I slept fitfully and when I get up, I walk back down to the shelter to filter water for my hike today. I have a lot of elevation to do, so I want to be very hydrated before I take off. The shelter denizen is still sleeping; I can hear them tossing and turning. I wonder why all sleeping pads have to be so noisy, always sounding like squeezing a potato chip bag.
The stream is too shallow for me to collect more than one cup at a time, so I scoop out a depression in the stream bed and let the silt settle to the bottom before I can collect the water. I end up taking 45 minutes to filter three liters! I could be over a mile up the trail by now.
I make my morning cold protein latte and drink it while I pack. By the time I get packed and on the trail, it's almost 9 am. I am tired and dragging hard, but will take my time and get to wherever my feet take me today. I have nowhere to be but a little farther north of where I am now. I am greeted by a nice looking deer on the side of the trail.
I am climbing up for what feels like forever, but it's only been two hours. The sun is peeking through the tree canopy, and the birds are singing. The temperature is mild and the day is going to be a beauty.
I arrive at Cornelius Creek Shelter after a punishing hike, the water weight really adding to my struggle with the climb. It took me almost FOUR hours to hike the five miles here, which is double the time this would take me on flat ground. I feel a little dejected, because I am only about halfway to the next shelter and water source, and I am discouraged by the length of time it took me to get here. I should be doing better, not worse.
The sound of vehicles on the Blue Ridge Parkway only deepens my already dark mood. I could so easily hike out of here and hitch a ride somewhere. I decide I need to get my head out of my ass and I will sit here until I can turn my mood around. I spread out my clothes and gear to dry out in the sunshine. Everything is dank from camping down in the valley, where it is remarkably more humid than up here. I prepare a tortilla with salmon, mayo, and relish, and eat some freeze dried fruit. I drink a copious amount of water.
Slowly I can tell my attitude is shifting toward positive. I think I just needed a break from feeling like I am working all the time and just need to take in what makes me happy. On the bright side, I have done about 60% of my climbing for the day. And I arrived with almost one liter of water, therefore I don't have to carry so much for the next 5.5 miles, so my pack won't weigh as much.
After an hour, feeling satiated and decidedly in a better frame of mind, I leave the shelter to continue uphill, of course. The next couple of miles are some of the nicest I have hiked on this trail in a long time. I just love this type of woodlands, where ferns carpet the expansive woods, the birds chirp overhead in the trees, which sway in the breeze high above. If there was a place where I would expect to see gnomes and minotaurs, this is it.
The trail is lined with lady's thumb and nettle, just far enough off the trail to not brush my bare skin. I am walking by mature jewelweed and touching the little seedpods, delighting in having them pop in my hand when a backpacking woman about my age walks by. She has the long gait, lean legs, and determination of a thru hiker. She stops and we chat a little while.
She flip-flopped, hiking north to Katahdin and then flipping down to Harper's Ferry. She has already hiked twenty miles today, and plans on another 10 or so. We talk about the solitude of the trail, slack packing, and resupplying. Her pack is very small and she has nothing hanging on the outside of there pack, a smart water bottle in one side pocket and a hiking umbrella in the other. We talked for some time, but didn't even exchange names, this being the ephemeral nature of the trail.
I appreciate that the Sobo thru-hikers tend to stop and talk more than other hikers, probably because they don't see very many other hikers on the trail, especially during the week. Unlike their northbound counterparts, south-bounders have to be very comfortable with being alone.
About three hours after leaving the last shelter I crest the top of Apple Orchard Mountain. I have been seeing the top of the big white weather radar station for the last quarter mile. Behind a sign announcing the elevation is a campsite carved out of the fir and beech trees. This would make a wonderful camping spot for the the view, but the wind is blowing quite hard, which would be less than pleasant.
I take advantage of the unobstructed view of the valley below to call home. The wind is blowing too hard to hear much, however, so I keep it short. I walk back into the woods and start the 0.3 mile descent toward the next feature of this day, which is The Guillotine. The Guillotine isn't as terrifying as it's name suggests, rather it's an unusual rock formation, where a boulder is wedged between two rock walls, the trail traveling underneath the boulder.
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| The Guillotine |
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| Looking up at The Guillotine |
I cross the Parkway once again, and only have to walk a short way to the Thunder Hill Shelter. I planned on filtering water and will take advantage of the picnic table to eat my dinner here. I may even set up my hammock and camp here tonight, but my mileage today is so low, that maybe I should keep going.
I round the side of the shelter to see an older gentleman sitting on the edge, his sleeping gear ready for the night inside the shelter. We introduce ourselves, and chat while I filter water and rehydrate my dinner. He is a south-bounder who also flip-flopped. I ask him if he has seen the frog that supposedly lives in the box spring, and he reports he has not.
There are some floating bugs and debris in the spring, but no frog. The water tastes a little stale, but beggars can't be choosers, so I pony up and chug a liter while chatting with the hiker and eat my dinner. We talk amicably. He is from Delaware, so we are practically neighbors. He has been hiking with a young lady with red hair, who he is expecting at any time.
I scarf down my chicken and rice freeze-dried dinner way too fast, and consider eating more. As much as I would like to stay here and chat with this nice man, I feel like I should get another mile or two under my belt, so I say goodbye and keep walking as dusk is falling. I pass a young lady with red hair who has a thru hiker tag on her pack, and exchange a hello with her, letting her know that the gentleman she is hiking with is waiting for her at the shelter.
Now I have seen 8 thru hiking women and 4 thru hiking men. The women are outnumbering the guys two-to-one.
Now that I am ready to make camp, I'm realizing I screwed up by not making camp at the last shelter. This area has seen a fire recently, and that means widow makers overhead; trees that can fall at any time. The underbrush is super thick as well with lots of greenbriar, poison ivy, and blackberry canes. I walk for what seems like a long time until I get out of the burned area, and by the time I find a decent spot, it's pitch black in the woods.
I'm closer to the road than I would like, but no one would see me in here even if they were looking for me! The brush is dense, and I am pretty far off the trail. I make camp quickly and go to bed immediately.
Today's Stats: 12.3 Miles, 4373 feet gain, 2290 loss
Trail Stats: 774 Miles, 172K elevation gain
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