I wrote this reflection in the fall of 2018, but never shared it at the time—it felt too personal for the internet world. As a guest on the “Jester” Section Hiker Podcast, I was asked to read a journal entry to the listeners. I sifted through all of the unpublished blog posts and decided it was time to bear my hiking soul.
Hooray…?
We just completed our 554-mile section hike through Virginia—the state with the largest number of Appalachian Trail miles. The question marks are intentional. I’m not completely sure how I feel about the accomplishment.
For the past two years, hiking the Appalachian Trail through Virginia has become part of our summer and fall weekend routine. Change always stirs emotion, so I’m not sure why I’m surprised by how my feelings are oscillating between excitement, pride, and sadness. Yes, I am sad—almost heartbroken. The first few days back at work, I felt especially melancholy. One of my colleagues tried to understand.
“You just completed your goal, right?” she said. “You always have plans, goals, and dreams. Aren’t you happy? You can take a rest now. I don’t understand why you seem so sad.”
Falling in Love
Although we’ve pieced together sections of Virginia over the past three summers, we completed most of the miles this year (2018). I’ve fallen in love with Virginia—the rolling hills, valley views, wildlife, small towns, and the people we met both on and off the trail.
And I’ve fallen deeper in love with my husband of 30 years. It was in Virginia that he once stopped midstep, turned to me, and said:
“I just realized you’ve been in my life longer than you haven’t.”
Life Between the Miles
On Virginia hikes, we daydreamed about our soon-to-be-born first grandchild. We walked and talked through the southern sections of the state. I cried as I shared fears about my father’s failing health, while my husband spoke of worries about his mom.
Sometimes we reminisced about our early marriage and the years raising our four children—sports, band concerts, and dance performances. But most often, we simply walked. Long miles in hurricane-driven rain, brutally hot summer days, and slippery fall leaf trails. Often in silence. Always at peace, just being together.
Towns, Trails, and Familiar Places
Section hiking also gave us time in trail towns. Our habit was to stay in the same area two weekends in a row.
The first weekend was a staging point before the hike. If we were doing day hikes, we would stay multiple nights—enjoying local restaurants, talking with servers, and exploring in the evenings.
The following weekend, we’d return. It always felt like visiting an old friend.
Unforgettable Virginia
Walking through the Blue Ridge Mountains and Shenandoah National Park was unforgettable. Shadowed peaks, glowing sunsets, wildlife, endless rhododendron tunnels, and countless streams and waterfalls all stand out in my memory.
Iconic stretches through the Grayson Highlands, over McAfee’s Knob and Dragon’s Tooth, and across Shenandoah remain highlights of our Virginia miles. An impromptu overnight at Wood’s Hole Hostel meant so much that we returned weeks later with our daughter.
We saw black bears, wild horses, trusting deer, and even a lone bobcat. It all felt slightly surreal. Each animal would pause, study us, then seem to decide: “They’re fine. Let’s go on with our day.”
The Final Miles
We began our final Virginia weekend at McQueen Gap, Tennessee, hiking 35.5 miles through Damascus and the southernmost section of the state. On Sunday morning, we set out on our last miles.
I felt excited—almost exhilarated.
We reached Buzzard Rock at the summit of Whitetop Mountain sooner than expected. It was cold and windy. Snow and ice swirled around us as we took in the 360-degree view of the valley below. I didn’t want to leave. I barely felt the freezing wind on my face.
Brian nudged me gently, pulling me back. I noticed both dogs shivering under their coats and realized we had stayed far longer than planned.
Out of habit, I picked up my pace again. We warmed quickly as we moved, weaving through the shelter of trees on the descent.
Letting Go… for Now
We came upon a moss-covered stretch of trail, glowing with melting snow. I slowed and smiled. At that moment, it hit me—we only had a few miles left.
I stopped and waited for Brian and the dogs. I didn’t need to ask how he felt. I could see it. He wasn’t ready for it to end either.
We walked in silence, each of us replaying the past 550 miles and quietly thinking about what might come next.
We stepped out of the woods holding hands and snapped a few celebratory selfies.
Why This Trail Stays With You
What is it about this trail that stirs such deep emotion? We are not alone in it. I know many thru-hikers who struggle to walk away from the 2,190 miles they complete in a single year.
I am sad to close this chapter, but I’m also excited to keep going—more Appalachian Trail miles in 2019 are already calling.
And maybe, after this experience, I’ll be a little more prepared for the emotions waiting at the summit of Mount Katahdin.
