Day 1, Burnsville to Devils Creek Gap

My start this morning didn't happen as early as I hoped. Breakfast wasn't served at the B&B until 8:30 a.m. After we finished our meal and checked out, my wife and I drove to the Burnsville Visitor Center and arrived at 9:15.

The visitor center was my choice for the starting/ending point of the AHR loop. A woman inside greeted us but seemed indifferent when I told her I was about to hike the entire route. When I asked about a registration book for hikers to sign, she said there wasn't one.

I then said goodbye to Kim and was on my way.

There was a little sunshine in the sky when I set out, but that didn't last long. Yesterday's high temperature was 80ºF. Because the clouds were expected to remain for the rest of the day, it wouldn't get quite that warm today.

The prediction of heavy rainfall tomorrow was on my mind whenever I looked at the sky.

I followed a sidewalk along a street that led out of town, then turned where the street intersected U.S. Highway 19E. There was no stoplight there, and I had to wait a few minutes before a gap in traffic allowed me to cross the highway's five lanes.

The highway also had a sidewalk, but only on one side and only for the first mile.

The sidewalk ended near the local high school, and then I had to walk on the highway's shoulder. It was wide enough to make walking here reasonably safe. Unfortunately, that was about to change.

When Kim and I arrived in Burnsville yesterday, we drove the roads I would be walking today. This was helpful because I could make mental notes and become familiar with the route. This way, I didn’t need to make frequent stops to check my navigation app.

Crossing the highway at Jacks Creek Road wasn't as difficult as before because a traffic light was at that intersection. From there, I followed the two-lane, narrow, curvy, and hilly road with no shoulders.

At times, this long stretch of road became a little too sketchy for comfort. There were several blind curves and hills, which reduced the distance for me to see oncoming cars and their drivers to see me. This felt much like the road walks on the Pinhoti Trail. This time, at least, I wasn't confronted by loose, angry dogs.

I thought Polecat might pass this way when he meets me tomorrow, so I texted him, "If you see a crew tomorrow scraping up roadkill, stop and check to make sure it isn't me."

A farm I passed had several small signs nailed to trees. Each one named a chapter and verse from Revelations in the New Testament of the Bible. It seemed a quote from Amos 4:12 in the Old Testament would have been more appropriate: "Prepare to meet thy God."

Though the rural, curvy road didn't have much traffic, some of the vehicles that passed me were large farm trucks. The shortened distance for drivers to see me at curves and hills would have been more unnerving if there had been more cars and trucks.

I wanted to make sure I knew when one was approaching, so I didn't wear earbuds and listen to a podcast. I often do that on boring road walks, but it didn't seem wise here. I wanted to be sure I could hear cars when I couldn't see them approaching.

One blind curve that was especially bad was where the road went around a barn and grain silo. I stopped and cautiously leaned out to peek ahead before hurrying around them.

When I began to get hungry and wanted to stop for lunch, I discovered another downside of this long road walk. There was no place to stop and eat. The whole distance on Jacks Creek Road and Coxes Creek Road, about 8.5 miles in all, was lined by farms and homes. I wasn't comfortable stopping to sit on someone's lawn.

Coxes Creek Road had less traffic than Jacks Creek Road, but the homes were larger and looked expensive. I was now more reluctant to stop for lunch.

At last, after Coxes Creek Road climbed to Cox Creek Gap and began a descent, I spotted a couple of large boulders next to the road. One was the right height to sit on. No homes were nearby, and this seemed like an acceptable place to sit and eat my lunch.

I came to a church at the bottom of the descent. Two people were working on the church's lawn, so I walked up and asked them if there was a spigot on the side of the building where I could refill my water bottle. They said the building didn't have one, but they offered to get some water for me from their house next door.

The man's name was John, and he gave me some bottled water and a cold, soft drink. He also offered to drive me the rest of the way up the road. Even though I explained I wanted to hike every mile, he checked a couple more times to make sure I didn't want a ride. He didn't seem to understand I was intentionally walking all of the trail.

When I thanked John for the drinks, I explained he was what hikers call a trail angel. He had never heard of that but seemed pleased to be called that name.

At the bottom of Coxes Creek Road, I crossed a bridge on the Cane River. I could have scooped and filtered water from the river but was glad I got some clean water from John. The river looked murky.

Before getting far down the road on the other side of the river, a lady pulled up her car next to me. "Are you hiking the Appalachian High Route?" she asked.

I told her I was, and she replied happily, “You’re like the second hiker I’ve seen!”

That surprised me, considering the few number of people who have hiked this route. She had now seen maybe 20-25 percent of all AHR hikers.

A scattering of light raindrops fell shortly before I made the next turn at White Oak Flats Road. I hesitated to put on my rain gear, and that turned out to be a good decision because no more rain followed. The sun came back out within 15 minutes, and that was a relief. I didn't want the storm that was in the forecast for tomorrow to arrive any earlier.

I stopped for a 15-minute break at 2:50 p.m. in the middle of another long climb. Soon after I started walking again, the paved road ended at Harmiller Gap. The climb then continued on a Forest Service road called East Flat Top Road.

The gravel road was narrow and sometimes steep. While I was stopped to refill my water bottle at a spring, a man pulled up in a pickup truck. He told me he was from Erwin, a town not far away, and was scouting for an upcoming turkey hunting trip.

The hunter was very talkative, delaying me from getting to Joe Lewis Field before my goal of 4 p.m. I normally wouldn't have minded chatting with him, but I kept thinking about the bad trail and the approaching storm.

I left the road where it connected to the Lost Cove Trail. From there, the trail climbed to Joe Lewis Field, a wide-open space at the top of the mountain that is named for an early settler. The trail descended the other side for about a mile before intersecting with the Devils Creek Trail.

There were a few glimpses of the Nolichucky River on the way down. In my planning for the AHR, I hoped to continue on the Lost Cove Trail to the now-deserted community of Lost Cove, then camp somewhere nearby. The weather forecast changed those plans.

Ruins of a school, church, grist mill, and a few homes can be found at Lost Cove. When and how the community started in such an isolated spot high above the river gorge is unclear. Historians only know the first records to mention it date to around the Civil War.

By the end of the 1860s, Lost Cove was on its way to becoming a thriving village, but no road was ever built to reach it. The only way there was to follow a narrow trail from Poplar, about two miles away. Lost Cove grew nonetheless, especially when the South & Western Railroad brought rail service to the area in 1902.

At its height, Lost Cove had a population of nearly 100, with an economy based primarily on lumber and moonshine. When logging removed most of the timber in the area, moonshining couldn't sustain it and Lost Cove quickly began to decline. The last family moved away in 1957, but the buildings remained because many of the families assumed they would come back someday. Most structures are now gone or badly decayed.

While preparing for this hike, I read that the Devils Creek Trail had not been maintained in the last few years and was in bad shape. When I saw orange diamond blazes and a sign at the junction with the Lost Cove Trail, however, I became hopeful it had been improved. This turned out to be a false hope.

The trail quickly disappeared. Sometimes I could guess where it was supposed to go, but otherwise, I had to rely on my Gaia GPS app to find my way and bushwhack forward.

Finally, after about a mile and a half of struggling to get through this mess of a trail, I began to walk on a real footpath.

When I spotted another spring at 7 p.m., I stopped to filter more water. By now, the air was feeling noticeably cooler.

The trail opened to another meadow, but there were no trail markers to show where to go next. I took a guess, an that turned out to be the right choice, and discovered the trail joined Forest Service Road 278, which appeared to get a minimal level of maintenance.

The meadow might have been a good spot to camp, but I still wanted to push on and get to the AT before dark.

Except when I was nearly dive-bombed by an owl that swooped low over the road, there were no more problems. The rest of the way to the AT was fast and easy. I made it to Devils Creek Gap where the trails intersected at 7:50 p.m., just five minutes before sunset.

Now that I was on the AT, I could use my FarOut app to navigate, so I checked it to find the nearest campsite. There weren't any sites marked with a waypoint nearby, but comments posted for a marker at a stream mentioned a “nice campsite” was at NOBO mile 334. That was good enough for me.