Walk the Appalachian Trail - 9

N.C. State 2

DAY NINE – The State Line
From Dicks Creek Gap (mile 69.1) to Muskrat Creek Shelter (mile 81.4)
12.3 miles total
North Carolina border crossed

6:15 a.m. – The Pull of the Trail

You wake before the alarm.

It’s still dark. You lie there for a minute and just listen, nothing but the faint hum of the motel fridge. You can’t hear the wind. Can’t smell pine or camp smoke. It almost feels fake, this quiet. Too clean. Too far from the place you’ve come to crave.

You sit up, stretch. Everything pops and clicks. The body remembers.

You turn and look over. Quill’s already half-dressed, lacing her boots with slow, precise movements.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she says. “I think I missed the woods.”

You nod. “Me too.”

There’s a quiet understanding between you now. The zero day was necessary but it wasn’t rest. Not really. Not the kind that makes you feel whole again.

You both get your packs ready in silence. Water filled. Food loaded. Trail clothes on. It’s like gearing up for battle. And weirdly, you missed this.

7:30 a.m. – Shuttle and Silence

The motel shuttle drops you off back at Dicks Creek Gap.

The driver, a guy in his 60s named Ray, tells you stories of hikers he’s driven over the years. “Some of 'em don’t make it outta Georgia,” he says. “Some of 'em go all the way to Maine, then come back here just to see where it started.”

He wishes you luck, then drives off. The sound of the van disappears down the road. It’s quiet again.

And just like that, you’re back.

Pack on your back. Boots tight. Breath fogging up in the cold morning air.

You look up the trailhead.

Quill lets out a long breath. “Alright. Let’s go find North Carolina.”

8:15 a.m. – The Climb Begins

The trail wastes no time reminding you what you signed up for.

It’s all uphill. A steep, grinding climb right out of the gap. Your legs, still groggy from the motel bed, scream immediately.

Each step is a reminder: rest resets the pain but doesn’t erase it.

You settle into the rhythm. Step. Breathe. Pole plant. Step again.

It’s foggy in patches. The trees look skeletal in the gray light, like they’re half asleep too.

You don’t talk much. The mountain doesn’t leave much room for conversation.

At some point, you mutter, “This trail’s got a real mean streak.”

Quill just grunts.

10:00 a.m. – A Ridge and a Break

The trail finally levels out on a ridgeline, and you both stop to breathe.

You drop your packs and collapse onto a mossy rock. Sweat is already soaking your shirt. Your chest rises and falls like a bellows.

Quill doesn’t say anything for a while. She pulls out a granola bar and just stares out at the treetops.

Then she says, “We’re doing it.”

You look over.

She shrugs. “We’re actually doing it. We’re ten days in.”

You smile. You hadn’t thought about it like that. But yeah. Ten days. You haven’t quit. Haven’t broken. Not yet.

You peel open your own granola bar. “Still got both feet and most of my sanity.”

Quill raises hers like a toast. “To not giving up.”

11:30 a.m. – Crossing the Line

The climb gets steeper again. Your calves burn. Your pack creaks.

Then you round a bend and there it is.

The sign.

"NORTH CAROLINA / GEORGIA LINE"

A plain wooden post. No fanfare. Just the words carved into it, weather worn and half faded.

But damn if it doesn’t feel like victory.

You drop your pack and stare at it. Run your fingers along the edge. The air feels different here. Maybe it’s just in your head. But it feels quieter. Wilder.

Quill whoops and takes a selfie. “First state down.”

You smile but stay quiet. You’re thinking about everything it took to get here. Every blister. Every soaked sock. Every curse word at 3,000 feet.

You take your own picture. Just the sign. You want to remember it plain and unfiltered.

You eat a handful of trail mix and keep walking.

1:00 p.m. – Welcome to North Carolina

North Carolina isn’t subtle.

Less than a mile into the new state, the trail pitches upward again. It’s like Georgia was the warm up act and now the real trail has stepped on stage.

The climb up Courthouse Bald is brutal. Long. Relentless.

You curse out loud more than once. Quill says nothing but looks like she’s in her own private battle.

When you both finally stop at a water source. A little spring that trickles down a rock face. You’re drenched in sweat. Your knees feel like they’ve aged twenty years.

“This state’s got an attitude,” you say between gulps.

Quill leans back against a tree. “I want to file a complaint with Mother Nature.”

You both laugh, but it’s the tired kind. The trail isn’t playing today.

But you’re still on your feet. Still moving forward.

2:45 p.m. – Trail Magic... Sort Of

Around a corner near the top of a small ridge, you find something surprising.

It’s a small pile of apples in a plastic crate, with a hand-written note: “Welcome to NC! Keep going. You’re doing great.”

You and Quill just stare at it for a second.

Trail magic.

You each take an apple, and you swear it’s the best thing you’ve ever eaten. Sweet, crisp, and cold from the shade.

“Whoever left this,” Quill says with her mouth full, “is a literal saint.”

You nod, chewing, letting the juice run down your chin.

That tiny bit of kindness hits hard. You didn’t know how much you needed it until it showed up.

4:15 p.m. – Shelter at Last

Muskrat Creek Shelter finally comes into view. It’s basic. Three walls, a wooden floor, and a tin roof.

But right now, it looks like a five-star hotel.

You and Quill get there early enough to snag spots inside. You unroll your pads, pull off your boots, and just collapse.

There are two other hikers there already. One’s a quiet older woman named “Marble” who reads a paperback like it’s the only thing anchoring her. The other’s a guy around your age who goes by “Slug.” He’s soaking his feet in a Ziploc of cold water and offering ibuprofen like it’s candy.

Everyone looks tired.

That’s the thing no one tells you. Every hiker has the same expression at the end of the day. A mix of pride, pain, and quiet relief.

6:00 p.m. – Dinner Talk

Dinner is ramen. Again. But it tastes good. Everything tastes good out here.

You all eat while the sun drops behind the trees. Someone builds a small fire. Not big, just enough to keep the bugs away and lift the mood.

Slug tells a story about falling into a creek on Day Three. Marble admits she nearly quit in Neels Gap but got talked out of it by a trail angel named Big Al. Quill shares the story about the raccoon that tried to unzip her tent.

You realize something strange: this already feels like a little community. No one really knows each other. But out here, a few shared miles are all it takes to feel connected.

You don't talk much tonight. You’re more of a listener. But that’s okay. Sometimes silence is just another way to belong.

7:45 p.m. – Wind Down

The fire dies down. Packs are hung. Bear bags are slung over a tree limb down the hill.

You climb into your bag and lie still.

Your legs ache. Your shoulders throb. But your heart’s quiet.

You stare at the wooden ceiling of the shelter and listen to the wind in the trees. You hear someone snore. Someone else coughs. Somewhere in the distance, an owl calls.

You think about Georgia. About the start.

You think about how different you already feel. How lighter. Not in body, your pack still sucks, but in something deeper. Like your mind’s slowly shedding the weight it’s carried for too long.

You roll onto your side and whisper, “One state down.”

You hear Quill’s voice from the other side of the shelter.

“Nine more to go.”

Then nothing but the wind.

Tomorrow’s another climb. Another stretch of quiet green miles.

But for now you sleep.