Harpers Creek Shelter 1357 to Seeley-Woodworth Shelter 1371.2 (14.2 miles, 1371.2 total miles)
It was quite a chilly morning, that of course began with me snoozing my alarm for a while. Back to Back surprised Iroh and I when she hiked out at 8AM and said goodbye on her way out.
We got up around 8:30, though it was difficult to do in the cold morning air. I found I was feeling immensely better, however, having realized what was bothering me the day before, getting the opportunity to process things alone, plus a good night of sleep, which often makes more of a difference than I think.
I had a nice conversation with Iroh as we sat at the picnic table eating breakfast and drinking hot tea, and we were both very excited to climb the Priest Mountain and deliver the new logbook.
We were hiking down to Tye River by a little after 10AM, though there was some unexpected uphill first. It was a gorgeous, cloudless day with very little humidity, and warmed up quite nicely as we got to the other side of the ridge to descend.
It was starting to feel like classic southern Virginia to me already, as we hiked through tunnels of rhododendron bushes and around little corners that curved in between the ripples of the mountainsides.
We discussed our quest as Iroh continued to carry the purple three ring binder in one hand, trekking pole in the other. Both of us avid writers, we were having a great time designing story and myth around our pilgrimage, casting the characters that had helped us, and drafting a poem of the journey.
Acorns fell hard from the trees around us, but the mountains seemed to support our mission with fair weather and plenty of good energy. We passed a family hiking down to the river, and got to the suspension bridge spanning Tye at 11AM.
We had traveled 3 miles to the river, and when we were almost across noticed a man on the other side. He had a big, bushy beard, an orange baseball cap, and a gregarious demeanor.
His name was Truman, another SOBO I hadn’t met yet, but who Iroh had hiked with briefly in Pennsylvania. We told him of our mission, and invited him to a tea ceremony we were going to have.
He was a “reformed Catholic” like Iroh and I – raised in the religion but having found our own alternative spiritual beliefs throughout our lives. We drank jasmine tea, passing the cup around and dedicating the drink to our hike of the “sacred text” up the mountain.
We were by the bank of the river for 40 minutes during this time, and Truman told us that he was waiting for Ben, another SOBO he was presently hiking with. Truman thought they would join us at the same shelter for the evening, and asked if he could walk with us up the mountain.
We told him the more the merrier, and set off just before noon across the road and up into the forest, crossing into The Priest Wilderness of the George Washington Forest.
We stopped at Cripple Creek just over a mile into the climb to filter water, as the river water had been listed as not a good water source for drinking. I ate a handful of pistachios before we moved on.
We had Truman take the lead with me in the middle, and made our way up the steep climb. It was a 4.5 mile ascent of 3,100 feet in elevation gain, my first real climb since starting this half of my hike.
It felt wonderful to power my way up the incline, though this mountain had switchbacks going the whole way up, unlike almost any ascent I could remember in the north.
The extended climb felt like home to me, though, and I relished the exertion it brought. After another 1.4, we reached a view, though it was a bit of a false summit. I could have sworn we’d made it to the top, but we still had another 1.2 to the flat part of the real summit.
We enjoyed baking in the sun on the hot rocks, eating more snacks and drinking water. We were all soaked in sweat by then, and were soon joined by Ben, the other hiker Truman had mentioned.
Ben looked highly familiar to me, and me him, and we tried to place where we’d seen each other when I was going north. We landed on Hikers Welcome being the most likely place, as he remembered Sour Cream, who was there when I was.
A man hiked down from the mountain with a beautiful dog, and said he’d been disappointed by the climb because there was no view at the top. I decided not to mention the side trail he’d missed with a very nice view on top of the mountain.
After a bit, we continued on, the four of us now hiking in a procession. I asked Iroh if I could carry the binder to the finish, not having had a chance to carry it yet.
I held it in my right hand, the one I had fallen on the day prior, and liked the feeling of the extra challenge of hiking the steep grade with only one trekking pole, as Iroh was carrying my other one for me.
The trail rose up and up, as we circled the summit like vultures, ascending ever higher to our destination. Finally, we reached the flat top of the mountain, and stopped at the Ledges, which was the side trail the other hiker hadn’t known about.
It was 2PM, and we set up on the exposed rock to eat lunch, and have one more sacred tea ceremony with the binder. It was a very fun time, and I was loving how many more southbounders we’d met lately, feeling the trail community embrace me once more.
We arrived at the side trail to the Priest Shelter just after 3PM, making a whole ruckus as we presented the logbook to the shelter, a pair of hikers already there highly amused by our antics.
Octane and Sensei were late NOBOs intending to travel as far north as they could, but not wanting to flip. They seemed like the journey had been good to them, and were still having a life changing trail experience.
After making a cover page for the logbook and confessing my trail sin with Iroh’s one pen that he donated to the cause, he and I sat for a meditation with the book by the water source with a candle I had found in the shelter, as Ben and Truman hiked on.
The meditation was deeply fulfilling, and I reflected on how I literally am who I am as a person because of this trail. As golden afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees around us, I felt incredibly grateful to this trail I loved so much and meant the world to me, even when it tested me so regularly in every way.
Before we departed the shelter, we said our goodbyes and well wishes to Sensei and Octane, who had enjoyed our performance and were very happy we’d brought a new logbook.
I asked them if they liked Fireball, and Octane told me they did. I handed them the little bottle of whiskey from my pack, telling them it was trail magic. I wasn’t interested in drinking it anymore.
Back on the trail at 4PM, we had another 6.9 miles to go, but the terrain was much easier than what we’d done earlier, and I cruised down the mountain with Iroh.
One moderate descent and three little climbs brought us to Spy Rock, a .1 side destination just after 5PM. I said I wanted to go there, because I remembered it being a lovely view from last time, my memory jogged from a comment I’d read about it in Far Out.
Iroh was happy to take the blue blaze with me, and we arrived onto an open, rocky dome of with views all around us. It reminded me of a very miniature version of the view from Mount Garfield in the Whites.
It was very worth the side trip, and we sat in the sun for a while, soaking in the good vibes of the deed we’d done today. The Priest Shelter logbook is an integral part of any thru hike in my opinion, and Iroh was right when he said it would be excellent trail karma.
I knew I meant it when I said Virginia was my favorite trail state. Even after Maine and New Hampshire, Virginia held something special for me that ran deeper than views and monolithic mountains. It was an energy that I felt to my very core.
I told Iroh I thought of him as the new purple three ring binder, and I was determined to deliver him to his wife and their pup in good mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual health, then let him go and hike on until it was time to meet again.
This was different from all the other times I’d parted ways with various hiking partners and trail families I’d had before. Those were sudden, jarring experiences. I was very happy to have this time to continue traveling together, knowing to make the best of it and enjoy it to the fullest, able to emotionally prepare myself for the departure ahead of time.
We had just 2.7 left to camp at 6 when we got back on the AT, which I knew would take us an hour at the most. I’d realized I was comfortable traveling at a 3 mph pace, and that it felt like the same amount of effort I used to output to achieve 2 mph.
It was funny to me because 3 mph used to feel like I was dying, now it was very much cruising altitude. I’d also realized that trying to push myself into a 4 mph pace consistently was probably what had caused my extreme tiredness within the last week.
I felt like I’d learned within the last couple days to stop competing so much and hike the pace that made the most sense for me given the context. I already know what I’m capable of now, and don’t need to prove anything anymore, not that I ever really did.
I’m also not a fan of repeatedly burning myself out, and have realized if I can shelve my ego and not worry about anyone else’s pace or being the fastest hiker, I can concentrate more on endurance, which is what this hike is really about.
We hiked through a darkening forest, under apple trees that recalled the Wizard of Oz and exchanged stories about Katahdin and the 100 Mile Wilderness. Iroh and I pushed ourselves up the last couple climbs of the day, tired from our earlier exertion up The Priest and the late hour.
We got to camp just before 7PM, both relieved when we saw the shelter sign that took us a short distance to Seeley-Woodworth, where we found Truman eating dinner at the picnic table, and Ben gone to get water .1 down the ridge.
I got my dinner rehydrating, then set up in the shelter, relieved there were no mice droppings in this one. Iroh kindly filled my water bag and bottle when he went to get his own water, which I very much appreciated.
I had to use my headlamp to finish eating dinner, while afterward Ben and I enjoyed tea with Iroh and Ben gave us a couple bags of peanut M&Ms when I said I was craving chocolate.
Truman and I had earlier traded an apple he picked for some of my peanut butter crackers, and I’d given him some Benadryl in exchange for Advil, as he now had two bee stings on his right ankle.
None of the trades were necessary, as everything would have been freely given, but it was just an example of how generous and resourceful the hiking community could be.
Overall, today had been one of my best days on trail. We’d turned a disappointment into a call to action to add to the experience of other hikers, I’d gotten to revisit some memorable places in Virginia, and had a great day with SOBO friends.
As usual, I’d bounced back from a crisis stronger than before, but that was only because I tried to figure out what the trail was trying to tell me. It taught me the lessons I needed to know, and when I surrendered to them, the resistance passed, and so did the pain.
The only constant is change, and there would be more challenges to weather. But the wonderful thing about reaching the top of a long, arduous climb was the moment it was behind me, I could look back and say that wasn’t so bad after all, and I’m stronger than I even knew.