Day twenty-three, 23 miles
The weird movie sound stops and it’s dead calm. I build up condensation in my tent as I try to stay warm. But the morning is a blue sky all around.
There’s something intoxicating in the air in the Appalachian Mountains. It’s clear, fresh, and in spring, filled with an aroma of wild flowers. I must admit, I’m absolutely smitten.
We can see the peaks around us through trees, then come upon bubblegum pink rhododendron in bloom like fancy caps resting on a platter of rubbery leaves.
It’s a good ascent to the “Beauty Spot,” and we decide since we pushed so hard non-stop in the rain, to pull off the speed a little and let this day unfold.
The one problem with that plan is big of thunderstorms return in three days. Sure, I could duck into a hostel and wait it out, but I’ve set up a quest to walk to Virginia. So the ideal strategy is to take advantage of this gorgeous day and savor every last drop.
Plus walk every last minute.
That strategy offers two things: enjoying the cool, windy, sunny perfection in the mountains while it’s available and pushes us further along for when we have to dive into a shelter to wait out a deluge.
Still, moving steady works and we slowly rise to an open bald with stunning views all around. Jeff and Gabby catch up and we all sit down to soak it in and replenish our bodies with more calories.
I had such a poor attitude towards this trail before walking it. Having spent so much time out west, I figured these mountains were for lightweights, the views mostly obscured and the terrain far from astounding.
How wrong I was.
Yes, there is a lot of work walking up and down ad infinitum through the forest to get to places as breathtaking as the Beauty Spot, but the forests are enchanting in and of themselves.
We see one forest far in the distance, hemlock like a row of Christmas trees atop Unaka Mountain. It stands in front of us like a leviathan, seemingly far and enormous, not possible to climb.
But step by step, up and up we climb through moss-covered hardwoods that gradually change to a pine forest straight out of Snow White or Little Red Riding Hood. The trees take up all the light and space, crowding out other species. A group of hikers meet us at the top which takes away some of its fairytale edge.
Down and down we go, deep purple larkspur lining the path. An older hiker with a long gray beard and a double-breasted fanny pack reading “Navy” passes and tells us trail magic awaits.
That’s when we put on the speed.
‘Emoji’ is parked at Iron Mountain Gap with a trunkful of treats. She’s a grandmotherly trail angel with long gray hair and tells us 31 hikers have come through already.
But there is more than enough left for us. It’s not just bars and chips, but resupply stuff like coffee, Knorr dinners, bars, moon pies and meat packets. OK, maybe the moon pies aren’t proper resupply material, but you get the idea.
Jeff and Gabby are here too, and we try not to overeat, but hiker hunger is in full gear now. Emoji seems perfectly happy filling us up.
As we munch, the day hikers come down, members of the Johnson City Hiking Club who did a bit of trail maintenance by removing blowdown trees from the trail. I thank them for all they do and tell them how much we appreciate their work.
It’s time to go with about seven miles left to hike. Moxie suggests we push past our intended campsites – as well as the shelter which apparently has a resident bear sniffing around tents – and do one more climb to a knob with fabulous views.
It requires us to carry water the last mile, which Moxie is nervous about since the last water is a bit off-trail and could be dry. I feel confident after so much rain, so we press forward, talking the entire way.
It’s been a long, wonderful, ecstatic day, but we begin to really feel it on the last few miles. Both of us admit if we were alone, we might not be able to go as far. We need each other to keep going forward.
We pass the bear sniffing shelter, then come to the final water. A blue blaze leads us steeply down 50 yards to a decent spring, though I’m pleased I thought to bring my scoop.
Then it’s a heavy, wobbly climb up the last bit for the day to one of the richest views of the hike of an ocean of mountains all the way to Virginia.
Jeff is camping right above as is Grubb Worm with his painted tent, numerous crushed Corona cans and thick Tennessee accent. He walked the trail last year, and now just keeps fit on shorter out-and-backs.
We set and eat in big, cold wind, then head back the wee bit to the view for a glorious sunset.
What a day! One of the very best and shared with friends plus a tough hiking partner who keeps me moving forward and I, her.
And the best part? We just crossed the 100-mile-to-go mark to Damascus. We’re crushing it!
They say the Northern Lights are active tonight, but I am cuddled into my sleeping bag, dead tired but deeply satisfied and may have to imagine them tonight in my dreams.
