Welcome to the Appalachian Trail – the Land of Highs and Lows

I wake to the sounds of sleeping bags unzipping, pads deflating, and tent stakes clinging together. Sometimes it’s still dark. Other times the sun has already lit up my tent. If I’m really unlucky, I can hear the pitter patter of rain. If I’m really, really unlucky, I’ve been awake for hours holding my arm out as an extra pole so my tent doesn’t cave in due to wind. The first thing I do is change into my hiking clothes that may or may not still be wet from the day before. I deflate my pad. I unpack my pack just to repack everything into it in the particular way that I’ve crafted so it all will fit and sit on my back just right. My knees ache and my feet have shooting pains as they hit the ground for the first time of the day (also known as the hiker hobble). I crawl out of my tent, and I wonder what the day will bring. I know only one thing for sure: I’ll walk.

There’s a way in which trail life isn’t so different from “real life.” In my daily life before the trail, I’d wake up, get ready, go to work, do my chores, eat, and sleep. The only difference now is that my job is walking, and just like my pre-trail life, there is a mix of bad days, good days, and days in between. I feel like I’ve been on a roller coaster ride the last hundred miles – and not just in terms of elevation gain and loss. I’ve had my highest highs and my lowest lows, with many twists and turns that I could never expect. I feel like the Appalachian trail is testing me, but instead of the “You Must Be This Tall To Ride This Ride” sign, it’s asking:

“Are You Worthy?”

To accurately reflect the nature of just how quickly things can change, I’m going to write this blog in a little bit more of “story time” style. If you’re willing, buckle up and come along with me for the ride that is the Appalachian trail.

The Highs of the Roan Highlands

I was eager to enter the Roan Highlands since my first step on the Appalachian trail. I visited the highlands multiple times prior to starting the trail, and every time I went, it felt like magic. Something about the grassy balds and panoramic views of the rolling blue mountains in both North Carolina and Tennessee made my heart sing. The highlands are even extra special because my first time ever camping alone was at a campground there back in 2017.

Leaving Erwin, TN with my normal crew (shoutout to the Ducklings!), I had a goal of camping in the highlands to watch both sunrise and sunset. There was rain and bad weather coming in later in the week, and it felt like every time we got to a nice view point on the trail, the sights were obstructed by rain and fog. And I mean ALL the good views – Blood Mountain, Clingmans Dome, Big Bald, and Max Patch (to name a few). While there is something beautiful and unique in its own way about seeing the mountains in these conditions, I was determined to see the views of the highlands in all their glory (literally, verbatim what Birdy has reiterated already in her blog). This meant crafting my own plan and getting ahead of some of the group by doing higher mileages in order to reach the spots that I wanted in time. Although I would miss my friends that I had been hiking with since mile 30, I felt capable of making choices for myself to get out of my hike what I wanted – and I wanted a sunrise and sunset.

I was feeling stronger. A 17.2 mile day led us to an old apple orchard that was an idyllic camping spot. The grasses were soft, and the blooms fell from the trees like snow. The sun set behind the trees, and I felt content. It was one of my favorite camping spots of the hike thus far.

View from my tent at the Apple Orchard campsite

The next morning brought another 17.2 mile day up and up to Roan Mountain. I breathed in deep as I meandered through a forest of spruce firs and smiled as the sunlight spilled in through the branches. When I got to Carvers Gap, I felt instantly excited. I couldn’t stop smiling as I walked up and over the balds. The sky was blue and the mountains were clear, and I was so, so happy.

We camped on the top of Grassy Ridge, which offers the only natural 360 degree panoramic views above 6,000 ft on the Appalachian trail. The sun began to set, and I felt my heart sigh. It was beautiful. It was perfect. I had walked 383 miles to get here. Everything in the world was right.

Sunset from Grassy Ridge

Winds kept me up half the night as my tent shook and threatened to cave in, but I didn’t even care. I had a sun rise coming. I frantically crawled out of my tent at 6:15 hoping I hadn’t missed it to find a scene straight out of dream. The clouds sank low overnight and snaked through the mountains at the lower elevations. The sky was painted orange and yellow and the mountains displayed various shades of blue. I wanted to cry. I wanted to laugh. We sat there for a while in the beauty. Pocket Hulk threw sticks for Birch. Hiawassee lounged back on his mat. Emilia apparently brushed her teeth. All was well.

Hiawassee and Birdy at sunrise on Grassy Ridge

I left North Carolina that afternoon and scratched another state off my list. Other than a small cough I was starting to get, I felt great. I was very unfamiliar with the AT terrain from this point on, and I was excited to explore uncharted territory.

Enjoying a granola bar on Little Hump Mountain on my way out of North Carolina

In Sickness and in Health

What makes a good story is a little adversity.

It was three days later. I had set my tent up in a single stealth camping site among the rhododendrons, feeling too weak to walk another mile to the shelter. As I was coughing so aggressively that I was gagging, I couldn’t help but think:

How did it get so bad so quickly?

I had just come off of taking a zero while the rest of my friends caught up, hoping the cough that had begun to worsen would get better. The night before heading back to the trail, my chest felt like it was burning and hives had started to break out all over my body. I was optimistic that it would all just go away, but as I set off to hike the next day, I knew that I was wrong.

It felt like all the energy had been sucked out of my legs. The uphills were brutal, and I was wheezing to the point that my chest felt like it was vibrating. And the itch – oh god the itch. The white, hot welts covered my arms, hands, back, and had started to spread to my legs.  I started coughing up yellow, hard mucus. I passed the 400 mile marker with hardly a smile on my face. My friends had all gotten ahead, and I remember sadly the celebration we all shared at the 300 mile marker, chanting:

Give me a 3! – 3!

Give me a 0! – 0!

Give me another 0! -0!

What’s that spell? – 300!

Managing to enjoy a waterfall on my 400 mile marker day

I continued on past some of my friends in the hopes that I could get to a town and pharmacy quicker, although my legs begged me to stop. As I finally set up camp, I fought the urge to cry. It felt like a cruel joke the trail was playing – to take me up so high just to bring me down so quickly.

I woke up throughout the night clawing at the bumps on my arms. The next day wasn’t any better. As I talked to some other thru-hikers on the trail, I began to suspect that my hives were the very thing I dreaded the most: bed bug bites. The welts began to turn more red, and it appeared as if a pattern was occurring. It turns out others on the trail had similar issues as me after staying at the same place. I’ve never had bed bugs before, but I am apparently very allergic to them. All I could think about as I hiked was my gear – what if I had bed bugs in my gear? I googled “bed bugs bites” when I had service and obsessed over the fear.

Like this but *everywhere*

I finally got to a pharmacy and stocked up on antibiotics, antihistamines, and hydrocortisone cream. I used what energy I had to wash all of my gear, spray my pack with isopropyl alcohol, and inspect my things for any signs of infestation. Even though I didn’t see anything, my peace of mind was shot.

Hiker’s High – the Damascus Marathon

If you’re hiking the AT, chances are you love a challenge. When my friends started talking about going for the Damascus Marathon, a 26 mile day from a shelter into the iconic trail town of Damascus, VA, I was all in. It would be my largest mileage day yet, but I had started to regain my strength despite the still itchy bites and wheezy cough. No new red spots or welts were appearing, and I felt more comfortable that I didn’t have to wake up every hour and shine my headlight on my sleeping bag to inspect it for bed bugs.

With the thought of a warm bed and shower ahead of me after a long, rainy day, I set out at 6AM for Damascus. I wasn’t even too bothered by the rain. I felt a buzz in the air as I walked through pastures and forests. The rain brings out the Red Efts, and I played a game with myself to see how many I could find (three, in case you’re wondering). By the time I was 20 miles in, the rain had really started coming down, but I embraced the puddle stomping and slid right out of the state of Tennessee and into Virginia.

A particularly chunky Ref Eft

I was on a hikers high. My legs were still restless, and I even found the energy to walk to the pizza place and brewery in town. I finally felt like my body didn’t betray me. It listened to my mind when it was told to keep going.

Goodbye Tennessee!

In the next few days, we continued to trek into Virginia. The views from Buzzard Rock were breathtaking, and I was excited for the Grayson Highlands (obviously, I have a thing for highlands). We camped on a beautiful spot by a spring close to where I would soon see the ponies. The sunset was beautiful, although I struggled to finish my dinner, which I wrote off as a lack of hiker hunger. Hiawassee and I joked that it would suck to have to dig a cathole up here, and we were happy there was a pit toilet in the parking lot two miles away. I went to sleep giddy for the next day.

View from Buzzard Rock

What Goes Up Must Come Down

What makes a good story is a little foreshadowing.

I woke to rain and wind whipping my tent, and I knew immediately something was wrong. But not with my tent – with me.

I was very, very ill. I felt nauseous, and it wasn’t long before I was unzipping my tent and running out into the storm to do exactly what Hiawassee and I said we didn’t want to have to do. I’ll spare you the details – but it wasn’t pretty.

The rain and wind were coming in hard, random bursts. Poe and Hiawassee took their chance to take off after checking on me. I told them I was okay – but I was lying.

I had to get off the mountain. When the rain subsided, I forced myself to pack up my wet things. If I could make it to the parking lot, I could call a shuttle.

Everything hurt. My body was achy, and not in the normal hiker way – in like an “oh-shit-I’m-in-trouble” way. Even my fingers hurt, and I knew I had a fever. The hiking was slow and brutal. I got to the parking lot, wet and freezing, and I decided that I had to call a shuttle to the nearest hostel or hotel. After finally getting someone on the phone, I sat down and started to cry.

I hate crying. It feels weak to me, and I’m always ashamed (I know this is a personal problem). It felt like the AT was kicking me while I was down. I couldn’t help but think: why me?! All of these things kept happening to just me.

Pocket Hulk came down to the parking lot with Birch. He consoled me and asked if I wanted him to wait with me for the shuttle, but I told him no (after asking if I could pet Birch for some dog therapy). Rage and her husband, along with her trail family, came into the parking lot as well. I had been leap-frogging with them since Georgia. Rage has already hiked the AT, and she’s a total badass. She put her hand on my shoulder and told me to take the time I needed before slipping me a York peppermint pattie.

*The* York peppermint patty

After waiting for almost two hours for my shuttle, I finally got to the hostel. I showered and thawed my frozen hands and feet. I couldn’t get warm, and I crawled into the bed and slept. When I woke up, I called my parents and cried some more.

Oh Honey, Is It Worth It?

My dad said this to me as I talked with them on the phone. I understand why he said it, because he’s my father, and he was listening to his daughter cry on the phone.

To answer my father – yes. There wasn’t even a thought of going home from the trail. I had made a vow. I had buckled up and decided to come along for the ride. I knew there would be bad days, just as much as I knew there would be good days. In sickness and in health, for better or worse, I was here. I had chosen to be here, and I would continue to put one foot in front of the other.

Walking is my job, but there is one key difference between this job and my last. Out here, the only thing I really need to worry about is walking. Out here, I can just think – without so many people or things trying to think for me. It feels ancient. It awakens something wild in me that has been begging to be set free. It is a reminder that I can do hard things – that I am as strong as I know that I am. It is worth it; all of it – the days sick in the wind and rain on the side of the mountain, the days basking in the views, and the days walking through the heavily vegetated forests. Every step is absolutely worth it.

The Finale

The next day I woke up and felt immediately better. Although my stomach was still upset, the aches and pain were gone. I decided to hike.

It was still drizzling and cold, but I needed to walk. I crossed the 500 mile marker. I saw the ponies grazing with the blue mountains of Virginia in the distance. I smiled, and I walked some more.

The famous Grayson Highlands ponies

I ended up walking twenty miles to a shelter that I wanted to stay in because of bad storms rolling through that night. I was late arriving due to my delayed start, and mostly everyone was already curled up in their sleeping bags at the shelter. As I walked up, someone sat up. It was Rage. She was visibly surprised, and she looked at me and said, “I didn’t expect to see you here!”

I smiled and said, “Me neither.” She offered the spot beside her, and I ate and got ready for bed. In the distance, lightening flashed in the sky. I closed my eyes, and I wondered what the next day would bring.