How one woman’s journey is making the Appalachian Trail a safer, more inclusive space.
“I was a unicorn on the trail,” says Stacee Ash.
The darkening sky flashed bright with lightning as Stacee “Dragonfly” Ash entered the Chestnut Knob Shelter near Tazewell, Va. After logging 19 miles on the Appalachian Trail (A.T.) that day, Ash was hungry, thirsty, and tired. She wanted nothing more than to curl into her sleeping bag and sleep. But sleep wouldn’t come easy that night.
When Ash sat her heavy pack down in the shelter, a white thru-hiker turned to her and narrowed his eyes.
“There’s no place for you here,” he growled. “You need to keep moving.”
The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. Other thru-hikers Ash knew—people she considered friends—looked away while the man continued screaming.
“I felt like I couldn’t breathe,” Ash remembers. “I don’t know what hurt me more: the man forcing me to leave or the silence of people I knew—people I hiked with, went to town with, shared food with.”
Embarrassed and heartbroken, Ash quietly collected her things and headed outside. The next shelter was nine miles away—too far to cover on spent legs. Tent camping was also an impossibility because of high winds.
Not sure what to do, she walked outside, tears streaming down her face. She couldn’t help but think maybe the man was right—maybe there wasn’t a place for a Black woman on the A.T.
“It was the only time I thought about going home,” says Ash, who works as an early childhood specialist in Huntersville, N.C. “It was the only time I thought about quitting.”
But she didn’t. Instead, she hiked to cell service, called a hostel, and resumed her trek the next morning. Then, on September 15, 2023, she summited Mount Katahdin, becoming the first known Black woman from North Carolina to thru-hike the A.T.
Polishing off the A.T. is an incredible accomplishment in and of itself. But Ash’s achievement is especially noteworthy considering the A.T. thru-hiking community is overwhelmingly white. Of the 3,000 people who attempt the famous footpath each year, fewer than one percent are Black. Even fewer are Black women, and a tiny, almost immeasurable, percentage are Black women over the age of 50.
“I was a unicorn on the trail,” Ash, who is 55, says with a laugh. “I am living proof that you are never too old to try something new.”
A New York native, Ash went on her very first hike in 2019. A few years prior, her brother-in-law, Dale Jones, had introduced her to kayaking—a sport she quickly picked up. Determined to spend more time outdoors, Ash trekked to Catawba Falls in Pisgah National Forest. It was her very first time hiking, and she expected to be bitten by a snake or mauled by a bear. Instead, she fell in love with the woods.
“I hiked that trail over and over and over,” says Ash, whose trail name, “Dragonfly,” nods to the fact that, much like the winged creature, she started adventuring in the water and later evolved to land.
Supportive of Ash’s new hobby, a friend bought her a puzzle of the A.T. Never having heard of the trail, she clicked the pieces together mindlessly. It was only after the puzzle was complete that Ash considered the reality of walking 2,190 miles from Georgia to Maine.
“I sat there tracing this dotted line with my finger thinking, ‘This is insane,’” says Ash.
Intrigued, she bought a book about the A.T. and drove to see a white blaze in person. Then, one night in 2022, she had a dream. In the dream, a voice said, “In 2023, you’re hiking the A.T. because you deserve space in every room.” The next morning, Ash woke up and knew she was going to walk to Maine.
“This voice spoke to my spirit,” she says. “I wanted to break stereotypes and normalize [that] this trail is for everyone. We can’t make change by sitting in our comfort zone.”
On March 7, 2023, Ash began her journey. The next six months were anything but easy. Besides the incident at Chestnut Knob Shelter, Ash was targeted by a hostel owner and was the victim of countless racial microaggressions. She also broke her left wrist in two places while trying to dodge a rattlesnake in New York.
“I returned the next day and completed the last 800 miles with a purple cast,” says Ash. “Everyone was stunned by watching my determination on the trail. I had bruises, cuts, and lots of pain, but I didn’t stop trying to reach my goal.”
Despite setbacks, Ash also experienced plenty of trail magic. After shattering her phone in Massachusetts, for instance, a retired couple drove her to the nearest Verizon store. Afterward, they fed her dinner and took her to an opera in New York.
“It was the most epic experience ever,” says Ash. “Who can say they went to an opera while hiking the A.T.?”
During another instance, Ash was hiking into town after a 20-mile day when an older gentleman offered her a ride to the hostel. At the end of the ride, he politely asked Ash if they could take a photo together so he could share her story with his grandson, who was biracial.
“As I got out of the car, he told me, ‘You keep moving, Dragonfly. You make it to Katahdin,’” Ash remembers, her voice cracking with emotion. “I was in tears.”
Ash says the kind, compassionate people she encountered along the trail far outnumbered the hateful ones. But there’s still work to be done to make the outdoors an inclusive, safe space for all.
“It’s going to take visibility,” she says. “Showing different faces of the A.T. will allow people to connect and see themselves on the trail. I hope that my story inspires other people to embrace nature.”
So far, it has. Since Ash completed the trail, her local REI has seen a tremendous uptick in Black women getting fitted for gear. According to employees, these customers cite Ash as their motivation.
“Lately, I’m either laughing or in tears,” she says. “I’ve seen so much beauty. Things are changing.”
Cover Photo courtesy of Stacee Ash.
