Recollection: Hiking in the Smokey Mountains

Back in July of 2008, I got interested in going hiking. Maybe a 2-3 day excursion I thought to myself. It was time to move to higher environs, and see a new part of this country that I hadn't seen yet.

My uncle Eddie had told me about a place named Forney Creek, on the North Carolina side of the Smokey Mountains national Park. The more I looked into it, the more it seemed like a nice place; one where I could see some nice country and enjoy the scenery.

Preparing for the trip was not easy. I hadn't been camping in a long time, so most of my gear was scattered, and hadn't been used for a while.

I pieced and packed together the essentials for the trip and got ready. I tried to make sure I would have everything I would need and then some. I t never hurts to prepare, in fact, it's essential for a good time when you are visiting the out of doors.

I loaded up my things and headed out. Now, I'm an adventurer. I do not recommend doing any of the things that you may read about coming up, because, you may get way, way out there; a day or two into the wilderness, and realize that you are lost, you don't know where you are, or suppose you twist an ankle walking down a hill, and then you are stuck. These are the kinds of things that could've happened, and almost did. I realize now that I was taking a big chance, but I don't take it back. "Are you alone out here?" I was constantly asked on my journey. I'd be like, "yeah". The hell does it look like? I hate jerks like that, but I suppose sometimes I can be one myself. I didn't like being alone, necessarily, but I didn't like the condescending style in which they asked me. Like they really care. "Adios," I'd think, as I moved on.

Finding the road to the trailhead was difficult coming out of the nearest town to the park, though, I finally found it and drove up a highway that had been built long ago and lead up into the beautiful expanses of the Smokey Mountains. The road ended at a feat of engineering cynically known as the "Tunnel to Nowhere."

This road had been stopped in construction way back when, because of either the funding or the environmental issue with it being in the pristine mountains. It was supposed to connect Bryson City, NC with Fontana 30 miles away. Now, when you get to the trailhead, you get to walk for about 10 minutes through a tunnel that got built, and then on the other side, you are in the wilderness of the Smokey Mountains. The tunnel has a lot of insane graffiti on the walls; pure trash. I didn't really see any of it that was good; it was all kind of sketchy. Racism, gangs, hatred. But, when you get to the other side, you are in a nice place.

This day was exceptional; bright brilliant, great. I had toked a little weed to get ready for this journey, and I was really looking forward to a nice excursion.

I saw a lot of day hikers early on, and then less, as the trail took me toward the Forney Creek pocket.

After 2-3 miles, I made it to Forney Creek. It was a sight to see. It was a beautiful, verdant place that spoke of peace and tranquility. There is something about a mountain stream like Forney Creek that is brilliant and relaxing. The shade is wonderful, and the air, a little moist and cooler.

I looked around and there was an expansive campsite with some tents set up, and a few people milling around. "It looks nice down there," I thought to myself, but I decided I wanted to move on and find my own spot; anywhere a little more quiet and with less people. It was still quite early in the day, and I knew there was a trail up ahead that would take me to places that would be better.

There were some good fly-fishing spots on the creek as I walked up, but I didn't really feel like stopping, and I wanted to go on. The fly-fishing wouldn't be easy, and I didn't really think I'd catch very much anyhow. I saw a few people hiking down the trail with rods, so these were good trout waters.

The trail, like many trails, or portions of them, follows what had been an old railroad bed that lead up into the far reaches of the mountains. These were used to extract the natural resources, timber, coal, etc...in the days of mining and logging up here. You may find a piece of rail or piers that supported bridges along these trails

Bear Creek turnoff, here we are. It was a great bridge across the main creek, and then on up the mountain following the watershed. Bear Creek itself looked beautiful and pristine; shaded in rhododendron and dark. You could see how a bear could hide in the shade and not be seen during the day.

The park itself harbors a number of Eastern Black Bears that can be a nuisance, but tend to stay hidden. I had brought a whistle, which I carried around my neck, in case I happened upon one, but there were so many people around, I knew I'd not likely see one.

Some people are scared of them, though I'm not really. Just keep your food safe.

Walking a ways on up the trail, I knew there was a campsite, though it sure was taking a while. Of course, it just seemed a while. When you are lazy and haven't been hiking in a while, short distances seem like an eternity.

About twenty minutes up the trail after the creek there was a nice campsite off to the left. It turns out that this really wasn't a designated campsite for the park, but people obviously used it, and I decided I would as well. Lazy campin'.

I set up some of my things and sat down to relax. I made some herbal tea with honey and had a can of sardines. It's fun to mill around the campsite when you haven't been camping in a while. Snacks taste good. It was a good quiet time, and an opportunity to be Out, Alone With The Alone, as one of my favorite writers might say.

I enjoyed it. Just being tired and high up in the mountains with the Quiet. Kind of sad, you might say. I had seen some people earlier, always hiking with someone; I saw a beautiful girl and her beau walking down the trail. Of course, I'd like to have some company myself, although there was no one realistically that I could think of that I would have brought with me. This was a solo mission. Some people don't really have the confidence to hang out with me on a journey like this, they don't trust me, and probably think it's a hair-brained idea, which is probably right. But it takes some guts and self-reliance to challenge nature, as I was, so I had to go it alone. I'd bring somebody back on another journey and another time.

The thing is, I like to push the envelope, and it's never really gotten me into trouble, not yet. But it could, so I've got to watch out. It's funny, people always telling me to be careful, when I'm as careful as they come. Oh, well. I cooked some food as time went on.

I had the stupidity to bring canned food, soup, which weighs a lot, and so I made that to lessen the weight for tomorrow. I had some smoked clams to boot, and I mixed them in with the soup, gumbo, and it was good. I sat back and had a smoke and enjoyed the fire and rested. Coffee tastes good at these times, and so I made some coffee and really kicked back.

I slept well and awoke the next day and stirred around. I made some more coffee, had some oatmeal with honey and raisins and worked on packing up for my journey that day.

I went and got some more water from the mountain stream using a water filter. The water tastes pure here, when it's cold, and filtered right out of the stream. You get thirsty, hiking in the summer, and the water from the mountain quenches you like none other. You could probably drink it straight, but the filter doesn't really change the taste, and I didn't want to chance getting a stomach illness out here.

So I began trekking once again. A new day, a new day, I kept going. I found the campsite I should've gone on to further on up the creek. It was a nice campsite, and I'll remember it for next time.

The trail turned off to the right and then began an arduous climb up into the mountain ridges. I stopped quite a bit, being so out of season, with a heavy pack and all. One thing I was thankful for was that two weeks ago I had gone on a long day hike, and my feet had gotten sore, so now they were ready for some serious hiking. They had calloused, and so I was safe from getting blisters on this hike.

Struggling, struggling, is what it's like when you haven't hiked with a pack on your back in a long time. You shouldn't stop too much, its better to try and keep a consistent steady pace, however slow, but of course, when you're like me, you just stop anyway if you want to.

Finally, I made it too the top of the ridge. There was a sign pointing up the ridge to higher environs, and one leading down and eventually to the Hazel Creek valley.

I had planned a route for this journey to go to the Hazel Creek trail, and then hike up to the higher trails, and maybe circle back eventually. It didn't seem to matter, but like I said earlier, don't try this, I was just wandering. Bring a map and some friends, instead.

The truth is, I had a challenging route set up. A circuitous, challenging march up and over mountains, up to the top and back down again. Like I said, I like to push the envelope and this was a good expression of how.

I then made my way downward toward Hazel Creek. Saw a family walking the other way. They were happy, but hating it walking up the trail. I had just walked up the other side. Walking down can be tougher than walking up, because it challenges your balance and your tendons to keep control. More injuries happen on the way down.

I finally made it down to Hazel Creek, and wouldn't you know, there's no bridge! The road/trail at the creek just leads into the water, and there it comes, back out on the other side. Hmmm, I thought. I stopped for a moment and had some water. Eventually, I look around and decided to find a place where I could cross. "They didn't seem to mention this," in the guidebooks I thought, having to cross a creek like this, but I'd found out later that they did, oh well.

I made it across, but I had to bushwhack, through the rhododendron, and found a place. I had a can of sardines on the other side, put my boots back on, and kept walking. I was looking for the trail that went upstream, and this one kept taking me off to the side and downstream, but eventually, it hooked up as I knew it would.

At this point I was fairly tired, having walked up and over a mountain and across a creek, plus, just being dazed from no real exertion like this for a while. It's why I came up here, really. To get some sweat and endorphins cranking.

Marching up the trail, my lazy instincts were taking over, but I kept going. I had a feeling Hazel Creek would have a nice campsite, and it did.

Wonderful, no one there, and here I was, even more remote than before and really feeling great. "Where's a man to go, sometimes?" I thought. I marveled over this, and a lot like the routine yesterday, I chose a good spot, set up camp, and settled into a little bit of relaxation. It was an odd feeling there, laying on my back, looking up at the sky and thinking about so many things, tired and feeling great.

Some people showed up. They were traveling down from the top, headed toward the Fontana damn parking lot eventually, but they were setting up camp. I walked over and said hello and chilled with them a little bit. It turns out, they had some good weed, and there was a great joint rolling session following dinner.

All of the sudden, then, I was mega tired. I thought I'd stay up and enjoy the buzz, but I was tired and it was time to sleep. "Y'all, I really need to go to sleep, I'll see ya, thanks," I said and walked on in the darkness with my flashlight to the tent.

Once again, coffee in the morning is a great thing. I had invested in a coffee pot for camping, and was making good use of it with some good coffee. I mellowed; those guys were still sleeping, apparently. I loaded up and packed up, and cleared on outta there.

If I had thought that creek crossing was my last one, I was dead wrong. Walking up this trail, or many of the others in the park that follow a creek higher up, means you have to cross many times. Crossing many times means you have to take off your shoes and somehow get your pack and everything across the creek, put your shoes back on and keep going.

I saw some people up ahead. They had fly rods and had been fishing the stretch of stream up ahead. It was largely "drop/pool" and was populated by the famous brook trout of the Appalachians.

People catch brookies just to see them and then turn them loose. They are a beautiful, spotted, multi-colored fish. They live only in the upper reaches of the mountain streams, and it's considered a prize to catch one.

I asked if they'd caught any, and they said they had. It's neat to catch these little fish, but I wasn't interested. It was time to hike.

I began my stopping routine again. It was all right, I still had a lot of time, and things would be fine. The toughest part was, once again, the trail left the creek and crossed its way up the side of a mountain. Struggling, toughing my way up it, I eventually got to the top, and it was nice. The change in elevation made it cooler up there, and I stopped and had a break.

The climate changes up toward the top, and the wind blows, and it's a different environment. Beautiful ferns and different plants can be found. It's more bear country, but none did I see. I rested and continued a trek to the very top of the high mountains, where the Appalachian Trail follows the peak ridge across the park.

On my way up, I ran into a covey of game birds, quail maybe, and scared them up out of the bush. They burst into flight below the canopy and flew down the slope. I heard some loud squawking so maybe there was a pheasant or a turkey as well.

I made it up to the AT and I knew I was somewhere famous. Many people have hiked the trail, and the Smokey Mountain portion was one of the best. You could hike clear to Maine if you headed North from where I was. You could look west and see the mountains tumbling downward, and to the East as well. It's kind of like magic walking along that ridge.

I hiked to the South on the AT. Not far away was the Siler's Bald camp site with a shelter, and there was a source of water there too. That's a funny complaint I've heard about AT hikers, when they get so tired of it. It becomes a daily test of planning and preparation to make sure you have enough water, or can get some wherever you are going.

Siler's Bald has a good water source just 100 yards from the shelter. Much to my chagrin, there was a noisy group of scouts who would be there for the night, but I guess I couldn't complain, I just made do. I got there, rested, relaxed, decided to make some food, then some coffee. Talked to the kids and their scoutmaster. Freaks. They were playing cards and had been out a while.

I must've looked like a bearded freak myself, but I remember when I was in the scouts, and we'd see somebody like me up there camping. Now it was me. After a while I enjoyed their company, and told them about some of the neat trips we went on way back when.

Got some good sleep in the shelter and they were gone fairly soon the next day. Finally some more of the peace and quiet I enjoyed so much.

The plan was to eventually get ready, and head down toward Clingman's dome and then circle back toward Forney Creek. I still had supplies, but most of my goods were being depleted. One more can of sardines, honey, peanut butter, a good supply of trail mix and oatmeal. I had planned fairly well for my journey, but still could've used some more food. Three days marching up mountains was beginning to show, but I felt all right.

I walked north on the AT toward Clingman's dome, the highest point in the park, and began to traverse some of the terrain that the Smokey's are famous for. The rocks, the wind, brilliant views to the left and right, and longleaf pines, conifers, that you didn't see at lower elevations, except further north.

I decided not to go up to the top of Clingman's dome because it was sure to be visited by tons of tourists, and by my reckoning, I had a long hike left.

I got hungry, had my last can of sardines and walked down the trail to a lower bald that many day hikers from the dome at the top walked down to. The balds in the Smokey's are these beautiful stretches found on peaks and along ridges where the trees don't grow. Instead they are patches of shrubs, berries and some rhododendron. They are wonderful places that afford spectacular views; like nature's gardens. The balds these days are filling up with larger trees and plants as, apparently, they were used for grazing, but now they are not, and so they are overgrowing.

The journey's I had been through so far were beginning to wear on me. All the exercise had depleted that "quick-start" energy we keep saved up, and I was delving into the deeper calories and energy that I had, that doesn't get a lot of practice most of the time.

I stopped at the bald where I found a sign, "Forney Creek 7 mi." 7 miles! That was a long way to go. I stopped and thought about it. I might as well charge up with some water and trail mix. I knew this would be a long stretch. Even though it was downhill, it would take about 3-31/2 hours. I had already walked about 3 miles already.

Finally, I packed up and started the trek. Walking along, I found myself in an overgrown portion of the trail where blackberry bushes were leaning over the trail. I thought, this is bear habitat, but the berries were not yet out and there was not likely to be a bear forager. Quite interesting and surreal it was, the wind blowing and the green trees and arms of the trees swaying. A beautiful time, and I kept walking.

At one point, the trail passed a tree that had fallen up the slope, and the roots had exposed a spring trickling across the trail. Water had been plentiful during my visit, and I had generally had a good time stopping and refilling my water bottles and drinking the pure, good water up there. Before, walking down to Hazel Creek, I had seen where a stream simply flowed out from some rocks and down the gully on the surface. Kind of interesting to see where the water begins and to have a sip.

Continuing on down the trail, the air and climate began to change again, and lamentably, I left the coolness and clarity of the high lonesome, and delved deeper into the meandering ridges and valleys that would lead me back to where I started, eventually. In the meantime, it was a difficult, long stretch of hiking.

It was obvious a few hikers before me had once gotten about halfway through this stretch and set up camp, probably thinking, "Shit!" as it was getting dark and no end in sight. If you had water, you were just fine. It was a turnaround along a steep, narrow ridge, and really looked like a fun place to camp. I would've loved it.

The trail kept to the slopes and the peaks of ridges, but then, inevitably, began to descend within the valleys. Walking so long, getting a little tired, I did begin to feel stupid for being out there. The enthusiasm was giving way to tiredness, and I began to really want to find the creek soon. I'd look up. "Around that ridge, I bet," but there was just a continuation of the terrain beyond it.

I really covered some terrain that day. From Siler's Bald to Clingman's, and then all the way down to where Forney Creek was. It was a long stretch, but I enjoyed it, it was all right. I had water, starches, food to last me, though you begin to crave something real when you're out there instead of trail mix and oatmeal.

Another thing about that trail down, as I mentioned it just kept going. Will I get there, will I get there? You keep thinking. Of course, I knew I would, but you get tired sometimes. Challenging the mountains in a test of fitness is a precarious business. Sure, you can look at a map and see where you are, but when the trail just keeps going and going, and you begin to wonder where you are, it gets a little risky.

At last. At the creek, deep in the gorge, there was the shell of a company building that must have been built during the timber years of the mountains. A chimney with a fireplace and a foundation.

Alone, I was up there. Tired. I took my shoes off and placed my feet in the creek. "Ahhhhh, yes," very nice, I thought. It was almost like a rain forest down in the gulleys, compared to the high lonesome where I had at the start of the day. But the water in the creek was nice and cool, a reminder of the coldness from where it came.

Also, that day, some clouds had sprung up and there was some impending rain, it looked like. It was nothing much, very light, but it contributed to some moisture and humidity in the air. And it was a little dark down where I was. I did begin to feel a little lonesome, but ironically, again, I didn't really know who'd want to be there, walking all that distance in a day. It was a lot to put up with, even for me!

Aching, beat, I resolved not to camp up here, where I probably wouldn't see anyone. I restrung my shoes, loaded up and headed on down the rail path. I wanted to get back closer to the trailhead. I had even thought I'd try to make it back, but that would have been insane. I was bound for one more night of camping.

Walking on the old rail beds is great. You're pretty much guaranteed a gradual, steady gradient, which I much appreciated after walking down so much on the trail.

Even in my weathered, aching state, I remember the walk down at that point as being all right, but I know I was anxious to make it to the campsite.

And there, a familiar site; the turn off to Bear Creek! Wonderful, I knew not far away was the Forney Creek campsite where I would camp and hopefully meet somebody.

I made it there finally and set down. There were four other people there, and I said hey, talked to them and set up my stuff. They had the camping deal down for this site. Forney Creek empties into Fontana Lake just a little bit further down, and they had arrived by boat and brought tons of great supplies with them. Potatoes, steaks, good stuff. "Care for some coffee," they said. I was grateful.

The coffee brought life back into my frame. I still had a few things to eat, peanut butter, and honey, trail mix and oatmeal. I ate some peanut butter and honey with the coffee. Eventually, they offered me some potatoes and some steak. I didn't really want to mooch off them, but they had extra, so I had some. Quite good, when you're hungry and fatigued like I was.

Certainly, I was "beat" by the mountains at that point. Only a few miles away from my car, but I wasn't about to go just yet. I had hiked a 12 - 13 mile day that day, and it was up.

They had some fishing rods and went down to the lake, trying to catch some small mouth, or anything that would bite. I joined them down at the lake. One of them had a cell phone with service, and I thought I'd call my uncle. No answer.

Tired as I was, sleep didn't come real well that night. I woke up in the middle of the night and decided, heck, I'd get ready and see if I didn't feel like walking to the car. Instead, I made some oatmeal with honey, which, after the nice meal earlier, tasted fine, and then I felt like taking some more sleep. Good rest I had after that.

In morning, I awoke, and joined my friends, had some more coffee (I had run out the day before). I got packed, said adios, and was on my way to the trailhead and car. I envisioned a spectacular meal once I got back to town, a nice breakfast, gosh it would be good.

Walking out I was really getting to where I could hike up gradients without really stopping, even though it was tough, I was finally, after all that over the last few days, getting my hiking legs on. The long trek the day before had done it.

I passed some people riding horses on the way in. They looked at me

and said something like, "Hey, it's a lot easier this way, ha ha."Well, that was fine by me, I wasn't really interested, they didn't know what it was really like to see the mountains.