Tuscarora Trail: A Pilgrimage

Amos considering a rocky route

The Tuscarora Trail, which travels 250 miles from Hogback Overlook in Shenandoah National Park to Blue Mountain, Pennsylvania near Carlisle, is not a trail for the faint of heart. Honestly, I underestimated this trail's ruggedness. We didn't merely follow blazes and gaze idly at treetops over long trailside lunches. Heh, I would have been fine with that. But rough terrain compounded with weather-related challenges made for a physically and mentally demanding journey. Those of you may remember from my first post about the Tuscarora Trail, I stated that I was seeking a trail that was logistically agreeable, one that "would allow me to sink into the trail state of mind." I can't say that it was logistically easy, and I don't know that I did any sinking in. Rather, I was seized, and I surrendered. Every day was all encompassing, requiring my complete and total awareness and attention. However, these days, that is an intention of my long-distance hikes, to cultivate presence and to feel what it is to be fully alive moment to moment. Without the challenges, perhaps I may not have.

A southern Appalachian Mountain view

But I'll wax philosophical with you at the end of this post, let's get down to the Tuscarora Trail, the wonders and obstacles, that this journey entailed. Beginning in the southern Appalachians, I climbed the trail's tallest mountains. Though much to my delight, I began with a descent that provided far-reaching views of mountains in the distance. I passed numerous day-hikers out for a stroll. What I didn't know is that I wouldn't see hikers again until around Dry Gap, West Virginia and that'd be it save for one person I met camping at Big Mountain Shelter.

 And within short order . . . I was off the beaten path. Rather than people, I shared trail with plants of rich coves, such as Canada violet, pedicularis, and waterleaf, each of these plants medicinal and/or edible. Canada violet's blossoms taste of wintergreen. Pedicularis, also known not-so-attractively as lousewort, is one of my go-to herbs for upper body muscular aches and pains. Waterleaf is a versatile wild green, delicious when prepared with creamy pasta. I also apparently shared this path with very active yellow jackets, and after disturbing a nest, was stung roughly a dozen times. Some of these stings would eventually redden and swell to the circumference of softballs. I'd later learn from a local that these aggressive stinging buzzers are more likely to strike during times of drought. Drought - another discovery that would soon prove to be an obstacle. My first evening, where the guidebook had warned that I may find a creek too high to ford, I encountered nothing but bone-dry rocks. And so began my ever-constant search for water.  

Canada violet (Viola canadensis)

Lousewort (Pedicularis canadensis)

Virginia waterleaf (Hydrophyllum canadense)

Most days down south, I spent considerable time pouring over maps and strategizing where that next water source may be. This was particularly important given Amos. Temps hovered around the high eighties. Amos doesn't fare well in the heat. He's prone to just sitting down and stopping. And given this possibility, I had to make sure I had full water reserves no matter where we were on the trail. My pack was enormous. I've never prided myself on being ultra-light. In addition to typical gear, I like to carry such luxuries as a book, a tablet, several changes of clean underwear, and a selection of semi-real food that requires cooking. Amos, well he's even less ultralight. I tried giving him dehydrated food back on the Mid State Trail and he just stopped eating. So, each day he gets two cups of dry kibble, an 8 oz container of wet Rachel Ray and 3.5 oz of Caeser wet food. On average I carried 5 to 6 days of food at a time. Each day I learned to load up with 6 to 7 liters of water, each liter 2 lbs. I've avoided doing the math, but I'd estimate my pack typically weighed in around fifty pounds.

My monstrous backpack, with a backpack. That second backpack is Amos', which I carried when he developed sore spots from his cooling vest, and when the heat was just too much to ask more of him.

But even amidst the weight, stings, staying hydrated and regaining my trail legs, I marveled at the very different landscape I'd arrived in. The trail through Virginia and West Viriginia was at times rocky, often lined with scree, sometimes verging on sandy. Dirt was dry and dusty and coated everything. But oh, the glory of the Tupelo (aka Black Gum) trees with vertical snaking trunks, so many dressed in red for autumn. These red leaves frequently littered the trail and I felt as if I were walking a hiker's red carpet through the woods. Sassafras, too, was in abundance. This medicinal tree with roots renowned for use in old time root beer, are also warming and blood cleansing when simmered as a tea. I adored crushing sassafras leaves while hiking and breathing deep their lemony aroma. Oaks and pines were, of course, constant companions. 

Scarlet Tupelo leaves (Nyssa sylvatica)

Sassafras leaves (Sassafras albidum) - the only tree I know of that bears three different leaves all on the same tree, one that is entire, one shaped like a mitten, and another a T-Rex foot

It was down south that I met two fragrant plants for the first time. Firstly, the very prevalent Shiso, aka beefsteak plant. In my neck of the woods, the omnipresent non-native invasive plant is garlic mustard. However, garlic mustard was hardly on the scene, replaced instead by this mint family member, with the most unusual licorice-mint-basil scent. A little research revealed that this plant is a common herb used in Asian cuisine. I suddenly remembered a friend and student who had served me shiso ice cream not long before leaving for this trek. This was the plant! And it was everywhere! I crushed and nibbled and added a bit here and there to cheddar sandwiches. It would persist all the way into Pennsylvania, where it would eventually join forces with garlic mustard. The other new-to-me plant was a daintier mint: American dittany. I often tucked a sprig of this fragrant woods-loving wildflower in a pack strap near my chest. Its refreshing scent assisted me up the mountains and, at least psychologically, cooled my sweat drenched limbs. 

Shiso, aka beefsteak plant (Perilla frustescens)

American dittany, aka stone mint (Cunila origanoides)

As I hiked onward temps rose. Road walks were brutal, the most notable being that into the town of Tom's Brook. Amos developed oozy raw spots on his chest and underarms from wearing his damp cooling vest all day long. Needless to say, I ditched that pup-wear. Day after day I donned the same sweat drenched clothing. In our first so many miles together, I didn't always trust this trail like I have others. I found myself wondering what new obstacle might be around the bend. Yellow jackets, hundreds of microscopic ticks, another dry creek. But in the end, like all other trails, serendipity happened. The trail provides. But here, is where people stepped onto my path. Every person I interacted with was kind and helpful. From residents along the road that passed along bottled water to business owners that allowed us to step into air conditioning momentarily to fill up our water or those who neverminded Amos walking the aisles with me as I picked up a few supplies. Post office workers, landscapers, a deputy, hotel managers, grill cooks and passerby. It is not uncommon for folks to ask me what kind of unsavory people I meet while hiking. Do I carry protection? is a common question. Folks, the truth is that most people are good. The trail will continually reinforce this reality. Thank you, kind strangers. 

With Star Left

  

With Krista along the Tuscarora Trail

There were dear friends who showed up for me like Krista, whom I've been friends with since college. We were big Rusted Root fans and even after college, these remained our adventures together. But, when they stopped touring and adulting took over, somehow ten years had passed. That didn't matter. Krista happily welcomed me into her cabin that just so happened to sit on a side trail less than a mile from the Tuscarora Trail. There in the lap of luxury, Amos and I waited out the near 100-degree temps. Krista hung with us on the last evening, where I stayed up way past my hiker bedtime with laughter, stories, and more laughter. She arose early the next morning, hiking ten miles with me (more than I did that day) out and back on the Tuscarora Trail. When I realized I'd forgotten Amos' water bowl at her cabin, she delivered it to me on trail. When it comes to real friends, it matters not the time nor distance passed. Thank you, Krista. Let's not wait for Rusted Root to get back together! 

And Star Left, which I know y'all know well by now has been as dedicated to this journey as myself. I don't know that this hike would have been possible without her assistance. She met me nearly every weekend, delivering me supplies, lightening my load, helping me plan miles, assisting with water drops, caring for Amos, bestowing cold drinks and pizza, and most importantly, bringing friendship and support. I looked forward to her drop-in's, miles hiked together, and camps in the eve. The time we spent together on this trail was a highlight. So much gratitude to you, Star Left!

I encourage each and every one of you, to reach out to a friend, even if it's been years and catch up. Friends are invaluable and as adults we can sometimes fail to prioritize these relationships.

A mossy carpet ride along the Tuscarora Trail

It was somewhere around the halfway point, while dancing back and forth across the Virginia and West Virginia line that the trail got easier. There were level, sometimes mossy paths instead of just enormous ridges to climb. Those ridges that I did climb were less daunting, perhaps my body was falling into step. Views abounded and periodically it rained, and creeks started flowing. I always found shelter, walking only one day in the rain into Hancock, where I found the relief of a trailside motel with a nearby grill. Temps remained hot and humid, but at least the terrain seemed more forgiving and my body more capable. Leaving Hancock, we even walked the gravel-lined C&O canal path, which seemed a paradise, complete with water spigots along the way. 

Crossing the Pennsylvania state line

We crossed the Pennsylvania state line, and Amos and I picked up the pace. The temps cooled considerably, with daytime temps in the seventies and nighttime temps in the mid-forties to fifties. Springs trickled! Creeks gurgled! We followed country lanes past idyllic farmhouses, old cabins, and Amish farms with buggies parked in the drive and clothes hung on lines fifty feet long. Paw paw trees greeted us as did precious plants like mountain mint, wild anise, and black cohosh. Paw paws produce the largest native North American fruits, about the size of a very large potato, with a custardy filling that tastes of mango and bananas. Mountain mint is an exceptionally fragrant and flavorful native mint. Wild anise is a member of the carrot family with delicious anise flavored roots and leaves. Black cohosh provides a potent remedy for hormone-related imbalances. The Scarlet-leaved tupelo lessened, replaced by yellowing black birch. Grassy level forest roads, such as those near to Cowan's Gap State Park, lulled us into a dreamlike state, where I felt that we could walk for all the rest of our days. 

A roadside scene

Paw paw (Asimina triloba)

Mountain Mint (Pycnanthemum muticum)

Black Cohosh gone to seed (Cimicifuga racemosa)

But with Pennsylvania also came the rocks. I expected rocks, sure, I have hiked a lot of miles in this state. There is a reason why folks call it Rockslyvania. Still, I was taken by surprise by the severity. The guidebook, with the exception of the Florence Jones Reinman Preserve, gave little indication that we'd be teetering on boulders, precariously tiptoeing across rocky mountain spines, and tearing through barbwire-like blackberry bramble. Amos bore tiny pricks on his belly and my calves and thighs still bear the marks. I suppose we'd also been lulled into a false sense of security given the easier miles we'd been hiking as of late. Pennsylvania, indeed, offered up the hardest miles of the whole trail and not just for me, but Amos. I don't know that I would have chosen to bring Amos along for this portion of the trek had I known. It was nerve wracking assisting him through these rock jumbles. At one point, we both almost tumbled off a five-foot ledge. I wondered if the Tuscarora were competing with the Appalachian Trail's Mahoosuc Notch. When wet, these rocks are like a slip and slide. When lucky, I was saved with a bear hug around a large tree, other times I just landed in a clatter. The pictures do no justice. I was humbled.

Rocky trail

More rocky trail

But it was also from these rocky ridges along the Tuscarora and Blue Mountains that we were afforded the best views. There were countless. Flat Rock vista and the view from Charlie Irvin Shelter take the prize, but there were so many nameless surprise expanses of valley and ripples of mountains that were suddenly revealed. . . usually when I was sweating and cursing and tossing gear that had fallen off my pack ahead of me on trail- a water bottle, an essential bag of Cheetos - to retrieve once I'd traversed more rocky trail to reach it. Then I'd stop and breathe, sometimes laugh at myself, and both Amos and I would gaze in wonder at the land spread before us, a green ocean with blue mountain islands and wispy clouds. 

One of many stunning views, I believe this was from Charlie Irvin Shelter

Through all these rocks I was, at times, reminded in subtler ways of the beauty that surrounded me, of the landscape's invitation to be a part. Heart-shaped basswood leaves fluttering before my face. Surprisingly sweet hawthorn berries perfectly at arm's reach. Crunchy rock tripe lichen and crisp autumn leaves. Rock cap ferns bearing brown button-like sori (spore-producing bodies). Craggy black birch trees that longed for touch. Even rocks that seemed to say welcome, not many pass through here, watch your step. 

Hawthorn berries (Leonurus cardiaca) - a gentle but effective cardiovascular tonic

Rock cap fern (Polypodium virginianum) bearing spore-producing sori on undersides of fronds.

Although our last so many days on the trail were some of the most challenging, I also knew our time was dwindling. I did my best to savor it. We took a rain day, spending two nights and one day inside our tent in Fowler Hollow Shelter. This shelter has been through the ages, evidenced by the names/dates etched into its walls built of sturdy logs and plaster. The oldest one I could read with certainty said 1963. The floor was dirt and clearly many a porcupine had made a meal of its attached bench, but what grace to have a roof over our head for such a rainy 36 hours. Very near to the end, we hoofed it to Colonel Denning Campground and met Bruce and Sue of Texas, who shared their fire roasted ears of corn and a great big salad. Thank you, Bruce and Sue - this felt like an end of trail celebration! In our last days, Amos howled at waddling porcupines and scared a bear down the ridge. The screech owls we'd heard nightly down south were now barred owls, and coyotes cried in the valley. On our last day, at lunch, we enjoyed a sweet swinging bench near a private residence that allows hikers to pass through. A water pump and hiker register completed it. Thank you, gracious property owners. 

A lovely swinging bench on private property near to a trail register and water pump, hikers are given permission by property owners to pass through.

Our last few miles were remarkably easy. We cruised through corridors of spicebush and honeysuckle bejeweled in red ripe fruits. The trail was void of rocks and level. Amos led the way, seeming to know that if he just kept moving, today we'd reach the end. And thankfully, when we reached the Appalachian Trail, after snapping a host of poor selfies, a couple strolled up, gracious enough to take a picture of a very excited hiker and a very tired coonhound. But we weren't quite done yet. Given that the Tuscarora Trail terminates at the AT, we'd have to follow this old friend a couple of miles to a roadside parking lot for pickup.

A hayfield along the Appalachian Trail

What a glorious way to reach trail's end! We soared along the relatively easy Appalachian Trail, white blazes passing in a blur. I tried to recall if any of this seemed familiar, but you know, in 2000 miles you hike through a whole lot of woods. The day now coming to a close, the sun cast angled rays through the treetops. Suddenly, we were thrust from woods into an expansive farm field. We followed our path, a ribbon of mowed grass, between golden haybales that seemed purposely placed for aesthetic appeal. Nearly to the day, 15 years ago, I'd stood atop Mount Katahdin in Maine, summiting the final mountain on the AT. It would have been a dream to still be hiking long distance trails so many years later. And sure enough I was, my coonhound by my side.

At the northern terminus of the Tuscarora Trail!

That evening Amos and I sat in the parking lot and watched the golden light fade to deep blue. Stars peeked out in the night sky. Crickets chirped in unison. We snuggled close on a sleeping pad and Amos maybe wondered why I'd chosen such a strange campsite. But I thought it a perfect way to close our time on the trail. And of course, who else but Star Left swooped in, driving three hours after work to southern PA to pick us up! Veggie pizza in hand.

I was asked recently how I would categorize long-distance hiking. Is it a recreation, a sport, a vacation? I had to think about it. At first, I answered, a lifestyle. Many of us who long-distance hike have constructed our lives purposely in a way that will allow or support our continuing journeys. However, after giving it more thought, it clicked. For me, a long-distance hike is a pilgrimage. There are numerous definitions of pilgrimage, but in general a pilgrimage can be defined as a journey with intention, to discover understanding and meaning through experience, to visit sacred places that are intrinsically aligned with spirit. I am not a religious person, but this is absolutely why I hike these long trails. To return to Self, that self which is connected with all of the living world. To experience a remembering. To strip away the superfluous, and to be reminded of that which matters most in my day to day. To offer devotion and gratitude to that which sustains me and gives me life. And the Tuscarora Trail, indeed, provided the path do so.

Thank you to the Potomac Appalachian Mountain Club and supporting trail organizations for overseeing, maintaining, and securing the Tuscarora Trail. Journeys like mine would not be possible without this footpath through the wilderness. Your maps and guidebooks were excellent, as was signage and blazing. Much thanks to the kind folks in the Tuscarora Trail community, who when learning of my hike, reached out to offer assistance, insight, and support. Much love to the townspeople I met along the way - your welcoming nature really shines! So much gratitude to dear friends that lifted my spirits and helped this hiker and pooch get down the trail. A special thanks to Star Left for being a trail angel extraordinaire and my #1 support person on this hike. Thank you to Mom and Dad for your support from home on the ranch - Mom, you had a big job tending that garden! And of course to my love, Scott, for always being just a phone call away even when in Europe. 

Amos, my incredible trail companion and canine love

Lastly, a great big thank you to Amos, for being my companion on this hike and others. Strengthening our bond and creating memories with you that will last a lifetime was also an integral part of this journey. This was not just my hike, but yours, and every day we worked as a team. Despite our language barrier, we have only come to better understand each other, reading subtle and not-so-subtle cues, better with every adventure. Were it not for you, my pack might be lighter and the miles more predictable, but my hikes would be lonesome and not half the fun.

Thank you, Tuscarora Trail. Thank you, wild earth. Thank you for this body, for the will to do things hard things, and the ability to soften and adapt.