It’d been the better part of a month since I had gone on an adventure; directly after the New Year I went to McAfee Knob with my girlfriend to let her experience true tent camping for the first time. I frequently hike here in Fredericksburg along the Rappahannock River, but that will only satisfy my craving for so long. The itch had returned, so I checked the weather and, once again, saw that somehow the universe had conspired to deliver perfect conditions for one of my many last-minute trips.
After an hour of checking weather and driving distances, I called some friends who live on the Virginia and Tennessee border to see if they could shuttle me to and from Carver’s Gap, the entrance for day hikers and weekend warriors to the majestic Roan Highlands. As luck would have it they were free all weekend and happily agreed to shuttle me. Even better, they had an extra ticket to see Yonder Mountain String Band (YMSB) in Asheville Friday night and said it was mine. The band was set to play at The Orange Peel, a music venue in downtown Asheville that has been ranked as one of the top 5 live music venues in the country by Rolling Stone Magazine. Needless to say I was excited.
I left Fredericksburg Friday afternoon, meandering west down the back roads to I81, which I would drive south all the way to the state line, five hours away. The weather was perfect: clear, blue skies, 60 degrees and not much traffic. I had actually never heard of YMSB before, but I love string bands so I agreed as soon as they offered- who turns down free tickets anyways? Once that thought entered my mind I decided I should at least listen to some of their music to see what they sounded like. I pulled up the Spotify app on my phone and searched for the band, clicked “shuffle play”, and fell in love. They have a blue grass twang with a new age feel.
I arrived at the state line at 6 pm, parked at my friends’ house, and we departed for Asheville. It was already dark so we couldn’t see the mountains that the road was carving through, but we caught up and filled each other in on our lives during the hour and a half drive. The first thing we did once we got to Asheville was check into our 5-star room at the local Days Inn. All jokes aside, it was actually a lot nicer than I imagined when I heard where we were staying. After getting settled and stretching a bit, we caught an Uber to the Orange Peel two miles away. The roll-call line was already backed up so we took our place and waited; my friends were chatting with each other and I began people watching.
As we moseyed into the building I couldn’t help but notice that almost all of Asheville’s hipsters, with their skinny jeans and neck scarves, had turned out for the show. I wasn’t sure what to think about this, but I was still willing to give it a shot. We were standing near the back when the show started, but eventually made our way up to the very front of the audience. When the band began playing the crowd was instantly captivated, and you could see people dancing all over the floor as YMSB fired off their blazingly fast riffs and traded solos. From 9:45 pm to 1:15 am they played almost non-stop besides a thirty minute break. Most of the songs were their own, but they also covered some Grateful Dead hits (which the dirty hippies reeking of body odor and patchouli oil loved, but so did I), as well as “No Rain” by Blind Melon. I did not expect any of those covers from a string band, but damn was I pleased.
After the concert we called an Uber again, got some delicious and greasy food from Cook Out, and hit the hay. The next morning we got up and ate our complimentary breakfast of rubber eggs, surprisingly good bacon, and rotten bananas, and then headed for the Roan Highlands where they would drop me off. We decided to take the scenic route now that we could actually see where we were driving, and stopped at a few overlooks so I could take pictures. Such a tourist.
Normally I’m a mileage fiend, and if I don’t get in at least fifteen miles I feel like a wimp. Saturday, however, was not about that. The trip was meant to be a very leisurely walk in a breathtaking environment (literally and figuratively, it was at an elevation of over 6,000 feet) where I could relax and quiet my mind. I only hiked five miles each day, but it was all ridgeline walking above tree line with 360 degree views, and I took the time to talk to all the people I ran across for several minutes. From the retired Army officer to the mother taking her ten year-old daughter on a 30 mile section hike, I absolutely love getting a glimpse into random people’s lives. The fact that two absolute strangers, who probably only share a love of being in the mountains, can meet in the wilderness and freely share about their lives is one of the things I enjoy the most about hiking.
My destination for the day was an isolated portion of the Grassy Ridge Bald, which is reached by traipsing across the mountain tops on the Appalachian Trail for two miles before taking a side trail to the right. Grassy Ridge Bald is 6,165’, and offers magnificent views after a short half-mile jaunt up a somewhat steep trail. When I was here in October the trail was dirt, but this time the trek was considerably more treacherous as it was covered in ice. I have been considering purchasing a set of YakTraks, a brand of micro-spikes that you can strap to your shoes, for a while but haven’t really hiked in any conditions they might be necessary until then. No matter, I made it up the trail without falling, just a little slower than normal.
Once at the top a wide, boyish grin spread across my face. No picture I ever post will effectively convey the beauty spread out before you from this ridge. Layer upon layer of rugged mountains rise from the earth for miles, a dusting of snow coating them to accentuate the ridges and faces of the folds. The wind roared across the high peaks, and I closed my eyes while sitting on a rock, attempting to absorb the raw beauty surrounding me. The Blue Ridge Mountains have an old-time, southern charm to them; it’s almost as if you can sense the centuries of life that has called these hollows and highlands home. I was only at the very beginning of the ridge though (which is where most people stop), and I had much more to see.
Walking down the well-worn trail once more, I began to descend into the tree line. The snow was hidden from direct sunlight here, and the drifts were still surviving. A few missteps saw me sink straight to my knees, which soaked my feet because I was wearing my Salomon trail runners instead of boots, but I had on SmartWool socks so I wasn’t overly worried. After a mile of walking through dense bushes and attempting to avoid sinking in the snow, I ascended again and was walking along the rocky ridge. I was looking for a place to camp, but I couldn’t find anywhere suitable; everywhere was either covered in snow or was bare granite. As I reached the crest of the ridge, though, I saw a small game trail that followed the spine of the ridge down to the valley and decided I would follow it for a bit.
I had to grab onto the bare bushes that dotted the face of the mountain, because it was still covered in patches of snow and I had no desire to slide down the mountain with a pack on my back (or without one, for that matter…). After descending 500 feet I stumbled right onto a flat area six feet by five feet that was free of snow and was covered with a thick layer of grass. The spot was perfect, so I set my pack down and leaned against a rock that resembled a recliner. This would eventually be where I camped that night, though I didn’t know it then.
After eating some snacks and taking a nap I decided to get up and go explore some more. I climbed back up the steep face of the mountain and wandered around the top of the ridge for several hours, talking to people and taking pictures for groups. Once the golden hour began and the sun started its slow procession out of sight I figured I should actually find a campsite. It took me forever to decide on a spot to pitch my tent, because I always want the best views possible and I like to explore all of my options. This location made me compromise: did I want the best views or no wind? I chose the best views, but as it turns out my choice didn’t matter. With thirty minutes until the sun was completely gone I began to pitch my tent, only to find that the ground was still too frozen for my tent stakes to penetrate it. Great!
As luck would have it though, I knew that there was a zero percent chance of any precipitation that evening. I weighed my options, and after about thirty seconds of deliberation I decided to make haste back to the spot I napped in earlier. I’m not entirely convinced that my tent would fit on this little pad of grass, but that wasn’t my plan anyways. The sky was clear with no chance of rain (or snow, at this elevation), and I was going to cowboy camp. I got to the spot just in time to quickly unpack and set my sleeping bag up, take a few pictures, and finally hop in the bag to warm up and watch the sun set.
I’ll admit that I was slightly worried about the wind, as I was only protected by a few bare bushes, but there weren’t many other options. At any rate, the spot I chose had 270 degree views of the mountains, so I was okay taking the gamble. The temperatures dropped with the sun, but the views got even better. Hues of orange highlighted the tops of the mountains as the sun sank behind them, shadows grew longer, and the stars began to make their nightly appearance one by one. I would have loved to stay up and stare at the stars, but I was actually pretty tired, so instead I yanked on the drawstrings of my Marmot sleeping bag and enjoyed the warmth that the 15-degree, 650 Fill Power Down bag provided as I passed out. I woke up every two or three hours throughout the night and tried to find constellations in the sky, as it was absolutely clear, but I never learned any of them besides the Big Dipper so I was really just admiring the beauty of them all.
My ride was going to pick me up at 9 am the next morning, so I woke up at 6:30 like I normally do, and laid in my bag waiting for the sunrise. Slowly, the light began to grow, and you could clearly see the progression of colors on the horizon from a deep, dark red to a stately and majestic blue (if you were taught R.O.Y. G. B.I.V. in elementary school as the colors of the rainbow, imagine this and you can see what I’m describing). As the sun rose to greet me at the top of the mountain, I began packing and headed back towards the parking lot, 5 miles away. I took my time, reveling in the beauty with every step that I took (though a lot of the speed had to do with me descending a steep, ice-covered trail), and meandered my way across the mountain tops. Knowing this would be my last time on the trail until this summer, I got a bit sad and sat on a rock at the end of the high part of the trail for a few minutes before continuing on.
I didn’t see another soul on the trail that morning until I got to the parking lot, and that is exactly the way I wanted it to be. It must be an anomaly to have such a famous spot to yourself on a day that gorgeous, but I’m not complaining. I was able to soak in every last bit of beauty around me without any distractions, and end my trip to one of my favorite spots in the perfect way.
hiking the appalachians 