Smoky Scout's Hiking Adventures

A Rare Treat - Clingmans Dome In Snow On a Sunny Day

2012-01-15T16:19:00.002-05:00

Wild Women of Smokemont – Day Two – 10/30/11 – Clingmans Dome

Fact: On the last day of a camping trip, all plans for a delicious hot camp breakfast go out the window.

Fact: On the last day of a camping trip, all items that were carefully packed for the trip can be tossed into the cars to be sorted out back at home.

Fact: On the last day of a camping trip (without showers), all Wild Women are exceptionally beautiful and do not need mirrors for confirmation.

Fact: On the last day of a camping trip, stopping by an antique mall on the way home may be necessary.

On this frosty morning the Smokemont rangers told me that Clingmans Dome Road was open again, so we quickly ate, packed up and drove to the high point of the Smokies. The beauty of the day is best conveyed in pictures:

Ready for a steep half-mile climb

Red mountain ash berries encased in ice make the sky look even bluer

Snow on balsam needles

Snow on cow parsnip (I may be making that one up)

Looking southeast towards Fontana

Looking north at Mt LeConte

Looking southwest at Thunder- head and southbound AT

Like a watercolor painting

And again

Me at the AT/MST sign

A little snack before the long drive home

Being in the Great Smoky Mountains always revives and replenishes my spirit. Perhaps the fact that I can’t go there every day is what keeps it special for me. I love this magnificent place any way I can get it, either hiking alone, with backpacking friends in the backcountry, or introducing it to newbies.

“Anybody who says the scenery gets old is not paying attention.” ~ Cecil Rowe, oldest person to complete the Smokies 900 (age 78)

There Go Those Wild Women Again

2012-01-11T11:49:00.005-05:00

Wild Women of Smokemont – Day One - 10-28-11 – AT/Kephart Prong – 6 Miles

Who remembers the Wild Women of Cataloochee from May 2011? I certainly do. One of the most enjoyable weekends I have spent outside, introducing the Great Smoky Mountains to friends. Well, I know you can’t replicate an experience in every detail, but a variation of “friends camping and hiking and eating in the Smokies” in the fall sounded like fun – so I booked sites at Smokemont Campground for late October and sent out a call for Wild Women.

Six Wild Women, two from the Cataloochee adventure and four newbies, said yes and pulled together equipment and food planning. Like last time, no one knew everyone else in the group except for me. Most had work commitments until late on Friday, so Nora and I were the advance team to set up tents, etc. We drove through sunshine, then fog, then rain from Charlotte to Maggie Valley and into the Smokies. Setting up tents in the rain and then sitting in them for six hours waiting for other people to arrive was not appealing, so we made an executive decision: hotel rooms in Cherokee for the night. Leadership can be tough.

Now Nora and I had time for some fun. First we investi- gated the little white church at the entrance to Smokemont Campground. Next we cruised through Cherokee and stopped at Tribal Grounds for a great cup of coffee. Still have plenty of time and stomachs are growling…let’s drive over to Bryson City. We shopped, enjoyed a glass of wine at the Cork & Bean and had a delicious meal at Jimmy Mac’s. Ya know, ya gotta be flexible when you’re camping.

Back at the unnamed hotel in Cherokee that was not so great (check your bed linens and request new ones if you are in doubt), the next carload of Wild Women pulled up and crashed for the night. Early Saturday morning the last two Wild Women arrived and we headed up Newfound Gap Road toward Clingmans Dome. The plan was to hike the Appalachian Trail from Clingmans Dome down to Newfound Gap, about 7 miles.

However...Clingmans Dome Road was closed. All the rain down in the valley was snow and ice at the high elevations. The parking lot at Newfound Gap was crazy with people taking pictures in the snow. What to do? Well, let’s just hike the AT in the other direction.

Did I mention it was cold?

A rare treat hiking on the frosty AT

A long view into North Carolina - do you see the ribbon of New- found Gap Road?

We hiked in for about a mile, but not everyone was prepared for the slippery conditions, so we formulated a new plan, returned to our cars and drove back down on Newfound Gap Road to the Kephart Prong Trail. I chose this alternative because the trail is gentle, passes some interesting artifacts, and ends at the Kephart Shelter, something I thought the Wild Women would be interested to see. No snow down this low, too. A couple of the Wild Women opted to go into Cherokee instead, so five of us crossed the bridge over the Oconaluftee River to begin the Kephart Prong Trail.

Herding ~~cats~~ Wild Women in preparation for the hike

Kephart Prong Trail begins as a wide road bed passing through a former Civilian Conservation Corps Camp that operated from 1933 to 1942. During World War II the camp included conscientious objectors. Beneath the leaf litter are occasional patches of asphalt. Still standing is a 6' by 5' sign stone sign plaque, a stone water fountain and a hearth and chimney.

The sky was a beautiful blue and the fall colors were hanging on. Bridges criss-crossed Kephart Prong as the trail climbed gently upward. One Wild Woman felt the strain in her hiking boots from spending most work days in pretty high heels.

Nora crossing a bridge over Kephart Prong

A narrower bridge, a little more caution

Kephart Prong was running high and feisty

At the shelter we met several back- packers. Since it was late afternoon, they were preparing to spend the night, including three men trying to dry out from last night’s drenching rain at their campsite. (Sorry, I got so wrapped up in talking to the backpackers that I forgot to get a photo of the shelter.) I don’t think the Wild Women were enticed into shelter backpacking just yet.

The two-mile walk back flew quickly and we drove on back to our campsites at Smokemont. Nobody was mentioning a hotel room, even though the overnight temperatures were forecast to be in the high 20’s.

Stephanie (a long-time Girl Scout friend) and Fanny (a new Girl Scout friend) setting up their tent

Ditto Joan and Leida

Aside from hiking, of course, campfire cooking was the highlight of the trip. Thank goodness for Stephanie, who is a fire master and kept it burning for the night.

Everyone working on food prep

Leida – smiling as always

Fanny preparing the Dutch oven for biscuits

Foil dinners - dee-lish!

Isn’t Fanny the cutest thing ever?

We barely finished eating and cleaning up before Wild Women began dropping like flies. I think Leida was in her tent by 7:30. Even Stephanie gave it up by 9:30 and we doused the fire. I made sure everyone had extra clothes, sleeping pads and even extra sleeping bags. The temp dropped to 28 degrees. I heard a few snores.

And there was more wonderful waiting for us the next day.

"Write it on your heart that every day is the best day of your life. No man has learned anything rightly until he knows that every day may be his last." ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Florence Nature Preserve

2012-01-05T17:11:00.001-05:00

Florence Nature Preserve – 10/8/11 – 7 Miles

The first two weekends after my return from the Death Valley/Mount Whitney trip were consumed with obligations and the let-down feeling after a big trip: how can I maintain that excitement in ordinary life? And will the greener but smaller mountains here at home now seem dull compared to the awesomeness of the jutting rock towers out west?

Let’s go see.

The third Saturday back home was all mine and I chose a new-to-me hike I’d seen in Danny’s “Hiking North Carolina’s Blue Ridge Heritage” and also on the Carolina Mountain Land Conservancy’s website at a place called Florence Nature Preserve. (CMLC first appeared on my radar when my local Girl Scout council’s resident camp was sold and the new owner, working with CMLC, put part of the land into conservatorship – what a wonderful gift.)

Florence Nature Preserve is a 600-acre gem west of the towns of Chimney Rock and Bat Cave. I was a bit skeptical of the website’s directions to the trailhead, looking for “a grassy parking area…most recognizable by a rock wall and stone chimney.” Would I be able to see that while driving on a winding mountain road? The answer is…oh, yeah.

(This parking area is new since Danny’s book was published. Her trailhead no longer has public access. Check the FNP website page of CMLC here.) FYI, the trail map from the website is essential for exploring the preserve, since it is surrounded by private landowners and there are several trails that split off to private property. The trails are very well blazed with color markers, but there are numerous intersections and the same colors are used at opposite ends of the Preserve, so be sure you know which yellow trail you’re on. My route roughly followed Danny’s but starting from the new parking area.

From the parking area the new Little Mt. Pisgah Trail rises surprisingly steeply and passes an old building.

Fall is here

Once the Preserve was created, Carolina Mountain Club improved the trails and built footbridges

Always remember to look up - blue skies and fall colors

Always remember to look down – Virginia creeper

Another footbridge

Sassafrass, my favorite tree

Oak?

I should know what this is by now

The trails in Florence Nature Preserve are not dramatic, mostly gentle with a pleasant stream crossing every now and then. The highlight of the hike was a side trail to Rattlesnake Knob, a large rock area with a view through the leaves out across a small valley.

I was a week or so early – soon there would be a full blast of color.

Something built a home and moved in here

On this gorgeous October Saturday I met just one other person, a mountain biker whom I suspect should not have been mountain biking. Otherwise I could whistle, hum and sing to my heart’s content, only disturbing the wildlife. Florence Nature Preserve is a wonderful place to take children for an interesting ramble in the woods, to play in the streams, climb on the rocks and explore the old building. And top it off with a stop for apple cider at one of the roadside country stores in Bat Cave.

Conclusion: the mountains out west are majestic and exciting, but the familiar thrill of being in the North Carolina mountains still zings through me every time.

“There’s no place like home.” ~Dorothy

Last Hurrah In Death Valley

2011-12-09T17:56:00.003-05:00

Death Valley Last Day – 9/17/11 - Mosiac Canyon & Artist’s Palette – 3 Miles

We spent a peaceful, dry, comfortable cool/warm night. I might or might not have heard a little snoring from a nearby tent. We were in hiker heaven after summiting the big MW. (Does anyone call it that or did I just make it up?)

We took a minute to cruise through the cozy little Lone Pine Camp- ground that we had occupied in the dark. How’s this for a front porch view?

A hotel room in Las Vegas was waiting for us but first we had some unfinished business back in Death Valley, a hike and a scenic drive that we shaved from our itinerary earlier in the week. We dropped off those infernal bear canisters at the Visitor Center, waved goodbye to Lone Pine, and headed east.

First stop: Mosaic Canyon, a popular little hike near the mirage of Stovepipe Wells. Did we really feel like hiking after the last three days? Answer: Yes! No elevation gain and no loaded backpacks maketh a cheerful hiker. What a contrast this hot, short, easy walk was to just 24 hours earlier, the cold, steep, grueling summit day. (Funny thing, though, in the canyon all of us complained of aching calves.)

Mosaic Canyon is famous for its mosaic breccia and smooth marble walls. It alternates from narrow slots to very wide open areas. The guideline that I have learned still applied: gradually walk up until you turn around and walk down.

Silky smooth walls

Carolyn walking up the narrow slot

Smooth rock and rough breccia flowing over it

A bit of scrambling was involved going up Mosaic Canyon until we hit this spot called Upper Dry Falls, a dead end – or was it? Jeff’s GPS wanted to go further, but I did not. So while he and Carolyn and Dolores climbed up a side wall, I began a leisurely backtrack. The air was still, the sky was brilliant blue and I had the place to myself.

I found a shady spot to lie down on a smooth marble slab and indulged in a little quiet meditation time (aka a siesta). It’s good to pause and appreciate the fact that you may only be in this particular place one time in your life and say a prayer of thanks.

I left behind a tiny cairn saying “I was here.”

Jeff in another narrow slot

After conquering Mosaic Canyon we drove along Highway 190, stopping to photograph the signs we had previously whizzed by on our way to trailheads.

Welcome, y’all!

Looks inviting, huh?

Our last hurrah in Death Valley was a cruise along Artist’s Drive and particularly Artist’s Palette, a mind-blowing area for which I cannot write an accurate description. Here are some of Jeff’s fine photos:

We waved goodbye to Death Valley and drove for the final time to Las Vegas for a hotel room, a hot shower (second one in 9 days), a good meal and more furious packing to be ready for our flight back home the next day. At the restaurant we celebrated Dolores’ birthday, congratulated ourselves on our summit success, and laughed long and loud at our mishaps.

By now my hiking and blog-reading friends are familiar with my mixed bag of emotions on these hiking trips: a bit of moaning and whining mixed with a lot of awe and gratitude. I need a little time between the experience and the writeup to digest the events, sift through the photos, and evaluate the experience through the 20/20 of hindsight. The answer to the question, “Would you do it again?” is inevitably “YES.” The physical discomfort (pain) and emotional rollercoaster (insanity) are temporary, but the memories are forever.

Here I am, safely returned over those peaks from a journey far more beautiful and strange than anything I had hoped for or imagined--how is it that this safe return brings such regret? ~Peter Matthiessen

“I try to end each day saying, ‘I am glad I did,’ rather than, ‘I wish I had.’” ~Barbara J. McMorrow

Summiting Mount Whitney

2011-11-30T21:07:00.008-05:00

Mt Whitney Backpack Trip – Day 3 – 9/16/11 – Guitar Lake to Mt Whitney Summit to Whitney Portal – 15.7 Miles

Jeff woke us at 6:00 a.m. to get an early start on our summit of Mt Whitney. It was a whopping 24 degrees overnight but I slept warm and comfortable. I now have the gear combination nailed down for surviving (enjoying!) these cold temperatures. Pitched out in the open, my tent was covered in dew which turned to ice within minutes after I vacated it. Great - now I have an ice block to carry to the top of the mountain.

I had no appetite for breakfast, nervous about the big mileage and elevation gain ahead. Was I being affected by the altitude? I didn’t feel lightheaded or nauseous, just sluggish and tired. The hiking groups around us were packing up and leaving. Despite our best efforts, it was nearly 7:30 a.m. before we resumed the John Muir Trail. This was Carolyn’s day to carry the bear canister, a big load combined with all her other gear. My pack did not feel lighter than the first day: less food but a wet tent.

In my short few years of outdoor adventures I have drawn many lines that I refused to cross…and then crossed them. Peeing in the woods? Hiking farther than 10 miles, 15 miles, 20 miles? Hiking alone? Hiking in a downpour? Hiking at 15 degrees? Hiking with people I met on the internet? Sleeping in a shelter, no tent? Camping alone? No shower for five days? Crossed all those lines. After a debate about the WAG bags (“maybe I can just hold it until I get to Whitney Portal”) we women acknowledged that if we are true environmentalists and stewards of our public lands, we should follow the recommended guidelines, so before we left camp we joined the WAG bag club. Another line crossed, and like the others, no big deal. Whatever it takes to get me to the places I want to go…and keep them protected for the next adventurer.

I carried 2.5 liters of water and was not drinking enough, which added to my lethargy. My first steps taking me away from Guitar Lake were already tough. The long sustained climb up to the pass, called Trail Crest, was relentless. The tree line was long gone. Looking at the wall of rock, it was difficult to discern the switchbacks until I was on top of them.

Dolores was hiking with one pole (her second one had broken before the trip) and she was uneasy about the narrow trail. She said that she would be my “slave” today, one step behind, and she was true to her word. Me, I was so slow that she occasionally bumped into me but neither of us minded because we wanted the moral support. I would not have believed that I could walk so slowly. Each step was a monumental effort, breathe in with the right foot, breathe out with the left foot. If the slope of the trail changed one iota I could feel it. When I had three easier steps in a row I gained confidence and thought I could make it – then the trail tilted upward again and it became unbearable, too hard, bad idea, ain’t never doing this again.

And all the while we were surrounded by God’s incredible works. Good morning, Guitar Lake (Jeff's photo)

Good morning moon

Can you find me and Dolores? (Jeff's photo)

Can you find the hiker blending in? (Jeff's photo)

Tired eyes

Looking down at Guitar Lake

As we climbed higher the temper- ature dropped lower and I dug down for my thicker gloves. Mileage was fuzzy as usual, but I think after about three miles we reached Trail Crest, the intersection of the John Muir Trail with the spur trail to the summit of Mt Whitney. Carolyn and Jeff were already there, eating and preparing for the summit. Here we dropped our packs, put on a couple more layers, including rain gear, and loaded our pockets with essentials for the four-mile out-and-back trek: food, cell phones, cameras, gloves, hats. We debated about donning our YaxTrax that we had carried for three days, but descending hikers said that they were not necessary so we skipped it (except Jeff because he is smarter than we are). I did not consider not summiting: I was just glad to drop that pack. I didn’t eat anything at this point, even though I knew I really should, just didn’t think I could swallow.

And off we go to summit Mt Whitney!

Carolyn in the red coat on the spur trail

Dolores on the spur trail

Mt Whitney is the mountain sloping upward from the left to the center of the photo

An iceberg lake

The uphill was quite difficult even without a backpack. My breathing was labored, my legs weighed about a thousand pounds each, and I stopped often, trying to catch my breath and eat a mini Clif bar one microscopic bite at a time. (Jeff's photo)

Still working it. Now the mountain is just a big pile of rocks and the trail is just stepping over rocks, no fear of heights whatsoever. Passing descending hikers can be challenging. (Jeff's photo)

Snow field – I was not happy about this, flashbacks of the Grand Tetons backpack trip. Dolores finally passed me as I struggled to continue.

It is not lonely on top of Mt Whitney. I’ve read that 11,000 people summit it each year. Cell signals are possible and everyone calls home to say, “Guess where I am?” (Jeff's photo)

The gang’s all here sharing an unforget- table moment at 14,500 feet, the highest point of the lower 48 states.

Personal triumph – the feeling of accomp- lishment was immense

Signing the summit register

We hung around for the better part of an hour, taking numerous variations of summit photos. Jeff left first, then Dolores, then Carolyn, and then I began the long descent – 11 miles. The snow field was terrifying going down. It’s just a narrow path stomped into the snow and nothing on either side except air. I slipped once flat onto my back, got myself back up with my heart pounding, then slipped two more times. There were people behind me waiting patiently, telling me to take my time. Note to self: always carry the darn YaxTrax.

Back at Trail Crest, Jeff’s pack was gone so we figured we wouldn’t see him the rest of the day. I shouldered my pack again, took a few steps down and around a curve…and there was another upward climb. Back to my now-perfected snail’s pace. After that, the downhill began for real on the infamous 99 switchbacks. I was so very glad to be going downhill that the switchbacks were a pleasure. (Jeff's photo)

Dolores in the lower right corner

A friendly marmot

I passed Dolores, descending very cautiously with her single hiking pole, and eventually caught up with Carolyn below Trail Camp, about 6 miles from the trail’s end at Whitney Portal. The trail opened up as we passed through meadows and it seemed that the end was near, but then the trail would descend sharply again through a narrow section. My back felt great, my knees didn’t hurt (much) and with every downward step the oxygen level increased and I could breathe, breathe, breathe again.

A majestic tree

Looking down into the town of Lone Pine

A waterfall on Lone Pine Creek (Jeff's photo)

We caught up with a couple of hikers and Carolyn became engaged in a long conver- sation with them, trying to pass the time, and I slipped on ahead and got into a zone. Time was flying and I really wanted to get off the trail before dark. The last two miles were tough as my joints began to protest the constant stepping down. I finished in fading light at 7:10 p.m., almost 12 hours on the trail. Taking off a loaded backpack is one of the best feelings in the whole wide world.

Carolyn was only a few minutes behind, then we went to the car to catch up with Jeff. A half hour later Dolores emerged in full dark with a very cute young man who had noticed her descending with one hiking pole as he was going UP to the summit. On his way back down he saw her again, insisted that she use his hiking poles, and then accompanied her the rest of the way. What a big finish!

Is the day over? No, not yet. The only place in town to get a quick bite was McDonald’s. Then we had to find our campground home for the night and set up tents again. Then…after a prayer of thanks…oblivion until morning.

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do, than by the ones you did do. ~ Mark Twain

Promise me you’ll always remember: You’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. ~Christoper Robin to Pooh

Destination: Guitar Lake

2011-11-14T21:39:00.004-05:00

Mt Whitney Backpack Trip – Day 2 – 9/15/11 – Rock Creek to Guitar Lake– 11.2 Miles

The inside of a fuschia tent at sunrise is a religious experience. The almost-full moon cast a spotlight on our campsite during the night, but the morning’s first rays lit up the walls of my little pink house like stained glass windows in a cathedral. (Okay, maybe that’s too much metaphor – John Mellencamp, anyone?) I lay there enjoying the glow for nearly an hour before the sound of rustling from other parts of camp told me to get moving.

The low overnight temperature was 35 degrees, a pleasant surprise. I slept very comfortably with my silk liner in my sleeping bag, long underwear tops and bottoms, one pair of socks and a fleece head wrap. The silk liner was the trick, I think. Because it wasn’t too cold we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and then got down to packing. Today was my turn to carry the bear canister. I solved the dilemma of how to fit this large hard plastic object into my pack by lining it with a clean plastic garbage bag (always carry a few) and stuffing my sleeping bag, stuff sack, silk liner and hand/toe warmers into it. Then I slid the canister down into my backpack and stuffed the rest of my gear in around it. Dolores took over the two backpacking stoves and fuel that I had carried yesterday, plus my sleeping pad, so that I had room for everything else, and my net increase in weight was about a pound.

We left camp at about 9:15, in no hurry because we anticipated less than 10 miles for the day (wrong). Within a half mile, we hit our first “what up?” at an unexpected wet crossing. After scouting in vain for a place to rock hop across, we plunged in. It took a while for four of us to make the crossing – removing boots/socks, careful steps, drying off, putting on boots/socks – and I took advantage of the time to adjust the bear canister a little higher in my pack, much more comfortable.

Jeff as Alfred E. Neuman from Mad Magazine: “What, Me Worry?”

A taste of our scenery banquet today:

Mount Anna Mills

Mount Guyot, named for the same fellow as our Mount Guyot in the Great Smoky Mountains (Arnold G. got around)

Sequoia trees? Somebody help me out. Anyway, they were huge and straight and majestic and I felt like a tiny insignificant creature walking among them. (Editor's note: foxtail pines)

Yes, it’s real

Our first climb went up Guyot Pass, an 800-foot elevation gain, tough going but good switchbacks to the pass. I slowed my pace way down and settled into a rhythm for the rest of the day. It’s a mind game to become one with the backpack, cinch the straps up tight and regard it as part of you as you step up, down, over and around objects.

At the top of Guyot Pass

As you may guess, we had joined the stream of pilgrims on our way to Mt. Whitney. The couple that took our photo at Guyot Pass was planning to summit tomorrow, too. We also met two hilarious New Zealand fellows on a trek celebrating the ten-year anniversary of their first summit. That first time was on September 11, 2001.

Awesome

A group of fish and game employees were hiking in the opposite direction; we met them at the pass just before Crabtree Meadows. Answering questions about the trail and what to expect ahead, they warned that the Mt. Whitney Trail down to Whitney Portal is quite steep and hard on the knees. They also advised not to go past Guitar Lake looking for a campsite tonight because there are no level areas, only rocks. In this photo Jeff looks skeptical (and it turned out he was right, those guys were not correct. Oh well…)

Beyond the second pass suddenly the mountains were up close. Dark clouds stayed on the horizon, but we didn’t hear any thunder all day. Descending into Crabtree Meadows – what do you suppose this gate is for?

Crabtree Meadows was a particularly beautiful section of this incredibly beautiful trail, criss-crossed by flowing creeks, huge expanses of green grasses, surrounded by mountains and imposing rock formations.

Pretty water

A dry crossing this time

Last chance to pick up a “WAG bag” – love the instruction on the box, “please do not sit here.”

Jeff's photography skills are so much better than mine, it's hard to select just a few to give an idea of what we were seeing, but here goes:

Timberline Lake

Snow

The rest of the hike to Guitar Lake was longer than anticipated (surprise), a steady uphill with lots of stone steps. The lake is in a stunning setting, ringed by bare mountains on all sides, piles of rocks beside the placid water, no trees...and very little privacy. Campers were already set up but it did not feel crowded. The couple we met at Guyot Pass arrived soon after we did. It was well before 5:00 p.m., early based on our recent experience, but it was breezy and definitely chilly so we got right to work.

Checking out tent spots at Guitar Lake

What clouds?

Guitar Lake (Jeff’s photo)

Home sweet home again (Jeff’s photo)

Jeff’s setup (Jeff’s photo)

Pause for reflection

See my pink tent?

Tomorrow we’re climbing up that rock wall

We all treated water using Dolores’ SteriPEN, filling up for tomorrow’s hiking and all our cooking needs. We set up stoves and cooked supper in a protected area near the rocks. The temperature dropped quickly and we were ready to give it up by 7:00 p.m. with some daylight left. Then Dolores produced a titanium flask (a gift from her kids) with Amaretto and we had a sip to warm us on our way to our tents. I know lots of people that carry a nip of wine or peppermint schnapps or bourbon, but Amaretto is my new favorite.

Inside my tent, I wrote notes about the day, trying to push away my nervousness about tomorrow’s cold, steep climb. I knew I would gut it out because the car is at the end of the trail, but I ruminated on why I do this crazy thing called hiking. At the time I didn’t have a good answer. Carolyn and I both said that we’re taking a break from backpacking after this…until the next awesome trip gets planned.

Sunset at Guitar Lake (Jeff's photo)

“Hiking takes more head than heel.” ~Emma 'Grandma' Gatewood, at age 67 the first woman to thru-hike the Appalachian Trail (1955)

Horseshoe Meadow to Rock Creek

2011-11-10T20:52:00.008-05:00

Mt Whitney Backpack Trip – Day 1 – 9/14/11 – Horseshoe Meadow to Rock Creek – 13.8 Miles

Tired after a long night spent packing and repacking in my sleep. When I woke up I added back my book and my reading glasses. We were at the Visitor’s Center before 8:00 a.m. ready for the process of receiving permits and bear canisters. (Back in the spring Jeff scored our permit spots for backcountry camping.) We also received our “wag bags” and a lesson on their use. Our first two days of hiking go through the Inyo National Forest and Sequoia National Park, but our second night’s campsite and hike on day 3 is in the John Muir Wilderness, a “carry out your own poop” zone. More than you want to know about that later.

Weather forecasts are important for being prepared for precipitation, but in some places weather forecasts can cancel a trip, especially above tree line. It was our great good fortune that a storm system that had hung around for the last few days was moving out and Friday, our summit day, was forecast to be clear and beautiful. (Note the temp differences between Furnace Creek and Mt. Whitney.)

Our route is U-shaped, not a loop. Jeff arranged a shuttle driver, who met us in town and drove with us to Whitney Portal to leave our rental car. Doesn’t the name Whitney Portal sound a little Star Trekky? It’s an unincorporated little community where the Mount Whitney Trail begins, complete with campgrounds, a store, a restaurant and lots of parking for pilgrims going to the summit. Our hike ends here, but it begins at Horseshoe Meadow, elevation 9,900 feet high on our way to 14,500-foot Mount Whitney.

Dolores enjoying her last real cup of coffee

At Horseshoe Meadow, it’s now- or-never time

In Golden Trout Wilder- ness, Inyo National Forest

Waiting for my editor to identify this tree – after this shot my camera succumbed to the sand inside it and stopped working. The rest of the hike’s photos are from Jeff (always better anyway).

Look at how blue that sky is (doesn’t last long)

Within the first 15 minutes of any serious hike there is a wardrobe change.

A wide open landscape that we just don’t see back in North Carolina

The first mile was level and comfort- able as we got used to our heavy packs, and then came the long switch- backed trail up to Cottonwood Pass. I felt a buzz of excitement as we stepped onto the Pacific Coast Trail, a western sister to the Appalachian Trail. But doubts began to bubble up as my legs grew heavier and my breathing became labored. Was this because of yesterday’s hike up to Telescope Peak? Maybe we should have taken a rest day, you know, like serious athletes do. Or was it the altitude? As I slowly trudged up to the pass I felt disheartened – this really was going to be as hard as I thought.

Chicken Spring Lake – lots of campers, perhaps a guided trip with a local outfitter

Big Whitney Meadow - Even the weight of my pack could not distract me from the scenery. This is what backpacking is for, to get to these faraway places. The trees are immense. Fat chipmunks scurry around everywhere.

Clouds gathered and dispersed and we could see thunder- storms a long distance away. We stopped to put on pack covers and rain gear and – hail! It quickly passed over and the sun peaked out again. Some areas that we walked through later in the day had much more accumulation than we had experienced.

This deer was not at all disturbed as we passed by

Five miles into the hike the trail leveled out and I had no trouble with the pack weight. But what about tomorrow? We’ve got to go up again sometime. The four of us stuck closer together than on dayhikes. Carolyn intentionally put me ahead of her to set the pace, which I very much appreciated, because she is naturally faster. Jeff, as usual, occasionally disappeared to take pictures. Dolores stayed in the back a good bit of the day, adjusting to carrying the bear canister. I think that thing weighs even more mentally than literally.

As I’ve said before, mileage is screwy out here and different maps disagree with each other and with signage on the trail. Jeff’s GPS is what we decided to rely on, with 13.8 miles for our first day, ending near the Rock Creek ranger station, a terrific campsite by Rock Creek, lots of water, level ground, a nice campfire ring with logs to sit on. Ironically, we were at 9,600 feet, so we lost all the elevation we gained today, but it was important to sleep at this elevation to help with acclimatization. After we set up camp I pulled out my camera to mess with it – and it revived! Hallelujah! I caught up on my picture-taking.

Campsite at Rock Creek

Rock Creek

Jeff’s gear, including bear canister

Fire ring for fine dining

We cooked supper and ate, talking about the day and what lay ahead tomorrow. Fitting all the food and trash into the two bear canisters was an unexpected challenge. As we struggled with this in the fading sunlight, a light rain began to fall and we hustled to finish our chores. We each ended up with our sealed backpacking meals in our tents.

By 8:00 p.m. we were all sequestered in our little homes and I was very cold as I zipped up the entrance. My amazing Lightheart tent is large enough for my backpack as well as me and my sleeping gear, so I spent some time changing into dry clothes, making a pillow out of my tent bag stuffed with hiking shirts and a jacket, and was soon warmed up. I read my (heavy) book for a short time, then laid down to listen to the nighttime sounds. No more pitter-patter of rain (yay), just the gurgling of the creek (yay again).

Today was a hard day. Thoughts of thru-hiking the AT are gone. I don’t want to cope with days of cold rain and a heavy load. We’ll see if the memory of the discomfort fades away.

Everyone wants to live on top of the mountain, but all the happiness and growth occurs while you're climbing it. ~ Andy Rooney

Fixin' To Get Ready To Go

2011-11-07T16:53:00.001-05:00

Mt Whitney Backpack Trip – Prep - 9/13/11

In Lone Pine we divided into two hotel rooms, Carolyn with me and Dolores with Jeff, and we hauled in our worldly belongings to prepare for our backpacking trip to Mt. Whitney. (BTW, can you imagine how indescribably awesome it felt to wash off five days’ worth of sweat and salt?) We made some progress on packing before taking a supper break, where we talked about equipment to share, backpack stoves, water filters, etc. There was also the issue of carrying bear canisters for food storage, required in the backcountry. A bear canister weighs three pounds and takes up a lot of space in a backpack. Jeff offered to carry one the whole distance and Carolyn, Dolores and I planned to share the second canister, one day each. Definitely discrimination on our part to have Jeff take responsibility for one on his own (being a big strong man and all…)

Back at the hotel, full panic set in as we weighed everything literally and figuratively. When you’re carrying an item for three days, its importance changes. I had my Lightheart tent, which weighs only 27 ounces and uses my hiking poles for setup. BUT would I be able to stake it out at a rocky campsite? Should I take my other (heavier but freestanding) tent? I like to read a little bit before going to sleep, but my book weighed 6 ounces, and then I’d need my reading glasses. I decided to leave them behind.

We each planned to carry food for four days just in case we were delayed in summiting Mt. Whitney due to bad weather, altitude sickness, any unforeseen circumstances. Food weighs a lot, people. And the idea that your pack weighs less because you eat the food is false, because after the first night you are usually carrying a wet tent, etc. Even after the food is gone, you still must carry whatever trash it generates. My appetite is not great on a backpacking trip anyway, but it’s important to take in the calories for all that hard work. I counted and recounted Clif bars, packets of trail mix, Nutri-Grain bars, peanut butter, M&M’s (note: Fritos are essential and delicious.) I also was trying out two new dehydrated meals by Enertia Trail Foods (verdict: thumbs up on the sun-dried tomato pesto and spinach ziti.)

Mostly I was concerned about the cold. I’d slept in shelters during high 30’s temperatures but we were looking at mid to high ‘20’s. My tent would add a few degrees. My sleeping bag is a Mountain Hardwear Phantom rated at 15 degrees and I had a silk liner to go with it. I had enough clothing, but could I carry it all? Only room for one fleece jacket, both are heavy, which is warmer? Toe and hand warmers work well but weigh a lot. I put them in my pack, took them out, several times. How many pairs of socks? What if they get wet? No dry socks is a tragedy. Three pairs of gloves, light ones, heavy wool ones and waterproof ones. Cold is serious business.

I called home and talked to Jim for a little bit about how nervous I was. A positive attitude is essential for an adventure like this and I was having a lot of trouble working up to it. A sleepless night lay ahead.

(Mt. Whitney is the tall peak a third of the way in from the right side of the photo).

Anything I've ever done that ultimately was worthwhile... initially scared me to death. ~Betty Bender

Telescope Peak - Death Valley National Park

2011-11-04T17:54:00.012-04:00

Death Valley Day 4 – Telescope Peak – 12.3 Miles

And now for something completely different…

We’ve hiked through salt, sand, rocks and the Garden of Eden, all in the constant oppressive heat. Today’s hike seemed a little like home.

Telescope Peak is the highest point in Death Valley National Park, rising up from the desert floor to top out at 11,050 feet. Lots of reasons to be excited about this adventure: time to stretch our legs on one long hike, test the effects of altitude, the trailhead only one mile from our campground, and best of all, cool temps!

Another fun fact: Mahogany Flats, where the trail for Telescope Peak trail begins, is the highest campground in Death Valley, one mile further up the gravel road past our Thorndike home, at an altitude of 8,200 feet. (For you statistics people, our 6.2-mile trek to the summit gained 2,850 feet.)

As we were preparing to leave camp, a small army of utility trucks rumbled past on their way up to a communications facility on Rogers Peak. Suddenly our remote hike didn’t seem so remote.

I shivered in the deliciously cool morning chill as we stepped onto the trail. No worries about losing our way or each other on the wide open mountainside. Early autumn flowers drew us along and each photo op was better than the one before.

Indian paintbrush

There she looms – our first look at Telescope Peak

Tree hugging the mountain- side

At Arcane Meadows the trail switched from one side of the mountain to the other. Something about a rock cairn makes people want to leave their own as a statement.

Twisted sisters

Another unique tree

The trail turned slightly westward and skirted around Bennett Peak (which Jeff climbed on the return trek). Looking down into Panamint Valley – this photo doesn’t show them, but we could see Panamint Dunes where we had struggled through the sand just yesterday afternoon

The trail continued to a saddle south of Bennett Peak - Telescope Peak looking very steep and imposing

At the saddle, looking down into the salt flats Badwater Basin – hey, we were there two days ago (Jeff's photo).

Close up of bristlecones

Magnificent bristlecone pine tree (Jeff's photo)

The last mile was a steep climb eased by great switchbacks. My steps became slower and slower and I had to stop several times – lack of oxygen or just out of shape? I was the last one up the final steep push.

Success! The summit was surprisingly small, bare rock with a pile of rocks on top of it and a box containing a trail log, a first aid kit, some Boy Scout troop patches and a near-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s. I love hikers, don’t you?

Don’t look now, but there are some ominous clouds boiling up back there

Dolores signing the trail log

Clouds getting worse

After just a few minutes of smiles and photos, Jeff suddenly announced he was getting out of there, so we quickly headed for lower ground. At the bottom of the steep mile we stopped to eat quickly in the shelter of scrubby trees. No lingering, though, as the clouds grew more and more threatening. The return hike was at a very fast pace.

Trail across rock scree – reminded me of Croagh Patrick in Ireland

Carolyn on the trail

With less than a mile to go, light rain began to fall and I stopped to put on rain gear. We were all spread out in our individual zones, making our way down. Then I heard thunder rumbling behind me and I began to jog, remembering how quickly we were overcome by our midnight storm on Sunday night. Even worse than huddling in a tent, I was exposed on the side of a mountain with metal hiking poles in my hand.

Of course, we all arrived at the car unscathed and congratulated ourselves on summiting Telescope Peak. This was perhaps my favorite Death Valley hike because of the cool temperature and bird’s eye views into the valleys.

An added bonus of finishing a hike in daylight - we were finally able to check out an incredible feature near our campsite that we had been driving past for five days, these Wildrose charcoal kilns used to burn wood down into charcoal, which was then used as fuel for smelters at the lead and silver mines in Death Valley. The kilns have not been used since 1879. They look like they will stand here forever.

We decided to skip our next hike at Mosaic Canyon because of the late hour, said goodbye to Death Valley, and drove to the little town of Lone Pine, the jumping-off point for our next challenge – a three-day, two-night backpack trip to summit Mount Whitney, the highest point in the lower 48 states.

And even more important, our first shower in five days.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree. ~Joyce Kilmer

Canyons, Waterfalls and Sand Dunes

2011-10-27T20:53:00.004-04:00

Death Valley/Mt Whitney Trip – 9/12/11 – Black Point Canyon/Darwin Falls/Panamint Dunes – 15.5 Miles

So what is your first thought at the mention of “Death Valley”? (Go ahead, take a minute, I’ll wait…)

Well, there is more to it than that. Today’s adventures took us from rock canyons to waterfalls to sand dunes, all within the boundaries of Death Valley National Park.

We “slept in” until 7:00 a.m. because all our treks were located on “our” side of the park. By now we don’t know how to eat breakfast unless we’re in a moving car, so soon we were on our way to the first hike of the day, Black Point Canyon, another trail-less gem from Jeff’s GPS. By now I understood canyons a little better. First you walk gently uphill, then you turn around and walk gently downhill, following the path carved by flowing water. It is possible to get lost if you take too many side turns, but generally that’s it.

Close to the road we found artifacts, formerly known as trash.

Rock formations are like clouds, you can see all kinds of figures and shapes. What do you see here?

Getting interesting

Desert foliage makes intriguing graphic design

A “dry fall” means the end of the hike for us, but not for Jeff. He climbed up and explored a little further.

Breccia rock

A ghostlike plant

There is green in the desert – you just have to look for it

Next hike on the list: Darwin Falls, a unique diversion from all the bare rock and dry dust. Darwin Stream is the only permanent water source in Death Valley and it supplies water to the little settlement of Panamint Springs via an above-ground pipeline. Directions to the trailhead say,“drive 1.1 miles past Panamint Springs to the first dirt road on the left.” Dirt road is an optimistic description for the rutted washboard surface. Sensitized by our recent tire woes, we crept to the trailhead. Note to everyone: it takes a long time to get anywhere in Death Valley.

Starting out, this looked like any other canyon wash, not the oasis promised in the guide- book. But very soon green began to appear and we crossed an actual stream of flowing water.

Vegetation becomes taller and denser

A lizard friend as long as my forearm (just guessing, I didn’t check for real)

Check out the balancing rock in the upper left

We followed the sound of trickling water into the narrowing canyon, hugging the walls, crossing the stream several times on rocks and logs. Hold up…is that…shade? After only one mile we reached the lower falls, a 25-foot drop.

Jeff got to a better angle

At one point on the hike out Dolores gasped and grabbed my arm as a large black/brown snake slithered away past Carolyn’s feet. I didn’t see it so I could pretend it didn’t exist.

Pipeline to Panamint Springs

A nice little two-mile hike with green stuff, water and shade. Cool? Well, cool is relative. It was still hot…and about to get hotter.

Hike number 3: Panamint Dunes. There are several areas of sand dunes in Death Valley NP and Panamint Dunes are the largest and therefore the biggest challenge for Jeff aka “the peakbagger.” They rise several hundred feet high, making them appear closer than they are (like lots of things in the desert.)

There is no real trail to Panamint Dunes, but the closest you can get to them by car is via a dirt road called Lake Hill Road (no sign) off Highway 190. We missed it the first time we passed it, but I spotted it on the second try. As soon as I said, “There it is,” I felt a pang of regret. If we had not been able to locate the road, we could have gone to explore Mesquite Dunes, much more accessible and easier to climb. But here we were once again, creeping along a six-mile gravel road to “where the road begins to deteriorate” and we could park the car. We passed Lake Hill (2,030 feet), a small mountain in the middle of the flat desert. This hump was important as a landmark for our return hike.

The dunes sit at the northern end of the North Panamint Dry Lake bed. Surround- ed by mountains on three sides like a bowl, they look like little sand piles going up the mountainside. Here they are four miles from our car.

At 3:30 p.m. we struck out across the desert floor on our 9-mile out-and-back hike. After the gurgling waters of Darwin Falls, all I saw ahead of me was a flat hot walk similar to the salt flats.

Dolores – the bump to the middle right is Lake Hill (Jeff's photo)

But unlike the salt flats, the desert floor here was alive with flora and fauna. The surface began as hard packed sand, with pockets of softness around scrub brush where animals had dug tunnels near the roots. Tiny lizards darted constantly in all directions. Tracks were everywhere in the sand, but I couldn’t identify any. In some places I saw the wind moving branches back and forth, creating patterns in the sand.

As we drew closer we realized that there were actually hills before the sand dunes, big hills, softer sand. I worked hard to get up the first one, then at the top I saw another one. Did I mention it was HOT? I was not so enamored of Death Valley on this section of the hike.

Finally we crested the last hill and saw the dunes – they were enormous. Jeff’s goal was to summit the tallest one. My goal was to summit the first one I got to.

Carolyn and I walked up the first dune and agreed we had a front row seat for everything, including the highest dune. Dolores joined us and we took the requisite photos of each other.

Carolyn photo- graphing her footprints

Tiny Jeff

We sat down to watch Jeff as he worked his way up the spines of the dunes towards the highest point. It was a breath- taking experience to watch his progress – definitely worth the effort to get there.

Jeff's photo looking down at us - can you see us?

More of Jeff's photos:

The wind kicked up and began to erase our footprints. I hurried to put my camera away but not soon enough. Carolyn’s camera slipped from her pocket into the sand too. We both had camera problems for the rest of the trip.

We started the long hike back to the car, sighting on Lake Hill and trying to walk a straight line. Four miles will always be four miles and the heat did not relent. Carolyn jumped at the sight of a snake, but again I missed seeing it. Eventually we picked up our earlier footprints and followed them back to the gravel road. We reached the car around 7:00 p.m. just as dark settled in.

Once again we had to conquer the six-mile gravel road out to pavement, half an hour of tedious bumping, and we needed gas and water. Who knows how early things shut down in Panamint Springs? Luck was with us, the gas station was open and so was the one restaurant. There was a large group of German tourists seated just before us, and Michael the bartender said if I would write down our orders we’d get our food faster. I played waitress - very surreal. We were extremely tired, thirsty, a little goofy, and I remember the pizza was delicious.

Michael told Jeff there were scorpions everywhere on the property, including the bathrooms, so watch our step. We filled up all our water containers, a now-familiar chore. We found a shortcut road back to Thorndike Campground, but it was still after 10:00 p.m. when I slipped into my sleeping bag.

So far I’ve done seven hikes in Death Valley and each one has been amazing. What’s up tomorrow? Us! Heading to Telescope Peak!

It is easier to go down a hill than up, but the view is best from the top. ~Arnold Bennett

My Kingdom For A Tire

2011-10-24T20:40:00.010-04:00

Death Valley/Mt Whitney Trip – 9/11/11 – Badwater Basin & Mormon Point Canyon – 10 miles

This morning the sun rose and so did we, ready for another try at Badwater Basin. While we were packing up for our epic day, Jeff noticed nails lying around in the parking area by our site. (Foreshadowing: a literary device where the author suggests certain plot developments that come later in the story.)

Winding our way down the road from our campground, we left gravel and hit pavement, increasing speed from 10 to 25 miles per hour. The rental car began flashing a low tire pressure warning. We pulled over, rolled down the window, and heard the hissing of the front left tire. Hhmmm…nails. We were a long way from anywhere. Great.

All gear came out of the back so the spare tire and kit could be located. (This is the third time I’ve been around tire changing in five months and I really need to learn to do this myself). After a lot of work on Jeff’s part, the pathetically tiny spare tire was in place, not a permanent solution. We didn’t feel safe driving on it back up to camp. Nothing else to do but go into town and look for a way to make repairs.

Stovepipe Wells is another oasis a little closer to our campground, but even smaller than Furnace Creek. It also has a motel, a restaurant, a general store and a gas station…but no way to repair tires. At Furnace Creek, still no luck. Did I mention this was Sunday? The tire guy comes in between 12:00 and 5:00. Well, what do you think we should do? Go hiking.

The hiking guides imply that the boardwalk at Badwater Basin equates to the lowest point of Death Valley, but Jeff’s GPS does not agree. We parked on the side of the road, put on hats and long-sleeved shirts, took a deep breath. Looking straight across the valley, it seems that you can walk to the Panamint Mountain range in about five minutes, but it is six miles across and we were going halfway (and back again). The lowest point of Death Valley is at -282 feet and the only way to tell is by Jeff’s GPS. I couldn’t detect any elevation loss at all, just a flat walk. For all I know we started out at -281 feet.

The ground started out as a crusty moon walk, then the salt crystals began to appear.

Carolyn holding some salt – tastes good on French fries

The honeycomb pattern in the salt is formed as a result of repeated freeze-thaw and evaporation cycles. Walking on it sounded and felt like crunchy snow. In some patches it was smushy and wet underneath.

Here we are at the bottom of North America! BTW, it’s about noon. And the park rangers were worried! (Jeff's photo)

Looking up at Dante’s Peak where we were yesterday (Jeff's photo)

Turn around the other way, looking up at Telescope Peak (covered in clouds), where we will be two days from now (Jeff's photo)

After a few photos, we didn’t stick around because it was blistering hot and getting hotter. Once I spied the car I just walked a straight line back to it. No obstacles, no climbing, no creek crossings, but this was one of the most extreme hikes I’ve ever done.

We stopped at the boardwalk to use the bathrooms, eat some lunch and watch the tourists.

And since we were in the neighbor- hood, we checked out another point of interest that Jeff found online (again, no map, just GPS coordinates) called Mormon Point Canyon. We walked up a huge wash as the heat continued to increase. After a while I just pretended to be in a sauna. Dolores and I lagged behind as Jeff and Carolyn moved ahead. We did reach the point where the walls closed in to form a narrow slot canyon, very surreal (and shadows, a little relief from the heat). I could see where flash floods would be sudden and deadly.

Making our way back to the car (Jeff's photo)

Can’t get enough of the expansive landscape

So, about that tire…back in Furnace Creek the tire guy pronounced ours irreparable and he didn’t have one the size we needed. The rental company in Las Vegas was happy to bring a new car out to us IF we paid to have the “damaged” one towed for a ridiculous amount of money. No, they would NOT bring us a new tire, only a new car. Finally we concluded that we had to drive back to the rental company and swap cars. To make a long story even longer: at 5:00 p.m. we pointed toward Las Vegas, grabbed fast food, got to the rental place, moved all our gear over to a new car, and then at the checkout point the attendant said we had the wrong car. (Well, Carolyn said the third time is the charm.) We moved all our gear over again and drove back through Death Valley and up to our little kingdom at Thorndike Campground. Arrived at camp at 12:30 a.m.

We were crazy tired and very dirty (no water, remember?) but we only wanted to sleep. Because tomorrow we have three hikes to do!

P.S. We were all aware that today was the 10^th anniversary of 9/11. Although we didn’t have access to media and we didn’t talk about it much, I think we all felt the solemnity of the day. I felt gratitude at being in an American national park today.

If you don't know where you are going, you will probably end up somewhere else. ~Lawrence J. Peter

Peaks and Valleys and Canyons

2011-10-20T16:08:00.009-04:00

Death Valley/Mt Whitney Trip – 9/10/11 – Gower Gulch/Golden Canyon Loop and Dante’s Peak – 8.8 Miles

6:00 a.m., rise and shine, no time for sleeping, we’re in Death Valley! No leisurely mornings of breakfast and a second cup of coffee (wait…where was the first cup?) for the Bergs on an adventure. Today we’re hiking to the lowest point of North America. What to wear, what to wear?

Packs ready, nerves jumping, we crept down the road toward civilization at Furnace Creek, a tiny oasis with a motel, gas station, general store, restaurant, a couple of campgrounds and the Visitor Center for Death Valley. This is as good as it gets, folks. Most important, we needed to fill up all our water containers and gas up the car ($5+ per gallon). Searching for water and gas became a theme for our time in DV.

Driving towards Badwater Basin, I could hardly believe my eyes. The sky ahead was dark and lightning flashed. I looked at Jeff – yes, he had seen it, too. The landscape was so wide open, it was hard to tell where the storm actually was, could be miles away or right over where we were planning to hike. And the tallest thing out there besides us would be some dead dragonflies.

Plans are meant to be changed, so we switched our itinerary, turned around and drove to Zabriskie Point on Highway 190, a popular stop for tourists-in-cars and a trailhead for a nice loop hike through Gower Gulch and Golden Canyon. We checked out the view from the overlook and then hopped onto the trail.

How to describe Gower Gulch? This was my first experience with canyon hiking and everything was fascinating. A canyon is the path made when water washes down from the mountaintops to the valley. Remember making sand art as a kid, filling a glass bottle with layers of sand in different colors? The mountains here are layers of all types of rocks, layers of colors, not just yellow and red, but umber, ochre, sage, magenta, bronze, sienna, slate, sand, taupe.

Pictures are way better than my words:

Signpost

Touching/tasting rock

Jeff

Colors spilling downward

An old mine

A harsh environ- ment

Colors

Jeff's photo

Breccia rock composed of broken fragments of minerals or rock cemented together - remember this when you redo your bathroom

Dolores looking at melted looking lava rock

Hiking babes

After a couple of miles of wandering through this wonder- land we exited Gower Gulch near Badwater Road, which the trail paralleled for 1.3 miles up to the entrance to Golden Canyon.

The first mile of Golden Canyon is an interpretative hike (alas, the fliers were gone from the trailhead.)

Golden Canyon narrows to a tight fit

And opens up

The trail splits and a side trip to the left for an additional .4 miles gets you to the Red Cathe- dral.

Red Cathedral from Manly Peak

Backtracking from the Red Cathedral, we turned left to catch the loop back to Zabriskie Point. The temperature and the trail climbed steadily and our morning jaunt became a little like work. This was a rude awakening from the pleasant walk down Gower Gulch. At 100+ degrees I dismissed everything I’d heard about “dry heat” because I was drenched in sweat. I was a little worried about the amount of water I was carrying (didn’t run out, though).

With a magnifying glass you can see the trail as it follows the base of Manly Beacon, an imposing feature amongst all the awesomeness. The panoramic views reminded me of the Grand Tetons without the snow. (My limited frame of reference is expanding!)

Fake back- ground?

Getting warmer

A long view (Jeff's photo)

This section back to the beginning was 2.6 miles, making the hike a bit longer than Jeff’s original estimate. (Another theme emerging: distances are fuzzy out here *le shrug*). Considering that there were two more hikes on the day’s agenda, the wimpy part of me began scheming an escape.

Back at the car, no time for reflection, we can’t let Dante’s View get away! We ate lunch while Jeff drove with the HVAC at full power. Part of the Black Mountains, Dante’s Peak is above 5,500 feet and a welcome cool respite from Zabriskie Point. Jeff whittled down his original hike plan to just the one-mile round trip from the parking lot to the peak. The cool breeze and the expansive view of Badwater’s salt flats brought me back to my happy place.

From Dante’s Peak looking down into Badwater Basin, the lowest point, and across to the Panamint Mountains and Telescope Peak, the highest point of Death Valley NP. Yes, we’re going down there AND up there.

Carolyn and Dolores

What’s that – one more hike today? Jeff’s research uncovered info for some little-known hikes, including Funeral Canyon. We drove back to Furnace Creek, filled up with water again, and found the trailhead (term used very loosely) at the Sunset Campground. Please note the time: 3:30 p.m. to begin an 8-mile hike.

The canyon began typically as a very wide washout, promising narrow slots and awesome/strange rocks to come. After about 20 minutes, I decided I’d rather chill/rest for tomorrow, so I bailed. Jeff gave me the car keys and they walked off into the wild. I went to the Death Valley Visitor Center.

At the VC I stood in front of the air conditioner for a (long) time, got my National Parks passport stamped and browsed the hiking books, ultimately buying Hiking Death Valley National Park (very useful in the days ahead). I had a long chat with the lady ranger, who did not want to give me advice about hiking in Badwater at this time of the year. She said it was dangerously hot and they steer people away from anything other than exploring the boardwalk there. I understood that she had to stick to a script, but it was frustrating to be stonewalled. I guess they get tired of rescuing people.

At the general store I got a sandwich and a COLD soda, then went back to the campground to wait for my valiant companions. With lots of time, I repacked my stuff, rinsed out socks in the bathhouse, read my book, and felt no remorse for opting out of the hike. They got off the trail about 7:10 p.m. and, yes, the hike was longer than they expected. I was fine with my 8.8-mile day. Jeff noted that we'd been in Death Valley only 24 hours and I'd already had my "town day."

Dinner at Furnace Creek Restaurant (no need for a fancy name when you’re the only one there) was excellent. Then we faced the hour-plus drive back to Thorndike Campground. I crawled into my tent at about 10:00 p.m., and before I could lie down I saw lightning flashes and heard rumbling coming over the mountain range, what turned into the most powerful storm I have ever encountered while in a tent. Dolores and Carolyn and I were tented close together, and Carolyn yelled that water was flowing swiftly underneath her. I said, “I’m not looking,” because I couldn’t do anything about it anyway, but I could see that my tent floor was squishing like a waterbed, too. I sat up with my little headlamp, constantly checking for leaks. The rain splashed hard enough on one side to plaster the rain fly to the netting, so I got a little wet, but for the most part it held up really well (Big Agnes Seedhouse 2). [Carolyn’s tent really was swamped and she renamed it “A River Runs Through It.” We moved it to level ground the next morning.]

Three quick lightning/thunder cracks directly overhead had me saying my prayers that the stunted tree over my tent wouldn’t lose any branches. There wasn’t much wind, but the rain pounded hard, and then the storm passed. There was more rain during the night.

Average annual rainfall in Death Valley: two inches. I guess that doesn’t include the mountains surrounding it.

In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks. ~ John Muir.

Here We Go Again

2011-10-04T13:10:00.001-04:00

Death Valley/Mt Whitney Trip – 9/9/11 – Arrival

Sitting safely at my dining room table today with a cup of coffee and my computer, it’s tempting to describe my latest adventures with words like epic, awe-inspiring, breathtaking, majestic, magnificent. Much of the time out there, though, the words in my head were more like exhausting, alarming, formidable, intimidating and wtf-was-I-thinking-when-I-agreed-to-this? Like every hike, it all sounded good on paper…

Another year, another National Park trip planned by my hiking buddy Jeff, this time to explore Death Valley National Park for a few days and then a backpacking trip to summit Mount Whitney, which straddles Sequoia National Park and the John Muir Wilderness. As usual, Jeff planned an ambitious and varied itinerary. The hook? Hiking to both the lowest and highest points of the lower 48 states. Sign me up.

Four travelers met at the Charlotte airport: Jeff, Carolyn, Dolores and me. Our travel day was long, connecting flights, finally arriving at Las Vegas, getting the rental car and maps. Next stop, a Super Wal-Mart to get food supplies for the week and a Sports Chalet to get fuel for backpacking stoves. Next, a 3+ hour drive west to Death Valley.

You've gotta love the Las Vegas airport

Coming from the land of small green-covered mountains, the moonscape of the desert was awesome but sobering. How does stuff live out here? And why do people live here? As we drove along we began to see the beauty of the colors of the desert.

The Timbisha Shoshone people have been here for hundreds of years. In 1849 the California Gold Rush enticed wagon parties of fortune seekers to try short-cutting through Death Valley, but only one wagon made it out. Accounts hold that as they left the valley one member of the party turned around and said “Goodbye Death Valley.” No postcards of “wish you were here.”

Our home base for the first four nights was at Thorndike Campground in the Panamint Mountain Range, the western side of Death Valley NP. It’s more than 30 miles from any settlement and the last few miles are rough gravel and there is no water at the camp. So why were we there? At 7,400 feet elevation we could at least sleep cool and comfortable after hiking in the 100+ degree heat. And about all we did there was sleep.

We got tents set up as the sun went down so we didn’t do much exploring of the camp- ground. We had the place to ourselves, though. Seemed like suddenly there I was, in a tent in the dark in the desert. Despite all the nights I’ve spent in a tent, why am I always off balance on the first night of a new adventure? I guess the anticipation of what’s coming. During the night I got up three times to pee (I hydrated well). The first two times the full moon was a bright spotlight. The third time it was pitch dark. Most noticeable was the absence of sounds – no bugs, no birds in the early morning, of course no water – just “deathly” quiet.

Welcome to Death Valley.

All I have seen teaches me to trust the Creator for all I have not seen. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Test Driving an Osprey Sirrus 24 Daypack

2011-09-29T15:21:00.009-04:00

I am in the market for a new daypack. My current one is small and has served me well, but it only holds the essentials for an average hike day. If the weather calls for an extra layer or two, I end up tying a micro fleece onto an outside strap. The side pockets are not adequate for holding an extra water bottle. Most of all, there is no hip belt, just a thin strap around my waist to keep it from falling off. My weekend backpack is an Osprey Aura 50, made for women, and I absolutely love it, so I’m test driving an Osprey daypack designed for women, the Sirrus 24. I’ve used it on a couple of hikes here in North Carolina and for all my dayhiking on my recent trip to Death Valley National Park in California.

Pros:

The airspeed suspension system featuring a tensioned stretch mesh back panel kept my back the coolest possible in 110-degree heat in Death Valley. I like this feature very, very much.

The alloy frame and hip belt serve their purpose to support weight on my hips. My old daypack simply hung from my shoulders.

Like my Aura 50, the hip belt has dual zippered pockets for quick access to camera, keys, maps, small snacks without stopping.

The right side harness has a zippered pocket just the right size and handy access for a cell phone (come on, you know you all carry one everywhere).

The size is right for winter dayhiking or carrying lots of water for super-hot summer dayhiking. Everything fits inside rather and no more snagging extra clothing on branches. The side mesh pockets are wide and deep enough to hold large water bottles.

A pack cover is included, so no extra cash for this essential piece of gear. Fortunately I have not had to use it yet.

There are lots of straps to tighten down your load top to bottom

Cons:

My main criticism is with the hydration sleeve: (1) The fabric is pulled so tightly over the top edge of the alloy frame that I find it a little difficult to insert a full hydration bladder into the sewn-in hydration sleeve. (2) The hydration sleeve can only be accessed from inside the main compartment, not top loading from the outside. (3) The top slash pocket is an additional obstacle. Any gear that I have stowed in the top slash pocket has to be removed so that I can flip the mesh pocket out of the way to access the hydration sleeve. I’d rather do without the slash pocket and be able to top load my hydration reservoir via its own zippered pocket.

Although I use trekking poles 95% of the time, the Stow on the Go trekking pole attachment (to carry your poles but have them accessible without taking off your pack) is not something I would use. On some of the desert hikes I chose not to carry poles at all, and with my arms hanging by my side as opposed to bent elbows with poles, the attachment rubbed against the inner part of my left upper arm quite a bit. If wearing a sleeveless shirt, this would have been intolerable. The literature calls this an attachment but it is sewn in permanently. I see where this feature would be attractive to some, but I would like some way to detach it short of cutting it off.

The pocket for the integrated rain cover is accessed by a zipper at the bottom of the pack and is actually quite large. Lots more can go in this pocket than the rain cover. However, since it is zippered at the bottom, I have to take the pack off and lay it flat to get at whatever is stowed there. If my hiking buddy unzipped it while I’m wearing it, everything would fall out. So I’ve put stuff in here that I hopefully don’t need often, like my first aid kit. The pack diagram explaining the features looks different than my pack, making me wonder if mine is an anomaly, if this pocket should be small and the pocket above it (accessed from a top zipper) should be larger. Sure would be nice if that were the case.

Bottom line: I’m keeping my new Osprey Sirrus 24 pack. I can adjust to the cons as matters of conven- ience. Most important to me is this pack is extremely comfortable to wear all day long and can hold more of what I need to carry. Maybe I’ll repurpose the top slash pocket for chocolate storage. That way at the end of the day it will always be empty.

I purchased this pack through www.appoutdoors.com.

The Spiders Are Winning

2011-09-25T19:42:00.003-04:00

SB6K Hike – 9/1/11 – Waterrock Knob/Lyn Lowry/Plott Balsam Mountains – 8.3 Miles

Jeff has hiked to the top of all of the SB6K’s, but for some reason (boredom? nice guy syndrome?) he offered to help me with a hike that I wouldn’t try solo, and of course I said yes. As a review, the SB6K Challenge is summiting a list of 40 mountains in the Southern Appalachians that are over 6,000 feet high. Today on our out-and-back trek we tried to tag Waterrock Knob, Lyn Lowry, Plott Balsam and Yellow Face Mountains, scored three out of four.

I left my cozy campsite in the Smokies and met Jeff at the Waterrock Knob Visitor Center parking lot on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Our hike began about 10:30 a.m. on this hot and hazy day.

The half-mile trail to Waterrock Knob’s summit is paved for a short distance and then a well-worn trough, a popular stop for BRP motorists stretching their legs. I climbed Waterrock Knob in 2009 when my husband Jim biked the BRP, but it doesn’t count as a SB6K summit unless it’s part of a five-mile hike. Challenges are challenges, rules are rules, and hikers are honest.

We spent just a few minutes at Waterrock Knob where the maintained trail ends and then we stepped off into manway territory. This is where my life fell into Jeff’s hands because I’m leery of navigating unmaintained trails. This one was tagged with orange and/or pink plastic tape at frequent intervals and I paid close attention because the trail was faint, especially in the dense vegetation of late summer. Trail tagging is technically a no-no but I’ll never complain.

Jeff found himself an efficient spiderweb catcher (also called a big branch.) He was so specific about the requirements for a good one that I made a video of his explanation and put it on YouTube - kind of a public service announcement. I’ve learned to accept spiderwebs in the face, but this hike turned out to have the most spiderwebs I’ve ever encountered so I was glad Jeff was willing to carry his weapon in front of me…I mean him.

Browning Knob was the next bump in the chain of mountains on our route, named for R. Getty Browning, a North Carolina engineer who convinced the powers-that-be to extend the southern end of the Blue Ridge Parkway through NC, not TN (thanks, R.G.). Browning Knob is also higher than 6,000 feet but isn’t part of the SB6K challenge (those rules again). Anyway, been there, tagged that.

The trail was extremely overgrown, crisscrossed with blackberry briers as tall as me, and we often couldn’t see the ground, just going by feel. Jeff expended some effort breaking back branches to make the return trip back easier. Me, I just slogged through. Three summits, three steep ups and downs (four if you count Browning Knob, which I guess I do), and fighting through the overgrowth much of the way – we call that a party.

Jeff on the trail

One of nature’s puzzles: when this tree blew over did the roots make the rock move?

We walked through a grassy open area, passing close by someone’s home, a reminder that many of the SB6K’s are on private property and we hikers must behave so as not to spoil the fun for others.

An intriguing structure - a viewing platform with a no trespassing sign and a box to hold information fliers

The second SB6K summit was Mount Lyn Lowry, named for a woman who died of leukemia. In her memory, her family installed an enormous lighted cross on the summit. (I read that the Reverend Billy Graham “presided over the dedication ceremony” in 1962.) I thought I knew what a big cross looked like but I certainly didn’t expect this.

A good place for a lunch break – I was past hungry by now. Jeff’s idea of peanut butter and crackers is different than mine.

The descent from Lyn Lowry was steep but I didn’t take much notice – it would be a shock on the return trip. Next up, the trail morphed into an old road bed with several intersections, no markings, but Jeff knew the combination of right, left, left. (See why I hike with him?) Along the road were muddy spots with animal prints, including this bear paw.

Our last summit, Plott Balsam Mountain, had a denser canopy and thus less dense undergrowth, but the manway was barely discernible. There were still orange tags to follow but they weren’t consistent. The simple rule to reach the summit is to just keep going up until Jeff’s GPS says we’re there.

And here I am at the nondescript summit, no view, just a small rock to stand on. Yay for me!

On the descent of Plott Balsam we played the “let’s see if Sharon can find her way back” game and I struggled a little looking for the faint trail and scattered orange tags. Jeff had to remind me that “descend” means “walk down.” Good practice for me.

As I said, that climb back up Lyn Lowry was very tough, no switchbacks, and the same going back up and over Browning Knob. And the industrious spiders and their offspring hatched since the morning were busily reconstructing their webs that we had destroyed on the first pass. I thought we’d never get back. The last couple of miles of the return were just pushing through briers, arms and legs scratched and bleeding. I like to call it combat hiking. Not only are you walking on uneven ground, you’re crouching to push through weeds or duckwalking under fallen trees or crawling up over rocks. What – you don’t think this is fun??

The Lyn Lowry cross from a distance

All total, 8.3 miles, nearly 3,000 feet ascent, 6.5 hours – we decided not to try summiting Yellow Face Mountain (on the opposite side of the Parkway from Waterrock Knob) today. Much more important was finding supper before my long drive home. You know you’ve had a tough hike when you have to wash the blood off your arms and legs before ordering a meal in a restaurant. I recommend Maggie Valley Restaurant (great grilled mountain trout and blackberry cobbler.)

“I see my path, but I don't know where it leads. Not knowing where I'm going is what inspires me to travel it.” ~Rosalia de Castro

To Everything There Is A Season

2011-09-23T19:59:00.005-04:00

8/31/11 - Clingmans Dome Bypass Trail/AT – 1.5 miles

Sshhhh…Smoky Scout has snuck away for an overnight in the Smokies.

My friend Jeff offered to hike with me to some hard-to-reach SB6K peaks, and it’s such a long drive that it only made sense to make it a two-day trip. Where else but my beloved Great Smoky Mountains? It was a perfect time to check out the new visitor centers and try out a new daypack. Packing up was simple and the drive felt like going home.

The new Ocona- luftee Visitor Center is outstanding with a mini- museum of interactive and kid-friendly displays about history and wildlife.

Next stop: the new Clingman's Dome Visitor Center, formerly known as the bathrooms (pit toilets have been added).

I was more than a little excited to be back on a Smokies trail, even if it was the Bypass Trail. I had a new Osprey daypack to test drive, too.

Forney Ridge Trail: recent work by Trails Forever

Hiking seemed like no effort: Was it the new pack? My increased strength? The bone dry trail condi- tions? Or was it this magic butterfly that flew alongside me for far longer than I expected, to the point that I began talking to it as I walked?

At the top of the Bypass Trail I turned right and followed the AT back to the paved Clingman’s Dome trail. At about 6:00 p.m. on a weekday, not much of a crowd. At the top I met a young couple from Michigan with a very nice dog (on a leash). They were staying in Cades Cove and were very excited about the Smokies. I mentioned that they might want to check about where dogs can go in the park; they said they were aware of the dog rules and had cleared it with the staff person in the VC.

A hazy late afternoon at Clingman’s

On the drive back down to camp I stopped at an overlook that I have always bypassed. In one corner of the parking area I spied one of those “Quiet Walkway” signs that I also usually ignore, so I decided to take a stroll. Apparently “Quiet Walkway” means “leave toilet paper here”.

I set up my little tent near the ranger station at Smokemont. The campground was mostly empty, perhaps 20 sites out of 142 sites occupied. The site next to mine was occupied by a loaded backpack and a hammock, no car, no other setup. As I staked out my tent, the occupant of the hammock gingerly stepped down and limped to the bathroom. On his way back he said hello, which I took as an invitation to ask what the heck happened to him. Turns out he was hiking the Benton MacKaye Trail with some friends and his knee gave out, so he was waiting for his wife to pick him up while his friends hiked on. Sometimes stuff happens.

In the excitement of packing to leave home I forgot to eat lunch and the only food I had with me was trail food, so I drove into Cherokee hoping for a decent supper. Cruising through town, I noticed that improvements had been made in many businesses and the place had a vibrant feeling. At Paul’s Restaurant I enjoyed a fantastic Indian taco (Indian fry bread with chili, cheese, tomatoes, onions) and the owner said that the town has spiffed up, replaced the elementary school, and things were going well. Oh, and I got an enormous slice of homemade coconut cake to go for breakfast (...but I ate it before I went to sleep.)

Back at Smokemont, there was still some daylight so I walked around the loops and inspected the sites I have reserved to bring back the Wild Women for more adventures in October. Sites look different in real life than they do on the websites – I decided to change them when I got back home.

I popped open my little camp chair, strapped on my head lamp and chilled in my campsite kingdom. The night air cooled down, the crickets tuned up and I could hear the calm, peaceful Oconaluftee River nearby. I read my daily devotion, which was Ecclesiastes 3:1-15, a time for everything, very appropriate. As the light faded I could see the outline of the mountains, never-changing and ever-changing, majestic, mysterious, comforting, a sanctuary.

Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares drop off like autumn leaves. ~John Muir

Mountains-To-Sea Trail Finale

2011-09-22T15:53:00.003-04:00

MST – Day 70 – 8-18-11 – FINALE – Cable Lands Access Eno River State Park to West Point of the Eno City Park – 8Miles

Funny how things that are a big focus of your life for a long time seem to end so suddenly: romances, beach vacations, high school, college, the Harry Potter series. You dream about them, you talk about them with everyone who will listen, you plan for them, you live them - and then they're over.

The Mountains-to-Sea Trail certainly did not turn out the way I envisioned when Danny Bernstein proposed our adventure two years ago. Starting at the westernmost point, hiking in consecutive sections towards the coast, sunny days, step by step…well, we did manage to hold to the hiking west to east part. Very soon after starting we abandoned the idea of hiking consecutive miles. Mother Nature in the form of a bad winter interfered and we didn’t want to wait, so we just planned around her. And although we walked all the trail miles together, Danny and I did not complete the trail at the same time as I imagined at the outset. She walked her last mile in May and I walked mine in August. Really, I feel like I “finished” the MST three times. The first time was when Danny and I walked to the top of Jockey’s Ridge, the eastern terminus of the trail at the Outer Banks, a very significant moment as our journey together ended. The second time was completing the biking miles with Jim. And the third was eight miles walking along the Eno River, a return to walking in the woods.

Joe Miller, whom I met in the backcountry of theSmokies nearly two years ago, is an outdoor writer based near Raleigh. Joe kindly agreed to hike the last section with me, and I could not have dreamed of a better partner, as he is thoroughly familiar with the miles along the Eno, including some not yet on my radar.

I met Joe and his friend Robert at West Point on the Eno Park in Durham, where we left two cars, and Joe drove to the newest 3.3-mile section between the Cabe Lands and Pump Station accesses (see Joe’s description here.) The guys were in training for an Ultimate Hike event and said they were comfortable with a 3-mph pace. Hmmm…I’m not sure I can keep that up, but here goes. Soon we were rocking and rolling up short but surprisingly steep climbs and I wondered aloud who had ordered the importation of small mountains to Durham. The conversation was as fast-paced as the walking (happens often when hikers get together with stories to swap) and the miles melted away. Very soon we reached Cole Mill Road and swung onto the MST section I had expected to hike.

Lots to see on the MST as it follows meandering Eno River, including reminders of human impact

Joe on footbridge

Another MST blaze with some ferocious poison ivy vines

A wall of rock – part of an old dam?

A pump on Pump Station Trail

A slow back- packer

Mill wheel

We crossed Guess Road and ducked back into the woods as part of West Point of the Eno Park. The trail split in several directions without a clear direction, and Joe’s intuition said to go right. Robert and I said left and were promptly proven wrong when we passed a guy’s driveway and walked out onto a road. Rather than backtrack, we cut cross-country and soon reconnected with our trail. (Joe never said I-told-you-so.)

The Eno River broadens into several wonderful swimming holes and on this weekday a fellow and his dog were playing hooky, splashing and kicking across a tiny pond. I paused to stick a hand in, thought about taking off my shoes, but we moved on.

Joe cools off

The eight miles went as quickly as any I’ve ever experienced, just a couple of quick pauses at intersections and no food breaks (but a 3-mph pace, thank you very much)…and then we were looking at the last MST white circle. How many have I passed? I’ve photographed quite a few.

And I have now completed the Mountains-to-Sea Trail, nearly 1,000 miles across North Carolina, #25 in a list of distinguished outdoor lovers. What a magnificent, challenging, unique adventure! Thank you to Danny and my husband, Jim, and to all the friends and FMST folks and trail builders and maintainers who made it possible.

Read Joe's story of my last hike here.

“Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end: then stop.” ~ Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

“Another turning point,
a fork stuck in the road

Time grabs you by the wrist,
directs you where to go…

It’s something unpredictable,
but then again is right

I hope you had the time of your life.”
~Green Day

Bike Finale

2011-09-07T18:27:00.002-04:00

MST – 8-14-11 – Day 69 – Strickland Road to US-13, Shine, NC – 43 Miles

Our hotel was packed with families in town for a big soccer tournament. We all gathered at the breakfast bar and peered out the windows at the pouring rain. Thank goodness for weather.com radar – it showed the storm moving through and a window of a few hours, then rain again possibly passing north of our bike route. This was my last day of biking on the Mountains-to-Sea Trail and nothing short of thunder and lightning would deter me. Sure would be nice to not get drenched, though.

Jim and I got a move on, drove to the beginning point and he dropped me off. Since today’s route was 43 miles I didn’t want to be solo the entire way, so rather than just drive slightly ahead, the plan called for Jim to drive to the halfway point and backtrack on his bike to meet me. Together we would ride to the car and then he would drive to the end, repeat.

So…I got chased by a posse within the first half-mile, two dogs who also alerted the one next door – a very disconcerting way to start the day. I do believe I could become a road cycling enthusiast if not for the dog issue. How can they bother me so much when I’ve hiked in the woods with bears? Well, because bears are not aggressive unless extremely provoked. The speed of the bike seems to trigger a dog’s instinct to chase – to bite also? Animals do what animals do and I am just not fast enough to outrun them. So with that early burst of speed juice in my veins I was on my way, but now I didn’t trust any house possibly harboring a crazy canine.

Part of the charm of riding on the back roads is local country stores. Early on this Sunday morning I stopped at Hornes Church Road Convenience Mart where some good old boys were gathered for a “pre-church” conference. The owner apparently didn’t have a no-smoking rule. I asked them if I was late for the meeting but they didn’t seem to get the joke – maybe they were thrown off by the bike shorts and helmet.

Beautiful stretches of morning glories in purples and pinks

What did we do before cell phones? Jim called to say he had gotten turned around and was worried about missing me while straightening out his detour. Even the car’s GPS plus written directions plus Map My Ride are not enough to stay updated with current conditions “on the ground”. In this case, Highway 795 had interrupted a road.

We met up before the detour that Jim had figured out. “Road Closed” signs for cars mean nothing to cyclists. We watched as work vehicles passed and then crossed the RR tracks and kept on going.

The halfway point in the town of Black Creek was sleepy on Sunday morning. I stayed for a little break while Jim drove on to the end point to repeat step 1. Black Creek boasts a lovely little town park with a community hall, playground, gazebo and (most important) unlocked bathrooms.

Black Creek police station

Small town pride – the local museum

No more dog chases today and I had a very pleasant ride. I saw different types of tobacco, burley and Bright leaf. There were also some lovely homes out here in the country, white picket fences, huge flowerbeds in the front yards. Most importantly, no rain appeared, just cloudy and overcast, actually great conditions although still muggy and warm. During the last hour the sun came out and the temperature rose and I got sunburned.

Tobacco harvest – the bottom leaves from each plant in the field are pulled at one time, then the harvesters go through again and pull the next bottom set.

Cotton bolls

Cemetery and red barn – right after I snapped the photo here I saw a large male deer go into the woods

Once Jim caught up to me again, though, I began complaining (when I’m alone there is no one to hear me) as I was becoming tired and the heat was increasing – poor guy, don’t you know he’s glad this is the last day? Although I knew I would make it, I appreciated having him as my coach counting down the last miles.

What a great feeling! My longest day (43 miles) and my last on the bike for the MST. Just one short hike to go.

“Life is a road and I want to keep going…in the end I want to be standing at the beginning with you.” ~Donna Lewis, At The Beginning

Adrenaline Boost

2011-09-07T14:36:00.000-04:00

MST – Day 68 – 8-13-11 – Albritton Crossroads to Hills Grove Holiness Church – 14 Miles

All right, boys and girls, it’s time to finish up the road biking of the Mountains-to-Sea Trail. Jim agreed to give up one last weekend to the cause. On Saturday afternoon we drove a million miles across North Carolina once again, this time trying a different tact for fuel efficiency. I was a little more confident of my biking abilities, so we elected to take just one car, Jim could drop me off and drive ahead and I’d bike alone a bit.

The weather forecast was unfavorable, thunderstorms, rain and intermittent rain showers. But if I didn’t do this now, my next chance would be months away. I was prepared to get wet. And we drove through a lot of rain, but for this brief ride the clouds parted and streaks of blue peeked out.

First I needed to complete the route that John J. and I had to cut short due to my flat tire. Today Jimmy D’s Restaurant was closed so I wasn’t able to thank Jimmy again for his help on that hot day. Now I had a repaired tire and only 14 miles to bike. Jim agreed to drive ahead of me to each turn so I wouldn’t have to worry about directions.

All fine and dandy except for one thing: dogs, bike chasing dogs, crazy barking bike chasing dogs.

Jim has outrun many a mutt in his cycling career and together we’ve out-maneuvered a few, mostly with me pedaling frantically and Jim putting himself between the animals and me until they give up after a brief race. But today, when Jim was out of sight, a large dirty white mongrel from Hell with black gums, pink tongue, yellow teeth and bloodshot eyes shot out of “his” yard on the left side of the road and began the chase. He was very persistent and there was no way I could outrun him. He sprinted alongside me on his side of the road, yelping and foaming, and whenever he began to cross over I would yell. He’d go back to his side but continue at my pace (which by this time was lightning speed – adrenaline is an amazing thing.) Cerberus chased me well beyond his property lines and I’m not sure what made him give up, but I lost a couple of years off my life from the encounter.

And there was Jim, calmly waiting at the next turn. But what could else I do? I couldn’t have him follow behind me in the car, trying to hit every dog that came running…could I?

Lovely country house – reminds me of my mother’s birthplace down the road from where I grew up

Bike route signs are prominent and helpful. Much of the MST on the roads follows bike routes.

Aside from the chase scene, I enjoyed the ride today. On a deserted stretch of road a massive flock of birds came up from behind me on my right side, flew overhead and spread out, sweeping left - a quiet, peaceful moment.

I finished the route in about 1-1/2 hours and we headed back to Goldsboro to fuel ourselves with BBQ for tomorrow’s biking finale.

A bicycle does get you there and more...And there is always the thin edge of danger to keep you alert and comfortably apprehensive. Dogs become dogs again and snap at your raincoat; potholes become personal. And getting there is all the fun. ~ Bill Emerson.

Croagh Patrick - Ireland

2011-09-06T16:10:00.005-04:00

Croagh Patrick – County Mayo, Ireland – 5 miles

In celebration of our 30^th wedding anniversary, Jim and I went on a 10-day trip to Ireland in July-August 2011. Jim has visited before but this was a first-time opportunity for me. Marathon planning sessions attempted to balance what Jim had experienced (and wanted to repeat) and what would be new to both of us. Not only were sightseeing and Guiness-drinking on the menu, but also our outdoor interests of hiking and biking. A plan was formulated and off we went. I won’t overwhelm you all with the details of logistics, driving on the “wrong” side of the road, farm animals and farm machinery, lodgings and full Irish breakfasts. Let’s talk about hiking up Croagh Patrick.

Croagh Patrick is a mountain (known locally as the “Reek”) rising 2,500 feet from the shores of County Mayo on the west coast of Ireland. It is bare of trees and the upper portion of the slope to the summit is loose rock scree. In the fifth century purportedly Saint Patrick fasted for 40 days at the summit (and then banned all the snakes from Ireland for good measure). On the last Sunday of each July there is a pilgrimage to Croagh Patrick, tens of thousands of participants from around the world. Part of that tradition is climbing the mountain barefoot. Our journey was on Friday, July 29, two days before the 2011 event.

First glimpse of Croagh Patrick

After a lengthy, circuitous drive to the base of Croagh Patrick (i.e. our GPS got us lost) we got a late start. I had my trusty hiking poles and Jim “rented” a walking stick in the parking lot (6 euro, 3 returned if the stick is returned). The weather was outstanding, light clouds but plenty of sunshine, and we were not the last people going up. It’s 2.5 miles and 2,500 feet to the summit, a moderately serious climb, I thought to myself. I underestimated a bit.

Statue of Saint Patrick

The path is impossible to miss, as wide as a two-lane road at the lower portion, with plenty of boulders to step around and over, ascending beside a small stream. Erosion is extensive and new, narrower paths are being worn past the outer edges of the main track. No trees, plenty of grass on the mountainside, and we spotted the requisite sheep and goats in the distance. People of every description, very young children running ahead, grandmotherly types holding onto crooked elbows of hiking companions, one man carrying a brown paper bag by its handle (what is in that?) and young couples holding hands joined the flow up the mountainside. This first mile-and-a-half of the route goes over a smaller mountain, somewhat like a low shoulder of Croagh Patrick itself. It grew surprisingly steep and conversation began to dwindle as hikers began to conserve (suck) wind for the climb. The sun was warm and my low back began to tingle (could that be from my fall in the Black Mountains two weeks ago?)

Always remember to look back over your shoulder - Clew Bay

This section of the trail topped out over- looking the next valley and this tarn, around which people apparently could not resist leaving evidence of their passage. My hiking buddy Jeff would definitely dislike this (he disapproves of rock cairns or anything suggesting human presence).

Jim on the ridge

For a half-mile the path moved gently enough along the ridge as the final ascent up the back side of Croagh Patrick came into view.

What I saw was this precar- iously steep, rock- strewn slope unbroken by vegetation of any kind, with a worn track along one edge. Loose rocks larger than my foot covered the mountainside. One website I read later described the angle as 55 degrees and I believe it. How do you keep from sliding off the mountain? Prayer. My nerves were rattled enough going up – coming down was going to be insane. I’ll admit, I briefly considered turning around.

Jim on the crazy slope

The only barefoot person I saw today

One foot in front of the other, jockeying for position as people passed going down, I climbed up to the top. I have done some tough hikes in my life and I’ve learned to go very, very slowly on steep paths. Fellow hikers were very social, exchanging words of encouragement and/or words of commiseration at the shared experience.

Nearly two hours after starting, Jim and I stood on the top of Croagh Patrick.

At the summit is a small chapel built in 1905. I can only imagine what it must be like to attend worship here on Reek Sunday, certainly very moving after so much physical exertion.

Jim and I hung out for awhile, getting our photo taken and helping others get theirs. We met one large family gathered to celebrate a wedding the next morning.

At last it was time to risk life and limb going down the mountain. This is where hiking sticks were essential, to stop yourself from sliding too far. A huge surprise: I found that my footing on the worn path with the tiny loose gravel was extremely slippery and walking on the big rocks was easier (the big rocks only slipped a little bit). I “rock-surfed” most of the way down the crazy steep section.

Past the level section, I started down the final descent a little too cocky. Probably my legs had gotten tired and I was not as cautious as I should have been. Anyway, on the last section down I fell solidly three times. The last time I’m afraid the curse words in my head found their way out of my mouth because I got a few chuckles from those around me. My sore lower back hurt with every step. It took nearly the same amount of time to come down as it did to ascend this awesome mountain. I was exhausted and ecstatic.

So if you’re ever in Ireland, be sure to visit Croagh Patrick. It may not be the highest mountain you ever climb, but it is a unique experience that will only get better with the telling.

A fantastic video of hiking up Croagh Patrick is here. You simply must see it!

“Here I am, safely returned over those peaks from a journey far more beautiful and strange than anything I had hoped for or imagined - how is it that this safe return brings such regret?” ~Peter Matthiessen

Gimme A Sign

2011-09-05T15:07:00.001-04:00

MST – Day 67 – 7-21-11 – Highway 13 to Highway 11 – Albrittons Crossroads – 24.2 Miles

Today’s heat index was forecast to reach 104. John and I met at our ending point (Hills Grove Holiness Church) just as the sky was lightening, left a car, and drove to our start point about 38 miles away in Shine, NC (Hwy 13). We hoped to finish by 11:30 a.m. to beat the heat. I felt conflicted about whether to do the ride or not. I had driven a very long way and spent the night, but was it safe to do this in such hot conditions? John’s the kind of guy who will honor a commitment even if it’s unpleasant. Should I just let him off the hook? I needed a sign.

Well, the morning started out reasonably cool so maybe it would be okay. And John brought his recumbent bike, much easier on him. So at 7:20 a.m. I started out in the lead because I had the turn-by-turn directions. The road was flat and there were very few cars. John was great about calling out “car back” when a car was approaching to pass us.

I never tire of seeing these old buildings and farm equipment - reminiscent of my growing up. I didn’t live on a farm, but several of my uncles were farmers (mostly tobacco). I lived just down the road and I spent a lot of time at their places. I never was required to work in tobacco during the summer, but all my male cousins and friends and my brother did, and I can even remember my mom going to help out from time to time when I was very young. I remember tobacco slides pulled by mules, hand-tying the leaves to the sticks, hanging them in the barns to cure. A by-gone era.

Flowers on tobacco plant

Entering the town of LaGrange, I felt I was working harder than I should, and John said my rear tire appeared to be flattening. We stopped to check it out and sure enough, it was losing air. I had an extra tube but no pump. John had a pump but the connection was not the right size. Well, maybe if we speed up we can get it over with.

We were pedaling through a pretty countryside and the air was heating up, but we didn’t feel the need to stop as often as yesterday. On a road lined with tall corn on both sides, an enormous piece of farm equipment appeared around a bend, with wide-set tires spreading across the pavement – looked like something out of Transformers. It could have passed over a house. The farmer waved and chugged on by.

At Living Waters Fellowship Church we stopped to fill up water bottles from spigots at the front of the building. We knew about this from a note in Scot Ward’sbook. He notes many water sources on the road route and this is the first time I had used one. It’s great information to have.

My tire was getting flatter – what to do? We kept at it, not stopping to take photos, but after about 8 more miles I decided that I couldn’t continue. We stopped at Jimmy D’s restaurant at Albritton’s Crossroads, a busy place on a weekday morning as they prepared their hot food bar for the lunch rush for local workers (no fast food chains out here).

We went inside and sat in the air conditioning to determine what to do. It was 10:00 a.m. and we were about 13 miles from our end point. John offered to continue on alone to his vehicle, but I was concerned about him biking alone in the heat. Looked like it was time to bum a ride.

I asked a fellow waiting on his takeout order if he would take John back to his van while I stayed behind with the bikes. The patron couldn’t help us but suggested we talk to the owner, Jimmy. Hitching a ride 13 miles in the country is a big request, but Jimmy stopped his work, loaded our bikes in his pickup and both of us in the front seat and took us back to Hills Grove Holiness Church – the truest kind of trail angel. He reminded me of my cousin Sammy (one of those boys growing up on the tobacco farm), kind, friendly, willing to help out a neighbor or a stranger in any way.

John and I called it quits - no sense in trying to pump up the tire and complete the route. God thought it was too hot for us to be out there and I was not inclined to argue. As John drove me back to my car, we talked about what makes people engage in outdoor adventures and, conversely, what prevents people from them. Our conclusion: it’s not so much in your physical ability as it is your mental attitude. You've got to be okay with being physically uncomfortable when working towards a goal.

I turned the air on full blast and headed for home. Along the way I passed tobacco fields and workers pulling the bottom leaves, wearing long sleeves, long pants, bandannas over noses and mouths.

“If you want to keep going, you’ve got to keep going.” ~ John Jaskolka, age 82.

Do You Get "The" Discount?

2011-09-02T20:38:00.002-04:00

MST – Day 66 – 7-20-11 – Hills Grove Holiness Church to Pleasant Hill AME Zion Church – 22.2 Miles

Wanted: New biking partner for road sections of the Mountains-to-Sea Trail east of Goldsboro, NC.

John Jaskolka, FMST board member, trail builder and maintainer, hiking and biking fool, responded to my email in spite of the fact that it was mid-July and hotter than…well, you know. John is busier in retirement than he ever was in his career, I’ll bet. He lives in Eastern NC and his flexibility allowed me to get some more road miles in during the week rather than encroaching on Jim’s limited weekend time. So John and I made plans.

We met on this Wednesday afternoon at Pleasant Hill AME Zion Church about 8 miles west of New Bern, where Jim and I had started our New Bern weekend back in March. I was surprised to see John’s car loaded with a hybrid bike. He normally rides a recumbent bike, but he thought he’d try out the hybrid today.

We drove the bikes over to Hills Grove Holiness Church off of Burkett Road and cautiously started out. Did I mention it was hot? At least our route wasn’t complicated - Old U.S. 70 most of the way, the flattest, straightest road yet, paralleling RR tracks on the way to New Bern.

We soon found out that we had to share the road with trucks coming and going from the Tuscarora landfill, where an expansion is underway (so LOTS of trucks). They were much larger than dump trucks but the drivers were very conscientious of us itty bitty cyclists.

We also passed the Tuscarora Game Lands lookout tower, which Scot Ward’s book notes to “climb for good views.” We didn’t stop, but John said he didn’t think climbing the tower was allowed.

Local farms were generally flourishing with corn, tobacco, soybeans and cotton.

Healthy corn

Tobacco

Cotton

The heat was so intense, John and I had to stop every 3-5 miles to drink water and cool off. At a convenience store in Cove City we stopped for Gatorade. I stood in front of the air conditioner for so long I thought I’d have to start paying rent.

I could tell John’s hybrid was uncomfortable for him because he kept shaking out his hands, not used to having them in the position of leaning on them. My recurring thought was, “How are we going to do this for 40 miles tomorrow?” But we paced ourselves, stopped often, and cheered when Pleasant Hill AME Zion Church came into view. We made our plan to meet at the crack of dawn tomorrow and hopefully beat the heat.

After John and I parted ways, I drove back to the Cove City convenience store for more Gatorade (preparing for tomorrow) and chatted with the owner (also named John, and not to be confused with his son, John Paul, who was running the cash register on our first stop). We had a nice visit and he commented on how he thinks it’s always important to say hello at a country store, because you want people to remember you if you ever are in need of help. Good advice all the way around, I think.

I also stopped at the lookout tower and, sure enough, they don’t want you going up there.

I checked into my little hotel and blasted the AC, got cleaned up and went out for something to eat. At the end of my meal I asked for the check and the sweet young waitress asked me if I get “the” discount. Now, would that be the discount for being over a certain age or for being an amazing active outdoor woman? You decide.

Cycling is like church. Many attend, but few understand. ~Jim Burlant

Some People Think Mudslide Means a Cocktail

2011-09-02T13:12:00.007-04:00

SB6K Hike – 7-16-11 – Woody Ridge Trail/Black Mountain Crest Trail/Colbert Ridge Trail – 10.2 Miles

Another crazy Sherpa hike with the Bergs – didn’t we just do this? Several objectives this time out: bagging three SB6K peaks and getting in shape for hiking to the summit of Mount Whitney in September. Yeah, yeah, that MST thing is still going but there’s so much other fun stuff to do…

Seven hikers drove through the misty morning chanting, “Please don’t pour down rain today.” It may have been steaming hot in the Piedmont but you can count on the Black Mountains of NC to be cool and often damp. We set up our short shuttle and started up the Woody Ridge Trail. The woods were very wet and the breeze shook the trees and made it “rain” but no big deal.

Steven’s duct tape gator enhancers. He’s not taking any chances with wet feet.

The Woody Ridge Trail starts off a little steep, gets more steep, then gets ridiculous. And still nature’s simplest offerings are amazingly beautiful:

Turk’s cap lily (warning: lots of these throughout the post)

Another view of Turk’s cap lily

Indian pipe, always a great discovery, a ghostly plant that lacks chlorophyll

Dampness highlights the spiderwebs

Rhodo- dendron were bustin' out every- where today

About 1.7 miles up, after I realized that crawling up over boulders was not going to be unusual, we caught our breath beside this 30-foot rock wall. David M told a story of hiking up this trail once, seeing how difficult it was, camping here overnight and then walking back down the next morning. Then Jeff says it’s about to get steep for real.

A beautiful view, I’m told

More Turk’s cap lilies - I can't resist photo- graphing them. Unlike most wild- flowers, they are huge bright and showy. And they have freckles like me!

How tough was this trail? It took us 2.5 hours to climb 2.2 miles up to the intersection with the Black Mountain Crest Trail. Normally this crowd hikes at 2+ mph. The wet conditions made us cautious but nobody was goofing off. It was just plain hard work getting up there.

Which made the lunch break so satisfying, resting on a big sloping rock, whiteout views. Everyone else had been here except me and they described what I was missing in glowing terms. Will I hike up here again someday to see it? Probably.

Sitting still for a little while got us chilled enough to put on the warm fuzzies – Steven and Carolyn

Three SB6K peaks today: Celo Knob, Gibbes Mountain and Winter Star. We turned right on the BMCT and hiked about a mile out to the manway to Celo Knob. (Jamie and David M chose to continue on the route and we’d catch up with them at Deep Gap.) The manway was faint but Jeff and his GPS got us to the summit. In celebration, Steven played taps on his recorder and Carolyn joined in on harmonica.

One down, two to go. The fun is only just beginning.

We back- tracked on the Black Mountain Crest Trail, continued westward past our intersection with Woody Ridge, and reached the point for our off-trail scramble to Gibbes Mountain. Jeff and I were going up – who else was in? Everybody. No manway this time, just blind faith in the almighty Jeff. We ducked, crawled and crept our way to the top and stood on a big rock that he declared the summit. Then we ducked, crawled and slid our way back down, dirty, muddy, covered in leaf litter. Once you give yourself up to it, it’s kinda fun to get dirty. This detour took over 30 minutes.

Two down, one to go, a-quiver with anticipation.

The Black Mountain Crest Trail is a roller coaster of ups and downs, rock scrambles, and today mud slides were on special. Everyone slipped, some more than once, and a couple of times it was hiker bowling as one person slid into another. I think Carolyn is the only one whose butt didn’t make contact with the ground. Needless to say, we didn’t gain any time on this section.

During this part, for some reason I looked at my left hand and noticed all my rings were missing. I had a sick five-minute panic attack of thinking that they had come off when I removed my gloves going up Celo Knob – a bad, bad feeling in my heart. Poor Jeff listened as I talked to myself about what could have happened. Finally I realized I must have removed them while working at my computer the day before and left them at home. (PS – I was right.) So my record of crying on Jeff’s tough hikes continues.

A muddy challenge – by foot or by butt?

A rope? You’ve got to be kidding me. Show us how it’s done, Carolyn.

A view, better late than never

Hallelujah – the summit of Winter Star is an easy one, just a few steps off the trail to a U.S. Survey marker

Three down – a good day’s work.

Love vine - winds itself around other plants

More Turk’s cap lilies

Underside of Turk’s cap lilies

At Deep Gap we met back up with Jaime and David M to begin the long, steep 4-mile descent down the Colbert Ridge Trail (what goes up must go back down). Slippery going up is one thing, but slippery going downhill calls for extra caution. We’ve often had conversations of how difficult a rescue would be in remote areas like this. But in one quick movement, I slipped off of a large boulder and landed solidly on my low back. I had to catch my breath (so did everyone else, I think) and needed help to get up. I’m lucky I didn’t crack my skull on the rock - my daypack saved me from that. My back felt extremely sore and I gingerly walked the rest of the way. Thank goodness the trail leveled out for the last mile. For weeks afterwards, certain movements and postures were painful. (Yoga classes were not fun.)

Altogether, it took us 9 hours to do a 10-mile hike, the most technically difficult hike I’ve done (I’ll be revising that statement soon). At least I wasn’t driving (thank you, David B) and could sit in the back seat and relax my back. Whew!

(Note: I moan and complain about the difficulty of these hikes sometimes, but I know that you only get better when you challenge yourself. I feel a swelling in my chest, a sense of such accomplishment when I successfully complete one of these hikes, and I just want to go out and tackle another one.)

When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on. ~Franklin D. Roosevelt

Lightly Toasted Hikers

2011-08-29T14:52:00.005-04:00

Chimney Rock & Bearwallow Mountain Fire Tower – 7-4-11 – 7 Miles?

For as long as I can remember my mother’s family has held a reunion on July 4, no matter what day of the week it fell on. My mother was one of 16 children and 4 are still living today (I have dozens of first cousins). At 1:00 p.m. the lids come off the casserole dishes and we feast on childhood memories of fried chicken, country ham, yeast rolls, meatballs, squash casseroles, tomatoes and cucumbers in vinegar, green beans, butter beans, baked beans, mac and cheese, congealed salads, tossed salads, broccoli salads, seven-layer salads, coconut cake, chocolate pie, pecan pie, sweet tea and lemonade. After we eat, the families of each sibling stand and introduce themselves and we take photos like the papparazi. Some years there are more than 150 people. From my age 10 to age 45 this reunion happened at my parents’ house in Virginia. When my mother died, my aunts stepped in and carried on at the church fellowship hall.

This year the reunion date was changed to Saturday, July 2, a bold move. Good news, it increased attendance. Also, the torch was passed from the aunts to my cousin Libby, who will do an excellent job of keeping the tradition alive. But why am I telling you this?

On July 4^th I was free to go hiking.

Where to go on a hot, hot national holiday? There will be crowds everywhere. Jim and I decided on Chimney Rock State Park at Lake Lure. We hadn’t been there since our kids were elementary school age. Danny Bernstein includes a Chimney Rock hike in her book, Hiking North Carolina's Blue RidgeHeritage. We left home at 7:30 a.m. to beat the crowds.

Chimney Rock Park was privately owned for decades but in 2007 was purchased by the state and is now a North Carolina State Park. NC state parks are usually free, but Chimney Rock SP has many improvements and charges a fee to offset its additional costs. There are two parking areas, one right after the fee station and a second one farther up the mountain where it’s just a short walk to the elevator (yes, elevator) that takes visitors even closer to the summit. There are also shuttle buses that run from the lower parking lot to the second lot.

Jim and I were the first people in the lower lot and we were hiking up. Ha!

The Four Seasons Trail started out as a stroll and we flushed out a bunch of wild turkeys. Then the trail began to climb. And what’s with the stairs? Hundreds of wooden steps. A lot has changed in 15 years, I guess. The heat was rising and I was panting a little harder than I wanted to let on. Jim, Mr. Cyclist with the enormous calf muscles, was chillin’.

At the Hickory Nut Falls Trail we turned right and walked a half mile to the falls. Not much water but an awesome rock face.

Rainbow effect at the bottom of the falls. Please note, I am not a fan of climbing on waterfalls. It’s easy to walk over and stand at the base of this one as it falls into a large pool.

From the falls we backtracked to the beginning of the stairs and started going up, up, up – I stopped counting after a while. I thought to myself, “This is not hiking.” At the top of this set of steps the crowd swirled around us and we became part of the flow up to Chimney Rock. Side trails to features like Pulpit Rock, the Grotto and the Subway were closed so we could not follow Danny’s hike as written. And guess what??? The elevator was closed too! There were a lot of people that don’t normally climb that many stairs and I was gasping right along with them. Why was this kicking my butt so hard? The heat and humidity were a killer combination and I had to stop more than once.

Jim and I stood on Chimney Rock with the 4^th of July revelers, but the best photos were from the Opera Box feature.

Town of Chimney Rock

Iconic view of Chimney Rock with the American flag – a great place to be on Indepen- dence Day

Chimney Rock with the town and Lake Lure in the background

We continued upward on the Skyline Trail towards the summit called Exclamation Point (hundreds more steps). We came across a teenage couple, the boy’s iPhone in his hip pocket playing tunes, the girl complaining. She lay down on a wooden bridge and proclaimed that she would only walk seven more minutes and the top had better be there. As we passed them we wondered what the boy thought he was owed for putting up with her whining.

At Excla- mation Point, a magni- ficent view of Hickory Nut Gorge and westward toward Bearwallow Mountain, our next hike of the day. We took a long break to eat and cool off.

The teenage couple made it to the summit, the girl panting loudly and the boy rolling his eyes. I sweetly told the girl to sit down, drink something, eat something, and in ten minutes she would feel great and very proud to have made such an achievement when she could have been sitting lazily beside a pool. Sure enough, soon she was all smiles and Jim took their photo to show their triumph. She said, “I climbed a mountain today.”

Park employees were everywhere, including one hanging out beside a stone step where a juvenile copperhead snake had taken up residence. At various points on the stairs employees were stationed with 5-gallon coolers of water and visitors were sitting everywhere, trying to cool off.

On the way back down we checked out Devil’s Head

Devil’s head close-up

Going back down was much easier than going up. By now people were standing in line to go up the steps, lots of children, dogs being carried. It was great to see folks being active and enjoying their public lands…but we were glad to be leaving.

In the town of Chimney Rock we searched for soft drinks, found Nehi Orange and Sun Drop in 12-oz glass bottles – a real treat!

Ready for another hike? How about the Bearwallow Fire Tower?

Jim and I continued west on Hwy 64 past the town of Bat Cave, searching for Bearwallow Mountain Road, easily found using directions from Peter Barr’s book Hiking North Carolina’s Lookout Towers. At the trailhead we grabbed our packs and felt drops of rain, which we ignored. Past the gate on the gravel road we saw a sign for a trail to the right with a white diamond blaze. It looked brand new, but we were not sure…so we stuck with the gravel road. It’s just a mile walk up to Bearwallow Fire Tower.

After two minutes the rain started in earnest and thunder rumbled – what to do? We decided to continue to the edge of the bald and then wait to see if the storm got worse or blew on over.

At the bald, the rain had ceased and the sky lightened so we kept walking. The gravel road curved widely around a large antenna field and the fire tower, passing a white diamond blaze and a freshly dug trail on the right that went into the trees. We made a note to go back that way and I left my hiking poles at the intersection.

The fire tower was fenced off and the gate was seriously padlocked, plus a no trespassing sign, so no climbing today. This is technically private land so visitors must not screw it up for everybody else. We didn’t hang around.

When I took this photo of Jim I was focusing on the rows of mountains to the left; meanwhile, on the right the sky was darkening again. Suddenly behind us I sensed a flash, followed immediately by a tremendous crack of thunder – and there we are standing in the middle of an open bald. My heart nearly stopped.

Jim grabbed my hand to run but I yelled for us to separate – the only good sense thing I remember. We sprinted for the woods when we probably should have crouched down in the ditch. No more loud thunderclaps after that, but the wind whipped up and some rain came down. Yikes, I felt like such an irresponsible hiker. We had not left any hike plans with anyone, so if our butts had been toasted up there on Bearwallow Mountain it would have been a while before anyone knew it.

The white blaze trail led us back to the car, several switchbacks and not really shorter, but a really great trail, and of course we felt protected from the weather. I was glad to see the car and change into dry clothes. Like I always say, even the simplest hike can be quite an adventure!

“Thunder is good, thunder is impressive, but it is lightning that does the work.” ~Mark Twain

Hump Mountain Sherpa Hike

2011-08-27T17:46:00.016-04:00

Hump Mountain – Appalachian Trail – 6-25-11 ~ 18.3 miles

An intriguing post on my local hiking group’s meetup page:

Hike: 19.2 miles (+/-) and 4,600 ft. elevation gain

Difficulty rating: very difficult

Ok, sherpas…this is THE mega hike of the year! We will start at Carvers Gap... our destination: Hump Mtn. This is an out & back with a 2.2 mile "side trip" to Big Yellow Mtn (bald with beautiful views) so luv muffin can bag another peak. We will also stop at Overmountain Shelter... very cool barn & a great place to snack. Your effort will be rewarded with beautiful views on many balds along the way... one of my favorite hikes!

As always, we will stop to snarf dinner on the way back to Charlotte.

Bring LOTS of water & LOTS of snacks... this hike will burn LOTS of calories. And please bring a headlamp/flashlight just in case.

Impossible to resist! I had not hiked with the sherpas since January’s Yellow Mountain fire tower hike (different one) and the MST was no longer challenging elevationwise, so I signed up for this very long day. Remember, the AT is not close to Charlotte. We met at 7:00 a.m., drove 2+ hours to Carver's Gap, and we were on the trail by 10:00 a.m. After all our years of hiking I don’t know why we were surprised when we got out of the car and it was freezing. Don’t ever unpack your fleece, gloves and hat.

Sherpa hikers ready to move

Carver’s Gap sign has taken a few bullets

Didn’t take long to warm up – first climb, Round Bald

If you want to impress somebody with the AT in North Carolina, this is the section to do that. Wide open balds, 6,000-foot peaks, twirling Julie Andrews style hiking. And our timing was good for some stunning wildflowers.

Flame azaleas

Made more stunning by Carolyn and me standing beside them

Gray’s lilies

Mountain ash

Bee balm

Spiderwort

Phlox?

Jeff and Carolyn taking flower photos

The trail passed over Round Bald and Jane Bald, skirted past Grassy Ridge Bald (a short side trip for another day) and then dipped back into the trees for a few miles. We paused at Stan Murray Shelter and then quickly pressed on. The sherpas were in high gear today.

Another couple of miles brought us to Overmountain Shelter, by trail standards a luxurious hiker haven. The name derives from the Overmountain Victory Trail that intersects the AT here, the path followed by the Overmountain Men who traveled over the Appalachians to join the Patriot forces and marched down to Kings Mountain, NC to fight the Loyalists in 1780. The Battle of Kings Mountain is considered a turning point in the Revolutionary War. Danny and I intersected the Overmountain Victory Trail a couple of times during our MST hiking.

Sleeping loft of Overmountain Shelter

Covered area for cooking

Lunch break

As we were packing up to leave I took out my camera for some scenic shots. When I turned it on I heard a gritty grinding noise that made my stomach fall. Standing beside me, Jeff heard it too. The lens wouldn’t move and I held a useless (new) camera in my hands. And right then Matt took this photo.

We messed around with the camera but couldn’t budge the lens, so I put it away. The rest of the photos from the hike are Jeff’s (well, and a couple of Matt’s and Cathy’s…stolen from their FB pages.)

View of Overmountain Shelter from the AT (tiny dot in the center)

The trail climbed up from Overmountain Shelter…and up and up over Little Hump Mountain. Little Hump did not seem so little. And at the top of it we could see the real destination – Hump Mountain (center of photo).

I was beginning to question whether my legs would make it the full distance of this hike. It wasn’t particularly technical but the up-and-down was making me tired…and we weren’t even halfway done yet. This was also a “comeback” hike for Matt and he was working it hard. And Matt had done this hike before so he knew what was coming. On the back side of Little Hump Mountain the trail switchbacked down into the trees again, then back out into the open down to Bradley Gap.

These jaw- dropping views kept us going – Grand- father Mountain

Hawksbill and Table Rock (cat's ears formations slightly to the left of center)

Roan High Knob on the far right

Matt warned me that Hump Mountain has a false summit – you’re hiking towards a point, and when you reach it you see beyond it to the real summit, still a long way to go. This stile was a signal that we were “getting closer.”

At the summit of Hump Mountain we took a long, long break. Not every day on the trail is this clear and we soaked it up. Thanks be to God for the good health and good friends and appreciation for the outdoors that brought us here today! I had consumed a lot of water and it wasn’t doing the trick. Steven offered me a giant Gatorade that tasted sweeter than anything on earth and I drank most of it right on the spot. At last we stood up, shouldered our packs and turned around.

Going down Hump Mountain was much faster and I flattered myself in taking the lead for this short bit. Then we climbed Little Hump Mountain in reverse, most of the group in front of me and Jeff. As we came out of the trees we looked across the bald and saw the trail, realizing that we could cut across the bald and bypass the switchbacks to the summit. Now, this is something we would not normally do and I can’t say what came over me…but I followed Jeff.

When everyone caught up we reached an unmaintained side trail to Big Yellow Mountain that Jeff intended to summit (Jeff is a peakbagger extraordinaire). I had already decided to bypass this since I was skeptical of my legs holding out. Matt opted to continue back with me while the remainder of the group succumbed to the challenge and went with Jeff, adding another 2 miles to their hike. I regret nothing.

So Matt and I had a great getting-to-know you chat for the hike back, making the miles go faster as we jumped from topic to topic, mostly hiking and then child-rearing. We stopped at Stan Murray Shelter for a good break, but by now we were pretty wiped out and ready to end. Still a couple of miles to go and we toughed it out. Mike, David and Cathy caught up to us before we reached the parking lot.

In total the hike took 10 hours – we finished at 8:00 p.m. Matt and I did 18.3 miles, 4,700 feet elevation gain. The rest did 20.7 miles, 4,900 feet total elevation gain.

And our biggest challenge was finding a place to eat! The mountain towns shut down by 9:00 p.m. on a Saturday. Cathy gave up and fell asleep in the back seat while we searched for food. That Hardee’s turkey burger in Marion sure was good. Eighteen hours after I left, I returned home to my soft bed.

One may go a long way after one is tired. ~French Proverb