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A couple of weeks ago, while hiking in towards Sam’s Gap on the Appalachian Trail in the late afternoon, I ran across a fellow walking the opposite way.  At first glance, I thought that it was somewhat odd that he wasn’t carrying a backpack, not even a daypack.   And, as our paths inevitably crossed as we approached each other from opposite directions, he asked me “How far does this trail go?”  I told him that “This trail goes all the way to Maine.”  He laughed and said, “Yeah, right…”, then mumbled something and kept on walking.  I didn’t have the time or the inspiration to explain Benton MacKaye’s amazing vision, so I let him pass and walk on into the bliss of the unknown trail; perhaps he will figure it out some day–perhaps not.  Either way, I have decided that I have no inclination to be a public relations representative, or spokesperson, for the Appalachian Trail.  I just like to hike.

With that in mind, I actually got to do a little bit of camping recently, hiking in on the Appalachian Trail from Spivey Gap and climbing over High Rocks and Little Bald to the camp spot at Big Stamp–about 6 1/2 miles.  It had threatened rain most of the afternoon, and there were even a couple of passing showers, so I found myself walking up the mountain hills faster than I would have liked, with a 45-pound pack, hoping to set up my tent in the meadow on top of the mountain before any really bad weather struck.

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It is easy, sometimes, to get too caught up into where you are going, and forget to enjoy the place where you are.  When I am out hiking, I try to remind myself that it isn’t always the destination that is the center of attraction, but rather the getting there.  Curbing that anxiety to be somewhere else is not always easy for me, and indeed, I see it in the eyes of the ‘thru-hikers’ that I meet sometimes.  It is easy to recognize; the robotic voice and faraway stare, as they contemplate how many more miles they have to walk to maintain their unrealistic schedules in the back of their obsessed minds.  That is why it is so refreshing, I suppose, when I meet someone who not only doesn’t have a ‘summit date’ for Katahdin planned, but doesn’t give me that look like they expect me to pull out a banjo at any moment and start picking the       theme to ‘Deliverance’.

Mount Katahdin in Maine

About a week and a half ago, while on a Appalachian Trail Volunteer Maintenance Work Trip near Spivey Gap with the ‘Rat Patrol’s’ trail crew, Rat and I met a fellow hiking the trail that wasn’t in too big of a hurry to get anywhere.  In fact, he stopped and told us the story about he had gotten lost a few times, walking off in the wrong direction.  I just had to laugh, having done that myself a time or two.  By the time Rat had answered all his questions, and it was time to move on, the hiker had a new trail name–‘Wrong Way’.  That is how it works sometimes, the inadvertent and unexpected has a way of sticking with you, whether you like it or not.  As I recall, I received my trail name by a similar unintended, spontaneous custom.

Rat cleaning steps near High Rocks

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Now that the glow of ‘Hairnt-fest’ has sadly begun to fade, and residue of the ‘real-world’ threatens to crush the inspiration right out of me, the solace of Nature seems sweeter than ever.  I won’t bore you with everything that has been happening, but there are reasons to feel blessed, so let’s get right to the ‘good stuff’.

The Upper Triplets Falls

The first of the ‘elusive waterfall hikes’ was an impromptu trek up onto Rich Mountain.  I didn’t really have a plan, but in the back of my mind, there are always places in the Sampson Wilderness that I am curious about and would like to explore.  Perhaps you have heard, or read, about the ‘Triplets’ waterfalls that I ‘discovered’ a couple of years ago, after walking by them, both below and above, for nearly 20 years, never suspecting the magnitude of that secret valley.  Indeed, it appears rather insignificant at first glance, but after further inspection, the extent of the valley is quite incredible.  Ever since accidentally stumbling across the nearly hundred foot high waterfall and cliff face, and the subsequent smaller, yet significant falls, this valley has had the allure of a new girlfriend upon me.

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Sometimes it is difficult, not only to figure out what to say, but many times, how to say it–this is one of those times.  Just like the free online translators have several different versions of how to say ‘Let the Good Times Roll’ in French, it becomes necessary to decide on a blog version and run with it.  Just so everyone will know, ‘hairnt’ is still ‘hairnt’ in French.  I actually had designed a flashy, pretentious introduction, but there is a lot of stuff to talk about, so let’s get right to it.

So what’s been happening?  Well, first I had a rather incredible black bear encounter while in North Carolina.  There was a ‘momma bear’ with at least one cub.  As it happens, I was paying attention to the trail ahead, and since two large, wild turkeys had just flown off a short while earlier before I could get to my camera out to get a photo of them, I was ready with my antique camera as I crested the rise and heard the rustling brush ahead.  ‘Momma Bear’ was paying attention too, and heard my boots as they dragged through the grass.  Curious, I suppose, she raised up and stood upon her back legs about 30 yards away, partially obscured by some tall sedge grass, to see what was going on.  I estimate that she was about 6 1/2 feet tall, and weighed over 250 pounds, not that I have ever weighed and measured a bear before.  I do, however, know ‘large’ when I see it.  While not the largest bear I have ever encountered while hiking, she was still ‘quite big’…big enough, anyway.

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May is here and there are quite a few ‘thru-hikers‘ passing through the area.  I haven’t met very many, however, like I used to when I was hiking and maintaining trails all the time, but the ones that I have talked to have inspired me with their positive attitude, for surely one must be an optimist to tell someone they are walking to Maine.  I have to admit, I am a bit jealous, and would love to be out on the trail right now, going to Maine, or wherever.  I suppose a good many of this year’s crop of thru-hikers will be at ‘Trail Days‘ next weekend for the big hiker festival in Damascus, Virginia.

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When the hiking club was still moving forward, several years ago, there used to be a colleague in the club who would sometimes preface his comments with the phrase “I’m not whinin’, but…” right before he would pronounce his thoughts on some steep, rocky, 5-mile hill-climb.  There were no such things as ‘easy hikes’ back then, whether it was on the Appalachian Trail, or in the backcountry wilderness hikes.

Some of them were quite grueling, like the 17-miler from Horse Creek to Allen Gap—the last 5 miles in the dark.  As I recall, ‘Rat Patrol’ had ditched his new boots because his feet hurt so badly, and walked sock-footed at least 5 or 6 miles.  Then, there was the unexplainable sound of ’cowbells’ somewhere out on that dark mountain; it was a bit spooky.  Even so, our eyes must have adapted to the darkness, or perhaps ‘the trail’ was taking care of us, since the trail corridor seemed to glow and we didn’t have any more problems…until all 7 of us tried to get in the hot, airless little car that was waiting to take us back to Horse Creek.  If not for the small crack in the window letting in a trace of cool air for me to put my nose near, I believe I would have suffocated—but that’s another story.  Anyway, I sort of feel like the Sill Branch Overlook Hike Report should have a similar preface:  I’m not whinin’, but this is what happened…

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The springtime is really starting to kick into gear around here, and it is an amazing transformation between winter and spring in northeast Tennessee. It usually begins with the crocuses, snowdrops, and daffodils. Then, the trees and bushes get in on the act, with the forsythias, the pink-magnolias, the bradford pears, wild cherry, crabapple and red-buds. The grape hyacinths, periwinkle and trout-lilies are also blooming. That is where everything is right now, as we are still waiting for the trillium, the Virginia-bluebells, and Easter-Lilies, and the irises, not to mention the azaleas and ‘a million’ other wildflowers. I really appreciate this ‘awakening’ of the trees and plants, especially now that global warming has made it possible to go hiking in January wearing a t-shirt, and since so many times it seems lately that the seasons change from winter to summer as if someone snapped their finger, and spring is forgotten. Walking in the woods in the spring is so refreshing, and soon the air in the mountain valleys will become sweet with the smell of wildflowers–like Mother Nature’s perfume. The oxygen and exercise must be healthy, too.

I haven’t been out in the woods a whole lot lately; have been kind of taking it easy after straining the hamstring on ‘Longarm Ridge’ a while back. I have been on a few ‘re-hab hikes’ in the last couple weeks, however–one time traveling up to ‘Spivey Gap’ and the Appalachian Trail to walk around Flattop Mountain in the rain. The legs felt horrible at first, but began feeling better after they warmed up some. I only walked about 4 miles that day. I also drove up to Rocky Fork, since it is comparatively close by, and took a few photos of the waterfalls.

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You may have noticed the new home page for the website, a major upgrade since we were hacked last summer. All the links work, except for the ‘Trail Stories’ page, which is still in the works. Many thanks to the Web-Wizard for re-building the website, and adapting those awesome transparent templates. Now if we could only get more pictures of raccoons and groundhogs–Hairnt!

One final note about the ‘Groundhogs Day’, and then I will shut up. When I was growing up in Johnson City, there weren’t a lot of groundhogs living around us to drag out of a hole, shadow or not, but everyone in the neighborhood knew that it wasn’t truly Springtime until ‘Old Man Miller’ was spotted rooting around in his garden. He would be about 115 years old now, and I haven’t gone looking for his ghost, but I am quite sure he would have been out there last week…in his garden.

I went out to the woods during the big warm-up, and took some photos of the snow around Spivey Gap on the Appalachian Trail. I also documented some of the seldom seen cliffs and boulders that rise up out of the ridges. I detoured off the trail, taking a left through the snow-covered ‘boulder-fields’, and ended up ascending the large, yet nameless, north-eastern ridge of Bald Mountain (the one that buttes against Sugarloaf Mountain), which led me directly to the summit of ‘High Rocks’. There were foot and a half high snowdrifts in places along the ridge tops, but they were melting in the afternoon warmth. I continued on toward ‘Whistling Gap’. On the way back, the Sun was sinking fast, and the snow was re-freezing. On the descent into ‘Spivey Gap’, the trail was very slippery, and I slid a lot, as if wearing skis instead of boots.

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After all that fuss and talk about groundhogs and ‘Groundhog’s Day’ (in the previous blog), I suppose some of you are wondering ‘Well, Hey!  Why don’t the raccoons have their own holiday?’  Raccoons are rather clever, but not clever enough, apparently, and have thus far been shut out in the holiday department.  Somewhat nocturnal, but not necessarily so, raccoons like to haunt the creek banks and hunt crawdads, but will eat just about anything, which can be annoying to gardeners.  A raccoon can wipe out a tomato patch  in only one night, seemingly, taking a bite or two out of one tomato, then discarding it before taking a couple of bites out of another.

I have had a few incidents with the raccoons while I was living in the ol’ shack by the Little Cherokee Creek–more than I care to remember, actually.  The one that seems to stand out in my mind above the others was in the spring of 2003.  I was sitting sedately on the porch in the late afternoon, when a raccoon appeared, walked up on the porch beside me.  Standing about 2 1/2 feet tall on his back legs, he extended his paw for me to shake, while he (perhaps she–I wasn’t curious enough to notice) politely introduced himself.  Somewhat fascinated by the gesture, I shook the courteous raccoon’s paw.  It seemed as though he were about to try and sell me a vacuum cleaner.

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So, what about this ‘Groundhogs Day’?  I don’t know a whole lot about it, but every year I wonder what this creature is up to, and how it is somehow responsible for the weather.  Sitting on their hind legs, groundhogs kind of resemble a miniture, acorn eating, clover munching grizzly bear.  They live in burrows, perhaps under a bridge or along a creek-bank, and hibernate through the winter.  From my days of living on the cow farm, I learned that it is indeed a good sign to see a groundhog foraging in the fields, and good weather is on the way.

What February 2nd has to do with anything, I have no idea, but expect it has something to do with another holiday that preceded ‘groundhogs day’ by thousands of years known as ‘Imbolc’ by the Gaelic and Celtic cultures.  Celebrated on the same day, Imbolc was the day that was dedicated to the Goddess Brigid, and was situated exactly halfway between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox.  Anyway, it is nice to know that people have been celebrating this day for thousands of years–Hairnt!

What with the warmer weather recently, I managed to sneak in a few hikes.  I trekked up the Appalachian Trail towards ‘Curly Maple Gap’ and climbed out onto the Big Boulder that juts out of the side of the ridge like a gigantic shinbone.  You can get a nice view from there, and it is just a cool place to be, especially when the sun sets over the ridges.  I didn’t stay long enough to watch the sunset, however, because it is a good two-mile walk back to the car, and I wanted to get back before dark (it gets a little spooky there sometimes).

Largest Triplet Falls

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