Sunday, April 21, 2019

Benton MacKaye Trail: Heart of Darkness


Benton MacKaye Trail in NC – Heart of Darkness: Beaverdam Bald/Sledrunner Gap to Waucheesi Bald – 6/22/18 – 10+ Miles


Say the words “I’m thinking about hiking on the Benton MacKaye Trail” and you’ll hear: “What’s that?” more frequently than “I’ve always wanted to do that!” Less well known than its sexy older sibling, the Appalachian Trail, nevertheless the BMT deserves attention and respect.

It’s a 300-mile trail through the Southern Appalachians, named for the man who co-founded the Wilderness Society and envisioned a footpath from Georgia to Maine now known as the Appalachian Trail. MacKaye originally favored following the western crest of the Blue Ridge, but the AT ultimately was located to the east of this area. The Benton MacKaye Trail, built between 1980 and 2005, roughly follows MacKaye’s proposed route, lightly traveled and seriously rugged. The BMT and the AT intersect in several places, near its southern terminus at Springer Mountain and again at its northern terminus at Big Creek in Great Smoky Mountains National Park, forming a grand loop for those inclined to sample both. Check out the Benton MacKaye Trail Association.

The BMT blaze is a white diamond shape, a rarer sight than the AT white rectangle blaze. The BMT passes through wilderness areas where blazes are not used, and on occasion it coincides with old sections of the AT and old rectangle blazes can be confusing. The section that challenged us for four days closely follows the TN-NC state line atop the ridgeline. From our first steps on our first day on the BMT, we realized that this wasn’t going to be just a walk in the woods.

I proposed a plan to my hiking friend Mike of four days in June on the Benton MacKaye Trail, knowing that he would critique, second guess, tweak and ultimately improve upon my plan. Sure enough, he didn’t like my idea to start at the beginning in Georgia.  He made a case for hiking at higher elevations to beat the heat, then sweetened the deal by offering to provide shuttling for dayhiking rather than backpacking. My friend Carol signed on too. Rather than basing in a campground, Mike rented the Donley Cabin in Cherokee National Forest ($35/night, National Forest Service). Check out the history of the cabin here and the rental information here.

Carol and I left Charlotte at 6:00 a.m. on Friday morning to meet Mike at Stratton Ridge Overlook on Cherahala Skyway, west of Robbinsville, NC. After five hours of serious driving, we arrived by 11:00 a.m., Mike soon after.

We settled at a picnic table for lunch and Mike gave us his suggestions. He’d been in the area since the day before, driving all the forest roads, checking out trail access points, if gates were open, road conditions, parking. That kind of advance work is invaluable and Mike enjoys the logistical problem solving and matching what’s on the ground with what’s on a map. You’ve got to be flexible when he’s on your team or be steadfast when he lobbies for changes but you like it the way it is. Oftentimes he’s right (just don’t tell him I said that). Part of the scoop was his observation that it rains every afternoon, sometimes violent thunderstorms, so we should take that into account for distances and timing.

First stop: Donley Cabin during daylight to get our bearings. Since we weren’t backpacking, we’d packed heavy with coolers and real food, extra clothes (thank goodness, we would need them) and I even brought my pillow. 

In a warren of forest roads, we parked at a pull-off beside the North River and sorted gear to walk a quarter-mile to the cabin.  [This is when Mike told us he’d be sleeping in his converted van.] Three water crossings, the first on a sturdy bridge, the second on a primitive log with a cable strung as a railing, a third small seep, and a bit of uphill took us back more than a century.


Set in a small clearing, Donley Cabin pre-dates the Civil War.  It consists of two rooms side by side, each opening onto the eight-foot covered front porch. The room on the right has a fireplace, a small window, a table and chairs, a double bed frame with a plywood base, and a back door. It also contains four serious rocking chairs that serve around the fireplace or on the porch. From there an interior door leads to the second room (on the left from the front porch) containing 2 bunk beds with plywood bases and another small window.  Rustic with a capital R.

If you’re thinking of going: The cabin does NOT have electricity or running water. It is D-A-R-K inside even at midday. Good news, it is maintained and cleaned for visitors, so the grass had been mowed, the cabin swept free of spider webs, etc.


The privy had also been swept and supplied with a roll of toilet paper inside a big coffee can. We were very appeciative of this little building when it rained (which was all the time).
  
Time’s ticking and we’ve got a 10-mile hike ahead of us. Following Mike’s advice, we’d start from Beaverdam Bald and hike a half-mile connector to the BMT, then southbound to another connector leading to Waucheesi Bald where Mike would park and hike in to meet us.  He led us to the turnoff to Beaverdam Bald before heading off to Waucheesi.

 
On the map it looked simple enough but…the drive up to the bald was harrowing, rough, rutted, rocky, and Carol drove at a snail’s pace, understandably very nervous about her car’s clearance. I regretted her driving and risking her car rather than mine, even more so knowing that we’d have to drive back down.

No other vehicles at the bald, no cell phone signal either, so we were on our own now. It was 2:30 p.m. and we were feeling the lateness of the hour. Where’s that connector trail? A walk around the edges of the field didn’t give any clues, so we walked back down the road until we saw a side trail/old road bed. Maybe this is it? We followed this to another open field, smaller, waist-high grass. [Yes, GAIA, AllTrails, etc would have helped, okay, I get it.]

We walked through this little field and then around its perimeter until we found a trail – Is this it?  Fingers crossed. If it trends down and to the left, it’s possible, should only be half a mile, or we know the way back (up).

   
And…after much more than half a mile (too far?) we hit an intersection with a big ol' sign (Brookshire Creek Trail and BMT) but around the corner were two more trails with no indication what they were – could this be the shorter route to the bald?  Not willing to hike up to find out, and no time to waste now that we’re on our trail (3 p.m. and at least 9 miles to go!)

 
Hindsight check:  Look at the map again. What happened?

Trail maintainers call this remote section of the BMT the "Heart of Darkness" because it is hard to access with tools for keep Mother Nature in check. We can attest to this: the trail was so overgrown that we weren’t sure what to do – go for it or call a retreat? Surprisingly, we found frequent white diamond blazes so we pushed forward with Carol in the lead, tracking mileage with her Runkeeper as we slogged along. We couldn’t see anything below our knees in the dense undergrowth, sometimes shoulder height or taller, tangles of blackberry briars – kept our long pants on despite the heat. Our hiking poles were defense weapons for blocking foliage. Slow going, not a good feeling, having zero fun this afternoon. The air tasted greenish, thick with humidity, and although there wasn’t too much elevation, everything felt like a strain.

The only view – from Hazelnut Knob maybe? Colorful names on the map but no signs, so we could only guess at where we were - Sledrunner Gap, Rocky Top, Round Top, Nit Top, Hazelnut Knob, Moss Gap, Hipps Gap

Yes, there were some bright spots:  fire pinks and flame azalea

 
After five extra-long miles of tough hiking the vegetation thinned a bit, but then thunder rumbled and the promised afternoon rain began.  A steady downpour commenced for the remaining five miles. We didn’t bother with rain jackets because we are soaked with sweat anyway. When you’re wet, you’re wet.

Meanwhile, how’s Mike doing, hiking in from Waucheesi Bald? Will we meet up at Sandy Run Gap?  Who the heck knows where Sandy Run Gap is? At about 5:30 p.m. I spotted a sign in the middle of the trail, a common practice of Mike’s, his initials “MD” shaped in sticks. Encouraging! Mike had hiked to this point, waited a little while, then turned around to go back to Waucheesi Bald to wait for us. Energized to pick up the pace, we caught up to him about 20 minutes later. He gave Carol the keys to his van and waved us on, saying he’ll be slower because it’s all uphill from there.

The rest was a sufferfest, pounding away in the rain through more stretches of tall foliage that was now drenched.  Correction: when you’re wet, you can still get wetter.   At Sixmile Gap, the most important signpost of the day, we turned right and commenced a half-mile steep finale to Waucheesi Bald. I followed Carol, head down, counting steps.

We reached the van and were preparing to put on dry clothes when Mike appeared. All present and accounted for. We left Carol’s car for pickup tomorrow and headed back to Donley Cabin.

By the time we arrived at the cabin (8:30 p.m.), the rain had mostly stopped. The sky remained overcast but amazingly still light. Carol and I hung up clothes that will never dry, much relieved to have the cabin to spread out in rather than a wet tent. Mike brought up his food and stove to cook supper.  I was too tired to cook, just nibbled at random items from the cooler. At full dark Mike headed to his cozy camper van.

Carol and I contemplated the likelihood of animals coming inside the cabin at night. We moved the double bed frame to block the doorway between rooms, leaving the front room doors open front and back, so if something big were to come exploring we should hear it before we could touch it (or vice versa). Note: this deterrent/alarm system worked well for peace of mind.

Inside the cabin was can't-see-your-hand-in-front-of-your-face, utter pitch black; outside, the whisper of drizzling rain. Carol heard mice throughout the night, but my ear plugs muffled all once I fell asleep, after devoting time to worrying about tomorrow's plan - 16 miles.

"Live your life by a compass not a clock." ~Stephen Covey


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