Monday, August 29, 2022

Pisgah 400: MST & Bridges Camp Gap Trail

Pisgah 400: MST & Bridges Camp Gap Trail to Big East Fork of the Pigeon River
10/31/21 – 3.8 Miles

After two rainy days of our last-chance weekend of 2021 in the NC mountains, Halloween morning dawned in spectacular fashion. Wait a minute – hasn’t the “peak leaf weekend” already passed? Tell that to the trees saturated in fall’s colors.

Jim and I didn’t waste any time driving up Hwy 276 from Waynesville to the Blue Ridge Parkway. At the Looking Glass Rock Overlook, a brisk wind was blowing puffy clouds around, revealing blue skies and crisp vistas.

Looking Glass Rock

Of course we knew just what to do – hiking and biking! From the overlook, Jim set off for a ride on the BRP and I crossed the road to a short access trail to the Mountains-to-Sea Trail. My destination was Bridges Camp Gap Trail to the Big East Fork of the Pigeon River.

This is a popular access point to Skinny Dip Falls. Unfortunately, in August 2021 Tropical Storm Fred wreaked havoc in these mountains, major flooding washing out trails and bridges and devastating communities down river, including loss of life. The MST to Skinny Dip Falls was closed for months until Carolina Mountain Club trail maintainers made repairs. Next time you see a trail maintainer, thank them!

At the junction, I turned right onto the MST

An autumn leaf carpet trail

After a quarter mile I reached the left turn onto Bridges Camp Gap Trail


The first half-mile is a gentle downslope, then two switchbacks took me to the banks of Big East Fork. Here the trail turned right (a path also goes left to campsites, not sure how far upstream it goes). I stopped to look at the water level, flowing mostly on the far side of a very wide rocky bed.


The trail climbs high up on the bank to a level bench and follows Big East Fork downstream. From this vantage point I caught glimpses of the water’s slides and pools. How fun this playground must be in the summertime! I couldn’t resist one steep side trail to the water’s edge: amazing swirls on the rocks as cascading water formed one pool after another in the steady downhill flow. Everything was still wet from the previous days’ rains and I was very mindful of slipping and being injured, as I was alone and no one would see me from the trail…


Before I knew it, I was at the confluence of Big East Fork and Greasy Cove Prong merging to become the Pigeon River. This is also where Bridges Camp Gap Trail, Greasy Cove Trail and and Big East Fork Trail intersect. [I passed through here back in 2012.]

At the campsite by the trail intersection, I met a young dayhiker dude looking at a map. We had a brief conversation but he seemed a little hesitant – creepy or just shy? I’m not sure he was where he wanted to be. With an eye on the time to rendezvous with Jim, I started back up Bridges Camp Gap Trail to return to the Parkway.

The Looking Glass Overlook parking area was full and the BRP was busy with cars and cyclists. Our planned meeting place was the Cradle of Forestry on Hwy 276, and as I drove down the curvy road I came upon Jim being followed by a couple of other cars. I saw how impatient the drivers were with him, which makes me worry for him and other cyclists. Come on, people: is where you are going so important that you feel justified endangering a life?

Today was a truly beautiful little hike. As confounding as Pisgah National Forest can be at times, I am grateful to get there when I can. I felt good at every step, even the uphill, and I caught a glimpse of the peace that I seek (having a hard time getting doses in my daily life).

Home in time for trick-or-treaters!

"That's a crooked tree. We'll send him to Washington."
 ~Bob Ross




Thursday, August 25, 2022

Pisgah 400: Art Loeb & Farlow Gap Trails to Shuck Ridge Falls

Pisgah 400: Art Loeb Trail/Farlow Gap Trail to Shuck Ridge Falls – 10/29/21 – 5.9 Miles

Mother Nature doesn’t always get the memo when I plan a hike. More times than I can count, my progress on the Pisgah 400 Challenge has been impeded by bad weather (rain/snow) or the results of weather events (flooding, freezing, wildfires).

This is why Jim found himself driving slowly on the Blue Ridge Parkway in a cold, dreary, foggy drizzle, looking for a trailhead that I was pretty sure was getting closer…closer…closer…

Rewind: In December 2019 we made a mostly successful hike on Daniel Ridge Loop and Farlow Gap Trail in Pisgah National Forest on a cold, clear, blue sky day. Because of recent rains, though, we were stopped at a dangerous creek crossing and couldn’t complete Farlow Gap Trail to the intersection with Art Loeb Trail (story and exciting photos here.)

About 1.3 unhiked miles of Farlow Gap Trail taunted me for nearly two years. On the day that I convinced Jim to help me tackle it from the far end, what do you think the weather was? Fog and rain.

Found it! The Art Loeb Trail crossing the BRP where I hiked in 2015

We started the moderate downhill on Art Loeb Trail in a cold drizzle that turned into a steady rain. Kept telling ourselves there is beauty even in the fog.

At Farlow Gap, we stopped to rearrange layers and smile at the subtle humor of the sign people

My good mood faded on the extremely steep, rocky, rooty descent on Farlow Gap Trail. Slippery leaves disguised washouts and filled gaps between the roots. Tricky footing, not knowing when we were stepping on solid ground or in a hole. We both took a tumble on the way down to Shuck Ridge Creek.

We didn’t try to scramble down to the base of the falls (couldn’t find the “obvious” trail), but the top of the falls where the trail crosses was a simple rock hop compared to our previous hike when it was impassable. 

Me standing where the trail crosses in December 2019

Today, looking downstream from the same spot

As we stood at the falls, we decided to have a snack before tackling the inevitable hard climb. The rain had decreased enough to take off our hot rain jackets, but every rock and tree stump was saturated, so we ate cheese and crackers standing up.

Indeed, the climb was grueling. I started out strong, a little too fast, and then fizzled. My breathing was labored, and it took me 45 minutes to conquer the stretch to Farlow Gap (still less than halfway) but at least I wasn’t carrying a 30-pound backpack in 90-degree heat and strong sun as I did on the Tahoe Rim Trail just two months earlier

Jim leading the way

The rain became a downpour.

At Farlow Gap, layers were rearranged again, and I onboarded some body fuel. [These nut butter bars are much better than Clif’s traditional bars.]

The last 1.6 miles going up Art Loeb Trail were slightly less challenging but I stopped several times for a 30-second rest. All in all, the hike was longer than expected in both distance (5.9 miles) and in time (3 hrs 15 min moving time). I don’t think Jim had this hiking life in mind when we vowed ‘til death do us part, but my appreciation for him grows every time he says, “Sure, I’ll go with you!”

We were later than planned reaching our Airbnb, but boy oh boy did that hot shower feel good! Followed it up with pizza at Mad Anthony’s with our friend Nancy East and the tough miles were in the rearview mirror.

“When there is mist on the mountains, it is beautiful,
 and when there is no mist,
 it is also beautiful.”
 ~Thich Nhat Hanh



Friday, August 5, 2022

Maine Adventures 2021: Summiting Mount Katahdin

Maine 2021: Baxter State Park – Appalachian Trail Katahdin Summit – 7/14/21 – 8.7 Miles

Raise your hand if you’ve ever set an alarm for 4:30 a.m. so you can go hiking!

Jim and I traveled on misty back roads yesterday from Acadia National Park to the North Maine Woods: the town of Millinocket, Baxter State Park, and Mount Katahdin, the northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail.

We rambled around the sleepy town, taking note of the closed storefronts, more victims of the pandemic. A sign on the door of the Appalachian Trail Café announced closing daily at 1:00 p.m., serving breakfast only, suspending their lunch menu “for a while.” The owner told us they sell out of everything fast so they decided to get good at making breakfast, which we verified: the Millinocket special of chopped tater tots with onions and cheddar cheese topped with two fried eggs really hit the spot.

Of course, we didn’t come all this way for breakfast. Our goal is hiking the AT to the top of Mount Katahdin, a granite massif with multiple peaks. The tallest peak is Baxter Peak (5,267 feet), the official northern terminus of the AT. [It is also the high point of the state of Maine.] In October 2020 Jim and I hiked to the southern terminus of the AT at Springer Mountain, Georgia.

No permit is required to hike in Baxter State Park, but the parking situation is tough. After all, it’s a state park with state park funding and infrastructure, but its status as the northern terminus of the AT draws visitors from all around the world. I can only imagine the heartburn of managing all that and keeping the roads clear for emergencies. Through a complicated process, I scored a parking pass for Wednesday at 6:00 a.m. [If you don’t show by 7:05 a.m., they give the space to someone else.]

Choices for dinner were also limited in Millinocket, but while waiting in line at the only open restaurant, the Schootic In, we spotted the couple we met hiking at Schootic Head the previous day. We raised a glass and swapped hiking stories over dinner.

Say hi to Rachele and Shane from Pittsburgh

Jim and I went back to our Airbnb where, suffering one of the worst cases of trailhead jitters I’ve had, I packed and debated and second guessed and repacked before lying down to wait for the 4:30 a.m. alarm to go off. Some of my worry was about the hike itself, its reputation as a strenuous, brutal climb, but also the unknowns of getting inside the park, dealing with the line of cars at the gate, how soon could we get on the trail.

We were on the road before 5:00 a.m., a quiet drive through town (just like in the daytime) and on to Baxter Park. We arrived at the gate, tenth car in line. People were out of their cars, swatting mosquitos, discussing plans for the day. Most of them didn’t have parking passes and were hoping to get in without one.

The gate opened at exactly 6:00 a.m. and the ranger began sorting cars: ones without a parking pass had to pull over to the right and wait until 7:05 a.m. to enter. Cars with passes could continue into the park. We were the first ones with the green light!

We checked in at a kiosk and gave our license plate number – the Baxter folks are meticulous about accounting for every car entering and leaving the park. Anticipation swelled as we drove 8 miles on the gravel road deep into the park to Katahdin Stream Campground day use area (not very big, maybe space for 20 cars.)

Do we have everything – water, food, hiking poles, good attitude? We started out with enthusiasm, signed in at the registration kiosk (another control point to account for people) and were on the AT by 6:30 a.m.

The AT is known as the Hunt Trail within Baxter State Park

Goin' up there

The first 1.2 miles to Katahdin Stream Falls felt exhilarating – white blazes! Early morning sunlight streaming, cool air, feeling the spirits of hundreds of thousands of those who have walked up this trail…too dramatic?

Katahdin Stream Falls

The last flat spot between the falls and the summit

The trail got steeper, drawing on my frame of reference of the Great Smoky Mountains ridgeline and the Black Mountain Crest Trail, alpine and evergreen firs and balsams. Guess what, Dorothy? Now we’re in the real dense Northern forest ecosystem, not just a place that is “similar.”

Mystical, mythical, magical

Large rocks and boulders took over, big tree roots competing for space
 (thank you, Acadia NP, for the training). 

Girl is all smiles, has no idea what is coming

Is there a trail through here?

I’m not even sure when I realized we had emerged above the tree line. I had my head down to confront the trail step by step. It seemed that the boulders became more difficult during the transition. [Some people call this the Gateway, but I could never determine just where it began and ended.]

Stretches of boulder field began to string together and all our focus was on following white blazes, scrambling up a big pile of jumbled rocks. Our now-useless hiking poles were stowed away to free our hands. Jim pulled me up more than a dozen times on vertical pitches when I could not reach a hand or foothold. (Most of the time I was able to fend for myself.) Our miles-per-hour slowed to a crawl as we stopped to evaluate every move. Just because a blaze was on a rock didn’t mean we had to climb that rock, sometimes it was best to go around it. 

Are you KIDDING me?

Smiles gone

We paused for a break, trying to catch our breath and restore sanity. Owl Mountain is in the center of the photo below. I forced down a Kind bar despite my lack of appetite, trying to enforce the energy lessons I’ve learned. 

Looking back

A freakishly fit adorable family out for a morning hike

A clear view up the spine of the Hunt Spur was the next (not the last) obstacle to overcome.
We were still only halfway to Baxter Peak.

We talked for a minute with a man and woman – Max and Hannah - who had been climbing behind us. Hannah asked us if we could hike with them because her husband was ill. Max was sweating so profusely, he looked like a bucket of water had been dumped on his head. He was running low on water and was vomiting. They would stop for a rest and then push forward a little more. Hannah was very worried, with good reason, but they felt like they couldn’t turn around [they absolutely should have turned around]. We agreed to stick with them.

Those clouds were moving around pretty quickly and I was worried about
 getting separated in the mist

The scrambling became more strenuous and technical. Iron bars were placed for handholds and footholds (grateful for our “practice” run on the Beehive Trail). This Sisyphean push up the Spur was a blur.

We arrived at the Tableland, beginning a one-mile stretch of rocky but relatively flat terrain on a broad plateau to a trail junction.

Looking back down the Spur from the Tableland

Looking ahead on the Tableland; on the left, the final rise to the summit
 was obscured by cloud cover

At the junction, the Hunt Trail continues straight to the summit, the Baxter Peak Cutoff Trail turns left to bypass it, and the Abol Trail turns right to descend steeply down the mountain to Abol Campground. Thoreau Spring is also located at the junction (not a reliable water source, though). [The spring is named after Henry David Thoreau, who attempted to climb Katahdin in 1846 and wrote about his fascination with the mountain in The Maine Woods.]

Mark and Hannah decided to abandon their hike and descend the Abol Trail from this point. Max just wanted to get off the mountain. Jim and I are discussing doing likewise after summitting Katahdin, rather than going back down the crazy boulder maze we’ve just come up. I felt like Max needed to stay still for an hour and not keep expending energy – clearly he was suffering from heat exhaustion. If he chose to stay put, we offered to descend Abol Trail with them after we hiked up to the top and back.

One more mile! Using my poles for rock surfing (now with rubber tips for more traction), our pace picked up a little. Then the trail pitch increased, the rocks got bigger, and again we were stepping carefully from rock to rock. I became obsessed by the sound of a hiker behind me, the metal tips of his poles tap-tap-tapping like an Edgar Allen Poe tale. Finally I stopped to let him pass.

Ropes to guide hikers through fragile terrain

People on the horizon!

What a thrill to see the iconic wooden Katahdin summit sign in real life – we made it! Happy hikers were waiting their turns for a photo, everyone willing to serve as photographer, sharing each other’s euphoria at a milestone achievement.

Jim and I sat down to eat lunch and revel in our accomplishment (joined by mosquitos and gnats, bug bites galore that continued to plague and itch long after our return home). Puffy clouds of white and gray moved across the deep blue sky.

Over my shoulder, I watched hikers approach the summit. Most were dayhikers like us, but there were also NOBO’s finishing and SOBO’s starting out, some laughing, some crying, all on their unique journeys.

A young couple walked up and the woman climbed on the sign while the man asked someone to take their photo. He handed off his phone/camera, then turned to the woman, got down on one knee and proposed. She screamed! What a moment!

She said yes!

We stayed at the summit around 45 minutes, then backtracked to Thoreau Spring. Max and Hannah were not there, so we assumed they went down Abol Trail. Maybe we would catch up to them.

Beginning the Abol Trail felt like walking off a cliff, a steep boulder field that had its own character unlike the Hunt Trail/AT. I stowed my hiking poles in my pack again and concentrated on scrambling down, three or four points of contact at all times (regretted leaving my gloves behind).

I didn’t count how many times I had to hold on with both hands and lower my body down where the distance was too big to step or jump. My chest muscles and arms/triceps were sore for several days. Jim didn’t have to help me, though. He got ahead of me a few times as he scouted for blue blazes, but we worked well together in problem solving the descent. The intensity of the work again slowed our speed to less than one mile per hour.

We met a few people ascending with gritted teeth and grimaces of disbelief. One guy was very helpful, told us that the trail was rerouted across the boulder field/rock slide where it used to continue straight down, so we knew to look for blazes in that direction.

Below the boulder field we entered the tree line, starting with three-foot-tall scrubs. The trail was less technical but still extremely rocky, rugged and rutted with many steep steps. We ran across a trail building crew doing great work in the hot sun.  We asked if anyone had seen Max and Hannah and learned that they had passed the crew and asked for water. [We never saw them again. Hope everything turned out okay.]

The last mile to Abol Campground was not pretty. Long steep descents are my nemesis and my right knee developed an irritated tendon that pinched with every step. I was CRANKY. Poor Jim! Near the trailhead, he pulled ahead to walk the road back to Katahdin Stream Campground to retrieve our car.

4:00 p.m. finish – 8.5 hours to hike 8.7 miles, 4,188 feet elevation gain - Hooray!

How do we celebrate? Jim and I bellied up to the only open bar in town: The Blue Ox, frozen in time with a dusty collection of eclectic junk from bygone days, two old guys behind the bar, and three equally old guys on the customer side. Some people might be put off by the atmosphere (is it friendly or suspicious?) but we’ve gotten comfortable with the unknowns.

We were served by Jim, who wasn’t really a bartender but “just helping out,” and he guessed on what to charge us for our drinks. He was quite the talker but also hard of hearing, so very entertaining. We couldn’t have had a more fitting place to toast our achievement. Bartender Jim called Katahdin “the mountain” as in, “Hey, these two went up the mountain today.” Cheers all around!

We picked up dinner from the only pizza joint in town, took it back to our place. Eating pizza, drinking beer and cider, watching Netflix, giddy with the immense relief that our intimidating, challenging, successful summit of Katahdin is now a great story!

“It is not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves.”
~Sir Edmund Hillary