to chat with. First to arrive was Physics, a student at Notre Dame taking the semester off to hike the AT. A few minutes later we were joined by Classic, a late 30’s attorney. Finally, the father-daughter duo of Hummus and Hobbles joined our lunch party. They were in the midst of a 3-week section hike, and it was Hobbles who was the badass hiker who had dragged her dad along for the fun.

Before I knew it, it was 2:00, and my body had decided to begin the process of fossilization while I was laying around talking. It was tough to get moving again.

Thankfully the trail trended downhill from here, and for a while was relatively rock-free.

Further down in elevation, the trail passed through one of the largest Lycopodium patches I’ve ever seen.

It turns out that this particular species is Diphasiastrum digitatum, aka ground cedar, running cedar, or fan clubmoss.

7.7 miles into the day I reached the parking area at VA621, where three battered hikers older than myself were laying on the ground. They warned me that the miles ahead would “ruin a man.”

I crossed the road and pondered my next move, consulting Guthook on my phone. It looked like there was a nice camping area a mile ahead next to a creek, right before beginning the 1,500 foot ascent of Brush Mountain. I didn’t particularly want to make that climb at the end of the day while my body was fading anyway, and I certainly didn’t want to do the water carry required to make a dry camp up there either.

Not far past the road crossing was a footbridge over a small creek.

A random trail sign alerted me to what was ahead.

Next was a large footbridge over Craig Creek.

Based on what I saw nearby, this is a creek that can flood impressively. Not too far after the creek I entered the Brush Mountain Wildnerness.

Trout lilies were everywhere. There was also a random patch of daffodils that suggested an old homesite.

Just as Guthook had noted, I found the campsite right as the trail began to ascend Brush Mountain. I picked out a flat site and pitched my Echo 2 tarp, got water, and futzed around with other camp chores. An older hiker named Jack (yes, that was his trail name, not his real name) wandered in and chatted for a bit before setting up his own camp.

I really like this tarp as my backup shelter on the AT. Including the groundcloth and stakes it weighs under a pound, and it feels like a palace for one person.

I cooked up an extremely savory dinner of Chicken Tikka Masala (recipe to follow in a later post) and had everything eaten and cleaned up in time to turn in at hiker midnight. The woods were unusually silent. Day 2: 8.7 miles.