534.5 miles, 1,065,901 steps

Hay there! Over the past few days, I’ve trotted through two of the most hyped-up locations on the AT. Host to the grandest hiker festival, Damascus is the quintessential trail town. To the north sprawls Grayson Highlands. The combination of rocky outcroppings, gorgeous overlooks, and unique wildlife grant this spot a stable place in the top five most-loved sections (though nothing dethrones Maine and the White Mountains, apparently). I’ve just entered Virginia, yet already it seems I’ve taken in the best of what is has to offer.

Zooming out a bit, I checked off numerous milestones. I reached 1 million steps, sitting 10 miles shy of the 25% mark! I’ll recount the others as they come. Without further stalling, let’s hoof it to the daily logs.

Day 37: Monday, March 11

Boots Off Hostel to Iron Mountain Shelter – 15.9 miles

I snaked around Watauga Lake throughout the morning. It had a strong “liminal space” effect: the lack of vehicles in parking spaces, families at picnic benches, waders in the surf, or boats gliding along the surface was more than a little off-putting. I longed for the warmth of summer and aquatic adventures with my family in Florida.

A humble new ingredient changed my lunch landscape. Lauded by bodybuilders and backpackers alike, olive oil contains unparalleled caloric density. At nearly 350 calories per ounce, it dominates the top of my food-valuation spreadsheet. Relatively inexpensive beginning with the same letter as “oatmeal” what’s not to love? Well, I had been packing butter instead for the superior taste. But with warmer temperatures threatening to melt the sticks into a salty puddle, this week was the time to make the switch. I added a moderate three sporkfuls into the couscous. After downing the bowl, a profound sensation of fullness washed over me. For the first time in the backcountry, my body ceased clamoring for calories. At the end of my hour break, I was raring to tear up the trail again.

The remainder of the day was a climb up to a 4000 ft ridge, where I’d be holding constant elevation and bearing northeast for the rest of Tennessee. It wasn’t until late afternoon that the lake and its tributaries faded out of sight among the trees.

Day 38: Tuesday, March 12

Iron Mountain Shelter to “The Place” Hostel in Damascus, VA – 26.4 miles

On Saturday, Kyle told me about the “Damascus Marathon” from Iron Mountain Shelter to Virginia’s first trail town. I didn’t commit to the idea right then and there, wanting to see how Monday went. Waking just before sunrise, I felt all systems were “go” to accept the challenge.

The course was particularly suited to a long haul. The elevation profile was reliably flat until the the gentle decline into the valley. Mid-morning I came to a highway crossing, where a trail angel deposited a cache of electrolyte energy drinks. Interesting views were lacking, so I kept my head down and pounded out the miles.

Halfway down into the valley, I officially crossed into Virginia. Knowing that I now roam my state of residence brought some peace of mind. The wilderness seemed a touch more familiar, although the surroundings are honestly identical to Georgia. I have departed the southern states for the mid-Atlantic, but have I truly escaped “the south” yet?

Damascus was amplified in every respect compared to the last trail town, Hot Springs. Locals in their yards or out for a stroll offered cordial waves or even congratulatory salutations. The pavement guided me through the town park, an aesthetic balance of green space, playgrounds, pavilions, and historical literature. On main street the asphalt gave way to patterned bricks, many of which were dedicated to loved ones or displayed amusing quips. Several murals splashed along the side of buildings celebrated adventure and the outdoors. Even though a full month remained before the Trail Days festival, the whole town seemed lively and ready to welcome travelers.

While I tend to avoid lodging more than once per week, I made an exception here. The first “church hostel” I’d encountered, The Place is operated by the local Methodist community. Flipping ahead in the guidebook to ascertain the general character of these establishments, it seems this non-profit variant of hiker hangout is more bare-bones and family-friendly. Sleeping arrangements are bunk houses or tenting (no private rooms, which I never book anyway). Additional services like showers, laundry, and kitchen are more up-in-the-air. A donation is requested in lieu of a set fee. Guests are permitted to move along without dropping a cent, and if a specific dollar amount is suggested  it will be less than typical rates. Restrictions are tighter, such as limiting length of stay and forbidding drugs or alcohol, to discourage rowdy clientele. Maintained by volunteers rather than paid staff, lodgers are expected to be extra diligent about keeping things tidy (though this is good etiquette in any hostel).

Setting foot into the cozy house modestly furnished with second-hand articles, I digged the simple vibe. Beyond the kitchenette, the dining room led to a common area featuring comfy chairs and an assortment of board games. Though I was the only guest, there was space for a dozen. While the laundry situation was outsourced, the fridge, microwave, WiFi, bathroom, and bunk were perfect for a midweek stay. I don’t plunge into the wilderness seeking or expecting luxury, so I’ll cheerfully accept chipped plates and mismatched chairs if that’s what keeps the suggested contribution at $10. Just the basic mattress, outlet, and running water are enjoyable enough after (half) a week’s march.

After registering with the caretaker and dropping my pack, I scurried to the Damascus Diner. I followed along with the final spin of Wheel of Fortune as I waited for my food, only deducing the first word of “S_T_SF__T__N    ___R_NT___” before a contestant solved. The chicken sandwich was very nice, though not quite as cohesive or tasty as the Smokey Mountain Diner in Hot Springs. Sauntering up to the dessert case, I inquired about the double-chocolate cookies. The staff generously offered both to me for free as it was 15 minutes before closing. Even if this act of kindness was standard operating procedure for them, the unexpected treat capped off a superb evening.

I’ll rate Damascus an 8 out of 9 hostels in the vicinity. I was warmly received, though one serious drawback was lack of any grocery store within the town itself. Damascus Diner is definitely second place to Smoky Mountain Diner, but I’ll assess a solid 16/22 letters in “Satisfaction Guaranteed”.

Day 39: Wednesday, March 13

Damascus, VA to Lost Mountain Shelter – 15.8 miles

I chatted with the hostel’s caretaker, Bayou, over my morning oats. He’s done the AT as well as visited most National Parks. He placed Alaska and the Grand Canyon as his favorite visits, upholding the trend I’ve observed with other nature tourists I’ve queried.

Before leaving town, I had several errands to run. First was the post office to shop home a few past-season winter articles. Ditching the base layers and heavy gloves halved the clothes bulk and removed a whopping 2.5 lbs off my back. I kept one pair of base layer pants to stave off the 20-degree nights, but the other pieces were only necessary for near-zero temperatures. After purchasing a fresh propane canister and draining a bottle of chocolate milk, I was finally on my way by 10:00 AM. For comparison, I already had 6 miles under my belt by this time yesterday.

Some time later I caught up to a middle-aged gentleman going by “Neo”. When I inquired about the meaning of the name, he explained that he was seeking truth. We soon engrossed ourselves in philosophy, theology, and a dash of apologetics. He undertook the AT to grapple with difficulties from his Evangelical upbringing, desiring to sift through his worldview and distill objective truth, if it could be found. I shared how my “Why” stems from my journey into mature Catholicism. We progressed into a respectful discussion of our different understandings regarding scriptural interpretation, church authority, and the nature of objective reality itself. I was greatly pleased to find such an intellectually honest individual who could endure disagreement without taking offense. Before shifting to casual topics, we marveled at the glory of creation, in awe at how each rock, twig, and leaf profoundly yet subtly proclaims the glory of God.

As our meeting seemed to be ordained by providence, so too our parting. He was camping much earlier than me to meet up with a friend tomorrow, where they would take a leisurely pace. Although I greatly desired to continue our conversation, I needed to speed up to reach Marion by the weekend.

Day 40: Thursday, March 14

Lost Mountain Shelter to Old Orchard Shelter – 24.2 miles

A jam-packed day. Right from the start was an aggressive climb up to Whitetop Mountain at 5000 feet. Though elevation leveled out, the packed soil turned quite rocky. This delayed my progress significantly, requiring that I meticulously plan each step among the stones, limiting the shock to my ankles and likelihood of slipping. Small hills become arduous as I hoisted myself over knee-high ledges. Ididn’t accomplish the halfway mark until 3:30 PM. I debated taking the 1/2-mile side trail to the top of Mt Rogers (the highest point in Virginia), but knew I was too exhausted and needed to trudge on. The rocks eased up from time to time, but did not let up entirely until I cleared Grayson Highlands State Park.

So yes, the day was physically demanding, but my mind was in another place. My feet took on a rhythm similar to a two-step as I drifted from boulder to boulder. Keeping my center of mass as level as possible, I floated along the path. This called to mind several classical pieces, especially by Vivaldi. In a way beyond my powers of description, the melodies of violins and oboes paired magnificently with the sun-dappled pines and moss. I was glad to be forced to slow down and bask in the song of creation.

Two small episodes occurred as I entered Grayson Highlands. As I met VA 600, a Google Street View car motored by. The prospect of my hike being immortalized on Google Maps amused me, and at the end I’ll check back to see if my picture was added to the location (if you’d like to as well, search Elk Park Trailhead)  Second, I noticed a shadow dart past my right foot as I bent down to filter water from a stream. I comically cried “Ah! Snake!” and lurched backward as a harmless mustard-tinted reptile retreated into the pebbles. It served a humorous yet humbling reminder to be on the lookout for more danger noodles.

Though occupying a handful of the AT’s mileage, Grayson Highlands State Park makes the most of it. The grassy plains and slopes are scattered with stony obtrusions. The way passes through Fatman Squeeze, a brief and confined rock tunnel. Though I was impressed and do agree there is some special touch to the landscape, Grayson Highlands didn’t quite captivate me as did the Smokies or Laurel Falls. Perhaps exhaustion limited the park’s ability to touch my soul. I’ll admit, I was pretty disappointed to not catch sight of any of ponies as I closed the north gate behind me. The park officials maintain a population of wild horses that graze the park (and surrounding recreation area, though I didn’t know that yet). Apparently, it helps balance the unique ecosystem. They’re what the Highlands are known for, but it appeared I’d need to pay another visit to spot them.

But as I was passing through a shrubby field around dusk, I spotted one just 10 yards ahead! I managed to capture a mare with her foal against the sunset-crowned ridge in one of my favorite photographs I’ve ever snapped. Whistling a tune to alert the heard of my presence and spook them as little as possible, I slowly maneuvered past the nearest horse as it veered away from my direction. Catching the ponies at this time of day was worth the wait. I stumbled into another small group sleeping near the flat ground used for tenting around the Old Orchard Shelter. The beam of my headlamp illuminated a dozen or so figures rising and slipping into the trees.

Day 41: Friday, March 15

Old Orchard Shelter to Partnership Shelter – 23.2 miles

Determined to get a head start before showers set in, this was the first morning I started before light. Even from my youth, being up and active before the sun brings me satisfaction. I relish witnessing first light blossom into full radiance.

That is until cloud cover emerged. Just like last week, no more than a sprinkle, but the overcast light dampened my spirits. This exacerbated the fatigue accumulated over the week. Several times I coasted to a halt and dropped my gaze to my shoes, grasping for the courage and incentive to shuffle on. In the afternoon the gray broke up a bit, and I was bounding along the trail to the tune of “The Sun Has Got His Hat On” from Me and My Girl. But the beams didn’t last, and it was a slog to reach the final shelter before I could head back to civilization. In truth, it was the allure of pizzas and fresh fruit that dragged me through this day.

Day 42: Saturday, March 16

Shuttle to Merry Inn in Marion, VA

This weekend’s hostel is situated on the floor above the outdoor supply store, right in the heart of downtown. Quite a change from the rural farms I’ve grown accustomed to. Whereas rustic operations tend to compartmentalize amenities across several structures, here appliances and furniture were efficiently consolidated into the floor plan of a medium apartment. I took advantage of the location to check out the pizza at Moon Dog Brick Oven. I took them up on the Saturday special, a $10 large one-topping. Ladies and gentlemen, it was one of the finest pizzas I have ever tasted. Cheese gooey but not runny. Sauce perfectly balancing sweet and savory. Crust toasty yet chewy. Phenomenal. Period. While the wait staff was very overwhelmed, this only gave me more time to enjoy the country tunes from the live country duo. A hands-down 6 out of 6 steel strings.

Day 43: Sunday, March 17

Marion, VA to Partnership Shelter

The time shift and rhythm of trail life has me naturally walking around 5:30 or 6:00, unless I was behind on sleep. By the time sun was coming up, I had cakes on the griddle. I selected nutritious blueberries and bananas for toppings, in addition to some leftover caramel sauce I dug out of the fridge. Reading and soft music rendered a calm start to the day.

The pastor for Marion’s parish is also a fairly recent Hokie grad. In fact, he’s visited Virginia Tech several times as a seminarian during my tenure to speak about vocations. Bumping into an old acquaintance after spending 6 weeks with strangers was unexpected and otherworldly.

Returning from mass, seven new arrivals had poured into the hostel. Neo was a surprise reunion, though a stomach bug forced him into town early. When hikers accumulate, the conversation almost always turns to food. We quickly bonded over our collective struggle to package enough fuel and key nutrients, resenting the necessary evil of highly-processed meals. Several others took great interest in my food spreadsheet, and I gladly emailed them copies. Given the frequency of requests for this tool, I’m contemplating adding more features and finding a method to share it with the broader backpacking community.

Pancakes for lunch. I scrambled eggs to assemble my own flapjack sandwich.

At 4:00 PM I met the driver to drop me back off at the Partnership Shelter. Spending two nights off-trail was a wise decision in the early weeks, but I reduced this stay to allocate more budget to food (especially fresh produce). Nowadays, I go about town chores much more efficiently and don’t need two full days. Hostels tend to not mind if you linger after the formal check-out time, as long as you’ve vacated the bunk, allowing me to enjoy 1.5 days for the price of one.

I prepared tonight’s meal ahead of time, toting it in an extra ziplock back. You guessed it, pancakes for dinner! Nothing left to do but sweep the floors, pray a rosary, and watch the sunset from my sleeping bag.

Coming Soon

Reports indicate that a flock of Hokies plans to ambush me around Pearisburg…

Pebbles

New birds: Red-bellied Woodpecker. I saw some kind of falcon or hawk, but birds of prey are the weakest area of my ornithology.

Songs in my Head: Pomp and Circumstance by Sir Edward Elgar (the whole thing, not just what plays at graduations), Blue Danube Waltz by Johann Strauss II, Oboe Concerto in C Major II and III by Vivaldi, and Have You Ever Seen the Rain by Creedence Clearwater Revival.

Funny Trail Names: Lard, Wampus Cat, Just Visiting (which makes me wonder if I’m in Monopoly jail)

In case you’re curious what I consume for sustenance, I photo-documented my town groceries and trail foods. What you see spread on the bunk yields over 18,000 calories and most nutritional requirements, not including the dehydrated meal I keep as emergency reserve. The full bear canister weighs 13 pounds. The newest addition to the trail diet is 2 Tablespoons of salt to replenish electrolytes.

Staying safe through the “reign” and the “colt”,

Max “Frassati” Stelmack

P.S. Okay, okay, I know these horse puns are pasture limit.