Quite a number of us in the adventure group had anxiously awaited the trip to Roan Mountain in Tennessee. It was infamous for being one of the most beautiful sections of the Appalachian Trail, so imagine our disappointment when it was canceled due to inclement weather. Later, it was reposted by another group and even opened up for the waitlist. I got in, along with a friend, and we ventured out early and headed to Columbia to meet up with the others.

     At the suggestion of someone who’d been there before, we stopped for lunch at a nondescript roadside restaurant, which appeared to be very much a staple in its tiny town. Everyone knew each other and felt perfectly at home as generations sat at the same table—the men folk talking about hunting or fishing while a new mother breastfed her baby with no modesty whatsoever.  An adjacent room held a more boisterous group with customers yelling from one table to the next.

      “Roy, if you ain’t gonna eat them there taters, hand ‘em over!”  

     We weren’t about to share, so we wrapped our leftovers to go and headed down the road to work off a few of the calories we had just consumed.

     The carpools were coming from all directions, but we somehow made it to the parking lot of the Mountain Harbour Bed and Breakfast at the same time. A couple of scheduled vans took us to the trailhead at Carver's Gap. We snapped a quick group photo and hit the trail. The distance on the first day was short, but it was the 4th of July weekend, so there was no certainty of space once we reached the bald, where we planned to camp for the first night. The trail was tight, steep, and somewhat crowded, but we took our time and enjoyed the beauty of the surrounding mountain vistas.  

     We arrived to find that most of the crowds were just day hikers, and we were thrilled to discover plenty of space to spread out. My friend and I got a weather tip from one of them on how the wind and cold could dominate on these balds, so we weren’t taking any chances and settled on the decision to pitch our tents down in a grove of trees. 

     It appeared I was the only one who needed my beauty sleep as I cozied myself in my tent and listened while the others watched the fireworks display from the towns below. I don’t know why I was so tired unless it was just mental exhaustion. I had recently joined yet another dating site, even after my last experience of getting my heart broken in a few short months. And, as always, I was still exasperated with the quality of men. I finally had high hopes for just one man until he told me he was “more married than single.”  I was dying inside—a feeling I was afraid couldn’t be brought back to life if there was nothing and no one to resuscitate me.

     The following morning everyone headed out at their own pace. We had a lot of ground to cover but a long summer day to do it. Verbal directions from our organizer led us to a barn where we gathered for lunch. We met some young thru-hikers and leisurely ate while we looked out over fields of wildflowers and distant mountains—listening to every detail of their personal journeys. The next section was a long, gradual incline, and the extended break had been perfect timing for the energy required to get us through the rest of the day.

     I remember enjoying the coolness of the woods when the temperature suddenly warmed, and I found myself standing in the most picture-perfect open meadow. If I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn The Sound of Music had been filmed from my very footprints! Brightly colored flowers dotted the hillsides as a small winding path took its guests to the very top of the highest mountain. Everywhere I looked, there was more beauty beyond what I had ever imagined for this trip. We all waited on each other at the peak just so we could enjoy its magnificence together. We stretched out on the grass, and I quickly fell asleep for a few short minutes. We toyed with the idea of camping there, but the more experienced in our group knew better than to expose ourselves to summer storms on the top of such a high mountain.

     I didn’t want to leave. Suddenly I really did feel alive again, and all it had taken was this amazing change of scenery. A new perspective. A different mindset. I felt as if no man could ever bring this much beauty into my life. And it was available. As long as I could hike up this mountain, it was mine...no wife attached.

     We reluctantly got up, one by one, readjusted our packs and headed down the other side of the mountain for the last five miles of the day. Every moment still took my breath away, and I made numerous stops to admire the view, snap some photos, or just enjoy being in this wonderland. There was so much life here. Everything was moving. The grass, the flowers, the butterflies, the clouds, and of course, the speckling of backpackers you could see spread out along the tiny trail...growing smaller as they transgressed towards the bottom of the hill. But just as I had experienced so many times before on these glorious trails, there was no noise. All this undulation. All this life. And yet there was this perfect silence. It was indescribable. I decided joining a monastery might not be a bad idea if this type of solitude was part of the deal.

     As the terrain of the mountains gradually leveled out into mildly sloping hillsides, a small hay field with (of course) a mountain view became my accommodations. Naturally, someone snored all night—continuously, until the hard rains finally arrived to drown out the loud rhythm of those throaty breaths.  

     At some point during the previous evening, a lone few had decided they wanted to experience the world-renowned breakfast from the Mountain Harbour B&B. I just wanted a good cup of coffee, which meant we would need to pack up and hike in the dark in order to get there when the line of hungry hikers began to form. So with just a hint of sleep, the alarm went off in the next tent, and we used our headlamps to stuff everything in our packs and hit the dark, wet, and very slippery downhill trail.

     It was slow-moving, and I literally ‘hugged’ a tree on several occasions to keep from joining the rocks beneath my boots. Backpacking in the dark was a new experience for me, but I began to enjoy the challenge and the satisfaction of already having a few miles under my belt so early in the morning. We reached the B&B in plenty of time for the huge spread of artery-clogging sustenance, and I smiled to see the row of large metal canisters—knowing they were filled with freshly made, aromatic coffee.

     I sat on the porch swing with my warm mug while the others went back for seconds and pondered over the last couple of days. I knew I was kidding about the monastery. But I wasn’t kidding about the amount of beauty I always found on these trails, how it made me feel, and the kind of beauty I was beginning to think no man could ever match. But maybe my life had just been void of love and attention for so long that I didn’t realize I was talking about two completely different emotions. Nature will always provide me with happiness that touches my senses, but a kind and loving man will provide me with happiness that touches my heart.

     So with the virtue of patience, perhaps one day I’ll come across the right man walking these very same trails, one who admires and appreciates this beauty so that it parallels my own. And once again, I will come back alive...like the hills in The Sound of Music...like fireworks on the 4th of July.