WALKING INTO SPRING

As usual, Christy and I contemplated a number of options for spring break this year. After a wicked winter, we gave some serious consideration to heading to Florida. We were operating on a tight budget this time around though. While we were discussing the possibilities, Christy surprised me by suggesting a thru-hike of South Carolina’s Foothills Trail. I’ve done most of that trail in bits and pieces, but not the whole thing in one shot. However, the thought of traversing all of those pesky steps gave me second thoughts. Plus, we only had 6 days at our disposal, as we had tickets to a concert on Friday night. Doing the entire 70+ mile trail in that time frame would be a little bit aggressive.

As an alternative, I suggested a section hike on the Bartram Trail in North Carolina and Georgia. This option appealed me to for a number of reasons. First, I’d purchased the trail guide to the Georgia Bartram Trail years ago, and I’d yet to hike the majority of the route. Second, I knew that the Bartram Trail is less-traveled than other long distance routes in the southeast, like the Appalachian Trail and the Foothills Trail. Those paths were likely to be busy in early April, while the Bartram promised more solitude. Finally, the section of the Bartram I suggested offered a fine variety of scenery, including exposed rocky summits and cliffs, waterfalls, and a pleasant stretch along the Chattooga River.

To my surprise, Christy agreed to this plan. Years ago, while hiking a steep stretch of the Bartram Trail from the Nantahala River Gorge to Cheoah Bald, Christy had vowed to never set foot on the Bartram Trail again. Since then, I had deceived her into hiking other, easier, stretches of the path (the deception coming from simply not telling her that we would be on the Bartram Trail). I assured her that the portion of the trail we would be hiking on this trip was also much more gentle than the ascent of Cheoah Bald. Apparently she believed me.

We planned to take 6 days to cover the 56 miles between the Chattooga River and the Buckeye Creek Trailhead, which is a few miles southeast of Franklin, NC. I was eager to hike this route, as doing so would leave me with only one section of the Bartram Trail that I hadn’t covered. That portion includes a lengthy road walk from Buckeye Creek to Franklin, and 10 or so miles of trail up to Wayah Bald. I definitely plan to hike the stretch from Franklin to Wayah Bald some day. However, I have no intention of ever completing the road walk, as walking on roads doesn’t interest me.

We also had to decide which direction we wanted to hike. The Georgia and North Carolina guides are both written from south to north. However, after considering all of the factors involved, I decided to hike in the opposite direction. Going that way meant traversing the scenic summits of the Fishawk Mountains at the beginning of the trip while the weather was good. It also meant arriving at the refreshing Chattooga River at the end. Meanwhile, it would allow us to avoid the crowds that were likely to descend upon the Chattooga over Easter weekend. Plus, going that direction suggested a somewhat easier hike, as we’d start at a higher elevation than where we’d finish. Finally, walking south, and heading towards a lower elevation, meant that we’d be gradually walking into spring. I knew we’d start the trip in leafless forest. I hoped though that the later part of the trip would bring spring green and abundant wildflowers.

The other difficulty in planning the trip was working out trailhead transportation. It’s a long haul on windy roads between the two trailheads. I made several calls to shuttle services and taxi companies before I finally got a price quote. Being shuttled between the trailheads would cost us $175, which was a little hard to swallow. Instead, we decided to bring two cars and run a shuttle ourselves. This was a little inconvenient, but the cost in gas was a fraction of what a shuttle service would’ve run.

MAGIC BUS

Christy and I packed on Friday evening. We dehydrated dinners for 5 nights and loaded up Boone’s pack with plenty of dog food. We managed a fairly early start Saturday morning, before making the long drive through Clemson and on to the highway 28 bridge over the Chattooga River. The trailhead parking area on the Georgia side of the bridge was full, so we returned to the larger lot on the South Carolina side. There we managed to find enough room for Christy’s car on the shoulder. Based on the number of cars at the two parking areas, I was glad we were starting the hike at the other end!

From there, Christy and Boone joined me for the drive up to Buckeye Creek. We drove through Clayton, Georgia, and found our way to the trailhead without any trouble. The small parking area at the trailhead features an information sign, so we knew we were in the right place. We were organizing our gear when Boone went into panic mode because he was being buzzed by a bee. He’d gotten stung a few days earlier, and had developed an instant phobia. Only a day before, he’d been on the back porch, barking his head off at a group of bees hovering near our chimney. He nearly ran me over while I was loading my pack in an effort to get away from this bee. I was hopeful that we’d leave the bees behind once we climbed into the mountains. Otherwise, we could be in for an annoying trip.

We were pulling our boots on when a dog from a nearby farm stopped by to pay Boone a visit. Sheer chaos ensued, before the farmer chased his dog down. The trip was off to an auspicious start as we started up the dirt road from the parking area. At this point it was already noon, but we wanted to put some distance between us and the bees a loose dogs before we stopped for lunch.

The hike started out on an uninspiring logging road. After a few minutes we found a pleasant wide spot in the road next to a small stream. We stopped there for lunch, mainly so Boone could get plenty of water. I knew there would be no water sources once we left the valley until we reached camp, some seven miles away. It was a hot, sunny day, and keeping Boone (and ourselves) well hydrated was going to be one of our biggest challenges.

Boone spent most of lunch in the creek. From there, we continued up the road, crossing several more small streams. Eventually we turned off the logging road in favor of a footpath winding up towards the ridgeline to the north. After only a short distance, we encountered one final stream crossing. This one was more of a mud hole. Christy made it across without much grace, but at least she stayed out of the muck. I wasn’t as lucky. I chose to step on a rock in the middle of the mud. Apparently this was a floating rock, as my foot sank as soon as I put my weight on it. I plunged knee deep into the mud, my right boot filling with cold sludge. I was delighted – we were only a mile into the hike and I had already managed to ruin one of the two pairs of socks I’d brought.

From there, we began a long, steady climb out of the valley. As we hiked we spooked grouse on a couple of occasions. Christy nearly had a heart attack when the first one burst out of the shrubbery lining the trail. We also passed some scattered violets and a few Bloodroot in bloom. Those few flowers were the only sign of spring though. All of the trees along the trail were still winter bare.

Eventually we reached the top of the ridge. Here I spotted a faint trail heading southwest, towards Cedar Cliff. My copy of the NC Bartram Trail guide, which was written years ago, describes the route we had taken from Buckeye Creek as a temporary trail. Back then, plans were in the works to extend the trail past Cedar Cliffs and on towards Franklin. Apparently those plans never developed. The “temporary” route seems to have become permanent.

I expected the hike to get easier once we reached the top of the ridge. I was wrong. We continued to climb, following the ridge east towards the crest of the Fishhawk Mountains. Before long we reached a cliff and stopped for an obligatory break to soak in the views. From there we could see most of the Fishhawk Mountains. We’d be following that range for the next two days, so we could see most of the route ahead. Scaly Mountain Mountain loomed across the valley, waiting for us to arrive on Sunday afternoon.

From the cliff we climbed some more, and reached an area labeled Doubletop Fields on the map. We didn’t pass through the fields (actually an old orchard) though. They were below us, north of the ridge, on posted private property. A few minutes later, we were startled to see an old yellow school bus rusting next to the trail. The bus is in rough shape, with most of its windows broken. To me though, the bus was interesting for one reason. How did it get here? No doubt there is, or at least was, a road to Doubletop Fields. The bus was parked on the crest of the ridge though, which is a bit above the old orchard. It must’ve been quite the final drive before it was abandoned here.

I probably shouldn’t publicize the bus too much. Considering how broke the North Carolina public schools are, the local district might try to recover it and press it back into service!

We resumed the hike with yet another climb. This one finally ended at another fine viewpoint, at an outcrop on Wolf Rock. This spot offered a similar view as the one from the cliffs earlier on. After another short break, we shuffled on, relieved that the worst of the climbing was over. From Wolf Rock, we hiked along the shoulder of Fishhawk Mountain. We passed a primitive side trail to the summit, but decided to skip it. I knew from previous experience that there is no view from the top of that particular peak.

We reached Little Fishhawk Mountain a bit later, where we were treated to another view of the Tessentee Creek Valley. A descent followed, and before long we reached the side trail up to Whiterock Mountain. Whiterock was one that I definitely didn’t want to miss, but I decided to save it for sunset. We were planning to camp nearby, so coming back later wouldn’t be unreasonable.

A few minutes later we reached a marked side trail leading down to the headwaters of Stephens Creek. Boone indulged in the water, as it was the first source we’d passed since the mudhole I’d floundered in right after lunch. From there we hiked another ½ mile or so to Whiterock Gap. We made camp there, in an open hardwood forest on the ridge between Whiterock Mountain and Jones Knob. It was a nice campsite except for two drawbacks. First, it was a pretty good haul to get water down at Stephens Creek. Second, the whole area was plagued with some of the worst bugs I’ve ever seen in the North Carolina mountains. To be honest, they’d been a nuisance all day. They were either small flies or big gnats. Although they didn’t bite, they were certainly adept at flying into our ears and eyes. On more than one occasion I managed to inhale and / or swallow one.

I fetched water, and by the time I returned Christy had built an impressive campfire. The smoke from the fire did wonders for keeping the bugs away. We were relaxing by the fire when we encountered the first other human being of the trip. He was a trail runner, but he stopped to chat as he passed by our camp. It was an interesting encounter, because I was beginning to wonder if we’d see anybody else out there.

It was around 7pm when I headed back up to Whiterock Mountain for sunset. Christy decided to pass, as she’d had enough for one day. Unfortunately, she had neglected to bring her headlamp on the trip – as usual. Christy almost always forgets to bring it for some reason. The only recent exception was last summer’s trip to Alaska. It’s pretty ironic that she brought it then, considering that it really didn’t get dark while we were there!

Boone accompanied me up to Whiterock. Whiterock is a spectacular summit, but for some reason it doesn’t seem to be that well known. It features great views to the south and west, making it an ideal spot for sunset. The peak itself is wooded at the top, but the west side is mostly open rock faces. I worked my way around the cliffs, looking for good photographic potential. Unfortunately, clouds building in the west pretty much snuffed out sunset well before the sun reached the horizon. Despite that disappointment, I was glad I’d hiked up there. Whiterock may have been the best view of the hike.

I hurried back, returning well before dark. I arrived just in time for a late dinner of chicken stir fry with rice and fresh vegetables. We didn’t stay up long after that, as we were tired from the hike up from the valley. Our sleeping arrangement that evening was a bit cramped. We’d brought our summer sleeping bags, which are nice because we can zip them together. With overnight lows expected in the upper 40’s, we knew the summer bags would be borderline adequate. However, we had a secret weapon against the cold. At home, Boone loves to sleep under the covers. We let him in the tent, and he snuggled deep in the sleeping bags between us. Boone puts out a lot of heat, and if anything, we were a bit too warm at night. Overall our plan would’ve worked fine, if we could just figure out how to teach Boone not to jab us with his paws!

SURPRISE VALLEY

“Oh, kiss the mountain air we breathe
Good-bye it's time to fly.
Sparrow climb, the air is thinner,
Open wings cast this valley in the shade.

Fires dance the shadows
Winds whisper the trees
Mother talkin' the waters
Spirit moves, it moves through all things.”

From “Surprise Valley” by Widespread Panic

A lazy morning led to a late start Sunday morning. Before breaking camp, we spent a few minutes searching the campsite for Easter eggs. Sadly, the Easter Bunny had failed to stop by. Unfortunately, I had received a visit from the Chafing Fairy the previous night. I guess that was just another charming side effect from the unusually hot weather we’d experienced over the last few days.

We broke camp at 10am and climbed around the east side of Jones Knob. Before long our quiet hike was interrupted by the roar of a chainsaw. We rounded a bend to see a couple of guys working to clear a bunch of fallen trees from the trail. We’d encountered several deadfalls the previous day, but this was the worst one we’d seen. We chatted briefly with them and thanked them for their efforts before continuing on. A few minutes later we reached the side trail to the summit of Jones Knob. There is a decent view from the top, but we decided to pass it by. I knew there would be plenty of fine scenery ahead of us.

We continued ahead through a meadow to the trailhead at Jones Gap. We picked up the trail on the far side, and enjoyed a pleasant walk through open hardwoods. A refreshing breeze helped alleviate the morning heat. Before long, we reached a cliff with a nice view of Scaly Mountain looming over the upper Tessentee Creek valley. We took a break there, mainly because it was too nice of a spot to race by. All too soon though, it was time to begin the steep descent to Hickory Gap.

We joined an old road at Hickory Gap. At this point, the map and guide suggested that we should turn left and follow the road out of the gap and around the east side of Peggy Knob. However, numerous yellow blazes led us in the opposite direction, farther down the mountain. I didn’t like the looks of this, and I liked it even less as we resumed our steep descent. Every step we took deeper into the valley made Scaly Mountain loom that much higher above us.

Eventually the descent subsided, but the hiking wasn’t any easier. We began a long, tedious traverse of an extremely steep slope on the west side of Peggy Knob. This part of the hike was quite rugged, with some dicey footing and lots of short but steep ups and downs. Eventually we reached a small stream, and stopped there for water and lunch. It was a passable spot for a break, but our choice was a poor one. Not long after lunch, we reached a nice campsite next to Tessentee Creek. It was a really nice spot, but we didn’t linger since we had just had a break.

At this point, there was nowhere to go but up. We followed Tessentee Creek upstream, passing a fair-sized waterfall largely hidden behind a curtain of vegetation. I’d never heard of this waterfall before, but the lighting was awful, and I kept my camera in its case where it belonged.

We resumed the climb, which proved to be one of the most difficult of the trip. By now it was mid-afternoon, and the heat was ungodly. Temperatures were probably in the 80’s, which is unusually warm for the North Carolina mountains – in the summer. In April, that sort of heat is unheard of. The heat made the climb more challenging, but we managed to maintain a steady if slow pace. As we hiked, I pondered exactly where we were and where we were going. We were nowhere near the route shown on the official map, but the blazes continued. Finally we reached the ridge extending west from Scaly Mountain. From there, we simply followed the ridge towards the top of the mountain. Shortly before the summit, we reached the first of several open rock faces. It was a great spot for a well-deserved break, featuring sunny views to the south and west.

We sprawled on the rocks and indulged in some Easter eggs that someone other than the Easter Bunny had slipped into the food bag. Christy was content to relax in the sun, but I wanted to explore the rest of the mountain. Boone followed me up the trail, towards the summit. After a few minutes we found several other rock faces, each featuring fine views. The best were to the south, towards Rabun Bald. Rabun Bald would be our destination for Monday’s hike.

We were on our way back when I heard some rustling in the undergrowth adjacent to the trail. I glanced in that direction, and spotted the first snake of the season. It wasn’t a poisonous variety, but I still grabbed Boone’s collar. Surprisingly, he didn’t even notice it as it slithered away.

I rejoined Christy, and we resumed the hike. We followed the Bartram Trail back across Scaly Mountain and descended to a junction with the old route. Originally Scaly Mountain was only a side trip off the main Bartram Trail route. Now that the trail has been rerouted, the peak is one of the most scenic spots along the route. Unfortunately, the re-route also passes through a deep, unexpected valley, making this stretch of trail much more difficult.

We made a quick descent to highway 106 a few miles west of Highlands. This is a busy road, and crossing it did interrupt the wilderness experience a bit. The traffic was quickly left behind though, as we followed the Bartram Trail towards the headwaters of the West Fork of Overflow Creek. We were looking forward to reaching the stream, as that was where we planned to camp that night. We had to endure some fallen trees along this stretch, but before long we could hear the soothing sound of rushing water. We reached the campsite a few minutes later, only to find someone else already there.

Vernon was at the end of his second day thru-hiking the entire Bartram Trail, from the Chattooga River to Cheoah Bald. He was putting in some serious miles, having covered about 40 miles – mostly uphill – since starting on Saturday morning. He warned us that the trail ahead was littered with fallen trees. He also told us that he hadn’t seen a single campsite in the last 3 miles. This was alarming, as it was getting late, and we were both pretty much wiped out.

Vernon invited us to camp along the edge of the trail next to his campsite. He also had a dog, but unfortunately it didn’t get along with other animals. This certainly wasn’t the ideal situation, but we didn’t have any other reasonable options. We set up camp and leashed the dog before going to work on a spaghetti dinner. We ate well, and fatigue from a long, difficult hike chased us to bed early.

GEORGIA BROWN

We got an earlier start on Monday. For breakfast we went with granola cereal, which has the advantage of being quicker to prepare, along with providing more energy than instant oatmeal. We wanted the early start so we could get some miles behind us before the dry heat of the last few days returned. It was a good strategy, but it didn’t really work out. The difficult part of Monday’s hike, a climb to the summit of Rabun Bald (Georgia’s second-highest peak), was waiting for us near the end of this section.

Christy and I were a little leery about the trail ahead. Judging by the map, the next few miles should’ve been some of the easiest hiking of the whole trip. Vernon had told us that the trail was in great shape in Georgia. At the North Carolina line though, it had apparently gone all to hell. He told us that the 3 miles from the state line to camp had been obscured by dozens of fallen trees. It turns out that Vernon was half right. Unfortunately, he was right about the trail from camp to the state line. Regrettably, there proved to be a fair number of fallen trees in Georgia, too.

The worst blowdown was a tangle of fallen Rhododendrons on a steep slope. Climbing around them wasn’t practical. I ended up crawling underneath them, dragging my pack behind me as I went. Christy showed me up by performing a daring traverse, walking across the tops of the fallen trees. A fall would’ve been ugly, and I wasn’t feeling nearly that daring. I breathed a sigh of relief when she made it to the far side.

A bit later we passed another trail runner. Running this stretch of trail was certainly ambitious, given the many obstructions along the route. By this point, late on the morning of the third day, we had seen two trail runners, one backpacker, and zero dayhikers on the trail.

That all changed after lunch. We ate and filled up on water at a small stream shortly before the state line. A few minutes later we reached Hale Ridge Road. Hale Ridge Road isn’t exactly a major thorofare, but you wouldn’t have guessed it from the crowd of hikers at the trailhead there. First we passed a large group of sweaty college-aged kids that had just come down from Rabun Bald. Then we encountered a large family and dog. They were getting ready to begin a dayhike of Rabun Bald. We ended up passing them two more times, as they reached the summit and were on their way back before we finished the climb.

The first couple of miles beyond Hale Ridge Road featured some easy hiking and lots of streams. We encouraged Boone to drink at each one, because it was a hot, dry afternoon, and we knew it would only get worse. Eventually we passed some large vacation cabins near Beegum Gap, and the climb began in earnest. The climb was a hot, sweaty, grunt up an old logging road. As we climbed, we kept ourselves busy trying to swat the hordes of bugs away before inhaling them. Finally we turned off the main logging road onto a wide trail. At this point, Boone was panting and his tongue was nearly dragging on the ground. We stopped there for an unplanned break, and Boone dug himself a bed in the relatively cool dirt under a stand of Rhododendrons. We let him rest and gave him some water, but I still felt guilty when we resumed the climb 30 minutes later.

The final ascent featured some switchbacks, followed by a fairly gentle ascent along the summit ridge. At the peak, we found a two-story observation tower situated in the middle of a grassy clearing. Initially we went to the top, but Boone shied away from the final, steep set of stairs. Eventually Christy took him back down to relax in a shady, grassy spot. I stayed on top for a few minutes longer, taking photos and enjoying a brisk breeze that was effective in scattering the bugs.

Rabun Bald offered one of the finest views of the trip. From the tower, we were treated to unobstructed views in every direction. To the south, blue ridges tumbled off towards the distant horizon. My favorite vista though was to the north, where the rugged peaks of Scaly Mountain and Whiterock Mountain dominated the horizon. Farther east, I spotted the sheer face of Whitesides Mountain as well as the towering pyramid of Chimneytops Mountain. Back to west we gazed out over Sky Valley towards Standing Indian and its surrounding peaks. I found this a bit amusing, as I actually spent a week in Sky Valley on a family vacation back when I was a teenager.

While I was on the tower, I was startled by a huge military jet that flew directly over the tower. That struck me as rather unusual. Where is the nearest military base to the mountains of north Georgia?

Two other groups of dayhikers arrived a bit later. Seeing all of these people after 2+ days of utter solitude was a little disorienting. I descended to join Christy, Boone, and the bugs in the grass. By late afternoon it was starting to get a little cooler, and it was past time to head down the trail in search of a campsite.

We descended steeply at first before contouring along the west side of Rabun Bald. We actually passed a small stream (probably seasonal) and a potential campsite fairly early on. We passed it by though, as we wanted to cover a little more ground before camping. Later, a steady descent brought us to the headwaters of another small stream. Unfortunately, we didn’t see any likely campsites in the area. We reached Saltrock Gap after another ½ mile, and we could’ve camped here. It would’ve been a long haul to water though. I consulted the Georgia Bartram Trail guide, and noted that there was a campsite and a small stream on the other side of Flattop, about another mile farther on. We decided to continue. If we had realized how much we’d have to climb to get over Flattop, we may have reconsidered that decision! We were both pretty wiped out from the long uphill hike in the heat. It was a relief when we finally started down the steep path on the far side of Flattop.

The side trail to the campsite was pretty obvious, but still glad I was looking for it, because the stream and campsite are out of sight of the trail. The creek is quite small, and getting water from it was tedious, but the campsite on the far side was open and pleasant. The bugs were just as much of a nuisance here as everywhere else we’d been, so Christy built a small, smoky fire while I set up camp. We were very careful to keep the fire small, as the surrounding forest seemed exceptionally dry. It’s amazing how quickly the woods dried out following an unusually cold, wet winter.

At this point we were well into Georgia, and the highest elevations were behind us. Despite this, the forest was still winter-brown. It looked like we were at least a week or two ahead of the spring green.

Later that evening, I hiked a short distance down the trail to a viewpoint mentioned in the guide. The view is from a cliff, looking west towards the high peaks of north Georgia. Sunset from Whiterock Mountain on Saturday had been disappointing, but tonight was a different story. Conditions were excellent, and the view was perfect. While enjoying the sunset, I was entertained by a wild turkey that was gobbling emphatically somewhere nearby. Every so often, things would get quiet – perhaps too quiet – and the turkey would break the silence with a raucous call.

I returned to camp in time for dinner at dusk. We had jambalaya and chicken and headed to bed early. Exhaustion helped me sleep, despite being jabbed frequently by the usual assortment of dog paws.

HAMMOCK TIME

The plan for Tuesday was a longer but easier hike. All of the big peaks were now behind us, and we were looking forward to getting down to the river. However, the Chattooga was still 20 miles away, so we’d have to wait until Wednesday afternoon. In the meantime, we had some easy walking and Martin Creek to look forward to. Martin Creek would be the first big stream we’d encounter since the West Fork of Overflow Creek. I was also looking forward to seeing Martin Creek Falls, which is one of the more significant waterfalls along the Bartram Trail.

We managed a fairly early start, as we were hoping to reach Martin Creek early enough to enjoy it. Prior to the trip, I had assured Christy that fairly easy hiking meant plenty of time for relaxation at camp each afternoon. Thus far, my promises rang hollow. We got a late start on Saturday due to the long drive, but Sunday’s and Monday’s hikes had been all-day affairs. I blamed the difficulty of Sunday’s hike on the re-routed trail, and Monday’s on the oppressive heat. Despite those excuses, I knew that Christy was not amused. If we didn’t get to camp by mid-afternoon on Tuesday, I’d have a grumpy wife on my hands.

Fortunately, the easy hiking I had anticipated finally materialized. We followed the Bartram Trail along the Continental Divide, occasionally leaving it on one side or the other to bypass the many peaks along the way. By swinging around the peaks on a contour, the trail proved to be much easier than if we’d followed the ridgeline over every bump. There wasn’t a lot of tremendous scenery along this stretch, although this part of the route did have its moments. The open, leafless forest provided winter views of the ridges to the east and west. Windy Gap offered up a refreshing breeze. And the solitude that had dominated the trip, after being interrupted by the popularity of Rabun Bald, returned. We didn’t see any other hikers until we reached Martin Creek that afternoon.

It was mid-afternoon when we finally left the ridge behind and began a steady descent towards Martin Creek. We passed above Martin Falls, and the laughter of children indicated that someone was enjoying the water. We reached a lovely and still semi-healthy Hemlock forest along Martin Creek a few minutes later. There is a huge camping area here, and nobody else was around. Shortly after setting up camp, the family that had been at the falls left, and we had the whole area to ourselves for the rest of the day.

We set up camp, and Christy strung up the hammock for the second time. I was feeling a little bit grumpy about carrying the thing this far, without actually being able to use it! We rectified that oversight that afternoon, relaxing under the swaying Hemlocks. At camp, it seemed like the temperature was 10 degrees lower (and it probably was), and the bugs were absent for the first time in four days!

It was an idyllic spot, but I wasn’t content with spending the entire time lounging around. Later that afternoon we made the short walk up to Martin Creek Falls. It’s a nice 30’ waterfall, although fallen trees at the base make it a bit less photogenic. There is a small but deep pool at the base, and I was ready to get wet. Getting to it was a bit awkward though. I decided to scramble across a large boulder. I boosted myself up onto the rock, swung my leg around, and nearly sat on the second snake of the trip. Needless to say, I was a bit startled. In fact, I squealed like a little girl, much to Christy’s entertainment! The snake took the opportunity to slither away, and I only got a brief glimpse of it. I’m not sure what it was, but I don’t think it was poisonous. My guess is that it was a relatively harmless water snake.

We eventually made it into the pool at the base of the falls. The pool was in the shade though, and we quickly forgot about the heat of the last few days. The spray coming off the waterfall was downright frigid, and we both lost all interest in going in more than knee deep. This was a bit of a disappointment, as I was hoping to set my all-time record for earliest spring swim in the southern Appalachians. I guess the first week of April is just a little bit aggressive in that regard.

We headed back to camp, where we used my collapsible bucket to bathe and wash our hair. This was almost as refreshing as swimming, and afterwards we relaxed with lemonade and vodka and played some scramble. And yeah, we managed to squeeze in a little more hammock time. I actually fell asleep in the hammock after Christy retired to the tent. I woke around midnight to an unusual sensation – I was actually a little bit cold! If it had been a little warmer, I might’ve slept in the hammock all night, far away from sharp dog paws. The chill eventually drove me to the tent though, and I managed to sleep reasonably well the rest of the night.

TAKE ME TO THE RIVER

We got a fairly early start on Wednesday. We had one more climb coming up, and I wanted to get it out of the way in the relatively cool morning air. Plus, I was looking forward to our final campsite on a sandy beach on the Chattooga River. Like Martin Creek, it was another place where we could spend some time relaxing.

We had our cereal, broke camp, and followed rollicking Martin Creek downstream. We passed some additional cascades and small waterfalls as the creek dropped rapidly into a narrow gorge. This was a great stretch of trail, but it didn’t last long. All too soon, we turned away from the creek to traverse a hillside high above Warwoman Road. This stretch of trail offered easy hiking though, and soon we found ourselves approaching the cove of Becky Branch. Becky Branch Falls loomed through the trees ahead. Becky Branch Falls is fairly high, and I got excited as we approached. Unfortunately, Becky Branch Falls proved to be one of those waterfalls that looks better from a distance. The view from the bridge at the base of the falls wasn’t nearly as exciting as I had hoped, and the lighting for photography was poor. Despite this, it was still a relaxing, pleasant spot.

From there we made a quick, steep descent to Warwoman Road. We dashed across the road and dropped steeply down to the picnic area at Warwoman Dell. Here we found another nice stream, picnic tables, a picnic shelter, a toilet, and a water fountain. I was hoping there would be trash cans, as there was plenty of garbage in my pack. Trash cans failed to materialize though. I suppose we could’ve done like everyone else and left a big pile of trash at one of the picnic areas. I would never do that though, so it seemed that our refuse would accompany us to the end of the trail.

We passed one guy in the picnic area eating some McBreakfast. Normally McDonalds doesn’t excite me much, but in this case, the smell was intoxicating. I’m guessing that it was the hashbrowns. By now, Christy and I were both craving salt and grease. To make matters worse, the contents of the food bag were pretty grim. All we had left was pasta for that night’s dinner, some instant oatmeal, a few pieces of smashed bread, a couple scoops of peanut butter, and some assorted granola bars. We were going to have to resort to rationing starting that afternoon. At this juncture, I chose not to disclose to Christy how close we were to the grocery stores and fast food joints in Clayton. We probably could’ve hitchhiked into town for junk food, but that would’ve caused an interruption in the trip that I couldn’t justify.

We were all feeling a bit gaunt as we began the climb out of Warwoman Dell towards Rainy Mountain. This part of the trail is well-graded, so the climb wasn’t steep. It was already plenty warm though, and we were both looking forward to getting this uphill stretch out of the way.

Not far beyond Warwoman Dell, we were startled to hear a woman singing. Moments later, a hippie woman singing at the top of her lungs came around the bend. I think she was more startled to see us, and perhaps a little embarrassed. We didn’t mind the singing, although we probably enjoyed listening to the birds more.

A bit beyond Green Gap we reached a junction with a trail marked with metal goats attached to the trees. At this point, a sign indicated that “Big Rock” was up this trail a short distance. This piqued my curiosity. We took a short break there, and I walked up the goat trail to check out Big Rock, while Christy stayed behind. Christy chose wisely. After 5 minutes I reached a wooded knoll with extremely limited views. On top of the knoll were 2 rocks, but neither of them were particularly big. Either might qualify as a “big rock” if it was on top of your foot, but otherwise, not so much. I didn’t linger long before hurrying back to rejoin Christy on the trail.

Early on we passed a number of small streams, but once we started down the far side of Rainy Mountain, we found all of the gullies dry. Eventually we stopped at a campsite, but there was no apparent water source. This was a bit of a concern. We had filled everything up at the water fountain in Warwoman Dell, but now we were running low on water. It was another hot afternoon, and the river was still several miles away.

Just after lunch we passed a solo backpacker with two dogs heading the other way. A bit later, we encountered a father and son also heading in that direction. The father mentioned that it was his first backpacking trip in years, and they were being a bit ambitious in attempting the entire Georgia Bartram Trail. I asked them if there were any water sources ahead. He told us that there weren’t any until we reached Dick’s Creek, near the Chattooga River. They had some extra water, which they kindly shared. At that point, Christy and I had both been out of water for some time.

We reached a dirt road at Speed Gap and took a short break. We were sitting on a rock there when I noticed a small black tick walking up my leg. I flicked it off, only to spot another on my arm. At this point we both began checking ourselves. Christy had 3 or 4 on her, and Boone had his fair share, too. We brushed them all off, before noticing that the rock we were sitting on was overrun with them. I’d never seen anything like it. All total, there were at least 20 ticks on us or on that rock. We packed up quickly and headed out, in a hurry to leave the most tick-infested place I’ve ever seen behind.

The trail beyond Speed Gap was even hotter and drier. It was a relief when we finally started our descent towards the river. Dick’s Creek was a sight for sore eyes, and its many campsites were tempting. I had something even more spectacular in mind though. After a short distance, we picked up the short side trail down to Dick’s Creek Falls and the river. We hiked down past the waterfall, enjoying the sound of the crashing water and the view of Dick’s Creek Ledge, a major rapid on the Chattooga River, far below. As we approached, we spotted two kayakers scouting the rapid. At the river we turned upstream, following a sandy trail to a nice beach. I was relieved to find the beach deserted, as it would serve as our final campsite of the trip.

We set up camp there in the sand. It was another sunny, blue sky day, and Christy actually suggested that we sleep without the tent that night. I was surprised, and a little concerned. We hadn’t seen a weather forecast in five days. What if rain moved in that night? The idea seemed far-fetched though, given the persistent heat and dry air.

I was so hot and sweaty that I threatened to go for a swim in the river. Christy laughed, saying that I’d never get in farther than my knees. I took that as a dare. I stripped down and waded into the water at the edge of a deep pool. The water was cold, but the river was in the sun, and I was overheated. I decided to go for full commitment. Rather than trying to walk in slowly, I simply dove in. It was quite the sensation. To be honest, I didn’t stay in the water long. Christy and Boone eventually joined me though, if just for a few minutes.

Later on I walked back to Dick’s Creek Falls and the rapids. The confluence of Dick’s Creek and the river is a really cool spot. The river widens out here, before tumbling over the ledge in a series of rapids. Meanwhile, Dick’s Creek Falls is just upstream on the tributary. Dick’s Creek Falls was certainly the nicest waterfall of the trip, and I spent some time here taking photos of the river and the falls.

We had pasta and pesto for dinner that night while watching fish jump and bats dance across the water. The bugs that had pestered us throughout the trip were largely absent here; however, there were a few mosquitoes buzzing about. After dinner we crawled into our sleeping bags. It was a great way to spend the evening, gazing up at the stars while listening to the murmur of the river and the distant roar of the falls.

Our sleep was only interrupted by the lonely call of an owl, and later, a gaggle of geese landing in the river. Late that night I woke and immediately realized that something was amiss. The stars were gone. Clouds had in fact moved in. It was well past midnight, and the idea of pitching the tent wasn’t appealing. I rolled over, hopeful that any rain would hold off until the next day.

WHATCHU TALKIN’ ‘BOUT, WILLIS?

We woke to cloudy skies on Thursday morning. We had been lucky with the weather thus far (aside from the heat), but it looked like that was about to change. We ate our oatmeal quickly and packed up. We then returned to the Bartram Trail, climbing up past the falls and away from the river. Initially we hiked through the woods, crossing a minor ridge before descending back to the Chattooga. We followed the river for the next half-mile or so, enjoying views of the river from sandy beaches and open woods.

This was the best part of the final day. Unfortunately, the walk along the river didn’t last long. All too soon the trail left the river to contour along the east side of Willis Knob. Christy was disappointed with this change in scenery, but I pointed out to her that the hike would be a lot longer if the trail followed the winding river all the way to highway 28. At least the hiking was fairly easy, if not terribly exciting.

Somewhere along here the rain came. It was just a steady shower, and it actually felt pretty good after walking in the heat for five days. The rain was short-lived, and things began to look up as we descended down to Warwoman Creek. We followed the creek for some distance, which was delightful. Early on there were some cascades, but most of this stretch of water is placid, featuring a wide, sandy bottom. We past numerous campsites and swimming holes, and even saw a rope swing at one of them.

Eventually we left the creek again for more contouring around the steep hillsides high above the river. At one point we stopped for a quick lunch, which consisted of the remaining bits of smashed bread and a few scoops of peanut butter. At this point I think we were both fantasizing about the fast food options waiting for us in Clayton.

We picked up the pace, and eventually worked our way back down to the river. Now we could hear traffic on the highway on the far side of the river. It seemed like we were close to the finish, but it was just a tease. We followed the west bank of the river for a couple of miles, all the while knowing that the road was only a hundred yards or so away.

My feet were killing me, so we stopped for a final break near a small stream. We lingered for a few minutes before the rain resumed. That got us moving, and we hustled up the trail to a sturdy bridge spanning the West Fork of the Chattooga River. The West Fork drains much of the area we had hiked through during the middle part of the trip. It’s a lovely stream, but the rain was getting more persistent, and the car beckoned.

A few minutes later we reached the shoulder of the highway. We had left Christy’s car at the trailhead on the South Carolina side of the river, so we walked across the bridge and into the third state of our trip. Fortunately the portion of the hike in SC was extremely brief. We reached the car and piled in, eager to get up the road.

We had just left the parking area when the sky opened up. It was a full-blown downpour, and we had just escaped it. The rain pounded us all the way to Clayton. I was really sorry that we weren’t still on the trail, or even better, camping. I did briefly spare a thought or two for the poor souls we’d passed on the trail that were no doubt caught up in the storm.

We stopped at Chik-Fil-A in Clayton for second lunch. We took a table next to a window with a view of the drive-thru lane. While we were eating, a pickup driven by a rather large woman pulled up. The front of the truck featured an airbrushed license plate with a picture of a horse and a caption that said, “Riding With Jesus”. This immediately raised a few questions. First, was the horse in the picture named Jesus? I suppose that might make sense, if the woman was Hispanic. Hey Zeus the horse. However, the license plate said “Riding WITH Jesus, not Riding ON Jesus.” So maybe that wasn’t it at all. So that made me wonder if Jesus brought his own horse, or rode with her. From what I could recall from Sunday School, it seemed like Jesus usually rode around on a donkey. The license plate clearly depicted a horse though. Maybe Jesus and the woman rode tandem on her horse? A picture of this massive woman on a galloping horse, with a frantic Jesus hanging on for dear life behind her, immediately popped into my mind. I nearly snorted part of my chicken sandwich out my nose.

From Clayton we drove through more rain back towards Franklin. We reached my car at Buckeye Creek, and I had Christy follow me from there. Since we were almost in Franklin, I decided it would be just as easy to drive back through Asheville. Actually, I had an ulterior motive. I led us to one of our favorite restaurants in West Asheville, the Lucky Otter. The Lucky Otter features amazing burritos and homemade margaritas. We indulged in both, despite the fact that we had finished second lunch less than 2 hours earlier.

The meal was fantastic, but we had the misfortune of finishing up and trying to leave right in the middle of rush hour. We ended up taking a grand tour of Asheville to avoid the traffic jam on I-240. I had no idea where I was going, but somehow we found our way to the Biltmore House entrance and then on to I-40. The drive home from there was relatively smooth, despite more violent storms. The rain did provide one final highlight for the trip though. We were coming down the mountain towards Old Fort when the sky lit up with a brilliant rainbow. For some reason, this seemed like a fitting end to our trip.

Spring break ended with three days of relaxation and recovery at our house. On Friday night, we took in a concert by J.J. Grey & Mofro at a club in Charlotte. Christy and I have been fans of their music for a couple of years now, but this was the first time we were able to see them perform. When we arrived we discovered that the show was sold out. Fortunately I’d bought our tickets a couple of weeks earlier!

The show was fantastic. It wasn’t a terribly long show, but there were no dull moments. J.J.’s bluesy, soulful voice is impressive, but the accompanying horn section was not to be outdone! Our favorite songs from the show included “Brighter Days”, “Fire Flies”, “Lochloosa”, and “Orange Blossoms”. To learn more about the band, check out their website:

http://www.mofro.net/

And you can listen to most of their songs for free here:

http://www.lala.com/#search/mofro

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