Its looking like a rainy Saturday, and I’ve been adventuring in the Smokies so much lately, I think its time for a look at special spots in my home of Knox County. So I’ll be looking for 3 to 4 caves in the area I’ve looked up by GPS but never visited. As usual when it comes to caves, skilled outdoorsman Rob Baldus will be joining me.
This adventure has a chance of falling flat on its face, as many caves in the area are on private property, and all of these could be the same. But its worth it to find out who I’ll need to talk to to get in, and just maybe I’ll get lucky.
EXTRA GEAR
Before this adventure, I bought a E2D LED Defender from SureFire. I’ve been annoying my coworkers and friends by pulling it out at every opportunity.
“Dropped something under the desk, let me light that up for you … BOOM!”
“Can’t see your car keyhole? BOOM!”
“Go ahead and try to fight me. You don’t have my flashlight. BOOM!”
“Let me light up that sushi menu for you. BOOM!”
It’s an awesome light, but this adventure was its first true test.
CAMPBELL CAVE
Following the coordinates to the first cave led Rob and I into a neighborhood. It wasn’t looking too good. We did see a rocky spur above a cultivated field, a field someone owned. We drove up to the house that had a barn on the field and inquired. The homeowner was very nice and told us he didn’t own the cave, but he knew who did. With directions to the back of the property and its owner, we hopped back in the Honda and looked for the cave’s owner.
Too bad he wasn’t home. We did get the address and name, so we can call this person at a later date and try this cave.
1 down, 2 to go.
CHANDLER CAVE
All three of these caves are close together. It took just a few minutes to get to the next cave, and as before, we seemed to be just beside private property. At least on one side of the road.
I saw a little gorge traveled by a broad creek on the other side of the road, terminating in a wall of rock. It was just off the side of the road, with no indications that it belonged to anyone. We pulled off the road on the side of a hill, and slid down to the stream through the mud. It twisted around a bend, and then … paydirt.
On route over the stream
The cave
On a rainy morning, water from a broad creek was pouring into the cave mouth. This isn’t exactly what Rob had in mind, as he’d told me previously he didn’t like the idea of being in a cave with water. Well, maybe he won’t notice, I thought.
Within a few yards inside the cave mouth, with light from outside just starting to disappear, the cave dropped. So did the water. A torrent of water spilled through a gap maybe a foot or less wide and tumbled down with a deafening roar. From what we could see, a huge chamber opened before us. The problem was that we couldn’t see the bottom.
Time for SureFire’s Defender to prove its worth. I shot a 120 lumen beam down the drop, scanning for a bottom. I could see a shelf on the right of the waterfall about 20 feet down, then the water turning left and gleaming white as it continued to tumble. The pitch dark below signaled the water could continue falling for who-knows-how-far. There was an old piton with 2 paracords and a frayed rope leading down the falls. I wondered if the water would sweep me down off my feet, or if I would get to the shelf only to realize that the cavern descended for 50 or 60 more feet. SureFire passed the test, but the narrow gap didn’t give me a straight view of a bottom anywhere. I definitely was not prepared for a technical climb or rappel. But I took off all my gear but for my headlamp and SureFire and climbed down anyway to see what was below.
Initial view into the waterfall's room
I made it to the shelf and saw the bottom. Later inspection of the guidebook revealed the waterfall to be 25 feet high, still high enough when you’re rappelling right down the middle of a waterfall with a good amount of flow.
Once down, Rob followed, and we made our way right into a large muddy room, where another stream entered under the rock and joined the main creek in the cave. Crawling around, we spotted two different salamanders. I was able to get close enough to touch them, but I just enjoyed their beauty. That room became a belly crawl to a dead end. We scouted the cave in the other direction as well, to a drop of about 5 feet where water pooled. We walked in ankle-deep (or deeper) water the whole way. The pool, we reckoned, might be chest deep. We agreed it was better to turn around and come back better prepared, especially because our 3 expensive cameras were sitting unattended at the mouth of the cave. We decided we could get our equipment down and explore this cave thoroughly if we came back. We crawled up a shorter waterfall to the right of the cave’s mouth on the way back and saw even more gorgeous rock formations and the high ceiling of the tallest chamber.
On the way up the 25 foot waterfall, the frayed rope broke in Rob’s hand, so he used the two paracords and the rock itself to climb out easily. Though not too dangerous because of the backups, it certainly must have been nerve-racking.
Here’s our scouting run:
Out of the cave mouth
ROARING SPRING CAVE
This cave also appeared to be on private property. “No trespassing” signs were clearly posted. We drove up to the large home and rang the doorbell twice, but we got no answer. Once again, this cave’s owner will have to be contacted before we can adventure further.
REGROUPING
I believe I had eaten 2 Milky Way bars by this point. We went back to Rob’s apartment in Fort Sanders to change clothes and grab some extra gear, including an old rappelling rope Rob wanted to get rid of. It was my first time to his place, and I was impressed. Check out his blog. (The link is on the right side of the page). He’s an interesting guy. I put on shorts and old tennis shoes with no socks, then reconfigured my gear. We hopped into Rob’s Smart Car, and he drove us back to the cave. Along the way, I ate some Peanut Butter M&Ms and a Reese’s Fast Break bar. Nothing like eating candy all day and caving. I felt like a kid with an adult’s strength and dexterity (and the best flashlight in the world. BOOM!).
This time I cut off the broken rope, which now hung only about halfway down the waterfall, and knotted a new rope to the peg.
NEVER USE FOUND ROPE. IF YOU TRAVEL TO THIS CAVE, DO NOT ASSUME THE ROPE WE LEFT IS SAFE, AS THE AMOUNT OF WEATHERING THE MOUTH OF THIS CAVE GETS IS EXTREME. ALWAYS USE PROPER SAFETY GEAR WHEN EXPLORING CAVES.
We then took our gear and set off to find the end of the cave. We found a third type of salamander in the cave, and followed the creek as it whipped around corners, pooled and took small drops for 1,225 feet (373 meters) horizontally. Along the way, the ceiling could be low or high, our walkway narrow or broad. It averages 3 feet wide.
We also saw odd plants growing on the refuse that gets washed into the cave, some of which were green, despite the lack of light. Not what we expected. The rock formations we passed included jagged detached spires, tiny flakes of rock that seemed to float in the ceiling, barely connected to the cave walls. The landscape alone was spectacular enough to justify this adventure. I followed the stream until it came to a crawl and disappeared. Perhaps on a drier day we’ll see if we can get father.
Here’s the part you’ve been waiting for:
Sally
As we left the cave, splashing up the creek in the sunlight, turning around its bend and climbing up to the car, we felt like professional adventurers. This cave was not for amateur spelunkers, but we did it anyway. I had been worried, so far in the cave, realizing that a flash flood could strike us. Refuse lodged high up in the cave ceiling made us realize this tunnel could be at times completely flooded. Thank goodness there was only sunshine and blue sky above. I wondered so often what was above us. A house? A huge hill of dirt? Snakes’ dens? Rabbit holes? Giant roots? Under whose property were we crawling, and where did the stream go? Had we seen the rare Berry cave salamander, a globally rare species found in 5 Knox County caves? It is too hard to say, being as I’m not a cave wildlife guru. The pictures look close, but I’ll have to consult with experts.
We recorded a few final thoughts on the drive back, as we sat on heated seats clammy from the waist down and covered in drying mud.
“Whoa!” I said aloud as I looked at the screen before me. How could this be? I should have known about it, right? It’s not supposed to be this convenient. I’m supposed to have to dive hours for adventure. Wrong. Let’s scroll around and check. Okay. Let’s try Google Maps. Still checks out. It must be true.
Time to text Rob Baldus. “Want to go caving?”
“Sure, I’m free from 1 till 6″ came the instant reply.
RIGHT ON MY DOORSTEP
Google Earth revealed that another of Knox County’s caves rests just across the road from my home, in a pocket of woods between the boundary of a golf course and a railroad track. What a fantastic way to have a “backyard” adventure.
Rob drove his Smart Car to my house and we started walking right from my doorstep. We walked back into my neighborhood and through a strip of woods onto railroad tracks. These we followed across a railroad bridge over Ebenezer Road in Knoxville.
Railroad bridge across Ebenezer Road
Rob leads
It wasn’t long until we veered into some woods where we knew the cave to be. Using Rob’s iPhone GPS, we wandered around looking for signs until we found a large sink.
Unfortunately, this sink looked like an illegal dump of some sort, filled with rotting wood and natural debris, as well as old tires, chicken wire, barrels and other bits of trash.
The sink
Finally we spotted the entrance … the tiny entrance. It looked to me like a belly-crawl into a shaft for a long distance, but closer scrutiny revealed it would likely open up. Still, going into a dark hole over leaves and mud in a place like that is no picnick. I lifted Rob’s SureFire E2L Outdoorsman and went in feet first.
The hole
It opened up almost immediately into a room under the hill. It slanted diagonally downward and was much taller than it was wide. Everything was slimy mud, expect a few rocks hanging down. In the back of the cave, Rob spotted a baby bat hanging upside down asleep. This for me was the best moment of the adventure. It was so cute and serene, hanging with its wings folded up tight like a blanket around it. I love seeing bats flying around at night, but to go into one’s lair to see it in the afternoon was a fascinating insight into local nature. Who knew this tiny cave here in a dump in the woods played home to this bat? Bats are one of my favorite animals, if you couldn’t tell. What a treat.
The cave led nowhere, but I wonder if this hasn’t changed since the book description was written, or if mud was blocking further progress. We packed it out, waited on a train to pass and returned, but not until after we’d climbed a sloping rock in the woods.
I’m back in Chattanooga, Tennessee for this adventure, and I’m meeting up with friends Nathan and Jessica Dalton. Also in the party are my parents, Lise and Steve Williams, who came with me to this area in Adventure #5. We’re taking on another section of the Prentice-Cooper State Forest and Wildlife Management Area.
Nathan and Jessica are basically my age, expect stable enough to be married, own a beautiful home and buy a car. They’re quite industrious, as you can see on their blog.
As for mom and dad, you’ve seen them in action before, plus they put up with me. And that’s the best credential you can ask for if you’re me.
Nathan and Jessica Dalton
THE HIGHLIGHTS
For the first .5 miles I was a tad worried. The woods were beautiful, but they showed no signs of harboring cool things to play on. Most of the trail looked like this:
The first scenery
Did I bring my friends out here for a few miles of woods similar to what they could find in their own backyards?
Well, not exactly. Soon we came to a beautiful rock face that had to be explored. It’s the Indian Rockhouse on the map linked above.
The stair in the rocks
This cliff is where I did some unroped climbing you can see on the videos posted below. I climbed one straight and one overhanging face nearly to the top. As is often the case, the top of the climb proved to be the crux, and I decided to climb down rather than risk falling to serious injury. The feeling of climbing without ropes is one of focus. The immediate problem is all the mind can attend to, and the mind is fully switched on. There were a few times when I thought I was in a precarious position, and my heart skipped a beat. It’s the feeling of adventure.
I also found a great vine for climbing, but I didn’t go all the way up the face. Vines have this tendency to snap at the worst times, as my adventure companions can attest to.
The vine
There were some other boulders to play on, including one you could squeeze under. Nathan and my dad took the opportunity to try a less-traveled path.
Dad crawls under a boulder
Above the boulder
The hike proved to be full of little treats, including two notable water features, a beautiful view of the river below the mountain and interesting vegetation.
The waterfall
What a place to plant oneself
Nathan finds a couch
Imagine the sound...
The cliffs
Multicolor trees below
We also spotted spires of rock on the edge of a much taller cliff.
These detached columns I climbed, feeling the rush of being 50 feet up, with the blowing wind around me, even though I was not in serious danger. They were easy climbs apart from getting the nerve, and the feeling of being on top of such delicate structures so high was worth every bit of the trouble to scramble to and climb them. At one point, my feet were on a ledge that dropped off to the forest at the bottom of the cliff, perhaps 40-60 feet in my estimation, but the ledge would have caught me on a fall. Plus the holds were fantastic, apart from some vegetation scratching my face.
The first column
The second column
Another successful climb
What a spot
We walked as far as we cared to, then turned around and headed out. A beautiful day on a beautiful mountain, studying close-up new pieces of nature’s majesty, the totality of which is unfathomable to me. It was a relaxed hike, a time that is the very definition of leisure.
THE VIDEOS
CRUST
The party decided on Nathan’s suggestion to head to Crust, a local restaurant North of the river in Chattanooga. Most importantly, it’s close to Prentice-Cooper.
Crust
Crust specializes in very thin, almost flatbread-like pizzas. Its interior is marked by loud paint colors and vintage TV and movie art on the walls. Comfy high tables earn it extra points in my book, and for vegetarians, the fare here will not leave you dissatisfied. Good choice, Nathan.
Our faithful readers will note an absence of updates over the last few days. I apologize for not being able to get fresh adventures on the site promptly this week, due to personal priorities. Our visitors will be happy to know that I have 3 adventures and a dance piece completed. It has been difficult to make the time to get them on site, as this requires hours of writing, video editing and uploading and photo work. My recent exploits involve two caves, as well as another trip to Chattanooga’s wild places. I look forward to posting them shortly.
Countless streams, wildflowers, a little snake, agricultural clearings, ruins of yesteryore (<– you can thank Rob for this word) — the Old Settlers Trail in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park is chock-full of interest for hikers who are up to the 17+ mile journey from Greenbrier Cove to the Maddron Bald Trail.
It took two cars, lots of water, and plenty of sweat to get out of this through hike, but though it stripped my energy, made my legs ache and left me hungry, it took my breath away in more ways than one, and gave me the gift of another priceless experience with nature. As I can no longer separate experiencing nature and experiencing God, as I am unable to tell where one stops and the other begins, you can imagine what the hike was like.
Signs of adventure
HOW TO DO IT
The Old Settlers Trail starts off the Ramsay Prong Road, just a short drive into the park from Highway 321. This means you don’t need to spend an hour behind slow people on one lane snake roads deep in the park. What you do need is a friend who’s willing to drive. You will need to park a car at Laurel Springs road off of Highway 321, at the Maddron Bald trail head. Then jump into your friends car and drive to Ramsay Prong Road and park at the beginning (or end, depending on how you look at it) of the Old Settlers Trail, which is clearly marked.
The Old Settlers Trail is 15.8 miles. Add the 1.2 from where it intersects the Maddron Bald Trail to get back to Laurel Springs Road and your other car, and you’ve got 17 miles. When you consider all the historic sites that will cost you time and detours, you’ve got an all-day adventure.
Guess how many hikers we saw on a beautiful spring day, a Spring Break Tuesday? ABSOLUTELY NONE. Apart from a family with a stroller checking out the first 100 yards or so of the Greenbrier side of the trail with another small child, we had this stretch of mountain to ourselves. Its not on the Appalachian Trail, so you don’t see through-hikers like you would in other isolated parts of the park, but it is remarkably long, with only a few access trails back to the road. For 15.8 miles, this route intersects no other trails. For these reasons, the trail is rarely adventured, yet it has every reasons to draw crowds.
There is a campsite on the trail, Campsite 33, so if you’re not up to the whole thing, you can always do 9.2 miles one day and 6.6 the next. The campsite, according to one guidebook, is clean and rarely used. This adventure confirms its reputation.
Other than that, you’ll need stamina and lots of water. Extra food will be a plus for this hike. Other than emergency and survival tools carry as little as you can to keep the weight down. Extra socks are indispensable, as only one of the dozens of stream crossings is bridged. A slip into a stream, and you’re looking at miles of miles of soggy hiking and blistered feet. This is especially important in winter.
The only footlog
MY COMPANIONS
Rob Baldus of www.robbaldus.com is quickly becoming our major recurring character. He’s been with me on Adventure #7 in Cherokee Bluff Cave and gone off trail with me for two parts of Adventure #4. Rob is back for this test of endurance. Also with us is Mike Farcasin, a marathoner-in-training, tai chi student and current college student. Mike aspires to longer and longer hikes, so this is perfect for him.
Mike Farcasin
STREAMS AND SETTLEMENTS
We moved through the headwaters of more than a dozen creeks on our journey, passing from watershed to watershed. Although the land is wild, this area was once home to several hundred families, a community that supported a general store and school for 250 children, according to “Hiking Trails of the Smokies.” In the 1920s, the area began to be bought up by Tennessee to make the park. One family is reputed to have had a fruit orchard of 200 apple, peach and cherry trees. Its hard to imagine in the rugged landscape.
We gave up counting the small streams we crossed (and we really did try), and we crossed some streams over and over again, it seemed. Most were simple to cross, but a few presented interesting footwork challenges. Along the many creeks there was no shortage of stone walls, much like those we’ve seen off trail. There were more miles of walls than we could take in, and eventually I became desensitized to seeing them beside the path at times and off in the woods beside us at others. The wall would run off to play somewhere else, and then after a bit of wilderness return to our side, like a faithful pet.
The way of many streams
The walled road
A wall ends
I expected to see a few old chimneys. But this trail was filled with them. Some were merely piles of rocks in spots that indicated they were chimneys; others were mostly intact. We saw so many chimneys, I stopped taking photos of them, a rare thing for me.
The first few we saw in the morning light invoked in me thoughts of prayer shrines or magicians’ ateliers. Perhaps they were portals to other worlds, lying like ruins in the deep woods, or a place for the gathering of animal spirits. Maybe they were altars where we might leave an offering of food or drink.
Like a wooded shrine
A magical altar?
Lying like a grave
Some of the homesites, especially those sitting right beside a creek and often featuring non-native plants brought in by settlers, seemed to me to be idyllic retreats. They were like a hermit’s home from a fantasy novel, even Little Red Riding Hood’s grandmother’s cabin. Like the crayon art of a child, you could imagine a little cabin by a creek, with a path leading off through the woods, a few trees, a garden and the bright sun above. No thought of work or school or neighbors. Just the concept: a home in nature.
Settlement by a stream
Like a child's drawing
There were also what I suspect might have been fields. Flat spaces in nature, these clearings with a view of sky, are not something you expect in the Smokies, especially when you’ve hiked as many ridges and mountains as I have. One clearing even had standing muddy water and croaking frogs.
The swampy clearing
Finding so many interesting spots, whilst also hopping over streams every few hundred yards made the journey longer in terms of time, because we took so many stops to investigate our surroundings. But the Old Settlers Trail is anything but monotonous for such a long trek. To further illustrate the point, we saw wildflowers, houseware antiques and old bits of metal, a snake, and plenty of edible plants, including what we hope was cloud ear mushroom. There was one homesite with a surviving wooden corner. One chimney had near it a structure that could have been a hog pen or corn crib.
A wooden structure intact, possibly a hog pen
Wildflower
Cloud ear mushroom, we hope...
More treasure
Fragments of a Ball mason jar
Corner of a cabin
Near the end of our hike, when we were flagging, we came to a much appreciated sign of how far we were, that also served as an emotional lift and a place to rest. The T. McCarter place is managed as a historic site by the park. It features some stone remains, bits of old road and wall, a barn and a spring house.
Chimney near the McCarter place
Tyson McCarter Barn
Back of the spring house
THE VIDEOS
EXHAUSTION AND DISCUSSION
Did I mention this hike is long? We had to stop and dry our sweaty feet. Twice I took my shoes and socks off just for some air. My left knee started to ache by the end, and I’ve hiked more than 30 miles in a day before. Mike drank his 2 liters of water before we were close to the end, and I refilled him from my 4 liter MSR Dromedary bag. I ate 3 energy bars and a blueberry bagel along the way, and Rob and Mike ate a number of Clif bars. Trudging up and down hills, stopping often to take photos and videos, made the day feel even longer.
Mike rests at the top of a steep hill
But exhaustion has possibilities. Sometimes, between sites to see, when we were just trying to knock out distance, we three adventures got into some wonderful discussions, about religion, or politics or just good ole’ Steve Irwin and Bear Grylls. I can’t even remember all the topics we covered, though somewhere in there Rob and I were mocking stereotypical radio hosts. A good conversation makes the time, and the miles, fly by.
But even if I had been doing this hike alone, I would have thought for miles about the plot to a novel I’m working on, or about love, or religion. I would have thought about the direction of my life. I would also take in what all three of us took in Tuesday: the pleasure of a rest in its purest form, for it is only through exhaustion that we come to know the peace of a body without anxiety or tension. Our minds are clearer when they don’t have to talk over the nervous energy of a body that hasn’t been exercised. When exhausted, a patch of grass littered with sticks and rocks can be more comfortable than a mattress. Just as hunger is the sweetest spice, so fatigue makes a 2 minute sit-down feel like a long nap.
Soft ground
THE BEST PARTS
My favorite moments were finding a completely intact double chimney about half-way through the hike. It was a reward because I know most people who would see it were those hiking all the way through, like us. From either direction, it would be a long way to this special spot.
The tallest chimney
We also came to a cemetery none of us had expected. I haven’t determined yet whether its not in the guidebook or whether I simply missed the mention of it.
The cemetery
I also enjoyed feeling so far, when about half-way, from either car. I relished the knowledge that we were tightest in the hug of the wild — far from the world of man, as if in the arms of God. Here there are a thousand beautiful sights that no photo can replicate. Something about the sunlight on your skin, broken by twigs and limbs in ways you can’t consciously feel, along with the smell of the woods, the unique sound of water flowing over a certain configuration of rocks, the temperature and the movement of the breeze comes together to form an experience that seeing pixels cannot come close to.
Rock, water and bugs
REASON TO GO ON
This journey, like all those before it, did nothing to satiate my desire for the mood, the total feeling of adventure — at least once it was over. On the journey, it was the only one that mattered; I was in my adventure-state and all was well with the world. Upon reaching the car, no destination had been reached. I was out of the adventure-state and left with only encouragement, only strength, to look for the next journey, because the life of adventure has no destination — only journey after journey, lesson after lesson, friendship after friendship, breath after breath of joy. And joy is only for a moment.
I have a friend named Noelle. Noelle recently had a very necessary surgery that had the unintended consequence of bringing narcotics into her life.
She called me the day after her surgery to tell me how it went. Reasonable. Then she called me the next day … and told me the exact same things she said before. Odd. Then she asked me if I was going to bring her a casserole. Eyebrows up.
“I just, I just thought you should bring me a casserole,” she said, woozily, when I asked her about it.
As it turns out, I wasn’t the only person she called while sky-high. She apparently called a family friend, in February mind you, to say “Our bushes out front are dead and you need to come and replace them.” She may or may not have been making plans to have the house painted as well. Noelle’s husband finally caught wind of what was going on when one recipient of these strange calls queried him, so he promptly confiscated Noelle’s phone. She did a host of other strange things at home, which I had a good laugh over when she told the tale. Apparently coffee machines require filters. Who knew?
With Noelle back in her right mind, all would seem well, but the consequences of even legal drug use go a bit farther. A few days later, Noelle received a package in the mail from Gap, from whom she’d ordered $450 worth of random assorted goods, of all sizes. She even ordered children’s clothing, though she has no children. I burst out laughing as she told me about this incident, adding, “Now I’m scared what else might be on the way.”
Perhaps this is a window into why people use drugs for recreation. They really help you cut loose and get into interesting and humorous situations. The ability to do whatever, to act on the strangest whims, is not something most people can simulate. There’s a relaxation of our soul’s tenseness, a letting go that I suspect people crave.
WHAT TO DO INSTEAD
That released, out-of-control feeling can easily be attained without narcotics. Why, look at this blog. If you can create interesting, thrilling, potentially dangerous and, above all, new situations for yourself, you don’t need narcotics. Once I burst out laughing uncontrollably because I took a moment to reflect on my current situation. I was in Shenzhen, China, at a new massage place, with mud all over my face getting a skin treatment. With me were two friends from Hong Kong, both older. One was in finance and had shown us the place; he was helping me buy a Yixing teapot and was making jokes through his mud mask. The other was a translator for the Hong Kong government I’d been on many adventures with. How did a white guy from Tennessee end up listening to Cantonese jokes with a mud mask on somewhere in Shenzhen? Life is funny like that.
I’m also reminded of the time a friend and I tried to stay awake during our entire flight from Japan back to Chattanooga, Tennessee. I woke up in Japan, finished packing, and flew from Kumamoto’s airport to Tokyo. I had some chocolate from my massive bag of farewell treats. I flew to San Francisco. I ate lots more chocolate. My friend and I walked around the hotel area, in blatant disregard of the exchange agency’s policy not to. “What are they going to do,” I reasoned, “send us home?” We went into a hardware store and thought of funny things to say to the cashier. We ate more chocolate. I don’t remember sleeping. We flew to Atlanta. We ate more chocolate. We flew to Chattanooga. I think it ended up being about 42 hours without sleep. Somewhere along the way my friend said through hysterical laughter, “Hey, Brad.” I was crying with laughter. “What?” I replied. He pointed.
“It’s a trashcan.” And I laughed as hard as I’ve ever laughed before. All the cutting loose, all the strange tales, without the narcotics!
Its what you say and do when you’ve returned from that 25 mile hike, while you’re in pain and only seeking comfort. It’s how you feel after that brutal deep tissue massage, when you’re high on endorphins. Its the stumbling into bed at 9 a.m. after dancing all night at a beach full moon party. It’s going swimming in a lake all day and catching the late movie, then laughing with a friend over coffee in the middle of the night.
Here follows one of my tested recipes for getting high without illegal drugs. Stress + sleep deprivation + chocolate = no need for narcotics! Mars bars are a favorite for triggering a state of blissful hysteria.
Here’s what I mean. The following video was taken by my friend Eric Dobbs of Eric Online. We were in Kuala Lumpur, or KL, the capitol of Malaysia at the time. Teaching English all day, plus the grind of life in a foreign country, provided the stress and mental exhaustion. Mars bars provided the chocolate, and my friends provided the spark.
Now, there’s a great benefit to using adventure to take you out of your normal state of consciousness. If you were to say, hike 20 miles, go dancing, sleep a few hours, then go to breakfast somewhere you’ve never been before, you will remember everything! Your coworkers may ask if you are under the influence of recreational drugs, but you will be able to tell them exactly what you’ve been up to get in such a state. And you aren’t likely to receive packages you don’t remember ordering, contract diseases, wreck cars, or ask “can I have my one phone call?”
So please, remember that learning to let go of your routine and your inhibitions without chemical assistance (a.k.a. having an interesting life) can take you far. Speaking of taking you far, why not try a marathon to get a high, or an ultramarathon trail run? By pushing yourself to your limits and doing new things at the same time, you will go into the druggy state of serene auto-pilot, experiencing hilarity and levity. But adventure responsibly.
(Some photos in this article must be clicked on to display, so those intending to try this route can enjoy the surprises I did.)
My search for the Catstairs had left me a bit unhappy and eager to redeem myself. Although it was a great adventure and we had found great treasures, the coveted prize had eluded me: the Catstairs. So Rob Baldus and I wanted to get back to this place as quick as we could and finish the job.
EXTRA PREPARATIONS
As we ran out of water last time and were forced to drink unfiltered water from a stream, Rob and I upgraded our supplies. Rob bought a new hiking backpack and brought 3 and a half liters of water in his Platypus bladder. I exchanged my old 2 liter Camelbak bladder for a 4 liter dromedary bag from MSR.
We had another piece of the puzzle too: a “cheat sheet” left under my windshield by the mysterious guide showed the path on a topo map. We would stick to the beaten path this time.
OUR NEW COMPANION
Monica, who first adventured with me to Purada, is new to hiking off trail, but her athleticism in breakdancing makes her a safe adventurer to bring along for the journey. She’s a cake-decorating, breakdancing, jujitsu student with a mind for Communications and a love for life. Like Rob, I wonder where her drive for adventuring will take her.
Rob and Monica
SAME TRAIL, DIFFERENT WEATHER
Our last attempt led to dehydration partly because of the 80 degree Fahrenheit high. The sun had even given my cheeks a good glow. This time, the observed high was 49 degrees, and the forecast had called for rain with 90 percent assurance every hour until 7 p.m. That’s not good news when you’re ascending to 4,600 feet. We knew we’d be exposed to the wind and the worse of the rain. It ended up being cloudy and misty and cool, with a steady drizzle, and the observed rainfall turned out to be .81 inches.
THE HAT OF ADVENTURE
I have a Kavu Chillba hat given to me by my grandparents. It’s mostly designed as a sun hat, and I’ve used it as such many times. It’s light, makes you feel like a kung fu master or wizard, and acts as a hands-free umbrella in the rain. You can also push it back off your head, and the neck lanyard lets it hang over your backpack, which acts as a rain cover if you don’t have one. In dense brush, you can bow your head like a charging bull and use its wide brim to push through vines, briers and brush. High winds can lift it off your head, but the strap keeps it from blowing away. All in all, this hat’s uses made it a perfect piece of headgear for adventures like this one, and it reminded me just how much of what I do is made possible by others who took the time to care about me.
STAY ON THE PATH
Instead of cutting our own path through the laurel to find Pinnacle John Barnes’ cabin site, this time we stayed on the path that followed a small branch up. It was just as steep and tiring, but we reached the cabin site early in the day and took our first rest, having already passed the cemetery to visit our ghostly companions. From here on, we would avoid veering into Devil’s Den and stay the path west on the beaten track to the Catstairs.
This is exactly what we did, finding the hike much easier than clambering up a slide of boulders entangled in briers, loose leaves and fallen wood. The path sloped upward and crossed a new stream, then took a sharp bend that gave us spectacular views of the clouds far below.
DETOUR TO A WATERFALL
We missed a turn that would have taken us up a slope to a ridge line where the path continued. Although we lost about an hour and maybe a mile or two, it was no loss at all. We adventured in the lower woods on the north side of the pinnacle. This is a place none of us had ever been before, and it was full of wonders. To our right was the steep slope to the ridge, marked by large moss-covered boulders. To our left was a drop to the valley floor, a vista to pure white clouds hovering below us through the treeline. It was open and easy to walk through, the kind of woods you could walk any direction in easily. We stuck to the flat ground, and Rob’s sharp eyes brought to our attention many plants and even a few white flowers. Monica spotted snails creeping through the debris, and I just enjoyed the hunt.
There to seemed to be somewhat of a path, but all confidence that it was “the way” was lost.
Rob and I consulted the topographical cheat sheet and decided we’d probably missed a turn. I couldn’t see anything that might be the Catstairs ahead or on the ridge, but there was a gully up ahead I couldn’t see into. I left the other two and went ahead to get a look. I called for them to follow, as I’d happened upon a fantastic spot, even if it wasn’t what we came for.
THE SILVER DOE (Harry Potter fans, I couldn’t resist)
We marched back through the woods on the north side of the pinnacle until we could ascend the ridge. I had suggested we just clamber straight up, but Rob reminded me what happened the last time we tried that. But slope got gentler the farther west we went, we started to veer up it, and I caught sight of a white tail and springy legs. We’d come upon a deer, silent in the open woods, and it shot off away, leaving us only with fleeting glimpses of its beauty. We continued up the hill and sure enough, the trail picked up. The rain and wind did to, and we got a move on for the summit, which loomed above us like a skyscraper.
The north side
Nature is messy
Nature shapes
A lovely root
Bob
Monica
UP, UP, UP
The path up was relentlessly steep, muddy and slick. The trail was hard to follow at times, but a moment of analysis always helped us rediscover it. We reached the base of some bluffs and Rob found the path left, that just took us up steeper and steeper slopes. There were no spots to rest that didn’t feel like standing on a 40 degree incline, but perseverance led us finally to the base of the Catstairs — they looked awfully familiar.
Redemption! Last weekend, when we thought we’d missed the Catstairs completely, we’d in fact found them. The tough climb we’d taken straight up rock and rhodo last week and the clear-cut path we took this Saturday led to the same spot. This meant to me a few things:
1. Our gamble of going off even the non-marked trail and trusting our instincts based on the topography had NOT been a foolhardy move last week. We’d actually successfully navigated the terrain to the Catstairs without relying on past visitors. When we called the ranger for help finding our way out last week, we’d actually been on our way to safety.
2. This place was definitely the Catstairs, and though it requires hand-over-hand climbing, we’d already tackled it and knew it to be less of a challenge than we’d expected.
3. We’d now explored two markedly different routes up to the pinnacle.
4. We knew exactly what lay ahead, and that soon, we’d having nothing but downhill trail to negotiate.
5. Last Saturday, our only defeat had been dehydration, but we’d learned our lesson and now had more water than we really needed.
My confidence and mood soared, and we trudged up the mud Rob and I had smoothed down with our posteriors just 7 days ago. I reflected that as I’d scouted the route and descended again to get my backpack last week, this was my third climb up the Catstairs in two weeks. The rain made it tougher this time, but we had ledges to rest on.
EXPOSURE
I’m a fan of grand views … and climbing … and danger. These interests often complement each other. One ledge brought us to an overlook on distant peaks cutting through the clouds below and the valley floor thousands of feet down. A wet rock covered in lichens stuck out to a sheer drop, but I climbed out on it anyway, to feel the rain and the gusting wind and feel as if there were nothing between me and the expanse of sky above these mountains I love.
Breathtaking
A sea of clouds
UP AND OVER
We finished the climb up, worked our way through the tunnel crawl of foliage and beyond the tight, deer-trail sized path across the highest ridge. We intersected the old trail to a long-gone fire tower, went to the overlook from which Rob and I had called for help on his Iphone and enjoyed some snacks: Clif Bars, peanut butter and bread, Powerbars, etc.
The long, winding way down was smooth and easy but for a few fallen trunks and attendant limbs that had to be scrambled over or ducked under. We passed many interesting rock formations and a few rock shelves sheltering the only dry earth we’d seen all day.
You know what else we hadn’t seen all day? People. It was three friends, nature and God on this hike. We started getting rather cold. My hat sent cascades of bulging droplets off its brim, my pants were soaked through, chilling my thighs and restricting the movement of lifting my legs over fallen logs. But my core was warm, and my hood and hat kept me from losing heat through my head. Water had snuck into my shoes and now wormed through my socks. I suspect Monica had the same sensation, but this week Rob had waterproof hiking boots. They may have kept him dry, but they didn’t keep his feet warm.
Rob rolled up his soggy trouser legs, and we forced Monica to take my Mountain Hardwear shell and gloves to keep warm.
We passed a beautiful cascade of water, and then descended onto another trail, one marked and managed by the park. Perhaps you can figure out which one it is. Here we watched a raging, wide torrent of water before hiking out 1.5 miles to the road. Along the way, I decided it was time for a nutritional lift, though we already were boosted by success and safety. I had brought an odd toast, a Cadbury Caramel Egg for each of us. Check out these nutrition facts. Mmmmm-mmmm. After hiking, you’re allowed one.
On another day, I'll see what's in there
It had taken 8.3 miles, not counting our waterfall detour or the road march, to make it back. At the parking lot of this trail, we saw the first other human face of the day, waiting for his sons on a bridge. Sugar in our bellies and victory in our hearts, we walked happily down the road, stopping for photos until reaching the car, and the warm heat blown by the vents felt as good as it has ever felt.
I had exchanged my muddy, soaked trousers with dry gym shorts, my wet socks and destroyed hiking shoes for Chaco sandals. Only Rob had to cope with dirty shoes and pants, but his core had stayed dry and warm. Monica changed into a pair of clean linen trousers and a clean Tee shirt I had in my Honda.
We were seated immediately and began sipping hot tea and coffee. Bliss. Rob and I had veggie hibachi, with avocado and cucumber sushi rolls. Monica had hibachi chicken, which of course means she’s going to be pecked and scratched for eternity in non-vegetarian hell (I’m kidding, really).
It hit the spot all around. Rice, vegetables, especially the sushi. I can’t comment on or grade the quality of the food — to me it was as fine a feast as I’ve ever eaten, in America or the Far East.
And that’s a major point. You see you don’t really know how good food can taste until you’ve spent yourself beyond physical exhaustion. You don’t really know how good a shower feels until you’ve spent a cold, rainy afternoon digging your fingers in mud to climb slopes. You haven’t really drunk a cup of hot tea until you’ve had only cold water to drink on a winter day. Your bed won’t seem as soft, your sleep as sweet, your home as comfortable, as it will after you seek out uninviting places, wild places. These are the places where nature remains, where God’s work is still operating almost exactly how it was meant to: teaching us, fulfilling us, strengthening us, drawing us closer to one another through the experience, and making the simplest comforts of life as sweet as they are always supposed to be.
(Photos in this article must be clicked on to display, so those intending to try this route can enjoy the surprises I did.)
I’ve waited weeks for a good shot at the off trail destination I located in my search of Knoxville’s libraries. Saturday’s temperature was expected to be 64 degrees Fahrenheit, so I made plans to head back to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, in pursuit of treasures off the trails on barren bluffs. A few days before the adventure, I stood in a hillside cul-de-sac in my condo complex, staring with anticipation at the mountains far in the distance. But I had no idea the turns this adventure would take …
View from home
MEETING OF ADVENTURERS
I met Rob Baldus at the IHOP on Chapman Highway outside of Knoxville. He’s jumped off lakeside cliffs with me and crawled through a cave with me, and I have a feeling this adventurer is going to be a recurring character on this blog. So here he is for round 2. He parked his Smart Car and hopped into my black Honda Accord, and off we went.
ANTICIPATION
I’ve been known to get excited about adventures, but this time it cost me $80. Highway 441 from Knoxville to Sevierville has a pretty high speed limit, until a few miles from Historic Sevierville. I got stopped by a patrolman for doing 55 in a 35. The exceptionally professional and kind officer wrote me a citation. Add that to the potential risks of pursuing adventure: uncontrollable excitement may lead to traffic violations.
FOLLOW THE FENCE ROWS
Following the directions in the guidebook to hidden trails I got at the library, Rob and I were able to locate with high certainty the place by a park road where the route to the Catstairs begins. We pulled off and parked, grabbed our gear, and headed up what seemed an ancient road, used by settlers ages ago.
The path was broad and easy to walk, gently sloping up and railed by stacked stone walls reminiscent of forgotten civilizations. A wood of fallen leaves and broken stone walls reminded me eerily of “The Blair Witch Project” even in broad daylight. But it also evoked the mood of being somewhere much older, reminding me of Bayon, a place I visited in Cambodia.
Cambodian ruins
Fences
Along the way, I learned that Rob is far superior to me in identifying edible plants, so we nibbled on his finds. We are not botanists and cannot advise you on what is safe to eat in the wilds. Here’s what we did:
Across a stream, past clearings that likely were homesteads before this land was a national park, we came to a huge open space with a few piles of stones.
When hiking through thick woods off marked trails, as I did in Huggins Hell, the path is easy to discern: it’s the way of least resistance. If anyone had gone through this area, one thinks, they would gone this way. if you’re hemmed in all around and fighting through briers and impenetrable rhododendron, you’re probably off the path, even if it is an unadvertised one. With a clearing such as the one we found, we could have set off in a number of directions following paths easy to trod. That’s what made this an unnerving test of our navigational instincts.
We plunged into briers and underbrush, because we thought it was the most direct route to the top. This was a mistake. Despite getting off track, after a battle with some brush and a rest on a leafy hillside, Rob spotted an old field consistent with the description in the guidebook.
The path
The alternative
Pieces of the past
A HUGE SUCCESS
Finding the field, which was really more of a swamp, changed our situation entirely. It was surreal; like an icy breeze in the desert it revived me and alerted my senses again. It meant we were back on the route and had effectively navigated the first 1.6 miles. It also meant we were about to see remnants of human civilization I’d been thinking about for weeks.
Rob was taking a rest on a log at one end of the hidden field, so I carefully hopped on mounds of bent tall grass so as to avoid the standing water the flat place held, journeying to the far side. I saw a large boulder there, and of course, began to monkey around on it. And then I saw it. The bottom half of a stone chimney, indisputable proof we were at the Barnes’ cabin site. I shouted to Rob, but made him wait until he arrived to see it.
Being high in the untrodden wilds, one doesn’t expect to find an idyllic clearing, complete with field, spring and cabin remains. It is a special place, a spot marked by civilization framed by winding woods and hills. Arriving here through vast wilds was like landing in a dream through a haze of sleep — a place with no address, where every direction is the entrance, and the exit. I wonder what night must be like in that field, what cabin life in the heights of nature must have been for who lived here. But there was something else close. We knew it had to be around the cabin site somewhere, but its a place I wouldn’t fancy spending the night.
THE GHOSTLY COMPANIONS
I went in one direction, Rob the other. He found the clearing containing the cemetery of the Barnes girls. My mysterious guide had sent me an email weeks before. It’s subject:
“Info”
It’s message:
“Rosey, Julies, and Delia are your ghostly companions for this trip”
In the cemetery were three headstones, one for each name. The three Barnes girls are believed to be the daughters of Pinnacle John Barnes, who dwelt here at the base of the pinnacle.
As I said I thought to myself how scary it would be to spend the night in this place, but in the bright sunlight, it felt like a temple, inspiring quiet contemplation and respect for the interred. As Rob and I took pictures, I noticed myself feeling as if I were at a formal occasion instead of snapping nature shots. I used to do newspaper photos, and this was the difference between shooting a photo of a parade and shooting a grieving family in a courtroom.
Filled with satisfaction at having found some of the greatest highlights of our planned trip, Rob and I turned back to the wilds in search of the biggest prize: the Catstairs.
Possibly the only standing water in the Smokies
The cabin site
Shrine of moss
The ghostly companions
THE MISTAKE
It was depressing to leave the navigational security of the homestead site for the unmarked woods, but that’s what we did. We would come to realize later that veering through the dense brush in attempt to move directly to the bluffs was a great mistake. We should have followed the paths we saw that led west. Little did we know at the time we were heading into Devil’s Den, a place that lived up to its name.
We fought through rhododendron until the forest became manageable to move through. We moved left and uphill for a tiring distance before coming to a slope strewn with large boulders, deep clumps of dead leaves, briers and brush. It reminded me of Huggins Hell, an imposing sight of a distance we couldn’t judge. So up we went.
Climbing the rockfall was hard work, and we had to rest often. Every fifty yards felt like 10, as looking up only signaled a longer journey than we’d bargained for, but ever so slowly, the towering exposed rock of high bluffs came closer. This is where I think we both started having doubts. We took a steep climb to the right, but as the rock was not exposed, it couldn’t be the Catstairs. We followed the spine of the rockfall past a moist recess in the face and up through the steepest hillside we’d yet faced, which was covered in rhododendron, thick sliding leaves and loose dirt. But after a strenuous amount of all-fours climbing, we reached the base of the bluffs with near-max heart rates and deep oxygen debts.
Into Devil's Den
Not the Catstairs
THE UNEXPECTED PLUNGE
We took a rest at the base of the bluffs, gorgeously smooth rock faces where a few trickles of water made blinding glare of sunlight and patches of leftover snow made us feel as if the wonders of nature have any limits. Then a terrible thing happened. I picked up my backpack, upon which my camera sat, and the camera went careening down the precipitous slope we’d just climbed. It feel like a skier, limply turning increasing flips after each bounce, threatening to get lost forever in a pile of leaves or be smashed upon a stone.
“There goes your camera,” Rob said, with a hint of despair. “Not without me!” I called, and I threw myself down after it, sliding on dirt, roots and leaves a whole lot faster than I’d bargained for. I kept pace with the camera for a while, at an uncontrollable speed, then stopped at the end of thrilling and dangerous plunge. I scanned around, dove a few yards further down the incline, and finally saw where it rested, just to the right of the pulse-pounding path I’d taken down. I had been at the mercy of nature, but had come to rest just above my faithful camera. I checked to make sure it was functioning, and with a sigh of relief, began the trudge back up the path I’d just lamented having to climb the first time.
RIGHT OR LEFT
I expected to see the Catstairs just off to the left, but as we moved it became near impossible to move between the cliffs and the brush. I went off on my own, leaving Rob to chill. I didn’t find any sign it was the right way, but I did find treasure.
A single black diamond hiking pole lay collapsed at the base of the cliffs. I reckoned it had been dropped from above, but as it seemed fully functional, decided to take it with me as a prize. Could it be a sign we were going the right way, or an omen we were out of our league?
Giving up on the left path, I went back to Rob and went around right. Though a turn around a corner brought spectacular views of continuing cliffs before me, I saw no route up. I could scan probably a mile ahead in the clear air, but the bluffs looked impenetrable.
I returned to Rob and after a quick run through the facts, we decided to head back left; Rob led the way. Fighting through increasingly difficulty tangles of forest, sweaty and hot, we arrived at the western most point of the pinnacle before us.
Could this be the Catstairs? I had my doubts, but I was willing to climb anyway. The slope was made of wet mud, a few piles of snow, sopping moss and dripping rocks. We climbed up to a clear path, a tunnel of rhododendron and brush that forced us onto our knees. The winding path on the ridge wasn’t much more than a deer trail in width, and we kept snagging our packs on the confining limbs at chest-height. But then it intersected a well-worn path. But then we had the same problem: right or left?
We might have walked a quarter mile or more left before we stopped again to face the facts.
SUFFERING
The truth was, we had maybe half a liter of water between us. We were exhausted, hot and scratched up. We were not sure exactly where we were — aside from deep within the park far from the car — and we didn’t know which way to go. We had only two hours of daylight left. We had bitten off more than we could chew.
We decided it was time to abort the rest of the mission. We were, in fact, in Devil’s Den, having missed the Catstairs completely. We knew the path we were on might lead us out of the woods, but in how many miles? And if we were wrong again, what next? We followed the path back the way we had come and went right this time. It came to an overlook.
This is where Rob and I decided to seek advice. It seemed like a remarkable place, a place a park ranger might not mistake. So we pulled out the trail map and called the Smokies emergency line. I explained we had only a little water and were exhausted but otherwise healthy. I described our route and where we were. I asked for advice as to how to get out. The person on the line said they would have a ranger call me back. We were just amazed to have cell service where we were on Rob’s iPhone.
About 5 long minutes passed, as we just tried to stay calm and wait. Finally the phone rang, much to our relief. But our stomachs plummeted again when the operator told me the only ranger was deep in the backcountry and could only advise us to go back the way we came. But that had taken about 6-7 hours. I had expected directions and the promise that a ranger would meet us on our way with some water. Ah well, self-rescue is cooler anyway.
WHY YOU SHOULD WATCH “MAN VS. WILD”
Discovery Channel, basically the best channel on TV, helped to make our rescue easier. Having religiously watched host Bear Grylls on “Man vs. Wild”, I could easily recall the points upon which we agree. One is that the intrepid host of this adventure show and I both know the value of mind over matter. Rob’s greatest challenge and mine was to not panic. Fear, anxiety and outright panic just speeds up your heart rate and makes you go fast and sloppy, increasing your risk of injury. As with all fear, our fear of getting out wasn’t doing us any good. If we entertained it, it would only make what we feared (getting hurt and stuck) more likely.
We established priorities:
1. Get off the bluffs before darkness fell around us and headlamps rose to our foreheads.
2. On the moist stairs up the bluff, get a drink.
3. Get to the stream we’d followed to Pinnacle John Barnes’ cabin site and drink our fill.
4. Get out and call our loved ones so they didn’t worry about us.
I spotted the faint path off the established one we had come from, and we crawled back to the steep climb down the bluff. Here’s where we got to put Bear Grylls’ moves into practice — for real. I grabbed clumps of soaked moss with both hands and squeezed the way I’d seen Bear do it. I was able to get mouthful after mouthful of clean water, with a taste of dirt in maybe one out of three. I guess it takes practice. Most of my gulps were pure as spring water. Rob filled one of his water bottles with snow, then asked me to squeeze in some water to help it melt. The observed high ended up being 80 in the Smokies on Saturday, so the snowmelt trick seemed a good bet. Rob also ate some snow, which Bear will tell you is a bad idea in a snowscape, as it can drop your body temperature to dangerous levels. But on a day that felt like June, there was no danger of hypothermia. Dehydration is another matter.
We struggled most on the steep hill of boulders below the brush, but we made it down and got to the stream.
As the light faded to beautiful yellowy-orange in the wood, we sat by the stream and drank without filters, iodine tablets or purification of any kind. We filled up our bags with water and drank our hearts’ content. Rob, a vegan, ate his third Clif Bar and I ate my Powerbar caramel peanut fusion.
Our mini survival situation had tested us, but keeping a positive attitude, prioritizing and sticking to our plan had paid off — exactly what you’ll see in an episode of “Man vs. Wild.”
Free climbing for a view
To the bluff top
The overlook
View at the top
Expanse of sky
IN THE DARK
Our spirits soared after we were hydrated and fed. We were on relatively flat terrain and had a stream to follow down to the old stone fence rows and the end of this journey. We talked about our vegetarian and vegan lifestyles, cuisine and cooking, the girls in our lives, and many other things as we walked the last 2 miles out. We chatted without hint of exhaustion, as if we’d just started, even as the sun disappeared and we switched to headlamps. Walking in the dark, off trail and under the moon did wonders for my heart, giving me a whole new good feeling about the day.
Like a good massage, pain precedes progress; as in the gym, pain brings new strength. As in life, we’re equipped only with the experience of the challenges we’ve faced before. Our greatest asset is the ability to say, “I’ve had worse.” Being pushed to the limits left Rob and I saturated with more than just grime and sweat. It left us saturated in the feeling of triumph, of strength and hardiness. We’d made more of this day than those who’d stayed in the comfy world of man; we’d made it a day that will not slip away from memory, whereas for so many others, this particular Saturday past is already washing away.
We reached the car, filthy and battered but feeling great, and drove out of the park to cell service. It wasn’t until we’d been driving that Rob noticed a slip of paper stuck under my windshield wiper. It’s message:
“OH, THE PLACES YOU WILL GO!”
The mysterious guide had struck again. Odd to think he’d been near, but being near off trail in the Smokies has little correlation to the likelihood of two adventurers running into each other.
Where is the best place for a vegan and vegetarian to eat in Pigeon Forge, a strip of mostly pancake, steak, seafood and chicken places? The Apple Barn to the rescue. They took us in with our filthy clothes and ripped pants, or maybe they just didn’t notice as I tried to hide in my coat. The Apple Barn is a country cooking restaurant where most of the patrons are overweight. Generally not a good sign, but we weren’t about to eat the general picks. The vegetable platter gives you the choice of four vegetables, a piece of bread, soup and desert. We ate on green beans, applesauce, fries, beans and other delights. I drank applewood julep and took the chocolate cake deserts to go (Rob can’t eat them).
THE VALARIUM
So if you’re wondering what possessed me after spending about 9 hours in the woods to go dancing until 3 a.m., don’t ask. I just did. I wanted to see my friends, and I wanted to see how much I could dance with aching legs.
Quite a lot, actually. I went just as hard on this night as any other. We breakdancers danced on the carpet again, but we had better success keeping a circle. The dancing was spirited; the music was energizing; the company was friendly. All in all, it was a night that redeemed my interest in the venue, though I hope for a night here that doesn’t necessitate carpet burn.
Hiking beyond exhaustion all day and dancing all night meant that Sunday included a 5 hour nap, plus a good night’s sleep. But though it cost me a hazey day, I woke from my long rest with knowledge that I can push myself to such extremes and make it to another dawn, the real treasure of great adventures.
Spring has arrived! Bizarrely enough, it happened about 5 days after the DC area was covered in about 6 inches of snow. So much for winter’s last gasp. I’d also been locked away in my apartment with the exception of going to work for days to study for the midterm for my PhD-level Macroeconomics class, which resulted in a major case of cabin fever.
On Sunday, I decided to go with my girlfriend, Lauren, to explore a trail that starts across the street from our apartment: the Melvin Hazen Trail. I’ve been eyeing it for the roughly eight months I’ve lived in my current building, but like so many things that are close by, I kept putting off it’s exploration.
I should briefly explain the major park system in this part of DC. Rock Creek Park is very long and narrow, running north-to-south from Maryland to the Potomac River. It’s basically a small gorge that runs along the western edge of older Washington (generally the stuff settled before the 20th century). A major road and Rock Creek itself run through the middle of it, but there are a number of hiking, running/bicycling, and horse trails as well. The main park has a number of branching trails, some of which run through the city for a few blocks before they join up with other long, narrow parks in Northwest DC.
Lauren and I set out on the trail, entering between two giant apartment buildings. We followed what appeared to be a trail around one of the buildings until we realized that we should actually cross a little stream at the bottom of the small valley that the trail runs through. It’s an amazing feeling to be in the middle of Washington, DC and yet totally surrounded by nature and the woods. We glimpsed apartment buildings and what appeared to be a private school for rich kids fairly frequently though, so our rural illusion wasn’t maintained too well. The nice day also brought out a fairly large number of other runners/hikers. But after months of only sporadic hiking forays due to the cold, we didn’t mind at all.
Entering the trail.
An odd sight to the side of a hiking trail.
Behind the bus is my building, as seen from near the trail entrance.
Winding through the woods.
The trail was a little shorter than I had hoped, ending in Rock Creek Park at a picnic area where people were playing with dogs, throwing frisbees and footballs around, and lounging in the spring weather. I also saw where the Hazen trail intersected the Western Ridge Trail, which splits into “strenuous” and “moderate” routes. Since it was getting a little late, and I had to attend to urgent baking needs at home though, we decided to save that trail for another adventure on another day.
We ran into some runners.
And a picnic area.
We relaxed for a little while and enjoyed some snacks we’d brought with us while we watched an especially chipper Pomeranian dash after a ball. As we turned around to hike back along the trail to go home, I was happy about what I discovered on this short outing. I found a way into Rock Creek Park that was shorter than I had thought, a place to have a picnic sometime (there aren’t too many of those in the middle of a big city), and a new trail with two different paths to explore.
Ah, Saturday, the best day of the week. I’ve been adventuring every Saturday for weeks now. I wanted to continue Adventure #4 today, but its rainy and cold. Not that it would stop me, but my camera is afraid of water. So where can I go in the rain and stay dry? Caves. So I’m going to try to track down some caves to explore, and the plan tonight is to go to Mirage, a restaurant in downtown Knoxville.
Now finding caves isn’t as easy as finding trails, so I may have to stop along the way to do some research. So let’s see what happens…
RESEARCH
After a spinach and artichoke baked egg souffle at Panera Bread and a chocolate chip muffin top, I headed to Barnes & Noble booksellers to try their local interest section. No luck. So I went to the West Knoxville branch of the public library. For the second time in a row, the library didn’t fail me. I found one guide: “Caves of Tennessee,” which lists 6 caves in Knox County.
Under white-gray clouds I drove through drizzle to downtown Knoxville, and onwards to Cherokee Trail, which runs by the UT Medical Center, into the woods. Past some new apartments for students studying across the river, there was a gravel road. The gravel road led to a muddy mess of brown pools and slop. I nearly got my Honda Accord stuck in the mud twice, but thankfully, I was able to wiggle it out.
When I saw a large pond, I knew I was in the right spot. I was put onto this adventure originally by Adam Fuller, whom some of you have met in previous adventures. He sent me a Google Earth link showing this pond from above. It was just a matter of finding out about the cave there. I parked, and set out to find the entrance before meeting up with my companion for this challenge.
Scenery by the gravel road
FALSE DOORS
I didn’t know that the cave entrance would be obvious, though I should have guessed it, so I searched the steep slope beside the river for small entrances. In the rain, my hands became brown bits of dead leaves and mud, whilst also getting wet from clambering up the sopping clumps of moss and slick rocks. I kept cleaning the thick layer of mud off my numb hands by wiping them on my pants every time I held the camera. And still the camera got filthy. Knots of vines aided me only a little in getting to some little pockets of rock that looked like cave mouths from below.
Finally, I found the main entrance to the cave, clearly visited before, as evidenced by the copious amounts of graffiti. Grrrrrrr! Why do people feel it necessary to trash the most beautiful places to visit? I worked up the nerve to go in a turn or two by myself to make sure I was in the right spot.
I thought I would be able to walk into the cave as through a door, so when I saw the slithering hole standing maybe three feet high, I had to take a deep breath. I clicked on my headlamp and crawled through the dust into the cave, not knowing if a living creature would be staring me in the face as I turned the corners. It was a true test of nerve to go in alone, but when I found a bigger chamber a few turns inside, I decided to exit and wait for backup.
A false entrance
ROB BALDUS
Let me introduce you to Rob. Here’s his site. Rob is a hardcore cyclist, swimmer and general adventurer. He’s a vegan with knack for cooking and writing, as well as photography, and I can also say when it comes to the gym, he has survived intense fitness circuits and performance agility training. He’s just the sort of person to take on this adventure.
Rob Baldus
INSIDE THE CAVE
Rob and I couldn’t stop laughing at the nerve-testing challenge before us, as we ventured into the dark unknown. Neither of us had experience caving. I think the videos say it all, but a few observations…
1. Caves are much scarier in real life than they sound like they’d be from fantasy novels.
2. Caves are extremely warm and cozy on a damp, rainy day with chilling winds.
3. The more time you spend in caves, the less afraid of them you are.
4. Caves are about 100 times less frightening when you are not alone.
5. The excitement of winding through deep dark tunnels underground, not knowing what’s ahead and without an easy escape route far outweighs the anxiety of the same.
6. Caves are places of mystery and adventure, but a dust mask might be required.
THE QUARRY
In the same area as the Cherokee Bluff Cave there also lives a quarry that Rob had told me about before. So we went for a visit. Here’s the scoop.
The quarry’s sheer size and the ruins around it (and in its depths) give a surreal sensation, a desirable thing when out adventuring.
The quarry
The water's edge
TOWELS
Here’s a valuable tip. If you’re going to go crawling through caves, you should probably put beach towels in your car seats and floor boards. I, however, did not. This meant that extra clothes had to suffice. It also meant that my car was in serious need of cleaning all over, from the mud splashed on its sides to the dirt that flaked off our bags of gear all over the trunk.
My trusty camera (Photo by Rob Baldus)
MIRAGE
Mirage is a restaurant in downtown Knoxville. Here’s another link about Mirage, this time from my old pal the News Sentinel. Mirage is loud with ethnic music, especially when the bellydancers are entertaining, and Arabian TV clips run on mounted screens. There are two seating areas where patrons may rest on pillows by knee-high tables. Our party, however, consisting of about 10 of Rob’s friends, chose a regular table opposite the bar. We smoked hookah (jasmine, melon and grape, unless I’m mistaken) and chowed down on hummus with delicious bread, sharing loud laughter and jokes, with talk of adventures passed and adventures to come.
Tea at Mirage (Photo by Rob Baldus)
A note about hookah smoke: it is very unhealthy. Check this out from the Mayo Clinic. All I can say is that I rarely do smoke and this is the only thing I smoke. It’s been months since I’ve had a puff. So far I’ve experienced no ill effects. A good effect is that the melon flavored tobacco really is delicious, and if you inhale enough and exhale through the nose, you look like a dragon.
Hookah (Photo by Rob Baldus)
THE VALARIUM
Okay, I’ve about had it with this place. After Mirage, I went and spent the better part of an hour waiting in line in the cold to get in. Once I got inside, I found the crowd to be wilder and worse than the last time I went to the Valarium. There was so much beer spilled on the dance floor, and so many oblivious people walking through the dance circle, or closing it up, we were forced to the side of the room to dance on carpet. Even then it was hard to get enough space.
As usual, a bunch of people who can’t dance at all kept nudging me and pushing me to get in the circle and dance because they’d seen my moves and wanted more. As usual I lamented the disrespect of being ordered about by people who probably can’t even stand on their hands, who think I need no rest or can’t decide for myself what I should and shouldn’t do. What a low society that does not respect free will. I suppose if the real dancers leave this place, the light in the darkness will go out, but I’m just not getting anything to bring me back.
I got pretty aggressive, telling them (politely) off or pushing them away. I felt a hand on my shoulder and pushed the person to the side, only to realize it was a staff bouncer trying to get through. I apologized, but this deepened my frustration. It’s hard to enjoy dancing when you can’t clear your head of such. After Purada and 4620, the Valarium just isn’t catching my eye anymore, but who knows, things might look up someday.
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