Sugar Fingers (Part 3 of 4)

On a recent July Saturday, Greg Harrell and I hiked up one of the recently-exposed Sugar Fingers of Sugarland Mountain. Within ten minutes I knew that I had made a big mistake. I had just returned from a week-long fishing trip in which we normally got to sleep about 4am and awakened about 10am, or 11am on a good day. So I wasn’t well rested. It was a hot, humid, summer day on an exposed, sunny ridge – and I don’t do well on hot days, probably due to touch of heat stroke in my younger days. I also felt nauseated for some unknown reason, perhaps related to cheeseburgers and copious amounts of white cheddar popcorn. I had spent three hours pushing a lawn mower the day before, so I was lethargic and had a few yellow jacket stings as mementos of my day in the yard. And last but not least, I was only a day away from turning 62, so, well, you know.

To make a long story short, I spent the whole day wishing I’d either get well, or just die and get it over with. Unfortunately, I survived, but just barely, which was the worst of all possible outcomes. I had to stop for a five-minute rest stop every couple of minutes. So I managed to transform our four or five-hour frolic into a nine-hour death march. I had brought enough water for a five-hour hike, so I ran out of water about half way through the day. So let’s add dehydration and leg and arm cramps to my list of woes. It’s possible that I may have done a little whining.

I spent the whole day talking to the mountain, begging it to kill me or revive me. I told it “It’s not you, it’s me,” but neither of us believed it. I hated the mountain and it hated me. I try not to use profanity in my day to day routine, but sometimes it’s necessary to make the point, and today was one of those days. On several occasions I told the mountain what I thought of it in no uncertain terms. It responded like a parent who has run out of patience with his irresponsible son, determined to make me suffer the consequences of my poor choices. A therapist might call this an “asymmetrical relationship” in which one person has all the power and the other has none. As I may have already mentioned, there may have been some whining on my part.  

Even though I didn’t think so at the time, the mountain was also fabulous. This Sugar Finger ridge was open and rocky and scary and dirty and sooty. There were burned trees and rocks and ground everywhere. There were rocky outcrops, some of which were scary, maybe even deadly in a few places. The dominant colors were brown, gray, and black, with only an occasional hint of green.

And, as always, the views up and down the Sugarlands valley were magnificent. Not only did we have an unmatched view of the Chimney Tops, the other Sugar Finger ridges were wild and rough, as were the cliffs and canyons between them. We spent a few minutes watching a peregrine falcon chasing a raven. A sure sign that you are in a wild, rocky place is a territorial falcon who has laid his claim and is willing to defend it. [To be continued]

Sugar Fingers: The Little Sisters of the Chimney Tops (Part 2 of 4)

Viewing the Smokies’ newest topographic addition – the Sugar Fingers -- is very, very easy. The several scenic, parking pullouts on the road between the Chimney Tops Picnic Area and the Chimney Tops trailhead are directly across the valley from these newly-exposed ridges. Before December, 2016, looking south across this valley was pleasant enough. You’d see the slopes of Sugarland Mountain, green and a bit lumpy in a few places. Steep in some spots and gently sloping in others. Nothing special.

As the fire jumped across the face of Sugarland Mountain, blowing toward Gatlinburg, it torched several rocky, side ridges running along the slope of the main ridgecrest, like ribs attached to a spine. The change was dramatic. Before, these ridges looked like gentle, green, elongated humps running up the side of Sugarland Mountain. They were barely noticeable. In fact, my only off-trail trip up Sugarland Mountain a few years ago had focused on the ravines and cliffs between these ridges. The ridges were just those green, tree-covered things on either side of us as we worked our way up the steep slope of Sugarland Mountain. The thought never occurred to us to explore those ridges.

The fire changed all that. Those formerly uninteresting side ridges are now the most enticing parts of Sugarland Mountain. In fact, now that those four or five side ridges (that is, the Sugar Fingers) are exposed, it is very obvious what they are. They are, essentially, the little sisters of the Chimney Tops ridge.

On a Saturday not long ago, Greg Harrell and I stood in one of the parking pullouts just below the (closed) Chimney Tops trailhead and looked across the valley at the newly-exposed, rocky side ridges of Sugarland Mountain, deciding which one we would spend the day ascending. They all looked dangerously inviting, so we picked the largest, longest one because, well, you’ve gotta start somewhere.

As we looked up and across the valley, my paradigm shifted, and I saw these ridges and the Chimney Tops in a new way, through new eyes. It became obvious that the Chimney Tops were not a separate thing, a separate mountain. No, the Chimney Tops are two prominent peaks on a side ridge of Sugarland Mountain. That’s why there’s an old, obscure side trail from the Sugarland Mountain trail down to the Chimney Tops. That unofficial, side trail follows the crest of the side ridge that culminates at the Chimney Tops.

Now I could see that the new Sugar Fingers were similar side ridges, not very different from the Chimney Tops side ridge. All of these side ridges (including the Chimney Tops) are roughly parallel with each other, forming ribs which connect with the main spine of Sugarland Mountain. The Chimney Tops ridge is the highest, largest, and most dramatic. It is, in a sense, the original Sugar Finger. The Mother of All Sugar Fingers. It’s been open and bare and visible for…  well… nobody knows how long. Centuries probably. The Cherokee referred to them as “the antlers.” So, they were probably bare when the local Cherokees were naming things.

Now, the rest of the Sugar Fingers have been exposed for all of us to see. And explore.

So, on a July Saturday, Greg Harrell and I hopped on the Cove Hardwood Nature Trail, then turned roughly left at the point where the trail’s loop starts. And thus began the worst day of hiking I’ve ever had. [To be continued]