This trip was damned from the start. Chandler (Willy Wonka) posted this trip for June 9, copying the trip I last posted for and completed September 17-19, 2021. I called that trip “Redemption” because when I first attempted this challenging loop four years prior, I could not complete it. The September trip, four years later, was my successful attempt at redemption. This is a tough loop! During each of my two prior trips on it at least one person could not complete it because it was physically too challenging. Cheekily, Willy riffed off my “Redemption” theme, turned up the thermostat on it by scheduling it for the Summer instead of the more agreeable Fall, and called it the “Damnation” trip. Six Veteran Members signed up.
True to the damnation theme, on the Wednesday before Willy’s trip, smoke from Canadian wildfires turned New York City air quality into the worst in the world. Photos from the Big Apple resembled Mars on a bad day. The smoke drifted south. The air quality report for the Shenandoahs was “unhealthy.” Wisely, Willy canceled the trip. It was damned.
I reposted the trip for June 23-25, calling it Damnation II, hopeful the wildfire smoke would dissipate by then. Eight Veteran Members signed up to tempt fate. However, the Wednesday before the trip, damnation struck again. Weather reports predicted rain through the weekend with daily thunderstorms. Mark R. cancelled his low mileage DCUL trip to Otter Creek Wilderness in West Virginia for that same weekend for fear of flash floods. Unwilling to backpack dual 20-mile days on a challenging loop in a steady rain, hikers started dropping off the Damnation II trip like raindrops falling from leaves in the trees. Eventually, there were only two of us—Jonathan (Shenanigans) and me (Spider-Man). This surprised me because DCULers do not usually shy away from rain. Heck, we even hike into hurricanes in 40 degree weather! (See “25 or 6 to 4:00 into a Hurricane”).
We drove to the trailhead at Blackrock Gap in the SNP after work, with plans to arrive at 10:00 p.m. to start an easy one-mile hike to our intended campsite near the shelter. At first, we were in high spirits. The rain clouds abated, and it was a dry drive until we reached the SNP. We cheered our good fortune to be able to start the trip dry. It is always nicest if rain comes after one is settled in for a trip instead of hitting rain at the start. We arrived at the SNP and, as if to scare us away at the gate, the clouds opened up and it began pouring. On top of that, a thick fog rolled in making it difficult to drive along Skyline Drive. We slowly made our way driving from one lane divide reflector to the next.
We reached the trailhead and the already driving rain went chaotic. I don’t want to overstate things, but had Noah experienced the intensity of the rain falling on the roof of our car, he would have kicked himself for not building a more seaworthy ark. I parked the the car. Jonathan and I looked at each other as the rain loudly pounded the roof of the car. This reminded me of the tempest we faced at the start of our Winter “Whale Watching in the Blue Ridge Mountains Trip.” There was no doubt what we’d do. We each opened our doors and began the trip.
The few feet from the front doors of the car to the trunk where we stored our packs was far enough to get us very wet before we could deploy our TRDDs (Tactical Rain Deflection Devices, aka “umbrellas”). We quickly hefted our packs and started hiking up the Appalachian Trail to Blackrock Hut. The trail had become a creek and we sloshed through water up to our shins. Naturally, our feet were drenched. We arrived at the hut, hoping there would be room to escape the hard driving rain and avoid setting up tents in it. We peered in with our red headlamps to see it was packed. We had to set up tents. Willy Wonka properly titled this trip—we were damned.
However, once we turned to set up tents, the weather changed. It stopped raining as if we were in a shower and someone suddenly turned off the spigot. Other than a brief drizzle that did not get one wet, that was the last of the rain we would see that weekend. From that point on the the trip went from “damnation” to “I’ll be damned”— as in “I’ll be damned, the rain stopped!” Or, the next morning: “I’ll be damned, there was no condensation in my tent despite the humid night!” Or, the beginning of the hike: “I’ll be damned, the many falls on the Jones Run trail are really impressive after a huge rainfall!” Or, “I’ll be damned, they sell craft beer at the Wayside along Loft Mountain—and good beer at that!” Or, “I’ll be damned, the weather is a bit humid, but quite comfortable!”
Shenanigans and I hiked at a fast clip along the waterfalls of Jones Run, had a beery lunch at the Wayside, and made it to our intended campsite very early—around 3:00 p.m. It would have been nice to have had other DCULers with us, but the trip felt like a regular DCUL trip. We naturally hike at the same pace, so we often find ourselves hiking together on most trips we take. Arriving at the campsite was the first moment when we internalized the absence of our usual companions.
Before setting up camp, we sat to rest, filter water, and have a snack. We had hiked almost 20 miles with significant elevation gain—almost 4,500 feet. It was a tough day, but it was so early . . . The sun wouldn’t set until 8:30 p.m. It was unappealing to spend 5 hours together at camp before sunset with just the two of us. Shenanigans suggested we press onward. I was feeling up to more hiking, but the map looked grim. There was no obvious place to camp anywhere between where we were—Big Run—and where we could next camp—Madison Run. Separating the two runs was 8 miles up and over Rockytop and Austin Mountains with big elevation gain.
At this point I must confess that I suffer “backpacking amnesia.” This is a rare condition that causes one to entirely forget how difficult a trail is. I had hiked the Big Run to Madison Run section of this loop twice, so I had experience with it. Nonetheless, I confidently proclaimed it a long, steady climb, but well-graded, smooth, and agreeable. With this endorsement, we shouldered our packs and returned to the trail. It was not smooth. While I remembered one large rock field to traverse I did not recall several of them. Nor did I remember the many steep climbs. It was positively exhausting. We arrived at the new campsite after having hiked almost 28 miles for the day and having gained over 6,000 feet of elevation gain.
We quickly set up camp and made our dinners. I was too tired to cook and just ate a peanut butter sandwich, snacks, and a candy bar. We each remarked at the fact that we had blisters. Neither of us usually get blisters, and when we do, we don’t get them in the spot we each did—just below the base of the toes. Instead, we get them around the heel. We mused at the oddity. Was it because our feet were constantly wet from all the remnants of the previous night’s rain? Was it the slippery rocks we were constantly traversing? I threw out a possibility: maybe hiking almost 28 miles in a single day was a contributing factor. We did not linger over this and quickly cleaned up and went to sleep.
We woke early Sunday morning in an effort to finish the 12 miles remaining in cooler weather. The temperatures were in the high 70s, but the heavy humidity made things summer-sticky. So, early morning chill was desirable. We hiked up Furnace and Trayfoot Mountains, which are objectively difficult. These were the mountains so difficult that I had to bail from the trip the first time I tried it. This time, the hiker amnesia worked to my advantage. I remember this part of the trip to be brutal. However, in the cool morning air and knowing we only had 12 miles to hike, we floated up the trail.
We arrived at our car very early—around 10:30 a.m. Since it was just the two of us, we did not have to wait for anyone else. We changed into our “drive home clothes” and steered the car to Staunton for Shenandoah Pizza.
The total trip was approximately 40 miles with almost 11,000 feet of elevation gain. It is one of the toughest loops in the area. It is also magnificent. The waterfalls on Jones Run resemble waterfalls in Hawaii; the aptly named Rocky Mountain resembles some trails in the Colorado Rockies with its long, exposed ridge hikes; the mountains offered terrific views of the Shenandoah Valley; and the beer at the Loft Mountain Wayside hit the spot!
On so many DCUL trips, the advance weather predictions call for dry weather that become all day rain events. On this trip it was nice to see the opposite scenario—except for Friday night. I’ll be damned!
Safely back home, I showered and collapsed into bed. I was damned. Damned tired! However, I had a damned good time. If anyone who considered doing this loop but didn’t wants to give it a go, post it, but consider calling it “Redemption II.”
—David O (Spider-Man)
DC UL Backpacking 