Sat, Sep 3 2011 - Joyce Kilmer multi-night backpacking (View Original Event Details)
|
It started out very nicely, since the water was lower than I'd ever seen it, so the crossings were relatively easy, and each crossing had a sign, which wasn't true the last time I did it. However, it's early September, it's hot and humid, and the yellow jackets are strong. They got a little annoyed with our group, and attacked Armin bringing up the rear, and Caroline. I'm thinking, well, they're here, but still not as bad as other times I've been in the mountains this time of year. And it doesn't look like they're allergic. When we got to Lower Falls, we had another nice swim, with the added benefit of being able to jump from the rocks above into the deep pools below. After about an hour, we decided it's time we started heading back to camp. Just after I finished dressing, I heard thunder, looked up, and saw a very dark cloud coming over the ridge. We got no further than 100 yards, when it started raining. I started reminiscing of my last backpacking trip, where the same thing happened while we were hiking up Granite Canyon in the Teton National Park, and that rain and thunder brought pea sized hail. But this was the south, and the rain actually brought a bit of relief from the heat and humidity. However, when we got to the river crossings, the rocks that were previously dry, with good traction, were now slippery, so our progress slowed as we all knew that one slip out in the wilderness could easily turn to disaster. Evacuation would have been extremely hard way here.
When we got to the Nichols Cove trail head, some wanted to avoid further river crossings since the rain was still falling, and the rocks continued to get even more slippery, reminding me of Jack's river, where to this day, I believe are the most slippery rocks in the world. The only rocks more slippery are covered in a layer of ice.
I was a bit concerned about the thunder up on the ridge, but it sounded like the storm was passing as the thunder seemed to be further away now. And I hadn't been up Nichols Cove in about 15 years, where I saw my first Bobcat in the wild, and was curious how the ridge changed. I figured the threat of an injury on the river crossings was greater than the threat of a lightning strike on the ridge at this point, and even though it was a little later in the day, due to all the fun swimming in the river, if we made a good pace, we'd have enough time to take the longer trail back to our camp. So we started following Nichols Cove creek bed up the ridge, and got no more than half a mile where the trail ended.
Great, I thought. I bring a group of 8 people out in the wilderness, it's getting late in the day, people are already getting tired and hungry, we're a very long way from our camp, the threat of more storms is in the distance, and the damn trail ends. I pulled out my map, which I can't see due to fogged up glasses, pull my map out of my wet zip lock bag, and squint down at it, and see that at this point we should be going south, southeast at times, which was true until uh recently. The creek bed we were on now, was going east. So I told everyone to sit tight and I went scouting around until I found a creek bed that was going SSE...and it had a trail! I went back and got everyone and we continued on.
When we got to another fork, close to the place I thought we would merge with the YellowHammer trail, there was no sign, and the fork didn't go in the direction it was supposed to go, so I studied the map again, and decided the best bet was to go down the left fork, going east, and against the advice of my map. I almost told the group to wait for me while I scouted, but decided we needed to stick together at this point. I was worried that we would have to backtrack if we went too far in an easterly direction, but I still thought this was the better route. Normally, when I'm by myself, I love this type of exploration, but when I'm traveling with a group, I assume people are loosing confidence and getting worried, and you never know peoples breaking point until it's too late.
After no more than a hundred yards of going east, I see the sign. I'm feeling very good at this point, and I pass the sign with little more than a nod, and we continue down a trail that actually looks like a trail. We got up to the ridge at around 2520', which was about a thousand foot gain from Lower Falls, and see some spectacular views looking over Slick Rock valley. I can see some people are getting a bit tired, but not a word of complaint from anyone. I'm thinking we got lucky with this crowd. We finally complete our round trip hike of 8.1 miles back to camp, arriving just before 7pm. The light is dim, with the clouds, and the low sun behind the mountains to the west, so we quickly go about our business of replenishing our water, eating, and getting the fire going. I'm thinking, that was nice, and I'm glad to be with this group of people, but that was the warm-up, and tomorrow is the big day.
The next morning we are back on the trail after breaking camp just after 9am. We have about a 5.5 mile hike up Slickrock trail, and a rise up almost 3K' to Naked Ground. Normally, like in the Smokies, no big deal right? I've done more elevation gain, over shorter distances, but I know the first two miles is relatively gentle elevation gain, following Slick Rock creek, so most of the 3k' will be in the last 2.5 miles, and there's parts on the map that look like cliffs, rather than the normal switch backs. And of course my friends comments from long ago, that said they made a mistake when they took this trail.
Well, as the map said, the terrain was relatively gentle, that first two miles. But the group wasn't thinking gentle as everyone behind me and Pawan were getting attacked by yellow jackets! I could hear the yelling and shouting behind as I thought, well, at least I have anti-histamine in case anyone is allergic.
When we regroup, I try to convince people to spread apart, lessening the chance of further attacks, and continue following the creek bed, going around fallen logs constantly. Every time I stop to look at my map, my glasses fog up, as the humidity and temperature rises, so I try to keep going, and encourage people to spread out.
After about 2 miles, we stop once again where some hunters from probably long ago, set up a nice campsite along the river, including some table they built, Appalachian style. The trail isn't very clear beyond, so I decide to walk around to scout out the area, while we wait for everyone to regroup. I walk up the hill, to relieve myself, but everyone follows me up the little hill, and I decide, well, this looks like
a trail, so we'll just continue down it, since it's going south anyway. We walk about 200 yards, while the trail continues to get worse, until it pretty much just ends. I'm thinking, not again damn it. So I take off my pack, take off my fogged up glasses, pull out my map, and tell everyone to unload while I scout around. I don't see much to the east except a gentle rising ridge, so I go west to the creek bed, and see that the creek bed has turned to an easterly direction. I look back at the map and see that there's a couple streams, one unnamed, and one called Hangover creek, so figure this is the creek bed we started following. I can also tell by this easterly creek bed, that we should cross the river just below where these easterly creeks fork, or merge with Slickrock. The trail we were following must have been made by hunters and fisherman. Meaning I had to go back to the group and tell them we had to go back to the hunters camp, so I could scout for our trail. At this point, Dave pulls out his GPS, and tells me, yes, we need to go back. Inside I roll my eyes, thinking, that's cheating, but I keep my mouth shut.
We start heading back down the ridge, and Dave asks me for some anti-histamine. When I look at his face, I can see the beginning of an allergic reaction, and think shit, but at least I have anti-histamine. So I unload, open my 1st aid kit, and I I quickly see that I don't have any. However, I can't believe it, so I tear the whole thing apart to make sure, and sure enough I must have run out on my last trip, and didn't resupply. Luckily Caroline had some extra, and gives it to Dave. I thought, not for the first time, I got lucky with this group. When we get back to the hunters camp, I find a trail right away, crossing the river, within sight of the Appalachian home built table. But I want to make sure, so I let the group unload and rest while I cross it, see that it continues south and it stays to the east of the slick rock creek bed, so I feel relieved once again, knowing that we're literally back on track, and go get the group. And again thinking to myself, that was the warm up.
We go south for a little while, but then the trail swings to the NNE as expected. And now we start the hard part. But I was also welcoming the idea of getting higher with more breezes and cooler air, and further away from possible yellow jacket nests, as we climb to the higher altitudes. However, we get no more than another few hundred yards and the group gets attacked again. Luckily, this time we were a little spread out, so less people got attacked this time. But the agitation was growing, since the stings hurt, and the anticipation of more to come grew. However, what were we to do but continue up that mountain? Turning around seemed only worse at this point. Not only was it a long walk, but loosing ground we worked hard to gain, and the thought of going past nests we knew existed.
So we hunched our shoulders, drank often, sweat even more, and continued our march up the mountain.
As our elevation increased, I saw more beetle damage to the hemlock forest, thinking what a shame. Little did I expect, this would cause another problem for us. With the dying of the hemlocks, the sun easily reached the forest floor, encouraging the black berry bushes, and another thorny vine to spread over the trail. They got so thick that you couldn't see the trail at times. I pushed through them with my poles the best that I could, but I felt like a pin cushion. I tried to clear it out a bit for the group by forcing those branches forward so that at least they weren't crossing backward against our direction, maximizing friction on our skin. Again, every time I stopped, my glasses would fog up, making it impossible to see ahead, so I plunged ahead, also again, encouraging people to spread out for further for possible yellow jacket attacks.
However, the bushwhacking just continued on and on, with every turn of the trail, that faced the sun, where the trees allowed those brutal summer rays to beat down upon the depleted forest floor. And
every creek we passed was dried up, as my 2 liters of water also gradually began to dry up. As we continued with more of the same for another mile, I remembered on my map, that we hadn't even gotten to the steepest part yet, and the group was slowing down. Finally, we got to the steep part, after crawling around fallen logs, bushwhacking thorny vines, battling yellow jackets, arms and legs bleeding a bit, I'm thinking, ok, now for the hard part?
And man was it steep...because we had to climb it. No, not walk, climb. I had to use my hands to grip whatever I could hold onto, and climb it. Remember, we had on our backpacks too. And it was hot.
And it was humid. And some of us were bleeding, running out of water. And not for the first time, I thought, I should have brought more food. I was doing this with 2 cliff bars! Part of me was thinking this is what I deserve. I want to push my body. I want to feel the pangs of hunger. I want to go to the limits. So I plunge ahead thinking to myself, this is why I train. This is why I push myself during the week, when the easy thing would be to go home from the office and lay on the couch. But with trips like this in mind, I have the incentive to get up and go train again and again, whether I want to do it or not, I get up and do it.
But the climb continues, and the group is slowing down. I sit and wait at one point, and here comes Marcus. He says they're just behind and everyone is fine, just tired and slowing down. So we hike together, pushing ahead. I'm glad to have someone hiking with me at this point, because the views are getting better, there's not any more yellow jacket attacks, and we're starting to get higher than some of the peaks around us, approaching Naked Ground. We get to a little knoll, I drink the last gulp of my water, and I try not to stare at Marcus as he happily munches on some of his trail food. I'm thinking at this point, this is about as hungry as I've been in a very long time. We wait, and wait and the rest of the group arrives. I'm getting so thirsty at this point, just waiting on this little rock over looking this beautiful valley, that I start fearing the worst. That the old stable water source at Naked Ground is dried up, just like every single creek bed has been dried up during our long ascent of Slick Rock trail. I'd never once seen this valley so dry. I was a bit worried for the first time, that if there's no water at Naked Ground, we're in trouble, but I tried to keep my mouth shut. The thunder is approaching, the skies are darker.
We continued to wait. Then I heard the last two members of our group approaching. Knowing from the way they were conversing with each other that they were fine, just going at their own pace, I told the group I was going ahead to the water source, only a couple hundred yards ahead, I hoped. When I got there, I saw the reflection of light on a little pool of water. I can't tell you how relieved I was to see that reflection of light. That was the first sign of water that I'd seen on this trail in many hours. I went down there and found a little pool no more than 2 inches deep, being fed by the most gentle trickle of water coming out of some moss. After drinking a liter of filtered water, and pumping another liter, most of the group was there replenishing their own supply of water. However, the thunder in the distance was getting louder, and it was sounding off every 10 seconds or so, so some place off to west, southwest was getting slammed by a very bad lightning storm, and we still had a nice long walk along the ridge to get back to the cars.
We got up to top of Naked Ground feeling somewhat refreshed while everyone else got all the water they needed. Also feeling quite relieved to finally having finished the almost 3K' elevation gain from our camp. Still, I know I at least was still a bit nervous that we needed to pick up the pace to avoid that lightning storm generated from tropical storm Lee off the the WSW.
We walked about a mile along the gentle, slightly rising ridge up to Haoe at 5249', making the total elevation gain for the day of about 3350', and just over 4K' above Lower Falls from the day before.
Then we started the march down hill, soon branching off on to Hangover Lead trail, bypassing the spot we were going to camp, and the views from Hangover, which happens to be my favorite place in Joyce Kilmer. However, under the circumstances, the long march down along the ridge, and the threat of storms, we just kept marching right on past one of the most beautiful places in the southeast. After all that work, to miss that spot, was testimony to our condition and circumstances.
As we continued descending, we hit more blackberry bushes thickly covering the trail, and I rolled my eyes thinking this crap just won't end. The group was getting slower, and the afternoon seemed to be slipping away. But we continued to regroup every half mile or so, and even though some were starting to look pretty tired, not a word of complaint from anyone. I was again feeling lucky to have this group with me.
Finally, after 9 hours of yellow jacket attacks, false trails that just ended, hot and humid weather with the threat of a tropical storm approaching, bushwhacking through thorns completely obstructing the trail, climbing over fallen trees left and right, hungry to the point of an aching belly, thirsty with the threat of a normally reliable water source being dried up, where no other water source could possibly provide any backup, and a long march descending down over 2K' in elevation, we arrived back at Big Fat Gap.
And again, nobody whined regardless of how tough that hike was, or whether they were allergic to yellow jackets, or whether they were hungry, or tired, or sore, or bleeding, or bruised. Everyone just did what they had to do to get back to the cars, out of the wilderness, and back into the safety of the cars.
And I'll tell you, I've never tasted such a great sandwich back in Robbinsville.
You might be interested in knowing that an editor for Backpacker magazine rated the slick rock trail, in his article for the "The twelve toughest trails" as equal to the toughest among the toughest. He's including Teton's, Grand Canyon and many more, so he's comparing it to trails out west. I have to agree, after doing the Teton's, it was harder. And they never even mentioned all the bushwhacking. The trails down there used to be a lot better maintained, so I believe it's even harder now. It takes a lot of extra energy not only to climb over and under fallen debris, but it slows down the pace, which adds to the time, causing a lot more energy needed to complete it. In fact, I can only think of one trip where it was more difficult. But that was more to do with my injured knee and mileage, where we went about 100 miles in 5 days, carrying in the beginning 63lbs. It was after that I upgraded a lot of my old heavy backpacking gear. It was never my intent to do 20 miles days on that backpacking trip, but circumstances forced us to do just that.
I know some of you like myself really enjoyed this hike, in particular because of it's difficulty, and some of you tolerated it, and some of you thought it was a bit over your head, but I hope you know I think you all should be extremely proud of yourself for doing it. You've shown that you don't break under extreme conditions, and I would be proud to have you join me on any trip. I just hope you feel the same..gulp.
Here's a link to the article published in Backpacker magazine:
http://www.backpacker.com/october_1999_destinations_toughest_trails/destinations/477
Michael Johnson
Calendar of Events
Event Places