The Tuscarora Trail Experience

By Matt Waurio

Last month, I braved the heat and traversed 40 miles of the Tuscarora Trail with a “kidnapped” PATC member. My dauntless journey through the brush no-doubt pales in comparison to that of my “hostage” - though, regrettably, I've only the capacity to tell my own tale. 

Our route was decided last-minute, in the rain, by an overconfident passenger princess. This, dear reader, resulted in confusion, general shenanigans, and my driver cursing over the sound of squealing tires - none of which was entirely my fault. That road... the nearby town of Gore, VA certainly got its name from the treacherous blacktop in those mountains. Absolutely. 

One mile north of our first disturbingly friendly Tuscarora intersection sign, I teetered on rocks within that green-tunnel tightrope of a trail. To the joy of my hostage, my balance pales in comparison to my overconfidence. By the approximation of my busted knee, the sedimentary rocks of that section are really, really old. 

But the journey continued, dear reader, onward to mile two and three, where years of hiking experience should have assured that we were on trail. Distrustful of instincts (the beastly things cannot be reasoned with), I searched my old pack's pockets and discovered we were unencumbered by any compass, map, or reliable navigation known to man. 

"We’re unfettered! Our manacles are released! Navigation liberation!," I proclaimed. From my hostage, a raised eyebrow in agreeance. 

[In all seriousness, this was a horrific mistake and if we didn’t have a combined +6,000mi regional hiking experience and all the gear/food required for our trip, we’d have turned back. It put a damper on the whole trip and forced us to use phone navigation.]

This general pattern continued until we happened upon the grandest trail shelter I've ever encountered: Barclay's Run Shelter. Its grandiosity forced me to leap about, make grunting noises at craftsmanship, extoll virtues of an unsuspecting spring, and even bask in the musk of a scentless privy at least as much as I did later that evening at Basore's Ridge Shelter – now the grandest trail shelter I've ever encountered. Truly, these shelters are two structural masterpieces without the attendance they deserve. Sadly, dearest of readers, the quality of road walk eight miles before and after Basore's bunkhouse was below standard. Someone should contact the county road commission. 

Anyhow, two days later, my hostage and I decided that we were hungry, had picked enough ticks off each other for one trip, and were fed up with our power dynamic. I was, for the final time, informed I was "repeating the same plant gibberish" and, just like last time, we promised to never go on another hike (of any distance) for as long as we both shall live. By way of Uber XL, we called it quits, and our driver's tires screeched on the blacktop near Gore, VA-- All part of the Tuscarora Trail experience.

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