In Northern Virginia, the blissful season of summer often turns into heavy, hot days that leave me feeling limp from the heat as I scurry inside to escape its oppressiveness. I had only been back in town for a few weeks since my Portugal trip, and I was already starting to miss the cooler temps of Madeira. Even waking up at 5 am afforded me only a brief respite from 80+ degree weather, the high percentage of humidity taunting me with buckets of sweat.

I popped open my laptop and began Googling some nearby higher elevations that would make spending time outdoors slightly more bearable. I had experienced quite a few adventures in West Virginia, the mountains affording a better feel to the summer. I didn’t want to drive too far north, knowing that the forests in Maine or New Hampshire would only offer me slightly cooler options.

And then I remembered Grayson Highlands.

Two years ago, I took a mini road trip around Virginia and North Carolina, visiting a slew of state parks during my Thanksgiving Break. Grayson Highlands was a highlight! The landscape was different than any I had encountered in Virginia, and the wild ponies added a whole layer of wonder that I was eager to re-experience.

The Appalachian Trail cuts through the park, and I just knew it was time to grab my trekking poles, 65 liter backpack, and portable stove. My plan formulated gingerly in my mind – a beautiful backpacking loop that would take three days and two nights. Yes, the days would still be in the 80s, but the nights promised to be suitable for sleeping, and the humidity was significantly lower than NoVA’s.

Arriving to the trailhead around 1 pm, I happily set out on the trail. The first section was notably uphill, but I was in pretty good shape from various rigorous hikes I had recently taken. Immediately I noticed that the rhodendron was in bloom, much later than would be typical in Virginia, but the higher elevations led to a later arrival of spring. I spotted wild berry bushes that would ripen within the next week or so. The air smelled fresh. The sun was peeking out just enough. It was a good start to the day.

Upwards I went, clamoring over rocks, plodding steadily up gently sloping earth, and marveling at the wild ponies who are left to roam the park and maintain the balding areas. They do an important job in sustaining the ecosystem of Grayson Highlands, so I gave them a silent salute in appreciation.

Day 1 was full of gorgeous views and rocky outcropping that made the landscape interesting. When I set up camp that first night, I was in high spirits and invigorated with the promise of more things to do and more ground to cover come the morn.

I was awakened around 10:30 pm.

“Bear – the bear is back!” I wasn’t entirely sure I had heard correctly, but a returning shout from another backpacking party had me on high alert.

“I can’t see him – where did he go?” I lay awake listening for rustles about my campsite, happy that I had religiously packed away all food and toiletries into a nearby bear bin.

“Did he run away? Which direction?” My voice echoing in with the others, now, attempting to get more information about our furry visitor. Apparently the bear had lumbered off, but I wasn’t quite sure if I would be getting a surprise visit in the middle of the night.

I slept on and off, as is typical during my nights in the woods on a too-small, too-thin camping pad.

Day 2 was a beast! Originally slated for about 12 miles, I managed to shorten it down to 10 by taking a ridiculous shortcut that managed to be rated “extreme” in difficulty (0.5 miles with 700 ft elevation change). Right when my spirits were about to sink into the depths of despair (slight exaggeration), I reached the top and was awarded with a leisurely stroll on the Crest Trail, a delicious path on the top portion of a green-covered mountain.

When I was only one mile from my planned campsite, I was compelled to take my hiking boots off, knowing full-well it would be difficult to once again succumb them back into their bound torture. My feet were so happy, prancing about sockless and shoeless. Yes, it was not fun to once again lace up my hiking boots, but I knew that a cold stream awaited me just a short walk away.

The campsite ended up being gorgeous! It was tucked into a wooded area with lush green grass, more rhodendron, and the sound of the running creek. My feet happily splashed in the water, and I laid upon a large rock enjoying the slight breeze. When I dozed off for a minute, I realized it was time to get supper ready and my tent set up for the night.

No bear-scares this evening, but a naughty thunderstorm swooped in, awakening me with claps of thunder and a shuddering rain spell. I was able to sleep (a relief) and woke up to a rather dry campsite (also a relief).

Day 3 was a short hike out and went by very quickly. As is typical when I finish up a backpacking trip, I am always happy to make it back to the car, but somewhat sad that my woodland adventures come to an end.

The question always rests: What’s next?