Roan High Knob, Appalachian Trail

After a restful day with short strolls around town on my much-needed zero day, I was ready to hit the trail again. Leaving Hot Springs, I crossed the French Broad River. Once I stepped into the woods, the climb up to Lover's Leap Rock wasted no time making me work. At the top, I turned and looked back—Hot Springs was nestled in the valley, wrapped by the winding river. It felt like the mountains gave me one last look at civilisation before pulling me in, but not for long.

As I pressed on, the dense forest unfolded into rolling ridges and winding paths, each step carrying me deeper into the wilderness. Eventually, I arrived at Max Patch. Stepping out of the trees felt like pulling back the curtain of verdant tendrils and entering a vast expanse of open sky and golden grass. The world suddenly stretched before me—nothing but a grassy bald and sweeping view. I stretched out in the grass and watched a golden eagle soar overhead, its massive wingspan cutting through the sky. It barely needed to flap, riding the mountain winds with an effortless grace. 

The trail wound through Pisgah National Forest, climbing steadily under a canopy of hardwoods and rhododendron tunnels. By the time I reached Spring Mountain Shelter, I was grateful for the excuse to drop my pack and stop for lunch. As I rested, movement in the distance caught my eye—a black bear hanging effortlessly off a tree trunk, its claws sunk deep into the bark. I kept a vigilant eye on it, mesmerised by the sight. I know why I store my food in a bear canister and string it high on a branch. Black bears have an incredible sense of smell and can detect food from miles away. They're also surprisingly agile climbers, thanks to their powerful limbs and curved claws. This one eventually lost interest and disappeared into the woods.

The climb up Big Bald was tough but worth every step. It was wild and untamed, the wind rushing past as if it had somewhere important to be. By the time I reached Erwin, my legs were stronger, my pace steadier, and my pack somehow heavier despite eating through my food supply. I stopped for a hearty country-fried steak with mashed potatoes and greens. It was satisfying and satiating.

The final stretch felt like a dream as I climbed through the mossy spruce forests of Unaka Mountain. The Unakas, named from the Cherokee word unega, meaning "white", once glowed each spring when American chestnuts bloomed, their white blossoms covering the slopes. I tried to imagine the mountains bathed in that sea of flowers before the blight, an Asian fungus introduced in the late 19th century, wiped them out. These critically endangered trees were once so abundant that it's said a squirrel could travel from the length of the Appalachians just by hopping from branch to branch of the American chestnuts.

The trees eventually gave way to the Roan Highlands, where several peaks exceed 6,000ft (1,830m). It was here that mining tycoon John T. Wilder constructed the luxurious Cloudland Hotel, despite having only one bathroom, in 1885. Strangely, though, guests dined in a room split by a white line marking the state border; drinks were only allowed on the Tennessee side since North Carolina was dry. A sheriff supposedly stood watch to make sure no whiskey crossed the line. The high maintenance costs doomed the hotel, and it was abandoned. 

Finally, I reached Roan High Knob shelter. As the highest shelter on the AT, it stood quietly tucked among the trees, a final refuge before the long descent. I dropped my pack, set up my sleeping nook, and then prepared my food, savouring the simplicity of my routine and my hot meal. It was a great way to unwind before resting for the night.