Guiding First-Time Backpackers on the Art Loeb

I was admittedly apprehensive when my friend Daniel messaged me wanting to schedule a thru-hike in the mountains. Winter was coming quickly, neither he nor his friends had been backpacking before, let alone completed multiple days of hiking in the mountains, further still without navigating sub-freezing temperatures and microspiking across frozen ridgelines… ah, to hell with it.

Planning Phase

He threw us in a group chat and we began planning immediately. It was myself, him, a few of his National Guard comrades that he deployed alongside, and his brother. I found elevation profiles, estimated day-by-day mileage and elevation gain, required water capacity, provided a packing list, and developed an easy to follow training regiment that would enable them to approach this thing strong and determined. The Art Loeb is notorious for its steepness at times, and almost everyone I have spoken to about it says the same thing; “It’s hard.” So what? Nothing meaningful ever came easily, and the Art Loeb was the first thru-hike I had ever completed, so I had plenty of experience to get us through the grind.

For three months the chat exploded with conversations surrounding down versus synthetic insulation, pack capacity, blister treatment (one of our guys is a combat medic, so I let him take the lead on everything medical), caloric intake, and everything else we learn to address as thru-hikers. It was an immense crash course on how to most efficiently strap your life to your back and carry it through the mountains. Temps were predicted to range from mid 50s to sub zero, and that meant having enough insulation to stay warm at night but a proper baselayer to wick sweat away and prevent my guys from working themselves into hypothermia. This phase of the hike is always my favorite because it gives me a real chance to both review my kit and address any concerns in everyone else’s.

January came quickly as we all met at my house the night prior to leaving. I gave final gear shakedowns and we combed over everyone’s kit. I had a spare jacket and some various pieces of gear I’d acquired through the years and handed it out wherever necessary. The contrast was equal parts hilarious and intimidating. I had my kit dialed down to approximately seventeen pounds with three days of supplies including extra water in case someone ran low, and here before me lied a bundle of eleven-pound military-issued sleeping bags and full-size army coats. I could feel my own calves exploding just by looking at their kits. Granted, I had seen people tackle the Appalachian Trail with heavier kits, and the vast majority of their backpacks contained lightweight gear, but something about those sleeping bags just nagged at me.

Day 1: Davidson River to Butter Gap.

We got to the terminus at dawn and set out at a casual pace as we traced the Davidson River. The air was jovial and filled with the sounds of the flowing stream, birds chirping, and us aggressively singing military cadences. We reached the foot of our first mountain on our third round of belting “Yellow Bird” and the game had finally began. The pack split into two parties, a lead and a rear, and by the time we had gained four-hundred or so feet up the mountainside the layers began falling off. Not twenty minutes ago we were in a parking lot equipped with gloves and jackets, and now we were five maniacal shirtless freaks chanting our “one-twos” all the way up the mountain with our brows and backs illuminated by sweat and the morning sun.

Most of the first day went on in that manner. We would stop and put layers on to snack and refill our water, and then we would strip as we began climbing again. Snow-covered the hillsides our footpath cut through, but the trail itself was mostly dry, and the wind that cut off the ice and snow kept us all cool as we passed Looking Glass Rock and dropped off the mountain to the face of Cedar Rock. By the time we reached Butter Gap the guys were feeling the few thousand feet of gain in their legs, but they didn’t look defeated. A few of us rested for a few minutes on the shelter floor while the others immediately began collecting firewood. All of our camp chores were completed before dark and the fire was roaring by sunset. This is such a rarity in Winter backpacking, but having the group work as a unit made the process much more efficient than my solo endeavors.

Day 2: Butter Gap Shelter to Black Balsam

The temps for night one were mild and we all got up and moving on the second day without much issue. Everyone had breakfast, refilled waters, and we had boots on the ground within an hour.

Anyone who has hiked the Art Loeb knows that after Butter Gap comes the long climb up Pilot Mountain. This is an eighteen-hundred-foot climb to summit the first real awe-inspiring mountain of the trip. We would finally be free of the green tunnel, though there was no green about it in January, and the mountainscape would open up to us. The group moved in three packs. These included a couple taking up the rear, a couple in the middle, and myself taking point. My single goal was to push to the summit and drop my bag off so that I could head back down and relieve weight from the shoulders of those in the back of the pack. It was important for me to set a precedent of the stronger members of our group supporting those who were beginning to struggle not only as a means to maintain morale but as to allow us to move more efficiently as a group.

I reached the camp just preceding the summit and turned back down the mountain to assist with carrying gear. One of the members of our rear couple was relieved to shrug the bag off his back and continue the ascent, and once we reached the camp everyone made the final push in relative proximity to one another. Plenty of photos were taken, guys were facetiming their families and sharing the views with loved ones. The whole moment felt like an accomplishment, like we had finally seen the progress made. I pointed out Looking Glass Rock and Brevard way off in the distance, and this sent a spark of enthusiasm through the group.

We wrapped up our photos, threw on microspikes for the first time this trip, all of them for the first time period, and descended toward the Deep Gap shelter where we would be breaking for a late lunch. The descent was made quickly, some of us chose to butt-sled down the mountain instead of walk it (gotta have fun, right?) and we hopped into the shelter for food and hot drinks.

I was constantly amazed at the guys’ ability to keep laughing throughout the trip. Don’t get me wrong, a thru-hike is something to be enjoyed, but amidst aching knees and exploding calves I just felt so surprised at the constant humorous trash-talking and singing. At one point we told riddles for over an hour just to keep ourselves distracted from the walking. I haven’t gotten to experience this much as a solo hiker, so it felt really nice to have a constant sense of camaraderie on trail.

We began our final climb up to the Blue Ridge Parkway and onto the ridge adjacent to Black Balsam at our respective paces, and as I and one of our other group members finished ahead of the pack we began making camp improvements and acquiring our firewood for the evening. Logs were stripped of their knobs and sat atop stones so that we could have a place to sit by the already-established firepit at camp. I strung up my rainfly so that one other group member could be protected from the winds and twenty-some-odd degree weather for the night, and we had the campfire going by the time our group had finished arriving.

The night was spent between shivers and choking on campfire smoke, both of which I consider thru-hiker traditions. It took me a few days on the Appalachian Trail to accept that my body didn’t regulate temperature as efficiently after walking all day, and I tried to empathize with the group and keep a steady flow of wood going into the flames until everyone was ready for bed.

I took myself a brief moment in solitude as I babysat the fire and waited for it to reduce to embers before putting it out for the night. God knows I didn’t want a stray gust of wind to bring the flames back to life after we were asleep. I was filled with gratitude for this opportunity to share the mountains with these guys. Everything had been going right. The rain was mild and our clothes dried quickly, the sub-zero temps were re-forecasted to low 20s so everyone could appreciate cold weather camping without getting tossed into any extremes, and the group was performing wonderfully not only by first-time standards but by normal backpacking standards. I was almost saddened to be finishing the next day, but I knew everyone was looking forward to burgers and beer once we got back to town. I was too.

“Man – despite his artistic pretensions, his sophistication, and his many accomplishments – owes his existence to a six inch layer of topsoil and the fact that it rains.”

-Paul Harvey

Day 3: Black Balsam to Daniel Boone Boyscout Camp

My alarm went off at 7:00 and I immediately hopped out of my hammock and started moving. I had established my place as their “crazy-mountain friend” throughout my time spent with these guys in 2020, so I thought it would be beneficial to get their day started with some laughs considering this was likely the coldest night they had spent sleeping outside. I referenced famous Arctic adventurer Louis Rudd often when we were swapping stories by the fire over this trip, and the one tidbit everyone always found so funny was the fact that he saved weight in Antarctica by wiping with snow every time he used the bathroom. Temps were mid 20s at first light and I couldn’t resist the chance to fill the mountainside with all the dramatic noises of discomfort and laughter as I performed the same act as Rudd. Wiping with snow is a bit of an enlightening experience and totally unnecessary for the likes of our trip, but I think it provided some folly to focus on instead of their numb fingers and toes.

We packed up without breakfast and made our way up Black Balsam. The goal was to traverse the ridge and wait for the temps to rise in the forest so we could eat without being too cold and without being berated by the wind. Everyone was moving slow today. I suppose this is natural considering the handful of thousands of feet of elevation gain they had put on their bodies the day previous, but that didn’t stop us from taking a few photos atop Black Balsam Knob and progressing towards the forests of the Shining Rock Wilderness. We used a similar formation to the day prior with two of us leading, a solo hiker in the middle, and two taking up the rear. I couldn’t afford to get too far ahead today for an out-and-back to help carry someone’s load since Shining Rock doesn’t allow blazes and there are a handful of trail crossings that someone could accidentally take the wrong turn at. Instead, the other lead group member beside me took up two of our group’s military sleeping bags (those aforementioned 11-pound monsters) and I grabbed one as well. With a more even weight to speed distribution we were able to get across the balds without much issue aside from the aching knees and thighs stemming from the significant elevation descents and steep dropoffs. Some of the step-downs were almost four-feet high. They were like a staircase built for giants, but we got through all the same albeit at a much slower pace than the previous two days.

We came together at every trail crossing and once to refill our waters, but other than that it was a quiet day of reflection and anticipation for the finish. I broke away from our other lead to follow a side trail to where I had called search and rescue on my first Art Loeb hike a few years back. That was the only time in my life I had experienced hypothermia, and I hope to avoid it in all future endeavors. This was my first time revisiting this spot since that night, and I made sure to breathe it all in. I believe that experience was one of the most significant turning points in my adult life.

Everyone gathered together one last time at Deep Gap as I directed them down the correct turn and onto the final 3.8-mile push to the truck. This was the last trail crossing so everyone took towards the finish at their own pace, myself taking up the rear so that I could help anyone who may have needed some weight off their shoulders for the final 2,500-foot descent off the mountain. My mind went blank as we trudged down the scout trail, and the couple hours seemed to drag on infinitely. This has always been my experience on this long, dull section of trail, but I have been amazed every time at the time it takes to get off that mountain.

The fellas were waiting at the finish for myself and the last group member to greet us with cheers, pictures, and videos of us finishing the trail. In the truck we were singing our own version of “99-bottles” to the tune of “32-miles for a pint of ale, 32-miles a pint…” until we reached our other vehicle at Davidson River and sped off to the nearest pub in celebration.

Our waitress joined in on our jovial mood, which is quite the feat considering how dirty and foul-smelling we must have all been. She brought us a few rounds and made fun of the more ridiculous members of our group. We all cheers’d and laughed until the place was ready to close for the evening at which point we all shook off our whisky and beer and began heading our separate ways.

Reflection

If there is anything I can take away from this trip it is the importance of sharing our outdoor spaces and introducing people to them. I know now that there are four more capable, good-stewards of these places that are likely to return, and not only return but to leave these places better than they found them and respect LNT practices and the people who serve as the backbone that keeps these places alive for us to enjoy. They will be able to hold onto this trip forever and take pride in the fact they completed it. That is truly something special, and something that is worth sharing with others.

Adventure JournalJacob MyersJanuary 26, 2021Comment