Shortoff - continued: The Day I Met the Paramedics

I know you thought that wasn't fair - leaving you 'hanging' about 'what happened next...'  But, it really is a tale that deserves its own post because it morphed into a two-day marathon of sorts - NO I DID NOT SPEND THE NIGHT IN THE WOODS!   I will preface this - admittedly lengthy - story for all you naysayers by reminding some of you: yes, I was in church on Sunday morning - that was not a figment of your imagination!  Yes, the pastor used my name in an illustration - which always keeps my wife on the edge of her seat.  So, once again, no, I DID escape the clutches of this Wilderness Area unscathed on Saturday... but I also came back Sunday afternoon...

Recall, I left you here:

SATURDAY:
I made that fateful decision to 'see how far it is' to the Linville River.  After all... it couldn't be too far... or they wouldn't have put it on the sign... right...?

Before I go further, note the photo and the absence of shadowing - keep this in mind as we go on with our tale of adventure!

So... as I mentioned before, the ephemeral streams of Shortoff were flowing freely down the face of the mountain as I walked in the 'creekbed' trail the initial descent.  It was a delightful stroll - I was careful to use my trekking poles to keep from slipping as the path was essentially composed of small gravel-sized rocks.  Going downhill can be a bit deceiving - at least to me - and I found the incredible scenery and the warmth of the sunshine on my brow distracted me from the realization of exactly how deep a descent I was making into, in essence, the southernmost part of the Gorge.  This photo, taken from that 'false summit' in the last post, gives you a rough idea where I was heading (essentially, down the ridgeline):

If you look closely... with a little imagination... at the uppermost aspect of the ridge, you can make out the trail.  In my defense, doesn't the trail look fairly flat out there....?  Okay, so... it became evident after my leisurely stroll that - no - it wasn't flat but a steady inevitable descent.  And, you know what that means... to get back was going to require a pretty significant climb back uphill - roughly a 1000 foot climb... again!

Don't mistake what I've said; this is one of the most beautiful sights in the area - as you will see below - with incredible views up the Gorge, down onto the southernmost Linville River as it exits the steep confines of the Gorge, and across undulating hills between the opening of the Gorge and Lake James.  Much of the ridge line is covered with a beautiful chest high grass which makes you feel like you're trekking through the Serengeti.  I caught myself thinking back to Marlin Perkins and humming the Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom tune... and kept thinking, how easy it would be for a  snake... or a mountain lion... or elephant to hide in this tall grass:


Your mental calculator is probably thinking what mine was, "Well, Sherlock, you're essentially going to have to hike Shortoff TWICE today!"  But no... thought I... perhaps this runs into the trail which goes directly out from Wolf Pit (the one you turn right onto to go up Shortoff).  It had to connect... it just HAD to!

As I descended further, the sound of the raging Linville became louder and louder.  There's nothing like the sound of a rushing torrent to put your mind at ease.  I came to this small marker... pretty obvious, huh?  Yes, I am referring to this photo -->

It reminds me of several of the small towns down in Eastern North Carolina - if you blink, you'll miss it.  If it hadn't been for a small pyramid of rocks (the remnant of a cairn left by previous desparate hikers - perhaps to signal a rescue helicopter?), I would have missed it altogether. 

So, to borrow a fishing analogy, I "took the bait" and headed off along the new blue blazed trail.  But, alas, it too turned downhill again and wound back around toward the sound of the river thus pointing away from my truck parked back at Wolf Pit - the exact opposite direction I needed to head.

It was about that time of day when the shadows begin to extend further - in fact, the river was itself enveloped in shade - and the temperature was beginning to get a little cooler.  I was approaching that crucial point where I needed to either find the trail back or else head back up the mountain - the way I had come.  There are decisions in time that you may not 'want' to make, but you 'know' you have to... or else you'll have to explain it all to your wife!  So, I chugged down some water from my Camelback, muttered a few inaudible words in Presbyterian, and headed back up the mountain to connect with the original trail.  I realized that it was going to be a long way up, so I made a game of counting how many logs I had to step up and over: not just walk over, but literally lift my leg up and over - the answer: NINETY-FIVE logs!!!  But, as this photo shows:  WOW, what a view of Shortoff!!!

If you look closely, you can actually see the dark line on the rocks where there is a waterfall which can be seen periodically - it's about a third of the way along the rock face from the left side.  In the foreground, you can see how the ridge line just drops off down here - more of a rolling drop - like walking off the side of a round ball rather than stepping off a cliff into thin air.  This is important to remember for future reference...

So... I'll fast-forward, I made it back up the side of Shortoff and then back down to the truck at Wolf Pit.  I later learned that some hikers have created a shortcut so you don't have to go so far up only to come back down again, but it wasn't that obvious to me, and given the fact the shadows were rapidly chasing my tail up the trail, I wasn't too keen on the prospects of getting caught in the dark on the side of the mountain... again, that would require a lot of explaining to the wife!

SUNDAY - THE DAY I MET THE PARAMEDICS...

On Sunday morning, my older two sons when on an overnight spelunking adventure with the Boy Scouts, and, after church, Melissa and Coleman left for an overnight trip down to Greensboro with Aunt Rachel and Uncle Ron.  I hurredly slurped down some tomato soup, a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches, and back I went to Wolf Pit... again.

This time, instead of turning right at this sign to go up to Shortoff, I plunged straight ahead.  As you might notice, there are several subtle messages that the 'preferred' trail goes right... like the sign... and others too, like arrows of stone on the ground, tree limbs over the trail which I purposefully stepped over... again... subtle clues.  It was immediately evident from the boot tracks that this was the proverbial 'road less traveled'.  You can get a sense of a trail when you see one set of tracks going in, then notice that they've turned around after about 100 yards and are headed back out the direction they came. 

Famed 'Gorge Rat', Rick Davis explained - later - this is the so-called, Faulkner Trail which leads down into the so-called Faulkner Flats... which, he agreed, are anything BUT flat!  I had looked at this area on Google Earth the night before, and the trail I was looking for was obvious... at least on Google Earth!  I knew that eventually, down this trail, I would pass through the area affected by the forest fire and begin to enter some larger pines at which point an 'obvious' trail would head off to my right.  Sure... no problem.  'Course, on Google Earth anything looks pretty flat unless you hold that Ipad up in the air when you're looking at it.  And, I'm convinced that digital satellite photography has been doctored somehow to make things like this look way too simple!

Looking at a map on your Ipad while lying under your down comforter in your own cozy bed is a little different than walking down a rarely-trod trail for the first time.  Yet, once again, like yesterday's foray down the MST, it was all downhill - easy going!  I noticed that there was certainly a lot of 'blowdown' - maybe not the 95 logs I had encountered the day before on the other trail, but quite a few that slowed the pace a bit.  It always seems easier stepping over logs going downhill than going back uphill.

After about 30-45 minutes, I came to the place I mentally recalled as 'the place' to turn - it happened to be the first and only turn to the right that I had encountered.  Alas - it appeared that I was now on the remnants of an actual old dirt road with two ruts.  I crested the small hill to a small mound of stones which, at first, I surmised must be the end of the road - dumb luck, I thought.  Then, I stood up on the rock pile to survey the distance and get my bearings.  As I scanned the vista, my eyes then looked down below me and there was the very very very steep continuation of the road literally plunging down into a small valley.  Across the valley, I could see that one or two ridges away was the ridgeline with the MST.  Despite the apparent obstacles, I was at least heading in the right direction.  Down, down, down I went down this most treacherous road.  It was so steep that I could easily hold out my arm and touch the ground at arms length behind me as I descended this hill.

When I finally reached the base of this chasm, there was a small wetland of sorts created by the recent

rains.  Beneath the host of strewn and twisted trees - in some places appearing reminiscent of a pixie sticks pile, a fairly brisk creek flowed down from Shortoff - the culmination of all of those miniature cascades I had seen the day before - my next challenge was making it across and finding the continuation of the road on the other side.

I very tentatively located some wide strong logs which appeared to go the majority of the distance across this small wetland.  Then, with great caution and no small amount of prayer, I inched my way across the widest log I could find to the far side.  Although I could see across this expanse, I could not see where the road continued - if, in fact, it did - as the Google Earth propogandists had intimated.  Even when I did make it across, I saw no sign of any road or trail.  I looked back from whence I had come - I obviously did not want to return up THAT hill!  I looked ahead and reasoned that my best chance was to try to go up the hill immediately in front of me and get perspective from the top.

Unbeknownst to me, this wetland also served as some dividing line in the fauna of this region: on this side of the river now grew thorns!  Although I still had a couple of hours of daylight, I have to admit that the combination of losing my trail, the sun in my eyes, the ticking clock, and now the thorns began to take their toll.  "Despair" is a real emotion, and I was beginning to experience it down in this hole - I had a real physical picture of the 'slough of despond' faced by John Bunyon's Pilgrim.  But, with time, I punched out onto the top of a small knoll and could see a roundabout pathway to the ridgeline where I was certain the MST was located.  After about a half-hour mired in this chaotic blender of grass, blowdown, and thorns, I reached some hardwoods that looked familiar from the day before - I spotted the white blaze of the MST.  I made it!  In celebration, I took a big swig of water... it was to be my last...

A Holler from the 'Holler'

I recognized that I was only 5 minutes or so 'up' on the MST from the lowest point I had reached the day before.  A long ascending hike lay ahead, but I met the challenge with a little relief at least knowing where the trail was located.  No sooner than I began ascending the MST, I heard someone yelling up ahead.

Realize, this is a bit disconcerting when you're hiking alone.  It was fairly windy, so I couldn't make out what the person was yelling at first, but I kept a steady eye up ahead until I finally spotted the young man who was making the ruckus.  When I got closer, I heard him yell, 'The trail's up here!"  By the time I actually reached him, he was sitting down on the trail, and he looked a bit distraught but extremely relieved to see me coming his way.  He explained that his friends and their father were attempting to ascend up out of the Gorge at this point, but they were exhausted and had run out of water.  He was afraid that they weren't going to make it and that they were dehydrated.  They were on their third day of a backpacking trip in the Linville Gorge.  Their plan had been to exit out the bottom of the Gorge and get back to their car at Wolf Pit today - only problem, they couldn't find a trail to connect from where they 'were' to where they 'needed to go', so they had headed directly up the side of this mountain.  They had relied on boiling their water as opposed to a water filter system, so after crossing the Linville River (again, it was flowing 5 x normal flow right now) - no small feat - they were obviously exhausted before their climb and probably didn't have time to boil and drink (hot) water before making this final push.  (If you look back up at the panoramic shot of this long ridge, they were coming up the side of the mountain from the Liville River where it makes a sharp right turn.)

He said their cell phone service had been spotty, but they had been able to reach the paramedics.  He said the others were in pretty bad shape, and he wasn't sure they could make it out.

I don't know about you, but, in all honesty, I began thinking, 'Well, what on earth do you think I can do to help you out of this mess!" - but I didn't say it.  I thought the first thing to do was actually see where they were located to see if they were in imminent danger - were they hanging off a rock somewhere, or might it be easier just to have them walk around the contour of the mountain as opposed to straight up and over?  I inched my way closer and closer to the edge of the mountain, but I couldn't see where they were coming up, and he couldn't tell me either.  So, I gave him my phone and had him try to call their number to see if they would wave or something so we could at least get an idea of where they physically were located.  Eventually, a head popped up and one of the guys made his way to a point I could at least give him a hand... and one of my water bottles.  The next head popped up shortly after that, and he said, "see if you can help my dad, he's not doing well at all..."  Now, I'm thinking, "What have I gotten myself into?"

About 50 yards down the mountain, I saw the dad, and from this view, their assessment was spot on.  I made my way down to see him and gave him my other - final - water container.  He was certainly exhausted, but he denied any chest pains - my big concern.  He knew he was dehydrated and was feeling nauseated.   I then made that commitment I knew I might later regret, "Here, let me carry your backpack for you!"  So, off with my daypack (which was already lighter due to the fact I had given them my two water containers) and on with the gargantuan mega-backpack that had supplied his needs the last three days - oh, I'd roughly estimate weighing about 200 lbs.  After several minutes, we made it back onto the trail and there was a very relieved reunion.  Suffice it to say, they were better off now than about ten minutes ago, but there was still no 'easy' way out of this one.

After a reasonable rest and some discussion about how best to get to Wolf Pit (and whether they even felt they could go on further), we slowly began hiking back up the MST toward Shortoff.  The three boys (ages 17-18) went first, followed by the dad, and I held up the rear... with that heavy backpack. 

I knew that - if worse came to worse - we could get water from some of these temporary streams - we could all take antibiotics later if needed, or, perhaps, we would link up with some other hikers with enough water to help get these guys down the mountain.  Our pattern was that we would generally walk about five to ten minutes then would take a break.  These guys were not out of shape - in fact, they looked very healthy and well-nourished - but we were witnessing the obvious effects of dehydration on top of incredible exhaustion 

Needless to say, what should have taken about an hour to get back to Wolf Pit took about two hours, and the sun was definitely going down.  They assured me that they did have working lights, but it turned out we didn't need them.  When we made it back to the intersection with the Shortoff Trail, we new it was all downhill from that point on, and that provided a morale booster they certainly needed.  Regardless, as I encouraged them that we would get back to our cars before nightfall, the 18 year old said, 'that's good but I just wanna see my mom.'  I wish I had been able to record that comment for his parents!

We made fairly good pace from that point all the way down the trail - however the sun was definitely behind the mountains and it had transitioned from cool to cold.  The wind was just short of howling, and I now had on three layers - having started my hike with short sleeves only.  We 'punched out' at the sign above ('Shortoff to the right') to find two guys on 4x4's waiting for us.  They sure looked impressive with their snazzy helmets - one with a radio attachment that looked almost military issue - but, more importantly, they offered us some water.  The guy with the radio sqwaked back to 'command center' that they 'had 4... plus one'.   They directed us on down the path to the parking lot and told the dad he needed to check in at 'command center.'

Now I don't mean to seem ungrateful - I did get a free 20oz bottle of water out of the ordeal - but I knew they had about two hours' headstart, so I couldn't help but be a little puzzled by the fact that the 4x4's had only made it about 150 yards up from the parking lot.  Really?  After two hours, that's as far as they had gone?  Geez, what would have happened in 30 minutes when it was going to be dark?  When we actually walked down to the circle where the parked cars were located, there had to be 15-20 guys there just standing there looking at us.  I didn't want to 'gawk back', but they looked sorta like this:

I know you have to have a good - and willing - heart to be a rescuer, but, since nobody came up to check on us, and they basically just stared at us, I'll say it:  Thanks a lot for meeting us at the parking lot!

The boys took their backpacks to their minivan, and I followed them through the 'walk of shame' in front of the good ol' boy 'rescuers'.  Dad humbly stopped at 'command center' which was basically a uniformed officer sitting in his truck with his heater running while we all stood outside in the cold.  I came back to get my daypack from the father - who was getting a brief ear-ful from the 'commander' asking him if he knew how many people had been called out to help them.  Pretty insensitive for a guy who didn't even have to get out of his heated truck, I thought.  The dad turned to me, shook my hand, and told me that Jesus had definitely sent me - the highest compliment I could have received - and reiterated his offer of dinner at the Waffle House - which I kindly declined.  I waved good-bye - not asking for the water bottle back - I figure he can keep that as a souvenier of his own adventurous near-miss.

I can't help but think that two minor items may have kept these folks from getting into this predicament:  a water filter and a good topographic map.  That does it - I'm getting a water filter!

Shortoff Cascades

Well... after last weekend's escapades, I felt certain that indeed a hike lay in the works this Saturday... I had earned it!

Viremia had passed, the fevers and night sweats were gone, the bottle of Tussin DM remained on the counter like a jilted lover - no action in at least two days.  I fufilled my role of 'family man' dutifully leading devotions at the family altar (ie the breakfast table), exposited some Proverbs on the topic of "slander" (in anticipation of the boys' spelunking activites with the Boy Scouts - wanna keep the peace with edifying talk down in the Lost Sea Caves - especially since everyone is using that same porta potty).  I then slurped down another cup of brew and had a delightful chat with Uncle Ron - new subscriber to the blog - and recent avid trekking pole advocate.

The wife had left the containers of recyclables in the back of the minivan... a subtle little communications technique she has developed over the years to help 'keep me on task'.  I typically find the recycling in an obvious location - one example being in front of my truck so I either have to take it... or else.  So, I ran with this one - even going so far as volunteering to bring along the 5 year old to "help".  I knew that would be to my advantage later when I would bring up the topic of a hike.  The recycling task was made a bit harder by having to lift a 45 lb child up to throw every bottle into the big container to achieve that piercing crash of breaking glass - an upper body workout I had not anticipated.  I didn't realize the therapeutic joy that I was robbed of by not being the one to throw those bottles with a little extra spin... the difference between a 'dud' and a loud shrill crash!  Coleman overlooked one empty jar of applesauce... I snatched the opportunity! Some guys need time on the shotgun range... all I need is the sound of breaking glass at the recycling center... beats my alternative of primal scream therapy!  On the way home, I even made a run through the McDonalds drive-thru to satisfy Coleman's thirst for a soda.  I figured I would get him on my side this way - $1.07 - not a bad price to pay for loyalty!

By now, it was getting uncomfortably late in the day by winter hiking standards, so when she gave me the "why sure, honey, of course you can go on a hike", I knew I needed to act... and act fast!  No time to go far.  So, I decided to take a Burke Classic Hike - Wolf Pit to Shortoff Mountain - along the southernmost aspect of the east rim of the Linville Gorge.  It was a simple in-and-out... or so I thought.  I could probably go as far as I wanted to and make the afternoon out of it.

By now, you already know of my modus opperandi of eating meat before hikes - if not, refer to my first post for my succinct rationale - quite the water-cooler talk around the hospital these past couple of weeks I might add.  Given that my trek to the trailhead passed nowhere near the previously mentioned Hardee's in Marion, NC, I succombed to my weekday loyalty and went, instead, to Bojangles - ordering my usual Cajun chicken filet biscuit combo with seasoned fries to keep my blood pressure sustained and sweet tea to keep my kidneys functioning.

In less than 20 minutes, I passed by the Linville Access at Lake James.  I drove down along the ramp close enough to roll down my window and snap this shot:

Many of you know that this is the jumping off point for one of my other... warmer weather... activities.  Although, the temperatures were only in the low 50's - and, yes, I have donned my wet suit for far more frigid kayaking forays onto Lake James from this very point, I knew I was just 'passing through'.

Given the past several days' rains, I anticipated more erosion from storm runoff and residual standing water along Wolf Pit Road, but it was fairly dry.  I passed the Farmer's Place near the end of the road, and parked at the turnaround spot with no more than five other cars. 

I don't know about you, but I'm always a little intrigued about who else might be out there on the trail, and I sorta make a game of looking at the cars, their bumper stickers, etc. and envisioning I know something about the folks I may encounter.  I look upon it as elevating presumptuousness to an art form.  There were the requisite "Obama/Biden" stickers, a "Local Food" sticker, an AB Tech Faculty/Staff sticker, and a Boone / ASU sticker.  That last one was the 'wild card' - if push came to shove, perhaps this one would be carrying a gun to shoot the mountain lion (aka catamount).

It was a little after noon as off I plunged off into the wilderness.

This is a well-worn pathway many of you may have climbed, but for those unfamiliar with this trek, just a few observations:  When I first climbed Shortoff back in the 90's, the entire climb was forested.  But, since a couple of large forest fires in this area, it has left the hiker with an incredible view - almost from the start - to the south.  On sunny winter days, this southerly exposure allows warmth and sunshine with countless stopping points along the way to take in the panoramic views from the west spying the "Catawba" side of Lake James and Marion all the way around to the east - catching the southern aspect of Brown Mountain, Highbrighten (in Lenoir), as well as the background of the South Mountains (High Peak, Burkemont, Walkertop, etc.) beyond Lake James to the direct south.  This picture simply doesn't do it justice:

Next, most folks who hike this mountain know that this southerly facing aspect of Shortoff Mountain is 'dry.'  There are no streams, no springs, no water crossings of any sort.  Normally, it is only after one has almost reached the summit that one may... may... encounter a small trickle from a mountaintop spring.  THIS was where the serundipidous timing of this particular hike paid off:  by virtue of taking this hike on this particular day, I was able to observe a very rare and unusual phenomena on this mountainside: the ephemeral Shortoff Cascades!  It so happened that the major sustained storm the prior week which had pummeled the Southeast with several inches of rain (and snow in some places before departing to the Northeast), had served to completely saturate this mountain.  For about half the length of the trail from the 'turn right to Shortoff' sign to the peak, one was walking up one long continuous stream.  Of note, it had been over 36 hours since the last drop of rain had fallen on this hillside - yet the flow remained steady.  Fortunately, as it was such a short-lived phenomena and in complete sunshine, there was no time for slippery algae to form, so it was like walking up a continuous creek bed with steady trickling flow - never deeper than the sole of your boot.  The 'stream' would follow the trail for several hundred yards, and then it would dart off the trail and cascade in a more direct fashion down the hillside creating dozens - if not hundreds - of small cascading waterfalls.  The sound of rushing water filled a couple of the small coves through which the trail passes - a pleasant and refreshing reminder of this ephemeral wonder!  With wet soles to my boots - thank goodness for that Neoprene - I summited with dry feet!

For those who have climbed Shortoff, you know this is a 'false' summit.  You think you're there... but you're really not.  Nonetheless, it was a great stopping point for me to take in some views down deep to the thundering Linville River - still running at about 500 cubic feet per minute (about five times normal) - down from a peak of nearly 3000 cubic feet per minute just before midnight Thursday - very impressive streamflow!

Many of you have asked about my peakbagging exploits, and this photo is significant for yet another reason: the background.  In the distance are the northernmost peaks of the Black Mountains - of which Mount Mitchell is the most famous (not in view here).  The biggest 'dip' in that line of distant mountains is appropriately named, "Deep Gap."  To its right are Whitestar and even further, Celo Knob.  What this view fails to reflect is the fact that from the 'dip' of Deep Gap to the peak immediately to its right (Whitestar), is a harrowing climb of about 700 feet - a feat I accomplished last summer - only to run out of water... and time... midway to Celo Knob to the far right - thus leaving this as the sole 6K in the Blacks I have yet to "bag".  Seven hundred feet doesn't sound too much given the Shortoff climb so far, but the real curve-ball is the 3000 foot climb from Carolina Hemlocks in Celo up to Deep Gap - the cumulative 4000 foot climb makes this a marathon for a day hiker.  All in due time, my friends!  By the way, for those of you who drive down by the Post Office in Morganton, you can get this same view on a clear day in the distance - it's a daily reminder of my nemesis - Celo Knob!

A view looking down from Shortoff into the gorge.  Photos just don't give good perspective on just how high you are.  Yes, that's the Linville River down there!  That big rock is every bit as large as a big house!

Okay, so I had to do it - one required 'up the gorge' shot.  The 'wildest' place east of the Mississippi.  To the left you can follow the upper portion of the Linville River as it passes between Wiseman's View and Table Rock/Hawksbill. 

So, after catching my breath - no angina this time - I sauntered on up the pathway until I reached my goal: Shortoff Pond. 



For those who haven't experienced this site - this is a seemingly bizarre place for a small natural lake - on top of a mountain - yet, here it sits!  I had been curious given the completely saturated  mountain I had encountered - was this going to be enlarged - perhaps overflowing onto or over the trail?  It was not.  I did not venture around the perimeter of the lake - from the photos, one can see that just beyond the distant trees, the gorge literally drops away, so I presume there must be some drainage which allows the pond not to overflow but, simply, drain - a natural limitation to this most bizarre wetland.

I did note a small trail leading off to the right (the east) away from the gorge just before I reached the pond.  On a rock was a blue blaze, so I followed this trail through significant blowdown to a small isolated campsite. A Good Samaritan had thoughtfully laid some firewood to dry for the next camper at this well hidden venue.  The trail continued a bit further but stopped at a most prolific spring emanating from beneath a large tree in a grove of rhododendrons.  This spring - about 150-200 yards off the main trail was significant - I would estimate a flow of several gallons per minute - leading off the other side of the mountain - eastwardly - away from the gorge.  Who knows if this spring is always so strong, but I cannot help but think - based on the limited trail use - that it's use is confined to only the few hearty souls who are aware of its obscure whereabouts.

At this point, I decided to start heading back, thinking my adventure was complete.  Little did I know that when I reached this sign, the real test would begin...

You know what a sucker I am for the MST...

Driving Miss. Connie

So... that first blog is over... now emerges the pressure to provide/perform.

Despite unusually delightful weekend temperatures this second weekend of January 2013 (into the low 70's), my residual waning viremia and, more importantly, the pressing need to return one's mother-in-law to her rightful domicile, regrettably interfered with my best attempts to escape to the 'great outdoors.' 

You can't say I didn't try: my woeful look as I gently caressed my topographic maps - stroking them tenderly with a highlighter noting my 'intended' trek - while I sipped my Saturday morning coffee - deserved an Oscar.  It simply was not to be...

On Saturday, after a late start, I starred in a re-make of the 1989 classic hit - the new version: "Driving Miss Connie."  This time, playing Morgan Friedman's role, I drove my mother-in-law, Miss Connie, back to Martinsville after her prolonged post-New Year's hiatus to the Tarheel State.  A funny thing: without saying a word, we all seemed to coincide in our mutual agreement that 'today is the day' to go home.

The only problem with this little realization was the fact that the big boys had promised to help Eli on his Eagle Scout project and attend a later homeschool - paramilitary - airsoft war (aka Isaac's birthday party).  Coleman's viral-induced hyperactivity disorder was peaking - compounded by the confounded decongestant - which certainly eliminated any five to six hour roundtrip drive to Martinsville for him... so... you guessed it, I uttered those fateful words that sealed my fate, "Honey, I suppose I could drive her home..." 

My sullen look as I tried to gulp down a slurp of coffee while stifling a sob was a dead giveaway to my wife that I've been studying the whole 'sanctification-thing' way too seriously!  She then came over and gave me one of those big long hugs - then whispered in my ear, 'you're a good man.'  With that, the nails were now pounded in the coffin of my previous hiking plans.

So... Saturday afternoon, instead of the flora and fauna of the Green River Game Lands, I enjoyed the trees and roadkills along the sides of I-40 and Startown Road as I drove Miss. Connie back home.  It was a delightful time - one I will cherish - I feel certain.  Once back in her apartment, I had the opportunity to meet her neighbor, "A.B" - an incredibly delightful 87 year old lady who sings in four different church choirs - a feat which must be awfully disconcerting on any given Sunday morning.  A.B. and Connie look out for oneanother, and, as grateful member of Connie's family, I was pleased to finally meet this soul about whom I had heard so much over the years.  After unloading Connie's paraphenalia, I pulled away as she stood on the edge of the parking lot - waving until I was out of sight.

With my 'good deed' accomplished (not to mention some wings now beginning to poke out of my scapulas), I was back on 'my' time!  Unbeknownst to my wife, while packing the car with all of Connie's goods, I also stealthily threw in a copy of a hiking guide which had mentioned Hanging Rock State Park in Stokes County IF I had the time... As I drove back into North Carolina, I took a right just after the state line, and headed off on an adventure!  I popped open my Diet Coke, rolled down my windows, and cranked up 'CNN' on my wife's new Sirius/XM radio.  Sorta a solo "Thelma and Louise" moment!

In a matter of minutes, my new 'lease on life' was driven to distraction by the fact that the roads of rural northeastern Stokes County are hilly, curvy, and poorly marked.  My plan of being a 'free spirit' and going 'off-the-beaten-path' using my phone as a GPS was unraveling.  It was so far from 'here' to 'there' that I needed to constantly zoom 'in' and 'out' on my phone to get any sense of where I was going.  'Driving is a lot harder than hiking', I remember thinking.  I even caught myself yelling at Dr. Sanjay Gupta!

In short order, however, I found myself in one of those beautiful little hamlets you only read about, the lovely town of Danbury, North Carolina.

I included this image to show two things: First, for those of you who may have never heard of Danbury, you can see that it is in fairly close proximity to those other two larger metropolitan areas (which you may be more familiar): King and Walnut Cove.  Second, as the map reflects, most roads in this area are along a general northwest/southeast axis.  I - on the other hand - was going from the extreme northeast side of this map to the extreme southwest side.  It gives you a taste of the challenge I was facing.

Nonetheless, Danbury was a sort of oasis for me.  It really was a beautiful little place.  It is the county seat of Stokes County, and, in 2011, it boasted a population of 188 - that's up from 187 from 2010.  They're certainly growing!

From here, the signage was clear - Hanging Rock State Park was close - so close, in fact, the shade of the mountain made it cool enough to roll up my windows.  The sun was going down and it was getting cool.  It became a race against the sunset to see if I could explore the State Park, get some bearings, or at least find someone who could tell me how best to go home...

Tune in next time for the exciting conclusion...

New Year's Resolution

As I labored over my maps, hiking guides, and the carolinamountainclub.com website for potential hikes this first Saturday of 2013, my desire was for a fun yet challenging hike with a good southerly exposure (despite a forecast high of 50 degrees, I knew it was going to be a bone-chilly 22 degrees to start the day), something fairly close to Morganton (as the short days require an early start and not much leeway getting back home before the sun begins to drop below the horizon), with some (as yet undefined) quality befitting a 'first hike of the New Year.'

When I saw the name of one of the peaks over which I would cross, something in my random-abstract mind was immediately drawn - almost magnetically - to the novelty of hiking 'Snook's Nose.'  Wow!  What a name!  What could it mean?  There had to be some pretty bizarre story behind this name - or, perhaps, there was some unique feature that only the few hearty souls who ventured this trail would be able to witness.

I rose early on Saturday, donned five layers on top, two on bottom, my new hiking socks, my 'geek hat' with built-in earmuffs, my warmest gloves, and departed home with extra coffee in my thermos.  My custom for hiking points west of Morganton is to always stop in Marion at the Hardees next to I-40 for my traditional Bacon-Egg-and Cheese Biscuit, large hashbrowns, and (another) large cup of coffee.  Now that I'm in the 'prostate years', truth is, I about have to stop in Marion anyway.  Somewhere I recall reading or hearing something about how hikers who eat meat can 'mark' their territory as they move along a trail.  It either deters bears or attracts mountain lions - I can't remember which - maybe I have it backwards.  Anyway... by now, it's tradition!  So far, I've seen no bears or mountain lions... in at least six months... using this technique.

I've heard of Curtis Creek for years having been reared in nearby Buncombe County - my ol' Scoutmaster, Rex Cloud, from Troop 50 in Black Mountain, referred to it a lot - along with the friendly and oft-repeated spontaneous reminder - 'you know, a black snake will eat a rattlesnake.'  Well... it's January, Rex, so I don't think I'll be seeing either one!  As I puttered up the road into the heart of Curtis Creek, I immediately realized that this is indeed a beautiful gem.  Thank goodness for the interstate - or else more people would turn up this road just off Highway 70 - and spoil the solitude.  Even in the monochromatic winter colors, the mountain stream which flows with hundreds of small waterfalls and cascades screams 'life!" everywhere.  I felt certain that I could go out and find some 'crawdads' under the rocks - were I so foolhardy as to brave the icy water - as I used to growing up in nearby Montreat - 'course that wasn't in January.  I reached the end of the pavement and kept traveling up past the old water wheel (the turn off to Newberry Creek).  Finally, I reached the wooden sign signifying the fact that this was the first land purchased east of the Mississippi as a national forest by the Weeks Act in 1911.  Not too much farther, a gate barred further travel by vehicle.  I knew from my map that I would have to trek further on foot to the trailhead - no more than a couple of bends in the road.

There were no other cars or trucks here, and, in the dead of winter, this is a pretty quiet place were it not for the sound of the creek cascading through the heart of the valley.  I threw on my day pack, grabbed my trekking poles, and carried my cup of Hardee's coffee up the road toward the campground (and trailhead).  After locating the trailhead and finishing my coffee, I headed out into the "great unknown."

The first thing I noticed about the trail was the heavy frost on the ground.  It almost seemed like I was walking on a crystalline rug - the crunching sound reminding me of hikes through the snow.  The second thing I noticed was the fact that the trail had few leaves - it was (at least here) very obvious exactly where the trail was located - as though the fine folks with the National Park Service must have come through here with a leaf blower!

Not too far and it became evident that there must have been a microburst or major wind storm in the past year or two which blew down about a third of the trees along the north-facing side of this first creek cove, Slick Falls Branch.  From the burn marks on some of the trees, it looked as though there must have been a fire hear as well in the past few years.  The trail was open and, boy, was it steep.

When I eventually reached the top of this cove, I foolishly thought, "I must be at this place called 'Snook's Nose'."  Was I ever wrong!  My first mistake was continuing over the hill and descending back down a jeep trail alongside Horse Branch.  I realized my error fairly quick and came back up to this spot.  Instead, a small trail seemed to pass through the laurel and rhododendron thicket along the ridgeline, and it became obvious that this was where I needed to head.  The flat trail here was a breeze, and I was lulled into thinking, 'hey, this isn't so bad.'  Unfortunately, the hard part was just about to begin.  What came next was some of the steepest climbing I had seen in awhile.  Where are the switchbacks?  Where are the switchbacks!!!  Despite the direct ascents, there was amazingly little erosion on this portion of the trail.  This is a fairly open hardwood area with some impressive-sized trees worthy of appreciation while one stands and pops a nitroglycerin or two.  "Heart-attack hill" might be a good name for this portion of the ascent.  Finally, I re-entered the rhododendron and laurel thickets and, in spite of the more manageable slope of the trail - there were switchbacks!  Why here?  Not earlier?

At this point, I came across a most bizarre - and dare I say, unsettling - even disturbing - finding.  As I was slumped over my trekking poles in an effort to survive my angina with my heart racing somewhere around 140bpm.  I looked to the ground as I gasped for breath and saw 'it'.  There, on the ground, about 1000-1200 feet up from the start of the trailhead - was the butt of fully-smoked Marlboro cigarette!  I was - and remain - absolutely amazed.  The notion that someone could survive this hike - to this place - and still have the lung capacity to smoke a cigarette - I found - simply, unbelievable.  I suppose, if you can do it - my hat's off to you - go ahead and enjoy as long as you don't burn down the forest!

The hardest part was behind me.  In a few short minutes, I discovered that I had, in fact, arrived at Snook's Nose.    To 'cock a snook' means to 'thumb one's nose' in derision, so, I suppose the name, "Snook's Nose" is a bit redundant.  It is a beautiful rocky ridge with a reasonably sized trail with views to the southwest and the northeast.  The views are punctuated by some pine trees at the top, and the northeasterly view spies further up the Curtis Creek valley where one can appreciate the old growth forests along the eastern side of Laurel Knob.  On the horizon is the familiar outline Table Rock and Hawksbill over in Burke County.  Most of the rocks on 'the Nose' set in a horizontal fashion - very conducive to sitting down for a snack or well-deserved, but one, in particular, caught my eye - appearing on its side much like a well-placed tombstone on the top of this well earned peak.

The trail then continued through the woods without much of a slope until the next steady climb up the southerly slope of Laurel Knob.  About midway between Snooks Nose and Laurel Knob is an interesting wide spot in the trail where the trail passes through a shallow valley of sorts on the tree-covered and rocky ridgeline.  There seems to be no obvious place for water runoff nor wetlands, but there are numerous rocks and openings suggestive of small caves in this area.  I inched close to one - close enough to see that I could not see in far and realizing that should a bear be in there sleeping - I certainly didn't want to get any closer and wake him - or her - up.  I also recalled hearing another hiker who insisted on seeing a mountain lion a few years ago on Green Knob - just up the trail - and I eased back away from the opening in the rocks.

The trail meandered up the west side of Laurel Knob missing the actual peak itself.  Then there was a fairly flat area before the final 'push' to the Blue Ridge Parkway.  Periodically, I was able to catch a glimpse of the fire tower - my original goal - on Green Knob - a beautifully built chateau-like fire tower on this small subpeak off the Black Mountains.  A few more switchbacks, and I burst forth out of the woods at the Green Knob Overlook on the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Well - alas, time for lunch.  My 2 liter camelback of water had fared well up to this point, and I sat down in a sunny grassy spot to enjoy a half bag of peanuts.  I refrained from digging into the Bird and Bear Cookie Granola - as I did that fateful day on Kitsuma Peak over Ridgecrest - when I learned that gastroenterology secret that a lot of granola plus water essentially serves as a mini-bowel prep. 

I was anticipating scaring some Parkway travelers as I burst out of the woods like some wild man, but no one was there.  In fact, during my 15-20 minute respite at the Parkway, only TWO cars passed by.  I'm sure I was topic of conversation nonetheless - that guy eating peanuts sitting on the side of the road in this remote spot!

I noted the time - the ascent so far had taken about three hours.  To be honest, I was exhausted and the thought of hiking up to the fire tower was just too much.  I justified returning from this point by convincing myself I would come back later to hike up to the tower - or, better yet, approach the tower from the northerly base camp at the Black Mountain Campground off the South Toe River.  Truth is - now, I regret the decision - I should have gone on.  But - some high clouds were beginning to move in, and I did the math - realizing that there was a real possibility that I would descend down into the Curtis Creek valley in complete shade - which would be cold.  So, I headed back down.

The trip back was relatively quick and uneventful.  I sat down for a few more peanuts on 'the Nose' and took in the warmth of the afternoon sun on that tombstone rock I mentioned earlier.  I took Quadriceps Canyon (the steep downward descent) gingerly with several stops to admire the large trees and could easily see where my shoes had slipped quite a bit as I had been coming up.


I was surprised to find only one more car parked near mine when I got back to my pickup.  No people - just a car.  As I drove back down the valley, a few more fishermen were obviously plying for the trout in this beautiful stream on this cold January afternoon.  Apparently, they, too, were working on fulfilling their New Year's resolutions.