Big Bald via Spivey Gap

 11/07/25

I awoke at a reasonable hour, inhaled some breakfast and then hit the road. Didn't think twice on what to bring; figured a single bottle of water, fleece jacket and windbreaker would do the trick. Didn't bring no food. No food at all. Who needs food? The day was looking to be around 14 miles with about 4,000ft of elevation gain. Not too easy, not too hard. I expected to finish the whole thing before I so much as got a wee bit hungry. Fun fact: I was stupendously incorrect in that assumption.

Anywho, the goal of the day was to hike up to Big Bald from a place called Spivey (pronounced SPY-VEE, as my coworker later corrected me) Gap. I'd follow the well-travelled Appalachian Trail all the way up, and then follow it all the way down. Nothing more than a nice and simple out-n-back through some beautiful country. After seeing the barren summit of Big Bald from atop Pinnacle Mountain, I just knew I had to see what was up there. 

I followed curvy country roads through loosely populated areas to get to Spivey Gap. Lots of twists, turns, ups and downs; driving that road was like driving on the back of a gigantic, coiled serpent. The morning was cool and calm, not a hint of any wind, with most of the trees in the higher elevations completely barren of color. 

I overshot the parking lot, having to turn around and double back up the road. I found the lot, which was just a small dirt pullout on the side of the road. One other truck pulled in just as I got there, a man and his dog sitting at the wheel. I gathered my things, tightened my shoes, and then set off up the trail. 

Nobody was out and about; just me, the leaf-encrusted trail, and the silent trees. I started going uphill and kept on going uphill. That was the theme of the day: up, up, up and more up. Up through the forest, up stone steps, up wooden logs, up long switchbacks. It was easy going on a beautifully maintained trail, but it sure got the blood pumpin'. Before I knew it I had shed my fleece and was out walking in my shirt sleeves. 

At one point, a good ways up the trail, I came to a section of disaster. Before me lay a massive swath of blown-down trees. I've never seen so much deadfall in my entire life; really put into perspective the insane power and destruction of Hurricane Helene. It appeared that Helene had blown down a whole chunk of forest—ZAM—like nothing. 

More impressive, however, was the trail maintenance through this section. I can not imagine how much hard work and dedication was put into this stretch of the AT; the whole trail was spotless, every tree blocking the path had been chopped up and cast aside. Carolina Mountain Club, wherever you're at, thank you for taking the time to clear and maintain this trail. Your efforts were greatly appreciated by yours truly. 

A disaster

After the section of blowdown, I followed a series of steep little switchbacks to gain the first of the three summits I'd be visiting that day: High Rocks. Yep, this was gonna be a triple summit day (not including climbing them again on the way back, yikes!), and I was eager to get this first one out of the way. I left the AT for a short spur trail that took me the rest of the way to the top. Not a whole lot going on at High Rocks, just a bunch of, well, big ol' high rocks on the summit. A fairly flat one gave me nice views of the surrounding country, particularly to the west. In the distance I could make out Little Bald, the second summit of the day. It looked a lot farther than expected, but no matter, for I knew that somewhere behind it, obstructed from view, lay its older sibling: Big Bald. And Big Bald is where I needed to go. So I left High Rocks, followed the short spur trail and got back on the AT, heading downhill, back into the woods. 

Spur trail for High Rocks

High Rocks Summit

Little Bald in the distance

This descent was a little disheartening. It's always a bummer to lose elevation when you've worked so hard gaining it. But that's the name of the game for the Appalachian Trail; it's up and down, up and down and it goes like that for 2,198 miles. Lucky for me, I'd only be doing about .6% of that on this hike, so I wasn't stressin' too bad. I coasted downhill, using gravity to my advantage, the trail so deeply buried in leaves I found myself entirely dependent on the white markings on the trees for guidance. After going up a little bit and down a lot, I finally reached a section of steady uphill. At last. Little Bald, here I come. 

Headin' up...

Views begin to appear

Recent trail work near Little Bald summit

The trail slowly made its way up to the summit of Little Bald. I'd walk through some forest, find a break in the trees, see some views, and then I'd be back in the forest again, back to crunchy leaves and barren bushes and no sign of humanity. That was, until, I heard something traipsing down the trail a short ways ahead, out of my field of vision. I was almost at the summit of Little Bald, just a few more switchbacks to go, and then here comes this old guy running down the trail in nothing but shorts, a black windbreaker, and the smallest, cheapest, rinky-dink lookin' backpack I've ever seen. He gave me a nod and kept on runnin, down the trail and out of sight. Where he came from, I do not know. He was a man on a mission, that's for sure. 

Past Little Bald, over to Big Bald

I reached the "summit" of Little Bald, which I found to be a bit of a misnomer. Covered in trees and dense foliage, there was nothing "bald" about this summit at all. I left the AT, following an even shorter use path to try and find a benchmark. The search was for naught. Oh well. I'd check it out on the way back. 

Descending Little Bald turned out to be the most pleasant part of the whole hike. I found myself on a ridge of sorts, the AT heading right down the middle, cutting a clean route through the forest. Because most of the trees at this elevation had lost their leaves, I was gifted with pretty decent views on either side of this ridge. To my left (southeast) I could see distant mountains, some of the tallest found east of the Mississippi. To my right (northwest) were more mountains of Appalachia, all of them unknown to me, all of them a mystery. A slight breeze had picked up out of nowhere, prompting the tippy tops of the barren trees to begin their mountain serenade. Whoosh, swoosh, swish, shoosh. The trees hummed along, I walked alone, following this path through the woods, its sides highlighted with soft, green grass. I was so distracted by the beauty and peace that I didn't even mind the downhill. 

But eventually the peace had to end and soon I saw signs of humanity; footprints here, a guerrilla campsite there. And then there were bear boxes and a posted sign indicating the location of a shelter. Ahh yes. Back to civilization, back to the task at hand. Big Bald wasn't too far off. I continued down the trail, deciding to visit the shelter on my return.

The trees became shorter, the foliage less prolific. I crossed a dirt road, noticing tire tracks etched into the mud. I followed the route until it spit me out onto a barren scene mostly devoid of any woody foliage. Ahh yes. Now this was more like it. The balder the landscape, the closer I knew I was to reaching my goal. 

I made haste through this patchy section at the request of a posted sign informing hikers that this was a bird-sensitive area. No dilly dallying allowed! So I trucked along at a good clip, not wanting to invoke the wrath of any birds (or ornithologists for that matter). A curve here, a corner there, and then—behold!—there it was...the summit of Big Bald. At long last. It was in my sight. Now I just had to walk over and climb it. 

Big Bald

A freezing gust of wind smacked me in the face, forcing me to don my windbreaker. Good thing I brought it 'cause brother, it was rippin' up there. Without any trees to impede its progress, the wind was free to do whatever it wanted. And what it wanted was to blow into my face for the next twenty minutes. 

Of course, there was another brief downhill section before the last little jaunt to the summit. It looked flat at first, but alas, it was not. I descended a bit to another dirt road that led down to a community or resort of some kind. Various cottages could be seen, some of them no more than a quarter mile from the summit. There was a lady walking her dog down this road, back to the community or resort or whatever it was. Said, "sure is a nice day huh?" And I said "Yeah. Just a bit windy." And she said "yeah" and then we parted ways. 

Instead of following the road, I continued straight and followed the trail the rest of the way to the summit. There was a family up at the top, a mother, father, daughter, and the dog, a poodle of some kind. The daughter was taking graduation pics, her gown flapping around in the icy wind. Not a single one of them looked too happy to be up there. Just had to get the perfect shot and then get the heck out of there. 

I threw down my pack and looked around. Unobstructed, 360° panoramic views. Yep. Doesn't get much better than that. Out of all the mountains I've climbed in the Appalachians so far, this one had the best views. Despite the hazy weather, I could still see pretty much everything there was to see, whether it be Mt. Mitchell to the southeast, Roan High Knob to the east, or the towns of Erwin and Unicoi to the northeast. North, south, and west revealed a vast landscape of rolling mountains, all of it unfamiliar territory. I stayed for a bit, performing my summit rituals, the wind bouncing off my back, faraway mountains extending in all directions. I looked around at these distant peaks, pondering their secrets, their mysteries. The strange thing about climbing mountains, I've found, is that once you climb one, you spend a good chunk of time on the summit picking out others that you want to climb later. Heck, that's what led me to climb Big Bald in the first place: I saw it from a lookout tower the day prior and thought, "gee, I wonder what that one's like." So I gazed at these mountains, daydreaming about exploring them someday, the wind ripping through the grass, the daughter striking poses, the dog laying in the dirt, the mother and father taking turns with the camera. 

Southeast(ish)

South(ish)

West

North

East

I took one last look and then set off down the trail, back from whence I came. When I crossed the dirt road and starting heading up to that bird-sensitive area, I turned around and noticed that the family was still at the summit. Still hadn't gotten the right shot, I suppose.

Round a corner, back in the shrubs, down, down down. I jogged most of the way, careful not to trip on a root or something. I eventually made it back to the junction with the shelter, so I left the trail and ran on over to check it out. What I found was a quaint little wooden structure with ample room inside, a nice outdoor fire pit, and a "shelter journal" chronicling the trials and tribulations of those who had visited the place in the past. Most entries were from people backpacking or thu-hiking the AT, but some were just random folks like myself that decided to go out on a day hike. The most recent entry was from two days prior from a guy who went for "an extended lunch break." I placed my signature, hung around for a bit, and then set off down the trail, the wind not so bad now that I was back in the protection of the forest. 

Bald Mountain Shelter

The Privy

Back on the trail...

Lots of walking, minimal jogging. There came a rumble, then a growl. It was my stomach. The thing was bummin' 'cause it didn't have no fuel. I downed some water to shut it up, but that didn't work. It was as mad as ever, rumblin' and growlin' with no sign of stopping. I soon came to regret my decision in bringing no food. Oh well. You'd think I'd know better by this point in my life. And that's flattering, 'cause you'd be giving me too much credit. I'm a simple dude that learns things the hard way. First lesson was dehydration. Now that I've got hydration under control, I suppose it's time to learn about nutrition. Anyways, I digress. 

I reached the summit of Little Bald yet again, this time going off trail and whackin' through the sticks to find a benchmark of some kind. I walked all along that dang hill and didn't find nothin'. Indifferent, I hopped back on the trail and trotted my way down, watching my step, slipping on some leaves every now and then. Since the family, I hadn't seen a single person on the trail. I fell back into a mindless groove, coasting down the trail at a good pace, throwing on leg in front of the other. 

Little Bald "summit"

As I was trotting down the trail I reached something akin to a "runner's high;" no doubt a byproduct of my foolish decision to forgo all caloric intake. I felt amazing, absolutely fantastic. My trot turned into a jog, and soon I was just like that old guy I'd seen earlier. Maybe he was just as hungry as I was. Who knows. But man I felt great, like a great burden had been lifted off of my soul. I was flying down that trail, feelin' light as a feather, feelin' like I could outlast the Energizer Bunny, feelin' like I could keep going and going forever. I passed a guy wearing a sun hoody and long shorts making his way down, and then, not too long after that, passed another guy who was making his way up. They were the last two people I'd see for the rest of the day. From then on, it was just me, the woods, and this sweet sweet endorphin rush that I never wanted to end. 

I stopped for a moment, taking a quick hiatus at a guerrilla campsite along the side of the trail. I was going so quick I was missing out on the point entirely. I ain't no trailrunner; I take things slow dangit! So I stopped and sat down on a log and looked into the woods, listening to the wind blowing the tippy tops of the trees, watching as it carried away the remaining leaves and scattered them around like multicolored snow. And I sat there and looked around, and took a few breaths and brought myself into the present and simply existed then and there, smelling the crisp air, watching the light pass through the golden leaves, feeling the roughness of the bark on the log. Satisfied, I got up, dusted off my bum, and then started up the last climb of the day: High Rocks.

Guerilla Campsite

Having already reached the summit, I walked right on by the spur trail and continued on my merry way back to Spivey Gap. And good thing it was downhill. That climb up to High Rocks just about killed my endorphin rush, leaving me feeling heavy and slow. If I had to go up another hill, well, it woulda sucked, plain and simple. When I got to the section of blowdown, I stopped once again, not to admire the beauty and ground myself in the present, but because I needed a damn break. I sat in the dirt, my head in my hands, saying to myself on repeat in my head, "why didn't you bring food? why didn't you bring food?" I sat there for ten minutes, sucked it up, owned my mistake, and then walked on out of there. I made it back to the car, threw my pack on the passenger seat and then drove on out of there, down the curvy road, out of the mountains, back to the highway, bound for the refrigerator. Leftover enchiladas have never tasted so good in my life...

Though the whole hike took me just over 4½ hours, it felt much, much longer, especially that last section from High Rocks to the trailhead. Funny enough, this was the farthest I'd hiked since climbing Monte Arido back in May. It was high time for me to go on another lengthy hike, and this one definitely satisfied the need. Big Bald ended up being a pretty decent summit, and I'm certain to go up there again on a super clear day, maybe this time from Sam's Gap just to change things up a bit.