The Art Loeb Trail is a roughly 30 mile continuous foot path that cuts across the peaks, valleys and balds of some of the most prominent mountains in Pisgah National Forest of Western North Carolina. Known for it’s rugged beauty, the long rocky climbs , and intense weather conditions, it’s no surprise that hikers from all over the world flock to this gem nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains to see if they can meet the challenges and thru hike the trail. Named after Arthur J Loeb, the trail was cobbled together out of different established trails that Art, as most people called him, had explored and linked together as a means to improve his health and stay fit after suffering a serious heart attack. He like many others, came to walk in these mountains for physical healing, solitude, and simply to explore. I believe in the process of doing so, much as I did, he found much more than he had sought out.
I have vivid memories of school field trips and family outings when I was just a small child, winding up along the Parkway, climbing higher and higher into the clouds until we reached a magical place called Black Balsam Knob. I had no real sense of where exactly we were in relationship to my home or the city, I just recalled it seemed like a long journey to me at the time, but every time we got there I remembered how incredible and different it felt from the surrounding mountains. My first thru hike on the Art Loeb trail, hiking the entire trail from one end to the other in a single trip, was around 25 years ago and I’ve been finding myself repeating that journey over and over ever since.
BASECAMP
The plan for this trip was much different than my previous adventures on the ALT. Rather than taking a more typical approach and hiking the trail over several days, I was going to challenge myself to see if I could complete the entire trail in a single day during the early Winter season. This would mean hiking alone throughout the night and into the next day, hopefully completing my journey before darkness fell again the following night. I was going to sleep in late on Friday, get up around mid day and head up to Black Balsam Knob to meet my friend BillieJo and her daughter, who would support me on the hike. We would relax, eat, rest and then they would shuttle me to Camp Daniel Boone to start out on my hike at exactly midnight. I would meet them again at two points along the way to check in, resupply on food and water, and switch out gear. We would then rendezvous at the southern terminus along the Davidson River where we would camp Saturday night and hopefully celebrate a successful adventure.
Unfortunately, things don’t always go according to plan. My sleep schedule never quite shifted and I was wide awake at 5am Friday morning. I tried to go back to sleep without success, got up and ran some errands, then decided to head on up to the meeting spot to set up camp. I reasoned I could take a long nap in my hammock while waiting for my friends to arrive. When I reached the campsite and got myself situated, it wasn’t too long until my friends got there. The nap would have to wait. We enjoyed each others company, ate a meal, dropped my car off at the opposite end of the trail and returned to camp. I tried to get a few hours sleep before we headed out for the evening, but my mind wasn’t prepared to shut off. When I can’t sleep, I sometimes just close my eyes, and kind of daydream back to specific times in my life. I see what I can remember, I try to think about the details. It’s somewhat of a meditation that helps me slow down, similar to counting sheep.
One particular memory that came was of my Mom. When I was a little kid, she came home one day so excited, sharing a tale with us that a bird had landed delicately on her windshield a good ways down the road from our house. To her amazement, when she began driving up the road, it just rode with her the rest of the way home right where it was. Once the car was parked, it flew away just before anyone else had a chance to see the one in a million hitchhiker. Me and my brothers always gave her a hard time about this story, because it seemed like such an unlikely thing to happen. Of course, I always believed her, and I’m certain my brothers did as well, but it was much more fun insist it never happened and make her argue with us emphatically that it did. I don’t know why this particular memory floated to the top, but there it was. Before I knew it, it was nearly 11pm and time for us to hit the road for Camp Daniel Boone. I did some quick math and came to the somewhat startling realization that I had already been awake for 18 hours, and I was preparing to embark on a thirty mile walk that I estimated would take me another 12-18 hours to complete, if I could even manage do it at all.
The evening so far had been extremely foggy, with a steady drizzle and cold wind. The temperature was in the mid forties and dropping. As we were on the last mile of so of our journey, BillieJo yelled out “Do you see that!?” I looked closer through the windshield, and to my surprise, we had an uninvited guest, a tiny field mouse hitching a ride, practically surfing on the hood as we barreled down the gravel road. We reached the trailhead and tried to coax the mouse out of the hood area, but he disappeared somewhere down below the dash and that was the last we saw of him. I was somewhat beside myself with the similarities of my moms famous bird story and now our mouse surfer. I wondered what the odds were of me recalling that memory perhaps for the first time in a decade and then practically reliving it within the hour. I took it as a good omen, a moment of bizarre synchronicity that was akin to hitting the lottery. I looked up and for the first time on our trip, the sky was clear and we could see thousands of stars. It felt like we were meant to be here for some reason, right now at this precise moment. I double checked my gear, turned on my headlamp as we said our goodbyes, and hit the trail at the stroke of midnight.
THE BIG FUCKING HILL
I had broken down the hike over and over in my head throughout the previous weeks. How fast I needed to go, where I needed to refill my water, where we would meet along the way, how long it would take from each point to point. Mentally, I had steeled myself for what I refer to as “The Big Fucking Hill”. A rocky and root strewn uphill journey of nearly four miles that brings you to the northern Deep Gap (not to be confused with the Deep Gap shelter) where the spur trail to Cold Mountain begins. I wanted to get this long climb out of the way as efficiently and as quickly as possible, it would be the longest continuous uphill of the entire journey and once done would give me a better idea of how long this ordeal might actually take. The clear skies didn’t last much more than the first mile, and a steady cold rain started falling again. Wearing my rain jacket, moving fast on fresh legs through the fog, I kept pushing to reach the gap without letting up. Just before I rounded the last corner, I felt dizzy. Too hot. Sick. I took a moment to try and catch my breath and relax, but it was too late and I could feel the stomach churning sensation beginning, quickly letting loose liters of sour water in a violent projectile fashion. The over exertion and excess heat trapped in my jacket had caught up with me. I had stopped here purposefully to get sick, however, as I knew there were probably hikers camped just around the corner a littler farther up the hill. I didn’t want them to think a dying animal was raiding their camp at two in the morning. I sat for a moment longer, reconsidering if this hike was something I really wanted to try to do in a day. I stood up and moved passed a half dozen tents quietly. I felt better and I reassured myself things would be OK.
The Big Fucking Hill does not end at Cold Mountain, however. The trail continues for several more miles uphill, climbing through an area known as “The Narrows” and up and over Stairs Mountain. This section of rocky ups and downs is a solid challenge during the day, and would prove to be even more so during the wet and foggy night. Climbing up and over boulders and making large steps are standard here, and if you’re not careful you may find yourself accidentally taking one of the side trails that could lead to more dangerous terrain along the rocky ledge. I was very careful to move slowly and deliberately through this section, making sure to have a solid footing on the wet rocks and staying on the designated trail. Finally the terrain becomes easier and the trail widens as it leads towards the base of Shining Rock. I thought to myself the worst of it was behind me now, and the rest would be an easier albeit long walk. I could not have been more wrong.
THE MADNESS
I reached the area known as Shining Rock Gap around 3AM. Here the Art Loeb takes a short and abrupt turn where it intersects with the Little East Fork and Old Butt trails. Another side trail running parallel to Old Butt climbs a short ways further to reach the lower flanks and then eventually the bright white quartz boulders at the top of the Shining Rock formation. I almost always take a few minutes to head up and enjoy the view, but it was dark and I was in a hurry to continue so it would have to wait until the next trip. Shortly after the trail juncture just off the trail a spring emerges beneath a large tree. Most hikers will replenish their water supply here before moving on. There’s an old plank that acts as a makeshift spout to funnel the often minimal flow of water. I was disappointed to see the plank was now split in two, laying on the side of the small stream. I began trying to think of what may have happened to it, from the looks of it I guessed someone had intentionally broken it, but I couldn’t really imagine why. My thoughts were interrupted by a loud crashing sound lower down the hillside. Despite the wind and rain, I could clearly hear something large moving rapidly through the forest. The sound was growing quieter, whatever creature I had stirred up was moving away fast, which was fine with me. I pondered what it might be. Bear, coyote, and deer were my first thoughts. Common in the area and all active at night. The temporary shot of adrenaline I got from my mystery nighttime companion was beginning to wear off and I was growing noticeably tired, both physically and mentally. I slowly filled my water bottles using a leaf as a spout before continuing on my way.
At this point I was roughly five miles from where the trail crosses Black Balsam Road and where our camp was located. As I walked, I fantasized about crawling into my waiting hammock, simply writing off the rest of the hike, and sleeping for the entire day. It was the second time on the trip I had considered abandoning my goal of completing the trail and I had only finished about seven miles. I was starting to feel disconnected from my body, my feet moved up and down and back and forth without care or thought. My mind was starting to wander. I became clumsy, losing my footing several times and stumbling across the relatively easy terrain. In my head I started doing the numbers and again realized I was desperately lacking adequate sleep. Awake over 24 hours now, with well over 20 miles of trail left ahead of me, my body and mind began to betray me. As I walked in a daze, I unexpectedly heard someone else nearby. There were at least two people, both of which sounded like small children who were laughing and whispering to one another. I stopped to try to see where the sound was coming from but heard only the steady rain. I assumed I was mistaken and began walking again. Immediately I could hear the laughter come back, only much more clearly and on both sides of the trail. Stopping again only to be greeted by dead air added to my confusion. The sound of disembodied children’s laughter in the middle of the night while alone in the woods wasn’t an immediate red flag as it normally would have been. I must be near people camping with small children, I thought to myself. It was the only halfway logical thing I could come up with. Was someone out here just fucking with me? I looked around, waited, listened some more to no avail. Again, as soon as I resumed moving the laughter returned. I kept walking but this time pulled my hood off to see if I could hear better, and in doing so solved the mystery. The hood of my rain jacket was brushing against my ears, making a sound that my struggling brain interpreted as laughter and whispering. The sound was so clear, and even when I knew what was causing it still sounded more like mischievous children and less like thin nylon brushing back and forth against my ears. I took a moment to understand what was happening. I was beginning to hallucinate. The madness was starting.
I was coherent enough to realize this recent development was not a good one. Alone and still miles from my friends, I knew the situation could go sideways quickly. I did the only thing I could think to do, which was to stop, send a message with my location and time, force myself to eat something and drink some water before moving on. I took a few minutes, struggled to eat a few crackers and then continued on my way. As I began the climb up the back side of Tennent Mountain, I started seeing lights to either side of the trail in my peripheral vision, just to my side and behind me. Each time I turned to see the source, they would move just beyond my field of vision. These red and blue orbs would continue with me as I climbed. I stopped to take a short break near a big curve where the trail abruptly swings back in and up the main ridge towards the summit when something else caught my eye. I was looking at what appeared to be a small ceramic tile or perhaps a square of some sort of stiff fabric, and on it was emblazoned a small somewhat stylized face of a cat. It was staring back at me as clear as day. It reminded me of a petroglyph or something carved directly in to stone, rather than an image drawn on the surface with paint or a marker. I was immediately curious about who made it and how, and why they brought it out here to leave on the side of the trail. I’ve hiked this section of trail dozens of times, even once fairly recently and it certainly wasn’t there on those trips. I took out my phone to take a picture and try it to figure out later. I leaned in, and got a photo. Looking to see how it came out, my mind nearly broke when I realized I had taken a picture of nothing. The cats face was just a dry dry spot on a stone and the detailed whiskers were simply a clump of weeds. What had just a moment ago looked like a halfway decent arts and crafts project was once again just a rock. I wanted to cry with frustration, I was no longer in control of the situation and I knew it. I was now hearing and seeing things that were not there, I knew I needed to try to regain my focus and get back to camp quickly.
The rain continued as I made my way over Black Balsam Knob. Facing exhaustion and a steep lack of calories, I laid on my pack in the middle of the trail, face up with rain coming down on my face. Despite being wet and growing colder from sitting still, I felt perfectly relaxed and still. Suddenly I sat bolt upright while experiencing the distinct feeling of just waking up. I realized I had fallen asleep laying like a turtle in the middle of the trail. It couldn’t have been more than just a few minutes, but I had a deep sense of dread that I was very close to something bad happening. I’ve hiked thousands of miles in all kinds of weather, day and night alike and yet had never let my body enter the state of neglect it was currently experiencing. I stood up to pee, and had serious trouble removing my gloves and manipulating my zipper. My fine motor skills were struggling. It took all the focus I could muster to unzip in time and not piss my pants. Navigating through the fog down the last remaining portion of the trail was challenging since it just crosses slabs of bare rock with no distinct path to guide you. Fortunately I experienced a brief second wind to see me through the last half mile. My feet finally touched the pavement, and within a minute I had crossed the road into the forest, stripped off my wet clothes and crawled in to my sleeping bag. It was 5:30AM and I set an alarm for 8:15. I could now fully relax, let go and allow my body to enter a short but deep sleep.
SUNRISE SURPRISE
I awoke before my alarm sounded, with BillieJo at the side of my hammock offering me a steaming cup of coffee. “You need to get moving” were the first words of the day. Despite how awful I felt just a few hours ago and the fragile state my mind was in, I actually felt pretty good. The rain had stopped and I could see the sunlight starting to creep through the trees towards us. We talked briefly about the madness in the night as I crossed the wilderness. We made plans to meet once again where the trail crosses the forest service road at Glouster Gap around midday. I refilled on water and snacks and had a quick bite to eat before getting ready to head out shortly after 8AM. Just before I departed, a parade of trail runners began passing our campsite, heading North towards Shining Rock. As soon as I left camp, dozens and dozens more runners started passing me. I asked one of them what was going on and learned that I had stumbled into the midst of the the Looking Glass 100K, an extreme ultra marathon over a distance of more than 60 miles with an elevation gain in excess of 13,000′. That quickly took the wind out of my sails about my own ambitions. While I had set out to do something that I considered hard, these gifted athletes were participating in a level of physicality beyond my comprehension. My collapse on the trail the night before seemed overly dramatic now. Was I really that bad off or was I just being a wimp? I thought about what it would have been like if the first runner up the trail had discovered me laying across the path, collapsed and unconscious less than a mile from one of the most popular tourist trailheads in Western North Carolina. Would I have succumbed to exposure or embarrassment first? It was a funny thought and as it slipped away I was glad I didn’t have to find out.
The next few miles consists of a short section where both the Art Loeb and Mountains to Sea trail overlap one another. It has always been one of my absolute favorite stretches of trail and I was glad to be back on it once again. The relatively flat walk to reach Silvermine Bald is punctuated by stunning and exposed vantage points overlooking the Pisgah National Forest and beyond. You can see the ridgelines of Sassafras Knob and Pilot mountain rising out of the valley below, which would be my next big climb. Just before I turned down the steeper section, a trail runner passing me exclaimed “Bro, you can’t give up, you can do it! Are you turning around?” I was caught off-guard but then quickly realized that he thought I was participating in the race. I was flattered that he thought I might potentially be an actual athlete capable of running for dozens and dozens of miles on end but at the same time was also slightly upset that he thought I was a quitter. I laughed and quickly explained that I was actually on my own similar but much shorter journey of personal suffering and struggle. We discussed my plan and to my surprise he still seemed impressed at my one day undertaking. We wished each other success on our respective journeys and headed opposite ways, each now knowing what lay ahead for the other. My confidence was increasing with each step and when I turned down to start the notoriously steep and rocky section that leads to the Blue Ridge Parkway, I was blown away by the recent addition of wood and rock crush steps that covered some of the most extreme and rocky sections. The Carolina Mountain Club had been hard at work for months improving this section for safety, erosion and drainage control. I am proud to be a supporting member of such an incredible organization and I come across their improvements on a regular basis. I remembered they had been doing some work on this section but I was beyond impressed with the before and after comparison. With the new tread completed, I was able to practically jog down this section to reach the parkway in record time and I was so thankful for their hard work.
PILOT MOUNTAIN
Enjoying the first long downhill as the trail descends from the Parkway, I was making good time heading towards Pilot Mountain. My mind was clear and I was in a good mood as I climbed up and over Sassafras Knob and quickly passed the site of the former Deep Gap shelter. I continued without getting water here, since I’d be resupplying after just a couple of more miles. The trail starts directly up the steep flanks of Pilot Mountain that eventually ease into a dozen or so switchbacks that finalize the climb to the top. Here I would pass the last few runners that I would see for the day, and thought I was incredibly lucky to have the summit to myself after literally hundreds of others had just been here. I messaged my friends and let them know I was headed down the last few miles and would be reaching FS475 shortly for our final meet up before the end of the trail.
I thought about how far I’d come and what I had left to do for the day. Pilot is roughly half way through the trail, and the most difficult miles were now far behind me. Roughly fifteen more miles felt like a lot to commit to and there weren’t a lot of options to bail out between where I was now and the end. While I had my own doubts throughout the hike about my ability to finish it, my friends encouragement before and during the hike were what kept me going more than anything. They had the confidence in me that I felt lacking and it made the difference I needed when the going was less than pleasant. I reached the forest service road exactly at our planned time and my friends were there waiting for me. After a short pep talk and a snack, I continued my journey. The next place we would see each other again would hopefully be at the Southern trailhead along Davidson River. I was now sure for the first time that I was fully committed to finishing what I had started.
LIKE BUTTER
The next several miles came and went easily with only one significant climb up Chestnut Mountain. I reached Butter Gap knowing at this point I’ve completed two thirds of the entire trail and the only real difficulty is the short but soul crushingly steep trek around Cedar Rock. Comprised of large stone blocks in several spots for stairs, it’s almost guaranteed to bring up a lactic acid burn to even the most hardened hikers. Knowing this, I took a long break at the shelter, replenished my water for the last time and enjoyed the company of a stray hunting dog as a few day hikers passed through. As I stood up to shoulder my pack, my legs were already starting to feel like lead. The last twenty miles were catching up with me an I was dreading the climb ahead. As I could see the large dome of Cedar Rock growing closer, I again felt my mind start to wander. The movement now just felt like work I didn’t want to do. The harder I tried to push myself mentally, the slower I seemed to move physically. I realized I was hitting the wall and rapidly running out of steam.
I had to stop and rest several times as I continued up through the boulder field. I got in to a rhythm of walking for ten seconds and then stopping for an equal amount of time. Legs burning and lungs screaming, I finally reached the flat campsite directly below the sloping walls of Cedar Rock. I had camped here many times and there’s not much I wouldn’t have given to call it a day here once more but I was reinvigorated to continue, knowing I had a good deal of downhill ahead and just a few other climbs through the thick tunnels of rhododendron to reach the end of the trail. The next few miles grew repetitive. Everything looks the same for the most part. There aren’t any big views, and the downhill is steep in some spots.
As the light faded and the darkness started to come on, I heard my first sign of civilization in the form of a motorcycle heading up Highway 276. The grin on my face must have been huge. As I started to down the last hill, I saw dozens of fires at the Davidson River Campground below. When I reached the flat ground on the rivers edge, I stopped for a moment to prepare myself for the eventual end of the trail. I felt a high coming on as I crossed the formidable steel bridge that takes you across the Davidson. My friends were waiting for me and I could feel their energy calling me closer. I always refer to the last mile of my hikes as the victory lap. You can pretty much just run on auto pilot without much thought as to what comes next. There are no more hills or valleys to cross, no more water to collect. There are no turns or intersections to take and no more navigation to concern yourself with. I often think about the next adventure and the high points of the one coming to a close. I could see the car headlights in the distance, illuminating the gate that marks the line between parking lot and trail. The beam of my headlamp finally flashed across the sign marking the end.
I was glad the darkness had arrived once again. I had tears of joy, exhaustion and relief streaming down my face. I don’t think my friend could see them, but as we embraced at the end in a victory hug, I’m certain she could feel me trembling and my emotions were conveyed in full. We drove over to the campground where we had a site reserved, which was good because I’m not sure I could have managed another single step. My friends had graciously taken down our camp from the night before and set it back up down here so I could simply focus on the hiking and not the peripheral activities it required along the way. I was hungry, but my will to sleep was much stronger. After debriefing for an hour or so recalling the highs and lows and trying to describing the madness I had experienced throughout the night, I excused myself and slipped off to my tent and closed my eyes. Sleep came quickly.
STEAK AND EGGS
The early morning was frigid. Frost coated our tents as we slowly stirred to make breakfast. I woke up feeling mentally exhausted still but less sore than I expected. BillieJo cooked up massive steaks while I worked on scrambling eggs. Upon taking the first bite of any substantial food in a day, my senses were overwhelmed. My mouth felt prickly, like little needles were jabbing me each time I would chew. Real food felt like a foreign concept after eating only a few tangerines and crackers over the previous day. The smell was like that which you might expect to experience in an expensive Michelin starred steakhouse. I think I was still somewhat dehydrated, and despite the uncomfortable feeling in my mouth, I was absolutely certain this was the best steak of my life, hands down.
We began packing up, discussing future plans and saying our final goodbyes. It goes without saying that this trip wouldn’t have been possible or successful without the support of my hiking friends. To be quite honest I probably never would have even tried it if I hadn’t been for the constant encouragement and motivation from my partners telling me in no uncertain terms that I absolutely could do it, and it turns out they were right. It meant a lot to me that someone would be willing to drive hundreds of miles across several states just to drive me around, sit in the rain and wait for me to hike 30 miles, making sure I was OK along the way and who was ready to respond if I was not. I learned so much about myself and others as I moved through the miles. I grew several sizes as an outdoorsman while I experienced some intense thoughts and feelings. I will always refer to this journey simply as the art of madness.
To view a map of my route, splits and time click here
I knew it was intense…. But not to that level! Wowzers!!! My trail bud is an absolute beast! I’d do it again in a heartbeat!