Land of Sharp Edges (Part 2 of 9)

 

Little cliques of hikers have been giving their own names to their personal stomping grounds for years. For example, I’ve heard some folks speak of the Real Charlies Bunion, the Tourist Charlies Bunion, the Boobs, and No Name Ridge – all names that have no meaning outside the insiders of those groups. Because this process of naming happens so naturally, I’d bet the farm that this same thing has been going on since the beginning of time. Ancient hunter-gatherer tribes undoubtedly encountered rivers and waterfalls and gave them their own, common-sense names. If a tribe’s first encounter with a watering hole resulted in killing a panther, then that watering hole might forever be Dead Panther Spring. On the other hand, if the panther got the better end of the deal, it might henceforth be known as Dead Hunter Spring. Either way, the names evolve out of common use based on real life (Panther Springs, Mill Creek) with an occasional flourish of creativity (Jumpoff) or humor (Charlies Bunion).

Giving permanent, official names to rivers and mountains is a relatively new phenomenon in American history which began only as outsiders in the form of explorers, scientists, and government officials encountered these remote places. These ambassadors of civilization had to standardize the names so they would know which rivers and ridges they were talking about amongst themselves for the purposes of navigation, boundaries, and ownership. You can’t make a good map of your domain without names for the places you are mapping. In the Smokies, this process didn’t happen until the 1930s as the old pioneer names were replaced by a different, official set of titles, and apparently only those groups of hikers or hunters who are appointed as advisory committees to governmental boards will ever have the chance to emblazon their place names on an official map.

So “Jumpoff” provides a vivid description of this sheer, eastern face of Mount Kephart. It’s an appropriate name, but keep in mind that “jump off” is a colorful description, not a suggestion – a noun, not a verb. Declarative, not imperative.

 

Sharp Edges: East of Jumpoff

The view from the Jumpoff is dramatic and unique. For those who think of the Smokies as a land of smooth, green mountains… okay, you are about 95% correct. But to see some of that other 5%, go to the Jumpoff and look east toward Charlies Bunion and the Sawteeth, into the area that could easily be called the Land of Sharp Edges. Of course, the rocky outcrop of Charlies Bunion is a centerpiece of this section, but the ridge leading up to it as well as the parallel ridges beyond it are battered and scarred. While this is a great view in any season, a summer view will be the most visually distinctive, allowing you to see the contrasts of green foliage versus the brown-gray, rocky scars.

 

View East from Jumpoff

From the other side of the Land of Sharp Edges, just beyond Charlies Bunion, looking back at Mount Kephart is equally impressive. How long has Mount Kephart looked like this, like a deformed giant? Since birth? Or has its entire eastern side been scooped off and deposited downstream in more recent millennia? Walking up the watershed where the debris would have to flow, there are many tangled trees and boulders from recent landslides, but there’s not half a mountain in these creeks. Whether it was a sudden catastrophe or a long, slow process, visualizing the huge piece that is missing from this mountain is mind-boggling.

While the view from the Jumpoff to the ridges of the east is best during the summer, the view from those ridges west toward the Jumpoff is best after a light dusting of snow or ice. This whitens the moss and shrubs that cover the upper half of the Jumpoff and gives it a Yosemite look, like a wall of bare granite. This is the perspective that shows how truly rugged Kephart’s eastern face really is.