- Miles 681.8-696.7 (14.9 mi.)
- Total ascent: 1699’; descent 3510’
One con to some shelter campsites is their “driveway”: They must be hiked in and out of, sometimes as far as a mile.
Such was the case at Sarver Hollow, located four-tenths down a sluice of wobbly rocks. In our first true mile of the morning, we arrived at a clearing on the ridge with smooth but unlevel rock ledges. We made it across at a brisk 2-mph pace, mostly to preserve our feet and skin.
We did eat an early lunch, where we ran into Bambi and Blanc, plus a tramily of seven. Bambi and Blanc commented they hadn’t seen anyone they knew since Angel’s Rest, which we realized was something we could say to them as well.
Our theory is that Trail Days scrambled the queue. Some traveled long distances to go, while others were already close. Many, like us, did not attend at all.
One new face we met today was Green, a female, 30-something metallurgist from Pennsylvania who had been saving for the last year for this adventure. She is debating whether to keep working in her field or to find a new one in Oregon with her boyfriend/fiance/husband.
Shortly before we saw Bambi, Blanc, and Green, we crossed the Eastern Continental Divide, marking where waters south flow to the Gulf of Mexico and north into the Atlantic Ocean. Without a sign on the tree, we’d never have known.
Afterward, over lunch at Niday Shelter, we made the mistake of not collecting a fourth liter of water. We realized almost three miles north of our water option that the next was more than six more miles ahead.
Unwilling to turn back, we sweated and climbed and sweated some more up Brush Mountain, near which Audie Murphy, the most decorated World War 2 veteran, died in a plane crash. We visited the memorial, which was just a tenth of a mile from the trail and surprisingly active. Flags, helmets, knives, and spare change covered a semicircle of stacked stones around an engraved granite plaque. The Murphy memorial also had a bench, our real target: We realized our water would go further hydration-wise if we added a packet of citrus electrolytes, so we did, shook, and drank just 150 milliliters each.
From the Murphy memorial, our hike was down, down, and more down. In fewer than two miles, we reached the road from the ridge. It’s almost better to run the smoother terrain than to overheat our brakes.
We, to our surprise, were the second ones (by less than a minute after the first) to what is now a creek campsite, with eight tents. The eight tents, save for one on the other side of the river, are all members of the tramily we encountered earlier.
That group, which we think is mostly new grads (other than Green), was happy to talk amongst themselves. We tended dinner at the firepit while making small talk with Doug, a nearby homeowner who maintains and empties each day a metal trash can by the creek. A trash can truly is some of the best trail magic out here.
Doug managed a physical security detail at the World Bank in Washington, D.C, before he retired and bought a nice cabin in the national forest. He spoke fondly of DC and suggested renting bikes, which we hope to do on our final day there.
Tomorrow, we reach the Catawba Grocery, which we think might be just a gas station with a few pantry essentials, around noon. We’ll need two days’ worth of food, plus a pizza. Always a pizza. We’ll stay in a Super 8 in Daleville, 26 miles from Catawba.
Rather than look so far ahead, though, I’ll settle for an early 12 miles, with hot food in the middle.
