SUPERSTITIOUS
Very
superstitious, wash your face and hands
Rid me of the problem, do all that you can
Keep me in a daydream, keep me goin' strong
You don't wanna save me, sad is my song
By Stevie Wonder
My God, my God, why have you abandoned me? I have cried desperately for help, but still
it does not come.
Psalm 22:1
“When Fungi is quoting
scripture, you know it’s serious.”
Source Anonymous
How did I get into this mess?
That’s the question I kept asking myself. There I was, on a steep hillside covered in
fallen trees. Any trace of a trail had
disappeared long ago. I was attempting
to bushwhack up to the road, but two previous attempts had been thwarted by
deadfall, cliffs, and briars. The road
wasn’t far, but progress was excruciatingly slow. Over the past seven hours, I had traveled
maybe a mile. Now, the sun had already
dropped behind the west wall of the gorge.
It would be fully dark soon, and I had no idea how much longer it would
take to reach the road, if it was reachable at all. I had a tent, but nowhere to put it. I hadn’t seen even a marginal place to camp
in hours.
It all started innocently enough.
I’ve been doing a lot of dayhiking lately, but
not much backpacking. I’ve got a couple
of serious backpacking trips planned this summer, including an 8-day solo trip
in the North Cascades. I felt the need
to get in backpacking shape, and really challenge myself. I decided to do an overnighter in Linville
Gorge. I couldn’t find anyone else free
to join me on Friday and Saturday, so I decided to go solo.
I planned a loop route, with a descent from the west rim of the gorge to
the
The Rock Jock Trail used to be one of my favorites in the gorge. The trail runs along the edge of the
escarpment, providing some of the most spectacular views in the
wilderness. The trail has always been
rugged and primitive, but it provides access to some of the gorge’s hidden
gems. Best of all, it connects the
Conley Cove and Pinch-In Trails. That
was before the Pine Beetle blight, and the fire, and the ice storms, and the
hurricanes. All of these disasters have
taken a toll on the forests in Linville Gorge.
Jack and I had tried to hike the northern end of the Rock Jock Trail a
little more than a year earlier, and found it obscured by deadfall. We only hiked about ¼ mile of the trail, and
probably crawled over, under, and through several dozen fallen trees. The Rock Jock Trail has always been
officially un-maintained. I didn’t have
high hopes that the trail would’ve been cleared. If not, I’d definitely be walking the road.
I reached the beginning of the
I arrived at the Conley Cove Trailhead at 9:30. First,
I decided to scout the Rock Jock Trail.
I hiked down the Conley Cove Trail for a few minutes, to the un-marked
but obvious junction with the Rock Jock Trail.
I hiked it for a few minutes, and found it almost completely clear of
trees. In a number of places, fallen
trees had been freshly cut. Apparently,
someone had invested a lot of effort into re-opening this trail. After a few more minutes of easy walking, I
was convinced. I’d hike the Rock Jock
Trail, instead of the road. If the trail
deteriorated, I could always bushwhack up to the road. The trail runs parallel to the road, less
than a mile away. After all, what could
go wrong on this warm, sunny, Friday the 13th?
I returned to the car to retrieve my pack and the dog, and soon I was on
my way. It didn’t take long to reap the
rewards of the Rock Jock Trail. After a
few minutes, I found myself traversing open cliffs with spectacular views of
the gorge. Just a few steps away, sheer
cliffs fell more than a thousand feet to the raging whitewater river at the
bottom of the gorge.
I continued south, and began a gradual descent into a side canyon. I passed below rock walls featuring several
seep springs. A few minutes later we
passed through the headwaters of the canyon, before climbing up and around the
next ridge. The trail remained clear and
easy to follow, and I was delighted with the progress I was making.
Eventually the path became fainter, but it was still easy enough to
follow. The navigation was made easier
by the occasional ribbon marking the route.
This seemed to be helpful, until I reached a fork in the trail. Oddly, the ribbons went both ways. Now what?
I decided to take the low route, as I was afraid that the upper trail
would head out to the road. A steep
descent led into another canyon. I
crossed a small stream, and followed a rough path towards the cliffs of the
gorge. I found two trees here with small
metal signs. One indicated that the path
ahead leads to Razor’s Edge. The sign in
the other direction announces the route to Razor’s Edge Rock – a narrow perch
high above the gorge.
I continued on to Razor’s Edge, which is a cliff with a spectacular
view. It was only 11:30, but it was far
too scenic a spot to rush by. I stopped
there for an early lunch to admire the view.
It’s one of the best spots in the Wilderness to view the river from
above. From here, the cliffs of the
Chimneys, the NC Wall, and the Amphitheater seem almost close enough to
touch. Beyond are the sheer walls of
I explored the area after lunch, but found no sign of a continuing
trail. The cliffs were thick with fallen
trees, so if there was a route from here south, it’s only a memory now. After a few minutes I gave up, and returned
to the junction I had reached earlier.
At this point, it was just a few minutes past noon.
I continued following the trail, which was still marked by the
occasional ribbon. After crossing
another ridge, I began to descend into
In hindsight, this would’ve been an excellent time to turn around. It was only early afternoon, and I had plenty
of time to backtrack, walk the road to the Pinch-In Trail, and descend to the
river in time to find a campsite. That
would’ve been the intelligent course of action.
Of course, I didn’t do that.
I plunged ahead, but quickly found the trail unpleasant. After a bit of bushwhacking, I decided to go
up an over the intervening ridge. I
figured I’d regain the trail on the opposite side.
The bushwhacking here wasn’t too bad.
I reached the top of the ridge after a lengthy slog. From there, I had a relatively clear view of
the route ahead. Immediately in front of
me was a large canyon. Beyond was the
ridge that the Pinch-In Trail follows down to the river. How far away was that ridge? A mile at the most, I judged. Even if there was no trail, I thought I could
bushwhack to it in an hour or two. It
was still early afternoon, so I had plenty of time to reach the river in time
to find a campsite. I decided to press
on.
A steep and gnarly descent followed.
Going down was easier than climbing, but the deadfalls and briars were
beginning to take a toll. My energy
reserves were beginning to run low. It
was a bit of relief when I rejoined the trail.
At this point, Saucony started to head north
along the trail, back towards the car.
Apparently, she was trying to tell me something. She seemed slightly puzzled when I called to
her and continued south, deeper into the jungle.
The trail was still obscure here, but the route was still passable. The ribbons continued, and the path was
actually easier to follow than it was coming out of
That remained true for a few minutes.
Before long, the path disappeared again.
I descended steeply into the canyon, where I found a dry streambed. At this point, I didn’t see any ribbons or
any other sign of the trail. Now
what? My faint memory suggested that the
route descended the canyon, before traversing just above the escarpment. I wasn’t sure though, and I was afraid that
following that course would lead me to a dead-end at a cliff. I also considered heading up-canyon, towards
the road. I was afraid that going that
way would lead to cliffs below the crest of the ridge. Ultimately I decided to continue south,
towards the Pinch-In.
The climb to the next ridge was brutal. The bushwhacking earlier had been difficult,
but manageable. This was something else
altogether. The hillside was steep, and
most of the “forest” was horizontal.
Making any sort of progress required climbing over, or crawling under,
dozens of trees. The rhododendrons were
probably the worst. If you’ve ever
bushwhacked through rhododendron, you know that those trees don’t give. I found myself aiming towards areas that were
(relatively) more open. However, it
didn’t take long to discover that areas with less tree cover had more
briars. At times, the thorns merely tore
at my skin. In the really bad areas, the
briars latched onto my pack, my clothes, and my flesh. On countless occasions, I found myself hung
up, unable to move. Escaping required
carefully untangling myself, or trying to force my way
through. Even worse was the Devil’s
Walking Stick. I’ve seen a few of these
thorny trees over the years, but I encountered hundreds of them on this
day. Unfortunately, I fondled more than
a few of them.
The hike was harder on me than it was on Saucony. Typically I would hack my way through a nasty
deadfall. After 10 minutes or so, I’d
turn back to find Saucony patiently waiting for me on
the other side, only a few feet away.
I’d call to her, and she would be at my side a few seconds later. How did she do that?
I finally crested the ridge.
Pinch-In ridge loomed ahead, a little closer than it had been
earlier. It was now after 3pm. Where had the time gone? Oh yeah.
I seriously considered turning back.
If I did, I’d probably make it to the car, or at least a passable
campsite, before dark. However, turning
back meant abandoning the trip. It also
meant fighting my way back through everything I’d just traversed. Just thinking about that was draining. I decided to try for the road.
I began climbing the ridge, but the bushwhacking actually got worse. I didn’t think it could get worse, but
somehow, it did. I’ve always known that
bushwhacking can be wicked, but I never thought it could be impossible. I guess I learned something on this
trip. It can be impossible. Frequently, continuing up would’ve required
climbing over a pile of fallen trees tangled in briars. In those spots, I would traverse to the south
in hopes of finding a way around. Before
long, I was moving more to the south than I was up the ridge. Since I started on top of the ridge, this
meant that I was actually traveling downhill, away from the road.
A few minutes later, I ran out of water.
Saucony had found water in many of the small
canyons we had traversed. Still, it was
a hot, sunny day, and she was panting.
If we managed to continue up the ridge, we’d have to do it without
water. I finally conceded defeat, and
headed down into the next canyon.
The canyon was small, but luckily there was a tiny trickle of water
running through it. I descended to the
stream, where I found what must’ve been a man-made pool. Rocks had been stacked to block the flow of
the creek to create a place to filter from.
I looked around, and I was pretty sure I was back on the trail! There were no ribbons, but there was a faint
tread along the hillside. Unfortunately,
from there south, this faintest of paths was completely buried under a pile of
trees.
Saucony
drank for several minutes right from the pool I was
filtering from, but I didn’t yell at her.
Drinking dog backwash was the least of my concerns. I was surprised to find myself dehydrated,
even though I’d finished off a gallon of water already that day. I drank cold, refreshing water until I gave
myself a headache, and filled up my 3 liter pakteen. I then indulged in a quick snack, and considered
my next course of action.
I didn’t have many options. It
was now approaching 6pm. 6pm! How did it get that late? For the first time, I began to doubt that I’d
make it to the Pinch-In Trail before dark.
The river?
Forget about it. I knew there was
a nice campsite near where the Rock Jock used to meet the Pinch-In Trail
though. That site is close to a stream,
too. If I could just make it there,
everything would be ok.
Trying to follow the trail was impossible, so I began climbing to the
southwest. I figured that traveling in
that direction would at least bring me closer to the road and the Pinch-In
Trail with every step. Unfortunately,
every step was a trial. Trees I had
nimbly hopped over earlier, I was now bashing with my knees and ankles. The brambles actually got worse. Then, it started to rain. Are you kidding me? Big storms were forecasted for Saturday, and
snow was expected on Sunday. Was the
weather changing early? That would add
to the fun. I thought about setting up
the tent. But where? I was on a 30, maybe even 40 degree slope
absolutely covered in fallen trees.
There was nowhere to put a tent.
Hell, there was nowhere to even lie down. Sitting down would’ve been an achievement. It was supposed to get cold that night. A cold, rainy night without shelter would be a
serious situation.
I uttered a lot of questionable language during this time. Somehow, all those F-bombs failed to help. I blamed everyone I could think of for my
predicament. I blamed, my boss, for
changing my schedule only a few days before.
Originally, I would’ve been in
Mostly though, I blamed myself. I
was frustrated, and oddly, embarrassed.
How did I get myself into this? This
was the sort of thing you read about other people doing. Clearly, I was stubborn, and stupid. Not just stupid, but stoopid. Any sort of rational person would’ve turned
around long ago. Why didn’t I?
After another hideous deadfall, I found a perch on a downed tree. At that point, I decided to pray. All I wanted was a way out. The road, a trail, a
helicopter, whatever. I began to
wonder if I’d ever get out, never mind before dark. So I sat down and prayed. I prayed for a way out, or at least somewhere
to camp. I hadn’t seen even a marginal
place to camp in hours. If I could just
find a passable campsite, I’d be able to rest enough to hike out the next day.
I had left my intended route with my wife, as always. I was supposed to meet her in Valdese the
next day for lunch. She was doing a
triathlon there that morning. I knew if
I didn’t show up, she’d panic. The last
thing I wanted was being the subject of a manhunt courtesy of the Burke County
Search and Rescue Team.
I resumed the climb. A few
minutes later, I reached a rock face that would’ve been easy to climb in normal
circumstances. However, this rock was
draped in briars, and I quickly discovered that I could no longer lift my leg
high enough to reach the first foothold.
Instead, I was forced into a long, tedious bushwhack around it. That brought me to another rock face. Somehow, I knew getting out of the gorge
would come to this.
I was able to climb this one. At
the top I sat down briefly to catch my breath.
Then, I stepped onto a fractured piece of rock the size of a La-Z-Boy to
regain the hillside. The rock shifted,
and my life flashed before my eyes. A
desperate grab at a tree branch saved me from a long, nasty fall. The moment was sobering. What if I injured myself out here? That would change everything. I vowed to be even more careful as I
proceeded.
I stopped for another breather at the next tangle. It was now 7:30. I figured I had 30 minutes of daylight
left. Then what? I certainly couldn’t continue bushwhacking in
the dark. The rain had stopped, and I
looked back, over the gorge. I was
greeted with a stunning sight. A
spectacular double-rainbow was arching over the gorge. The rainbow seemed to begin and end down at
the river. At its pinnacle, it soared
over Table Rock and the NC Wall. Was it
a sign of hope? I decided it must
be. I would get out.
A couple of minutes later, I reached another small cliff. This one was a little different though. There was a small cave at its base! It wasn’t much. In fact, it’s a huge stretch to call it a
cave. Really, it was more like a hole
under a rock. It was fairly deep though,
and there was just enough clearance to wiggle back in there. But it was flat ground. The Lord provides, and yet, he retains his
sense of humor.
I didn’t even consider continuing on.
It was almost dark, and I was exhausted to the point that I could barely
move. Every time I did, my body was
wracked with cramps. My hamstrings,
quads, calves, and feet all took turns locking up. Strangely, whenever I closed my hand in a fist,
I was unable to re-open it. What was up
with that?
I slid my sleeping bag into the “cave” and set up camp. There was a small opening in the forest on
the hillside, too. I didn’t even
consider building a campfire, although there was certainly plenty of wood! A campfire there would’ve been
hazardous. Dead, fallen trees were
everywhere, and the entire area was extremely dry. Even lighting my stove made me nervous. I hate to say it, but the gorge appears to be
ripe for another severe wildfire.
I cooked chili for dinner, and it was awful. I think at this point that my digestive
system had completely shut down. I
followed it up with a chocolate granola bar, which was slightly less
nauseating. I drank some water, to help
alleviate my cramps, but I knew I had to ration it. There was no telling how long it would take
to hike out the next day.
On a lark, I got out my cell phone, knowing that I’d never get a
signal. Usually I don’t even carry my
phone, but I did on this trip because I didn’t want to leave it in the
car. I turned it on. 3 bars!
From where I was sitting, I had a clear view through Chimney Gap to the
lights of a small city. Lenoir? I must’ve
been getting a signal from there. So I
called my wife.
The call didn’t go through. I tried
several times, and it wasn’t happening, 3 bars or not. I decided to try sending a text message. Here’s what I wrote:
“Im in a small jam. Lost trail. Camping now in cave just north of pinchin tr
not far from rd. Wil
hike out am. Might be
late 2morrow. Don’t worry. Were ok.”
The text message didn’t go through, either.
I crawled into my sleeping bag shortly after dark. Saucony followed me
into the cave, and snuggled next to me.
At first she tried to lie on my legs, but that wasn’t going to work. My legs were already on fire from the
hundreds of cuts I’d received that day.
The cave floor was a bit rocky, but I was surprisingly comfortable. At least it was comfortable until the first
drop of water hit me in the left eye.
That’ll wake you up in a hurry!
Somehow, I managed to not bang my head on the ceiling of the cave. I re-positioned myself so that the drips
wouldn’t hit me, and quickly fell asleep.
It rained briefly a few times throughout the night. Fortunately, the rain never amounted to
much. I’m not sure how waterproof my
cave would’ve been in a downpour.
Later, I woke up to the sounds of a truck up on the road. It sounded close. Either it was close, or it needed a new
muffler. I could hear its radio,
too. Either they were blaring
it, or they really were close. Normally,
I would’ve been annoyed at someone playing loud music while I was camping. In this situation, it was oddly comforting. Hey, is that freedom rock? Well turn it up!
I had to pee at 4am. I hated to
get up. I was in a comfortable spot, and
I didn’t want to disturb the dog. I gave
in to the need though. Afterwards, Saucony somehow claimed the most comfortable spot. I spent the rest of the night on top of a
rock.
The Lord is my shepherd; I have everything I need
He lets me rest in fields of green grass
And leads me to quiet pools of fresh
water.
He gives me new strength.
He guides me in the right paths, as he has promised.
Even if I go through the deepest darkness,
I will not be afraid, Lord, for you are with me.
Your shepherd’s rod and staff protect me.
Psalm 23:1-4
I woke early the next morning to cloudy skies. I decided to skip the eggs I’d brought, and
settled for a bagel for breakfast. I
packed up quickly, as I felt considerably urgency to get out of my predicament. I was able to walk, despite the lingering
soreness. It took a while to convince Saucony to leave the comfort of the cave, but she seemed to
be doing fine. Unfortunately, she drank
half of our remaining water. I finished
most of the rest. When we left the cave,
I was only carrying a pint of water.
I was able to climb to the top of the cliff without too much
difficulty. Some difficult bushwhacking
followed, before I emerged from the jungle in a somewhat open area of
forest. I’d been going 30 minutes, and I
was exhausted already. Fortunately, the
steepest terrain was behind me, and the woods appeared more open ahead. After a five minute break, I was ready to go.
Five minutes later, I reached the crest of the ridge. From there, I continued uphill, towards the
road. After a short distance, I spotted
a beer bottle. A beer bottle! Normally, I would’ve been annoyed to find
litter in the forest. This time though,
I was delighted. Unless this litter-bug
was an Olympic discus-thrower, I had to be close to the road.
It turns out that he must’ve thrown like a girl. I looked up at Saucony,
and realized that she was standing in the middle of the road. The road!
Finally, I was at the road. I
wandered around in it for a few minutes, until I was sure it wasn’t a
mirage. I appeared to be at the end of
Mossy Canyon Ridge, which is a ¼ mile up the road from the Pinch-In Trailhead. I was also very close to the official
southern end of the Rock Jock Trail.
There was no sign of the trail though.
It took me an hour to walk the 3 miles back to the car. That was roughly the same distance I’d
covered in 9 ½ hours the previous day!
Along the way, Saucony spotted a squirrel, and
chased it at a full sprint. Apparently
the bushwhacking hadn’t been too hard on her.
At that point, I’m confident I couldn’t have chased down a one-legged
old man pulling a beer cart.
I reached the car at 9:30. I
headed for Valdese, but stopped at
I actually did the short walk to
I made it to Valdese by noon, just in time for lunch. I had a plate of barbeque there. A couple of hours later, we stopped at
Chili’s for a second lunch. That night,
we ordered a pizza for dinner. The next
day, the feeding continued. After
sleeping in until 10, we had a great breakfast of eggs and hashbrowns. A little later, I had a sandwich, before we
headed over to our neighbors for a party.
While we were there, I did nothing but eat.
It appears that I will recover fully.
My bruises have faded to a sickly yellow, and the hundreds of cuts on my
legs and arms have scabbed over. Now, if
I could just do something about this infernal itching! Physically, I’ll be fine. Mentally? I don’t know.
Believe it or not, I’m planning on returning to the Rock Jock
Trail. The northern part of the trail,
as far as
Back to North Carolina's High Country
Back to North Carolina
Back to Hiking and Backpacking Trip Reports
Please remember to Leave No Trace!