Date: 2018-09-02
From: Sarver Hollow Shelter

To: Four Pines Hostel (VA 624)
Miles today: 22.8

A peaceful night at Sarver Hollow Shelter. Low on water, I skip oatmeal for a sticky bun, then trudge back up to the ridgeline just after 8. On the way I see all the rocks I somehow sped over in near darkness, and the point where I nearly followed a runoff path to nowhere.Barely a tenth of a mile along the AT I climb over some boulders and run into a rare northbounder. But this is no section hiker. She may be this season's very last northbound thruhiker. Pathfinder is 78 years young and started back in April. She hopes to make it to Harpers Ferry before winter sets in. I'd heard from Mongo how she tried to get to Garden Mountain Hostel to retrieve a package she'd had sent there but they didn't answer calls. So trail angel Gary took her to Bland to resupply, then to Lickskillet Hostel for the night, and back to the trail next day. Pathfinder tells me she stopped at the boulders last night because she would have had to take apart her pack to get over them. She ended up just sleeping there on the rocks. She is also low on water. I'd give her some of mine but I have even less. The next water is at Niday Shelter, six miles away. A full day's hike for Pathfinder. Reluctantly I hike ahead. There's not much I can do and she doesn't need my help if she's gotten this far, but my instinct is to hover and somehow help.This ridge is very rocky and includes frequent stretches of angled bedrock. Great views, but hard to navigate. The valleys to the south are covered in clouds far below, like looking over a white sea with green islands. At the end of the ridge I come to the Eastern Continental Divide, separating watersheds for the Gulf of Mexico and Atlantic Ocean. It's 1920 miles by water to the Gulf, via the Tennessee, Ohio, and Mississippi Rivers. Also here is the 1500 mile marker for southbounders, a simple stick arrangement. They're almost three-quarters done. For northbounders this point is at the CT-MA border, with four states including the toughest terrain still to go.The trail turns downward into another long, steep, mostly dirt, descent to a road. I pass Niday Shelter on the way down and the water source is poor, a trickling stream that takes several tries to fill a liter bottle. I make due with one liter since the next source is about seven miles away. Once past the road the trail heads straight up over 1500 feet. It's steep for a long while and I'm dripping sweat. The humidity is high once again. At the top is a cultivated mown strip along the trail with benches every half mile. Another trail leads in from below. A tourist trail maybe? The lovely path leads to the Audie Murphy monument, a simple tribute to the most decorated soldier of World War II. Stones are stacked on and around the subdued plaque with dog tags and other military memorabilia from people remembering their loved ones lost in battle. The ridge continues and once again becomes quite rocky, eventually yielding to another big, steep, dirt descent to another road. I've underestimated my water needs once again and I conserve what I have in case the next source is poor.On the way down I pass a couple southbound flip-floppers. One is a middle-aged Asian woman from San Diego, a rare site on the trail. She's wilting in the humidity too, the one thing that's made Virginia a challenge for her after completing New Hampshire and Maine.Hallelujah! There's a swiftly running creek at the road crossing. I camel down as much as I can drink and fill my two liters. I won't run dry again! I also splash and clean myself as best I can to cool off and hopefully control my burgeoning odor.Once again the trail turns up for more than 1500 feet. It goes on and on. Once at ridgeline it continues to climb over rocks and bouldery knolls. There are more false summits than I can keep track of. My energy flags. There are occasional views of green and blue hills and sunny skies. Thunder rumbles nearby in various directions. To my delight clouds cover the sun for awhile and a breeze blows through, but no sign of rain. The terrain is dry, dusty and has a Southwestern feel with scraggly pines and woody shrubs hanging on in the rocky, sun-beaten soil. The occasional scampering lizard reinforces the image.Finally cresting the top of the ridge, I encounter the first of many dayhikers. I soon reach Dragon's Tooth, a wall of pointed rocks reaching thirty or forty feet into the sky at the edge of a cliff. I consider climbing one but time and caution rule it out. As I descend I realize the destination isn't what draws the dayhikers but the journey. It's a two mile rock scramble with boulders and exposed bedrock at a riot of angles making for a fun if somewhat treacherous climb up or down. Most of the dayhikers are young couples or college kids out for the holiday weekend. But one thirty-something couple shepherding a clutch of teenagers has the dad carrying a young girl in a back carrier. He casually drinks a Gatorade on the other side as I tentatively cross a vertically-ridged bedrock bridge with a sheer drop-off. I tell him he's brave to attempt this with his cargo but he shrugs it off that he's done it before. This Maine-like descent fallen into central Virginia loses its charm after a half mile or so, but it keeps coming. I'm painfully aware of my poor pace today, for the third day in a row. Whether it's humidity, rough terrain, steep hills, dehydration, or just weariness I can't say, but it's very frustrating. Hitting this stretch feels like hitting the Whites and struggling to make miles. But this is not the Whites.Finally the trail turns to dirt and falls steeply down to VA 624. Just then the skies that have been threatening for days finally open up and let out a good soaking sun shower. I'm able to throw my poncho on and keep dry (well, aside from the sweat). This road is my destination for the day, home of Joe Mitchell's Four Pines Hostel. It's a famous stop on the trail, at least partly for the shuttle it runs to The Homeplace, home to a reportedly amazing home-style (and huge) dinner.I walk the half-mile down the country road to Joe's house and, seeing no one about, head around back to a freestanding garage that is the hostel. I let myself in. I'm the only one here, and it's already after six. There are a dozen bunks along with several couches, a fridge, stove and appliances, garage door openers, a bathroom and a shower. A shower! I make that my first priority. Then, still seeing no one around, I head to the front door of the house where Joe meets me after his own shower from mowing all day. He points me to the clothes washer around back (no dryer, just a line) and tells me I can take the van to the restaurant. I start the laundry and rev up the 1980s-vintage Ford van with roll-down windows and falling apart interior. It roars to life. I take it out on the main road and feel it struggle to get to 45. Fortunately The Homeplace is only a few miles away and the cars behind me don't get road rage. The restaurant is in an early 20th-century farm mansion. I immediately sense I'm out of place. The crowd is families in church clothes out for a Sunday brunch-style event. In fact it is Sunday, and a holiday at that. I get some stares on the way in. I can only wonder how a van-full of stinky thruhikers in prime season is greeted, but it is almost a de riguer stop on the trail regardless.Because it's Sunday they stopped seating at six instead of eight. I'm crestfallen! My slow day has caught up with me again! The host, a young guy, takes pity and, seeing I'm a hiker, offers to make up a takeout platter with the works. I perk up immediately. Soon he's bringing out a bag full of styrofoam containers. I try to pay but he (and his boss) insist it's on the house. I start to press, but remember some sage advice: always let people help if they want to. Thanking him profusely I take my enormous heaping of trail magic calories back to the car and it roars back to life.Stopping at the convenience store for iced teas I encounter several backpackers doing Virginia's triple crown (Dragon's Tooth, McAfee Knob, and Tinker Cliffs). I offer them a ride to the hostel but they are intent on hiking up to a campsite. Hey, we'll see how they'd feel if it was more than a three day trip. Anyway, I tried to do my good turn!It's a little lonely in the big hostel this evening. Joe apparently keeps his distance, and it runs by donation. My clothes hang from meat hooks over the sofas as a floor fan air dries them. There's a 2017 Hiker Yearbook on the table, and as I flip through it I recognize far more faces and names than I would have guessed. My jumping up and down the trail has widened my exposure beyond the immediate vicinity a typical northbounder would know. I reflect on all the people I've met hundreds of miles and months, even a year, apart. It's a large community, but a small world.