Date: 2017-04-09
From: Iron Mountain Shelter, TN

To: Woodchuck Hostel (Damascus, VA)
Miles today: 26.3
Weather: clear sky

Day 33: Iron Mountain Shelter, TN to Woodchuck Hostel (Damascus, VA) - 26.3 miles:The snoring finally got the better of me last night and I caved. At around 1am and without a wink of sleep, the ungodly sound next to me only seemed to get louder with time. In the rare moments that it subsided the girl he was with chimed in with her own unique version of snoring. A third person also joined in, one of the two hikers camping, though it was subtle and at a distance. I crawled out of my sleeping bag, gathered a few things in my arms, and walked ~50 yards up the trail until I found a downed log to cowboy camp next to. I prefer having something to sleep against so I can enjoy the false sense of security it provides from at least one direction. With a nearly full moon lighting the terrain almost as brightly as the day, I was able to move around and settle myself without the help of my headlamp. I fell asleep almost immediately and enjoyed a deep, though not long enough, rest drenched in the moonlight of my last night in Tennessee.In the morning I returned to the shelter to pack my gear and take care of my morning chores, making sure to make as much noise as possible. Most hiking gear seems to be made with the loudest material known to man so it wasn't a difficult process. I then wandered up the mountainside behind the shelter, returning to my car hole from the previous evening. I dug down until I found last night's massacre and proceeded to add another thick, rich round to it. I'm sure the snoring guy from last night had no idea he was on my mind as I crapped ~30 yards behind the shelter, but oh was he ever. Damn snorers.I hit the trail at 8am determined to get another 20-25 miles in on the day. The sky was clear and the temperature was already quickly closing in on yesterday's high. My light rain jacket wouldn't last long into the day as the temperature would wise to between 70-75 degrees, sweat pouring freely at times. I reached the monument of Nick Grindstaff, a former resident of the mountain or area I assumed. A little east-facing stone wall with a plaque sits at the head of a concrete grave at the top of a small mountain.A half a mile later I pulled up and, finding there was cell signal, I sat in the crunchy leaves lining the trail and called my mom. Today is her birthday and I wanted to make sure I was able to touch base early in case I couldn't find signal for the rest of the day. We chatted briefly, exchanging our plans for the day, and that was it. Click. She returning to her birthday breakfast, and me returning to hiking. Once again, though, happy birthday, Mom, love you.At around five miles in the trail exits the wooded ridge, crosses a quiet road, and meanders its way into a treeless green pasture. Climbing the gradual hill through the pasture, ridges rose in all directions, and the warmth of the morning sun beat down from the brilliant blue sky above. A few hundred yards ahead, just crossing over a small ridge and out of view, was Freight Train. As his name implies, today was his day and, after passing me earlier when I was on the phone, I wouldn't see him in the trail for the rest of the day. I made my way through the pasture and along cow trails beaten into the hillside over the years, but no cows were to be seen.With miles to put in and relatively tame terrain to do it on, my head was dropped and music was in for most of the day. I'd spend the day winding my way up and down the many camel humps of the ridge leading towards Virginia. Every so often I could see two towering mountains towards the northeast, one with a grassy bald on its southern face, one blanketed in forest. Having covered the stretch a couple of times so far, I knew I'd be covering this stretch a day or two out of Damascus, the forested one being Mt. Rogers, the highest point in Virginia, and just on the other side the Grayson Highlands, my favorite section of the trail.Other than a quick stop at a small pipe flowing with water just off the trail, I'd average 3mph for the entire day, breaking only at Abingdon Gap Shelter for half an hour to eat lunch. Tired of my food and experiencing my first tunnel vision-like craving for Coke, I pouted on the inside as I shoved beef sticks, a Snicker's bar, and a Cliff bar into my mouth, well beyond them tasting good anymore. After chatting with a hiker that started around two weeks before me, providing tips to him on the approaching section, he went back to smoking pot and me crying on the inside that my food sucked. As I was packing up to leave, three NoBo hikers that were slack-packing, Engine, Caboose, and Jam, arrived. Having passed then earlier in the morning, I had assumed they were day-hikers, but has been moving at a clip that made it difficult to pass. It made sense now they were slacking and so for the remainder of the afternoon, I joined at the pack of their train and used them as my pace care. Jam is Japanese and acquired his name for jamming to music as he hikes. He takes it to another level by using an external speaker and providing music to anyone within ~100ft. His favorite to play when moving uphill is Eye of the Tiger, which he did twice while I was with them.At 3:30pm we reached the Tennessee-Virginia border, a simple wooden sign standing just off the trail marked the milestone. A previous hiker appropriately wrote "Jeep Grand" on another sign informing people they were entering/exiting the Cherokee National Forest. Well played. From this point we had three and half miles to town, and we double-timed it over the final stretch, knowing it was all downhill from this point. We exited the trail between the yards of two homes, reaching Water Street at 4:45pm. With my craving for Coke to it's max, I said goodbye to the other three after a series of photos at a wooden sign welcoming hikers to Damascus, making my way towards the quickest place to get my hands on a Coke -- Dollar General.A few children played on a jungle gym in a small park, a couple people slowly biked by on the famous Creeper Trail, and cars passed through the quiet downtown strip of town - a far cry from what the town will be like in just over a month from now. Damascus is known as Trail Town, USA for the thousands of people who converge on this sleepy Virginia town every May for Trail Days. All the top vendors, the who's-who of the AT, thru-hikers of every year, all arrive to spend a couple days escaping from the rigors of trail life to enjoy and celebrate in the awesomeness of the AT community. Today, though, it was clearly a typical Sunday afternoon. A lawnmower could be heard several blocks away, a few cars revved their engines as they passed through the small downtown, and a few hikers hobbled around from store-to-outfitter-to-restaurant.After leaving Dollar General with a plastic bag containing a liter of Coke, a half gallon of OJ, and a can of Sprite, I made my way across the street to Bobo McFarland's, one of the few eateries in town. An hour later after consuming a club sandwich with chips, fries, and at least three refills of Coke, my day-long craving had been met. Now all I wanted was to rest so I made my way to the south side of town to Woodchuck Hostel. As I was signing in and paying for my stay, I saw Freight Train already relaxing in his bed, having beaten me by a couple hours. I grabbed a free bed next to his, one of three in a shared room on the first floor, and we caught up on the day.We both originally planned to zero tomorrow, but he has since changed his mind and will utilize tomorrow by slack-packing ~20 miles between Damascus and the Grayson Highlands. He asked me to join, but I told him I'd let him know how I felt in the morning. After ~100 miles in the previous four hiking days, my dogs are barking a bit. However, with the opportunity to slack-pack another twenty miles, it might be too good to pass up. TBD in the AM. I also spent a portion of the evening chatting with a thru-hiker from my year who not only proposed to his now wife on McAfee's Knob during the hike, but also created a bun in the oven during the final 100-mile stretch of the trail. Now, as he held his son who conveniently has the initials A.T., he told me how his wife and him try to give back to the trail as much as he can. He will be returning to Trail Days this year as a vendor, selling hand-made wooden statues of the final sign, seen in thousands of summit photos, and will donate a dollar of each purchase to the Appalachian Trail Conservancy.It's now just after 11pm and the hostel is dark and quiet. It took me a while to conclude my journal since I dropped my tablet on the floor earlier, and it now refuses to turn on. I must now journal on my phone, which is made more difficult due to my suffering from sausage fingers syndrome. At least I'm down to my last few. Time for bed. Fingers crossed for no snorers.