Picking up where we left off at the bottom of the previous page, this pic is also from May 27, 1983. The side trail to White Rock Cliffs was a couple of miles past Camp Creek Bald. By this time the breathtaking blue of the sky on that day was even somewhat apparent along the far horizon.

Since a little past Fontana Dam, NC, the Appalachian Trail had been mostly following the western fork of the Blue Ridge along the North Carolina - Tennessee border. Several mountain ranges comprise this state line ridge. The first I traversed was the rainy Great Smoky Mountains - the Dark Lands from Chapter 3. I had better, but not perfect, luck with weather in the next range, known as the Bald Mountains. Also, gorgeous views from places like this. Since I like to dwell on the positive, I named Chapter 4 - the first Bald Mountains chapter - Heartbreak Hotel. We are still in Chapter 5, which covered the rest of the Bald Mountains.

A few tiny cirrus clouds had made their way into the previously unbroken blue expanse of the sky. But that blue was still amazing.

At about two-and-a-half miles past the side trail to the cliffs, the Appalachian Trail joined a jeep road, jolting my plans for tonight. When I had read about this road in the guidebook, I expected the customary long-abandoned, overgrown track. This one showed all of the signs of still receiving constant use, which meant that Jerry Cabin Shelter, at which I had planned to stay, was accessible to motor vehicles. This usually means trouble for hikers attempting to sleep, and tonight was a holiday weekend Friday night. I had a problem. It was 6:00. I had come fifteen miles today, and the next shelter was six miles away.

Two local guys were at Jerry Cabin when I arrived. They confirmed that other locals did come up here on weekend nights to get drunk and stoned while yelling and shooting their guns all night.

Our campsite was in an old field atop a summit called Big Butt (write your own punchline here). After I pitched my tent, one of the local guys asked me if I wanted to see a couple of nice views. They were excellent.

The next morning, May 28, 1983, I woke up to discover that it was already fairly bright outside. A huge full moon directly overhead was blazing so brightly that it had appeared to be morning from inside my tent.

I woke up again at 7:00 and emerged from the tent just as the sun was about to come up over the trees. The sky was clear except for a slim band of clouds along the western horizon.

I followed the jeep road through an overgrown field where two gravestones were covered with fresh flowers. They marked the graves of a couple of local men who fought for the Union side in the Civil War and were killed in an ambush by Confederate loyalists while attempting to go home on leave.

There was a steep, gut-wrenching descent on the jeep road off of the mountain. I passed Flint Mountain Shelter at 10:45 -- the last shelter for twenty-seven miles. The clouds above were thickening and continued to do so as the day wore on.

It began with a short climb and then a long, vertical descent that made my knees ache. I almost fell down the last steep pitch near the bottom.

I came out onto a short roadwalk past some mountain farms.

I finally made it to the top of a knob with no views and began a descent alongside a barbed-wire fence into a sag.

Incredible views from that grassy little sag continued all of the way up a sloping meadow to the main summit. I wiped about a pint of sweat off my camera's viewfinder and started shooting pictures.

Still May 28, 1983. Chapter 5 of the book.

I had read in the last shelter register that many hikers have been sleeping in an abandoned building there, but the place was all boarded up and I could not find a way in. I would have to go on and tent in the rain tonight.
The Appalachian Trail climbed from Sams Gap up to the summit of another knob. Open fields along the summit and along the ensuing half-mile descent provided great close-up views of Big Bald.

The next day, May 29, 1983. I had pitched my tent in Low Gap, at the base of the climb up a mountain called Big Bald. I was looking forward to the views from that open ridge crest. Sunday dawned foggy and drizzly but seemed to be trying to clear. Exhausted from the grueling previous day, with a somewhat easier day planned, I decided to wait until late morning if necessary to begin my traverse of Big Bald.

The sun actually burned through the clouds a couple of times as I was getting ready to leave. The only problem with that was that both times it did so, a heavy rain started up. Each time, a cloud moved in front of the sun five minutes later and the rain immediately stopped. 

I began hiking exactly at 11:00 beneath a heavy overcast, but no rain. My first three miles were the climb up Big Bald; I knew from experience that the weather would progressively deteriorate as I gained elevation. I was right. Within a half-mile, I was in a light drizzle which soon became steady. The grades were excellent -- a rare treat recently -- and I made good time.

Walking across the open summit was still an experience. It was an immense grassland sprinkled with sparse, scrubby bushes. The wind was whipping shreds of cloud across the desolate landscape. I felt as if I were on a Scottish moor as I strolled over the summit and started down the other side.

Around 1:00, about a mile past the summit, I came upon a man and a dog sitting beside the trail. It was Ron and Sonny. It was good to see them again, and I talked to Ron for about an hour.

When I resumed my hike, I climbed over Little Bald, from which there were a few views, and descended steeply into Whistling Gap. The sun had come out while I was with Ron, and things were looking up as I ascended to High Rocks.

As I was skidding recklessly down a precipitous clay slope through a tangled jungle of rhododendron into Devil Fork Gap, the sky began to darken once again. I virtually ran the final three miles to the shelter. It was of no use. A fast-moving thunderstorm caught up while I was still a mile away and drenched me to the bone. I may have uttered a few mild oaths as I squished soggily along the trail. Just as the shelter was coming into view, the rain suddenly stopped.

Monday, May 30, Memorial Day 1983: My new friends made pancakes in the morning. They were returning to their car that day and wanted to rid their backpacks of all unnecessary weight; they told me to keep my food in my pack and they would feed me. Hey, I was only too happy to help them out. They left at about 11:00, while I stuck around for a while longer.

I had a mere seven-mile walk remaining to the establishment where I intended to stay: Nolichucky Expeditions, a whitewater rafting outfit in Erwin which allows hikers to camp in their field and use their hot showers for two dollars per night. I figured that Memorial Day would be an extremely hectic day for the outfitters, so I decided not to arrive there too early.

The next mile was an easy climb followed by an easier descent. This was succeeded by a well-graded climb up a logging road to a ridge, along the crest of which the Appalachian Trail briefly roller-coastered over a series of knobs. Then came a long, steep descent along a narrow spine with great views into the valley of the Nolichucky River below. This final ridge was covered with mountain laurel just beginning to bloom.

The Bald Mountains ended at the Nolichucky River. Across the river, on the left and top sides of this pic, the Unaka Mountain Range begins.

Still May 30, 1983. Still Chapter 5 of the book.

After spending much of Memorial Day, 1983 and much of the day after in Erwin, Tennessee, I closed out May Tuesday night with a 3-mile, 1400-foot climb out of Erwin to Curley Maple Gap Shelter. I was now in the Unaka Range of the state line ridge.

May 31, 1983. From Chapter 6 of the book.

June 1983 came in like a lion. June 1's morning started with drizzle and soon was a slog through pouring rain and howling wind. Then:

Swirling winds tore through the thickening fog and the rain intensified as I climbed towards a peak known as Beauty Spot. Just as I broke out onto the large rolling meadow surrounding the summit, the rain abruptly and completely stopped.

By this time, the rain had just stopped but the wind was still howling.

I dropped my backpack and climbed back up to the summit. The wind faded to a good, fresh breeze. Soon, I was basking in sunshine, watching little tatters of cloud drifting off into the sudden blue sky.

Still June 1, 1983. Still Chapter 6.

I dropped my pack and climbed all the way back up this slope. I never regretted it.

Once the sun broke out, the remaining clouds began to dissolve before my eyes. The wind quickly diminished, although it remained breezy.

I spent an hour up near the summit of Beauty Spot, which I had all to myself on the first day of June 1983. Then it was time to move on. Still Chapter 6.

My visit to Beauty Spot wound up being one of my favorite memories of the entire hike.

In addition to the perfectly timed amazing weather transition, I also managed to arrive the day of Beauty Spot's peak wild daffodil bloom in 1983.

The state line ridge made a ninety degree turn at Little Rock Knob, providing an expansive panorama north and east. This part of eastern Tennessee was a rolling country of mountains and farm valleys. A patchwork of terraced fields and green pastures climbed well up the otherwise forested slopes.

Roan is a sprawling mountain. The scenic section of the Unaka Mountains I would be passing through today and tomorrow, known as the Roan Highlands, stretches for about twenty miles. I will be covering more than ten of those miles on the Appalachian Trail.

It also throws out several impressive side ridges with significant minor summits. I was climbing one of those now, heading southward towards that main crest.

There was also a good view of Roan's main ridgeline from Beartown. I was most of the way up at this point, but there was some more climbing to do.

The AT dipped down slightly into Ash Gap and followed moderate grades from there almost to the crest of Roan, but one more thigh-killer was lurking right at the end.

In addition to a beautiful fir and spruce forest, there were wide grassy areas sprinkled with bluets and other early Spring flowers. Roan Mountain was the last 6000-footer on the AT until Mount Washington in New Hampshire, so the season way up there was much less advanced than the June 2 date might suggest. 

A paved road ran through Carvers Gap; many cars were parked adjacent to the AT crossing. The trail up Round Bald, the next summit of the Highlands, was packed with day hikers wearing parkas and other heavy winter clothing. They must have thought me strange in my shorts and tee shirt.

None of the day hikers continued past Round Bald; I was alone on the open ridge for the rest of the way.

Still Chapter 6. Still June 2, 1983.

This all helped take my mind off my tired legs, the still open wound on my right little toe, and my frustration that I wasn't yet reaching the pace I needed to reach Katahdin before the potential first snows.

Starting with Round Bald, the final three summits of Roan Mountain, which also included Jane Bald and Grassy Ridge Bald and the connecting ridge crest, was basically one long meadow. This is the longest continuous stretch of grassy bald in the Appalachians.

Still Chapter 6. Still June 2, 1983.

It was a varied and interesting grassland, with great views the whole way. It was an exhilarating day, but the relatively high altitudes did have an effect on me physically and mentally. I would feel it that evening.

Along the ridge crest there were constant views of North Carolina Route 261 winding up through the foothills to meet Tennessee Route 143 at the ridgeline in Carver Gap.

Although they were the same height, Jane Bald was smaller in area than Round Bald. There was a little more scrub, but still plenty of views.

June 2, 1983 was one of the most scenic days of my entire Appalachian Trail hike, and another day just like it lay ahead, but it was starting to get late. Time to find a place to spend the night.