(Based on a true story)
Mark V (“Brightside”) thought he found the perfect way to avoid starring in one of my Trip Reports. We’ll see how that worked out for him.
Due to a hip injury Brightside could not hike the 2026 iteration of the “Tour de Sods.” This annual, epic route circumnavigates both the Dolly Sods Wilderness and the adjacent Roaring Plains Wilderness in a single weekend. Since 2021, Brightside forged and posted this popular tour, always hitting the peak of wild blueberry season. Maddie generously ran forward, grabbed the posting baton from Brightside, and agreed to keep the tradition going. Technically, nine backpackers hiked the Tour this year, but with Brightside’s spirit shining bright in our hearts, it felt like a full group of ten.
My Tour started this year alone, in the dark. Everyone else was able to leave Washington, DC in the afternoon—everyone but me. I drove alone out to West Virginia and parked at the Flatrock Run Trailhead. There is an eerie stillness when one parks at a dark trailhead and turns off the car engine and headlights. With the sudden cessation of the din and vibration of the car engine, the extinguishing of the bright lights, and the silence of the car radio, one initially hears—nothing. Only after stepping outside does one hear the steady whoosh of the nearby creek, the dance of the trees in the breeze, the annoying high whine of a mosquito in the ear, or the distant barks of a couple of country dogs. One feels very alone. I swatted at the mosquito.
“Ok. Here I go again!” I sighed to myself as I grabbed my backpack from the trunk of my car, put on my headlamp, turned on my GPS, and inserted my earbuds to replace those romantic sounds of nature I just described with “My Sharonna.” It was 9:30 p.m., I was alone in the wilderness of West Virginia, and I had to hike up almost 2,500 feet over 6.5 miles to meet my friends camped on the top of the plateau in front of me. “. . . ooh, you make my motor run. Gun it coming off of the line, Sharona! My, my, my, I yi woo! M-m-m-my Sharona.” Not even Brightside could have said it better.
As I hiked beyond the overgrown grass on a field leading up to the woods (and the climb) I didn’t bother avoiding the puddles on the trail. I marched through them, splashing muddy water on my legs like a 3-year-old, knowing that no one arrives at the top of the plateau without wet, extremely muddy feet. So, why not just rip off the Band-Aid right away!
Soon, I reached the section of the trail that Brightside had years ago marked as a known stinging nettle zone. I’ve tried everything to deal with those annoying nettles in that section of the trail over the years. I tried hiking in the long convertible hiking pants that I find hot and uncomfortable. I tried tiptoeing through the nettles despite wearing shorts. I tried wearing, and raising, knee-high socks. I tried rubbing Aquaphor on my legs before walking through that section. Nothing worked. This year I decided to try psychology. Maybe the stings from the nettles were just in my head? I ought to just ignore them! I cleared my mind. I told myself that I’ve survived that patch many times and that those plants from Hell wouldn’t bother me if I didn’t let them. Then, I jogged the 2 miles through the patch, in shorts, making zero effort to avoid them. It worked!
(Oh, come on! You didn’t really think that would work, did you? I developed the worst stinging nettle rash on the front of my legs that I ever had. At least it was quick, though).
As I neared the top of the plateau, I stopped at the spring Brightside helpfully identified years ago as the last water source until the dry camp he selected. I filled my water bottles and washed off my nettle-irritated legs. The cool water soothed them, albeit temporarily.
The final punch up to the campsite was on the thigh-high grassy plateau. Just as I was thinking it wasn’t as muddy as usual, my foot sank up to my knee. I pulled it out and regarded the thick black mud covering it. I shook off what I could and continued hiking. A heavy fog rested on the plateau and my headlamp reflection off the mist blinded me. I started losing the trail and, at one point, really got disoriented. The GPS kept me on line.
I reached a pine grove that marked our campsite and saw some tents. It was just before midnight. I switched my headlamp to its red setting and quietly pitched my tent. I pulled off my shoes, each one with a popping sound. They were caked with thick, viscous mud. I shook them off but marveled at how heavy they had become. I peeled off my drenched socks and squeezed them out. It was late. I turned off my headlamp and lay down in my tent.
A second or two later, Maddie said flatly, in a monotone affect, to all of us and none of us, ‘Uh. Good morning?’” I hadn’t remembered falling asleep, but I must have. I blinked my eyes open and instinctively felt the top of my quilt and the inner walls of my tent to assess the level of overnight condensation. I do this every morning in the wild. Feeling them bone dry made me very happy. I heard feint rustling in the nearby tents as others started morning chores.
As we were all breaking camp, I greeted those I knew and introduced myself to the two I hadn’t met: Lexi and Coleen. The temperature was very comfortable, on the cooler side. Everyone was in good spirits. A few anticipated the wild blueberries Brightside always promised.
We started hiking in a pack line along the plateau edge through the dense mountain laurels. By “we” I mean everyone except Ben. Training for a marathon, Ben wanted to run the Roaring Plains section of the trek. I suggested he save his run for Dolly Sods knowing how overgrown Roaring Plains is. I told him about the slippery rocks on the long rock scramble early on the trail. He thought it better to get his run in early, however, and said goodbye and took off jogging. We would not see him again until that evening at camp.
Generally, the Canyon Rim Trail hugging the lip of the plateau cliff is a tough unblazed trail to follow. However, rock cairns made wayfinding easier. And, since it hugs the cliff, one cannot go too far off trail to the right without yelling “AHHHhhhhhhh!” This is a deceptive part of the trek. On paper, it is a gentle, net elevation loss section of trail. However, the challenging wayfinding, the brush growth, and the light rock scrambling causes one to hike at a much slower pace than usual. It took a lot of time to get through that section. How much extra time? Well, I’m usually able to hike 10 miles before 10:00 a.m., even after leaving camp at 7:00 a.m. This requires a pace of over 3 miles per hour. However, on this trip, we were moving so slowly that Logan, WB, and I set a new goal: a “7-11”—seven miles before 11:00 a.m. We nabbed it, but only after jogging the last mile. Even with that jogging, our average pace was only 2.5 miles per hour. As Jonathan (“Shenanigans”) always says, “Dolly Sods miles are not like regular miles.” This saying is doubly so in Roaring Plains.
After a steep climb up a wet, muddy, exposed pipeline trail, we reached the blueberry bushes that Brightside advertised. Ready for the buffet, we saw nothing! It was if the blueberries all declared, “if Brightside can’t come out neither can we!” I don’t know if we were too early or too late in the season for the blueberries. On the one hand, I saw no evidence of flowering, budding, or ripening berries. On the other hand, I saw no signs of recently fruited bushes. We were not even close to peak blueberry time! I looked up at the sky, squinted in the sun, spread out my arms in lamentation, and loudly moaned, “noooooooo!” Logan, temporarily borrowing Brightside’s trail name, gamely offered, “I think I see one,” as he waded into the wiry bushes to claim a single sad-looking berry that may not have even been a blueberry. With our heads drooping below our shoulders, we hiked onward.
We took a long siesta on a rocky overlook of the Red Creek valley and the Lion’s Head outcropping on the other side. The sun shone brightly and hot. Most of us sat crouched low in the shade of some short bushes. Chandler (“Willy Wonka”) sat far out on our outcropping under his TRDD (trekking umbrella). We spread out our tents in the sun to fully dry them.
Despite the long sojourn, not everyone had arrived at the overlook. A wayside with a pit toilet that existed in years past had been removed. However, it still appeared on the now outdated map that Brightside marked and that Maddie used. Some of us, looking for that relative luxury, deliberately passed a trail junction looking for it. Not knowing where the others were, Maddie stayed back to wait for them. The rest of us pressed onward. However, after a time, I thought it would be nice to keep Maddie company while she waited for the others, so I started hiking back to the overlook. When I reached Maddie, she was hiking towards me with the others, all in good spirits.
We hiked down off the plateau to Red Creek, which was running strong. We forded the knee-high water and climbed steeply up the other bank. We’d have a long climb to get back on the plateau. Due to the timing, our subgroup decided to take a side trail toward our campsite, cutting off enough miles that we would arrive at camp before dark. However, feeling a burst of energy, I decided to take the planned trail with a slight jog. So, once again, I was alone in the Wilderness. Crossing Red Creek again, I heard Brightside in my mind reminding me to fill my water bottles there to avoid having to filter the dirtier “beaver water” on the top of the plateau.
This climb always gets tiring. Also, I carried all the water I’d need for that evening so I wouldn’t have to pull from beaver infested water on the plateau. My increased pace made it no easier. However, the weather was agreeable.
I reached the “sods” of the Wilderness and made good time over the elevated plain. I came across Hyewon, hiking alone, a couple miles from the campsite. She didn’t know there were others behind her and seemed happy at this sign of life.
I arrived at the campsite, deep in a nice grove of pines, as one of the last to arrive. We still had time before sunset and ate our dinners around the fire pit. Some walked around barefoot on the soft carpet of pine needles. Unfortunately, sap from the trees clung to the feet uncomfortably. Not even soaking them the next day in Red Creek removed the stickiness.
Willy, true to his trail name, broke out his special, gourmet chocolate. Usually, backpackers trip over each other to sample some. Maybe it was the fatigue of a 23-mile day, maybe it was excessive politeness, or maybe it was that his chocolate contained real ants in it. Really. Whatever the reason, his chocolate wasn’t the hit it usually is. He claimed the ants would give the chocolate a lemony flavor with a nice Nestle Crunch-style crunch. I wasn’t going near it. WB could not detect the lemon and praised the chocolate to Willy, who smiled. However, her face betrayed her. She declined a second helping. I couldn’t believe Willy could eat chocolate-covered ants. He, unfortunately, suffers many food allergies. Rice and soy? Off the menu. Ants? Good to go!
We woke Sunday morning to our final 8-mile descent off the plateau. Mornings on the sods are magical with the early light and morning mist. We hiked fast. Logan, WB, Ben, Chandler, and I hiked in a packline. The weekend exhaustion, otherworldly scenery of the sods, and the good fellowship inspired deep philosophical questions of life.
Ben started it: “Are squirrels just rats with better marketing?” We decided that rats would have done better for their reputation to switch out that intimidating bald, pointy “rat tail” for something fluffier. Since rats are said to be so intelligent, I’m sure they could have dressed up their tails.
I added to the discourse: “What exactly is ‘lunch?’ For example, do snacks count as lunch? It is impressive how strongly some held opinions on this subject. Is it defined by “intentionality?” Does it required a main course? Must it be consumed while seated? Does the time of the day one eats food matter? This conversation lasted almost an hour.
WB and I continued a discussion of one of life’s biggest mysteries as we passed a bird chirping “happily” on a tree above us. We’ve previously learned on a trip to the Canyon Rim Trail in Pennsylvania that some birds fly just for the fun of it. Janice, a bird expert, even sent us a clip of a bird singing, “wheeeee!” The chirping bird above us now had us (ok, me) thinking: “do birds sing for fun?” (Spoiler alert: according to AI, some do!)
After fully descending to Red Creek, we stopped and cooled off in the river as we waited for everyone to come down off the plateau.
Then, we hiked the final mile to our cars. At the trailhead, a park ranger with a particularly happy looking dog greeted us, tail wagging. She introduced her dog to us as the “bark ranger.”
We drove to Davis, WV in time for brunch at Milos. As we thanked Maddie for having posted this version of Brightside’s signature trek, someone said, “a toast!” We all raised our glasses. “One for us!” he declared as we each took a long pull. “And one for Brightside!” he said, as we deliberately spilled some of our drinks on the floor in solemn tribute to our absent friend. “What the heck!?!?” the waitress said as she rushed over to us with a mop and dishrag. When we told her “it was for Brightside,” she nodded knowingly.
—- David O (“Spider-Man”); If you liked this Trip Report, click here for my favorite Report from an earlier version of this trip.
If you go: We set up a shuttle between the Flatrock Run Trailhead and the Red Creek Run trailhead. This eliminated a soulless two mile walk on a busy asphalt road. So, we had cars parked at each trailhead.
This trip has been posted as a MO trip. However, the difficulty and wayfinding challenged makes it more like a VMO trip. Future trip organizers may want to consider upgrading it.
Here is the Meetup trip description: https://www.meetup.com/dc-ul-backpacking/events/315121186/?eventOrigin=group_events_list
Here is the route: https://caltopo.com/m/QFKMB
DC UL Backpacking 
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