White Oak Creek Hollow, Sipsey Wilderness - November 2009

The weather was a little iffy, but I needed to get out of town, so the drive to the Sipsey Wilderness didn't seem like two hours. I left Friday afternoon, knowing that I would hike in after dark, but knowing that I didn't have far to go for my Friday night camping spot. I was aiming for a spot right next to White Oak Creek only 20 or so minutes from the Thompson Creek trailhead. When I arrived at the trailhead, there were only four vehicles, so I was pretty certain that those people would be over by Ship Rock or somewhere near the Sipsey ripples where the most popular campsites are.

However, as I approached the campsite on White Oak Creek, wouldn't you know that I spotted the campfire and a blue tent in that campsite. Consequently, I retraced my steps about 100 yds and went up in the woods to find a soft spot for my tent. One of the nice things about winter camping is that the woods are free of all of the undergrowth that discourages one from seeking a campsite in the middle of the woods. I found a soft spot in the leaves, pitched my tent, ate a sandwich that I had brought, brushed my teeth, and turned in for the night. It was only 10:30 or so, but I fell asleep almost immediately. Coming in, I had heard the coyotes howling over on the south side of the river, but by the time I got in my tent, I heard only a medium sized owl beginning to hunt for supper.

Saturday morning was crisp and clear ... a gorgeous Sipsey winter morning. When I got out of my tent, I chuckled to find that I had pitched my tent on a perfectly soft spot in the woods with two marshy areas on either side, right outside my vestibule. I didn't get out my Jetboil, deciding that when I found my weekend spot, I would heat water and have some coffee as a toast.

Since I was intending to stay three more nights, I was determined that there surely must be an overhanging bluff along White Oak Creek that would afford me shelter if the predicted rains arrived. I put water and snacks in my fanny pack and set out up the hollow to find the magic bluff. I had to circumvent the blue tent (still asleep?), so I went up the side of the bluff a little and found an old road that paralleled the creek. I always wonder when old roads were put down and what their purpose had been ...

About a mile up the hollow I found the perfect bluff. T

here was an old fire ring, but I didn't think the campsite had been used for years. I was perfect for staying dry while doing the campsite things, and with a little work, would even hold my tent from getting soaked in a storm. While I was looking around to see where to set up all my stove, etc., I saw a pile of porcine excrement, so I named the area "Pig S_ _ _ Bluff" ... and an editorial comment: sooner or later, the Forest Service is going to have to let hunters into the wilderness area to kill some of the feral pigs --

they are destroying many trails and spoiling some campsites. Last June I saw five piglets and a sow. If the sows are having two litters a year (minimum), then the pig population is increasing by leaps and bounds.

Anyway ... great place to set up my camp ... I quickly went back down the hollow to fetch my equipment and ferried it back to PS Bluff ... I was set for the weekend.

Since rain was predicted for Saturday night, I spend the better part of the afternoon gathering firewood (fairly dry) and pulling some logs under the bluff. I travel with a folding saw, so I would have an abundance of wood for the night's fire. There was a small stream about 30 meters from my campsite, so I began filling water bottles. While taking care of that, I made a pot of coffee and toasted my new living quarters.

Saturday night--or, rather, Sunday morning about 3:00 AM, it rained for a bit. I love to be in my tent sleeping when it rains ... something about the comfort of dry hearing the rain pelt down on the fly. As I said earlier, my tent was mostly under the bluff, so I only had rain on the outer edge of one of the vestibules, not on the tent itself ... but the sounds of rain falling in the woods is comforti

ng to me, also. By the time I got up Sunday morning the rain had stopped, but the sky was completely overcast ... still drizzling some, but not much. I was glad I had moved some firewood under the bluff.

About 9:00 AM I decided to go on a little walk. I had been up the unmapped White Oak Creek Hollow Trail going to Big Tree once, but was not sure which trail it connected with (in fact, my wife and I stumbled around in the woods on that ridge for an hour before getting my bearings and connecting with the shortcut to Big Tree. My plan this Sunday was to go up behind me and connect with FT208, follow it northeast until it connected with the mystery trail, connect with the top of the WOCH trail, and come back down to PS Bluff ... that was my plan ... uh, didn't quite work out like that ...

My problem was that I've been in the Sipsey Wilderness so many times that I get fooled into thinking that I know my way around like I know my neighborhood where I live. Well, my GPS told me that I was just south and east of FT208, so I headed up the bluff behind me ... and that was a correct estimation ... took me only a few minutes of bushwhacking to get to 208. I turned right and headed northeast on the trail to connect with the mystery trail that connected to the WOCH trail. I was strolling along 208 and saw a guy getting out of a 4- or 6-man car-camping tent--out in the middle of nowhere ... he surely was not by himself, but one never knows ... when I got to the intersection of FT208 and (maybe) FT223 (which goes north), I continued on 208, and shortly came to the intersection where FT224 goes to the right. WHAT WAS I THINKING??? I was wa-a-a-ay passed the intersection I was looking for ... way east of where that intersection might have been ... way passed any right-thinking person's plan to intersect with the mystery trail ... and to make matters even worse--without consulting my map, which I had in my fanny pack--I intersected with FT204 and turned on it ... Again: what was I thinking??? (or, maybe, more correctly, why wasn't I th

inking?) ... After a way down 204, I descended to a bluff where four guys were camping ... I asked the opening question, "Y'all get wet last night?" The pointed to several tarps and said that they had stayed reasonably dry. I said, "Where am I?" They pointed off the bluff at the tops of some trees and said, "There's Big Tree." And, sure enough, it was ...

Well, I had "overshot" my trail connections by about two hours and four miles ... okay, it was only noon, and if I went the long way, I could be back to my camp before dark ... I checked my GPS and saw that sunset that day was a 4:43 PM ... and remembered that, as I packed my fanny pack for the "short hike," I had packed rain gear, snacks, and water ... but no headlamp ... I mean, it was 9:00 AM when I packed ... okay, I was not in a panic because I knew that, ev

en if I had to sleep in the woods, I would survive ... uncomfortable for a few hours--but I would not die. And, so, with those realizations, I decided not to go back the long way, but to find the shortcut up West Bee Branch canyon and come out right beside the top to WOCH trail ... that is, IF I could find the West Bee Branch trail that I had come down one time about six months earlier ... "No sweat," he said ...

After bush-whacking for about two hours and trying to follow a fairly constant elevation, I saw a trail on my GPS ... and that trail led to the top of the WOCH trail (I had fortunately set a waypoint there on a previous trip). About 4:15, I finally arrived at the waypoint, but couldn't see the trail going down the hill ... kept looking ... kept think ... and finally saw a few footprints that could mean a trail ... after about 30 meters or so, I was sure I was on the trail ... meaning that I would not have to spend the night in the woods ...

I dragged into my campsite about 4:55 and my dogs were barking. My GPS said that I had hiked 13.1 miles ... and since much of that was bush-whacking, I knew they had reason to be tired. Another Sipsey adventure, and -- Hey! that's what gives us material for stories, doesn't it?

I went to bed early and got up Monday to another cloudy day ... it cleared up a little in the afternoon and I went up WOCH far enough to find a good summer campsite ... near a little waterfall ... marked it in my mind for warmer weather. Ate well and slept well Monday night and woke up to a clearer day to pack out ... I was sad to leave my little home at PS Bluff ... it had worked well, but would be there another thousand years. I figure I will be back before it goes away ... don't you think?

Sipsey Wilderness - September 2009

Another trip into the Wilderness on a not-so-perfect weekend ... however, it was either get in the woods or losing what little sanity I have left in my old head. I checked out of the office a little early and headed up to north Alabama to a familiar campsite. The forecast for the weekend was rain, and when there's a forecast of rain, I generally head to a large bluff down the Thompson Creek Trail (FT 206). I happened on this bluff in March of 2008 and have made it my weekend home four times. It's large enough to pitch my tent, cook my food, relax in my Trekker chair, and has a nearby water source. I have been there in storms and even my tent didn't get wet except for a little moisture that dripped from the ceiling of the bluff.
I got to the Thompson Creek trailhead about 4:30 and while I was packing up for the trip, began to notice an older blue pickup with a tarp on the hood and some other gear hanging from the rearview mirror. As I crossed the bridge over Thompson Creek, I noticed clothes strung out on a tree that had fallen over the creek and some stuff down on a rocky area on the up-creek side of the bridge. It was obvious to me that someone had gotten soaked with all of his/her gear and was trying to dry it by hanging it out. Unfortunately, the sun was not shining through a very overcast sky.

The trail was pretty muddy and I could tell that the Wilderness had experienced a torrential rainstorm the night before. The trail was wet enough to believe that the storm may have continued into the early daylight hours. About three-quarters of a mile on the trail, I met a guy carrying a plastic grocery bag full of water bottles and other gear and three long twigs or vines.He and I stopped to chat. He asked if I knew the weather forecast. I had checked in Haleyville and reported a 30% chance that night and a 50% chance on Saturday. I asked if the gear hanging out to dry was his. He said it was. I said that he must have gotten really soaked. He said that he had. He liked my pack cover (I had put it on rather than chance having to stop on the way in and put it on) and said that he needed to get himself one.

We didn't say much more, but I supposed that he had been camping the night before and had endured one of those blowing torrential rainstorms that come up and down the Sipsey valley and had gotten really soaked. I imagined that he hauled his heavy, rainsoaked gear out to his truck earlier and had gone back in for some things he left. He didn't look as if he were having fun camping.

I got to the bluff, set up camp, and fixed my beef stroganoff for supper. It hadn't rained on me yet, but I was ready for it. Water was dripping over the edge of the bluff and I caught enough to fill two water bottles for the next day. I have a SweetWater filtering system, but on short hikes I usually just boil my water to kill the critters.

The night was uneventful except for the humidity, which was oppressive. I took my lightweight bag, but a sheet over my pad was sufficient until early in the morning.

Saturday morning I decided to hike around to where FT209 crosses the Sipsey ... been there many, many times, but I always hope to see a pig or a flower or a bird (or once a guy with the world's longest dredlocks). I hiked around the end of The Rock past the riffles and on down to the 209 marker. The sky was overcast, but it never rained on me. Going, I went around the end of The Rock, but coming back I climbed through the backside of the Eye of the Needle, just to vary the trip.

The afternoon was spent reading Ruben Abel's Man is the Measure for a class I'm teaching and dozing in my comfortable Trekker chair. I hoped for a storm, but got nothing. The night wasn't really cool enough, but I was determined to have a small fire, so I cut some old blow-down limbs and such for a small fire. I had to sit back a ways because it was too warm under the bluff.

Sunday morning I packed up and headed back to my vehicle. I noticed a tent at the campsite at the bottom of the Auburn falls creek. Somebody had packed in a four-man carcamping tent and pulled a cube cooler on wheels (I'll let you think about that for a while and draw your own conclusions). I also passed two girls and a guy with five large, wet dogs. The dogs were having a good ol time in the woods, but I wondered what kind of vehicle they would have to load those big wet dogs up in. The guy in the blue truck was still there. I noticed a New York license plate and wondered what he was thinking about the Alabama wilderness.

A moore-or-less uneventful weekend in the wilderness. Just what I needed!

Big Creek Trail GSMNP - July 2009

July 4th seemed the perfect weekend to take my annual walkabout since I didn't get to go at my usual Memorial Day weekend. I headed out for the GSMNP on the 2nd, spent a couple of nights in a campground by the Pigeon River watching the rafters, and headed up the popular but not heavily traveled Big Creek Trail toward Walnut Bottoms (Campsite 37). I would like to have gone a day earlier, but couldn't get reservations at 37 for the night of the 3rd. I also wanted to stay in the Big Creek Campground, but it only has 12 sites--all first-come-first-served--and you have to wait around to get in there on popular weekends. (I went by the campground on Monday morning on my way out and it was completely empty, but it was completely full over the holiday weekend.)

On Friday, the 3rd, I took the time to drive over Mt Sterling Road to Cataloochee. The road is gravel and very winding, but beautiful all the way. I think it is about 16 miles from the road into Big Creek Campground. At Mt Sterling Gap it's only a few miles up to campsite #38. I will try to remember that as I get older ... would be nice to park a vehicle there and hike up to the top. Cataloochee was somewhat of a disappointment to me in that I expected to see more restored buildings. The up side is that it is not a convenient area to access, so the crowds were small.

As all of the trail descriptions say, the Big Creek Trail is a former road/railroad grade from the '30s, so it's never a severe elevation change. The 4th was a Chamber of Commerce Day and there were many dayhikers headed up the trail to see Midnight Hole and Mouse Creek Falls. The rhododendrons were in full bloom in the mountains, so it was really an optimum time to hike ...One of the trail guides described a rock formation that was a perfect house-sized room that, during the 30s, timber workers lived in the room up on the side of the road/tracks ... I never could find it, but I did find the swimming hole and the falls. I talked to a couple ofdayhikers who had spoken to me in the parking lot as they were heading out and I waspacking my pack--they had been to the falls and were heading back down as I was passing Midnight Hole. We chatted about the rock room ... one of the hikers said she knew it was high up on the rocky cliffs, but they hadn't been able to find it either. I saw a clearing where someone (or ones) had scrambled up the incline, but didn't knowwhether or not that led to the room or what ... I wasn't about to find out carrying a 30-lb pack.

The Big Creek Trail is off the last exit in Tennessee (451) on I-40, before going into North Carolina, so it's pretty isolated from the mainstream traffic. I would recommend it to hikers who don't like crowds. It's a trail that my former hiking buddy, Paul, used to say we needed to hike ... and camp at Walnut Bottoms--which is exactly what I planned to do. Only Paul wanted us to go on up the Low Gap Trail to the AT and hike back down to the Big Creek Ranger Station.

That would make a good circuit in my younger days ... but too old to do much of that any more. Six miles carrying a pack is about my limit now -- and that may be getting shorter each trip. I can dayhike all day, but not carrying weight ... too hard on the old metatarsals ...

I hiked slow-but-steady up the road/trail, stopping to take pictures along the way. The Bee Balm was blooming, but always across the stream, so I never got a great closeup of it. I got some nice shots of rhododendron blossoms--always nice, and a hundred different shots of the rocks and stream. The stream colors are always fascinating to me

... and mostly dependent on the sun for shades of blue. Big Creek is a very clear stream, in spite of the suspected pollution of horse poop all up and down the trail. As one of the trail descriptions about the Big Creek Trail says, the only negative thing about the trail is "horse doo-doo." There is a horse camp at campsite #36, beyond #37, at the far

end of Walnut Bottoms, and the trail is wide and gradual, so the horse people just love to ride up and down the trail. Some of the horse people are friendly, but most are not. Their horses are generally spooked by people with backpacks, so some of them act as if backpackers are intruders into their domain. I have learned that the horse people try to get their horses on by without being thrown on the hard ground or without a litigation resulting from someone who has been kicked by a fearful steed. Somehow I felt that the horse people felt as if anyone who would carry their stuff instead of letting a horse carry their stuff must be slightly whacko ... and maybe so .... Anyway, it was hard to see all of the sights along the trail because the hiker cannot take his/her eyes off the trail for very long without stepping in digested hay and oats ... a lot of which has to wash down into Big Creek ...

Midnight Hole--about a mile and a half up the trail--is a truly beautiful swimming hole. There are rocks to jump off of and water so deep that it appears dark blue looking down into it. When I used to do summer camp at Ridgecrest, we would go to Slippery Rock somewhere over near Mt. Pisgah and swim in a hole at the bottom of a long slide down the rock. I got my fill of swimming in icy water. It always looks wonderful until you get into it ... I don't have enough adipose tissue to keep my core warmed. The swimmers I saw at Midnight Hole had more than enough ...

The next site on the trail guide was Mouse Creek Falls. I had to wait for the horse people to get out of the way, but the camera view was worth the wait. The falls aren't on Big Creek itself, but on a creek that comes in opposite the trail. I got some nice camera shots on the way up and on the way

back down.

About three and a half miles up the trail, you cross an old railroad bridge and follow the left side of Big Creek. It's just as beautiful on the other side. The old trail guides say that there is a spring called Brakeshoe Spring somewhere about four miles up ... never saw it. I don't think it's an active spring anymore. Coming down I saw where there is a possibility of a former spring, but didn't ever confirm the spring.

I crossed a concreted stream crossing that the guide book of the early 70s said was usually dry ... and it still is. Not sure why the early people hauled concrete all that way for a stream crossing that is usually dry, but they did ... kinda interesting to think about. Warning signs are there for horse people telling them to walk their horses across ... from the horseshoe skid marks on the concrete, it looks as if some didn't follow the warning ...

Finally there is a bridge across Big Creek and an entrance into Walnut Bottoms campground #37. What a gorgeous place. When I got there, there was one small REI tent and some giggling -- a couple I named as newlyweds. I saw them out of the tent a couple of times and they were obviously deep into romantic love. They were there when I got there and there when I left ... still laughing and giggling and holding on to each other--they even held hands when they went to look for firewood. They were camped in 37-B, so I

went to 37-D and found a nice place for my tent right next to the bear warning sign. I got my food bag out of my pack and put in my power bars I had been carrying on my belt and raised it on the cable system just in case some critters were lurking while I set up camp.

There was a nice clearing for a tent near the fire ring, but the gound around the fire ring is always so hard-packed, I decided to look for a softer soil to pitch my tent ... found it across a log from the fire ring, under some small fir trees. It was a tight fit for the vestibules of my fly, but I made it work and the floor of my tent was much softer than the regular tent space. After getting my tent set up, I decided to give my tired feet a treat and soak them in Big Creek -- pollution be damned! (I m ean the probable pollution after I stuck my feet in the waters of the Creek.) Good grief, did it feel wonderful. I have a sore spot on the ball of my left foot under the second toe ... it was immediately numbed and soothed by the icy waters of Big Creek. I moved from the side of the creek to some comfortable rocks in the middle in the sun, because it didn't take much foot soaking to bring down the body's temperature--I needed some warmth from the sun. The rocks were hard on my boney butt and I almost took my Trekker chair out, but decided that I might fall a sleep, fall over in the creek, hit my head, and drown ... so I just shifted my weight frequently. People who don't get to the woods much don't realize one of the great pleasures in life of soaking their feet and wading in a mountain stream. Big Creek was a perfect stream to soak and wade ... and I must have stayed out on the rocks for 45 minutes or more.

Usually, when I get to a campsite, I get my SweetWater filter and fill a couple of bottles. I decided to take a different route this time ... since I had a very cold stream very close to my campsite, I decided to designate one of my water bottles as a "dirty" bottle. I would fill it with creek water, boil the water pure, and fill my other "clean" bottles. The boiled water cooled pretty quickly, but I could always stick them in the steam to cool them off faster. I had taken two new cannisters for my Jetboil, so I wasn't worried about running out of fuel.

I sat leaning against a tree in my Trekker chair and waited until about 7:00 or so to start a fire. I didn't spend a lot of time on fire wood, so I only had a couple of hours of wood to burn. By this time of the year, all of the campsites in the Smokies are picked pretty clean of firewood. There were several storm-downed trees, but

they were still mostly green. They would burn if necessary, but I found enough small stuff for a couple of hours. I used to sit around staring at the campfire with a group of people and someone would always say, "It's no wonder ancient man worshipped fire." It's

something I've always loved to do.

When my woodpile went away and the two big logs began to smoke instead of burn, I decided it was time to turn in. I pulled my Thermarest out of my Trekker chair and added some air before poking it through the zipper of my tent. I dug my toothpaste and toothbrush out of my kit and walked out in the bushes to brush my teeth. Then, after putting everything I could think of in my pack, I went down to the cable system and, after putting my rain cover on my pack, hooked it to the cable and hoisted it up out of the reach of the GSMNP black bears. There were several warning signs tacked up around the campsite--one right on the campsite post next to my tent--warning of "bear activity."

Just as I was about to turn in a lone hiker with a heavy European accent walked into Walnut Bottoms looking for a spot to throw down. Since all of the four campsites were reserved, but I was alone in mine, I suggested he pitch his stuff on the other side of a row of bushes. He asked about the cable system, which I pointed him to. He pulled a roll of visquene out of his pack and put up some kind of shelter to sleep under. He was obviously a budget-minded backpacker ... I thought of him as Russian (although I wouldn't know a Russian accent from a Greek accent). Since I didn't know how long he had been on the trail and didn't want to seem like the KGB, I said something about the weather forecast that I had seen predicting rain during the night.

About 3:00 AM it started raining ... not hard, but steadily ... but it lasted for only an hour or so. Not knowing whether or not the rain would continue, about daylight I got my pack down off the cable (and noticed that the Russian had hoisted his stash up in a couple of Walmart plastic bags) and put it under my vestibule to pack everything out of the rain. My tent has two large vestibules, so putting my pack underneath one is never a problem. When I was getting my pack off of the cable system, I noticed that the Russian had lost some sausages out of his bags that had fallen on the ground underneath the cable system. They looked like Smokies mice had been into them, but no bears. If bears had been around, I would have seen no sausages lying on the ground.

By the time I started packing it had stopped raining. It was still cloudy and threatening, but not raining. I packed up my stuff, took a parting picture of the dry spot under my tent, and set off down the trail regretting that I had only had time to spend the one night at Walnut Bottoms. I stopped on the bridge and took a final shot of Big Creek in all its beauty as it flows through Walnut Bottoms. What a wonderfully relaxing site.

The trip back down seemed to take longer than the trip up--mainly because my old-man feet were bothering me--but actually was about 30 minutes quicker. There were wide-bodied people swimming at Midnight Hole. There were also a couple of young kids who were freezing after being in the water for a while. Their father was large and well insulated, but the kids weren't ... at least he had them out in the woods, experiencing something they would always remember.

I, too, had one of those memorable experiences. It's difficult for me to think about my own mortality, but at my age, I always tell myself I would love to come back to a place again in a year or two, but know that, as I get older, that is more and more unlikely to happen. Oh, well ... my hiking buddy Paul Baird was right ... Walnut Bottoms is a place that must be experienced however old a person gets. I should have brought my son here ...

Sipsey Wilderness - June 2009

Okay ... It was hot! It was the Sultry South in all its glory! For some reason, I have to put myself through this every summer, at least once ... sweat, and more sweat ... but, I'm a Southern boy (well, I once was a boy ... ) and I feel the need to hike in the woods when nobody but me and the feral pigs are happy ...

When I turned east on Cranal Road, I felt the temperature cool a little in my mind, because I was headed toward the woods and streams that I find

comforting.Separated from my vehicle at the Randolph TH about 6:00 PM or so on a Friday evening.I was the only car in the Randolph TH parking lot ... not a surprise at 97 degrees on the church sign when I came through

Haleyville. After I tried to lighten my pack, I locked my car and headed north to the fork of the Rippey and Randolph trails. When I turned northeast on the

Randolph Trail (FT 202) I spotted some blackeyed Susans along the way and couldn't resist stopping for a picture ... It always takes me a little longer to get to my destination because I cannot pass up a flower ...

When I got to the Johnson Cemeteries, I found that someone had done a heck of a lot of work cleaning the east side and mounding up the graves between the head and foot stones. I don't know who did this, but they need an extra pat on the back for honoring the long-dead in that cemetery. I know it's somewhat dishonoring to the dead there, but I looked at those mounds and thought what a great place to take a group of kids in October and tell some spooky stories ... it was kind of spooky during the day.

Not too long after I started down the narrowed trail past the cemeteries I heard a racket of leaves and sticks andspotted five coal black piglets headed away through the woods. As I looked up the trail, I saw their mother run across the trail to them ... those little piggies were flying through the woods to get away from the crazy man hiking alone at 7:00 o'clock in the evening ... At 2.67 miles on my GPS, therewas a big old oak--barely alive--that marked the start downhill to the river. That old tree didn't have many leaves, but sure had a lot of fern-looking stuff growing on the limbs. I didn't remember themileage on the trail descriptions, but I knew I had to be less than a mile from the river ... I could smell it!

If you've hiked the Randolph Trail you know that there is a fairly good-sized campsite on the slope down to the river ... I hadn't been down the trail before, and, since dark was coming on soon, I checked out that campsite--decided that it wasn't very inviting--and then went on the trail straight down the hill to the river. What I didn't comprehend, but should have paid attention to--was that FT 202 cut back south to slab the hillside back to the waterfall on Little Ugly Creek. As I said, though, since I had never been on this trail before, I was hunting for a campsite down by the Sipsey River. I turned left at the trail crossing and followed 202 down to where it crosses the river and meets FT 209.

Finding nothing but sand and creekside undergrowth there, I went back along what I saw was 202 and found a nice level campsite along Little Ugly Creek -- a good water source, since I had already consumed most of my water supply hiking in. It was getting pretty dark, so I quickly pitched my REI quarter-dome and threw my pad in to self-inflate while I found something in the bottom of my pack to eat. I had sweated 10 lbs off my old body, I was sure, so I sat on the log by the fire ring and drank for a while.I had picked up some powered pomegranate green tea and decided to add it to flavor my water for supper ... I ate some beef jerky and a power bar and after securing my gear on a tree, decided to turn in. It must have been about 9:15 at that point.

When I hike in the Deep South during the summer months, I don't carry a sleeping bag--just a twin sheet that I spread on my sleeping pad. I had not put the fly on my tent so that the air would circulate

through the tent when it cooled down a bit in the early morning. I lay in my tent listening to a small owl staking his territory and to the small stream gurgling ten feet from my tent ... what a wonderful

way to fall asleep. I thought that the Whippoorwill and the reverse Whippoorwill (I never can remember what that bird is that sounds somewhat like a Whippoorwill, but isn't). Maybe someone

will finally read one of my blogs and comment on the bird that sounds like a Whippoorwill, but isn't ...

Saturday morning I woke up about six and lay there listening to the morning birds that were asleep when I lay down the night before. They were singing me awake that morning ... I've always wished I knew bird sounds better so I could identify the birds that live in the deep woods ... I know the Whippoorwill call because there was one down at my grandfather's farm in Walthall County, Mississippi, that used to keep me awake at night with its incessant cry. Before air conditioning we used to open the windows at night and turn on the attic fan to cool the house. The fan was loud, but the Whippoorwill's cry was penetrating and would drive me to bury my

head under my grandmother's feather pillow.

But I digress ... (Duh! I'm an English major) ... after a nice breakfast of French pressed coffee and freezedried granola with blueberries (I'm addicted!), I decided to cross the Sipsey and hike on 209 for a while. It was already pretty warm when I strapped on my fanny pack at about 9:00. The Sipsey was cool and the sandy bottom comfortable on my bare feet. Of course, climbing the steep and muddy northside bank, cleaning and drying my feet, and putting my boots back on was a little bit of a hassle, but I had that done before too long and decided to hike west toward Bee Branch.

Not far down the trail I came upon my first of four copperheads ... He was lying across the trail and I had stepped over him before I saw him between my feet. I am usually more observant than that, and scolded myself for not keeping a keen eye out for the critters. I passed the intersection where FT 204 comes down from the Bee Branch Ridge to meet 209. There is a nice post there for a trail sign, but no sign ... fortunately, someone with a ballpoint pen wrote a "204" on the sides of the post. It wasn't too long before I got to the big campsite at the intersection of the trail to Big Tree and 209. I've always come from the northwest to the East Bee Branch Trail, so I've never seen that campsite. It's a great campsite for a group of tents ... very spacious and level.

Why I decided to hike up the trail to Big Tree I don't know, but decided to go up to the intersection of that trail and the trail coming down off the top of the ridge along the West Bee Branch. The trails intersect where West Bee Branch and East Bee Branch join. It's a nice shady little area near a big boulder, so I sat down to eat a power bar and drink most of my water. After cooling off a while, I headed back toward the confluence of Bee Branch and the Sipsey. Along the way, I came upon the second of my four copperheads ... not a large one (oh, a couple of feet long, but not very big around). I encouraged him off of the trail with my hiking staff, and continued on ...

Heading back to the campsite I always hike a little faster--as my father would say, like a mule headed toward the barn after plowing all day--and it was only an hour before I got back to the 202 crossing. There are good signs here for those hiking either direction on 209. I went through the boots off wading and drying process and will have to admit that that Sipsey water felt wonderful on my feet.

When I got back to my campsite, I decided that, even though I felt like an afternoon nap, I'd better take care of 

business and fill a few water bottles for supper, breakfast, and the trip out Sunday morning. I took one of my closed-cell foam pads down by the creek and began pumping the cool stuff through my Sweet Water filter. I always carry in a couple of extra bottles to fill after I get to my campsite. During the winter I will just boil the water to kill the bacteria, but the cool filtered water hits the spot during the summer.

After changing into dry clothes and putzing around with my gear for an hour or two, I decided to see if I could drift off into a late afternoon nap ... which I did. It was hot, but my campsite was shady and I had drunk a lot of the cool, freshly filtered water to rehydrate and cool off. I could have stayed down for a couple of hours, but decided that I wouldn't sleep as soundly that night if I slept too much in the afternoon.

In the winter I would have been spending the evening gathering wood for my night-time fire, but I rarely build a fire in the summer, so I had extra time to mess with my gear and rummage through my first aid kit to see what needed to be replaced. I started the water in my JetBoil for supper -- a pretty good lasagna and meat sauce meal from the northwest freeze-dried company. The pomegranate green tea was especially tasty with the lasagna.

Sunday morning I woke up at first light needing to use the facilities (the woods, in this case) and spotted my third copperhead who was up really early ... or had been out all night snaking around the stream for frogs and such. Whatever the reason, he was up pretty early.

I took my time eating breakfast and packing my gear. I struggle to rush back to civilization from the peace and quiet of the woods. About 9:00 AM or so, I grunted to sling my pack on my back and headed up the trail the way I should have come down, had I not been in a hurry to get to a campsite Friday night. I cursed myself for taking the shortcut, because a few hundred yards up the trail there was the really nice falls that fed Little Ugly Creek. There were a couple of small, one-person campsites near the falls that would have been really nice for my two nights. Oh well, I didn't hate my campsite, but believe that I will have to go back down the Randolph Trail to that falls sometime. I almost always leave the woods seeing something that I wish I had seen on the way in and planning to return sometime ... that's always the best way to end a camping trip--longing to come back again and experience something you missed.

At the top of the elevation climb I came across the fourth and largest of the copperheads. He was about three feet and a fat one ... probably older and loading up on toads that live in all of the downed firs and pines. The weekend had taken its toll on my tired, old body and I hiked most of the way out with a slow, plodding gate. I was happy to get back to the old oak that marked the top of the

main elevation climb. There were a few other elevation gains, but nothing as steep as from the river to the tree. I got a picture of a small blue flower on the way out ... enough to make me smile and want to return.

Tumalo Mountain, Oregon - June 2009

This terrain, climate, altitude, views, etc. are a little different than north Alabama ... to say the least. My wife and I flew out to Portland, OR, to visit with our son and daughter-in-law. I was determined to bag a peak of some kind. After seeing a blurb in Backpacker magazine about Tumalo Mountain and searching Trails.com, I decided that even an old man could make it the mile and a half to the top.

We left my wife at the Barnes & Noble in Bend -- severely strained right thigh hiking in the Sipsey with me -- and headed west to the bottom of Bachelor Mtn and Tumalo Mtn, which are right across from each other. Since we believed that we would encounter snow, we were uncertain that we would be able to get to the top ... but we were game to try. When we got to the sno-park, I called my wife to say that there was a lot of snow and didn't know whether or not we would get up the mountain.

It was a very bright, sunny morning, and we had nothing but time. We walked on the snow mobile road a little and the snow was very hard packed, so we

decided to head straight up toward the summit and see how far we could get. The snow was about three to four feet deep, but very hard packed, so we didn't have any trouble digging our toes and edges in to walk up the steep incline. As you can imagine, the climb of about 1200 feet elevation gain in a mile and a half makes for a pretty steep climb. Since there was no trail to follow--but lots of old footprints--we just headed straight up ... thought about switchbacks, but decided shorter was better on the hard-packed snow.

About 200 yards from the top we found a false summit (which we had seen through the trees and thought we were at the top) and decided to lunch on a log. After some water, power bars, and GORP, we decided to head on the final 200 yards. Keep in mind that I'm an old man hiking at 7000 feet higher than I live and work, so my son and daughter-in-law were forced to be very patient. I

know they wanted to sprint to the top, but they waited respectfully.

The summit was well worth the sweat ... we could easily see Mt Bachelor to the south and the Three Sisters to the northwest. One of the peaks that we thought was on of the Three Sisters was a blown out volcanic remnant that my d-in-law had dubbed the Ugly

Sister, we later discovered was called Broken Top. South Sister was easy to see; Middle Sister was easy to see; but North Sister was almost hidden beyond Middle Sister, so we didn't see it until it was pointed out to us. I made far too many pictures from the top, but the 360-view was so wonderful, I couldn't stop pushing that shutter button.

About ten minutes after we got to the top a lone hike came walking in and offered to take our picture. We struck up a conversation with him and he pointed out several hikes around the area. He showed us the North Sister and told us that the Ugly Sister was, in fact,

Broken Top. He told us about a great hike to the back side of Broken Top to which a 4-wheel drive would get a person most of the way. He told us about hikes up South Sister and several others he had made. He told my son and d-in-l that their upcoming hike on the Wonderland Trail around Mt Ranier would be a spiritual experience for them.

After about 30 minutes of conversation, we said good-bye and headed down to the parking lot. I could have stayed on the top another hour, except for the fact that my wife was in a bookstore and surrounding shops and would be trying to personally restart the Bend economic downturn. The solo guy said although he had made this Tumalo Mtn hike several times, he always had trouble hitting the parking lot because you can't see it or any landmarks through the massive forest near the bottom. Don't know how long it took us to get down, but it was certainly easier than the climb up. I was worried about my 90-lb daughter-in-law digging in the snowpack, but she did fine. She is a crackerjack woman and could have sprinted up the mountain had it not been for the old man she had to wait on.

We missed the parking lot about 50 yds ... and the lone hiker-guy came in about ten minutes after we did. I'm always sorry when I get back to my vehicle that I didn't take a hundred more photos than I did ... well, that's always a good reason to return.

Tumalo Mountain was a good choice--if I do say so myself. Thanks to Backpacker magazine for the idea. Hiking with my son and d-in-law was special. I fear that we won't be doing too many more together ... We chatted with the lone hiker some more, ate some more GORP, and drove down the hill some more to see a trail head that he had mentioned--Todd Lake. The road in was still snow blocked, but some snowmobile trailers were parked there. Would have been nice to drive up on a snowmobile ... but I'm a hiker-dude ... what can I say?

Sipsey Wilderness - May 2009

The goal for the weekend was to hike the East Bee Branch trail up to Big Tree and the falls behind it. This time I did not have a goal of having an easy, relaxing weekend. I knew the weather wasn't going to be wonderful, and it wasn't -- but it could have been much worse. Hiking in the Sipsey Wilderness during the late spring/summer/early fall is always going to be less than wonderful weather-wise, will always be buggy, and will make one glad that we have at least two seasons in the Wilderness. However, let me hastily add: being in the woods is sometimes more of a challenge than at other times, but it is always better than being back in the office taking phone calls.

I left Columbus after work on Friday and headed to northwest Alabama into the Sipsey Wilderness. I can usually count on a two-hour trip unless the traffic between Columbus and Vernon is thick. I opted for Plan B ... the "rain expected plan." I was going to go to the Rippey trailhead (Plan A - FT201), which would save me about 20-30 minutes, but not knowing how high the Sipsey was, and knowing I'd have to cross it, I decided to go in north of the Sipsey in via the Thompson Creek Trail. (As it turned out, I could have easily waded the Sipsey at the FT209 ford.)
The disappointing part of my decision was that I wanted to camp someplace different and closer to the Bee Branch-Sipsey confluence, but opted for the bluff near Auburn Falls in order to avoid the rain when it came. (I have now named that place Tick Bluff for obvious reasons ... the tiny critter season is in full swing. I am a 100% DEET user, though, which keeps the ticks and chiggers to a minimum, but my wife believes that the DEET has--as advertised--effected my brain functions ... others will vouch that I've been this way since long before the DEET era.)
I checked into Tick Bluff before dark and enjoyed a nice supper of beef stroganoff. I got in a little meta-cognition exercise time, so it turned out to be a productive evening. Because of the heat, I opted for no fire -- which I rarely have during the summer months, even though I love the idea of sitting be a campfire at night.
Saturday morning I slept late and, after wonderful coffee and blueberry granola, headed south east by the river for a rendezvous with the Big Tree. My GPS said it was about three miles to the Bee Branch, and judging by the time I walked, that seems accurate. I passed five college-aged backpackers when I got down to 206 when they stopped to wade in the Sipsey ... or something (didn't want to stare, but they picked a less than desirable spot just to look at the water. Maybe they were filling water bottles or something ...) When I passed the riffles around the end of the Needles Eye rock there were four guys in two tents camped there; and, once again, one of the tent-masters had pitched his tent on sand with the footpring tarp hanging a foot outside of his tent fly ... doesn't make sense to me, but maybe he/they like to sleep in a wet tent floor, or maybe he has his floors all seam-sealed and tested for leaks. Somebody please explain that to me ... maybe he had the floor of his tent sprayed with that rubber coating they use in the bed of pickup trucks ... whatever ... and maybe they were experienced campers that know something about camping dry that I need to learn. Anyway, two of the guys were fishing while two prepared the fire for a late breakfast ... hope they brought something as a backup.
Nobody was camped at the cave bluff between the FT209 ford and Bee Branch, so somebody could make that a dry camp when the rains came. And maybe it wasn't raining yet, but I got just as wet, because, buddy, it was humid. I don't know all of the outdoor tricks to predicting weather, but that was a pretty good sign that either a big rain was coming, or had just passed. I had not believed it to be quite so humid when I started and had only a 20 oz water bottle. I should have had a big one.
When I got to the Bee Branch confluence into the Sipsey it was too high to jump, so I went 50 yards upstream to the tree crossing. In case you haven't been there, this is a tree that has been used to cross Bee Branch for a number of years. It is flat on top and easy to balance on, even for a sweat-soaked old codger in muddy boots.

The east Bee Branch trail is a mess! It is a total mess! The short trip up to Big Tree took much longer than is should have because of all of the downed trees across the trail. I met up with some guys who had day-hiked from the Thompson Creek TH up the White Oak Hollow trail and around to the Bee Branch Ridge Trail (I think that's FT204 or something). At least one of them was very familiar with the east Bee Branch Trail and said it was the worst he had seen it in years. One huge beech tree and all of it's limbs had fallen across the trail and I elected to go up and around the stump. That was more of a diversion that I had thought it was going to be, and it took me longer than I had though it was going to take. I decided to climb through the mess on the return trip to, at least, make the trip shorter.

Big Tree was still there ... and the two waterfalls were both flowing over the edge. The five guys had me take some pictures of them reaching around the tree; and I got them to take a picture of me standing in front of the thing. I ate some gorp and a powerbar and decided to head on back. At the big beech tree covering the trail I met the four campers from the riffles area asking me how to get around/over the mess on the trail. One of them had on sandals, so I gave them both options. Shortly after I saw them, I passed one of the five college-aged guys asking if he had missed Big Tree. I pointed the way and gave him a brief lesson on the trail mess he would soon encounter. He didn't seem as if it were a big deal, so I said good luck and headed back to the Sipsey.
I was dragging a little on the return trip. The humidity was getting worse and I was running low on water. There were several tents at the big campsite near Bee Branch. A couple or three guys with single person tents ... They had evidently hiked in that afternoon. When I passed the big campsite at end of the point near the confluence of the Parker and the Thompson, I counted nine or ten tents and a big tarp ... a pretty large group about to get very wet. The four guys near the riffles still had their footprint sticking out from under their fly, so they were about to get wet, too. Hope their seam-seals held.

Got back to Tick Bluff and drank 64 ounces of cool water ... didn't have more purified, so couldn't do more then ... was really dehydrated. Finished off a bag of hickory-flavored jerky ... um-m ... so good after a long hike. About 3:30 PM or so the storm moved in ... and it came with a furry. Not as much wind as I've seen before in the Sipsey, but enough to bring the rain down furiously. The rains continued diligently for about two hours. Of course, sitting under my dry bluff I couldn't help but think about the people in the ten tents. I've been there before (many years ago at camp) ... everyone sprinting for their tents when the rain begins, trying to find someone enjoyable to spend some quality time with -- or, if you're an introvert like me -- trying to make sure you get your tent zipped up before some yada-yada person gets in with you for hours. The rains came down and sounded soothing. I sat in my Trekker chair for some time until my head snapped back ... at that point I gave up and headed for my tent for a late afternoon power nap.

Supper that night was a Polynesian Chicken with Rice ... or maybe something else Asian ... don't really remember ... not wonderful, but satisfying. I was intending to build a little fire for the cooler evening, but with the very hard and long rains, a small drip appeared on the roof of the bluff and dripped right into my fire ring. Certainly a helpful thing if I were going to bed or leaving the campsite, but a little frustrating that my stack of wood would go unused. Actually, I had left that stack of wood when I camped in April, so I didn't really spend any time cutting and breaking for the fire. And, actually, the evening had not really turned off as cool as I had though it would when the hard rains were falling, so the fire was not terribly missed. It will be there when I camp there again ... or for the next camper who stays under Tick Bluff. (I received a small thank you note from the ticks who had made their nest in the cut wood stacked up by the fire ... and I returned the favor by taking a small tick home with me on the under part of my arm below my elbow. However, he died an inglorious death in the swirling waters).
I slept a little more soundly Saturday night after the long hike, but still work up around 6:00 AM Sunday morning ... too early for a camper who doesn't sleep late most Sunday mornings. After another granola and grits breakfast, I cleaned up most of my gear and began repacking my pack. I couldn't really tell whether or not it was sprinkling, but I knew I was going to get wet from the overhanding brush along the trail, so I put my pack-cover over my pack and hiked out in my rain jacket. The trip out is always slow -- sometimes I really hate to leave the beauty and solitude of the woods.

Sipsey Wilderness - April 2009

Okay, I know I'm in a rut, but I couldn't help myself ... on a Friday afternoon in April, I headed out into the Sipsey Wilderness (and I know no one but me ever reads these things,but it helps me remember what I did when--you'll all understand when you get old ... oh, wait, I'm the only one reading this, and I AM old ... whatever ...). Storms were being predicted for the area, so when I got there I didn't find but one other car at the Thompson Creek trailhead. It was a pickup parked by an older Alabama couple who was dayhiking. I passed them a little ways down the trail and my load got heavier when they commented on how much stuff I packed in ... I crossed White Oak Creek, which wasn't as high as I though it would be, and started looking for the flowers. The couple were on their way out ... and soon I would be alone in the Thompson Creek area of the Sipsey Wilderness ... doesn't get much better for an old backpacking introvert.

As soon as I got out of my car I noticed the purple violets in the woods. I had thought that I was too late for the wildflowers, but maybe I was going to catch them on the tail end of the season. I kept my camera up front and headed out when I got packed. (I don't think I've said in my other posts, but I drive a Miata that won't hold my packpack when it is loaded, except strapped in the passenger seat. Most of the time I just load up the little trunk and passenger seat with my loose gear and load my pack when I get to the trailhead. I'm less likely to forget something if I throw everything in the car.)

But I digress ... (well, DUH -- I'm an English major!) ... I wasn't far down the trail until I started to get into wildflowers. I found both the purple and white varieties of the purple wakerobin, sometimes called Stink Willie, because of their smell. Both were abundant through the early part of the trail between White Oak Creek and Auburn Falls. I think these are trillium varieties in the lily family. I got some shots of a Longspur Violet (even in this picture you can see the long, slender spur that comes up from the back.) These delicate looking violets were growing along the trail, usually against some of the larger boulders.
Because the weather was heading toward the watershed, I decided to camp under a bluff near Auburn Falls. I figured that I would be able to drag in some wood before the rain set in and thus have a good fire at night. The bluff is fairly large--as you can see in the picture--and provides enough space to pitch a tent, build a fire, and cook, all out of the elements. There is even a small water trickle off the cliff above where one can catch water to cook with. I have camped under this bluff before, once arriving in the middle of the night; but today I would still have enough daylight to find some firewood for the night. The bluff isn't easily seen from any of the trails, so not many have camped there ... meaning, there is more firewood than is found around the more popular sites. The area around Ship Rock is pretty well picked clean by this time of the year.

Oh, and I might say that there must have been thousands in the Wilderness during spring break. All of the trails were worn more than I usually see them. Perhaps too many people are learning about the wonderful places to camp and hike in the Sipsey Wilderness. Several trees had fallen since I was there in January, and new trails around the fallen trees had been well-worn, indicating the number of people who had hike there. I surmised that several of the spring break hikers had been women, because most of the logs crossing the trail were gone around instead of over, indicating shorter legs.
I tried something a little different this time as to my sleeping arrangements. Usually, I pack in my REI Quarter Dome and zip in secure from the critters that will bite and sting during the night. This time I took the footprint and the fly for my tent, but took my bivey sack and a lightweight sleeping bag. Although rain was predicted, the temperature would never get below 40 degrees. That arrangement worked well for comfort, but I came out of the woods with several bites on my arms from sleeping with my arms outside of the bivey sack and sleeping bag. The bloodsuckers evidently were looking for early season feasts -- and found some. No bigness, though ...

At 1:40 AM I was awakened with a huge clap of thunder ... evidently, I had slept through the coming storm, and it was now on top of the Wilderness with all its fury. I lay awake listening to the thunder and watching the lightening flashes for a while. The were loud and bright, but I was safe and dry up under the bluff ... pretty neat watching the lightening flashes and knowing I was safe from their lethal work. I drifted back to sleep and was awakened at about 3:00 AM with another, stronger storm. The lightening was closer and very, very bright through my tent fly. I fell back asleep listening to the rain coming down hard.

When one gets in his 60s, one finds that he doesn't need as much sleep as he once did. I usually sleep about five and a half or six hours at home and I'm done ... wake up knowing that I won't get back to sleep. I guess when I'm in the woods, I'm overtaken by the peace and tranquility and I often sleep eight or nine hours. I had gotten in my bag about 9:00 PM that night and I slept until 7:00 the next morning. Unbelievable! ... and wonderful to wake up without an agenda.
After breakfast of oatmeal and coffee, I decided to take a little hike around the neighborhood. It had stopped raining before daylight, so the sun was out and, though it was very humid, it was just right for an old man to take a hike. I decided to walk down to where FT209 crosses the Sipsey, which would take me by Ship Rock/Eye of the Needle, the west end of The Rock, and by the riffles where many I camped the first time I came to the Wilderness in the 90s.

I walked around the end of The Rock and came to the camping area by the riffles ... a very popular place to camp because of the soothing sounds of the water going across the rocks in the Sipsey. There were two tents in the sand ... two tents with clothes lines between every tree around the campsite. On these lines were everything--and I do mean EVERYthing--owned by the campers. They had gotten soaked! I don't think they came in during the night, so they must have gotten soaked during the early morning storm. I immediately noticed why the campers in one of the tents had gotten soaked. They had put a polypropelene ground cloth under their tent with about six to twelve inches of ground cloth sticking out on the outside of the tent fly. In other words, every drop that had poured off of the fly had been caught by the poly sheet and channeled up under the tent ... and they were camped on very absorbent sand! Go figure!! I kind of felt sorry for them, and I kind of didn't ... nubie campers who had learned a hard lesson ... only maybe they hadn't learned it, because they hadn't tucked their poly sheet under the edges of their fly.

Okay, this story is going on too long ... I returned to my dry campsite about 1:00 PM, ate lunch, sat in my chair under the bluff, and watched another storm blow through the Sipsey watershed. I wondered (not long, but a few minutes) about the folks down by the Sipsey ... were they getting soaked again? It got so dark during the storm that an owl thought it was dusk and began to fly up and down the canyon hunting for his/her supper. Sitting in the dry watching the pouring rain is very peaceful. The trees were beautiful as they swayed back and forth into each other. More water poured over my little falls, and I contempleated the fate of the earth.

The last night was a good one ... a warm fire, a good meal, good company (remember, I'm an introvert, so the company of my thoughts is always good), and a warm, dry place to sleep. I did some reading in a Greg Isles book before turning out my light, but mostly I just lay there thinking about how much I love the Wilderness and the quiet.