May 11th – A Milestone and an Unforgettable Shelter Night
The trail had a way of surprising me. Sometimes it was with the miles, sometimes the people, and sometimes it was just the little victories that kept me going. That day, I hit 200 miles and climbed to Clingmans Dome, the highest point on the Appalachian Trail. I’d thought the view would be jaw-dropping, but it fell flat—foggy, crowded, and oddly anticlimactic. But milestones weren’t about perfection; they were about reminding myself that I was still moving forward. And that was what mattered.
Magic Hat discovered his shoes were falling apart—a hiker’s worst nightmare—and decided we’d make a pitstop in Gatlinburg the next day for replacements. The day ended at Mt. Collins Shelter, and that was where the magic really happened. Cherry’s friend K2 had shown up with alcohol, and the night turned into one of those rare, unfiltered evenings where strangers became family. Stories were shared, laughter echoed through the trees, and for a few hours, I forgot about the miles ahead. That was what the trail was all about—connection, community, and the realization that some of the best moments happened when I least expected them.
May 12th – Crossing the Tennessee Line
I’d slept like garbage that night. Shelters were either a hiker’s haven or a hellhole, and this one leaned hard into the latter. But that day brought its own highlights. A few miles in, I crossed the Tennessee state line—a small wooden sign marking the transition—and saw the first trail marker for Katahdin. It was crazy to think that tiny sign pointed to the end of my journey, still over 1,900 miles away.
I hitched a ride with K2 into Gatlinburg, where chaos reigned supreme. The town was a circus—tourists everywhere, overpriced everything, and a trolley ride to Pigeon Forge that could only be described as a disaster. But I got what I came for: new shoes, a resupply, and a hotel room with a real bed. It wasn’t glamorous, but after weeks on the trail, even chaos felt like a gift.
May 13th – A Day of Beauty
That day was one where the trail reminded me why I was out there. The stretch from Newfound Gap to Pecks Corner Shelter was stunning—lush greens, sweeping views, and that quiet rhythm that only the mountains could provide. I covered 10 miles, narrowly missing the rain, and arrived at a packed shelter. It was one of those rare nights where the energy felt right, where the mix of people and conversation clicked. It wasn’t always like that out there, but when it was, it felt like pure magic.
May 14th – Beating the Rain
I hit the trail early and knocked out nearly 13 miles before 1:30 PM. The first climb had been brutal, but after that, the hiking smoothed out. The Smokies had been incredible, but it was wild to think the next day would be my last in that section. The trail had a way of warping time—some days felt endless, while others disappeared in a blink. That night’s shelter crowd was another good one, filled with laughter and stories that made the miles feel lighter. I wasn’t ready to leave the Smokies, but I was excited to see what was next.
May 15th – Leaving the Smokies
There was a bittersweetness to leaving the Smokies. On one hand, I was ready for a change, for the next challenge. On the other, it felt like saying goodbye to an old friend. The descent out of the mountains was brutal, the kind that made my knees scream and my feet beg for mercy. But I found a quiet spot at a rocky overlook and sat for a while, staring out at the valley below. In that moment, everything felt still, peaceful. It was a feeling I wanted to carry back into the “real world,” though I wasn’t sure how.
Magic Hat and I ended the day at Standing Bear Hostel—a place that was equal parts charming and questionable. The showers alternated between freezing and scalding, the toilets didn’t flush, but the food? Tortellini and berry shortcake that tasted like heaven. The trail had a way of teaching me to take the good with the bad, and that night, the food outweighed everything else.
May 16th – Splitting Paths
We had left Standing Bear early, the trail immediately greeting us with a steep climb that burned the legs but cleared the head. Magic Hat and I waited at the first shelter for the rest of the group, but after two hours, no one showed. Flowers and I decided to press on to Max Patch, a decision that left me feeling a pang of guilt for leaving Minda and Chuck behind. The second half of the day was grueling—steep climbs that tested every ounce of energy—but we made it.
Our campsite was noisy, right by the road, with bear bags hung in questionable places. It wasn’t restful, but it was progress. And out there, that was enough.
May 17th – Sunrise on Max Patch
There were moments on the trail that stayed with me forever, and that morning was one of them. We had woken at 5:30 and hiked to Max Patch for sunrise, a mile that felt like floating. Sitting there with Magic Hat and Flowers, sipping coffee as the sky exploded in shades of pink and gold, was pure magic. Breakfast had never tasted so good, and for a while, everything felt perfect.
The rest of the day had been easy hiking, but Flowers twisted her ankle, cutting our plans short. Magic Hat and I waited with her for a ride to the nearest hostel before pushing on into Hot Springs. We covered nearly 21 miles, collapsing into town just in time for tacos, beer, and a shower. It was one of those days that left me bone-tired but grateful.
May 18th – Bonding in Hot Springs
Zero days were a gift, and that day was no exception. Breakfast at the diner had been ridiculous—huge portions I could barely finish—and the day had been filled with naps, laughs, and reconnecting with the tramily. We said goodbye to Snaps as she headed back to the trail, her determination inspiring all of us.
The evening ended with live music at the beer garden and a quiet conversation with Flowers about the possibility of her leaving the trail. The tramily was splintering, and it was hard to let go. But out there, nothing lasted forever, and that was part of the beauty.
May 19th – Soaking It In
We had spent the morning resupplying and grabbing coffee before heading to the Hot Springs for a soak. Sitting in that tub with our ragtag group of hikers had been surreal—a mix of people who’d never cross paths in the “real world,” yet there we were, sharing that strange, beautiful moment. Dinner at the Iron Horse had been the best meal I’d had on trail, and saying goodbye to the tramily after had been tough. Tears had been shed, but there was comfort in knowing the connections we’d made out there wouldn’t fade easily.
May 20th – One Month on Trail
One month. It was hard to believe I’d been out there that long. The days blurred together, a mix of sweat, struggle, and small triumphs. That day had been brutally hot—95 degrees and unforgiving. I had thought about quitting more than once, but the trail wasn’t done with me yet. I had made it through 11 miles, and tomorrow promised storms. I’d see what it brought.
May 21st – Spooked by a Bear
The day had started with a jolt—a bear dropping out of a tree less than a mile out of camp. Nothing like a heart-pounding encounter to wake me up. The miles had felt easier after that, and I had made it to the shelter just before a thunderstorm rolled in. The group there had been incredible—a guy playing the violin, others brewing tea, and a sense of camaraderie that lifted my spirits. After a tough few days, it had been exactly what I needed.
Reflections on the Trail
The trail had continued to teach me—about resilience, about connection, and about finding beauty in the unexpected. Those ten days were a mix of challenges and moments of pure magic, each one reminding me why I was out there.
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