Hiking the trail to the Sandy Mush Cabins isn’t easy. It’s 2.15 miles up a Forest Service road off of NC-209, “The Rattler,” climbing 1,350 feet through the Newfound Mountains’ green tangles, switchbacks testing us with steepness at the end. But when Rock Sprite and I crested that final ridge, boots bearing the spring mud, the main lodge’s tin roof caught our eyes like a signal flare. Rock Sprite Kitty Myers grinned, her eyes on the porch swing swaying in the breeze. The climb was worth it.

The Cabins are the dream of John “Doc” Adler, born with a nod to LeConte Lodge in the Smokies: 500 preserved acres of Appalachian soul, where the physician-turned-hiker, who lived to 99, hauled an 1800s cantilever barn from Douglas Lake and pieced it back together as a hike-in haven. Cellular reception is possible but is really an afterthought as wood stoves, books, great conversation and the terrain are the main attractions.

For folks craving a rugged escape, the Cabins deliver. At 45 minutes from Asheville and an hour and a half from Knoxville, it’s our backyard’s wild heart, calling us to hike, unplug and breathe.

After we arrived and made our introductions, we bunked down in Cabin #2, a 150-year-old dovetail log cabin that felt like it had been ripped straight out of history and dropped onto this secluded slope. The place was a time capsule — logs notched tight, weathered by decades of mountain wind, exuding a faint musk of aged timber. Inside, it was sparse but honest: a queen bed that creaked slightly under our weight, plank floors mildly groaning and a wood stove crackling against the 5,000-foot elevation chill. The real kicker was the treehouse-style porch jutting out over the hillside, giving us a front-row seat to the beauty of the high Appalachians. It was cozy in a rough-hewn way, the kind of place that made you feel both sheltered and exposed like the mountains you size up when you hike up.

After more time conversing with caretaker Doug — his gruff laugh echoing as he stoked the fire — and with proprietor Lisa Adler Long, we laced up and tackled the half-mile climb to Big Sandy Mush Bald’s summit for sunset. Don’t let the distance fool you; that short haul was a test. The trail shot upward, steep and barely relenting, ending in a mess of gnarled roots and loose rock that grabbed at our boots like it wanted us to quit. Blooming trillium gave us respite as the air thinned ever so slightly. Ancient trees hung heavy, mingling with the earthy tang of crushed leaves underfoot. Badger huffed and sweated, legs burning, the incline inviting us to turn back. But we didn’t. This was no Sunday walk — at 5,138 feet you earn the top of the highest peak in Madison County. There is an easier way to the Bald, but this day we close the challenge.

When we broke through the tree line, the summit hit us like a punch. Sandy Mush Bald sprawled out, a wide, grassy clearing that felt like stepping onto the roof of the world. The Great Smoky Mountains rolled out in a 270-degree sprawl — peaks stacking into the distance, their edges smudged with that hazy “blue smoke” familiar to the Smokies. The sun slung light across the ridges, carving shadows that shifted with the breeze, the wind rustling the grass. You could almost hear the echoes of pioneers who’d trudged these heights, their ghosts nodding approval from the open ridgeline.

That climb, that cabin, that summit — it was all pure Appalachia, raw and real. We took our photos and ambled back to Cabin #2 under a darkening sky, the summit still alive in our dreams.

The next morning broke cold and sharp, the kind of chill that bit Badger’s knuckles as he headed to the Main Lodge for sunrise. While I grabbed shots of the mist curling off the bald, Lisa Adler Long had coffee brewing black as coal as she was preparing a true homemade breakfast. As Doc Adler’s niece, she’s the one steering the Cabins now, keeping her uncle’s mountain dream alive. “Uncle John built this place to make you earn it. Hope you got what you came for,” she said, her voice resolute and steady, like the hum of the mountain air.

She wasn’t just cooking breakfast; she was serving up the Adler legacy — John’s love for these hills distilled into every bite. Badger ate slowly, the world beyond the bald holding off just a little longer.

Then it was time. Packs cinched, boots laced and we were prepared to head back. At the bottom, the trailhead spit us out into the gravel lot, civilization creeping back too damn fast. I turned and caught the bald glowing gold in the sun one last time. That’s when it hit: The Cabins at Sandy Mush aren’t just a stopover. It was Lisa keeping the stove hot, Doug keeping the cabin warm, and John’s ghost in the timbers. Like many Blue Ridge pockets, this land’s been fought for and loved hard since settlers scratched out a life here. These mountains don’t hand you anything — they strip you raw, then give you something better: a tie to the dirt, the sweat and the people who stick it out.

From the hike up to the summit’s sweep, from Cabin #2’s comfy bed to Lisa’s skillet, it all wove into one truth: Appalachia’s spirit endures in its keepers, and we’d been lucky to taste it.

Driving off, the mountain shrank in the mirror, but it didn’t let go. We’d come for a trek, a snapshot, a breather. We left marked, claimed by a place that demands you meet it head-on. The Cabins, with Lisa at the helm, stands as proof: the mountains outlast us all, and their call keeps pulling us back, hungry for more.

You can find more information about The Cabins of Sandy Mush online here. Enjoy the photos and I want you to know that Rock Sprite and Badger definitely plan to return.

Thomas Mabry – Honey Badger Images

Many of the HoneyBadgerImages are on display at instagram.com/honeybadgerimages.

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