Music featured in this video: “Mountains In My Way” by Vens Adams, “Should I Let Go” by Sky Toes, “The Sky Of Our Ancestors” by Kevin MacLeod, “Sunflower Breeze” by Augustine, “On Top Of The World” by Noise Cake, “See You In My Dreams” by Kite Flight, “Sunshine Waltz” by Albert Behar, “Journey” by Lane King, “Labyrinth” by Wisanga, “Ode To The Draft Horse” by Kelly Latimore, “Riverboat” by Ben McElroy, “Demons” by Louise Petit, “The Man and His Crows” by Haquin, and “Time Knows” by Luke Beling
If you're interested in hiking this trail, please check out the itineraries / guides I put together from this trip! It helps me to keep doing what I do. Included are three thru-hike itinerary options, a list of planning resources, mileage profile detailing campsites water sources junctions etc., elevation profiles, shuttle and logistics recommendations, and MORE all in one neatly organized PDF. (While it isn’t a substitute for doing your own research and preparation, hopefully it will take the guess work out of planning your own hike.) *There is also a bundle version which includes both documents!
Trail Journal
Trip Overview
Type of hike: Point-to-point / Shuttle
Trails hiked: Art Loeb Trail
Time span: 3 days 2 nights
Est. Mileage: 30 and then some
Prologue
“You won, this time. But you are as big as you are ever going to get. And I’m still growing.”
– Sir Edmund Hillary
On April 21st 2021, I fell face first into bed caked in mud, sweat, tears, and even blood. I had just spent the last 48 hours getting licked by the Art Loeb. It was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. There were so many moments along the way when I felt like giving up; when I didn’t think I had another step in me. Despite the pain and exhaustion, I kept moving making it all the way to the end. I knew this trail was tough, but I thought I would find some joy in the challenge. Instead, the experience just left me feeling defeated.
Exactly one year later, I found myself setting up camp just below the summit of Black Balsam Knob. As I finished pitching the tent, another backpacker came up the trail. He was about 20 years old wearing a flannel shirt and jeans. His pack was stuffed to the brim and anything that wouldn’t fit was strapped to the outside. He stopped to chat for a minute before continuing up the winding trail to the summit.
A few hours later, the wind picked up and he gave me some much-needed help starting a fire. We talk about a lot of things throughout the evening, but what stuck with me most was what brought him out here:
“Some friends were telling me about this place. They said the views were incredible. It sounded really cool… Being able to hike up a mountain and camp there! I had some time off this week, so I decided to give this a try.”
That may not sound like anything special, but it was a similar curiosity which drew me to this trail for my first backpacking trip years before. Only, I didn't have the resolve to stick it out. When I realized how unprepared I was, I convinced the friend I was with to bail out and hitch a ride back to the car. I had yet another failed trip along the Art Loeb the next year… maybe one day I’ll tell you about one. My Northbound thru-hike the year after was kind of the nail in the coffin. These mountains had lost their magic for me. Or so I thought. Hearing the enthusiasm in this first-time backpacker’s voice sparked something.
The weather only worsened that night. It was cold, violent wind shook the tent, and a thick fog covered the bald. But unlike in trips past, I rolled with the punches. I realized in the morning I wanted to give thru-hiking the Art Loeb another try. But before I could, I had to be the kind of person that would appreciate this trail for the arduous but incredibly worthwhile journey that it was. I needed to grow...
Davidson River
I paced around my campsite at Davidson River Campground picking up sticks for the fire. “You’re going to have fun.” I told myself. I wanted to believe it, but I couldn’t shake these pre-trip jitters. I had done this before. I knew what I was up against. And unlike the last time, I was more equipped to handle it: physically AND mentally. So, why was I so shaken up? I guess I was afraid nothing would change. That no amount of personal growth and time gone by could make me love this trail. I wanted a do-over, but I didn’t want to be let down either.
I eventually crawled into my sleeping bag and tried to get some sleep. I had to be up by 6:30 and at the trailhead at 7. Thankfully, the campground and trailhead were right down the road from each other. 30 minutes would be plenty of time to get ready before my shuttle.
Sleeping in the car wasn’t nearly as comfortable as I hoped. The way the seats fold down leaves a slight angle across the back of my SUV. So no matter which way I faced, I kept sliding into the hatch door. I also forgot to bring a pillow. I had to settle for a bunched-up jacket instead. It didn’t take me long to realize, sleeping in my tent would have been so much better.
It was still dark when the alarm went off. There was a light layer of frost on the windshield. It took me a minute to remember where I was and how I got here. I have to meet the guy. I fumbled around for the keys, groggy and confused. I cranked up the car and got ready while it defrosted. I pulled up to the trailhead with a couple minutes to spare. I could make out the shape of a guy standing by a pickup truck nearby. As I got out of my car, he came over and introduced himself.
“Hi, Jessica? I’m Joe! I’m parked right over here when you’re ready.” He pointed over to the truck.
I shoved a few last minute items into my pack before tossing it in the truck bed. I was as ready now as I’d ever be.
“You’ve ridden with us before?” He asked.
“Yeah, Daniel was my driver last time.”
“I thought I recognized your name. Well, you’ve pretty much met the whole staff now!”
I laughed.
Watching the scenery fly by through the window and chatting with Joe helped put my mind at ease.
Camp Daniel Boone
Pulling up to the North trailhead, I was shocked!
“You haven’t been here since they put in the new parking, have you?”
“No! It looks great.”
What used to be a couple cramped roadside spots was now a spacious gravel lot with room for over a dozen cars. The remodeled parking area at Camp Daniel Boone was one of many changes to the trail I’d encounter on this trip.
If you’ve ever taken a shuttle while backpacking before, you know. There’s this moment of finality putting on your pack and watching the driver pull away. It’s way too late to postpone or cancel. You just have to start walking. “Here’s goes something.” I said as I made my way passed the terminus sign and up the first set of wooden steps.
I couldn’t help but notice, the beginning of the trail was much milder going Northbound. There’s a whole mile of flat gravel path before hitting any real elevation change. Going South, it was straight up right from the start, and plenty of sharp switchbacks in between. Rather than focusing on my burning quads, I tried to focus on the positives: For one, I picked a great time to do this. The Fall colors look incredible. Also, it’s not nearly as cold now as it was earlier. Most important, I'm going to have fun!
About 2 miles from the trailhead, I passed a pair of boots in a tree. One of the soles had peeled off and was hanging on by a thread. It reminded me of the tree at Neel Gap on the AT. Supposedly, it’s where Southbound thru-hikers hang their boots to celebrate the end of their 2,200 mile journey. Hopefully, the owner of these boots was approaching the end of their journey when the soles gave out.
Shortly before Deep Gap, I came to a section of landslide damage. It took me a minute to locate the trail on the other side. I carefully climbed down to cross the gaping debris field. Then, I crawled up the embankment on my hands and knees to where the trail continued.
I remembered when Nora and I stopped to take a break here on one of her first backpacking trips. I put my pack down on a rock and clipped her leash to it so she couldn’t wander off while I refilled my water bottle. The moment I turned my back, there was a splash. Nora had pulled my pack into the creek and was dragging it behind her! As I ran over to stop her, she put her ears down guiltily and wagged her tail. Some other hikers nearby busted out laughing. I couldn’t decide whether to stay mad or laugh along too. It’s such a shame. This beautiful creek crossing was now unrecognizable.
Deep Gap & The Narrows
The near vertical incline right before Deep Gap left me winded to say the least. I collapsed at the campsite there and took a short break before continuing into The Narrows. Going North, I got hopelessly turned around and had to bushwhack up a slope through thorns to get back on track. Getting injured or lost in The Narrows was one of my biggest concerns. More than dry water sources or getting my butt handed to me by Pilot Mountain for a second time. But something I learned since then was being afraid of what’s ahead or dwelling on past mistakes wouldn’t help me through it. Taking things slow and staying aware of my surroundings would. So, that’s what I did.
Let me tell you! I came out the other side heart pounding and out of breath, but I genuinely enjoyed navigating that part of the trail. At several points, I found myself laughing or grinning at the ridiculous rock scrambles I had to maneuver along. It wasn't easy, but it was a good time.
As the trail approached Stairs Mountain, I noticed a large campsite some distance away and a faint path to it through the trees. That’s when it dawned on me. I must have wandered into this site thinking the trail continued through it. No wonder I couldn’t find my way. I was looking hundreds of feet in the wrong direction! Shining Rock Wilderness felt a little less intimidating to me after that moment.
Shining Rock
Instead of continuing on the Art Loeb, I took a left at the junction for Old Butt Knob Trail. (What a ridiculous name) I couldn’t pass up a chance to pay the Shining Rock a visit. I’ve climbed this massive quartz boulder several times over the years, but always up to the same overlook. There was a second viewpoint a little higher up that I wanted to check out. Laughter and conversation came into earshot the closer I got. I dropped my pack at the base of the Shining Rock and followed the sound up the side of it. Near the top, a group of day hikers were slowly navigating down a cleft in the rockface.
That spot is no joke. The slope is steep and the smooth stone surface doesn't give you much to hold onto. You practically have to slide down it on your hands, heels, and butt. Back in September, Katie and I had quite a time getting Nora up and down it. But between the two of us, she was in safe hands.
The group insisted I go on ahead since they were going to take a while. I squeezed passed them, took a big leap up the side of the smooth slope, and I pulled myself the rest of the way up. This is a lot easier without a dog. I thought. From there, I climbed another boulder stack to the second overlook. I could overhear a man joke that I must be part mountain goat. The other viewpoint was worth the extra effort. While not as wide sweeping as the main overlook, it still offered a vista of the rolling peaks in the opposite direction.
After getting back on the Art Loeb, I stopped at one of the more reliable water sources along the way: Shining Rock Spring. Despite current drought conditions, there was a decent flow pouring off the half pipe channel. I refilled my empty water bottle and a 2L CNOC bladder as well. I figured that should be enough to get me to the next source near Ivestor Gap. My plan was to refill there before getting into camp.
Ivestor Gap to Black Balsam Knob
I felt my confidence grow trekking along Grassy Cove Ridge, and it only snowballed from there. By the time I reached the summit of Black Balsam, I was completely in my element. At Ivestor Gap, I tossed my pack aside and stretched out in the grass. I was brought back to the Pisgah Circuit trip with Barrett over the Summer. The way he rolled around in the dandelions snorting cracked me up. That dog sure knows how to have a good time.
Before leaving Ivestor Gap, I took a picture in front of the Shining Rock Wilderness sign. I did it on my first trip out here, and I’ve tried to keep up the tradition on every one since. During the year of my Northbound trip, a huge piece was missing. To help myself feel better about the bad day I was having, I joked that someone else’s day must’ve been so bad that they punched a hole right through the sign.
I took a detour down Ivestor Gap Trail toward Sam Knob trailhead. To my disappointment, the water pipe there was producing a single drop at a time. There was a little water trickling off rocks into a murky puddle. I really didn't want to clog up my filter this early in the trip though. So I devised a Plan B, and made another detour to a source on the MST. To my relief, water was flowing much better there.
Although I’ve hiked across Tennent Mountain and Black Balsam more times than I can count, it never gets old. The wide sweeping views astound me every time. There’s a perfect spot at Black Balsam where you can see miles of winding trail in either direction. It really puts things in perspective. Backpacking and life have a lot in common. For one, they are both journeys. And with both there’s so much beauty in looking ahead at where we’re going, as well as looking back on where we’ve been. We may not be able to see “the big picture” at all times. When we do though, it’s so rewarding. Mountaintop moments like that are a great reminder for me of everything God has done and will do in my own life.
First Camp
I set up camp in a nice grassy spot not far from the road crossing. Including side trips for sightseeing and water, I had gone about 13.5 miles. After gathering firewood and checking in at home, I started on dinner. I know it’s not the healthiest option out there, but I really love Knorr Creamy Pesto Pasta. It’s so easy to prepare and tastes so good. Just add a packet of olive oil, some parmesan cheese, and you’ve got a proper backpacking meal for under $5! Dessert was cheap and simple as well: graham crackers and hazelnut flavored decaf.
I decided to turn in around 9 p.m. There’s nothing like curling up in your sleep bag after a long day of hiking. I was looking forward to making up for all that sleep I’d lost the night before. Every part of me was exhausted. Especially my mind. I couldn’t even think about the next 20 miles if I tried. Tomorrow, I had a long climb over Pilot Mountain, but tomorrow would have to worry about itself.
I had a good view of the sunrise behind my tent. The gold light shining between the trees provided the perfect Fall ambiance for enjoying my morning coffee. After breakfast, I filtered my last liter of water. I hung the CNOC bladder from a nearby branch to let the filter and gravity do their thing. While that chore was on autopilot, I got to work on packing up everything inside the tent.
One of the last minute items I packed the day before was an extra battery bank. I wanted to test out the Nitecore 10,000 all the backpacking YouTube personalities have been raving about. However, some of the reviews I read on Amazon made me skeptical. They said the battery didn’t live up to expectations. They also theorized it didn’t actually have the 10,000 mAh capacity that was advertised. After trying it for myself, I had to agree. Charging my phone once (from 50 to 100%) and two camera batteries left it completely dead! On that power capacity, I can usually charge my phone twice and 4 – 5 camera batteries. Thank goodness I shoved a reliable back-up bank in the side pocket of my pack before getting on the shuttle! Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to share video and pictures from the rest of this trip with you.
Silvermine Bald & Deep Gap Shelter
I was surprised to see signs of trail maintenance making my way down Silvermine Bald. A cable handrail had been placed along a really slick, steep section of rock. There were new stairs in different stages of completion leading down to the Parkway as well. Some were nothing but wood frames; while others were filled in with sand and gravel. I also noticed plenty of new blazes between Black Balsam Rd and Silvermine. I was happy to see this neglected section of trail getting some much needed care and attention.
Hopefully, it won’t take too much longer for Deep Gap Shelter to get the same treatment. The decrepit A-frame structure looked worse than ever. The holes in the walls and graffiti had multiplied since my last time there. I wish I could say the water source was doing better. A shallow trickle ran across the rocks into a muddy pool. I remembered Joe telling me:
“The trail goes through a bad drought this time of year. Deep Gap Shelter is usually the first source to dry up.”
Water was much scarcer from this point on. My next opportunity to fill up wasn’t until after Butter Gap.
On a positive note, I read in the Transylvania Times that after reconstruction is done with Butter Gap Shelter, the Pisgah Ranger District and TPC intend to rebuild this one as well. They projected the new Adirondack style structures should be done around Summer. I'll have to make another trip out this way to see the finished result.
Pilot Mountain
There was no point in procrastinating at Deep Gap Shelter. Sooner or later, I would have to face my demon and get over Pilot Mountain. That grueling climb pushed me to the breaking point last time. (Who could forget the infamous pack throw.) Approaching the first incline I thought: I won’t let that happen again. I rounded one steep switchback after another with that resolve.
While the ascent in this direction certainly wasn’t easy, it was shorter. I found myself at the summit in 30 minutes flat. At the overlook, I threw my pack once again. Only this time it wasn’t out of defeat. I sat down on the edge of the cliff and let out a sigh of relief. It felt like a huge accomplishment reaching the summit, but I knew the real challenge was ahead of me. After a short break, I dusted off my pack ready to begin the long descent to Gloucester Gap. No matter how tough it gets, I’m not going to lose my cool or let it get me down. Thinking about how you're going to respond to a situation is one thing. Actually following through when faced with it is another entirely.
Keeping a positive attitude was no problem at first. I took my time maneuvering down loose rocks and slippery leaf litter. After a while I decided to check my progress on the GPS. I had only gone a half mile! There was still another mile and a half of this ahead. It was a little disheartening, but not that big a deal. I took a snack bar out of my pack to help pass the time.
Apparently, eating and hiking downhill simultaneously is not my forte. To keep myself from tripping, I had to alternate between the two. Stop to take a bite, take a few steps down, stop to take another bite, and so on. At one point I forgot the stop part. As I went to take a bite, the bar flew out of the wrapper and down the trail. I watched it skip on some steps ahead of me before coming to a stop. When I caught up to it, I did what any real backpacker would do. I brushed it off on my shirt and kept eating.
One mile later, the trail reached a road crossing. Mistaking it for the crossing at Gloucester Gap I thought: Thank goodness that’s over! It wasn’t though. When the trail continued downhill rather than uphill along the side of Rich Mountain, I realized I had misjudged my progress once again. The GPS showed another half mile to go. My knees were sore. I was slipping and tripping more. This part doesn’t feel very fun. I thought.
Gloucester Gap to Butter Gap
When I did reach Gloucester Gap, I realized I needed some way to boost morale if I was going to get over these next two mountains. I didn’t want to let my frustration or disappointment get the best of me. And I definitely didn't want to let it ruin the whole day. So after a quick prayer for patience, I started singing. Actually, it was more like incoherently mumbling the words and phrases I could remember in between trying to catch my breath. I ran out of songs after a while and cycled back through the ones I had already sung. It was by no means an award-winning performance, but it gave me the motivation I needed to propel myself over Rich and Chestnut Mountain.
I was able to pick up the pace on my way into Butter Gap. Nothing was coming out of the rusty pipe beside the demolished shelter. Not a drop. There was a tiny dribble at the base of the pipe, but gathering enough just to make dinner would take ages. I was more than ready to call it a day, but this didn’t seem like the place. I knew there was a good stream about a mile up ahead. I decided I would get water there, and continue to Cedar Rock instead.
I passed a few spots where the GPS indicated a stream or creek crossed the trail, but there was no water to be found. Just a whole lot of mud. Blazes were also nonexistent along this section, making it harder to distinguish between dead ends and reroutes around blowdowns. I was relieved to find water at the stream. It was shallow and stagnant in a few places, but a significant improvement from the last two sources. After I refilling my regular water bottle and the 2L bladder, I broke out a collapsible bottle. This was yet another last minute item I had shoved into the pack. Just in case. This gave me just under 4L for camp and part of the next day.
The trail took me up several short but steep inclines to Cedar Rock. If it wasn't for my legs trying to give out, that final haul wouldn’t have been so tough. My body refused to cooperate every time I had to take a big step up some rocks or roots. My brain was telling my muscles what to do, but nothing was happening. Conquering the last incline did a number on my ankle, but I could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. Or in this case the enormous rockface.
Second Camp
Getting to camp so late meant I had to be as efficient as possible with my last hour of daylight. I assembled the tent first and foremost. Next, I tossed my sleeping bag inside so it could loft up. Then, I set a 20 minute timer. I dashed around gathering as much firewood as I could. When the alarm went off, I blew up my sleeping pad and emptied the rest of my gear out of the pack. Last, I set a pot of water on to boil and started a fire. With all those chores out of the way, I could finally plop down on my sit pad and relax. That 7 mile stretch between Pilot Mountain and Cedar Rock took a lot out of me. Today's total mileage was around 11.5 miles.
I love solo travel. Sooner or later though, I start to crave a good conversation. Surprisingly, I had service at the campsite and was able to phone home. I told Jordan how the trip was going, and he told me about work and how all the animals were doing. After we hung up, I put out the fire and started getting ready for bed. It had been a difficult day, but at no point did I regret being out here or feel like quitting. Even though some parts didn’t feel very fun at the time, they didn’t overshadow all the good things about the trip so far.
The next morning was gray and hazy. It drizzled off and on as I packed up camp. Despite being just 7.5 miles from the end, I wanted to get an early start. My ankle hadn’t recovered like I hoped. The ibuprofen I took the night before definitely helped, but it wasn’t working any miracles. So, I would have to take things nice and slow to keep it from becoming a full-blown injury. I sent a quick message to Jordan before leaving. I let him know I would probably be getting home late.
“Have fun! Be safe.” He replied.
Cat Gap & Shut-in Ridge
I rested for a couple minutes at Cap Gap. When planning this trip, I added a spur trip to John Rock to my itinerary. Now sitting at the junction with two complaining ankles, following through on that plan didn’t seem like a good idea. In trying to compensate for pain in the one, I must have put too much strain on the other. John Rock would have to be an adventure for another day.
Blazes along the Art Loeb used to look very different. These silhouettes of a hiker with a hat and walking stick have nearly disappeared from the trail. If you keep a sharp eye along Shut-in Ridge though, you might spot them. Most appear to be nothing but a patch of flaky yellow paint. However, there are still one or two out there that vaguely resemble the original shape. I only came across one on my Northbound trip. This time around, I was lucky enough to see two. I would love to see the old blazes make a comeback, but I can understand the change to white rectangles instead. Maintaining them must have been a chore.
Davidson River
This was it. The homestretch. I could see Davidson River peeking through the trees hundreds of feet below. The water feature, not the campground. The thought of finally reaching the South trailhead made me forget all about the pain in my ankles. I raced down the tunnel of gold leaves and around the last switchback to a little footbridge. A wide gravel path was waiting on the other side. After 29 miles of rocks, roots, and slick leaves, walking on flat ground felt effortless. My feet practically glided along it. I passed several folks out for a leisurely stroll. Tearing down the path with a ridiculous grin on my face, I probably looked like a lunatic. A dirty, sweaty, backpack wearing lunatic.
I dashed over the metal bridge across the river, admiring the view on other side between the beams. A left turn and quarter mile later, I found myself in front of the signpost: “End Art Loeb Trail.” I don’t regret my Northbound trip, but if I could change one thing it would be the end. I was so focused on getting in my car and getting the heck out of there that I failed to appreciate what I had just accomplished. This time around I didn’t want to miss out on that moment. So, I just stood there at the edge of the parking lot, taking it all in…
This Southbound trip taught me a lot, but if I had to boil it all down to just two things it would be this:
1. The Art Loeb is difficult, but carrying unnecessary burdens with you won’t make it any easier.
2. This trail is what you make it.
Epilogue
After taking a commemorative picture at the trailhead sign and changing into clean dry clothes, I took a drive along the Parkway. Part of the adventure for me is visiting significant locations in an area's history. One of the most unusual stories I found digging into Pisgah's past had to do with the failed reintroduction of bison. In the early 1900s, the Forestry Service began a project in partnership with the American Bison Society to reintroduce bison (as well as elk) to the Southern Appalachians.
Unfortunately, the six bison that were brought down from New Hampshire and released into Morgan Pasture didn't adapt well to the Carolinas. The original herd passed away over the course of 2 years. While the efforts with the elk were somewhat more successful, they too struggled to reestablish a presence. I wasn't able to track down the pasture where they were released, but I did find Bull Creek Valley overlook. This stop on the Blue Ridge Parkway provides some backstory. Specifically where, when, and how the last native bison fell out of existence.
Bison may not have found a home in the National Forest, but they have on a handful of ranches across North Carolina. An article from Our State magazine tells all about Dr. Frank King's Farm near Asheville and his herd of about 300 bison. King's Farm did offer tours of the property at one time, but there haven't been any updates as to if or when that will resume.
I have wondered how different Pisgah might be if the reintroduction had succeeded. Would it be like Grayson Highlands, but with 1,500 lb bovines wandering around instead of ponies? Would backpackers have fewer trails to travel because of them? I suppose there's no way of knowing.