It’s been hard to update this past week, as we’ve hiked through the Shenandoahs (aka, the Shennies, as us hikers have been calling them). We’ve had back-to-back 20-24 mile days in a bit of a heatwave that’ve left us worn and battered by the time we’ve made it to the shelter each night.
The past days have bled into each other, the stretching path through the green Shennies blurring into one step repeating over and over.
Virginia is known for many things: Grayson Highlands, easier hiking, the crowns, Shenandoahs, and also… The Virgina Blues. Somewhere in Virginia’s winding path, the honeymoon period of the trail disappears. Things aren’t new anymore, not exciting. Milestones aren’t as invigorating (another hundred miles? Yep, normal week). The adventures are becoming normal, almost mundane. The day’s miles stretch out seemingly without ending and reality collides with the disappearing excitement: I’m going to be walking for a long time.
As we reached the end of the Virginia and the Shenandoahs stretched before us, I thought I’d been able to escape the blues. But as we headed into the Shenandoahs, the long week made me face head-on the question: Why are you wandering, Sparks?
We’d had a long climb to Waynesboro, but it was a refreshingly hiker-friendly town. There was trail magic at Rockfish Gap, a trail angel who took us into town, free camping by the YMCA, a delicious coffee shop, and yet another trail angel who drove us back to the trail. We spent Sunday afternoon there to rest a bit and restock, and then Monday morning found us back out on trail, heading north.
Our first day in Shenandoah was delayed, since we had to visit the post office before heading into the park. By the time we were back at Rockfish Gap, it was nearly 10 am, and we had twenty miles to our campsite for the night.
Our hike started with a bang, literally the sound of me falling on my butt. I was on day 13 of my streak… If I made it through that Monday, it would have made two weeks without a single fall. The Shenandoahs, however, started the week off by slamming the reset button.
It was a long, hot day. Our delayed start put a distinct pressure on us under the blazing sun, as we scrambled towards our shelter, hoping there would be spaces for us. The trail itself bounced back and forth over the Blue Ridge Parkway, dropping us in and out of civilization and humanity with throbbing whiplash.
It rained on Tuesday. Not much, just enough to soak through our clothes and cool down yesterday’s heat. The day was spent in foggy coolness, the slight moisture in the air keeping us misted as we walked. The fog was too thick to see far, and we drifted through the clouds like ghosts.
The trail passed back and forth across the Blue Ridge Parkway. Once someone passed us, a car speeding out of the fog and disappearing back into it. I wonder what the passenger thought, the one who met my eyes, a vague form obscure in the white mist. The fog, I hope he thought. It’s alive. This wildness, it’s inhabited.
Our longest day was 24 miles. The sun shone brightly but the temperature stayed cool after the rain the day before. The day went much better than I expected: Despite the long distance that day and the days before, my body didn’t start hurting too badly until three miles out from the shelter. There, as we scrambled over a rocky trail, feet throbbing and hips spiking, I could hear the cars easily gliding past just above us. For the first time, I was jealous of a car. Wouldn’t it be nice, I grumbled, hefting myself and my pack up another incline, to have an engine that simply ran, tires that felt no pain, a frame without rust?
Spoiler: We made it to the shelter. As I sprawled out on the shelter floor, chowing down on my “yay you made it” fruit gummies, my weariness faded to a sore, quiet jubilation. The hardest day we’d had yet, the longest week, and yet here I was. Sore, yes. Hobbling, a bit. But alive, no, more than alive. I can do anything, I thought as I set up my mat and started supper. I can go anywhere.
We took a well earned nearo in Luray, which meant we took an easy 14 miles in, stayed the night at a hostel for a shower and laundry, and hiked an easy 14 miles back out. The night day, we finished the last few miles of Shenandoah and quietly made our way out of the park.
The best part of the Shenandoahs was all the waysides they had. Each day we were at a new one, making it so we only had to carry one day of food at a time. Hot burger? Yes please. All you can eat breakfast buffet? We hiked hungry four miles for that one.
We were assured that we’d see a bear in the Shenandoahs (just like we’d definitely see one in the Smokies, Tennessee, and New Jersey). We didn’t see one, but we did see a bunch of other animals. The songbirds also have been out in full-force, and the raspberry bushes are blooming.
It was only two days from the edge of the Shenandoahs to Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia. That’s right, a new state. After hiking over 500 miles in Virginia’s rolling mountains, we’ve reached the next state.
Harper’s Ferry is important for another reason, too. It marks the psychological halfway point on the trail, separating the southern half from the northern half. We still have about 70 miles (four days) until the actual halfway mileage, and so I’ll save my mid-trail crisis until then. But even that’s going to have to wait for a little bit. We’re taking our zero in Harper’s Ferry so we can have a day to visit DC and show Stealth around the capital.
1,000 miles strong… and 1,198.4 left to go. What adventures await us next?
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