Me at Front Royal, VA, at the start of the journey on the Appalachian Trail. Stairs lead to the trail. And that's my "sweaty, stinky, hiking companion" Cassandra. What a gift. (as if I smelled like a rose)Take nothing for granted. Not one blessed, cool mountain day or one hellish, desert day or one sweaty, stinky, hiking companion. It is all a gift. — CINDY ROSS, Journey on the Crest, 1987
I can sit back comfortably now and think about the tough ascents on the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia’s Shenandoah National Park. Long-distance Appalachian Trail hikers have dubbed the mountains here the “Shennies.” With an unforgiving 30-pound stuffed backpack (my house on my back) every step of the eight-day journey was tough with blistered feet and sweatsoaked clothes, but I would do it all again.
My hiking buddy Cassandra and I logged 106 miles on the Appalachian Trail that runs through the park. It was an incredible experience that mixed fun, wonder, and downright agony at times. With the Appalachian Trail, you never knew what was coming next: a smooth downhill could viciously turn into an unrelenting rocky uphill that could take the spirit right out of you. The hiking poles that my buddy Bruce gave me really helped. The hike was truly a slow-motion roller coaster.
I can’t complain about the weather. We had a couple of hot days and only one day of rain; overall it was fine and the nights were nice and cool.
Two nights stand out: one in a cleared area near the trail where I bedded down on a rock shelf that overlooked lighted towns in a valley far below. To augment that view, a full moon rose and gave the whole scene an indescribable grandeur. The best night was at a site on a side trail, where a nice, level cleared space in the woods was found to be the perfect camping spot with plenty of firewood. It was here in the wee hours of the morning that I heard a bear snorting about, but nothing came of this as I stared up at the elegant canopy of moonlit trees.
More photos and details to come.
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