Days 46-47: Southwest Virginia
Day 46: Wise Shelter to the Troutdale Church Hostel (16 miles)
Day 47: Troutdale Church Hostel to Partnership Shelter (12 miles)
On May 28th, it rains, and we hike 16 miles. We struggle to find flat ground to camp that isn’t waterlogged, and eventually decide to hitchhike to the Troutdale Church hostel in search of a hot shower and dry shelter. A nice family picks us up and we sit in the back seat with their kindergartner, who wrinkles his nose at our stench. Troutdale is a tiny cluster of buildings. The businesses are all boarded up, but the two churches are both open, which is representative of a lot of small towns in this area, including my hometown a short distance up the interstate. The hostel is a self-serve outbuilding for hikers and TransAm cyclists, with wooden bunks, a few outlets, a microwave, and a few Bibles, and the showers behind the church are hot and well-supplied with clean towels and travel sized toiletries. I leave a grateful note in the guest register and slip $5 into the donation slot. These accommodations are bare, but they offer an escape from the rain, and that’s the only thing that matters. Except for the day of our Damascus Dash, it has rained every day for over two weeks now. It pours overnight, but we sleep soundly on our inflatable mattresses in the warm, dry hostel.
My only photo from the day shows green leaves and pink flowers. I am weary of the rain, but it’s spring, and the forest is glowing.
The next day, we hitch back to the trail and walk 12 miles. It’s mostly downhill as we follow the muddy path from the highest mountains in Virginia down to civilization in the valley. It’s a sparsely populated, agrarian civilization, but we know there is pizza, and that’s enough for us.
The trail periodically emerges from the woods into green pastures. Once, in a wide field, I see a brown shape off to my left. My stomach twists. It’s an animal, and I can see blood and a cloud of flies. A calf, I realize, and I leave the well-worn track and approach it cautiously. It’s all alone, no other animals in sight. At first I think the calf is dead, but as I draw closer, one liquid brown eye opens and rolls toward me. The calf thrashes once, then lies still. It can’t be more than 24 hours old, still covered in blood, and the flies are absolutely atrocious. “Where’s your mama, little one?” I say, wondering what to do. Presumably the farmer would want to know if his livestock was injured, but how could I get in contact? As Etienne catches up to me, I inch closer to the calf and reach toward its face to wave away the hundreds of flies swarming its eyes, nose, and ears.
The calf lets out a panicked bleating and staggers upright. I jump backward, startled by the sudden noise and movement, but I am relieved the calf seems okay. It scrambles away on spindly legs, up the trail. Then I hear a loud moo and heavy hoofbeats, and we are grinning and laughing as Mama Cow crests the hill a hundred yards away and lopes toward her baby. They sniff and circle each other, and then proceed up the hill, following the AT north ahead of us. A few minutes later, we catch up to the whole herd, mom and calf included. The calf is nursing. I have no idea why the calf was left alone beside the trail, but as we climb over the fence stiles and reenter the forest, I feel joyful that the first bloody scene was not as grim as it appeared.
That afternoon, we catch up to Robert and Ashley from our Smokies tramily, who have now assumed the trail names No Breaks and Infinity. They are accompanied by two friends who joined them on the trail for the Grayson Highlands section. I’m happy to see them. When they spent only one day at Trail Days instead of our three, I was doubtful that Etienne and I would catch them again.
By late afternoon, we reach Partnership Shelter. Located just a couple hundred yards from the Visitors Center, this famous shelter has showers and phone reception, and you can get pizza delivered to the parking lot. This is also the place where I started my shakedown hike back in late March, so it’s where Etienne and I will part ways for a few days. We order a pizza and stuff ourselves, and then my parents arrive. We all go to the grocery store together, including Dragonfly, an older female hiker who was trying unsuccessfully to hitch to town, then drop Etienne off again back at Partnership. I give him a hug and promise to meet him at a road crossing fifty miles up the trail in three days. Then we go home, and I spend the next five nights in my own bed.
