After rolling along the ridge crest over Round Bald and Jane Bald, both of which topped out at just over 5800 feet, the Appalachian Trail maintained those lofty heights as it crossed a spur ridge of Grassy Ridge Bald north of the actual summit.

The AT descended a few hundred feet. I had come to the end of Roan Mountain, but the Roan Highlands were far from finished.

There were plenty of views along the way. On both days of my Roan Highlands traverse, I spent more time enjoying the immense panoramas and taking pictures than I spent hiking seriously. I just could not rush through a place like this.

My weather experience for Beauty Spot and the Roan Highlands more than made up for the slightly disappointing day on Big Bald.

The rolling meadow continued over several spurs of Yellow Mountain at still lofty elevations of around 5300 feet before the AT finally left the open fields behind and plunged steeply down a wooded slope into Low Gap. I probably would have spent the night there in the Roan Highlands Shelter, but some campers had trashed the shelter and fouled its water supply.

This old barn not far from my campsite was soon to become one of the favorite AT shelters, but there was nothing about it in the guidebook at the time.

I slept the sleep of the dead that night, so exhausted I did not wake even for a moment until 6:30 in the morning. The sky had completely clouded over during the night and hung low and threatening above my tent. I crawled back inside my sleeping bag. Moments later, I heard the first drops of rain spattering off the tent fly.

June 3, 1983.

Along the way, I crossed another open, grassy spur of Yellow Mountain. The sun was shining, and the clouds were breaking up. Strange morning.

The weather remained mostly sunny for the rest of the day.

Still Chapter 6 of my book, still June 3, 1983.

Looking back across the Roan Highlands to Roan Mountain.

Still Chapter 6. Still June 3, 1983.

Along the ridgeline of Little Hump Mountain. Walking across this pastoral landscape, it was easy to forget you were still above 5000 feet in elevation.

The east side of Little Hump Mountain, as I descended into Bradley Gap, was somewhat more overgrown, but still had frequent viewpoints overlooking the trail ahead to the summit of Hump Mountain.

Of all of the mountains I had seen thus far on the hike, Hump was now my favorite. Roan had been my previous choice, so it had obviously been a very scenic past couple of days. The fourteen miles of trail between Little Rock Knob and Hump Mountain traversed one of the most superb stretches of scenery I have ever encountered.

Still Chapter 6. Still June 3, 1983.

Ther trail up Hump Mountain was flanked by big splashes of bluets.

An intricate series of cross chains groped eastward towards the Blue Ridge's long eastern fork, while to the north loomed Virginia and Mount Rogers, its highest peak.

The weather on June 3 held fair through the entire hike.

And further back towards Roan Mountain.

Still in Chapter 6 of my book, and still June 3, 1983.

Still on Hump Mountain.

Still in Chapter 6 of my book, and still June 3, 1983. Still on Hump Mountain.

The climb down was long and very steep. The east slope of Hump was densely forested from a point just below the summit and beyond.

The trail route, for most of the distance to Don Nelan Shelter, either passed through private lands or followed rural lanes. It crossed a state highway and climbed steeply through high pastures baking under a relentless sun. 

The next day, Appalachian Trail came out of the woods at the top of an old field, where I enjoyed my only views of June 4, 1983. The eastern Tennessee countryside through which I was now traveling was much like the landscape I described a couple of days ago in the views from Little Rock Knob: a rolling country of mountains and farm valleys. The terrain is less rugged and the mountains a little lower than the lofty state line ridge I had followed since the Smokies, but it is far from gentle and flat.

West of the Blue Ridge, the mountains were a big change from those I had traversed previously on this trip. These were like long folds in the land stretching for miles. Their ridge crests tend to be heavily wooded, with nothing resembling a summit peak to break up their flat-topped profiles -- just an occasional wind or water gap cutting through.

This was going to take some getting used to after all of the majestic scenery, but the rhododendron was finally in bloom at these lower elevations, and fiery azaleas like these also brightened the mood.

Still in Chapter 6, and now June 5, 1983.

Soon, I was on the long, level crest of Iron Mountain, Tennessee.  From that point, although the hiking was fairly easy, the woods continued to be very buggy, and the heat and humidity of the day were slow to abate as the afternoon wore on. The Appalachian Trail followed the ridge with no major climbs or descents.

My last night in Tennessee was a stormy one, and I awoke to fog and drizzle. I left the shelter at 7:40 on June 7 and walked the ten miles of the Appalachian Trail to Damascus, Virginia in less than four hours. It was easy trail, and I was feeling strong and confident. Just as they had yesterday, the miles passed pleasantly and uneventfully. Before I knew it, I came upon a sign marking the boundary of the Jefferson National Forest. Three states were now completed, and I was entering Virginia. The trail gradually descended along the ridge into the green valley where Damascus lay nestled among the mountains. Chapter 6 was ending, Chapter 7 lay ahead.

June 9, 1983. After a climb to the long, wooded crest of Straights Mountain, the Appalachian Trail returned to Whitetop Laurel Creek gorge, joined an old railroad grade known as the Virginia Creeper, and followed the creek through green forests and masses of flowering rhododendron.