I did not take my camera on this excursion. The only media I have is a set of video clips that totals less than 3 minutes. In it, I try to show the best parts of my watery adventure. Any part I didn’t video was a part in which I was thrashing through thick brush at a snail’s pace.
This adventure took me to the thickest, most clogged, most choked off-trail route I have ever encountered.
Much like Huggins Hell, there was no beaten track of previous travelers, except in a few places. There were no piled stones to mark the way, just a few ribbons so olde they crumbled like fall leaves in your hand. Many bits of ribbon had fallen. This old fisherman’s track has been almost completely eradicated and reclaimed by thick fir thickets and rhododendron growth.
THE BREAKDOWN
I made it up 4 miles of trail in about an hour and a half. Then I ascended a waterfall, gazed down from above it, and set off upstream, leaving my trekking poles hidden at the top of the falls.
The landscape before me was uncommonly flat. There was no spire of grayish mountain looming ahead of me, taunting me with a future climb, just a wide expanse of blue sky, puffy clouds, and gently up-sloping stream. It seemed I was already on top of the mountain; I was certainly quite high in elevation already.
I wore water-blocker socks, thinking I could stick to the stream and avoid all the brush.
That didn’t work. As it turned out, the watercourse was a never-ending obstacle course of waterfalls, man-deep pools, fallen trees, and slippery, steep boulders. The sides of the watercourse were completely chocked with rhododendron or fir trees, and on top of that, the sides of the stream were like that of a canyon.
It was a fight. It was gymnastics with every step. I was jumping onto distant, slick rocks, wading over my knees, lifting myself over logs and boulders, and crawling under snake-like rhodo branches. I was pushing my way through limbs, leaves, vines, and spider webs. I was trudging up steep slopes only to encounter more difficult terrain and head back down to the water course. I zig-zagged across the stream in search of some kind of fast track, but there was just none to be had.
It was about a 4 hour battle on this supposedly 2.5 mile invisible path. According to GPS, I was still .8 miles away from the stateline divide between Old Black and Mt. Guyot.
I had started the hike after noon, having worked in the morning. Now, I was already facing a long hike in the dark, storm clouds were rolling in, my knees were aching, and I was beat. I was alone, far off-trail, and facing the repeat of every difficult obstacle I’d mounted in getting there on the way back. My plan was an out-and-back hike, and I knew hours of torturous maneuvering and bodily contortions lay ahead. I made the call to turn back. I wanted to see my girlfriend, preferably BEFORE midnight.
Going back was like a trance. I ducked, bobbed, weaved, thrashed, lept, waded, crawled, and lowered myself through 1,000 little challenges.
THE DRUMMER
It never rained, though I heard thunder and expected the dark sky to dump at any moment. But I had already spoken to the sky and told it to show me what it had, asking it to do its worst. But my rain jacket never got used. I was beyond worry. I was completely surrendered to whatever nature might bring. I was comfortable with the prospect of night, storm, and more obstacles. I was ready for anything. I even took off my shirt and got wet in one of the deep pools above the falls, having worn my bathing suit under my trousers.
When I returned to the on-trail portion, I heard a strange sound coming from the bottom of Ramsey Cascades. I went and saw a young man drumming alone in front of the silvery curtain. I said nothing but took a little shower in Ramsey Cascades and then made my way to leave.
He invited me to drum if I wanted, but I told him about my lack of musical talent.
He was on a journey of sorts, it turned out. We ended up walking back down the trail together, in the light of my Surefire, talking about our adventures in foreign countries and in the U.S. He had seen and done much, and he was still roaming the country in a pickup truck with oversized camper top, which I saw as we left each other in the parking lot. He planned to visit Knoxville the following day, so I told him about things he might like to do there. Talking to this fellow explorer and fellow adventurer made the 4 miles back a true delight.
The forests bring like-minded people together, and create close friends with a stock of strangers. Perhaps it is because there are no distractions to delay real conversation in the woods. Perhaps it is because such peace abounds in the cool evenings where water runs and bats flutter about. Perhaps it is because we are all adventurers at heart, and whatever we have covered our hearts over with is stripped off by the raw elements of the mountains when we sweat, pant, tire, and yet pause to wonder at it all.
HIGHLIGHTS
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