The Jumpoff
Cascade is so long that just standing at the bottom and looking up its path
gives you absolutely no idea of its real length. It twists and turns and just
disappears after about 200 feet. So you can’t see it from the bottom. Later
that day, as we stood atop the Jumpoff and looked down, we could see the
general path of the creek as it zig-zagged down the slope, but there was too
much distance and greenery to see the actual rock and water cascade. From above
there’s no visible evidence that anything extraordinary is happening in the
valley below – other than a wonderfully steep slope. And the Lester Prong
valley is so remote that there’s no place to stand in the distance and hope to
see this cascade. The only way to view it is to climb alongside it for several
hours, from bottom to top, which only adds to its mystique. It’s
unapproachable, unattainable… and, therefore, that much more alluring.
On the
less-dramatic, more-delicate side, this slope surrounding the Jumpoff Cascade
is covered in thick, wet moss with frequent outposts of Grass of Parnassus, a
lovely, white wildflower that few visitors ever see. As my Wildflowers of the Smokies says, “Consider yourself very lucky to
find this outstanding native of bogs and seepage slopes.” My hiking partners
and I are not exactly wildflower enthusiasts, but we do like to know what’s
going on around us, so we did indeed consider ourselves lucky to stumble across
these small, white reminders that much of the wonder of the Smokies is at knee
or ankle level.
The split in the
creek at this “top” of the cascade is at 5,700 feet – about 300 vertical feet
from the top of the Jumpoff. At this point we all split up, not out of design,
but simply to follow our various interests. I decided to go up the left fork;
although I can’t really explain why. This fork had the heavier flow of water,
and it seemed that it would lead to the crease where the Boulevard meets the
AT. (It didn’t.) Maybe I was hoping there would be a few gawking tourists at
the top when I walked out of the woods. Greg, Keith, and Charlie followed the
right fork which seemed to head straight up to the highest point of the
Jumpoff, but certainly couldn’t go all the way to the top, simply because the
last 100 feet or so would be a nearly-vertical climb. Even a guy with a death
wish gene would have enough presence of mind to think about the people who love
and depend on him to keep him from trying to climb that last vertical 100 feet.
So my three
partners headed right, but they spread out a bit as well. There was a rocky
scar that stopped their progress across the face of Mount Kephart, so they did
some backtracking and re-routing to find a path that would lead them to the top.
In short, they had the same troubles that I was having – rocky cliffs that
would form a barrier that had to be avoided, usually by moving laterally along
the base until a gap in the cliff would allow them to move upward. It’s a
zig-zagging route that always holds that possibility of climbing for an hour or
two, only to find yourself hemmed in by cliffs above and to both sides, meaning
that the only option is to retreat and regroup.
There were several
points in their climb that this seemed to be happening. Occasionally during the
afternoon I was able to look across the slope only to hear and see patch of
rustling bushes on a frighteningly steep slope, but they were usually able to
find a crease or a gap or a ledge or some escape route that eventually led them
to the top. Of course, this involved the same tactics that we had been using
for the past two hours – push through the bushes, hang on to roots and limbs,
crawl up moss-covered rock, rest, repeat.
While they were
engaged in their struggle, I was working my way up the left fork in much the
same manner. They had stayed with their part of the cascade for several more
minutes before the slope became too steep and they had to move laterally. I
also stayed with my fork of the creek, but it quickly became too steep and
slippery for me to actually climb in the cascade, so I moved to the brush and
thickets along the side. As I pulled myself up through the bushes and moss, my
imagination began to run away with me. The slick cascade wouldn’t let me go
further left. What if I came to a rocky cliff that wouldn’t let me go higher and
another that wouldn’t let me go right? My only option would be to backtrack,
but backtrack to where? The fork where we had separated? How long would that
take? Where would my partners be? Would they have stumbled upon a route to the
top that I might miss? [To be continued]
