Who made this trail? It literally skirted the mountain, making enough of an incline to make you tired but not enough to make you feel like you were getting closer to the top. My feet hurt. Tired and in pain, the long break in Damascus made me soft. It started pouring rain but I didn't care, maybe it would wash the stink off me. As I finally crested the hill, the mist parted to a beautiful scene. I climbed on a boulder and gazed at the tiny houses nestled in the layers of fields and mountains, wondering about those people far below. My life was so simple compared to the responsibilities of the modern world. I don't have 50 million things begging for my attention that inevitably cause so much stress. Yet I'm faced with different stresses: Where will I sleep? How much food I can afford to eat? How far I should hike? Two totally different worlds.
I felt like I could lose hours sitting on that rock in a half conscious state, but still had a long way to go, so I hoisted myself up and kept moving. It was beautiful landscape, I was just bummed I was too tired to enjoy it. Sixteen miles in, my body finally accepted the pain and my feet no longer screamed so loud. The woods opened to a field and all my pain was forgotten. Three ponies grazed by the trail.
Ponies on the trail
Giddy with delight, I walked up to one and pet it. Mmmm salt, it snickered, and started licking my hands and arms, freeing me from the day's sweat. Eager to get to the shelter across the field, I bade goodbye to the pony, who whinnied in return.
I joined Firefly in a grove of pines and set up my hammock, making sure all the lines were perfectly taught. Many thruhikers have an awkward first week or so as they learn their systems and how to do things on the trail. I had managed to escape those difficult first days as I was already so familiar with my gear and living outside. Now it was my turn to have no idea what I was doing, as the hennessy hammock system was still very new to me. I had switched to a hammock in Damascus in anticipation of warmer nights. I wanted to make sure it was set up perfectly, for lightning played in the distance, coming our way. As an afterthought, I untied the tarp from the tree and staked it to create a better angle to keep out rain. I would soon regret that.
The wind rattled my tarp, making it hard to sleep. Suddenly a huge gust ripped the stake from the ground and flung the tarp to the side, allowing the rain to pour in relentlessly. I struggled out of my sleeping bag and unzipped the bug net (not very gracefully), nearly rolling out of my hammock. I grabbed the tarp and shoved the stake back in the ground, pulling the line taught. Wet and shivering, I climbed back into my damp sleeping bag, paranoid I hadn't taken the time to secure it well enough. Sure enough, fifteen minutes later another gust of wind flung the tarp over, rain slinging toward me a second time. Once again I scrambled out and grabbed the tarp, wrapping around me as I searched the ground for a root to tie off to.
A small tree was the only thing available. That would do. Gathering my courage I ran out onto the rain, barefoot, and quickly tied it tight. There was no way that would move. Spruce needles stuck to my feet as I climbed into my wet sleeping bag, but I didn't care. I was thankful for the warmth as the sound of rain put me to sleep.
It was still raining when I woke. So much for the sunrise hike up Mount Rogers, the tallest in Virginia. I wasn't too upset, as I got to hang out in my hammock (no pun intended). Once Firefly started stirring and the rain quieted down, we geared up to do a short jaunt up the mountain. It was easy going, as we had no packs on and the hill was gentle. A half a mile later we made it to the top to find.... A tiny metal marker noting the elevation and location. No views, no sign. That was anticlimactic.
Back at camp we packed up and headed off, eager for the possibilities the day held. We would be entering Grayson Highlands State Park, the land of wild* ponies.
The landscape was beautiful. The area is maintained as grasslands so we could see for miles around. Despite the temptation to spend hours sitting, enjoying the scenery, I was eager to see some ponies, so we pushed through snack time and made it to the park. We were rewarded with a whole herd of ponies grazing right at the entrance, and sat on a bench to eat lunch with them. I suppose they got tired of grass though, for as I pulled out my food one waltzed over to check us out.
The sign nearby warned us that petting the ponies was subject to a fine, so I did what any sensible person would do. After glancing around quickly for rangers, I reached out and pet the pony. He started getting too close to our food so we shoed him away. Seizing the opportunity, another pony hesitantly approached. Once again, we enjoyed petting her until she got annoying trying to get our food. But she would not be scared away as easily. She pretended to walk away, uninterested, then snuck up behind us.
This allowed for great pony selfies, but disrupted our lunch. I tried a new tactic. Blughalulaghu! I shouted at her. On cue, a stallion neighed and trotted up. Uh oh, I thought, this may be trouble. But he must have been in cahoots with the rangers and trained to enforce the rules because he herded the mare away with the other ponies. The rest of the hike was beautiful, but ponyless. We passed the 500 mile marker and settled down in a meadow by a creek to camp for the night.
*Much to my disappointment, I later learned that the ponies were truly not wild, but put there by the Forest Service to maintain the grasslands. They rounded up the ponies every year to control the population.
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