Reid’s Gap 1349.1 to Harpers Creek Shelter 1357 (7.9 miles, 1357 total miles)
The morning started out wonderfully, the rain from yesterday evening had dissipated, and a cool breeze was wafting its way through the open sides of the rain fly into my tent.
My alarm went off at 7, and it got snoozed, then eventually turned off. Iroh’s alarm went off at 8:10, as always, and got turned off as well. At 8:59, I decided it was time to get going with the day.
B2B had already eaten breakfast at the picnic table beside my tent, and we asked her if she wanted to hike 15 miles today. The original plan had been 21, but there was some big elevation in there, and with such a late start, I thought a smaller day made more sense.
B2B headed out as we were packing and getting ready to eat breakfast, and Iroh and I had a long conversation as the day warmed around us and I dried my tent in the sun.
His wife was coming to hike with him in about a week, and they wanted to spend some time as just the two of them hiking together. I had learned that last night, and was trying to process the loss of yet another hiking partner.
This had been a pattern repeatedly on the trail, due to various reasons. It always hurt when I was hiking by myself again, at least at first, though I always landed where I needed to be.
However, there were so many less people on the trail going south that I felt a bit of trepidation. I also saw how clearly excited Iroh was for his wife and their dog to come out and hike with him.
I was really happy for him, but selfishly couldn’t help but feel the voids in my life that triggered for me. Having recently gotten out of two serious relationships this year, and still mourning the loss of Frankie, my envy for all that Iroh had and the loneliness I’d been fighting on and off throughout my entire life threatened to engulf me.
By the time we’d packed up and were standing on the side of the road under a cloudless sky, it was nearly noon. Mentally I wasn’t there, and just wanted to be in the woods alone to process everything, but that required getting a hitch first.
It took about ten or fifteen minutes, but an older couple in a white Grand Cherokee turned around for us, and we hopped in the back with their eight year old daughter, Isabella.
Isabella was smart, outgoing, and a real sweetheart. Robyn, her mother, explained to us that they were driving the Jeep around because it had been having mechanical issues, but they help out hikers in the area whenever they can.
Robyn rightfully told us we stunk, and turned around in the passenger seat and handed us two Mike’s Harder Lemonades. They were all really kind people, and even stopped at the gas station on the way to the trailhead for us.
I’d told Iroh that the comments in Far Out were saying that the Priest Shelter logbook had been removed from the shelter after becoming full, and he wanted do something about it.
The logbook was notorious on the trail for being a place that hikers confess their “trail sins”. I’d thoroughly enjoyed the experience of reading through it in 2015, and had been very excited to read the trail sins of all my NOBO friends from this year.
Alas, this was another thing I’d been looking forward to since the start of this hike, and another disappointment I’d had to weather. However, Iroh had a great idea to take it upon ourselves to replace the book and start a new confessional.
I was feeling melancholy, and not really wanting to bother, but he convinced me that it would be good trail karma and worth doing. I couldn’t argue with that, and I knew he was trying to cheer me up and saw it was important to me.
At the gas station, the women behind the counter rustled up a purple three ring binder, and an inch of college ruled notebook paper to put inside, at no charge. We explained what we were doing, and that they were now trail angels, too.
I grabbed some pop tarts, skittles, a cold cut sandwich, and a small bottle of fireball. We’d already been handed alcohol, so I thought I might as well keep the party going, especially because the brewery had been closed the evening before.
At the trailhead, we saw B2B and her former partner, another SOBO hiker I hadn’t met yet, Lost and Found. After our ride drove away, we sat next to the parking lot drinking and eating lunch.
Several people in cars waved to us as they passed by, unfazed by the hiker trash hanging by the road drinking in the middle of the day on a Tuesday, no doubt used to it for many years.
I was drinking my feelings, and knew it wasn’t the best thing for me, yet I felt like throwing caution to the wind. I’d been going through a lot emotionally lately, and just didn’t want to feel anymore.
Iroh and LAF hadn’t seen each other since New Jersey, and I was enjoying Iroh meeting people again that he hadn’t seen in a while, vicariously living through that feeling I used to have and see around me much more often when I was going north.
Another SOBO hiked up that LAF knew named Blast and we all ended up hiking out at 1:45PM, one of the latest departures I’ve had on the trail this time. The aim was now to go 11 miles from the road, to a river with tenting, though I wasn’t even committed to that.
I’d redone the itinerary almost daily for the last week, so I was used to switching plans all the time now, and also wanted to finish hiking before dusk.
A little tipsy, I felt like I was floating along the trail at first, as we began ascending out of the gap. Iroh was first, followed by Blast, Lost and Found, then me. B2B was finishing packing up as we’d departed.
I was right on Lost and Found’s heels, and felt I could have easily passed everyone if I wanted to, but really was more interested in hiking alone at the moment. I purposefully slowed my pace until I was by myself, enjoying the feeling of solitude in the forest I was craving.
I already had music on since the gap, and jammed out on the mile climb, then nearly mile long descent. I spotted the others stopped ahead at the spur trail to a shelter.
Blast and LAF hiked ahead, but Iroh said he wanted to night hike the binder to the Priest Shelter, which I told him he was welcome to do but I wouldn’t be joining for. I need time in camp to wind down at the end of the night, and knew the Priest was a very steep climb.
He said he wanted to wait for me to do it tomorrow, but insisted on carrying it under one arm for the duration of the day, pretending he was in a video game carrying an artifact to a sacred site.
I let him go ahead of me again, needing space to let my feelings run through me as I hiked. Most of the next 3 miles belonged to the climb up Three Ridges, which had plenty of switchbacks and grading that wasn’t too challenging, but was a little steeper than I’d been used to the past couple weeks.
I’d previously thought I’d hiked Shenandoah south with Pockets last time, but had realized it was this section we had southbounded. From Rockfish Gap we’d hiked south to make up some miles, and I wasn’t sure how far we’d gone south, but it was interesting that I’d only ever hiked this section going south twice now.
I stopped at an unreliable spring coming from under a large tree, that was certainly flowing well after the recent rain. I’d started to feel very tired, the alcohol wearing off and the lateness of the day hitting me then.
It was 3:07 and I told myself just to rest if that is what I needed. I filtered some water, ate the rest of my skittles, and mixed up a Gatorade and caffeine in my Body Armour bottle to get myself going again.
B2B arrived after a while, and we commiserated for a bit, both on the emotional struggle bus due to recent events. She left before I did, and I filtered another half liter and got going again around 3:40.
The caffeine helped me get up the rest of the 1.4 to the top of Three Ridges, where there wasn’t much to see except a couple tent sites and a sign. I started down the mountain to descend 2,200 feet of elevation over 3.3 miles at 4:23.
The descent was very rocky, but with several more switchbacks on the way down. I passed one hiker going up almost at the top, and listened to a podcast as I noticed a couple nice views of the Priest ahead, and watched stick bugs traverse the trail around me.
The descent seemed to take a long time, and I pulled my phone out at one point to check how close I was to Harpers Creek Shelter. I knew I had to stop there to collect water, as the water at the river we were planning on going to wasn’t good for drinking.
It was 5:30 by then, and I was hoping people were stopped up ahead at the shelter to stay for the evening. Coming off the mountain was slow going, and there wouldn’t be any daylight left if I was to continue the 2.7 past the shelter to the river.
I already knew it was dangerous to use my phone and hike, and as I was opening the guide I stepped wrong, and fell very hard, slamming my hand into some rocks to my right, knowing I did it to myself.
It was difficult to stand back up, the weight of my pack lurching forward over my shoulders. My screen protector had cracked a little, and the heel of my right hand had split open in a few places.
I was still .8 from the shelter, as I’d gone through all that to find out, and I poured water on my right hand to clean out the cut as well as I could for the moment. I hiked on, holding my right trekking pole gingerly from the top as I kept descending.
Finally, I got to the shelter spur trail just before 6, and was happy to see B2B there, and happier to hear that Iroh was there as well. She wasn’t sure if she was going to continue on like the other two had, but I was more than happy to call it a day.
When I saw Iroh he said he’d keep going if I wanted, but we were both in agreement that staying was the move. It had felt like a very long day somehow, and B2B ended up joining us at the shelter as well, feeling much the same.
I cleaned my cuts with an alcohol wipe, neosporin, and put on a band aid. I swept out a very large pile of what looked like rat droppings from the shelter before eating dinner at the picnic table with the others. Iroh strung up two bungee cords so I could have a clothesline for the evening.
It was chilly, and Iroh was the only one of us in good spirits, cracking jokes to cheer us up as we sat at the table next to Harpers Creek, which was flowing in a little canyon next to the shelter.
I had Mountain House beef stew for dinner, and looked at pictures of Frankie, Tika, and Peanut on my phone for a while. It wasn’t making me feel better, but it seemed cathartic to reminisce on my prior life and remember the good times I had, and tell myself that I will have love in my life again one day.
Life moves in cycles, and it isn’t fair to begrudge someone having something that I want. I’ve had those things at times too, maybe not to the same extent, but the last thing I’d want is to ever make someone feel bad just because they have what I want.
I stared intently at a photo of Frankie and I standing under the arch at Amicalola Falls in Georgia back in 2016. That arch is the unofficial start and end of the trail, and I tried to picture myself actually standing there again.
This time it won’t be with Frankie himself, but with the pin that looks like him that I’d carried on almost every mile of the trail so far on this trip. It was hard to imagine completing this hike in that spot in the not too distant future.
Today was one of those days where I knew that I would never quit this hike, but I wondered if I should quit. If I was strong enough to even make it, or if I should quit before I had a chance to fail.
Again, it isn’t even in the realm of possibility for me to terminate this journey early, but sometimes thinking these things, really probing my mind, helps me clarify my intentions in a real way.
Some climbs are harder than others, some days more difficult, and certain miles downright feel impossible to hike, but I know if I keep putting one foot in front of the other, I am always one step closer to my destination. As always, the trail echoes life, and I know I have positive changes coming. I just have to get myself through the hard times first.