The Appalachian Trail has a way of pushing you to the edge—then throwing in just enough magic to keep you from walking away. These ten days were no exception. From dizzy spells and bear encounters to lazy afternoons by lakes and scrambling through fog-covered peaks, this stretch was as raw and messy as it was beautiful. It wasn’t just the views or the milestones that stuck with me. It was the people, the laughs, and the reminders that out here, every step matters—even the ones that lead you into town for margaritas and new shoes.
June 1st – A Day Off the Trail and a Nod to Bourdain
Some days on the trail aren’t about the trail at all. Today was one of those days—a chance to hit pause, get off my feet, and enjoy the kind of simple indulgences you start to crave after weeks in the woods.
I was still feeling like hell, but town days have their own kind of magic. Lunch was at a biscuit joint with a quirky system—your order number was the name of a celebrity. Mine? Anthony Bourdain. Perfect. It felt like a nod to why I’m out here—to chase stories, find connections, and savor the detours as much as the destinations.
Dinner was a greasy Philly cheesesteak and a couple of beers at Mountain Harbor B&B. I splurged on a private room. No snoring hikers, no damp sleeping bags—just me, a real bed, and a hot shower. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was enough.
June 2nd – Dizzy Miles and Waterfalls
Breakfast at Mountain Harbor was a feast—pancakes, eggs, fruit, coffee. Enough to make you consider staying another night. But the trail doesn’t wait.
I regretted leaving almost immediately. Dizzy, lightheaded, and completely out of breath, I stumbled through an 8.8-mile hike that felt like fifty. By the time I reached the shelter, I was done. Completely wrecked.
The only saving grace? A roaring waterfall nearby that felt like nature’s apology. It reminded me why I was out here—because sometimes, even when you’re falling apart, the world shows you something beautiful enough to keep going.
June 3rd – Finding My Stride Again
The morning felt different—lighter, easier. Maybe it was the promise of 18 miles ahead or the fact that my body finally started cooperating. Whatever it was, today felt good.
We crossed into the Pond Mountain Wilderness, where the scenery changed. Rugged gorges and towering cliffs replaced the forests. Laurel Falls was a showstopper—a cascade of water crashing into the rocks below. I didn’t want to leave, but the miles were calling.
Magic Hat found us a perfect campsite by the river. The sound of rushing water drowned out the aches and pains, and for the first time in days, I slept like a rock.
June 4th – Lakes, Dams, and Trail Magic
Watauga Lake in the morning mist was straight out of a postcard. Lunch by the water, a real bathroom break, and a climb up Watauga Dam—it felt like a perfect day. Until it didn’t.
The sun burned down on us as we climbed a steep, exposed road with no shade. Sweat poured, feet dragged, and my legs started threatening to quit altogether. And then—trail magic.
A ministry had set up camp with burgers, hot dogs, and sweet tea. It felt like salvation. I ate until I couldn’t move and let the exhaustion fade into gratitude. We pushed on to Vandeventer Shelter, perched high with views that made the climb worth it.
June 5th – Meadows, Bears, and the Best PCT Hang Ever
Fourteen and a half miles through rolling meadows and cow pastures—trail porn, honestly. The kind of scenery that makes you stop and wonder how you got so lucky to be here.
Then came the bear. A massive blur of fur and muscle, tearing down the trail in front of me. It was equal parts terrifying and thrilling—a reminder that out here, you’re not the top of the food chain.
The shelter had a bear problem, so I hung my bag with the best PCT hang I’ve ever done. Small victories.
June 6th – Crossing into Virginia and the End of an Era
Eighteen miles to Damascus—my first steps in Virginia and the end of Tennessee. The border crossing felt bigger than it should have, like I’d just stepped into the next chapter of the hike. But it was also bittersweet.
Cherry and Operator were splitting off soon, and the tramily—the family we’d built out here—was starting to fall apart. We celebrated with beers and burgers, but there was an unspoken weight hanging in the air. The trail brings people together fast, but it also pulls them apart just as quickly.
June 7th – Zero Day and Goodbyes
Zero days are for chores—laundry, resupplying, fixing gear—but this one felt heavier. It was the last day for our tramily. Pizza, fruit, and beers at Operator’s place felt like a celebration and a wake rolled into one.
By the end of the night, it was clear—this was goodbye. Cherry and Operator were heading in different directions. The trail was about to get a lot lonelier.
June 8th – Loneliness on the Trail
Sixteen miles out of Damascus, and it felt harder than it should have. Magic Hat and I pushed a brutal pace to outrun the rain, but something was missing.
Without Chuck and Minda, the trail felt empty. I didn’t realize how much I relied on the social side of this hike—the shared dinners, the jokes, the trail magic. Today felt hollow, and I went to bed wondering if the miles ahead would be worth it.
June 9th – Ponies, Peaks, and 500 Miles
Today was better. White Top in the fog was eerie and beautiful. Mount Rogers brought sweeping views, and the Grayson Highlands? Magic. Wild ponies, open meadows, and the 500-mile marker reminded me why I started this hike.
It was our biggest day yet—24.2 miles—and even though the shelter leaked on me all night, I went to bed feeling accomplished.
June 10th – Beaten and Broken
We planned 23 miles, but my feet had other plans. After 16 miles, I was done—hobbling into Marion, desperate for new shoes and a break.
The town was a mix of kindness and chaos. A gruff local gave us a ride and talked about his criminal record. Mexican food and margaritas fixed everything—at least for the night.
Reflections on the Trail’s Teachings The trail doesn’t care how broken you feel. It keeps going, pushing you until you either break or grow stronger. These ten days were proof of that—moments of exhaustion, triumph, loneliness, and laughter, all tangled together.
For more stories, updates, and reflections, check out http://www.wanderingwithjohnny.com.
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