Crossing the James River, Bluff Mountain

May 24, morning, Thunder Hill Shelter. It was raining hard outside the shelter, and had been during the night, too. Nobody wanted to go out in it. It was me, an older guy from Kentucky named Kentucky, an older guy from Germany named Eddy and a girl named Cowgirl and her dog. I felt sticky all over from sweat that hadn't dried off of me.

Of course, I hiked, as one does out here on the Trail. I've never yet zeroed at a shelter [though I neroed way back in lower NC].

I don't remember much of the day other than that I had NPR on the radio for a bit and told Cowgirl the good news, but she didn't know what NPR was. I definitely ate a lot of snack food for lunch at a crossing with a forest service road.

The James River, at 775 miles from Springer, has to be a highlight. Like the Susquehanna, the Hudson, the Kennebec, the Housatonic, the Nantahala and the Tye, one remembers the James, because rivers always stand out.

[The AT crosses the James River on a footbridge. May 24.]

You're supposed to jump off the bridge at a certain point and swim. But I was alone and why bother? After the bridge I hit Johns Hollow Shelter at about 5 p.m. Tents were up, a fire was going and people were hanging out for the night. I cooked mac and cheese. All the while I was debating, do I hike, do I stay? In the end, I hiked. It's hard for me to waste daylight when I'm full of energy.

So up the hill I went. Across Little and Big Rocky Row and Saddle Gap I was treated to beautiful evening ridge walking, with amazing vistas. A grouse fluttered across the trail and I wondered if I'd see more wildlife.

[Three ridges tapering from Apple Orchard Mountain into the James River, May 24.]

At 9 p.m. I hiked to the summit of Bluff Mountain, about which my companion book has this to say:

"Site of a monument to four-year-old Ottie Cline Powell. In the fall of 1890, Ottie went into the woods to gather firewood for his schoolhouse and never returned. His body was found five months later on top of this mountain..."

I shone my headlamp on the memorial marking the exact spot where they found his body. People had left stones stacked on the monument, which is pretty common for monuments along the Trail. I scanned around for a stone to place there but couldn't easily find one and moved out of the woods to the summit. The remnants of a firetower remained [Earl Shaffer camped there in 1948, I would later read]. I left my girlfriend a message as a fog bank rolled up and obscured the faraway lights of some town in the valley.

The moon was full. "OK, I've had enough of this," I thought, and hurried off to hike down the hill. I got a chill down my neck walking the switchbacks, broke into an all-out run. Sweat pouring off me, I realized how terrible it might be if I rounded a dark corner and literally ran into an unsuspecting bear, so I started chanting like a crazed Marine - "Hoo-Hah!"

I ended my night at Punchbowl Shelter, where I set up my tent. At about 11 p.m. I was startled by a limb crashing to the ground in the woods behind me [I was the furthest tent away from the shelter]. Not taking any chances on it being a coincidence, I went out in my boxer shorts to hang a bear bag. It was the end of a 25-mile day.