Location: Grayson Highlands, NC Lewis Fork Wilderness in Virginia

Duration: 2  day backpacking trip (1 overnight).  GPX Data below!

Gear: Garmin GPS watch, Lowa hiking boots, down sleeping bag, tent, Mountaintop 75L pack, hand warmers, thermals, headlamps, food.  Check out the rest of my gear here

Highlights: Beautiful views; WILD PONIES; getting lost

Lessons learned: bring extra fuel for camp meal prep; bring 2-way radios for easy communication when separated; pre-cook meals; print hike details, maps, and pictures of parking lot; have entire route selected before starting the adventure.

Link: https://www.hikingupward.com/JNF/MtRogersWilburnRidge/

Stats:

Day 1 Stats

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Day 2 Stats

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The Adventure

Let me preface this by saying that ever since I took this southern backpacking trip, I have tried to conjure up an adventure that might match it.  This was the first long weekend I had all year and I wanted to make the most out of it, so I grabbed my journal to see what was on my to-do list.  I filtered for adventures that would not quite fit in a 2-day weekend but would be perfect for a long weekend, and there it was.  Grayson Highlands.  As I read the words, I recollected an encounter I had during a prior backpacking trip, in which group of older gentlemen were kind enough to inform me that if I wanted to see the most beautiful scenery on the east coast – leaps and bounds more scenic than where we were currently hiking – then I should hike on down to North Carolina and spend some time in the Grayson Highlands.  During this encounter, I was already marveling at the endless acreage surrounding me from the vista, and to hear another onlooker, a fellow backpacker, tell me that this absolutely paled in comparison to Grayson Highlands really gave me an itch that wasn’t there before.  Nevertheless, this suggestion gave me more than enough reason to make the 400-mile drive down south.  I just needed to find the time to make the trip a reality, and the time had finally come.

The Prep

Being a seasoned backpacker at this point, my pack is pretty much on hand and ready.  As such, prep work consisted only of preparing food with my companion for the long drive and punching the destination into Waze.  We decided that some amalgamation of hard-boiled eggs, pumpkin butter sandwiches, and water infused with electrolytes would be the most appropriate option.  As far as itineraries go, the less thought that goes into it, the better.  And if not, well, the adrenaline from such spontaneity adds flavor to the otherwise boring drive.

The Drive

We left DC around 3 AM, beating the sun up and hitting the road in the cold haze of darkness.  This strategy is great for long drives, because after 2-3 short hours – the point at which one might ordinarily feel lethargic or even sleepy – the sun greets you with a smile that gives you instant energy.  I have to say that I must have driven 7 hours straight, stopping only for gas and the occasional bathroom break.

The Hike

Ordinarily, we have the hike planned out before or during departure, but this time around we only got a chance to look at the map of the trip after we reached Grayson Highlands.  As you might expect, we had no cell phone reception in this area.  Ordinarily, this is actually preferred – I typically get as far away from civilization as much as possible, and backpacking in a remote location is as close to “unplugged” as I can get.  Still, this situation was different but familiar.  Waze took us to a road which had no clear trailhead, even though it should have been the start of the trail.  In fact, the “destination” put us right in the middle of a winding road through the mountains.  Classic Waze.

I’ve been in this situation before.  It is ominous.  It usually indicates the start of another adventure.  A much less pleasant adventure.  An adventure which involves me trying to find civilization in order to get cell phone service and get back on track.  This type of adventure is cunning, and time spent on this adventure is seldom salvaged.  I did not want my Grayson Highlands adventure to start with a delay of this sort, so my only option was to press on.  After a short while, we saw signs for Mount Rogers and eventually pulled into the Grindstone Campground.

After pulling into the lot, we saw a trailhead for Mount Rogers, and although it wasn’t the same starting point we planned for, we decided it would suffice.  We were here, and that’s all that mattered.  We needed to consolidate our packs and lace our boots before embarking on the long trek which would culminate in a below-freezing overnight near the summit.  As we were prepared our gear, a gentleman in a truck drove directly up to us.  He chatted us up and eventually sold us a parking pass (we didn’t prepay for one), and ended up giving us a map of the park.  This map proved to be essential during the trek, and we used it to mark our starting point: the Mount Rogers Trail.

Early on, we noticed how majestic the scenery was, paying particular attention to the blanket of moss that snuggled the rocks and trees.  Excitement and enthusiasm fueled us well into the first 3 miles or so, before hunger and fatigue started to make their usual frightening appearances.  When we reached the fork at Lewis Fork Spur Trail and Mount Rogers Trail, I was convinced there was no way we could complete the full 7 mile trek to the Thomas Knob Shelter which was near the summit.  I was lagging behind and we had less than a couple hours until dark.  My companion on this trip was chipper as ever, still in awe of the greenery surrounding us.  The terrain and the landscape beyond the horizon changed so frequently and quickly before us, and each time it did we had no option but to stop in awe.  We could not help ourselves.  There was absolutely no one near us for miles, and we had these beautiful views all to ourselves.  Greed got the best of us.  Like children in a playground, we pranced through the foliage without a care in the world for how much daylight we had left.  Looking back on it, it is moments like this in which we truly appreciate and embrace the nature around us.

After some time, we eventually came to another fork in the trail, with two options: stay on the Mount Rogers Trail, or take the Appalachian Trail.  This time, we got off the Mount Rogers Trail and continued on the Appalachian Trail, which would eventually take us to the Thomas Knob Shelter.  The map kept us on the right path.  Without it, we would not have made the turn onto the AT and would never have reached the shelter.  If I could, I would thank the truck driver for giving us a map.

Not surprisingly, the AT was well-marked, unlike the other trails in the park, and we were on a ridgeline for a decent part of it which afforded us some of the best views imaginable.  As the sun started to set, we came across an open, mountainous field.  We were so high up at this point that the sunset seemed to be happening right in front of us.

It was gorgeous, but it came with a price: we were now hiking in the dark.  Ordinarily, this is not such a huge issue – we frequently go on night hikes – but without cover from the trees or warmth from the sun, the wind cut to the bone and we were starting to shiver.  To add to this physical discomfort, we had a mental one as well: the possibility of wildlife encounters made us quite distressed.

Freaking Out

As we pressed on, headlamps fastened to our craniums, we came across what we thought was bear scat.  My heart sank like an anchor, deep into the pit of my stomach.  If a bear was near us, we would never see it – we could only see what was right in front of us due to the darkness, and a bright headlamp meant that we had absolutely no peripheral night vision.  A bear could be a few feet to our sides and we would never know.  We figured the best strategy would be to make noise.  Conversation was out of the question.  We were both scared and we were practically braindead from exhaustion, and organic conversation just didn’t flourish.  Putting our heads together, we decided that singing would keep us safe.  Singing was just mindless enough for us to do, and adequately loud enough to give us some comfort (for the uninitiated, black bears typically avoid humans when possible, so making your presence known via noise is a solid strategy for avoiding bear encounters).  And with this logic, we sang this familiar tune all the way to the shelter: “When I get that feeling, I want sexual healing.”

Camp

Setting up camp was a chore.  There is a level of dexterity involved in setting up a tent which is often overlooked.  Our fingers would freeze within a minute of exposure, and the hand warmers we relied upon took longer than that to thaw our fingers just enough to resume.  The fierce wind did not make this any easier on us.  In fact, after setting up camp, we didn’t even bother eating the rice which we spent over 45 minutes trying to boil.  The tent was warm enough, but we spent the night restless and hungry.

The Adventure, Day 2

We awoke from a restless sleep with more than enough motivation to complete what I consider the quickest camp pack-up of my backpacking career.  We were back on the trail in less than an hour, practically skipping breakfast altogether despite having not eaten the night before.

Unlike the prior day, we had today’s route planned.  We would continue on the AT until we saw ponies.  Yes, that’s right.  Wild ponies.  Admittedly, in addition to the gorgeous natural scenery of the park, the chance to see wild ponies was a determining factor in embarking on this adventure.  We were set on having luck on our side today.

The trek was beautiful.  The endless mountains around us made for spectacular views, and the way the sun shined through the clear blue sky looked like something out of a painting.  At one point, we went off the trail to climb up a rock wall.  From here, we had miles and miles of mountain views.  The way the grassy terrain navigated itself through the mountains was breathtaking.  We stood by the ledge for a while, perfectly content.

There would be more rocks to surmount as we continued on the AT.  While I was in awe of the beautiful landscape, I had my heart sent on much more than grass, rocks, and open space.

About a quarter-mile away, I made out some distinct figures that could only be the wild ponies which we had come down to see in the first place.  We placed our packs down on the trail and made our way down the field.  By the time we were close enough, the ponies walked towards us on their own accord.  At this point, we were hand-feeding and petting wild ponies.

The experience, so foreign to me, as someone who used to slave away in corporate America and to some extent still does, was extraordinary.  It was the best of everything: I was in the best company on a long-weekend vacation far away from home; we had just survived a terrifying night in the cold amongst god-knows-what creatures surrounding our tent; the sun was shining; I had never seen such mesmerizing views in my entire life; we were on a mission to see ponies, and we had just seen and were interacting with wild ponies.  Life was complete.

I can say, without a doubt, that feeding and petting wild ponies was the epitome of unplugging myself from city life, and I was with someone who made the adventure more enjoyable than I ever imagined.  Now that the main objective was complete, we were ready for the journey home to begin.

The Journey Home

The plan involved getting back onto the Mount Rogers Trail – the trail we came in on – in order to make it back to my car.  We could set up camp somewhere on the trail, or muster up the strength to make it all the way back to the car.  Either way, the route seemed simple enough and we were in high spirits.  It turns out that following the map was not actually as simple as we had imagined, and I think it is a miracle we made it out alive (seriously, but not seriously).

We continued back on the AT from where we came.  Before long, we took a right turn onto the Crest Trail, which we believed would allow us to eventually loop back onto the Mount Rogers Trail.

Getting Lost

After about 1.5 miles, we reached a sign that should have directed us to the trail we saw on the map, but instead, it directed us into a thick forest.  There was no trail to be found!  Now this was peculiar.  Here I was, standing in front of a sign that pointed directly into a forest with no trail in sight.

For the uninitiated, typically a sign is used to get onto a trail, but for this to work, two criteria must be met: 1) the sign must be visible, and 2) so must the trail.  We did not realize we were physically lost at this point, but we were lost in the serenity of the surrounding landscape: the warm sun, the clear blue sky, the greenest green you could imagine on the trees, and miles of tree lines in sight. 

After a short break, we pressed on, hoping that perhaps our trail await us at some point ahead.  Perhaps there would be another sign in a mile or so which would point us to the correct trail.  I had a nagging suspicion that this was simply wishful thinking.  I knew we had passed our turn, even though I was unable to pinpoint exactly where we made our mistake.  In addition to this, my partner was tired and in pain from carrying such a heavy pack.  I was quite tired as well.  Skipping breakfast had started to take its toll, particularly since the adrenaline rush from interacting with wild ponies was now wearing off.  I decided that it would be best for us to put our packs down and collect ourselves.  With one of us by the gear, the other was free to scavenge for the trail, unburdened.

Now, this is probably the most exciting part of any trip.  There is something intrinsically character-building about being surrounded by known unknowns and unknown unknowns which leaves a lasting impression on the soul.  The current predicament was so unfamiliar and distant from my day-to-day life that I could not be upset.  Admittedly, I had wished to be in this setting so many times in my adult life.  I recounted the nights and weekends I spent crunching numbers in a poorly-lit, soul-sucking office, with multiple screens baking my eyeballs into small crusty masses, just wishing that I could one day be lucky enough to experience what I was currently going through: lost, tired, no cell phone reception, and nothing but the food and clothes in my pack.  What more could I ask for?  This realization put a smile on my face like no other.

With this sudden burst of energy, I found myself jogging on the trail, back up to the sarcastic sign which taunted me with its false arrows.  I figured that if I took a straight-shot in every direction from the sign, 360-degrees, I would eventually stumble upon a trail.  For every attempt in which I found no trail, all I would have to do it jog back in a straight line.  I probably have my office life to thank for learning the utility of iterative processes.  As it turns out, I only had to make one attempt.  A few minutes into my first run, I heard voices in the distance.  People!  More importantly, people on a trail which I could not see, but which was, according to the sign I came from and the map I had at my side, meant only one thing: they were either exactly where I needed to be, or they could direct me to where I needed to go.

At this point, I was running straight for them, jumping over fallen trees and swinging around and in between foliage.  To put things in perspective, I was essentially in a forest that people do not typically walk through.  I thought to myself, “I would not be surprised if I am the only person ever to take these steps, but barring a sudden ridgeline, crevice, or drop-off which I’m unable to see due to the thicket, I should make it to the other party within a matter of minutes.”

“Hi,” I yelled.  “Excuse me!  Good morning!”  I ran up to them, realizing only too late that I was running while clutching my knife.  Not for safety or because I was trying to hunt them down, although I’m sure this is exactly what it looked like, but because my belt-sheath swung with every step I took, and my knife was falling out onto the ground as I ran.  Admittedly, I must have looked scary.  Shouting and running, knife in hand, wearing boots, black pants, and my black tactleneck (any Archer fans?).

Guardian Angels

It was a couple of older gentlemen, a son and father, who I would end up asking for help.  I nervously recounted the morning’s events which led to me losing my way.  The fact that my partner was over a mile away, napping on the side of the trail with me scavenging for the right way home, really must have struck an emotional chord with my audience.  Either they sensed the gravity of the situation or not, they wanted to help and I cannot imagine what would have happened had I not run into them when I did.  What are the odds that they would just happen to be near me, when I got lost, in a park that has endless square miles of trails and backcountry camping?  They must be my guardian angels.

Map in hand, I explained the situation once more.  “We thought we could take the Crest Trail to Pine Mountain to Lewis Fork and connect back to Mount Rogers Trail, but we can’t find Pine Mountain.”

They explained to me that if I wanted to get back to Grindstone Campground, I need not take Pine Mountain.  Instead, there is a hidden trail – a trail which is seldom treaded that you can barely see it.  Hidden because, well, it’s not even on the map!  Lucky for me, my guardian angels were more than happy to pause their adventure and walk me down to the start of that trail, which was about half a mile away.  Within several minutes, I saw the sign: Cliffside Trail.  This would ultimately get us to where we needed to go.  I just needed to grab my pack – and my partner – and then we would be off.

I was anxious to get back to her, because at this point nearly 40 minutes had passed, if not more.  I ran back and there she was, slightly worried to say the least.  It was hunting season and she had heard lots of shots.  With me being gone for so long, she started to panic.  Luckily, she didn’t venture too far.  Now that she was refreshed from her nap and I was oriented, we could continue.

My pack was noticeably heavy at this point.  I had not eaten all day and all the running I just completed reminded me how empty my stomach was and how starved my muscles were.  We made the half-mile journey back to the sarcastic sign where we had originally gotten lost, and from here our guardian angels guided us to and down the treacherous Cliffside Trail.  It was treacherous because its name is quite representative of the fact that it is indeed a trail that takes you from the top of a cliff, to the bottom of it.  The slope down was very steep, and once again, the trail had the familiar markings of a trail that is seldom traversed in that it had no visible path.  Without the escort, we would not have made it down the trail so comfortably, and although the journey down to the intersection of Lewis Fork was relatively quick, we had plenty of time to get to know our saviors.

They were a father-and-son, hiking in the dead of winter to enjoy the beautiful scenery they had grown to love over many decades.  Like us, they too enjoyed having the park mostly to themselves, but you would not have guessed this simply due to how warm and welcoming they were.  The father, in his 70s, told us about his habit of recording his adventures so that he could later share them with his wife, who could not participate due to an illness.  The son told us about the spark that ignited the adventurous flame within him.  He and his father had started to take weekly hiking trips together when they noticed that the fresh air and meditative calmness eased the pain of his father’s cancer.  The intimate nature of our conversation took on a familiarity that is only reminiscent of other happenchance conversations we have with fellow backpackers.  For the short duration we were together, may as well have been old pals.

Before long, we reached a flattening of the trail which indicated the intersection of the Lewis Fork Trail.  It was here that we said our goodbyes.  They continued down Cliffside and we hung a left to Lewis Fork.  Alas, it was only a matter of time now before we were back on Mount Rogers Trail.

Getting Lost Again

The path was all visible from the map – we just needed to continue on the Lewis Fork Trail, and take the junction onto the Lewis Fork Spur Trail, which would take us back to the Mount Rogers Trail.  With a clear plan laid out ahead of us, we had figured that the worst was over and we would be back at the car in no time.  As we pressed on, I couldn’t help but notice that the trail we were on didn’t always seem to be a trail.

“This doesn’t even look like a trail,” I remember saying.

I knew something was wrong.  Behind us, the trail was clear.  Ahead of us, the trail disappeared.  It seems to abruptly stop, and I was feeling wary.  This wariness soon evolved into what can be described only as a sinking feeling deep within the pit of my stomach.  We were lost, but this time it was different.  This time, it was closer to sundown.  Last time, morning exuberance still filled our souls.  This time, we could not simply backtrack to our car – we would have to backtrack several miles in order to get back to the Cliffside Trail.  Scaling the Cliffside Trail back up would be nearly impossible with our heavy packs, given our physical state at the time.  Not only that, even if we did make it up the trail, we would have another 12 miles to backtrack until making it back to Grindstone.  Pressing on seemed like a more feasible option, even if we were lost.

My frustration seemed to rise from the fact that we were less than a quarter of a mile away from the Mount Rogers Trail, according to the map.  Less than a quarter of a mile from our footsteps from the day before.  My mind started to recall all of the terrible stories of hikers who were found dead only footsteps away from an actual trail and campsite, and my heart started to race at the thought of becoming another story.  I thought we were going to die.  Once again, I made the executive decision that one of us would stay with our gear and rest while the other would scour the forest for the trail.

This was the most terrifying part of the adventure.  This was scarier than the night before when the sun went down and we saw black-bear droppings on the trail.  With the map and GPS watch in hand, I decided to run through the forest in all directions, climbing and descending, searching for the trail.  It might be hard to believe, but running around in a forest, or any part of open nature for that matter, is very disorienting.  Even a few steps in any direction could be a fatal mistake.  A nice trick I have learned while backpacking is to frequently look back.  That way, if you ever do get lost, you will at least “remember” if a certain area looks familiar or foreign.  Nevertheless, my GPS watch gave me the freedom to explore because I could always retrace my steps back to my starting location.

I had many negative thoughts while hunting for the elusive Lewis Fork Spur Trail.  Will we have to go back and hike up the Cliffside Trail, however impossible that seemed?  Will we stay stranded here, pathetically, less than a quarter mile from salvation?  At first, I pressed ahead, forward.  No trail in sight.  The landscape was sloped heavily downwards to my right, unlike the Mount Rogers Trail which was flat.  I knew I had to look for a section that was flat on both sides.  Up to my left, I could make out what seemed to be a ridge.  No telling what’s behind it, but it was worth a short.  We were so close from where we needed to be, so any distance in the right direction would land us into good territory.

Nothing.  I ran up the hill, tripping once over a branch which reminded me to calm down and proceed with a cool mind, lest I seriously injure myself and make the situation even worse.  At this point, I was disoriented.  Everything in the forest looked the same, just as I thought it would.  Fear started to creep into my thoughts, as did my hopelessness.  With the help of my GPS, I made it back to my partner, who, at this point, started foraging for a spot to pitch our tent.  I pulled out my map and started to think.

When nothing is making sense, turn to logic, because logic, by definition, makes sense.  I noticed that the map showed the trail veering ever so slightly to the left.  Almost imperceptibly, but it was there.  I also noticed that my GPS watch was showing that our path into the undecipherable abyss tracked us slightly to the right.  A lightbulb went off in my head: perhaps we just need to go back a short distance, and try to see if there is any trail that might lead slightly to the left.

With this idea, I backtracked and saw what looked like a trail going up and to the left.  I took it.  It quickly faded into nothingness, and I was taking steps into what I was sure wasn’t even a trail at all.  But, it was going up and to the left, and I figured that if something is going up, it will eventually flatten out at the top.  I walked blindly, hoping I would see a trail.  My inspiration and confidence to press on was born out of hopelessness.  I was ready to give up and turn back, but I figured there was no harm in walking a few more steps.  After all, it did look like someone – or something – had made indentations in the ground at some point or another.

A Ray of Light

Quite a bit of time had passed at this point, so I shouted to my partner.  She shouted back.  Evidently, we were both still alive and well, so I pressed on.  After a few minutes, I saw a trail marker!  I did not know which specific trail it was, but the fact that there was a marker gave me hope.  We were not in the backcountry.  We were not so far off that we faced inevitable doom.  This trail would lead somewhere, eventually, and since I was on it, I would end up somewhere, eventually.

The scenery was still not telling.  I could not remember any of it for the life of me, but I kept on pressing.  Another marker!  Exhausted, but refreshed with newfound hope, I sped up and pressed on.  I was sprinting at this point.  I eventually reached a plateau which led into a familiar clearing before a familiar sign.  This was it!!!  A smile took over my face.  I was no longer lost.  I was here yesterday, in this exact same spot – at the intersection of Lewis Fork Spur and Mount Rogers.  I now knew where I was and where I needed to go.  Once I made it back to my partner, we could began our long journey back to my car.  The sense of relief I had is indescribable.

The hike back down to my partner seemed much longer than I expected.  I told myself I would not reveal my hopelessness and fear to her, or at least not at first.  I would simply say that I knew where we were and that we would be okay.  A good leader should inspire, not frighten, right?  When I reached her, we got our packs and began the hike back to the Mount Rogers Trail.  Amazingly, I could not find the entry point to the trail I was just on!  Thankfully, this confusion lasted only for a moment, but I want to stress just how disorienting the location was.  I found the entry point and we were off.

The heavy pack made the hike up very difficult for me the second time around.  I was practically ready to fall over and sleep by the time we made it back to the Mount Rogers Trail.  I sipped on some water, marveling at my own resourcefulness.  Within the span of a few hours, I had gotten us out of one jam by finding our guardian angels, and out of the next one by locating the path back to the Mount Rogers Trail.

At this point, we had but 2.5 miles left until reaching my car, and it was barely 3 PM.  We were going to make it back, no sweat, and so we strolled back down, enjoying ourselves each step of the way.  6.5 hours of driving later, we were finally home!

Exhausted and utterly relieved to be drawing nearer to civilization, I conjured up comforting thoughts of a long hot shower before an equally comfortable slumber.  And, yet, as certain as I was about wanting to be home, there was a pull at my heartstrings for the amazing adventure that was now in my rear view.  A reticence to leave the roamance.  I feel lucky to have been enveloped by such an affair and eagerly await the next time Nature sings her sweet tune.

Suggestions?  Questions on gear, planning, or anything in between?  Want to try this adventure for yourself and need help getting started?  Drop us a note!