A miscalculation about the opening
of the Cades Cove Loop Road (the road opening is delayed until 10 am on
Saturdays and Wednesdays during the summer) had forced us to begin our day hike
on a trail outside of Cades Cove. This was the first pin to fall, creating a
chain reaction that eventually forced us to bushwhack down Molly Creek. Because the route down a creek is more
obvious than the route up a creek, we wouldn’t get lost. And we didn’t. But
that doesn’t mean the hike will be easy. It wasn’t.
Because the rhododendron pushed
us up the slope, we couldn’t always see and hear the creek very well. We didn’t
know how big and loud the Molly Creek Cascade would be. Could we expect to hear
it when we got there? We didn’t know for sure, so we had to rely on one of our
gadgets, an altimeter. Hoping that the 1931 map was reasonably accurate, we
decided to drop down off the slope around the 3,500 feet elevation point. We
hoped that the cascade would be somewhere between 2,500 and 3,500 feet.
Consequently, starting at about 3,500 feet, we hiked in the creek.
Our first hour in the creek was
slow. Rhododendron hung low over the water, blocking our path. We stepped carefully
on rocks and in shallow spots. We both had good, waterproof boots on, so our
feet stayed dry. But the hiking was slow.
Did I mention that by this point
it was the middle of the afternoon? We had already hiked up to the AT, hiked
east to Rocky Top, backtracked to Spence Field and continued another couple of miles
to Russell Field. A total of about 11 miles, plus a couple of miles down Molly
Creek. We were beginning to wonder how many more hours this trip would take.
Hiking out of the forest after dark on a trail was a bit of a problem; hiking
after dark off-trail could be very
bewildering. So, we needed to speed up, but couldn’t.
At least, we couldn’t until we
got our feet wet.
At some point in the afternoon,
we both managed to step into the creek in a knee-deep hole. Obviously, that was
not life threatening, but it did mean that water had now poured in over the top
of our boots. Those waterproof boots that had been keeping water out was now holding the water in. Our feet were soaked.
Wet feet are not really a good
thing on a hike. However, getting our feet wet did give us one less thing to
worry about. We no longer had to step carefully to keep our feet dry. Wet feet
gave us the freedom to wade in the creek with reckless abandon. So that’s what
we did. Knee deep water? Just slog on through. Don’t waste time looking for
rocks along the edges. Just charge ahead. A waist-deep run with huge boulders
on both sides? Don’t get out of the creek and climb up the slope above the
boulders – just wade through the middle, making sure you don’t wade so deeply
that your pack gets wet. Needless to say, our pace sped up dramatically from
that point on.
Three hours after we had begun
following the creek at Russell Field, we began to encounter a series of small
waterfalls, each maybe 10 feet high. We wondered if each one was Molly Creek
Cascade or if putting them all together was the cascade. None of them really
looked like a “cascade” to us, but we did stop below each one and take a
picture, just in case.
These small waterfalls also
slowed us down because they were at points in the river where the creek gorge
was steep-walled on the sides. It was almost impossible to get out of the creek
and hike around these falls. So, we took the path of least resistance and broke
the cardinal rule of Smokies safety – we crawled down the wet rocks in and
along the edges of these small waterfalls, keeping all four hands and feet on
the rocks at all times. It was wet, slippery, and tiring. And moderately
dangerous, or stupid, whichever synonym you prefer. It was also fun, as stupid
or dangerous things sometimes are, if you survive. At that moment we were
living examples of the joke about a red-neck’s famous, last words: “Hey ya’ll.
Watch this!” [To be continued.]
No comments:
Post a Comment