Date: 2020-07-16
From: US 501 James River Bridge

To: Bald Knob
Miles today: 24.8

Bade farewell to Charlie after he cooked us a pancake breakfast. What a great host! He dropped me off with Flashlight, a Pennsylvanian now from Orlando, who headed south over the James River bridge, and Brookie, who opted to slackpack up the mountain northbound. I wasn't slackpacking, but he fell back almost immediately and I walked the morning alone.I hiked up into a cloud. Wet grass soaked my feet, trees dripped and soaked my head, water droplets condensed on me. Technically I guess this counts as precipitation of some sort. Eskimos have a thousand words for snow. Hikers need a thousand words for rain. This one certainly soaked me more efficiently than most cloudbursts manage.It was almost 3000 vertical feet up Bluff Mountain. But it was fogged in of course so no views. The climb wasn't too difficult given the cooling effect of my personal cloud.I stumbled upon another turtle today, eyeing me cautiously from within his armor. And a little later a deer that took a few steps away then simply watched me. They seem rather accustomed to hikers here.Stopped at Punchbowl Shelter for lunch after ten miles. Within minutes of laying down to nap I started hearing odd noises coming from what looked like a nearby clearing. I thought it might be hikers arriving, then some kind of animal. I wanted to rest, but my curiosity made me walk over there. It turned out to be a pond full of bullfrogs, croaking at one another in some cacophonous concert. It went on for only a few minutes before it faded out to sporadic croaks.The wildlife kingdom was done putting on its show. As I left the shelter a doe burst across the trail, followed by a white-speckled fawn, and another doe. They loitered ten yards away waiting for me to move on so they could browse in peace. Caught up again with Brookie, who had met Charlie at the Blue Ridge Parkway crossing a mile back and gotten his regular pack. It was enormous, with equipment strapped above and below it. So tall it came down to his mid-thigh and stuck out above his head. Brookie, I would estimate, is 6' 2". He trudged slowly under the burden. I could see why that slackpack was so attractive.It was all downhill to Brown Mountain Creek. Here signs tell of a rural black community that lived here after the Civil War until they sold their land to the forest service in the 1920s. A stone chimney and some piles of stone appear to be all that remains. AWOL advertises the shelter here as having a swimming hole, but the creek is shallow as far as I could see. Disappointing! I was looking forward to a swim on this hot and humid day. I splashed off the sweat and cooled myself down. The humidity is heavier at lower elevations like this, where the mountain breezes don't reach. After eating some dinner I decided to hike a few more miles up a huge climb to Bald Knob. At 4000 feet it should be cooler and less humid.The climb itself was not bad, but it teased me with a dozen or more false summits, making it seem to last far longer. The mountain is covered with dense understory vegetation, most of it invasive species I would bet. Not a pleasant forest that beckons you onwards, rather one that makes you think of stinging nettles and poison ivy.Finally at the summit - which is ironically not bald at all - I found a tentsite. The only piece of open ground on this four mile climb. I set up the tent and hung my clothes to dry in the wonderfully stiff breeze, but drips began hitting the tent and I pulled everything inside. Guess there could be weather tonight.