Trout Run Valley: West Virginia's Most Underrated Backpacking Loop

Backpacking the Trout Run Valley Loop, also known as the Perry Valley Loop, offers a rewarding escape for backpackers seeking solitude and natural beauty. Straddling the border between West Virginia and Virginia, the approximately 30-mile circuit traverses the George Washington National Forest and the Wardensville Wildlife Management Area, revealing a diverse mix of landscapes—from dense forests to rugged ridgelines. Along the way, hikers are treated to sweeping views and prime backcountry campsites. Highlights include the panoramic vistas from Big Schloss, Tibbet Knob, and Halfmoon Mountain. Ideal for either a challenging overnight or a relaxed two-night, three-day trek, the trail is best tackled in spring or early summer, when water sources are most reliable.

Trailhead elevation 1,533'

Water sources plentiful in springtime and early summer

Don't miss sunset and camping at Halfmoon Lookout

Backpacking Trout Run Valley

After hours on winding roads, we finally pull into the Wolf Gap parking area. Above us, a brooding late-May sky churns with clouds, pale and restless. The air is crisp, laced with the electricity of anticipation. It's my who knows what number backpacking trip, but it's Heather's first. Her legs, forged by ultramarathons, are more than prepared—but the wilderness doesn’t just test muscles. It tests your spirit. I wonder what it will ask of her.

We leave the comfort of our vehicle behind, shoulder our packs, and walk to the trailhead. Our three-day, two-night trek begins on the orange-blazed Mill Mountain Trail, where the earth itself seems to rise against us. The trail surges upward immediately, swallowing our footsteps in shadow beneath towering hardwoods. In the first 0.75 miles, we climb 600 feet—each step a heartbeat louder. Finally, the ridge grants us a pause, where two windows to the world open beside us. The views offer a cascade of ridges unfurling like waves in a green sea. Little Schloss juts to the east, while the shoulders of Little Sluice Mountain loom to the northeast.

We linger only moments—more grand vistas await. At 1.75 miles, we meet the white-blazed Big Schloss Spur Trail and take it. The rock strewn trail is brief but steep. Near the top of the spur, we pass a group of backpackers camping in a grouping of pines. I can’t help but think to myself, what an incredible campsite! Just beyond, we cross a wooden footbridge and step out onto the crown of Big Schloss.

And there it is: the vast, wild heart of the Appalachians, laid bare in every direction. The sandstone beneath our feet glows pale and eternal. Mountains tumble away into the distance, each one layered in deep green and veiled blue. To the north, Halfmoon Mountain pierces the sky, half-shrouded in haze.. That distant summit will be our home tonight. To the south, Tibbet Knob stands out prominently next to Devil's Hole Mountain, while to the west, the ridge of the seven-mile-long Long Mountain spans the length of the valley.

After drinking from the well of grandeur, we descend reluctantly and rejoin the Mill Mountain Trail. The path forward rises gently along the mountain’s spine, winding through a dense forest of mountain laurel, rhododendron, pines, and hardwoods. The trail shifts between grassy stretches and rocky sections, but offers no spectacular mountain views.

At around mile 5.4, Sandstone Spring flows across the trail, its cold, clear waters pouring from the mountainside like a gift. I kneel to fill our water bladder, top off our bottles, and we continue on. Though we're headed for Halfmoon Mountain tonight, two campsites within 100 feet of the spring catch my eye—both would make excellent spots to return to on a future trip.

The rocky trail leads us higher. We reach the summit of Mill Mountain—its highest point—about a mile beyond the spring. No views, just a whispering forest and the quiet pride of elevation earned. One mile later, we reach a marked junction: the Tuscarora Trail straight ahead, and the yellow-blazed Overmill Trail to the left. Dusk presses in. We take the shorter route. The Overmill Trail descends gently, winding through a sea of mountain laurel and huckleberry. Patches of mud, pools of standing water, and stretches of rocky, uneven terrain slow our progress. Further along, a series of wooden footbridges provide our feet with a dry, flat path.

Eventually, we reach the Halfmoon Lookout Trail and begin our final climb of the day. We reach the top just as the last ember of sun slips below the horizon. The world unfolds before us—endless, serene, immense. Long Mountain stretches out like a sleeping giant, and far below, the village of Perry lies still and silent. Heather steps out to the edge, the last light of the sun refusing to surrender. It's a beautiful scene, the kind that photos could never truly capture.

We linger for a few quiet moments, letting the vastness of the view imprint itself on memory. Then, with twilight settling around us, we slip just below the rocky outcrop and make camp. We cook beneath a sky deepening to indigo, hang our bear bag in the trees, and sink into the kind of silence that exists only in the backcountry.

The following morning breaks cold and silver. We linger inside, wrapped in warmth, keeping the outside world at bay. Only at 9:30 do we begin to move. Eleven miles ahead—but there is no rush. After breakfast, we descend along the purple-blazed German Wilson Trail, dropping into a rocky ravine choked with sizable boulders and hardwoods. The orange-blazed Bucktail Trail greets us at the bottom, and we veer left, winding through deep woods. Halfmoon Run crisscrosses our path five times, each time requiring only minor rock-hopping to pass. At the final crossing, we refill our bottles and bladder once more, have a few snort-inducing laughs, and continue on.

Beyond the last crossing, a long, gentle climb begins. A forest road—grassy and viewless. Hours pass. Eventually, we descend and arrive at the Bucktail Trail parking area, where we take a break to eat, share a few more jokes at each other’s expense, and briefly chat with a fellow backpacker who is readying he and his dog for an overnighter to Halfmoon Mountain. Just beyond, we cross a footbridge over Trout Run, pause to refill our water bladder again, and then continue along the yellow-blazed Long Mountain Trail.

After a brief flat stretch, the trail bites back. Cherry Ridge rears up and we begin to climb, surrounded again by mountain laurel—soft beauty lining the path of toil. We pass through small meadows, through woods carpeted in ferns, the light dappled and shifting. The hills roll on. And on.

Near the 20-mile mark, with the weight of the day sinking into our bones, we reach a slender stream threading down Long Mountain. We filter water into our bottle and fill our bladder again, knowing that this may be the last chance to resupply for a while. Our planned campsite lies a mile ahead at the foot of Ben's Ridge—but fatigue has other plans. We surrender to the first flat patch we find, roughly a quarter mile after the stream. At 4:30, we drop our packs and set up camp. A fire crackles to life. Dinner is simple. Once again, laughter fills the air. We hang our bear bag, then watch the light fade from the forest. No grand views today—only the solemn hush of trees and time. By 8:00, we’re zipped inside, cocooned in sleep. The world outside falls away.

The following morning, dawn breaks not with birdsong, but with panic. At around 4:30 AM, the sound no backpacker ever wants to hear becomes a reality—voices in the dark, urgent and trembling: “Get back! Get back! Get back!” A bear had slipped like a shadow into a nearby campsite, and the frantic shouts of its startled campers echoed through the forest. We held our breath in the stillness, listening for the one sound we feared most—shrieks. But none came, thankfully. Gripping our bear spray and nerves still frayed, we pack up and break camp.

Just three-quarters of a mile in, we reach the small meadow where we had planned to camp the night before. A hundred yards later, we rock-hop across a modest stream tumbling down Long Mountain’s slope. I can’t help but think that, had we not been so worn out yesterday, the meadow would’ve made a perfect spot to end the day. In any case, the trail soon begins a gentle incline, which slowly turns into a steady, grinding ascent up Devil’s Hole Mountain—a tough early challenge for our legs.

After a long ascent, we emerge onto Devil’s Hole Road, a lonely ribbon of gravel that descends in a gentle arc for 2.5 miles. It’s offers the first shred of a view we’ve had in nearly 15 miles. It may not be spectacular, but after endless stretches of forest, we gladly take it.

After 2.5 miles of road walking along the boundary of the Wardensville Wildlife Management Area, we reach a gravel parking area below Tibbet Knob. We greet a group of car campers as they prepare a late-morning meal, then continue on our way. With only one last push standing between us and the overlook, Heather and I drain the final drops from our water bladder, drink our water bottles dry, and press on. The path forward is steep and rocky, and tests our already tired legs.

And then—glory. From Tibbet Knob, the valley unfolds beneath us in a tapestry of ridges and shadow. Big Schloss and Mill Mountain stand sentinel to the east, Halfmoon Mountain looms in the north, and the spines of Devil’s Hole and Long Mountain stretch northward. It's the kind of view that silences the soul, then fills it to overflowing. We share many more laughs, snap a few more photos, and take a moment to appreciate the beauty Mother Nature has offered us.

Eventually, reluctantly, we begin our descent. The way down is steep—sharp inclines, loose stones, roots coiled like ropes—but we move deliberately, gripping the earth as if to hold onto our final moments in this wild cathedral.

After another half mile, the trail levels out and meanders once more through quiet woods before leading us to the Wolf Gap parking area and the comfort of car seats. Three days of sweat, grime, and trail funk cling to our bodies. We toss our packs to the ground and peel off our clothes for the simple relief of something clean. Ahead of us lay a long car ride, civilization, pizza, and showers. But behind us—we leave a piece of ourselves in the wilderness of Trout Run Valley. Thirty miles of rugged, unforgiving terrain. And every step, every breath, every quiet moment shared with Heather? Unforgettable.