A Photographic Journey...

February, 2010

Appalachian Trail, NC/TN

Our journey begins at the base of Yellow Mountain in Avery County, North Carolina. After getting Kenny's SUV stuck and unstuck several times (an adventure unto itself), we finally park and unload. Snowflakes are already wafting sideways, and the snow is 2-2 1/2 feet deep.

We hike in snowshoes, a necessity in the deep snow. And not that it is a huge concern in the Appalachians, but we all wear protective eyeglasses to guard against snow-blindness, a more dangerous threat to mountaineers. The ones you see above belong to a friend; they are authentic glacier glasses that eliminate glare and shield the eyes from the elements.

We hike 2 miles to the shelter and drop our backpacks. Then - as the skies clear - we hike higher. Looking back, you can see the Overmountain Shelter, where we'll stay over night. In the far distance, Roan Mountain touches the sky.

The Overmountain Shelter. Look closely and you can see the tracks where Will and Chris did some impromptu sledding on a plastic sheet!

The higher we climb, the more interesting the ice formations! Just one of many up there! In some places, there are "ice globs" the size of grapefruits hanging from branches! (See previous posts for photos of these).

We are running out of daylight but push on, regardless.

Kenneth looking intense, as usual!

As the sun sets, we must turn back. Here, Chris and Will admire the view amidst gently falling snow.

During the night, the temperature drops to 12 degrees, but with winds as powerful as 24 mph, the windchill factor makes the temperature -1 degrees! Snow pours through the wooden slabs and leave their frigid mark on our sleeping bags as we sleep not-so-peacefully. In the morning, we awake to howling wind and swirling snow clouds. We can no longer see the valley and decide to hike back to the car before things get worse. As we trek through the storm, the snow's average depth appears to be 4 1/2 feet. In some places, snow drifts tower above us, reaching close to 7 feet! We are relieved to find the SUV not covered in snow, and we're able to high-tail it outta there with our frost-bitten fingers and toes still intact!

Photo of the Week # 17

"White Sun Setting"

Appalachian Trail

Little Hump Mountain, NC/TN

Chris leads Will, Kenny, and I back to the Overmountain Shelter, where we'll spend a dangerous night amidst howling winds, swirling snow-clones, and temperatures far below freezing.

Photo by Sir Evan with Nikon Coolpix S570

The Motion Picture Event!

Welcome to the Adventure

I now present to you, Manventure '09: The Motion Picture, in all of its epic glory. Enjoy!

(enlarge to full screen for the best view)

And keep a watchful eye on the horizon: part III is still on its way!

Pilgrimage in the Mountains: Lessons from Virginia's "Triple Crown"

Part II

A Rocky Start...

Saturday, November 7, 2009

The mountains are alive with sounds: birds squawking, leaves rustling, branches swaying, and distant,

mysterious murmurings. Nature's alarm clock has no snooze button. We crawl from the toasty security of our goose down cocoons and throw open our tent flaps, emerging into the crisp, mountain atmosphere at 3,000 feet. Dragon's Tooth beams down on us, the early morning sun glimmering at its perforated edges. After lowering the bear bag, we indulge in a healthy breakfast of granola, oats, and dried fruit, fuel for the day's daunting task. But first thing's first: we must explore!

After a slithering climb up a large crack and a slippery slab of granite, we reach the top of Dragon's Tooth. From here, we enjoy a spectacular view of the terrain that still lies ahead. In the distance, we see a piece of McAfee Knob, our immediate destination. Even further, we see Tinker Cliffs, just visible through the morning haze. For a few years now, I've maintained the opinion that mountains are deliberately misleading. Often, when one is certain they have hiked a mile, they have only traveled a quarter the length. Distance and time in the mountains cannot be judged by the sweat on one's shirt or the time on their watch. The mountains are unpredictable and always - without fail - more dangerous than they appear. For this reason also, distance and time cannot be judged by sight. Time and time again, the mountains have demonstrated their knack for misleading hikers up meandering paths with one false summit after another and no end in sight. So naturally I have the audacity to say, "Oh, yeah. We can cover this in a day. No problem, guys."

Committed

Today, we will cover 12 miles. We will also have to contend with steeper terrain than expected, and one team member's increasing bout with the seasonal flu. Already at the start of our journey, Robbie is not feeling well, but he's determined to push through and give the venture his all. And since backpacking is much like "going all in," as with a game of poker, Robbie doesn't have too many alternatives. As soon as we've taken down camp and loaded our backpacks, we hit the trail, retracing our steps from last night's treacherous climb. The Appalachian Trail is steep and rocky here and covered with slippery leaves, so we move slowly, at first, albeit faster than we did going in the opposite direction. Surviving several slips and near-spills, we arrive at Lost Spectacles Gap and continue, northbound, on the AT. For the next 9 miles, Tim Bob will lead the way, since he is the only team member who has already hiked this stretch of the trail. He sets a moderate pace, taking us up a series of switchbacks through dimly lit forest. Coupled with our knee-blowing descent from the "Tooth," this climb marks the beginning of our epic voyage through the Virginia countryside. "And it only gets harder from here, gents," says Tim Bob.

Over the course of the day, we travel across a wide array of scenery: obscure outcroppings, random "windows" to the surrounding valley, views of red-tinged trees, soaring raptors, abandoned barns, and open pastures similar to those seen in the lands of Tolkien's "Middle Earth." I cannot help humming the "Fellowship" tune as we march across the open meadows of Beckner Gap. "This is where it gets rough," Tim Bob warns. Great, we say. Guess it wouldn't be worth doing if it wasn't challenging, though... Right? We cross a number of stiles laced with electric fences, and Sherwin gets fried like a squirrel nibbling on a power line. Just kidding, although we joke about the possibilities, and Sherwin retaliates with strong dosages of sarcastic and self-deprecating wit. We cross the stiles unscathed and begin the long and tiring ascent up a massive hill. Later, we dub it "The Hill of Death." When we finally reach the top, we are red-faced and out of breath. Robbie, weakened by his illness, can hardly breathe in the first place. Then and there, we say if he can make it to McAfee Knob, he will live in infamy as a true mountain man. Truthfully, it's his only option aside from digging his own grave beside the trail. There is no easy way out; we must all stay committed. Already, I am reminded of the meaning of adventure and of how quickly plans can change in the mountains...

Plan B

For the next several hours, we hike upon an undulating ridge line with frequent views of the adjacent valleys. These momentary glimpses remind us of what we're striving towards and embolden us to keep hiking, despite the difficulty. Regardless, by this point, we have made a group decision to not continue to McAfee Knob by nightfall. Since Robbie is ill and it has taken us longer to cover the mileage than expected, it would be unwise to "push it." Therefore, we'll stay at Johns Spring Shelter, just a couple miles beyond Route 311, and reach McAfee the following morning. This, everyone agrees, is more than suitable as a "Plan B."

The temperature drops, and shadows shift in the forest. It's almost 4 o'clock. We hear the low murmurs of an active highway and know we are close to 311. Moments later, we discover a wooden sign telling us we've traveled 9 miles since leaving Dragon's Tooth. The AT parking lot is crawling with hydrated hikers who stare at us forlornly, as we stagger out of the woods and stumble across the highway, rejoining the trail on the other side. To our shame, I wonder if we would have carried on had we left a car at this particular lot... Thankfully, though, for the sake of the enterprise and our reputations, our cars are miles away, and the only way there is by foot.

We have crossed several streams today and filtered enough water for the last few miles, but one major detail has slipped past me: Johns Spring Shelter has no water source. To find water, we must hike an additional mile (although, in the heat of the moment, we are so certain it is longer than that!) to Catawba Shelter. While an extra mile is not a terrible upset, considering how far we've already walked, it is a huge blow to our morale and Robbie's hope for survival. But we have no choice; our bottles are nearly empty. In the near-dark, we keep hiking. The AT winds steeply up Catawba Mountain. With a mile to go, Robbie, Daryl, Sherwin, and I lose sight of Tim Bob and Matt, who are - bone-dry - out of water and desperate to find a spring. The trail darkens before us, becoming a haunted 'night land' of unsettling quiet and eeriness. We are forced to retrieve our headlights. Now a funnel of light paves the way, and we 'up the pace,' anxious for the end.

At last, we catch up with our companions, who have also resorted to their headlights, and only

moments after rejoining them, we catch sight of Catawba Shelter, an old-fashioned lean-to, and another wooden sign, this one directing us to the spring! Everyone sighs in relief, and - as we reach the shelter - we drop our heavy packs and praise God for helping us through this trying day. Over the next hour, we filter enough water for a small army and drink most of it, too. Dinner consists of freeze dried ingredients and boiling water. Salt-saturated, meal-in-a-bags never tasted so good! We devour our dinners, topping the evening off with a fleeting fire, hot tea, and Japanese sake! Adding a little excitement to the evening, Matt - in his exhaustion, we'll say - manages to set a bowl of sake ablaze, nearly scorching his eyebrows, which leaves him with the well-deserved trail name, "Fire Water."

Later, we rest warm in our mummy bags, spread across the shelter floor. Reminiscing on the day's events is challenging, since we can only focus on the final day. We have traveled almost 15 miles since Friday night. Nine more await us... Robbie is rested, breathing adequately again, but understandably exhausted. We are sore, weak, and even afraid, but we are not defeated. We did not finish the day by our own strength, and it is the same strength that will see us through to the end of our pilgrimage in the mountains.

To Be Concluded...

Pilgrimage in the Mountains: Lessons from Virginia's "Triple Crown"

Part I

"Keep close to Nature's heart... and break clear away, once in a while, and climb a mountain or spend a week in the woods. Wash your spirit clean..."

~ John Muir ~

In Medias Res

We pass through a narrow, mountain corridor; the trail, barely visible under Autumn's crispy fronds, is laced with rows of fading grass blades that swish and sway against our thighs. Midday's harsh glare flares through the treetop canopy of chioanthus and draws the sweat from our pores like a leech to life blood. The forest rooftop glows radiant yellow as the sunlight spreads from one leaf to the next. We adjust our loads - tighten waist belts, yank on shoulder straps - and carry on through the ethereal mountain pass.

Welcome to the Appalachian Trail in Roanoke, Virginia. At 17 miles in, we are two men down and anxious to reach our destination. On this warm November day, my companions and I are backpacking across the "Triple Crown" of summits that border the Great Valley of Virginia in Roanoke. We have already been to Dragon's Tooth, a mighty rock monolith that reaches heavenward like a crippled, outstretched hand. McAfee Knob, renowned for "the anvil" rock outcropping that hangs some three-thousand feet above the valley surface, lies 2.5 miles behind us. The crowning achievement of our expedition, Tinker Cliffs - a half mile length of granite ledges overlooking the valley - is another 7 miles away. And we are already so tired.

Commence: Adventure

Friday, November 6, 2009

At 10 pm, the trail head is cold and vacant, a black hole to all who dare enter. We are six strong: Tim Bob, short but fearless; Matthew, eager to get underway; Sherwin, undaunted by the task at hand; Daryl, packing enough food to feed a small army; Robbie, his mighty "Moses" staff at the ready; and myself, anxious for adventure.

"Let's do this," mutters Tim Bob, his words oozing with concrete resolution. His L.E.D. headlight punches a funnel through the black of night, as he starts on the trail. We follow, in single file, up the Dragon's Tooth trail. Marked by rectangular, blue blazes every thirty yards, it is well maintained, and with our headlights illuminating the way, we have little trouble sticking to the path. In next to no time, we have arrived at the t-junction with the Appalachian Trail. "Where do we go from here?" someone asks. We go up.

From the intersection at "Lost Spectacles Gap," it is two and a half miles to the pointed peak of Cove Mountain, known to hikers as Dragon's Tooth. This section of the trail soon graduates from smooth to rocky, from gently sloped to precariously steep, from easy to strenuous in the same time it takes for our heart rates to surge and our blood to boil. We are no longer merely hiking, for the terrain before us demands our bodies' full attention. With each others' help, we jump over pitfalls, scale granite slabs, navigate hazardous ledges, clamber up rudimentary ladders hammered into the mountainside, and climb over one obstacle after another. Unhindered, we press on till midnight, when - at last - we approach the summit at 3,020 feet.

Ahead of us, the monolith rises to the star-splattered sky, its faint silhouette a sublime welcome to the great outdoors, our home and training ground for the next two days.


To Be Continued...

Manventure '09 Has Arrived!

ADVENTURE RETURNS!

On this brisk November weekend, I'll be backpacking Virginia's "Triple Crown" of views along the Appalachian Trail. Joining me are good friends. Team Adventure consists of the following:

Tim Bob, aka. Sleepy Time

Robbie, aka. Moses

Sherwin, aka. Asian Thunder


Matt, aka. Silent Fox


Sir Evan, aka. Dodge


and Daryl, who needs a trail name!

We'll be hiking 24 miles, from Dragon's Tooth to McAfee Knob to Tinker Cliffs, in Roanoke, VA! Stay tuned for an update when we return!

Over the Mountains and Through the Woods, to Good 'Ole Virginia I Go!

October is Hiking Season...

On Friday, October 9th, I'm heading to Mount Rogers to meet my friend, Dan Stevens, on the Appalachian Trail. Some of you might remember that I mentioned "Cancer Takes a Hike" a while back. Well, Dan is spearheading this 'expedition,' in memory of his brother, Andy Stevens, another friend from my Blue Ridge days and a fierce spirit who we all miss dearly. Andy was still with us during Cancer Takes a Hike '08. The hiking endeavor was his dream, and he worked tirelessly to make it happen, garnering support from major sponsors, such as Mountain Hardwear, Suunto, the Potomac Appalachian Trail Club, Blue Ridge Mountain Sports, MSR, and Thermarest, among others.

(Andy "Chemosabe" Stevens)

In 2009, Andy is hiking alongside us in spirit! Many friends and fellow hikers will join Dan on his 165 mile backpacking journey, meeting up with him at random places along the trail. This year I am glad to be joining Dan for nearly 3 full days!, since I could only participate for one day last year. Others will be joining us from Friday night to Monday morning, including my old college roommate, Josh Brown!

(Cancer Takes A Hike '08)

Be sure to take a look at the Cancer Takes a Hike website (link above), as it details more information about Andy Stevens, his passion for the outdoors, and his determination to fight colon cancer. There you will also find a mileage calendar so you can track Dan's progress, a list of the '09 participants (which is not up-to-date just yet), and information on how to donate to the Colon Cancer Alliance if you feel so inclined.

Stay tuned for a full trip report in the coming weeks, and get outside, too, if you can. October is hiking season!

Dragon's Tooth: The Motion Picture

Featuring... the Nightwalkers

Like the previous video, this 'motion picture' is compiled of photos from the Nightwalkers' annual backpacking adventure from December 30-31 in 2006. An article will come later with plenty of details, but Dragon's Tooth is a unique rock formation in the mountains of Roanoke, VA. A part of Cove Mountain, it was originally called 'Buzzard Rock,' but was eventually renamed the more apt, 'Dragon's Tooth.' Enjoy the movie!

Music by Steve Jablonsky

Photo of the Week # 11

December 31, 2006

"Smaug of the Appalachians"

Sitting atop "Dragon's Tooth" on the Appalachian Trail in Roanoke, VA, with friends, Jim Ed & Troy! Brisk and clear, it was a good day to be on the mountain and a great way to start the new year!


Original photo by Rich Wills. Graphic work done by George Moore.

Manventure: The Motion Picture

November, 2007

Shenandoah National Park, VA ~ the Appalachian Trail

Humpback Rocks

Music: "The Last of the Mohicans," original motion picture score by Trevor Jones and Randy Edelman

From Three Ridges to Spy Rock: A Backpacking Tale

Part IV

Our backpacks are frozen. We awake, hesitantly, to an icy, 17 degree morning, and can hardly believe our eyes as we stare through the semi-dark at our frost-bitten packs glued to the picnic table.

"Did it seem that cold to you?" I ask Sleepy Time, who yawns and shrugs.

It is day 4 on the Appalachian Trail in the George Washington National Forest. We are roughly 5 1/2 miles from our next and final destination. We spent our last night on the trail in good fashion: beside a toasty fire with steaming hot chocolate and stories to remember. Other nightly occurrences worth noting consist of the following:

1) Sleepy Time is haunted by a woodland creature, the only vestige of its existence a pair of glowing eyes, such a rare occurrence in the dark woods... Startled from time to time, he shines his light from one corner of the forest to the next. Alas, the mysterious beast alludes him!

2) Moses redeems himself by parting the Red Sea. Just kidding. Instead, he cooks our dinner, giving the traditional "shepherd" role new found meaning.


3) I nearly have my head taken off by a swinging bag full of food and compressed gas. In my effort to hang our "bear bag," I manage to create a pendulum of edible - slash - combustible destruction. Out of the dark, the bag rushes at me like a bat out of hell. A mere blur - my life story - flashes before my eyes, and I hit the dirt, the bag swooping overhead. I emerge, soot on my face, but reborn. This one, we soon decide, has the trappings of legend. TRAIL NAMED!

Our first order of business is clear to all. Time is against us, so we run up the trail, anxious to catch the sunrise from the Priest Mountain's exposed summit. We arrive to a pristine abyss of creeping clouds, the sun's lucent, neon glow soaking through the white horizon. Mountaintops emerge from the sea of clouds, rearing their rocky zeniths and ancient crowns. We stand in silence. It seems a fitting climax to our epic adventure, this sunrise of champions.

Now we ready our gear and prepare for the final leg of our journey. Spy Rock awaits. We gather near the shelter for a heroic photo, four mighty adventurers who have traveled over mountains and endured the harsh elements! We are tired and proud, but we are not home just yet... We stand from left to right: Sleepy Time, Moses, Hammerhead, and newly named in light of recent events, Dodge.

Eager to reach the last mountain, we embark down the trail, our boots crunching through half-thawed ice. Vapor issues from our mouths as we march through the cold. The first mile of our hike consists of mostly downhill terrain, and my knees begin throbbing like the day before, only severely multiplied. I lean on my trekking pole for support and try altering my gate, but the pain shooting through my knee caps is wrenching. Due to my unexpected handicap, it takes longer to reach the Crabtree Meadows fire road than expected. There, we meet Robbie's father, as planned. A history buff (and our shuttle back to our cars), he will hike the next 3.8 miles with us to Spy Rock, which received its name during the Civil War for the Confederate Troops that used its exposed summit as a lookout post. It is a mountain much revered in Virginia and one we have anxiously awaited.

By now I am concerned about the state of my knees, but I'm too prideful to sit this one out. I take some Aleve and wince through the pain, following my companions up the trail. It only gets worse, though, as we close in on the peak. I worry about the return journey, knowing for every southbound step I take on the Appalachian Trail, I will have to retrace just as many north. After what seems like a painfully long time, we ascend a splinter trail and climb the rocky slope to the top of Spy Rock. And it truly is a sight to behold, a 360 degree vista of the surrounding mountains and valleys. At first, we take it all in, impressed beyond our expectations. At an elevation of 3,701 feet, it is easy to see how the Rebel army would have utilized this spot as a lookout station; the valley lies in plain sight below. While the temperature has risen since daybreak, the winds are fierce on Spy Rock. Strong gusts whip our jackets and numb our faces. No one sits still for long, lest they freeze to the rock face.

It is finally time to leave. The view from Spy Rock is a fitting end to our trip, coupled with the morning's sunrise. But it is a long way to hike for an injured man. My knees are in terrible shape, grinding against the cartilage beneath my knee caps at every gesture. I feel weaker with each step. Like mini bursts of lightning, pain echoes through my joints. Something has got to give, and, today, it is my pride. After sharing my plight with the guys, they promise to get me back safely, and I trust them. They will bend over backwards to help me. Sure enough, the next hour and a half are some of the most painful in my recent memory. At times, it takes Sleepy Time holding me up on one side or Moses offering me his trusty staff so I'll have an extra 'leg' to lean on. With their help, I survive the ordeal.

Four days from the inception of our expedition, we arrive at Reed's Gap in the back of Mr. Heath's pickup truck, exhausted and dirty, but proud and accomplished. It has been a trying adventure. The Appalachian Trail has tested each of us in its own way. When we leave the powerful simplicity of the blue ridge mountains for the hustle and complexity of our modern society, we leave with more than just memories of mountain crests peering through the fog-laden floor of Heaven or ridges sprawling endlessly across the countryside. We leave with a deep appreciation and sense of belonging. These mountains were made for exploring.

And there are many more where they came from...


In case you missed the previous installments to this 4-part series!

Part I, Part II, & Part III

From Three Ridges to Spy Rock: A Backpacking Tale

Part III

We rise at dawn. The air is fresh and cool. Sunlight pours through the roof of the forest. Beads of condensation roll down the nylon fabric of our tents. Squirrels forage for food and retreat at the sound of our voices. The day is new, and we are ready to embark on the toughest leg of our journey.

We are close to the Tye River, which parallels Route 56, the one break in wilderness on our four-day journey. It is a mere 2 and 1/2 miles away but entirely down hill, and the trail is covered with leaves, making the descent slippery and treacherous. I utilize my one trekking pole to the best of its potential, and I am relieved to have it; only I find myself wanting its partner as my knees begin to ache. I make a mental note to purchase another pole before my next adventure and cringe my way down the mountainside. After much slipping and fussing, we hear running water and emerge from the dense forest. The Tye River Suspension Bridge awaits, and we hurry across it, marveling at the strong current beneath. Here, we break for brunch and prepare for our next endeavor.

The Priest Mountain, a sentimental favorite from my Scout days, is not to be considered without earnest forethought. By ascending the peak southbound on the Appalachian Trail, hikers embark on a 5-mile trek with nearly 3,000 feet in elevation gain. The switchbacks are as endless as the mountains, themselves. The terrain is punishing: steep, rocky, and unrelenting. Sleepy Time (Tim Bob, for those who have forgotten) and I, having accomplished this task before, do our best to prepare Robbie and Brett for the challenge that lies ahead.

As we cross Route 56 and enter the Priest Wilderness, we feel little foreboding, since we are - all of us - fairly cocky and self-assured. Suffice to say, we are also fairly foolish. With little thought to the difficulty of the day before or our strenuous climb down Three Ridges just hours ago, we begin to climb The Priest, a mountain revered across the Appalachians. By the time we reach the first overlook and the halfway point we are exhausted, and some of us, like Robbie, for example - not to single him out or anything - but Robbie is pretty severely dehydrated.

"Sit down, stop crying, and drink this water," we say.

"I'd rather refuse the elixir of life called water and die on this mountain," Robbie as good as says. In reality, he says something like, "Ugh, I'm not thirsty. I'm so sick," nor is he crying.

The Priest is taking it out of each of us, but dusk is on the prowl, in addition to several turkey vultures swooping in circles around Robbie. Taking this as a bad sign, we devise a plan: Sleepy Time and Brett will hike ahead, while I remain at the overlook with Robbie, forcing water down his throat. In order to secure our campsite at the Priest Shelter and get a fire started before nightfall, the expedition must go on! Tonight will be the coldest yet.

Robbie and I watch our companions vanish up the trail head. Meanwhile, heavy clouds creep across the white sky, and tiny specks of snow hang in the air like dust particles. We shiver as a frigid gust envelopes us. After some time, Robbie and I are re-hydrated. He feels "loads better," so we leave behind our view of the bleak, Virginia countryside and march past a white blaze that points the way to the summit. As we near the peak, I feel a new sensation beneath my knee caps. I wince and push it aside, but by the time we set foot on the boulder-strewn summit of the Priest Mountain, my patellas are grinding like sandpaper, and I am secretly concerned.

I try to ignore it and take a painkiller. Robbie and I ease off our backpacks and rest for a while, soaking in the purple hue of a winter, mountain sunset. To the east, we observe Three Ridges. We are humbled by its severity and amazed we have made it this far. From the very edge of the mountain - his personalized hiking staff firmly planted - Robbie surveys the land. With his grizzly facial hair and strong pose, he looks, oddly enough, like Moses at the parting of the Red Sea. I envision a massive stamp slamming on Robbie's manila file with a resounding thud: TRAIL NAMED.

There is little time to spare, so Moses and I return to the trail and hike a mile further, where we find our friends at the campsite chopping firewood. It is only fitting, since I bestow Robbie with his trail name, that Tim Bob do the same for Brett. And it so happens, during our absence, Brett apparently "split a friggin' tree in half with a huge rock," or so Tim Bob says. So Brett - now Hammerhead - proceeds to build a miniature log house out of kindling, and Sleepy Time lights a bundle of tinder. Cold and tired, we are all anxious to gather round the campfire. There is much to be done: dinner to make, tents to set up, bear bags to hang. But for now all anyone can do is loaf next to the fire, entranced by its incandescent glow.

It has been a trying day of adventure in the mountains.

From Three Ridges to Spy Rock: A Backpacking Tale

Part II

It is oddly bright. The tent interior glows fluorescent, sunlight pouring through the nylon fabric. I shield my eyes and roll over in my mummy bag. Is it that time already?

"Time to get up, Tim Bob," I say, to which my quick-witted friend moans in reply, "Noooo...I want sleepy time!" thus sealing his trail name for all hiking adventures to come.

After much stirring, Sleepy Time and I emerge from our shelter to discover our campsite perched beside a steep cliff with a decent view of the east. We count ourselves fortunate since no one managed to fall over the edge during their midnight wanderings. We join Robbie and Brett for breakfast, then proceed to take down the campsite.

Today is our first full day of hiking. We have somewhere between 6 and 8 miles to cover over mountainous terrain. The Three Ridges Wilderness is a notoriously rough landscape, consisting of steep climbs, abrupt descents, and rocky trails. To make matters more difficult, ice still covers the trail in places. I remember, as a Boy Scout, how troops utilized Three Ridges as a preliminary training hike in preparation for Philmont Scout Ranch, an intense, high-adventure backpacking camp in New Mexico. No doubt, today will prove challenging.

As we begin to hike, the air is still chilly, so everyone dresses accordingly, but it isn't long before we're wiping our brows and feeling the cool damp against our backs. Sure enough, we have to stop and remove our jackets. We should have known better, but even experienced hikers sometimes can't resist the urge to layer densely when it's so cold...

Starting off right, we ascend Bee Mountain, which spans roughly a half mile, before taking a short dive down the other side. Because we do not expect to descend so quickly, we are puzzled, but, soon later, we lumber up the northern knoll of Three Ridges and take our first break at the top. As we wind up a steep switchback, we can see the forest opening ahead. We step out of the woods and onto a massive rock precipice overlooking Three Ridges to the east and the Priest Mountain to the west. It is both daunting and exhilarating to catch a glimpse of the landscape we must still traverse. Three Ridges is aptly named, and my heart thumps at the sight of its barren and jagged downward slope. Over the course of the day, we will gain - then lose - altitude. Already I am not fond of downhill hiking, since it puts a lot of stress on my feet and knees. Little do I know how bad it can really get...

After refueling, we proceed along the Appalachian Trail. The forest is bare and cold. Crispy brown leaves litter the path and crunch under our footsteps. The trees are empty. We see little other than brown trunks and blue sky glimmering through the cracks in the forest.

Towards the end of the day, we arrive at the Harpers Creek Shelter. Tired from a long (but good) day of hiking, we find comfort that evening in a warm campfire, some hot chocolate, and the melody of the mountains after dark. But knowing that the hardest leg of our journey awaits, we retire early. Tomorrow, we descend Three Ridges and climb to the summit of the Priest Mountain...

Photo of the Week # 6

On the Edge

December, 2005

McAfee's Knob in Roanoke, VA... most photographed spot on the A.T.



Rich Wills livin' close to the edge...



Photo by Zachary Burton

From Three Ridges to Spy Rock: A Backpacking Tale

Part I

March, 2007

After nearly driving off an icy bridge, passing an odoriferous skunk, and a mountain lion, we arrive at Reeds Gap off the Blue Ridge Parkway in Nelson County, Virginia. It is nearly 10 pm and "mountain dark"...which, for those who don't know, means "eerie dark." And, as if we haven't been through enough just in getting here, the howling wind is numbingly cold. We - being Tim Bob, Robbie, Brett, and myself - are the only souls out here. We have come all the way from Newport News to venture along the Appalachian Trail, to test our skills and resolve, to see if we have what it takes to last on the trail for a few days, 3 and a quarter, to be exact. Tonight we have a short hike, headed south bound through the Three Ridges Wilderness. Our goal, simply put, is to hike until we find a suitable campsite. The real journey will not begin till day break.

But we are in for a surprise as we heft our packs and switch on our headlights. The trail is covered with ice! "Are we really doing this?" Robbie says minutes later, as we enter the wilderness, leaving our cars and Reeds Gap behind. We have little choice. In mere moments, the setting changes. It becomes colder, darker, quieter... We are very alone in the woods in the middle of the night, and we have little to guide us but the beams of our headlights. But it is enough. One foot forward at a time, we climb the rocky trail. Leading the way, I watch my footing. At times, I must ram my feet through the ice to get a firm hold. White flakes spray; feet slip. We groan in frustration, yet laugh in disbelief.

It is funny to think how quickly our situation has changed. One minute we are sitting in a warm car, listening to the radio. The next, we're lumbering up an icy trail with stitches in our sides and watching our breath waft into the darkness like vapor. I dig in with my one trekking pole, using its sturdy hold to propel me up the trail. After some slips and falls, we reach flat ground and have an easier time maneuvering over the slick ice. And a mile into hiking, we make camp in a clearing off the AT. By the time we settle down in our warm sleeping bags, it is 11:30. Exhausted, we close our eyes and rest in preparation for tomorrow...

Prelude to Adventure

"For the Lord is the great God, the great King above all gods. In his hand are the depths of the earth, and the mountain peaks belong to him."
~ Psalm 95:3-4

God must delight in surprises, because He sure is full of them. While I'm sure it pains Him to watch His children suffer when their plans fall apart under the weight of His superior plans, I'm sure He also finds great joy in knowing what is best for His children and acting upon it. While His purposes are rarely clear in the beginning and while we may suffer - torn, at times, from our hopes and dreams - His will is ultimately better, and because He loves us, we are left better off in the long run.

These are the thoughts I often turn to when I reminisce on the adventure that transformed my life. In December of 2005, I was a junior in college and still bent on my high school dream of writing a novel. Long ago, I had worked everything out in my mind. I would write a story of unparalleled inspiration, tearing through traditional expectations, and, upon graduation, I would already be a best-selling author. I felt it was my purpose. My primary aim in life seemed the fulfillment of this dream. But it was getting harder to accomplish as I became distracted and confused. To make matters worse, I was losing interest. As I desperately clung to my teenage aspirations, like a sailor to the mast of his sinking ship, I became frustrated...then angry. Why had God led me down this path only for it to end in failure? I felt defeated and lost. I had spent so much time and energy... and for what? What was I supposed to do now? By the end of 2005, I was distant from God, unsure of His faithfulness and unsure of my relationship with Him. Little did I know, He was never far.

One day, I got a phone call from an old friend. "I think it would be really cool to get the old crew back together for a camping trip on New Years," said my friend, Rich. "We'll hike to McAfee's Knob and spend the night. It'll be like old times." The idea of spending some quality time with my old friends, The Nightwalkers, interested me more than the idea of backpacking, but it was more than enough for me to commit. I had not camped, let alone backpacked, in a long time. I didn't know if I'd be up to the challenge, but Rich assured me it wouldn't be a difficult hike, and everyone would be out of practice. And although the hike was a little tough - since I was way out of shape - it ended up being totally worth it. We reached the Appalachian Trail shelter ahead of schedule and made camp, our Scout skills resurfacing as if we had never lost them.

It felt good to be doing something. To set up a tent, pick up firewood, light a stove, get dirt on my hands. The air was crisp and clean with a little bite as I breathed through my nostrils. Leaves crunched beneath my feet, and the chilly mountain breeze gently stung my skin. I felt inspired... alive! This experience - the outdoor experience - was new to me all over again. That night we made a scorching fire and crowded together, cupping bowls of steaming brunswick stew. It was good to reconnect, to talk and laugh in the still and quiet of the night. I remember a satisfaction I had not felt in a long time.

The next day, we shouldered our day packs and began the climb to McAfee's Knob, Roanoke, VA's most photographed landmark and Appalachian Trail hot spot. Again, I struggled but succeeded. We reached the Knob, and I stood, amazed. Only once in my life could I remember a view such as this. While staring across the wintry, Virginia valley, I realized how much I had taken for granted, and the ache of my heart told me what was missing. In this moment, I found myself caring more about the present reality than any fictitious moment I could create. The granite cliffs were real. The drifting clouds were real. Me, standing on the mountaintop... real.

And in retrospect I attribute this experience to God, the Creator of those mountains. The Annual Nightwalker Trip (which it would ultimately become) at McAfee's Knob laid a seed. In little time, I became enthralled with the natural world. I could feel its power and testimony. It both amazed and perplexed me. I felt drawn to it, and so began my great love for outdoor adventure. But more importantly, it was through the outdoors that God spoke to me. For so long I had been making plans, uninterested in His own. Then, when things fell apart, I fell away. Now, I look back on my first, true, outdoor experience, and I can see God pursuing me. I can see God's hand in the mountains, how He conceived and shaped them. Being as stubborn as any man, I needed a strong example of God's strength and faithfulness, and He delivered with His Creation... Of all things.

My life has changed in many ways since 2005. God has fostered in me a great love for the outdoors. I care very deeply about peoples' interaction with nature, especially America's children, and I want to share my appreciation for God's splendor, depicted perfectly through Creation. And I still write, only now with a different purpose.

"Let us acknowledge the Lord; let us press on to acknowledge him. As surely as the sun rises, he will appear; he will come to us like the winter rains, like the spring rains that water the earth."
~ Hosea 6:3