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Groundhogs Day was just the other day, and it got me thinking about just how early do those people in their suits and hats start hitting the bottle anyway?  I imagine you would have to be quite snockered to stick your hand in a groundhog burrow, drag him out, and parade the poor li’l critter around.  If you tried that in East Tennessee, someone would be groundhog bitten– seriously!  And who could blame them?  I imagine if I were a groundhog, or any kind of hibernating creature, I would bite the hell out of somebody if they woke me up when there is still snow on the ground.  The furry li’l varmints here didn’t even wake up, roll over, and as much as poke their noses out of their burrows–and why should they?  It is still winter.  There isn’t any sweet clover or acorns to eat.  Go back to sleep, ‘Puxatony Phil’…

Indeed, it is still winter, and the mountains here are covered in snow right now, and a couple of days ago when I started to write this (Groundhogs Day) the clouds were so thick on the mountains that they were completely buried beneath them and I couldn’t even see the closest one.  It is very scenic, however, if you can get up into the mountains, but that can be a bit of a problem; and with the intermittent melting snow waters, rain and more snow, the creeks and waterfalls are moving at a fairly high volume.  With that in mind, my trail hiking buddy, ‘Rat Patrol’, wanted to hike out to a few of them and take photographs.

Dick Creek Falls

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The holidays are over and the New Year has arrived, along with quite a bit of snow, especially in the mountains.  Despite several distractions, I finally made it out to visit a couple of wilderness trails.

Bol'Dar on Longarm Ridge

The first trip was a nice walk to the falls on Jones Branch near the Nolichucky River.  Fresh storm damage to the Appalachian Trail was obvious as soon as I entered the woods, with several large branches piled up and blocking the trail.  Not only were there large branches, but entire trees had fallen during the recent snow storm, including a 80-foot-tall oak tree that fell right beside the trail, leaving a 15-foot divot where the roots had been, another 60-footer that fell across the trail, and a large pine that fell right in the center, blocking about 50 feet of the trail.  There was also laurel thickets pushed over and across the trail, and evidence of recent flooding where the snow-melt waters had eroded certain portions.  The water levels were still quite high; the Jones Branch stream was moving briskly, and water was even springing up out of the ground in places.  At the second creek crossing, I had to do some slippery log-walking (something I used to enjoy) to avoid getting my feet wet.

White Fungus on log with nuts

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Well, Thanksgiving is over, and the winter and holiday season is looming just ahead.  As always, there was much to be thankful for this year, including a great season of backpacking here in the Southern Appalachian Mountains.  Hiking through the Virginia Highlands, for instance, was like winning the Super Bowl, and standing on the ‘Monkey Head Rocks’—the Sill Branch Overlook—was like walking on the moon.  And how could I forget the awesome Hairnt-fest in Damascus, two incredible bear encounters, and the amazing waterfall hikes in the Sampson Wilderness?  Now, there were more such hikes to write about.

Inspired by ‘Rat Patrol’ to hike up to the upper Devil’s Fork Falls, as we used to do with the hiking club quite often back in the late 80’s and early 90’s during the ‘waterfall tour’ hikes (which began in Sill Branch and ended at the foot of Longarm Ridge, some 9 miles later, after viewing at least 8 waterfalls and countless cascades) I met up with him and his son, Tyler, around noontime on a Saturday in mid-November.  In the ‘old days’, we used to take various people up there to the gorge-like upper falls just to blow their mind, which happened every time without fail.  After looking through the photos of trips past, it is amazing to think that we actually took his dog, Schwartz, down those rough, steep and narrow trails in the Devil’s Forks.

Lilybeth Falls

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Autumn is now upon us, here in Tennessee, and the harvest season is mostly past, while winter lurks ahead in the winds and shadows–awaiting to pounce upon and shred our fading dreams of summertime.  For me, it has been a great year for hiking in the southern Appalachian Mountains, harvesting the good experiences as well as dealing with adversity at times.  As ever, I am learning new things about the mountains and trails, and attempting to adapt these fresh outlooks into a lighter weight, more efficient, yet ‘fun’ctioning approach to hiking.

Autumn colors near Curly Maple Gap

Anyway, if we can just skip the long introduction, there is several trail stories to write about, including a maintenance trip to Big Bald with ‘Rat’ and Doug, a pair of Unaka Mountain hikes, a couple of Sampson Mountain Wilderness hikes, trips to Sam’s Gap, Spivey Gap, and Cliff Ridge.

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There is a tradition for ‘Rat Patrol‘ to take some time off every year and go hiking sometime around his birthday.  Last year, him and I hiked the Appalachian Trail from Devil Fork Gap to Allen Gap–a 20-mile stretch over Flint, Coldspring, and Viking Mountains–all part of the Bald Mountain Chain of the Appalachians (see ‘Birthday Hike 2008‘ in the photo gallery).  This year, despite having an opportunity to hike the southern section of the Smoky Mountains with some friends, he decided to hike a 40-mile stretch of the Virginia Highlands from ‘Fox Creek’ to Damascus.

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Inspired by the trek up to Big Bald, and camping in the meadow above 5300-feet in elevation in July, I decided to embark upon another adventure for August.  It had been 13 years since the last time I had hiked up Snowbird Mountain, just north of the Great Smoky National Park, and after much consideration, decided to go there anyway.

I have always considered the hill-climb off the Pigeon River up to the summit of Snowbird Mountain rather challenging.  It is much easier to walk that section of trail from north to south, beginning at Max Patch, but never-the-less, I decided to park a car at Standing Bear Farm (on the gravel road that the Appalachian Trail crosses) about a mile from I-40, and the GSNP.  I had heard rumors of rogue bears and closed trails in the park, and would have felt more comfortable with a trail partner; not only would it have been nice to have someone to talk to, but sharing equipment can lower pack weights significantly.  But, since none were available, I found myself climbing that steep 5-mile hill alone, missing all my ‘Hairnt-fest’ trail-friends.

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A couple of weeks ago, while hiking in towards Sam’s Gap on the Appalachian Trail in the late afternoon, I ran across a fellow walking the opposite way.  At first glance, I thought that it was somewhat odd that he wasn’t carrying a backpack, not even a daypack.   And, as our paths inevitably crossed as we approached each other from opposite directions, he asked me “How far does this trail go?”  I told him that “This trail goes all the way to Maine.”  He laughed and said, “Yeah, right…”, then mumbled something and kept on walking.  I didn’t have the time or the inspiration to explain Benton MacKaye’s amazing vision, so I let him pass and walk on into the bliss of the unknown trail; perhaps he will figure it out some day–perhaps not.  Either way, I have decided that I have no inclination to be a public relations representative, or spokesperson, for the Appalachian Trail.  I just like to hike.

With that in mind, I actually got to do a little bit of camping recently, hiking in on the Appalachian Trail from Spivey Gap and climbing over High Rocks and Little Bald to the camp spot at Big Stamp–about 6 1/2 miles.  It had threatened rain most of the afternoon, and there were even a couple of passing showers, so I found myself walking up the mountain hills faster than I would have liked, with a 45-pound pack, hoping to set up my tent in the meadow on top of the mountain before any really bad weather struck.

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It is easy, sometimes, to get too caught up into where you are going, and forget to enjoy the place where you are.  When I am out hiking, I try to remind myself that it isn’t always the destination that is the center of attraction, but rather the getting there.  Curbing that anxiety to be somewhere else is not always easy for me, and indeed, I see it in the eyes of the ‘thru-hikers’ that I meet sometimes.  It is easy to recognize; the robotic voice and faraway stare, as they contemplate how many more miles they have to walk to maintain their unrealistic schedules in the back of their obsessed minds.  That is why it is so refreshing, I suppose, when I meet someone who not only doesn’t have a ’summit date’ for Katahdin planned, but doesn’t give me that look like they expect me to pull out a banjo at any moment and start picking the       theme to ‘Deliverance’.

Mount Katahdin in Maine

About a week and a half ago, while on a Appalachian Trail Volunteer Maintenance Work Trip near Spivey Gap with the ‘Rat Patrol’s’ trail crew, Rat and I met a fellow hiking the trail that wasn’t in too big of a hurry to get anywhere.  In fact, he stopped and told us the story about he had gotten lost a few times, walking off in the wrong direction.  I just had to laugh, having done that myself a time or two.  By the time Rat had answered all his questions, and it was time to move on, the hiker had a new trail name–’Wrong Way’.  That is how it works sometimes, the inadvertent and unexpected has a way of sticking with you, whether you like it or not.  As I recall, I received my trail name by a similar unintended, spontaneous custom.

Rat cleaning steps near High Rocks

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Now that the glow of ‘Hairnt-fest’ has sadly begun to fade, and residue of the ‘real-world’ threatens to crush the inspiration right out of me, the solace of Nature seems sweeter than ever.  I won’t bore you with everything that has been happening, but there are reasons to feel blessed, so let’s get right to the ‘good stuff’.

The Upper Triplets Falls

The first of the ‘elusive waterfall hikes’ was an impromptu trek up onto Rich Mountain.  I didn’t really have a plan, but in the back of my mind, there are always places in the Sampson Wilderness that I am curious about and would like to explore.  Perhaps you have heard, or read, about the ‘Triplets’ waterfalls that I ‘discovered’ a couple of years ago, after walking by them, both below and above, for nearly 20 years, never suspecting the magnitude of that secret valley.  Indeed, it appears rather insignificant at first glance, but after further inspection, the extent of the valley is quite incredible.  Ever since accidentally stumbling across the nearly hundred foot high waterfall and cliff face, and the subsequent smaller, yet significant falls, this valley has had the allure of a new girlfriend upon me.

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Sometimes it is difficult, not only to figure out what to say, but many times, how to say it–this is one of those times.  Just like the free online translators have several different versions of how to say ‘Let the Good Times Roll’ in French, it becomes necessary to decide on a blog version and run with it.  Just so everyone will know, ‘hairnt’ is still ‘hairnt’ in French.  I actually had designed a flashy, pretentious introduction, but there is a lot of stuff to talk about, so let’s get right to it.

So what’s been happening?  Well, first I had a rather incredible black bear encounter while in North Carolina.  There was a ‘momma bear’ with at least one cub.  As it happens, I was paying attention to the trail ahead, and since two large, wild turkeys had just flown off a short while earlier before I could get to my camera out to get a photo of them, I was ready with my antique camera as I crested the rise and heard the rustling brush ahead.  ‘Momma Bear’ was paying attention too, and heard my boots as they dragged through the grass.  Curious, I suppose, she raised up and stood upon her back legs about 30 yards away, partially obscured by some tall sedge grass, to see what was going on.  I estimate that she was about 6 1/2 feet tall, and weighed over 250 pounds, not that I have ever weighed and measured a bear before.  I do, however, know ‘large’ when I see it.  While not the largest bear I have ever encountered while hiking, she was still ‘quite big’…big enough, anyway.

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