It was an epic push from the hut but four of our team managed to top out. Orizaba gave us a full measure this time. I would like to congratulate Richard Hatten, Patrick Caveney, and Kerina Mitchell. They persevered and reached the third highest point in North America.

Everyone is safe now in Mexico City. More later.

We have been in Puebla for the past several days. We’ve been to the summit of La Malaniche, and climbed part of Izztacchiuatl.

I’m having difficulty uploading photos here so go to my Instagram feed for more specific updates. @johnwquillen

Patrick and I took a walk around the city today after arriving this afternoon. We were joined by Richard and Kevin who joined us from Georgia. My fitness app told me we did 7 miles. And I believe it.

That night we met Rachel Yurani, and Sara for a wonderful dinner at a Mexican restaurant. These girls were here a day prior to our arrival.

Kerina arrived too late to join us for dinner but she was in good form and good spirits.

Rachel and Yurani.

In a little while we will boardaboard bus and head to Puebla. Everyone is healthy, happy, motivated, and thankful to be here.

Check back in a day or so for more dispatches from this volcanoes expedition, our first climb will be La malinche.

You can also follow us on Instagram

@johnwquillen

Another incredible Highlander hangover outing is in the books.

Friday’s hike up was in great weather and we had an almost cloudless evening with no wind for our fire, unlike the photo pictured here from Saturday.

Among our many activities were hikes out to Bob’s bald. Micah had never been and it was a treat to share this with him.

There were the usual sunrise and sunset spiritual times on the rock.

Various hiking cameos.

A Tipi showing.

An initiation

Patrick drive by.

Rock scrambling on our day walk over to the Bob.

Myers was there for Friday night.

Along with David and Drew.

AJ and John have become a staple of this event.

Some weather moved in Saturday and laid the fire down flat. anyone thinking of going up there right now better plan on toting your own water, though. I was able to coax a very little bit out of a new spring that I made. That was barely enough for one person and it took hours to fill the bag.

There was a flat tire to be dealt with.

But all in all a fantastic trip with 12 total in attendance. We were a little late for the leaves this year but it was still incredible.

We’re gearing up for Mexico next week. Stay tuned here for some content.

In our latest installment of John and Frank’s Appalachian Trail adventures we find ourselves in Pearisburg, Virginia, precisely where we left off several months ago.  After driving for several hours into Virginia and securing a shuttle to drop their car off at the back end we started our 7 Mile ascent to Rice Field. It was largely uneventful and the scenery  unremarkable. We passed a lot of deer stands feet from the trail.

That is until we reach the shelter after about 2400 ft of climbing. Big bad weather was moving in and we knew it. So the rush was on to set up our tents. Reason being there were thru hikers in the shelter. And I prefer to be away from them and their pot smoking antics. I love everything about section  hiking except the actual through hikers. Apparently that sentiment is shared with the shuttle drivers.

We weathered one hell of a storm up on top of that mountain. And while it threatened to blow us off of it my six moons designs skyscape trekker held up admirably. Frank’s tent did great too. I slept peacefully as the rain pelted the nylon. Actually had one of the best nights sleeps I ever had outside.

When we arrived on the scene in the shelter the next morning and the rain had abated they could not believe we were out in it.

The incessant, morning, stoned banter of thru hikers reaffirmed my decision to sleep in the storm. Frank and I have come to realize that our reasons for hiking are different than theirs. I don’t want to speak for him because he loves that thru hiking culture and talking about gear and distances. But Frank is out there for the right reasons not just to do 24 mi in a day. One guy came rolling into the shelter after we went to sleep in the middle of the storm.

We took off in the super wet grass. And I made a huge mistake. On all of our recent hikes, I’ve gotten away with wearing regular tennis shoes. What rain we’ve had has been minimal. But we did 12 miles through fields. And within two miles my feet were completely soaked. Unlike Frankie, who wears proper trail shoes, I just wear running shoes. We did come upon a herd of wild goats that was terrorizing hikers. We were able to fend them off.

And this time I didn’t get away with it.

There’s not enough moleskin in the world to deal with that. So I stripped down to almost nothing and wore my crocs  the next 10 miles. That created a subsidiary problem.

We finally arrived at the next shelter.

And Frank was mad as hell and not going to take it anymore.

(He loves it when I say that about him)

The temperature had dropped significantly. Like into the 30s. After looking at my feet, Frank wisely made the decision to cut our trip one night short. You know me I was like “oh let’s push on.” I can finish this in my crocs. But Frank called the shuttle and told him we were going after next day. And that was wise.

But I can’t say enough about this shelter, especially since it was called Pine Swamp. It was anything but.  We slept inside it this time since our tents were soaking wet. It was an absolute piece of art. Sporting an interior fireplace and three bunks it was almost like an Airbnb. And again I slept like a baby.I recall the stars bleeding through a moonscape from which I would roll over and soak periodically. We had one guest that night, also named John. Walking 12 mi in Crocs with a 35 lb pack is a little bit more than a workout which contributed to my somnabulance.

We dropped a lot of elevation along with the temperature which was now super cold. It was a short out.

About the section I’m going to say it wasn’t the prettiest that I’ve done. A lot of the forests have been obviously heavily logged. Multiple power line cuts make it look like a geographic crime scene.

As we hit the road, the trail was just starting to get good and I was wishing we could push on. Steam came from our breath as we awaited our exit vehicle.

I got back to Knoxville the following morning. I couldn’t walk and it wasn’t because of the blisters. A certain kind of pain in my foot that I never experienced was indescribable. Every step was excruciating. I self-diagnosed it as plantar fasciitis.

2 days of rest, ice, compression, elevation and heat. Then I woke up today and it was fine. Go figure.

Had “yo yo” not pulled me off the trail I would probably be in traction for a week. He’s a good outdoor partner.

You may notice a lack of content recently and my friend Adam remarked on it so I had to respond. Sometimes I am just so busy enjoying the outdoors I don’t take time to share it here. This past week saw me do a training run up Leconte via Alum. You can see I caught a great break in the weather and made record personal time up and back.

The week prior, I was in Myrtle Beach for my mother’s 80th birthday celebration. She is a beach person so we organized this and had a fantastic time, leaving just one day before the hurricane. While there, I got in a lot of road biking, some beach jogging and deep sea fishing.

This past weekend was climbing at the Obed. I’ve done a good amount of climbing this summer and not so much backpacking. It’s been hot and that is not my jam. But, it is great weather for climbing and mountain biking, of which I have done plenty.  Next week will be another section of the AT with Frank and November 9 will be Mexico for Orizaba. I have a great team of 9 assembled for this one and we are all excited to get down South. That has taken up a fair amount of my time as well in addition to running my business and writing for Cityview.

So, all is good and sometimes no news is good news. Fall is on, we camped out last weekend and it got below freezing at the Obed. Hangover will be soon. Frank and I depart in a couple of days so I am anticipating some good Virginia mileage along the trail.

In the meantime, enjoy my latest contribution for Cityview. It is a tribute to Legacy Parks.

https://cityviewmag.com/a-legacy-of-its-own/

Home of Giants

Visiting the mighty before they make their final—and unplanned—departure

In the 1800s, naturalist William Bartram once remarked that you could swing from limb to limb from the Atlantic Ocean to the Mississippi River without ever touching the ground. He didn’t know at the time, but were anyone to take on his challenge, they would cross over the oldest mountains on the planet—so old, in fact, that they once rivaled the present heights of the Himalayan Mountains. Hard to imagine that Clingman’s Dome just over the Tennessee border in North Carolina could have been Kanchenjunga and Mt. Mitchell to its east once an Everest.

However, nestled in a basin called Poplar Cove near Little Santeetlah Creek is a vestigial sliver that will make you a believer. Joyce Kilmer National Forest is the home of giants; a real-life land of lost time. It is a fold in the universe that lets you walk 500 years through a hidden doorway to the real America. One hundred species of trees thrive in this primeval canopy. Buxom ferns, the envy of any florist, nudge rattlesnake plantain so tall I thought it had to be another plant.

I’m between twin poplars that tower 150 feet above me with a girth that defies three big human hugs. My neck is straining to catch errant rays of sun filtering through their crown. Alongside me is the biggest beech tree I have ever touched, its smooth bark irresistible for me and vandals. The Cherokee used to say that the beeches resist lightning, but that immunity sadly does not extend to graffiti. Moving on we weave between hemlock totems—soldiers who have fallen in battle with the invasive hemlock woolly adelgid. Despite their misfortune, their hollowed trunks still reach 60 feet or more, a testament to their former glory.

Joyce Kilmer’s words inspired a wilderness. “I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree.” Like these mighty hemlock, Kilmer fell in a battle not of his choosing in World War One, never to rise again. Two decades back, I saw quite a different forest here, but you can never climb the same mountain twice. An ecologist told me back then that all I can do is go see them while they’re still here. I would advise you to do the same.

I’m organizing another climb, this time on La Malinche and Orizaba in November. Contact me if you are interested in joining the team!  It is a really fun trip, done it twice now.  Details found here.     https://johnquille0.wixsite.com/mountaineering

We started where we left off at Weary Feet hostel on June 24.

And it began with Frank almost getting hit by a vehicle. Our first day was one of the easiest I can remember along the Appalachian Trail.

We only did about 9 mi into  camp and it didn’t feel like we had done five. I wish we’d camped here by this little pond. Frank was shooing a bear out of our shelter site.

After a very peaceful night atop Wapiti, off the next morning to begin our climb up.

,

1300 ft out of camp we were rewarded with this view.

Barely dripping…

It was super hot and the bugs were pretty bad. And we were also in the middle of a drought which means water dictated our movements. We did about 9 mi to Docs nob shelter praying that there would be water.

We’re joined by three guys who were on our trajectory. They camped near us the previous night at wapiti. Frank and I were able to coax a little bit of water out of the spring but it was barely dripping.

We did a really good food hang and retired to bed while these guys enjoyed the fire to ward off the bugs.

we were awakened at 2:30 in the morning to a screaming noise from their hammock area. A bear had gotten up underneath one of the guys hammocks.

So we all sprung out of bed to go check our food. Fortunately it was okay. And so were the three guys. But that was all for sleeping that night.

Some good looking Rock up here at Angel overlook. Then it was about three or four miles downhill in the rain. Frank and I are always pretty lucky about the rain if it happens it’s usually on our day out. When we finally got into Pearisburg we caught a shuttle back to weary feet. as far as sections go this was a pretty easy one but the bugs and drought gave it a little bit of challenge.

I’m going to say that the heat and the bugs are almost making me reconsider any more sections until it cools off. Almost….

Frank caught me taking a z at doc’s knob…

direct link here:   https://cityviewmag.com/discovering-amicalola-falls-on-the-at/

I was cursing whoever decided to put 604 steps up to this waterfall. Maybe it was the four-day pack I was carrying or the freakish 90 degree heat, but I just wasn’t enjoying the start of my solo backpacking trip.

Cresting Springer Mountain and the proper beginning of the Appalachian Trail, not one shred of my body was dry, save for my water bottle. And the spring at this anticipated shelter was but a trickle. It was looking like a solo night atop this iconic peak at the beginning of America’s most famous footpath, so I took advantage of the solitude to completely disrobe, which invited company in the form of another hiker.

Now that we were completely acquainted, (he learned why my trail name is, “Buff”.) My new friend was beginning his thru-hike with a 60 lb. pack.  When the swarm of biting gnats engulfed us, I appreciated some of his bug spray weight. Owls serenaded me to sleep and I departed the following morning amidst a hedgerow of flame azalea in full bloom.

I descended five miles through cascading rhododendron blooms to a beautiful creek called Three Forks for a bite of lunch. As the water rolled over rocks a group emerged in my periphery from the same trail. There, alongside this babbling brook, miles from home, was a Meetup Group from Knoxville and I was greeted by friends with whom I have shared more than a few trails. It was destined for us to join forces for the day, so I followed them to my intended home for the night along Justus Creek some nine miles ahead. We camped in a hemlock grove between fingers of this watershed and marveled at the likelihood of running into each other.

We parted ways after five miles the next morning. Their shuttle plan was for one night, but I still had Blood Mountain and 17 total remaining miles. The Appalachian Trail would carry me over 4,000 feet this day through what can only be described as a Biblical plague of inchworms dangling from laurel in two miles of the most uncomfortable backpacking you can imagine. Blood Mountain was earning its name as I battled both horseflies and these millions of worms now nibbling on every piece of salty skin. Cresting the final steps into the shelter, approaching hikers regarded me as some apparition; perhaps a John the Baptist character caked in dead and dying insects with matted hair.

Despite the vermin, this beginning section and approach of the Appalachian Trail is quite scenic. Views abound from Blood Mountain summit and many other points along this 40.5 mile Georgia chunk. Safe parking is available at Amicalola Falls State Park and a shuttle is reasonable through” A Further Shuttle” at Neel’s Gap back to your starting point for $80.