Day twenty-four, 23 miles
The sun rises a deep orange and reveals a sparkling morning, blue sky above. This is a very good thing because we are about to traverse one of the most important regions ecologically and one of stunning beauty.
It’s the Roan Massive, a series of mountain balds with grassy tops open to views as far away as Virginia’s highest peak, Mt. Rogers.
But perhaps most important to us on foot, high and exposed is no place to be in a thunderstorm, so having a brilliantly clear day is a true gift.
It never got too cold last night and the wind stayed high in the trees. My spirit bird, the nuthatch, repeats his nasally thwack-thwack-thwack as we quickly descend to a road and begin our five-mile, 2,000-foot ascent of Roan Mountain.
We move quickly up through maple into beach, rock outcroppings providing stair steps. The wind is icy cold, hitting me hard on the side of my face. I assume I’ll heat up as I ascend and the sun rises higher in the sky, so just keep moving.
I always find it amazing how quickly I rise as a trail winds around on itself. First, above the road, then above where we camped, then seemingly floating in the air.
The leaves create a stained glass window effect of the light and it’s lovely even as I work. Soon, we hit Ash Gap where people are packing their tents to follow us up.
This last few miles enters a dark Red Spruce and Fraser Fir forest. Apparently this mix is quite rare and survives because of the cold and damp conditions. The Carolina Northern Flying Squirrel calls this fairy forest home as does the Saw-whet owl.
We hear many birds and our own heavy breathing as we climb tight switchbacks up to the ridge. Here, remains of the Cloudland Hotel are scattered in a meadow. Nearby, is the highest shelter on the AT, full to the max.
I’m shivering from the cold wind so we find a sunny and sheltered spot for me to put on my rain gear. Both of us have frozen fingertips we try to keep warm as we drop down from the Mountain on a rock-strewn trail to meet Carver’s Gap right on the North Carolina/Tennessee border where a packed parking lot indicates others have figured out this is a fine day for a walk.
Here we say goodbye to the dark forest and begin walking over a series of balds.
What is a ‘grassy bald community?’ It’s large areas atop mountains kept free of trees by a combination of factors including weather and prehistoric megaherbivores like mastodons.
Today, elk and deer continue the tradition, leaving behind lovely rolling mountains that look tended to by a massive team of gardeners.
Before we even get started up the hill, a day hiker offers us trail magic in the form of chocolate which powers us up Round Bald. Here we take pictures of each other and another sweet young thru-hiker. I also dodge a barrage of invasive questions about hiking by a woman who forgot to start the conversation with, “Hello.”
It’s still fiercely windy, but the sun has warmed things up, and most people find somewhere to set a blanket out of the wind and enjoy the expansive views.
We meet a couple who camped atop Jane Bald who tell us the wind snapped their tent poles so they slept wrapped up in the tent fabric. They’re smiling, so it couldn’t have been too traumatizing.
We rise further near Grassy Ridge Bald, but skip the spur up since a long day is ahead of us.
Now it’s down, for a good long four miles or so. The trail enters forest, but hardwood and filled with bright green grass and flowers. It reminds me of the hills in Tuscany above Florence. The sun offers just the right amount of light, the wind freshness, the colors so alive and verdant and the smell, delicious.
At Overmountain Gap we meet the Overmountain Victory Historic Trail used by colonial rebels to join forces against the British. They must have gone over a different mountain since our trail intersects it and cracks straight up to stunning Little Hump Mountain.
Again, the trail feels as if passing through carefully tended fields in a pastoral setting, offering magnificent views of the layers of mountains far into the distance – plus a few farmhouses below.
Near the top are rock outcrops, worn into curious shapes. The rock on the Roan Massif also provides a home to rare plants which thrive in harsh conditions including roan bluets and Greenland sandwort.
We snap pictures and marvel at the scenery, seeing that the actual Hump Mountain is higher and we’ll climb it too, the last of the five.
If only we could fly, the mountain is just there with its trail visible, but it’s another descent past a rushing spring where I get water to get to this chunky monster’s base. The wind howls and throws me sideways, but I’m no longer cold as we march up.
What a spectacular day! Lucky me to have timed the weather this way and walked over this special place in magical light and cool, dry conditions.
I marvel my little body carried me so far and didn’t fall apart when I teased so many miles from it. I’m grateful for all of it.
Well, maybe not so much for the five miles down to a stream where we planned to camp.
The final view of Hump is from the side where it looks just like that, a massive hump. Then it’s back into forest, albeit magical in its own mossy way.
But the trail is very rocky, requiring careful steps and literally sucks the last tiny bit of remaining energy from our bodies. We pass lovely Doll Flats because we want to put ourselves as far ahead as we can possibly muster before rain slows us down.
But descents are painful on the feet and we’re shot. Conversation ceases as survival mode clicks on. Town is a bit noisy, but a sight by a babbling brook should cover it up.
Down, down, down. The last hour is always the longest, the final miles as if doubled.
But finally, there it is, empty and waiting for us. We set our tents with doors facing so we can talk and get down to the business of chores – filtering water, washing feet, setting tent, eating and dropping off to restorative sleep. The flow of water over rocks and a wood thrush are the last sounds heard today.
