Gravel Springs Hut 1235.6 to Pass Mountain Hut 1248.7 (13.1 miles, 1248.7 total miles)
I got up at 7 this morning, feeling like I’d slept well, but could certainly have slept another couple hours easily. I had miles to do, though, and a wayside to hit 6.1 miles into the day.
Hannah and the other section hiker were up as I packed, and they headed out shortly before I heard Uncle Iroh and his dad rustling around in the shelter.
Famished, I brought my pack and breakfast up to the shelter to hang with them for a bit. The plan was for Tessa to pick them up sometime mid morning, where they’d return to Front Royal and hang out for the day before Mark was flying out early Sunday morning.
Iroh said he’d catch up to me by Elkton, asking if I minded if he kept tagging along with me. I told him I enjoyed hiking with him, and had experienced enough isolation in my past that I liked having the company.
As I ate strawberry pop tarts for breakfast, I told Iroh and Mark they were more than welcome to drive to Elkwallow Wayside and have lunch with me if they wanted. I said they’d have to give me a couple hours to get there, and Mark joked, “That’s all?”
I set off around 9AM, though it took till 9:07 to make it back up the .2 to the ridge again. Now that I’d said “a couple hours” to the others, I accepted it as a challenge to myself to get up and over Hogback Mountain and to the wayside by 11.
I’d noticed my legs and body had broken out in hives for the second or third day in a row. It was too early in the day to take Benadryl, not wanting to feel drowsy as I hiked, but I hoped they would go away on their own. I wasn’t sure what was causing me to break out, but it had happened before, so I wasn’t worried.
The day was very cloudy and muggy, with a 20% chance of showers and thunderstorms after 2PM. That percentage didn’t have me too worried, and I didn’t have any intuitive sense that I needed to be concerned, either.
I had 1.6 to take me to the top of Little Hogback Mountain, where there would have been a view if not for the clouds. The next steep .5, graded over 700 feet per mile, had me working hard to keep hiking fast up to the ridge.
I enjoyed the feeling of pushing myself, knowing that is how I’ve been able to become a faster hiker. I’ve learned the harder I push myself , the stronger my heart and lungs become, and the faster even my casual hiking pace gets.
Up on the ridge, I found a cloudy view, and stopped for 10 minutes to use cell service. When I looked back up, the clouds had cleared immensely, and I was treated to a pretty, but hazy view of the iconic Virginia rolling hills.
After a tiny climb and descent, I crossed Skyline Drive for the third time so far in the day. The trail often parallels the road, and I can catch glimpses of it or hear cars driving by often.
There are also many power lines through the park, I’ve noticed. It certainly feels like a very civilized park, compared to the White Mountain National Park. The only real comparison I can find is that the waysides remind me of the AMC huts.
Right after Skyline, I hiked by a full parking lot, and saw a woman with a young girl looking at the posted map. I asked if they needed help with anything, and they said they were trying to get on the Sugarloaf Trail.
I gave them directions to follow the AT across the road, and turn right at the concrete marker, happy I could help. One little bump on the ridge brought me to the beginning of my descent to the wayside.
I saw five birds that looked like adolescent turkeys possibly, as I spooked them when I began zooming down the mountain.
The sun was now fully out, and the grading got a bit steeper descending the last three quarters of a mile. I had been hiking in silence, enjoying some time with myself and my thoughts.
I got to Skyline right next to Elkwallow Wayside at 11:03, which I was very pleased with. I didn’t see Tessa’s car anywhere, and wasn’t sure if everyone would be inclined to stop or not.
Either way, I knew I was getting hot food, even though I also knew it was going to cost me. Sure enough, I spent nearly $20 on a burger with chips and a blackberry milkshake.
While I waited for my food, I found a sunny spot to lay out my long sleeved shirt and socks, which were damp from the day before. I tried to find an unobtrusive place, because soon the wayside was crawling with non thru hikers.
I tried to plug my phone into an outlet around eye level outside one of the buildings, but it fell right out and my new charging block cracked. It seemed okay, and I closed it back together, but realized I’d shut the skin between my thumb and index fingers into the plastic.
A man standing nearby, who was charging his phone on the other side of the outlet and tried to warn me too late, asked if I needed help. A little panicked, imagining ripping a chunk of my flesh out and bleeding everywhere, I told him I was alright.
He watched as I smashed the block on the ground twice, trying to crack it open again. It didn’t break back open, but something worked, because my hand was free again.
I dumped my trash, and ate my food, which was quite good and worth the money for an undoubtedly large amount of calories and the mental boost of having a hot lunch.
I laid down on the picnic table bench, resting my eyes for a bit, until the man from earlier told me he was done charging and it was my turn.
I charged for a bit, getting my battery up to 77%, before I started packing up to leave. I was a little disappointed I hadn’t seen the others, but was sure they had things in town they wanted to do, and Mark had been talking about Chinese food this morning.
While waiting for my phone to charge, I realized I had no other form of entertainment. I missed having a book, especially seeing Iroh reading his lately.
I went back into the wayside store, to see if they sold books inside. I browsed the shop full of Shenanhoah themed merchandise like sweatshirts, keychains, and shot glasses.
I perused the camp store again, which had plenty of resupply food, and when I’d circled and still hadn’t seen any books, I made my way to the door, where I finally noticed the little shelf of books I’d walked right past twice.
There were mostly maps and guides to the park, but I saw a few non fiction books mixed in. Grandma Gatewood’s Walk caught my eye, and I read a few excerpts, deciding if I should buy it or not.
Emma Gatewood was the first woman to hike the entire Appalachian Trail solo, and she overcame significant hardship in her life before hiking. I knew about her, but had never read the book before.
It had taken me the entire first half of my hike to read the other book I’d been carrying, but I was around a lot more people then. If ever there was a time to carry a book, I thought it might be now.
I cringed when I saw I’d be paying $17.99 for the book, knowing I could have most likely bought it used on eBay for $2 if I was at home, but I was feeling a bit lonely, and thought having a book handy would be good for these moments.
I grabbed an 80s looking Shenandoah sticker for one of my trekking poles, where it would fit in the last small spot I had room left, and checked out, ready to hit the trail.
I hiked out a little after 12, figuring on three hours or so to get to camp, 7.4 miles ahead. The day had become overcast again, and I was watching closely to see if the sky got too dark for my liking.
As I continued descending back on trail, I kept an eye out for a piped spring that had been listed in the guide. Someone had commented it was better than the wayside spigot water, but I must have hiked right past it.
I found the stream that was the last water till the shelter, which was very low, and took a while to get even half a liter in the water bag.
After filtering, I sat on a log, my morale suddenly feeling rather low. Going to a wayside for lunch would have normally been something I’d do with my hiking partners or trail family, and it felt different to do it by myself, just not as fun.
I also realized my stomach was feeling uncomfortably full, as the burger had been large and the chips plentiful, not to mention the milkshake.
Feeling a bit anxious on top of it, for no reason, wasn’t helping. I sat for a few minutes gathering my thoughts, and decided now was a good time to put on something to listen to as I hiked.
As I climbed a short mile back up to the ridge, I put on ZABA by Glass Animals, an album I’ve listened to many times and first heard on trail in 2015.
After that, I put on an episode of Without A Country. At the top of the second, very small climb, I took one more short break and had some propel.
It still hadn’t rained, though the humidity remained present, making me very sweaty for the amount of hiking I’d done.
I passed several day and section hikers, and stopped for a couple minutes to talk with a middle aged couple who seemed very kind, and interested in my hike.
I answered a few questions, and before parting the woman told me, “I admire you for chasing your dream.” It was a beautiful thing to say, and would stay with me for a while.
I finished my last climb, and descended down toward the shelter. I was starting to feel quite hungry, and had only a sip of water left in my bottle.
I got to the spur trail at 3:30, and the clouds had cleared up for the moment. I saw the next shelter was 4.4 ahead, and wondered if I should keep hiking, since the weather was nice.
It was supposed to possibly rain tomorrow, then definitely rain the day after, when I had my 20 mile day into town. I started trying to calculate and change my itinerary to accommodate the weather.
Meanwhile, the only water nearby was .2 down the ridge to the shelter, or 1.4 ahead at a parking area. Then I’d have to climb a decently sized mountain to get to the next shelter, where the water was then a quarter mile down the ridge.
But the next shelter had rats living in the privy apparently, plus I was supposed to meet Tessa at another shelter tomorrow evening, and I was already halfway down the spur trail, needing to pee and have a snack.
Basically, my OCD was suddenly running rampant and sending me into a tailspin. I kept stopping and starting down the side trail, opening my itinerary, opening the guide, closing it all again, and repeating.
I was so unsure of what to do, and finally told myself to go to the shelter since I was almost there and get some water.
It had actually taken me 15 minutes to walk .2 downhill because I was so in my head and on my phone. I got to the shelter at 3:45, and saw no one there.
I’d just put down my stuff, when I heard voices coming from the side trail. I was in such a mental state that I just grabbed my water bag and walked to where I thought the spring was, to avoid the people coming down.
Past a couple tent sites, I found a place to pee, then sat and kept letting my OCD go into overdrive. I sat there for several minutes, repeating the same compulsions, while another 15 minutes went by.
Eventually, too much time had passed for it to make sense to hike the .2 back up and then to the next shelter, and my decision was made for me, by simply wasting a lot of time. It wasn’t the first time, and I was feeling incredibly frustrated with myself.
I also then couldn’t find the piped spring the shelter was reported to have. I went back to the shelter, where a woman was sitting with two dogs.
Before I saw them, one dog let out a booming bark, and I was feeling so hypersensitive that it totally threw me for another loop.
I walked down a blue blaze and still couldn’t find water, so I went back up, grabbed my pack and went back to the tent site.
I heard the man come back to the shelter nearby, and he said he’d found the water. I could just see him through the trees, so I went back to the shelter to go to the pipe.
He saw me, and pointed me in the right direction. I was grateful, but feeling very uncomfortable because of my mental state still, so I grabbed two liters in my water bag, and scurried back to make camp before they could ask me too many questions.
I set up in a nice spot, keeping my rain fly off, but watching the clouds as they rolled overhead. I filtered and drank water, and ate a bag of Fritos. I thought I might be more hungry and thirsty than I thought, and hoped that would help.
I sat on a log and started reading my book, eventually making a chicken and mashed potato Mountain House for dinner and eating that while I read.
The book was quite good so far, and I sat engrossed in it for an hour or two, trying repeatedly not to beat myself up over the fact that I didn’t hike more miles today.
It really wasn’t a big deal. I had enough dry socks to last me two days, and on the second day I’d be getting to town, so it didn’t even matter if my stuff was wet.
I wondered if suddenly being alone again was that jarring to me. It was only for the majority of a few days anyway, but it was something I might have to get more and more used to on this half of my hike.
It felt strange, because I felt like I’d been so practiced at being alone in my past, and my NOBO experience had been about learning to let people in again, and how much I valued community.
What did it mean that I was now down south and being confronted by solitude more regularly again?
It had felt throughout my entire life all I’d wanted was to be close to people, but despite my best efforts I always ended up alone. That was a story I definitely needed to stop telling myself.
There was a lesson here I was sure, something I needed to get a handle on. Maybe reading about Grandma Gatewood would help make it more clear.
Just before 7, I was walking my food bag out to the bear box near the shelter, when I saw the couple sitting there with their two dogs. They had started a fire and were eating dinner.
I was feeling more friendly by then, and engaged in conversation readily this time. I learned they were from the D.C. area on an overnight trip. They were quite friendly, even offered me a ride into town tomorrow and food if I needed it.
After chatting for a bit, they asked if I wanted to play cards. I told them I had some writing to do, but if I finished early I’d come back and hang, now slightly regretting my earlier self imposed isolation.
Here was the company I’d wanted, and I had completely avoided it because of my anxiety, due to being alone. It was not a cycle I’d call healthy, and surely a pattern I’d had in my life all along. Something to pay attention to.
After 45 minutes of writing, on impulse I decided to go play cards. Nick taught Hillary and I how to play clubs, and I spent an enjoyable 45 minutes or so with them, before they wanted to get settled in for the night at 8:30.
I was glad I’d spent some time with them, and wished I hadn’t had an anxiety attack earlier this afternoon, so I could have made a quicker decision and enjoyed either outcome better.
I’d been doing really well lately, not being so hard on myself and getting stressed over little things. However, the best thing I could do was have some compassion for myself, and not get worked up because I’d gotten worked up.
Obsessing over my anxiety wasn’t going to help anything. If I let it go the best I could and trust everything would work out the way it was meant to, I’d be a lot better off.
There were so many times I got myself stressed over things that worked out fine in the end. I needed to really understand that there were no “right” or “wrong” decisions.
There were only decisions and outcomes. If I didn’t like an outcome, there would always be a next time to make a different decision.
Progress is progress, and though my anxiety had shot through the roof, it had only been for a few hours, and then went away when I ignored it for long enough while reading. The whole rest of the day had been wonderful, when I stopped feeding into the anxiety, I let it spin itself out into nothing.
Tomorrow would be a fresh day, with new decisions and choices to make. Did I want to be worrying about yesterday tomorrow? Certainly not. I’d rather shake it off and do better next time, every time.