After the long winter
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Crackkk! The world around me exploded in blinding light. I ducked instinctively then chuckled grimly to myself, almost immediately recognizing the futility of this involuntary act. I had been traversing a heavily wooded ridge when the storm had blown in, soaking me in violent downpour. I had thrown on my raingear and begun running headlong down the mountainside, hoping to beat the storm. It was already too late.
It had been a while since I had been out. After the divorce, I had taken my time getting the girls settled, making sure they were going to be ok. I had gotten the house in order, and perfected the routines it would take to juggle work, school, and home life.
For my first trip back, I settled on an endurance challenge through the mountains of North Carolina. Thirty mile days with three to four peaks per day, done in four days. Given the time of year, I anticipated afternoon thunderstorms. I knew this could jeopardize my itinerary, but hoped for the best.
Atop Blackstock Knob
Relentless forward progress gets you up the mountain
Ascending Mount Mitchell, I stopped by this stream for a lunch of wild boar sausage and farmhouse cheddar. In the heat of the day, both sausage and cheese were sweating droplets of grease but were delicious nonetheless.
On the long descent from Mount Mitchell, I noticed my left IT band beginning to flare up. While I had put in the hours with strength training this year, I had not done much conditioning. This would become a major problem by day two, and I would soon be questioning my ability to finish.
Another long climb and descent from Big Laurel Mountain. I limped into camp at Buck Creek Gap late that night and set up my tarp in a tight spot beneath some rhododendron, the only flat spot I could find.
Spicy sausage pasta with fresh avocado
Butterfly and rhododendron
Day two found me ascending Woods Mountain in the rain. I remembered a trip a number of years ago when, descending this same mountain, exhausted from my efforts over the last two days, I saw a guy with a shock of wild hair charging upwards, a panting dog hard on his heels. A woman with a beatific smile followed behind, walking at her own pace. The man stopped to talk with me for a few moments about my itinerary before sprinting onward.
Little did I know that this encounter would affect my course for the next few years, the thought constantly nagging at my mind, “why couldn’t that be me sprinting mountains?” Months later, having embraced the sport of long-distance running, I would finally recognize a familiar face in a running blog. The wild haired man I had met was noted ultrarunner Matt Kirk, with his dog Uwharrie and partner Lily. I noted in his blog where he had described our encounter as “a meeting of kindred spirits in the mountains”.
I had planned to sprint this section of trail in honor of that meeting and subsequent accomplishments, but day two found me with bilateral knee injuries. Perhaps because I had been favoring my left knee on descents, my right knee had begun to protest the ascents.
And so once again, I found myself trudging up Woods Mountain, questioning my ability to finish
Chorizo and Drunken Goat
Stopping for lunch by Toms Creek on what had become a beautiful morning. My close call with lightening would come on the next ridge.
I put the camera away for the remainder of the rainy afternoon and went about my business of covering miles. The storm eventually dissipated and toward evening I found myself ascending yet another peak. Midway through my ascent, I again heard some ominous rumbling. Remembering how quickly the last storm had blown in, I considered my options, go forward or go back.
Sunset from Bald Knob
Looking upward, I estimated that I was 2/3 of the way up the mountain. I started running, knee pain momentarily forgotten, intending to make it up and over before the storm hit. Unfortunately, as I neared the peak, the trail became heavily switchbacked.
There is a scene in “Shrek” where a knight runs in screaming panic away from the ogre. Unfortunately, he is in a tourist line at the time and finds himself running back and forth ineffectively within the rope-cordoned area. That was me, running side to side up the mountain as I listened to the occasional rumble of thunder, seemingly not making it any closer to the top.
Fortunately, the storm never manifested and I crested the peak about an hour later in the dark. I descended into the relative safety of a valley on the far side and set up camp in a welcoming clearing by a creek. In celebration of a challenging day, I made a giant dinner of Thai-style noodles and chicken with peanut sauce.
A hearty meal for a backpacker
Morning three started with a climb to the Pinnacles.
Some bouldering after breakfast
From atop the Pinnacles, I could see the Linville River down in the valley ahead and Shortoff Mountain beyond it. I would somehow be at its summit in just a couple of hours
My route up Shortoff
Fording the icy Linville River in my boxers
Shortoff had experienced a fire a few years before, and I climbed through the burn, noting the new life returning.
Mountain laurel blossoms at the foot of a burnt stump, like a memorial for the fallen
I paused at a craggy peak to pose for Irondog. The brainchild of endurance athletes, Drs. Matthew Beal and Christian Weder, Irondog combined their passions for veterinary medicine and endurance sports by obtaining sponsorships to help provide financial assistance to care for pets in need.
I carried this shirt in my pack the entire trip for this one photo op. While I was out here for my own reasons, if a worthy cause could benefit from my journey, I was happy to carry along the extra few ounces
The trees of Shortoff
I lunched on bean burritos with fresh avocado beneath the rhododendrons. Only a real renegade would lug these damn heavy fruit for 3 days just to eat them atop a mountain, but I was going to enjoy every bite.
Atop Shortoff I could see a strange peak in the distance. It would turn out to be Table Rock, the next mountain on my itinerary. Though it seemed impossibly far, I’d be at its top in less than 2 hours.
Table Rock in the distance
Past Table Rock, I began my descent into the Linville Gorge. Crossing Buck Creek, I continued onward until dark then found a dry spot for the night
A comfy but not particularly photogenic campsite in the drainages
The last day would be a wet slog. Thirty miles along and through Steels Creek, Raider Camp Creek, Harper Creek, and Gragg Prong, with slick rock and frequent crossings slowing progress.
Fueling up with Landjager and Idiazabal, a smoked Basque cheese that paired really nicely with sausage
Blossoms along Harper’s Creek
The day ended with long miles along two-track and single-track, wending upward toward the top of Grandfather Mountain. As I write this months later, I can barely recall the suffering involved in that last day, but still remember the relief I felt when I turned a corner a little after dark and suddenly saw my car waiting my return.
You knew this was coming
This had been a cathartic journey for me, made all the better by the fact that its conclusion had by no means been foregone. Once again, perseverance and mental toughness had trumped physical limitations. Now, the long winter had ended and spring was full of promise.
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