Seven months after finishing a full Appalachian Trail thru-hike, one hiker couldn't stay away. He's back on the trail for what hikers call a LASH — a 'long ass section hike' — covering 420 miles from Georgia toward Damascus, Virginia, timed loosely to arrive around Damascus's famous Trail Days festival in 2026.
The route starts at Dicks Creek Gap in Georgia, around mile 69 of the AT, and pushes north through the Nantahala Mountains in North Carolina. Day one set the tone: roughly 12 miles with more than 4,400 feet of climbing, ending at Muskrat Creek Shelter. The author carried a base weight just under 20 pounds, including winter gear, because freezing temperatures were forecast within days. He's also carrying a deliberately pared-down kit this time — the same 2-person tent he and his partner used on the thru-hike, rather than the bulkier 3-person version that was hard to pitch in tight spots — plus a resupply routine refined over thousands of miles, down to knowing exactly which Walmart aisles to hit.
What makes this piece worth reading isn't just the mileage log. It's the honest picture of what long-distance hiking does to a person, and how hard the return to normal life can be. The writer describes re-entry culture shock: aggressive traffic, the strange obligation to shower regularly, and the loss of a world where nobody cares what you own or what you did for a living. Most of all, he misses the trail's serendipity — plans falling apart daily, yet everything working out anyway.
There's also a quietly powerful encounter at Blue Ridge Gap. He meets a struggling thru-hiker averaging just three miles a day, ready to quit and catch a shuttle back. His advice is a lesson for anyone attempting a big trek: hike your own hike. Whether you walk every step or take a shuttle past a hard section, the experience is yours to define, and no one else gets to judge it. She cried — apparently the first person to tell her that was allowed.
The section itself is a good pitch for prospective hikers. The Nantahala stretch of the AT follows a knife-edge ridge, and with trees not yet leafed out in early spring, the views open up dramatically. The trade-off: almost nowhere flat to camp, which forces long days between shelters — hence the nine additional miles and a couple of brutal climbs to reach Muskrat Creek.
Why should a traveller care? Because it's a realistic window into section hiking, a lower-commitment alternative to a six-month thru-hike. You can taste the same freedom — simple days, trail friendships, cold-soaked dinners — in a two-to-four-week block. The piece also captures the rhythm of trail life in early spring: fresh northbound thru-hikers doing 8-12 cautious miles a day, remnants of winter still in the air, and the odd chance of snow. If you've ever wondered whether a long walk could reset your head, this is the kind of account that makes a strong case.
