Paths Less Traveled

Paths Less Traveled

In the Great Smoky Mountains

Paths Less Traveled and my first book Hallowed Hills, Holy Waters are available at Amazon.  (There are a couple of other Greg Hoovers out there -- these are my only two books.) 

  

This blog post is the full Epilogue for Paths Less Traveled. It adds more detail to the abridged version that appears in the book.

Also, as this book and its Epilogue were being finalized, the Chimney 2 Fire (November 28, 2016) burned some of the park, Gatlinburg, and other surrounding areas. Most of this full Epilogue was written before the fire, but a few sections were added after.

Epilogue

More Stuff You Might Want to Know

Preface: Bearways & Another Preface: The 900 Mile Club

Most of our off-trail hiking centers around the Chimneys, Mount Le Conte, Porters Creek and Lester Prong watersheds, and the Greenbrier Pinnacle area. One unforgivable omission in this book is Mount Cammerer on the eastern tip of the park. It’s a great area, but I simply ran out of space.

I’ll just say this: The Groundhog Ridge manway begins on Hwy 32 beyond the town of Cosby, about 4.7 miles past the Cosby post office. The manway parallels Groundhog Creek for a while and crosses the Lower Mt. Cammerer trail on its way to the lookout tower at the top of Cammerer. There are numerous off-trail trips from Groundhog Ridge to Robinson Creek; every ridge and creek is a good possibility. Some are nasty with greenbrier vines and rhododendron. Others are more manageable. Most end with some fine, exposed rocky outcrops near the top as you approach the Mt. Cammerer lookout tower. By the way, you might be surprised how many local folks are familiar with this Groundhog Ridge route. It is not well-known among the general public, yet it is one of the better-known off-trail paths in the Smokies.

Other omissions, some forgivable and some unforgivable:

·        Parton Peaks: hop off Alum Cave trail at Arch Rock, scramble up above Arch Rock, and follow the ridge up. Arch Rock is the bottom tip of this ridge. (If you are using the standard, USGS topo map, Arch Rock is shown in the wrong location.)

·    NoName Ridge: ascend Alum Cave Creek from Alum Cave trail; there’s a Y shaped scar at 35.6354, 83.4262 which we use as the entrance and exit ramp.

·        Anakeesta Ridge: This book described a route on the south side, but Anakeesta Ridge is also accessible from the north via Alum Cave Creek (via Alum Cave Trail, but the split in the creek is a bit hidden from the trail). There’s a magnificent scar (we call it “Anakeesta Canyon;” at 35.63271, 83.41970 you are pretty much in the center of this canyon) that can take you to the top of Anakeesta Ridge. You can go over the top and down the landslide scar on the south slope. You’ll end up on Newfound Gap Road, a mile or two above your car which is parked down at the Alum Cave Trail trailhead. 

·        There’s an interesting, steep “bowl” on Sugarland Mountain – just west of the Chimneys and directly south of the Chimneys Picnic area. I’ve only been on it once, but we called it the Jumpoff’s Little Sister because it was steep and very Jumpoff-ish in some places. Start at the Chimneys Picnic area and head south into the bowl, then top out on the Sugarland Mountain trail. Honestly, I don’t know why this part of the park doesn’t get more attention from us off-trailers. It deserves a closer look. You could do a big, interesting loop by going up this part of Sugarland Mountain, then find the manway off Sugarland Mountain trail to the Chimneys, then to down to the Third Chimney and bear west back down to your car at the Chimneys Picnic Area. [Note from December, 2016, after the Chimney 2 Fire: Some of this section of Sugarland Mountain was burned, but not extensively. It may have opened up some good routes up the Jumpoff’s Little Sister. Another Note, July, 2017: Several side ridges on Sugarland Mountain were burned by the fire and much of the soil and vegetation has been washed away, revealing some great, somewhat-scary routes from the Chimney Tops Picnic Area up to the Sugarland Mountain trail. I've blogged about these "Sugar Fingers" on this blog starting in July, 2017.]

Peak of Cammerer, from Groundhog Ridge path

Pam & Keith Oakes, Top of Cammerer

Introduction: In The Beginning

To increase your chances for success, your first off-trail jaunt should be on a trail. Yes, there are actually quite a few old trails in the park that are no longer officially maintained, but they are still clearly defined by the footsteps of that 1% who still know about them. These are trails that are easy to find and easy to follow because they are very obvious – once you know where they are. But you can’t discover them by looking at the park’s maps and literature because the NPS doesn’t advertise their existence. You have to ask the right people in the right way – rangers, backcountry office employees, knowledgeable friends, Google, GoSmokies.

Here a few to get you started: Kalanu Prong (near the start of the side road to Ramsey Cascades), Greenbrier Pinnacle (a decommissioned trail off Ramsey Cascades trail), Indian Flats Falls (just off Middle Prong trail at the end of the Tremont road; only a small part is off-trail), Thunderhead Prong (past Tremont), Rhododendron Creek (near Greenbrier ranger station).

If you try any old paths like this, you should probably do it in the summer, after there’s been enough foot traffic on it to maintain the path. Definitely don’t do these in the late fall when there’s a carpet of leaves on the forest floor which will hide the path. Ditto for winter trips with a carpet of snow. In these two seasons, you’ll see just a broad expanse of brown or white, with no visible path.

If you want to go a step beyond the old paths, I’d suggest the Trout Branch trip. The Trout Branch parking area is on the left side of NFG road (as you go up from Gatlinburg). It’s the third creek crossing under the road beyond the road’s Loop. Rock hop less than an hour to the debris field (a path is being worn on the right side of the debris pile) and then go a few minutes beyond, or keep going all the way to Alum Cave trail. If you get nervous, just backtrack to your starting point. If you make it all the way to AC trail, then hike down the trail. Walk or hitch a ride ¾ of a mile back to your car at Trout Branch. In the white, sandstone cliffs just beyond the debris field, there are some magnificent views of the Chimneys.

There are undoubtedly a lot of off-trail adventures available in all sections of the park, but my partners and I have restricted most of our trips to the northeast quadrant – Le Conte, Greenbrier, Cammerer. About the only time we cross the street is to explore the Chimney Tops. One reason is because there are so many “sharp edges” in this northeast section of the park. Another is that it’s the closest to Jefferson County, where we live. Third, there’s just so much to explore here that we simply haven’t gotten around to migrating west or south.

Chapter 1: Keepers of the Secret

You probably figured out that this chapter is about Mill Creek Cascade (about 3,000’ on Mill Creek). If you ever visit this cascade… there’s also a large cascade on nearby Sugar Cove Branch (about 3,600’ on Sugar Cove Branch).

This quote from the chapter describes several real spots that we’ve discovered over the years: “And, who knows, maybe I’ll discover some out of the way, secret spot – a grove of chestnut trees, a field of boulders covered in ferns, a rocky alcove, a perfect lunch spot – that would be worth keeping to myself.” Yes, we have.

Chapter 2: The Saddest Spot in the Smokies

The Barnes home site (35.71828; 83.35930) is a fairly tame adventure, but the trail does get hazy in a few places. Always bring a map and compass or, preferably, a GPS (and knowledge of how to use them). Always tell someone at home where you are going and when to expect you back. It’s best not to do this or any off-trail hike alone. When lost, two heads are usually better than one. For this particular hike, spring and summer are the best options because the trail is less likely to be hidden under several inches of freshly fallen leaves or snow.

If you look carefully, the trail continues from the graves through the shrubs and forest for about 1 or 2 minutes to a flat, boggy area. An old chimney is on your left as you enter this open area. This is the old Barnes home site. Find the “oak tree spring” and follow its flow down the slope – this leads to Bird Branch, which will lead you up to the base of the cliffs. That’s our standard route to the cliffs of Greenbrier Pinnacle. If you take this route, build a big, rock cairn (or drop a GPS pin) at the spot where the creek from the Barnes homesite merges with Bird Branch. If you come back down Bird Branch at the end of the day, you might need some help in relocating this junction.

Three Barnes Kids

Chapter 3: Don’t Do It!

You’ll be surprised how well-worn this old manway is. Apparently quite a few people know about it. Not a lot of people, but enough to keep it worn. It’s one of the best-known off-trail routes in the park, probably because it’s described in the “blue book” – that’s the old 1970’s Sierra Club Hiker’s Guide to the Smokies.

The most important detail in finding this old manway is this… when you get to campsite #31, the trail officially ends, but it actually splits at the small, wooden marker that says “31” in it. Bear left at that split. In less than a minute, the manway will take you down and across a gully that is about five feet deep and ten or twenty feet across. As soon as you rise out of the gully onto level ground, do not follow the path straight ahead. Instead, look for a fainter path to the right. Go right. That’s the Porters Creek manway.

If you are a Smokies off-trailer, you may be familiar with the name Jenny Bennett. Her body was found near the manway’s first crossing of Porters Creek. This is where she chose to die, which I completely understand.

 

Brian & Seneca's Cairn

Chapter 4: The Hunt for Drinkwater Pool

To make this a really big trip, cross over the ridge at Drinkwater Gap (just up the slope from Drinkwater Pool), and descend to Buck Fork. Slosh down this pretty creek to the Middle Prong and down to the spot where Ramsey Prong pours into it. At this point, hop back on the Ramsey Cascade trail to take you back to your car at the Ramsey Cascades trailhead. (You’ll get wet, and you’ll need a long day to do this before dark, so do this in the hot, long days of July.)

SMHC, Top of Second Cascade (Buck Fork Cascade)

A long descent behind us

Clayton Carver "Baptized" at Drinkwater Pool

Chapter 5: Place of the Balsams

There are easier and safer ways to visit landslides and debris fields, places that snakes avoid and rangers approve of: namely, Alum Cave Trail.

A landslide took place on June 28, 1993 in the area called Huggins Hell, located above Alum Cave Trail. This is the same general area where the 1951 slides occurred, so there are still a few signs from the earlier slides, but most of these have been covered up by the passage of time and the more recent slide of ’93. To see part of this landslide, walk about 1.5 miles up this trail until you reach Arch Rock. At this point the trail turns right, crosses the creek (Styx Branch) on a small footbridge, and goes through Arch Rock. Before you cross the footbridge to enter Arch Rock, take a brief side trip by bearing to the left on the narrow path. You’ll only need to walk about 20 feet up this trail, then stop and look at the thin forest (yellow birch) up the slope, then look at the lumpy ground you are standing on, then turn around and look back down the trail and river valley that you just walked up. You are actually standing in the middle of the old, 1993 landslide debris field, full of yellow birches.

Now backtrack a few feet and follow the trail through Arch Rock and continue for about five minutes. You’ll cross Styx Branch again on a small footbridge, and within a couple of minutes you’ll cross a rocky creekbed that is not really a creekbed. (Although, it may have water running in it after a rainy spell.) It’s the scoured out path of the 1993 landslide that you were standing in five minutes ago. To see a little more you can walk five minutes uphill on this rocky route, then walk back downhill across the main trail. After about 10 minutes of walking down this rocky, messy route you’ll find yourself back at Arch Rock. You’ve been exploring the path of that 1993 landslide, a tangle of rocks and trees. This landslide consisted of a section of land about a quarter mile long and twenty feet deep sliding down into the Styx Branch riverbed, then Alum Cave Creek, and ending at Newfound Gap Road. In other words, your entire hike today has been in the path of a landslide. Before you leave Arch Rock, look downstream. Most of the trees in the creek valley are small birches that have sprung up since 1993. You probably didn’t notice that fact as you walked up the trail at the start of your hike; now, on your return trip, those young birches will be obvious and will accompany you all the way back to your car. Also accompanying you along the way are occasional lumps and gullies. Several places in the last mile down to your car, you’ll notice that the river is to your left and another ravine runs parallel to the trail to your right. This ravine and the rough embankment between you and it were all a part of this debris field. 

The small, inconspicuous creek that is at the bottom of Anakeesta’s 1984 debris field (the one Greg and I scrambled down in this chapter) is on Newfound Gap Road about 1.9 miles below Newfound Gap. (If you are following the small mile markers from Sugarlands, it near milepost #13.) You could park near there and hike up into this debris field, the main risk being slippery rocks – although I’d do it in cold weather to avoid any unwanted encounters with snakes. There’s a good story about this 1984 landslide in Smokies Life Magazine, Vol. 1, No. 1. It’s sold in most of the visitor centers in the park.

By the way, the tricky split on Anakeesta Ridge that Greg and I inadvertently took on our first trip (i.e., the one that took us south) is 35.63083, 83.41886. I hesitate to call it a split because it’s invisible. It’s more like a time warp.

 

Scars of south side of Anakeesta Ridge

Chapter 6: A Gorge, A Ranger, and Raven Fork

Wow! What a great place! I can’t imagine carrying a kayak up there, but people do it. To hike it, wait until there’s been a long, dry spell, so the water flow will be safe and manageable. In this gorge – and every river – keep an eye and ear on the weather upstream. A thunderstorm a couple of miles above you could send a wall of water down the river valley. It rarely happens, but it does happen.

A reasonable option for doing the Gorge is to hike up the trail to the Enloe Creek backcountry campsite, then hike downstream into the Gorge, then hike back up to the campsite at the end of the day and back down the trail to your car. This isn’t the exact route that we took, but it would be less complicated than our route (but a bit longer).  

Chapter 7: Friends in High Places

The falcon family on Little Duck Hawk is well documented and even advertised. I’ve seen an occasional reference in NPS literature about the falcons on this ridge. A second pair near Charlies Bunion is a bit more enigmatic. In the fall of 2010 several of us on a ridge just east of Charlies Bunion witnessed three peregrine falcons harass and attack a hawk that had soared into their territory between us and the Bunion. (It was a great bird-watching moment for all of us; even the non-bird-watchers among us were greatly impressed.) From what I’ve read, protecting territory is “consistent with nesting behavior.” So we definitely saw three peregrines in the area – at one point, they flew right over our heads, within about 50 feet; we could even hear the wind in their wings as they turned and dove – but we don’t really know for certain that they are nesting in the area, nor do we know if the NPS has actually studied them to determine if they are nesting and breeding.

We’ve also seen falcons on Mt. Cammerer, a bit below the lookout tower, on the Tennessee side of the mountain, but not every year. They seem to be sporadic, but if it’s a decent nesting site, a pair ought to eventually settle in permanently, once all the better spots are taken, right?

The "Train Wreck" at the bottom of

the Thousand Foot Scar on Trout Branch

Scrambling up exposed rock on

Thousand Foot Scar

  

Chapter 8: The Land of Sharp Edges

This story was actually a compilation of three separate trips, all done within one month. Once I went left, twice I went right. They were all great and hard, and so far there’s no “standard” route that I could recommend. Just try to survive.

Since that one-month fling, I’ve been back a few times to the base of the Jumpoff at 4,700’ just to look and take pictures. I love Lester Prong! It’s a wonderland.

In Novemer, 2016, several of us hiked to the base (at 4,700’) of Jumpoff Cascade. (This was the Ken Wise “Oh, my gosh!” moment I mentioned in the book’s Epilogue.) I exited via Lester Prong and Porters Creek. The others went up the Jumpoff. It was a big day for them, but they may have found what might be called a standard route up the Jumpoff. I didn’t think that was possible, but they say maybe it is. Wherever it is, it will be hard to describe in words, but maybe Greg Harrell will try to explain it in his book, if he actually gets around to writing it.  

A small piece of Jumpoff Cascade

Charlie Roth & Keith Oakes on

Jumpoff Cascade

Chapter 9: Cat Stairs, Falcon Cliffs, and Snake Dens

The trail to the top of Greenbrier Pinnacle was closed sometime in the 1980s because of a “hacking” program that was being carried out at that time. (Hacking is raising the falcons in captivity and then releasing them into the wild, hoping they’ll survive, nest, and reproduce.) A pair of peregrines were spotted in 2003 near the cliffs at the western end of Greenbrier Pinnacle, but they didn’t stay longer than one or two seasons and were not seen again… until Greg Harrell and I saw a nesting pair in the spring of 2013. As I write this in late 2016, we’ve seen them every spring since 2013, so maybe they are here to stay.

From the Barnes home site: Behind the chimney a path goes north to a spot on Copeland Divide where you can make a sharp right turn and follow this ridge up through the Cat Stairs to the top of Greenbrier Pinnacle. The GPS location of this sharp right turn is 35.7259, 83.3619. But beware, if you return by the same route you came up, the path down Copeland Divide through the Cat Stairs can be tricky. In short, it’s almost impossible to get lost when you go up a ridge. However, it’s very easy to get off course when you go down a ridge. (It’s the same reason – but in reverse – that it’s easy to get off track when you go up a creek, but not down.) If that doesn’t make sense, you probably haven’t done enough off-trail hiking to try the Cat Stairs section of this extended hike (unless you have a GPS that you can use to mark routes and waypoints).

As you could perhaps tell by the story, we rarely hike the Copeland Divide route anymore. We always go to the Barnes site, then drop down into the creek (Bird Branch) and follow one of its branches up to the cliffs.

By the way, if you are familiar with the old, decommissioned Greenbrier Pinnacle trail, you are probably familiar with the one, good view at the overlook just before you make a sharp right turn to head up to the summit and the site of the old firetower. As you stand at that one, good overlook, look down. The deep ravine you see below you is our Cable route. You can actually crawl down into it (via the rhody and laurel thicket a few yards up the trail) and scramble down through this cut in the cliffs. As you near the impassable base of the cliffs, you’ll probably need to bear to the right, up into the rocks, to find a route down – going straight down the middle of the ravine at the bottom of the cliffs is a bit too steep and messy. Go right and scramble down.

Greg Hoover on Split Rock, near Best Lunch Spot

in Cat Stairs of Greenbrier Pinnacle

Keith Oakes at Best Lunch Spot

Falcon Cliffs in background

(before the falcons had returned)

A local resident of Bird Branch near Cat Stairs

Chapter 10: The Three Sisters

I included the part about the Tourist Bunion (today’s Charlies Bunion) because we did it. But really, I won’t do it again, and I would advise against anyone else doing it. It really, truly has some dangerous spots where a slip would be fatal. I distinctly remember that one of those spots didn’t have an abundance of good, solid handholds.

By the way, we don’t climb a lot of vertical cliffs and outcrops, and we don’t use ropes to keep us safe. (It’s my understanding that technical rock climbing using ropes, harnesses, etc. is prohibited in the park.) So that’s the trade-off: we don’t usually need ropes to keep us safe, but that means that we have no safety ropes if, by chance, we do need them (or, want them, to feel safer).

For most of our favorite spots in the park, we have a “standard” off-trail route, and the Three Sisters is no exception. This chapter, however, didn’t describe our standard route that we’ve adopted. Greg Harrell would say his standard route is to start at the Porters Creek trailhead, hike to campsite 31, take the manway to the junction of Porters Creek and Lester Prong. Take Lester to the First Trib and use that creek as your access to the Rocky Crag ridge. At the end of the day, you walk on the AT to the top of the Dry Sluice (aka Porters Creek) manway, then take Dry Sluice back to campsite 31, etc.

I, on the other hand, have an easier standard route which starts and ends at Newfound Gap. Hike on the AT a bit past Charlies Bunion to the top of the Middle Crag ridge. Scramble down this Middle Crag ridge to the swag across from the Pyramid, then drop right (east) off this Middle ridge to the base of the Pyramid. Then hike up the edge of the Pyramid to its peak on Rocky Crag ridge. Then hike and climb this ridge up and over Falcon Point to the very top. From the top it’s an easy five minute hike down the brushy slope to the AT.

Your first time or two, you might miss the base of the Pyramid and the “edge” that you scramble up. The base of the Pyramid (at the edge that you want to climb up) is at about 4,400’ in the First Trib between Rocky Crag and Middle Crag ridges. My GPS coordinates for the spot to begin your ascent of the edge of the Pyramid are 35.6416, 83.3759. As I recall, my GPS signal wasn’t strong when I read those coordinates, so they might not be accurate.

By the way, if you wonder why we call it the Pyramid, you need to stand on Charlies Bunion and scramble a few yards to the north of the trail. Just as you are scrambling on the rocks of Charlies Bunion and getting into scary territory, look east at the Middle and Rocky ridges, and (on the Rocky Crag ridge) you’ll see the top and edge of the Pyramid become clear and obvious. If you are fearful of heights (or widths?), don’t do any of this.

 

Pyramid and Falcon Point

on Rocky Crag Ridge

(from Charlies Bunion)

Looking up at Falcon Point

(where I had my meltdown)

My favorite picture ever: Greg Hoover & Lucas McHamm

on Falcon Point

(My apologies: I can't remember who took this picture. Maybe Ronnie McCall?)

Chapter 11: A Road Runs Through It

I enjoy finding old roads or railroad grades – on the ground and on maps. There are usually the remnants of old homes and fences by these old roads. The history is interesting, and old maps are great for this. There’s an old “1931 map” that off-trailers use. There’s also a “1949 map” that is useful. There are plenty of dotted lines on these and other old maps. Of course, the standard USGS topo quad maps have dotted lines as well.

We started our off-trailing experiences by finding lines on old maps, but after a couple of years we broke free from the dotted lines and began focusing on ridgecrests and creeks. So it’s been a while since I’ve scoured old maps for dotted lines. But I do fondly remember poring over those maps, looking for new adventures. If you enjoy maps, then getting into this aspect of loving the Smokies will be a lot of fun for you.

Chapter 12: Alone on the Chimneys

This chapter describes a great plan for visiting the Chimneys without the crowds, but it doesn’t describe any off-trail routes. So, here’s a bit more info.

Our standard Chimneys off-trail route is to start at the road tunnel below the Chimneys trailhead. Find the bottom of the U in the river below the tunnel (the U in the river is formed by the end of the ridge that the tunnel cuts through.), then cross the river at the bottom of the U and head up the slope. This is a somewhat wide slope with no clear, obvious central ravine to ascend. We tend to stay slightly to the right of center in this slope, but not so far right that we enter the rhododendron. Eventually, a creek forms underneath you, and there’s a decent waterfall/cascade to go up and around. Stay in this wet ravine (bearing slightly to the right when in doubt) and this will lead you to the ridgecrest that will lead up/left to the lower, north Chimney.

But before you turn left at the crest of that ridge, you might want to turn right on the ridge and follow its crest for about five or ten minutes to the Third Chimney. This Third Chimney is our name for an open point/bend of this ridge. If this area were denuded of trees and shrubs like the two main Chimneys are, then this area would be another, bare ridge leading from the second, lower Chimney to a third, lowest Chimney. Of course, this ridge is not denuded, so this spot could be a third, bare Chimney, but it isn’t.

Our Third Chimney has some history of visitation to it because there’s a three foot rock cairn on it. That’s how you’ll know you’ve found it. At this Third Chimney, the ridge bears left just enough to inadvertently lead you past and away from the Third Chimney and the 3’ cairn. If you find yourself on your hands and knees in a mountain laurel thicket you are in the right vicinity. Bear to your right just a bit as you crawl through this thicket. This will lead you to an open, rocky ledge and the cairn.

Of course, there are also routes from the Chimneys Picnic area to the Third Chimney and then up the ridgecrest to the Second Chimney. After trying several routes, we settled on the route I just described as our preferred, standard off-trail route to the Chimneys. Others might prefer one of the routes from the picnic area.

A PostScript from after the November, 2016 fire.

The Chimney 2 Fire (probably intentionally started by two stupid teenagers) burned the lower Chimneys area, including the east slope of the Chimneys and the Third Chimney. The Third Chimney and the ridge leading down to it from the Second Chimney are now (as of December, 2016) bare. So, there is presently a Third Chimney which is accessible from the Second Chimney as well as from below. Time and rain will tell us whether this ridge and Chimney will remain bare or whether there’s enough soil remaining to allow vegetation to repopulate and enclose them. There’s also probably some question as to whether the NPS will even allow off-trail hiking in the burn area. (My blog that you are presently visiting has two blog posts in December, 2016, about the fire and the new, Third Chimney.)

There are also a couple of interesting ridges leading up the east slopes of the First and Second Chimneys. These slopes, side ridges, and the Third Chimney are best viewed from the east – Big Duck Hawk Ridge, the Thousand Foot Scar of Trout Branch, and Le Conte’s Cliff Tops are the prime candidates. Best views are early in the morning, before the sun moves above and behind these eastern-slope ridges.

 

Picture taken Dec. 2016, from Thousand Foot Scar on Trout Branch

 (a few weeks after the fire)

Chimney Tops, upper left

Third Chimney, far right

Zoomed in on Third Chimney

December, 2016

Chapter 13: The Simple Gifts of Styx Branch

This isn’t an easy route, but it’s the “easiest” off-trail route to the top of Le Conte, simply because it starts at a higher elevation than any other routes on either the south or the north sides of Le Conte. There’s less elevation change on this route; although, it doesn’t feel like it while you are doing it.

If you decide to explore the north side of Mount Le Conte, one of the best-known routes is Roaring Fork. To do this hike you should hike up Trillium Gap trail to Grotto Falls. At Grotto Falls, scramble around to the top of the falls and follow the creek (Roaring Fork) to the top of Mount Le Conte. As you ascend, bear right at the significant split at 4,600’ and continue through an endless series of 50’ and 100’ waterfalls and cascades all the way to Basin Spring on the top of Mount Le Conte. If you pop out onto a trail, but not right at Basin Spring, you are probably near the Le Conte Lodge. If unsure of your whereabouts, go up and you’ll end up near the lodge. Le Conte is too “civilized” at the top for you to stay lost for more than a few minutes. Again, take a GPS device as a security blanket. Don’t do this alone. If fact, do it with the Smoky Mountains Hiking Club whenever they do it.

The route that I describe in the story requires that you bear right at the fork in Styx at 4,700’, then left at 4,850’ and left at 5,050’. This is my favorite route. As you near the top, you may not come out right at Myrtle Point because there’s not an obvious ravine or bearway to follow. You may do some wandering, but once you reach the ridgecrest, just follow it up to Myrtle. By the way, there’s not a single, “right” route to take; you can go left at 4,700’ and you’ll be fine, but you’ll probably end up above Myrtle Point, perhaps near High Top.

Typical terrain on Styx

More typical terrain

Greg Harrell's Selfie on Styx

The Third Chimney

For several years I’ve been snooping around many under-the-radar nooks and crannies of our beloved Smoky Mountains, and one of the great spots in the park for engaging in this quest is the area surrounding the Chimney Tops. Rather than lament the fact that this area has just been burned, I’m going in the opposite direction. Several formerly-cluttered (with rhododendron, thorns, and blowdowns) ridges and rocky outcrops are now open and visible, and I am looking forward to hiking on them.

For example, most folks have probably never noticed that there’s a long ridge that leads from the Second/Lower/North chimney down to a nice, rocky outcrop just above the Newfound Gap road. It’s not extremely visible or obvious, but if you look for it, it’s there. In fact, enough people have found their way to that spot that a 3’ high rock cairn has been built on this rocky prominence. For several years some of us have been calling it the Third Chimney. We invented that name after we had bushwhacked up to the Second Chimney from this lower, Third Chimney, and as we were looking back down the route we had just followed, one of us said, “You know, if that ridge and outcrop were denuded by fire and rain, that would be known as the Third Chimney.” However, we never expected that the denuding would actually happen. Well, the fire has begun the process.

To see the full effects, you need to get beyond the Chimney Tops trailhead – probably Cliff Tops on LeConte or Big Duck Hawk (off-trail). If you can find a way to get this view, you’ll see the long, now-open ridge leading down to the Third Chimney. There are also a couple of magnificent, rocky ridges leading up to the First and Second Chimneys on the east side. I’ve been up all these ridges before, but it was almost too much work to be fun. They were heavily cluttered with briers, blowdowns, and other junk. Not anymore. The fire has opened them up. If the NPS doesn’t forbid hiking on them, they will be every bit as interesting (or “scary,” whichever synonym you prefer) as the ridge between the First and Second Chimneys.

Chimney Tops, upper left

Third Chimney, far right

Zoomed in on Third Chimney

On a related note, the burning in the park – I’m not including the tragedy in Gatlinburg — is not nearly as bad as I expected. There were a lot of burned patches, but they were scattered and mostly minor. We saw many places where the ground and shrubs had burned, but only the bottom three or four feet of the trees had been scorched. We saw very few places where entire trees had been completely burned. It looks to me like there are two questions: Did the scorching of the trees seriously harm them? And, did the burned ground kill and remove all the shrubs and their roots systems that were holding the soil in place?

If those scorched trees die, then there will be many small, deforested patches in the Sugarlands section of the park for many years. Likewise, if the root systems of the groundcover were destroyed, there will be some modest mudslides which may uncover more bare rock. Both of these effects will be noticeable but neither will be catastrophic. The park will bounce back quickly, but we won’t know how far it needs to bounce until May, as we see whether or not the trees were seriously harmed by the scorching of their trunks, and how well the soil stays in place this winter and early spring.

The real catastrophe was in the hills surrounding downtown Gatlinburg and other outlying areas outside the park, but as we’ve seen in many different times and places, ecosystems and forests aren’t the only things that can bounce back. People bounce back, too. I suppose this is where I am supposed to say that the people around here are special, and they will rise again. Instead, I’ll be a bit more realistic… the folks around here are like folks everywhere. Some people will give up, but most will pick up the pieces and move on. Both the national park and its surrounding communities will rise from the ashes, not because they are better or stronger than every place else and everyone else, but because nature and people are resilient, everywhere. The will to live is powerful. They get knocked down, but they get up again. That’s what forests do. That’s what refugees do. That’s what victims of all sorts do. That’s what the people of Sevier county will do.

God's Country

It’s been a long, hot, dry summer… and fall. Much of Gatlinburg lies in charred ruins. About 11,000 acres of the Smokies are charred and still smoldering, waiting for more rain. By the time you read this, the rain either will have come, or it will have fizzled to a drizzle or perhaps nothing at all.  

We had become accustomed – maybe to the point of neglect – to the distant haze and slight smell of smoke. We’d note the air quality alerts. Folks with asthma would stay inside. We’d hear occasional reports of small wildfires burning throughout the southeast US, but not massive tragedies. It got so bad, I even spent several hundred dollars watering my grass, something I never do. Then came Monday, November 28.

I was indoors most of that day, but out the window I could see a strange, yellow tint. I wondered if it was the sun reflecting off the many, recently-fallen leaves. Then in the late afternoon I went outside for the first time and saw the blanket of yellow-brown smoke in the air and ashes on my truck. Apparently, there were fires burning vigorously somewhere nearby. Only that night when I got home did I hear that Gatlinburg was burning, along with areas in Wears Valley and Cobbly Knob.

I had been in the Smokies a couple of days earlier and drove right past the Chimneys early on Saturday morning. There was smoke and fog in the air, so I didn’t actually see the Chimneys 2 Fire that had been smoldering for several days. I was on my way to meet several other folks to hike on and below Mount Kephart and the Jumpoff. Everything seemed normal, but behind the fog-smoke curtain, the Chimneys were slowly burning.

Strong winds on Monday changed everything. These winds blew embers down the valley into Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge. Branches falling on power lines created sparks which ignited new fires. Buildings burned. People and animals died.

Then rains came, several inches in twenty-four hours, which was about as much as we had received in the previous four months combined. That few inches didn’t extinguish all the fires, but it may have saved Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge from complete devastation. What would have happened if the rains had not come? On the other hand, maybe none of this would have happened if the rains had come a few days sooner.

On the natural side of things, fires happen and forests burn, but the ecosystem bounces back as different species take advantage of the new situation. In a few years the landscape will be fully resurrected and clothed in new garments, mostly in greens and browns, with a dash of whites, purples, pinks, and yellows.

On the human side of things, disasters happen, but in spite of the loss, people bounce back. The Red Cross and churches and families and neighbors spring into action. Prayers are uttered. Donations are made. Slowly, but with great resiliency and resolve, faith overcomes tragedy.

As a person who believes in God, faith, and prayer, I have always struggled in moments like this. Yes, the rains came to quench the fires. But why didn’t they come sooner? Yes, a chair that someone had prayed in was spared while the rest of the house burned. But many people prayed, and they lost everything. Many people of faith find comfort in knowing that “God is in control.” They see the hand of God everywhere, in every detail, even tragedy. On the other hand, the forces of evil also have a plan of death, suffering, and tragedy. Yes, in some eternal sense, God is in control, but there may be many sad, tragic details of which He is not the cause. So, some find comfort in the belief that God does not dictate every detail, every disaster, every tragedy.

And yet, even in the midst of sadness and suffering, I’ve learned to live with those unanswered questions. I’ve learned to live with ambiguity. I am at peace with not knowing all the answers. Maybe that’s what faith is.

But one thing I do know. In a time of tragedy, it’s good to live in the Bible Belt. Quite honestly, there are ways in which I don’t fit in here. I’m not a gun lover. I’m not a Trump supporter. I don’t think ObamaCare is a sign of the end times. But I am thankful to live in a place where people will pray for one another openly, without embarrassment. I am thankful to live in a place where people at local businesses will say “Have a blessed day” without being reprimanded by their boss. It’s good to live in a place where there is no rioting and looting after a disaster. Instead, there are prayer meetings.

Yes, there is death and destruction in the natural world and in our towns and countryside, but there is also faith and resurrection and comfort and new life… here in simple, rural East Tennessee.

Spring Ephemerals: River Bugs (Part 3 of 3)

When we speak of “spring ephemerals,” we are usually talking about those forest-dwelling plants that bloom during those few weeks when the temperatures have warmed the ground, but the leaves on the trees have not yet filled out enough to create a heavy shade. It’s a brief window of opportunity.

There’s another kind of ephemerals. In fact, in scientific nomenclature, their Order’s name is Ephemeroptera. These ephemerals are animals, of the six legged variety. Insects.

For most of us, even those of us who are hard-core, deeply-devoted animal lovers, insects are not held in high esteem. For the most part, we see them as disgusting, dirty little creatures who should be waved away and perhaps slaughtered en mass. And I must admit, I feel that way about quite a few of them. I’ve had some unfriendly encounters with mosquitos, roaches, yellow jackets, and ticks, and I tend to show no mercy on any of them. And, of course, the up-and-coming object of our scorn is the ubiquitous stink bug.

In the mountains, woolly adelgids have nearly wiped out all the beautiful hemlock trees. All those slick, shiny, silver, bare trees you see on the slopes are dead hemlocks, killed by an invasive bug.

Yes, there are lots of reasons to hate bugs. But, like snakes, we humans tend to over-react in our vilification of these creatures. After all, honey bees make honey, lady bugs seem cute and harmless (although, granted, there are about a trillion too many of them), and butterflies are actually pretty (although, they lose a little bit of their glamour when you see them huddled together on a pile a horse manure). Nevertheless, they all have a role to play in the grand, ecological circle of life.

Some insects are actually dainty and pretty. Here I’m thinking of a set of bugs that live briefly as adults in the spring, for just a day or two, then they copulate, lay their eggs, and die. These are the mayflies that live in and around rivers, and are eaten by birds and trout.

Stoneflies are easy to describe. They look like colorful roaches. Their wings lie flat on their backs. Likewise, Caddisflies are easy. They look like small moths. Their wings lie on their backs in the shape of a little pup tent. Mayflies, on the other hand, look like… what? They are sort of butterfly-shaped in that they hold their wings up and usually together, but their wings are smaller relative to their body length than butterflies. Mayflies have very delicate bodies, and they often hold their front pair of legs up, as if they were praying. When they float on the surface of a river or lake, or if you catch one in mid-flight and let it sit on your finger, they look like little sailboats. If it doesn’t hold its wings up like a sailboat, then you’ve caught something other than a mayfly.

Mayflies live for a year or two as “nymphs” – small, disgusting-looking creatures who live in sand and under rocks at the bottom of the rivers. After spending their entire lives on the river bottom, they will swim to the water’s surface and burst out of their nymphal body. The delicate, adult form of these mayflies will then float along the surface of the water for a few seconds as their wings unfold and dry out. Once that is accomplished, they fly into the nearby trees and bushes where they’ll rest for a day or two as their new bodies continue to mature. At this point, their only remaining task is to breed, lay their eggs in the water, and die. In this respect, they seem to serve no significant purpose other to provide food for fish and birds. They are merely a small link in the food chain. But they are a pretty, delicate link.

And if you are a fly fisherman, they serve as the backbone of your sport. These mayflies – Blue Wing Olives, Quill Gordons, March Browns, Dark Hendricksons, Sulfurs, Light Cahills – are the prototypical fly fishing insects.  The sport was born and raised on mayflies.

The Smokies are not the best place to observe these mayflies because Smokies streams are rather sterile when it comes to vegetation and insect life. Our mountain streams have a decent variety of mayflies, but not great quantities. Nevertheless, if you hang around Smoky Mountain streams in April and May, you’ll probably see them. They’re the cute ones. They fly slowly and clumsily, so they are easy to catch in the air. They don’t bite or sting. The tragic part is the ephemeral part – that is, they live as winged adults for just a day or two. Then they die on the water after laying their eggs so that next year, another crop will “hatch” to feed the birds and the fish, and to reproduce. It’s a nice, self-contained, intricate system – but it does feel like a tragedy, like a military mission in which accomplishing the mission is all that matters; the individuals are expendable. And in this case, every single individual will die, but the mission – copulating and laying the eggs which will become the next generation – will succeed.  It’s the insects’ version of D-Day at Normandy. Success will come, but not without massive death and carnage. It’s what we call the “circle of life,” but don’t blink or you’ll miss it because it’s ephemeral.

Spring Ephemerals: Porters Creek (Part 2 of 3)

 

Spring ephemerals are that set of forest-dwelling wildflowers that are sun-loving, and therefore must live their dazzling-but-brief lives in that window of opportunity when the weather is warming but before the leaves on the trees are fully out. In other words, here in the Smoky Mountains these sun-loving forest-dwellers bloom in April.

One of the best (and best-known) trails for viewing this early spring extravaganza is the Porters Creek trail in the Greenbrier section of the park. Ten years ago, Greenbrier’s trails, trees, flowers, and rivers didn’t even exist. Or, rather, they didn’t exist to me.

At that time, I did my Smoky Mountain trout fishing in the Little River around Tremont and Elkmont and my hiking on established trails. Quite honestly, the trails in the Greenbrier section of the park are few in number and not very exciting. Ramsey Cascades trail is good, but the rest of them (Porters, Old Settlers, etc.) are extremely average, just wandering around in the woods, going no place special.

However, in the summer of 2007 I had several epiphanies. First, I realized that there are native brook trout in some of Greenbrier’s rivers. Second, I discovered off-trail hiking. Suddenly, I loved hiking in the Greenbrier section of the park for the same reason that I had previously disliked it – the lack of trails. Greenbrier is a wilderness wonderland. I also discovered that one of its trails – Porters Creek – has a well-deserved reputation as a great April wildflower walk. The park’s Spring Wildflower Pilgrimage (about the third week in April) makes the Porters Creek hike one of its premier events. People from across the US attend the Pilgrimage. The Smokies doesn’t have a lot of impressive wildlife (lots of salamanders, but no buffalo or wolves), but it is a botanical wonderland. And the opening act in this floral performance is the emergence of the early spring wildflowers – the spring ephemerals.

I’ve learned that I can trust the forsythia bushes in my yard to tell me when to go to Porters Creek. When they start to really, truly, fully bloom, I know the wildflowers on the Porters Creek trail are beginning their annual show. Some years I go to Porters every weekend in April, and each week the show is somewhat different. Hepatica and Bloodroot are replaced by Phacelia and Trout Lilies, which are replaced by Dutchmans Breeches and Trilliums, which are replaced by Bishops Caps and Wild Geraniums, which are replaced… well, the list goes on. These various species become old friends who show up every year, on schedule, just to say “hello.” It’s like a family homecoming, except that you are actually happy to see everyone… except maybe the Stinging Nettle, the one plant that is just plain mean-spirited and hard to get along with. Sort of like your old Uncle Bob who is always mad about something, so you say very little and try not to sit next to him at the dinner table. Don’t even think about asking him who he’s going to vote for.

The first mile of the Porters Creek trail is an old road. There is a fine and varied population of spring ephemerals in this portion of the trail, including some nice beds of Dwarf Crested Iris and a well-hidden set of Pink Lady’s Slippers – both are high-status flowers among wildflower fans. And don’t miss the sprinkling of delicate Bluets on the mossy rocks along the riverside, and the occasional Showy Orchis along the edges of the trail.

This first mile of the trail ends with a loop that can be a bit confusing. There’s a side trail that leads to an old barn and cabin, and another trail (Brushy Mountain trail) that leads to Brushy Mountain and Mount LeConte. The Porters Creek trail follows the creek by staying left. At this point, the trail changes from a wide dirt road to a narrow, rocky trail. The next half mile of the trail actually has very few wildflowers, and many people give up here because it appears that the show is over. They’re wrong.

Keep going up this barren half-mile until you reach the somewhat-scary, narrow footbridge at the 1.5 mile point. A few folks with vertigo can’t cross here, which is a shame, because the best part of the show is just beyond this footbridge.

Almost immediately after the footbridge the landscape changes into a park-like openness with a thick carpet of greenery. Early in the season, this carpet will be a breath-taking, snow-white bed of Fringed Phacelia, with a smattering of yellow Trout Lilies. Later, it become Bishops Cap and Trillium and Wild Geranium. I won’t list all the species. Instead, I’ll just repeat – don’t stop after the first mile. Go the second mile, all the way to Fern Branch Falls at the 2.0 mile point. The real show is that last half mile, past the footbridge.

I’ve had some agnostic friends over the years who just couldn’t bring themselves to believe in God. I understand their reluctance. An infinite spirit world inhabited by angels and demons and an omnipotent God who created all this out of nothing is an absurd idea. Preposterous. Utterly ridiculous. Childish.

But places like Porters Creek in April remind me that the only thing more ridiculous than belief in a Spirit-Creator is the belief that such beautiful places (and our ability to appreciate beautiful things) are the result of a long, lucky sequence of random events. I just don’t have that much faith… in Chance.

For me, Porters Creek in April is holy ground.

Spring Ephemerals (Part 1 of 3)

I guess Solomon was having a bad day when he wrote Ecclesiastes: Everything is meaningless. Everything is merely chasing the wind. We live, we die, and life ain’t fair. Life is short and wearisome.

He finally emerged from his funk by the end of his book, but he was right about one thing – life is short. And, it seems to me, the older we get, the shorter life becomes – a sentence that will make no sense to anyone under 30 and perfect sense to anyone over 50.

I recall Neil Diamond’s song from the early 70’s called “Done Too Soon.” He had the same message: We have sweated beneath the same sun, looked up at wonder at the same moon, and wept when it was all done, for being done too soon.

So life is short for us humans, but even shorter for the spring ephemerals growing in the soil of the mountains. Spring ephemerals? Yes, from the Greek word “ephemeros” meaning transitory or short-lived.

There are many transitions and cycles in nature. For instance, in the long run, we can watch an abandoned field fill up with briers and weeds, to be followed by cedar trees (the “pioneer” species in this part of the country), and eventually (decades later) by hardwoods such as oak, hickory, and maple. Or, we can watch beavers dam a creek, creating a pond, which ultimately fills with dirt and becomes a meadow. Shorter, quicker transitions are a bit more visible to us, the most obvious being the greening and budding of spring or the colors of fall ending in the browns and grays of bare trees.

But within these cycles are smaller transitions, such as the rise and fall of spring ephemerals. Every spring in the Smoky Mountains there is a window of opportunity, roughly corresponding to the month of April, in which the sun and warming temperatures heat the ground enough to call forth the sun-loving wildflowers, starting with Spring Beauties, Hepatica, and Bloodroot. Because these are sun-loving plants, they have to move quickly and confidently. No distractions or dilly-dallying. They must bloom and bear seeds in those few weeks in which the temperatures are rising and early spring is in the air, but before the leaves on the trees have fully emerged to block out the sun, creating the deep, dark, shady woods that we associate with late spring and summer. Shade is fine for the shade-loving plants of summer forests, but not for the spring ephemerals of April. They love the sunshine and so must get on with their lives before the deep shade overwhelms their world. It’s a microcosmic version of climate change.

So, April is the month of these spring ephemerals. And there are dozens of them that come and go in rapid succession: Spring Beauties, Hepatica, Bloodroot, Trout Lilies, Phacelia, Bishops Cap, Trilliums, Wild Geraniums, Little Brown Jugs, Lady’s Slippers. Plus a few dozen others. They come and go in wave after wave, ebbing and flowing, as relentless as the ocean swells, as varied as a fireworks show. It’s quite a performance.

Dwarf Crested Iris

A friend of mine once asked me if I really liked “all that wildflower stuff.” I had a momentary case of male insecurity, but then told him that it’s more than the flowers themselves. It’s really the fact that I feel the need to understand what’s going on around me in the natural world. So I pay attention to things like constellations in the night sky; the phases of the moon; the nesting of Peregrine Falcons and the migration of warblers; three species of trout and the insects they eat; the blooming of Mountain Laurel in May and Rhododendron in June and July; the return of Chimney Swifts in May; and wildflowers in April. Plus, the return of the wildflowers is a sign that spring really is at hand, and I’ve survived another winter.

 

Little Brown Jug

(the "jugs" are the flowers -- not pretty, but very unique)

My two favorite places for spring wildflowers in the Smokies are Fort Harry Falls and Porters Creek. Fort Harry is a south and west facing ravine between the Chimneys picnic area and the Chimneys trailhead. (It’s the paved parking area on the left as you go up Newfound Gap Road, before you get to the tunnel just below the Chimneys trailhead. There’s also a nice waterfall about 100 yards from the road, up the small creek.)  I start looking in mid-March for Spring Beauties and Hepatica because this little valley gets a lot of sun and warms earlier than just about any other easily-accessible spot in the park. When I see these wildflowers, I know that Spring now has the upper hand over its old nemesis Winter. Winter will throw a few more good punches before the fight is over, but those punches will get weaker and weaker as March becomes April. Spring will not be defeated.

But the real show – one of the best in the park – is Porters Creek. [To be continued.]

Simple Gifts on Styx Branch (Part 4 of 4)

Hiking and scrambling up the east fork of Styx Branch, I was struggling more than usual. In fact, this trip was the first time I had the thought: Will this be the last time I make this trip? That’s a dark cloud that casts a gloomy shadow, and while I don’t live under that shadow on a regular basis, I do catch a glimpse of it every now and then… like today, on Styx Branch. At the Climbing Wall I almost told Greg that I had gone as far as I could, and I’d head back to the car while he went on to Myrtle Point, but I was afraid that if I did that, then I’d never come back and do this trip again. This would become my final trip to Styx, and I just couldn’t bear the thought of that. So to paraphrase the gladiators in Gladiator: “Someday I’ll make my last trip to Styx… but not yet. Not yet.”

After the Climbing Wall we were still in the scoured rock of the scar, but the incline was about 45 degrees, so we were able to revert to feet-only as we searched for sharp spots to plant our feet as we zig-zagged our way up the fragile, broken Anakeesta rock face. We stopped often, to let me catch my breath but also to turn around and appreciate the sky and the open view that every landslide scar affords. It’s the kind of moment of magnificence that will – if you have any sense of gratitude for life’s simple gifts – bring tears to your eyes.

A photo moment on Styx

Eventually the scar began to give way to soil, grass, and a young, fir forest which produces that “Christmas tree smell” that anyone who has ever had a real Christmas tree would recognize. There aren’t many things that we encounter in the wilderness that remind us of our other, civilized life – which is exactly as we’d like it to be. After all, we go to the woods to escape the trappings of that other life. Planes flying overhead and loud motorcycles on Newfound Gap Road are the most common artifacts of civilization that we encounter in the mountains. So, the Christmas tree smell is an exception to these occasional interruptions from civilization. It’s a pleasant reminder of a pleasant part of our other life.

After weaving our way through the fragrant, fir forest, we arrived at Myrtle Point about an hour before sunset. It was cold and windy, so we donned our jackets for the first time since the Climbing Wall several hours earlier. I had never really thought of it this way before, but Myrtle Point is the epicenter of our Smokies playground. From it we can see from Greenbrier Pinnacle to the Appalachian Trail to Mount Kephart to the Chimneys, a huge bowl of ridges and valleys, places that have become almost sacred in their meaning to our lives. It’s undoubtedly places like this that gave birth to the phrase “mountain top experience.”

As we sat on the open rocks of Myrtle Point we had the same conversation we always have when we sit here: To live simply is to live well; that man is richest whose pleasures are the simplest; if you’ll put yourself in a position for good things to happen, you’ll be pleasantly surprised how often they do.

As I think about it, the theme of that conversation at Myrtle Point has become a prominent theme in our other, civilized life, too. Most of life’s gifts to us are simple gifts, so one key to happiness is to learn to be satisfied with life’s simple, wholesome pleasures, like the fellowship of friends, the innocence of children, the words of your favorite poet, the purity of an azure sky, the song of crickets in the evening or wrens at sunrise, layers of blue ridges piling up to the horizon, or green ridges turning honey-gold from the light of the setting sun. Thankfully, these are things that require an investment of time and attention, but money can’t buy. They are gifts that are simple and free… and abundant, if we’ll but shift our gaze from the dozens of daily tasks rudely demanding our obedience, and focus instead on the thousands of humble, simple gifts, asking in a barely audible whisper for just a moment of our time.