Three for Three

5:00 am.

After reflexively silencing my alarm to keep the camp quiet, I had to lie back for a few minutes to recall why I was breaking camp before dawn.

Right. Eight miles to the Virginia border, three more miles to Damascus, and five hours driving to Round Hill. Up. Retrieve bear bag … huh, one of the noobs took advantage of the extra line I left coiled on the ground to hang their own bag. Would have been less irritating if they had asked first.

Boil water, make breakfast. Stuff sleeping bag, change to hiking clothes, collect and pack gear while breakfast is cooling.

Big City packed as quickly as I do, but it took her longer to boil water for breakfast. She admired the design of my JetBoil®; we exchanged best wishes and headed off in opposite directions. Happy trails, m’am.

I passed the flip floppers’ tent site as I left camp northbound and waved to them. They seemed to be taking time to appreciate the final tent strikedown of their long adventure.

Smooth trail, easy downgrades and few upgrades, lots of energy … I was almost halfway to the border and taking a siesta when the flipfloppers overtook me, chattering about a weekend festival in Damascus they had heard about. The “Fall Down” Festival, sponsored by the local craft breweries? I made polite noises, encouraged them to accept the festival as the town’s recognition of their personal success as well, offered what I knew of good food locations in Damascus, congratulated them and wished them well.  

Some troubles keeping the backpack centered on my back took very little away from a great hiking day. I made the border by 11:30, next stop Damascus! The mountains looked remarkably similar in Virginia and Tennessee.

Eight miles done, three miles to go on a steep descent, muscles tiring. Two hours? I chose 2 pm as a target.

Some short and easy climbs reminded me of my limits — the Snail had already done seven miles for the day — I updated my target to 3 pm, and pressed on.

“Hello, good to see you again!” The flipfloppers, coming up from behind? They had stopped for an, umm, extended lunch. They rushed on before it occurred to me that I should have offered shuttle help, a little trail magic to ease the letdown of their finish.

Then, down. And Down. And Down some more. There are a number of switchback odysseys like this on the Trail, and Down is of course much easier than Up. Still, mind numbing, and it was a welcome relief when the Trail leveled out and a building roof appeared below the trees filling the valley.

Finally, Damascus. 3:15 pm.

Staying on to the End

No rain! Breakfast, pack, an earnest goodbye to Snickers the UL hiker and a less earnest see ya at the next shelter to the noobs. One of them woke the camp this morning,  screaming from his hammock at a creature moving through their area … it was his buddy, answering Nature's call. Good grief, sixty year old Boy Scouts.

Rolling! Do I keep going and struggle through eleven miles into Damascus tomorrow, or do I call for a shuttle? When the trail runs level, I'm for option A; when it tilts up or a chilly gust crosses the ridge, B.

Sunshine breaks out and seals the deal. On to the shelter!

I was the first-in at Abingdon Gap Shelter. Close behind, a cheery hospital social worker arrived. I offered help with hanging her bear bag.

A young flip flop couple stops in, and we recognize each other. I thought they would be miles ahead of me! They say that are finishing the Trail in Damascus. After a brief chat, they go off to find a space for their tent.

No sign of the noob trio, could they have gotten into trouble and given up?  As we are finishing up and withdrawing to our sleeping bags, though, they arrive, still headed to Damascus like I am.

To sleep. Tomorrow, early up and on the trail for eleven more miles, good weather anticipated!

Eleven miles? Don't let the Snail know.

Every End Is A New Beginning

Doctor Who? (the question mark is part of his trail name) and I took a while this morning convincing ourselves that it wasn't raining hard enough to justify crawling back into our sleeping bags. Nature and the promise of reaching Damascus got me moving first.

As I was finishing pack-up, I noticed that he was sitting and staring at the rain with a tired expression I have seen a few times on the Trail. “It won't rain all the way to Springer,” I offered.

“Yeah. But I'm done. Maybe next year.”

We offered best wishes, and I headed out into the drizzle.

This was a good test of my hunter orange rain kilt, and it passed with flying colors! It kept my lower body dry, was much more comfortable than rain pants. None of the half-dozen SOBOs who passed made disparaging comments, other than one woman who asked if hunting season was open in Tennessee?

A dayhiker joined in one of my SOBO conversations, unfortunately a chatty sort who wanted to talk about his prostate surgery. I helped the poor SOBO escape, but would up with “Jolly Roger” trailing me and chattering all the way to the next shelter.

Three more SOBO acolytes were taking a break there, all chattering about the members of their clan that were either ahead of or behind them on the trail. So, a full shelter … not. Everyone moved on but me. Why would anyone be fixing dinner at 4:30? Because it's cold, I'm wet, I'm tired, the next shelter is eight miles away, and I want to put on my warm dry stuff and curl up in my sleeping bag. Alone is fine, take care, happy trails, don't let the door slam on your way out ....

Except, a group of older guys out on their first multi-day AT hike rolled in. They plan to hammock out in the rain? Ok, have a good time …. And an ultralight hiker joined us and goes straight to set up on the shelter deck with me while the others go about learning how to set up camp in the woods when it is raining.

Thunder and hard rain tonight. Tomorrow, more rain? Possibly.

When it rains in Tennessee, hikers know it

Much cooler temperatures and only five hours of hiking, which the muscles appreciated. I made it to the spring before the rain started … once again finding myself filtering water while gallons of purer water are pouring from the skies.

Hiking skirt performed admirably, though. A pair of lightweight gaiters may help keep the boots dryer, but I doubt it.

Three SOBOs joined me in the shelter to watch the rain and rant about Everything Trailwise. Two of them then decided to brave the elements and push on, but the older one chose to close up and shut down. So did I.

Johnson Ridge

Happily, cool lake breezes helped break the heat this afternoon. At nine miles plus a 400’ climb for water at day's end, this has been a hard one. Beautiful views of the lake and the mountains and a full moon at Vandeventer shelter, though.

Full shelter this evening, an activist mother and her young teen daughter, a young fellow who excused himself to check in with his mother, and two veteran hikers.

Too tired to write more. Next stop, Iron Mountain Shelter.

Another Damascus Zero, and on!

Sorting gear, reviewing the hike, updating the blog, checking the weather … go or no? Dave at Mount Rogers Outfitters shrugged and said “You'll get wet, but you won't die. Unless you ought to.”  His bunkroom is closed for renovation, though (translation: too much trouble to open it up for a stranger). I reserved a shuttle back to Huntley in the morning, then walked down the street to the Hikers Inn.

  

Lots of Protestant churches in this town,  and there are a few Cory Stewart lawn signs and only one for Tim Kaine, our Democratic incumbent. One of the recent dust-ups down here involved a young white owner of a popular spot who pushed his strong views on white rights over the civility line with A Customer. He was publicly chastised (because, well, Customer), but he was widely supported by the community and given a warning by the police.

Common courtesy, isn't it? If a guest has different opinions and offers them politely, the host needs to treat the encounter as a learning moment, not an attack. On the other side, when one stops over at a place where people have invested themselves in a different worldview, it is not going to do any good to shout one's contrary views at them. I scrubbed off the bumper stickers before I drove south.

Choice for dinner downtown after 6 are limited, but fortunately the Damascus Diner stays open until 9. Meatloaf that needs no ketchup, grilled cabbage, and clog-your-arteries mac and cheese, bluegrass tunes playing in the background … Americana. It wears out fast for me, but I love the people just trying to be themselves.

Sure you'll want ice cream on that pah?

2179 miles in 2010. They decided that Damascus was best.

Off trail to resupply

On the way out in the morning, Rocket let me know that Honcho was rumored to have a casual attitude towards taking other people’s gear, another reason he had moved out of the shuttle last night. I lost nothing, hope that neither of the ladies were victimized!

The Trail a two thousand mile long small town, and it sounds like Honcho has a reputation problem. That is bad news for someone who is trying to live up here more or less permanently.

Southbound along the shore of a small river, I encountered a northbound daypacker who asked me if I had seen the turnoff for Jones Falls? Funny, I was just about to ask the same question … we agreed that whichever of us had missed it, the turn must be poorly marked.

Fortunately for me, it was he who missed the sign!

Jones Falls

Limping over Buck Mountain and down thru an overgrown meadow for a final few miles, I decided that I should demote myself back to Seven Mile Snail. I still get there.

Rocket was at the hostel ahead of me with a bungee strap I had dropped. The ladies, though, had not left camp when he did. I hope they enjoyed a happy day on the Trail!

Buck Mountain meadow

Usual end of week treat, provided by a young couple still busily painting and tiling their new store as the served ice cream and french press coffee (gratis, they were trying out a new grinder!).

Sweet Dreams Banana Split w/ baklava ice cream

Then northbound, with a zero day to restock and reenergize.