ALONE IN THE BLACKS

Lately, I’ve felt like I’ve been getting a bit soft. I’ve been traveling a lot, and while I’ve continued to work out, I’m finding it hard to exercise in the hotel fitness room with the same intensity. I had this week off though, so I decided to do something about it. I needed a physical challenge, and I knew exactly where to go for it.

I last hiked the Woody Ridge Trail to the crest of the Black Mountains more than 3 years ago. Since then, I’ve contemplated backpacking that route. I knew I’d have to go up that way though, since coming down that trail would be punishment for my knees. Woody Ridge may be the steepest in the southeast, as it climbs over 3000’ in just 3 miles.

I decided to do the trip solo, mainly because nobody I know would ever consider backpacking this trail. My plan was to combine Woody Ridge with the northern half of the Black Mountain Crest. I’d then descend from the mountains by way of the Colbert Ridge Trail. I’d complete the loop with a 4-mile roadwalk.

I drove to the Colbert Ridge Trailhead, near Carolina Hemlocks Campground, on Wednesday morning. I gathered my gear and reveled in the pleasant temperatures and abundant sunshine. I couldn’t wait to reach the meadows up on the crest!

Saucony and I tackled the most dangerous part of the journey first – the two mile walk along highway 80. This wasn’t any fun, as there is no shoulder to speak of, and Saucony still hasn’t learned a proper fear of speeding cars. She also has yet to learn how to properly walk on a leash, so it was a huge relief when I made the left turn off the highway on Whiteoak Creek Road. As I did, I received my first clear view of the mountains towering directly above me. At the head of the valley, I could see the steep incline of Woody Ridge leading up to Horse Rock. My warm-up was almost over. Soon I’d be climbing that slope.

I walked up Whiteoak Creek valley, passing quaint homes and horse farms. On two occasions horses came to the roadside to check us out. Surprisingly, Saucony showed little interest in them.

At the first fork in the road, I stayed right to follow Shuford Creek. In the past, I had continued to the left up Whiteoak Creek in a futile search for the trailhead. Eventually the road forked again, with the main road curving off to the right. We continued ahead, climbing more steeply towards the head of the valley.

Along the way I passed several people. First was a woman in her garden, who must’ve been wondering what I was up to. Then I encountered a man who said he wished he could come with me. I invited him along, but he had other obligations. Most interesting though were the two hippie girls I met at the very end of the road. With their braided hair and baggy dresses, they looked like they belonged at a Phish concert. That led me to wonder, “just what were they doing out in the middle of the woods, anyway”? My guess is they weren’t trading Grateful Dead tapes, if you know what I mean. At any rate, I didn’t ask any questions, and hiked up the jeep road into the national forest.

The lower part of the Woody Ridge Trail passes through an absolute maze of ATV trails. Fortunately, some old white blazes still mark the route at some intersections, and orange ribbons mark others. The first turn is the trickiest. The jeep road curves to the right, away from the creek. The trail leaves the road to the left in the middle of the curve. After that turn, the rest of the route largely requires heading uphill at each junction. I crossed a smaller stream, only to turn right and climb up along it. A second, smaller stream provided an excellent place to stop for lunch. There was plenty of water there, and I wanted Saucony to be well-hydrated before we began climbing the dry ridge.

Beyond the second stream, the trail actually dropped slightly before reaching another major junction. The road continues down to the right here, into the next valley. We turned left, climbing up to a spring at the base of a huge rock face. I knew from past experience that this signified the crux of the climb.

The road ends here, but a faint footpath climbs steeply to the right of the rock. The map shows switchbacks here, but they don’t exist. Instead, the route continues straight uphill. To say the trail is steep doesn’t begin to describe it. It’s a tough climb on a dayhike, but with a full overnight pack, it was brutal. I would take a few steps, stop to catch my breath, and repeat. Over and over again. Gradually I ascended the ridge, until there before me, like some sort of sick joke, was a switchback. I wheezed out a dry laugh as I made the turn up the only switchback on the whole trail.

Beyond the switchback, the grade moderated to that of just a typically difficult climb. Then I reached a wet, steep rock that required a bit of scrambling to ascend. After a few careful movements, I found myself on a rock outcrop staring out over the South Toe River Valley. The first vista of the trip extended from Mount Mitchell to the south, to Roan Mountain to the north. To the east, beyond the valley and the Blue Ridge, Table Rock, Hawksbill, and Grandfather Mountain stood out among a sea of peaks. Above me, the top of the range appeared to be only another 1000’ higher. The first spruce trees nearby verified that I had reached the 5000’ level.

My recollection was that the remainder of the trail was easier. Unfortunately, I have a tendency to forget key details. The first was a narrow passage between two boulders. There was no way to get through with my pack on, so I had to take it off and drag it behind me. Then I reached a spot where I had to scramble across an exposed rock. There was a healthy drop off below it. Not enough of a drop to be fatal, but easily enough to break a leg. To complicate matters further, an overhanging rock above limited clearance to make for a tight squeeze. Not for the first time, I thought that maybe I should have postponed this trip until at least Friday, when my health insurance from my new job finally kicked in. Is insanity a pre-existing condition?

I made it through by sliding along the rock face and keeping my pack clear of the overhang. I’m not saying I was nervous there, but it was a relief to be back on solid ground. That didn’t last long. The final section of trail wanders through a spruce / fir forest that is littered with blowdowns. Twice I left the trail to get around a deadfall, and twice I somehow stumbled back onto the path. The final challenge was in the form of lingering snow in the dark forest. The snow didn’t cause me any problems, but was a welcome sight for Saucony. I knew she was thirsty when she started eating the snow like it was ice cream. I’ve seen her eat the occasional snowball, but I’d never seen her chow down on it like she did there.

I navigated one final deadfall, and blue sky was visible through the trees ahead. A minute later, I stumbled up the final hill into a glorious meadow right on the crest of the range. It was simply one of the most beautiful sights I had ever been treated with. Sun splashed grass stretch away in every direction, interrupted here and there by the occasional Douglas Fir. Waves of blue mountains rippled on seemingly forever, with the high peaks of the Smokies merely a shadow in the farthest distance. After a draining climb, I had my reward, and I had it all to myself. The northern Black’s receive little visitation, largely because of the exertion required to reach them. On a Wednesday in March, I’d be stunned if I ran into another person.

I headed north towards Celo Knob in search of a campsite. I found one decent one along the trail just past Horse Rock. However, I had another in mind, and found the side trail to it only a short distance further. The path led to a little meadow straddling the crest of the range. The site featured a huge boulder and a few fir trees for shelter, as well as long-distance views to the east and west. The site is well-protected except for an opening to the southwest. As long as a stiff wind didn’t rise from that direction, I’d be well sheltered throughout the night.

I set up camp and hiked north on the trail past Celo Knob for water. It only took me a few minutes to reach the springs from camp. The water was flowing strong thanks to the recent wet weather. The section of trail below Celo may be its most scenic, and I enjoyed the views south along the crest on the way to the springs and back.

Even after setting up camp and getting water, it was only 4pm. I thought about climbing Celo Knob or Horse Rock, but came to my senses. Why climb around in the trees, when there’s a sunny meadow with a great view only a few minutes away?

I returned to Horse Rock Meadows to soak in some sun and the view. Eventually I dozed, but that was ok. I had no agenda, nowhere to go, and nothing to do. It was wonderful.

Eventually I was roused by a gusty wind from the southwest. It certainly wasn’t cold, but the wind gave me a chill that I spent all evening fighting. Cooking dinner at camp was difficult, thanks to the wind. I was glad that I had only brought a freeze-dried dinner, at the suggestion of my wife. Anything more complicated really would’ve been an ordeal in that gale.

Hot Lasagna (in a bag) and whiskey and cider helped me warm up in time for a stunning sunset. The sun was a red ball of fire as it passed through a narrow band of cloud just before it reached the horizon. After the sun was gone, the colors lingered on, only to be replaced by a stunning display of stars. I fought to stay up and enjoy them, but exhaustion drove me to the tent not long after full darkness. I slept well that night, despite the flapping of the tent as the wind threatened to blow me clear off the mountain.

I woke several times that night. The first time, I noticed the same sky full of stars, except to the west, where it was dark. Clouds were coming. I knew rain was expected Thursday, but hoped to be off the mountain before it arrived. I planned an early start, but when I woke later that night, no stars were to be seen. I had a bad feeling that I’d be hiking the Black Mountain crest in the rain. Shortly before dawn, a few raindrops on the tent confirmed my fears.

I was up at 6 for a sunrise that failed to materialize. Boiling water for breakfast was a challenge, as the wind continued unabated. I was treated to a few more sprinkles while packing up, but luckily the serious rain held off. By 7:30 I was on the trail, heading south towards Deep Gap and my exit route from the mountains.

The Black Mountain Crest Trail might be the most spectacular route in the southeast. It’s also one of the most rugged, demanding, and overgrown. Thornless blackberry and rhododendron crowd the trail, thanks to a lack of use. Where the trail isn’t overgrown, it is rocky, slippery, or muddy. On the map, it appears that the trail is flat, running at just over 6000’ elevation for a couple of miles. In reality, the trail tackles an endless series of short but pesky ups and downs. Despite all this, it was wonderful. Every time I found myself cussing at the weeds, I’d pop out onto a rock outcrop or a grassy meadow, to be greeted with another stunning view. Luckily, the clouds were high, so the threatening storm didn’t obscure the view.

I descended into a lovely spruce / fir forest featuring some potential campsites. However, there was no apparent water source. Beyond, we hiked below a sheer rock wall before beginning the climb up Winterstar Mountain. Winterstar posed the biggest challenge of the day, and I only hoped to reach the summit before the rains came.

Part way up Winterstar I reached the base of the chute. The chute is a steep, nasty gully that requires some minor rock scrambling to climb. Saucony couldn’t scramble up, so I took her pack off and gave her a boost. I didn’t have anyone to give me a boost, but plentiful handholds helped me reach the top. From there, a short climb led to another overlook that provided a final view of the northern part of the range.

A few more minutes of climbing brought me to the wooded summit. I had some trouble finding the trail down, thanks to some deadfalls. Eventually I found the trail swinging west to cross the top of Deer Mountain. From there I descended steeply on a rocky trail, pausing occasionally to take in the view of Deep Gap far below. The knee pounding descent finally ended at the gap, where I had a break before starting down the Colbert Ridge Trail. It had taken me 2 ½ hours to hike the alleged 3 miles from Horse Rock Meadows to Deep Gap. I was hiking steadily, if slowly due to the weeds, terrain, and awkward footing. I find it hard to believe I averaged barely over a mile an hour though. I think this distance is understated on the map and in the guidebooks. My guess is that it is closer to 4 miles. If there is one thing I’m sure of, it’s that nobody has ever rolled a wheel along that stretch of trail to measure it. My guess is the 3 miles was someone’s estimate. Measuring it on the map wouldn’t account for all of the little ups and downs and zigzags along the way.

The first half-mile of the Colbert Ridge Trail is as nasty as a trail can be. Beyond the first muddy spring, the trail is blocked by two major deadfalls and a washout. In between, the trail is a rocky gully crossed by several streams. After that first half mile, the trail improved considerably. The path alternated between steep descents and relatively level walking through the woods. After an hour or so, I reached a rock outcrop that provided one final view, despite the drizzle that had just begun to fall.

The last mile or so of trail was rather badly littered. First I found the lid to a mug that almost, but not quite, fit a mug I have at home that is missing a lid. Then I found the world’s ugliest canteen, followed by 3 gloves, some bubblegum wrappers, and a pepsi bottle. Apparently the litterbug I was following hurt himself, because the next thing I found were some band-aid wrappers. I can only hope that his cut got infected. Later I passed a campsite, where someone had vandalized a rock with spray paint. Here’s a surprise – the people responsible weren’t completely illiterate, as they managed to spell a couple of words correctly.

This brought a disappointing ending to what was an otherwise fabulous trip. I had explored the wild, remote northern end of the Black Mountains. In doing so, I hadn’t seen anyone in 2 days. And, I had done it with beautiful weather. Even Thursday’s drizzle had been nothing more than a minor nuisance. I’m looking forward to exploring the range further, but I won’t be in any hurry to climb Woody Ridge again. My legs are still in knots!

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