Section Hiking the AT: Springer Mtn to Neel Gap - June 2013

I'm not sure what got into me last fall, but I decided that I'm young enough to hike a couple of sections on the AT before I reach age 72. My first hike on the AT was when I was 12 years old in 1957 when I hiked from Newfound Gap to Charlie's Bunion and then went back down to where the  Boulevard Trail intersects with the AT and goes across to Mt. LeConte. Since then I've hiked on the AT at several points, mostly in the Smokies, but never just a section hike in the traditional since. Last summer on my annual walkabout, when I was day-hiking around Roan Mountain, I decided to pick a section of the AT and go at it. The most logical section, of course, is the first 32-mile section from Springer Mountain to Neel Gap (referred to on maps as "Neel's Gap," but the locals say "Neel Gap"). This section of the AT is probably the most hiked section of the AT since hundreds and hundreds of people set out on this part intending to thru hike and then drop off after a few weeks. I had day-hiked up to the summit of Springer before, checking out the plaques and first White Blaze for northbound hikers, and I was inspired (or something) and decided, heck, yeah: I can do this ...

Sign inside the hostel

Throughout the winter I kept telling people that I was planning to do this, hoping that if I told enough people I wouldn't be able to back out. I trained a little bit in the six weeks or so before I scheduled to hike; and the smartest thing I did was train in the shoes in which I planned to walk the 32 miles. Of all of the stuff I've read and vidclips I've watched, a lot of warnings are given about the feet. I've been told that a person's feet eventually get used to the daily grind, but maybe that's for most people. Of course, on this section hike I really didn't hike long enough to get my trail legs and feet under me, so I can't say for sure that it would have happened ... but, anyway, no blisters. I bought my shoes a half-size up and trained in them. It seemed to work for me.

Walasiyi-Inn Dining Room

On Tuesday, 18 June, I drove from Mississippi to Neels Gap, Georgia, to check in to the Mountain Crossings - Walasi-yi hostel ($16.05) for the night. The folks there at the outfitters are very, very helpful, and, through them, I had arranged a shuttle with Lumpy (who lives at Neel Gap) from there to the Springer Mountain parking lot. Because I was not positive that I could keep the 8+ miles-a-day pace and, thus, confirm the day/time back to Neel Gap, I had decided to leave my vehicle at the Byron Reece Trail parking area, get a shuttle to Spring Mtn, and hike back to my car. That way, if I took an extra day or two, I wouldn't have a shuttle trying to hook up with me. It turned out to be a very good plan. Wednesday afternoon, after throwing my gear on a bunk at the hostel, I hunted up Lumpy and confirmed our start at 7:30 the next morning. Lumpy and Pirate had just returned from a two-day R&R trip to the Gatlinburg area and he looked like he could use a good night's rest.

At the Springer parking lot

I met Lumpy in the parking lot at 7:30 AM and began the 33 mile--hour and a half trip to the Springer Mtn parking area. I tried to keep up with all of the turns and road forks, but soon found that being able to find my own way to Springer via Lumpy's way would only result in my getting hopelessly lost in the hills. During the hour-and-a-half trip, Lumpy entertained with down-home stories of mountain life ... some of which I actually believed. When we finally arrived at the Springer Mountain parking area, Lumpy pointed the way north and told me to "follow the white blazes." Evidently, he shuttles a lot of people who get out of the car and don't know the difference between a white blaze and a blue blaze, and don't know whether they are heading north or south. And I did meet a woman later on on the trail who was really confused ...



The first 8 miles of the AT heading north is mis-leading in its level of difficulty--it is deceptively easy. From the top of Springer, at about 3800 ft of elevation, to the stream crossing at Three Forks, at 2500 ft, the trail is easy and down hill most of the way. Even climbing out of Three Forks up and over Hawk Mtn is not exceedingly steep and difficult. I was thinking to myself, "Hey, I can do this without too much of a sweat." Day two would be a jolt of reality. But I got to the Hawk Mtn shelter with some energy to spare. A few hundred yards before I got to Three Forks I spotted a bear cub in the trail at the same time he spotted me. He ran--I froze! I stood there banging my poles together and talking out loud so the sow would know where I was and hopefully that I was not a threat to her cub. I stopped on a log just over the bridge at Three Forks to have a snack and refill water bottles, and, while I was sitting there, a woman hiker came by and we chatted a moment about our hike so far. She had started before me but had gotten on the wrong trail (Benton MacKaye, maybe?), hiking an extra three miles, she said. She said she was trying to make it to the Gooch Mtn shelter that night, but had a tent if she didn't make it all the way, so she set off on a pretty fast pace.

When I got to the sign pointing off the AT to the Hawk Mtn shelter, the woman  that had passed me at Three Forks was sitting against the post eating a snack. She stood up as I approached and, looking at her watch, said she'd have plenty of time to make it to the Gooch Mtn shelter before dark. She loaded on her pack and headed off at a fast pace ... the wrong way right back up the trail we had just come down--obviously confused again. I started to say something to her, but thought she might have changed her mind, and hoped that, if she was again confused, it wouldn't be too long before she realized that she had just hiked down the same trail. Later I asked some people who had come down the trail if they had passed her. They said they had not, so I figured that she had discovered her error and turned around.


One thing I've always tried to do when I've gotten to a blue blaze trail to a shelter/water/etc. is to make sure I know which way to turn when I come back out of the blue blaze trail. And while the trail there made a 90 degree turn and was somewhat confusing, I don't think I would have headed back up the same trail I had just come down a few minutes before. I never did run into the woman again ...

Arriving at the Hawk Mtn Shelter at 8.1 miles, I was disappointed to see so much trash around the fire ring. Obviously, some worthless backpackers had not worried about carrying out their own trash and just thrown it in the fire ring. "Hey, dummies! Tin cans don't burn and somebody will have to carry your trash out!" I just cannot understand how backpackers can be so self-centered that they don't care about the environment or other backpackers. Members of the millennium generation, I guess ... pisses me off! If I hadn't been on the first day of my 4.5-day trip I probably would have carried some of the trash out.

At the Hawk Mtn shelter I quickly hung up my pack and threw down my sleeping gear in the corner of the shelter to claim my spot. I could see one tent about 75 yds away in the tenting area, but only caught a glimpse of a spectre of a person who might/might not have belonged to that tent. For some reason my sightings of the guy walking back and forth through the woods reminded me of those supposed sightings of Sasquach ... a little spooky. Anyway, I grabbed my water bottles and bags and headed down to the spring to get enough water for the evening's meal and breakfast oatmeal and coffee. Just after I got back to the shelter, three more hikers walked in. One of them said he was staying the night, the other two said they were refilling water bottles and heading to Hightower Gap for the night. They all three headed down to the spring for water.

Hawk Mtn shelter

The hiker staying the night was named "Wilbur J" or something and he and I immediately started talking about gear. Do hikers talk about anything else? He was an Ewok with a Hennessy zip and said he was going to hang it back behind the shelter. Of course, when he said it was a Hennessy zip, I asked why he hadn't gotten the classic, and if he'd gotten the snake skins. He said he hadn't gotten the classic because he was afraid he'd fall out during the night, and he thought he would save $20 by not getting the snake skins, but he realized that he'd make a bad decision on that. I paid attention to our conversations, because I'm contemplating a bug-free hammock and like to talk to users. He hung his hammock and came back to the shelter to eat dinner and talk. Wilbur J was a friendly guy from Woodstock, GA and claimed to be a high school choral music teacher. He and I were to hook back up the next two nights, too, although he hiked faster than me. He also had an Esbit cook kit that boiled about 900 ml at a time. I've never used Esbit--I'm an alcohol stove or canister man myself--but I was interested in what he thought about it. I've read some scary stuff about Esbit fumes when it gets wet, but it is light and efficient, so a lot of hikers use it regularly. I have an Esbit stove, but have never used it. I used a Whitebox alcohol stove on this trip with an MSR Ti 1.5L pot inside a Caldera Cone made for the pot. I love it and it boils the large amounts of water I need for my meals and drinks.

While we were fixing our suppers, a woman and her young son came in. The kid was about 12 and had been a scout, so this was not his first experience. They were planning to hike to Gooch Mtn shelter the next day, although the mom said her son started complaining about two miles from Springer. They pitched a tent about 40 yds behind the shelter. At the table we had a good time talking to the kid about his experiences--that's always fun. Just before dark a 20-something male/female couple came in and, after fixing something to eat, pitched their tent in the loft of the shelter saying they wanted some protection from the bugs and mice. Pitching a tent in the shelter seems like overkill to me, but if a person doesn't like bugs and mice, or if it's pouring rain and the shelter roof leaks, it's probably a good idea. Since there were no other hikers arriving, there was plenty of room in the shelter for them to pitch their tent. I slept pretty well that first night, falling asleep to thoughts about how lucky I was to be in a shelter on the AT.

Flaming azaleas

The next morning while everyone was eating breakfast and packing up, we all chatted about our plans and Wilbur J, the mom/son, and I said we would see each other that evening at Gooch Mtn shelter. The young couple had just come out for the night and were heading back to Springer that day. I was the first to set off, because I figured I was the slowest hiker and the others would catch up and pass me ... a lot of women hike faster than me, but I was going to be embarrassed when a slightly overweight 12-yr old passed me.

The second day was not particularly fun for an out-of-shape old man. From the Hawk Mtn shelter (8.1) I hiked down to Hightower Gap; then up and down, up and down, up and down, and up and way down in the next few miles, finally bottoming at Horse Gap. Then I hiked way up and back down to Cooper Gap at 12.2 miles. Honestly, I wouldn't even remember passing Cooper, except for the explosions, but the maps said I did. Then I went back up and over another mountain down into the Justus Creek bottom where I refilled my water bottles. Up a little from Justus Creek is a camping area called Devil's Kitchen where a couple of guys were setting up for the night. The only thing I remember about the day's journey (in addition to the constant ups and downs) were the combat soldiers--seriously! There is an Army training camp somewhere up in the woods above Dahlonaga--I know for sure because I drove up on it last year by mistake ... signs all over the place saying that if you got any closer you would disappear and never be heard from again. So, anyway, while I was hiking I could hear gunfire and explosions all over the woods. I could see trails where the troops had come straight down the mountain across the AT, 40 troops at a time tearing up the ferns and azaleas. I was hiking along thinking about how my feet hurt and looked up and the troops were all deployed in perimeter security on both sides of the trail--full camo uniforms, paint, and 60 lb packs. I passed through quietly and spoke only to the platoon sergeant at the end of the line saying, "What up, Sarge?" to which he returned a grunt. I thought about one of my friends who will be a junior at USMA-West Point and how he has to play in the woods sometimes. Later at Cooper Gap, as I was resting my feet, some more troops came out of the woods with a lot of gunshots, explosions, and shouts, to set up a perimeter around the gap. Maybe that all happened at Horse Gap ... I really don't remember. I just mostly remember that my feet hurt. I crossed Blackwell Creek at 15.5 and climbed a little to the blue blaze leading to the Gooch Mtn shelter at 15.7. Fortunately, the total mileage was a little shorter because the pretty severe ups and downs got to me. The second day of a trip is generally tough and I was mentally prepared for things to hurt the second day--and I wasn't disappointed. I knew I had enough food for five days and Lumpy's phone number, so I wasn't greatly concerned. When you know it's going to be painful, and it is ... well, maybe it doesn't hurt so much. I was certainly relieved when I got my boots off and my Crocs on at the shelter.

Gooch Mtn shelter (from White Blaze.com)

The Gooch Mtn shelter was in better shape than Hawk Mtn. Although I had passed a guy who was south bound and he had said that Gooch was trashed, it was much cleaner than Hawk toward which he was headed. I warned him that Hawk had been really trashed. There was trash at Gooch, but not nearly as much as at Hawk. Another reason that Gooch was better was that the roof/canopy came down over the table and had a cooking shelf on which to keep the stoves off of the table. Wilbur J was already at Gooch when I arrived but hadn't hung his hammock because he was considering staying in the shelter. He lay down on his pad in the loft and I lay down on my pad on the bottom and we both went sound asleep for about 45 minutes. When Wilbur J woke up, since it was late in the day and no one else had come in, he decided to pitch his hammock in the loft of the shelter. Even if a whole group came in, there were still a number of spaces down with me and plenty of room to throw down under his hammock. Of course, just as soon as he got his hammock up several more people arrived--four in all--plus one thru-hiker trail dog. They all decided that WJ might step on them in the night, so they decided to set up on the lower floor with me.

Mountain Primrose

Two of the women were from New Hampshire and had started their thru-hike in April 2012 on Mt Katahdin. However, when they got to New Jersey, Hurricane Sandy hit and since they were both travel nurses, they stopped their hike to work in the Northeast after the storm. They had resumed their trek this 2013 spring and were about to finish at Springer the following Saturday. They planned to hike the 13 or so miles to the Stover Creek shelter the next night where some friends would meet them with a huge bag of Chick-fil-A nuggets and several boxes of wine. Saturday morning they would get up and hike the two miles to the top of Springer where their family and friends would be waiting on them. These two women had the best trail dog I have ever met or heard of. His name was Georgy--trail name "Bear"--and was the easiest going big dog. He didn't say a word the whole time, slept at the foot of the women in the shelter, and got up several times during the night to circle the perimeter, then return to their foot. I heard him drink water once, but other than that, he was silent as a big dog could be. Georgy had been with them the entire thru hike except for a short time he had an encounter with a porcupine and spent some time with a vet. What a great trail dog!

A friend of theirs had met them somewhere back up the trail and hiked in with them. I think he said he had met them somewhere along the trail in 2012 and had already finished his thru hike--or maybe I made that up. Anyway, he knew them pretty well and they had invited him to finish their thru hike and celebrate--plus he hiked in with a box of merlot that one of the women particularly enjoyed. Another woman had hiked in from the south and decided to stay in the shelter that night, also, so there was a lot of chatting and story-telling that night. It was one of those fun experiences one gets on the trail when people that will probably never meet again talk and tell stories as if they were old friends--it's trail magic. So we were going to be a pretty full shelter that night; however, not nearly as full as the shelters get in March and April when the NoBos come through. Everyone in the shelter snored and participated in the shelter shuffle, even WJ in his hammock up in the loft. I seemed to be the only one who didn't have ear plugs ... well, actually, I had a pair, but didn't want to dig them out of my pack when I realized that I would need them. It was kind of fun sleeping with a shelter full of experienced hikers. I had fun that night and the next morning listening to stories about the nurses' thru hike and about the trail angels they had met when Georgy had the encounter with a porcupine. I also enjoyed the other woman's stories about being somewhat of a newbie on the trail. It was fun to hear the contrast of experiences of one so new to the trail and a couple who were finishing the 2181 in two days. There is much to learn about oneself on an AT experience.

Friday morning I ate and packed up early, but not so fast that I didn't savor my camp coffee and oatmeal. Gracious! Do I love coffee in the woods! Everyone seemed to struggle to get moving that morning, or maybe it was a reluctance to part ways with new friends each knew they'd probably never see again. I was heading to the Lance Creek Restoration area to tent camp for the night. I knew WJ would pass me somewhere along the way and said that perhaps we could meet at Woody Gap (21.0) for lunch. We met for lunch at Woody, a big area where a paved road comes through, and then set out for Lance Creek. I knew WJ would arrive before me, so I told him to save me a space if the tent sites started to fill up.

I got to the Lance Creek area (24.4) about 4:30 and set up my tent quickly as it began look like rain. Much of the area that had once been camping sites along Lance Creek has been roped off for restoration purposes. Up on kind of an old road bed there were four pads for tents but no bear cables. I had enough time to go down to the creek and get enough water for supper and breakfast and soak my tired feet before the thunder, wind, and rain descended in the creek bottom. I have a Tarptent Rainbow which has to be nursed a little around the edges so that the drip-off doesn't run down the netting and into the tent. With a little work I was able to keep my gear inside the tent pretty dry. When I got to Lance Creek, WJ had already strung up his hammock and was talking with two women camped there who had hiked in from Springer ... well, they kind of hiked in from Springer. It seems that when they got to Cooper Gap, they broke down and talked someone into giving them a ride to Woody Gap from where they hiked to Lance Creek. One of the women lamented that even though they had done a lot of online research about the first section of the AT, they had not realized that it would be as tiring as it had been. They believed that they had pretty good equipment, but their packs were heavy and they were really tired. They were really down about being so tired. Then just before the rains descended a young man and woman came in and quickly pitched their tent on one of the four pads. They were from Boston and had started at Springer, hiked 20 days north, turned around and were hiking 20 days back to Springer. This was day 38, so they had two more days to get there. I'm not sure what the deal was about 40 days (Biblical, maybe?), but that's how long they were planning to be on the trail.

It rained for about an hour while I dozed and thought about my hike thus far. The pitiful part was that I'd only done 24+ miles in three days and I was tired--but obviously not as tired as those two women. Most of those dudes can do 16-20 in a day and not be as tired as I was. There is something to be said for getting this done when you're young--or at least young-er. When I had commented to a hiker along the way that I had gotten out of shape and was determined to get in shape, he told me that I'd need about a month on the trail before I would be in shape to hike longer distances and not hurt so much. Even though my feet had hurt--as I knew they would--each morning when I put on my shoes, my feet felt pretty good. I was happy about that.

When it stopped raining, I fixed supper and looked for a limb over which to hang my bear bag. I found one that would keep my stuff up about 12 feet, and figured that unless a tall bear came along, I was okay. Of course, throwing a bear line over a tree limb after a hard rain brings its own shower, so I was a little bit wet when I brushed my teeth and climbed into my tent. I didn't sleep well that night and the two women woke and decided to have a conversation in their tent at 4:00 AM. They were obviously so new to the trail that they didn't know how sounds carry in the woods at night. They must have awakened everyone because WJ and I talked about it the next morning. The rain had brought a lot of humidity to the forest and I slept fitfully and woke in the morning with a stopped up nose. When it's warm and humid in the woods, you can't sleep covered because it's too warm--but you can't sleep uncovered because it's too cool with the humidity. It generally brings a night of cover-uncover all night long.

Saturday morning I talked a lot with WJ a lot before we set out. He told me that while he was hiking the day before he had changed his trail name to Gilligan. I thought that was a much more fitting name for him because for some reason he kept falling off of stuff and sliding down hills. The first day he slid down the trail to the Long Hollow Falls and slid some more on the rocks of the falls. The second day he had slid down a rock twice while trying to sit on top to eat some lunch. The third day he had fallen and slid down to the creek at Lance Creek. Each time he had fallen/slid he popped back up with a smile, saying something like, "I'm good! I'm good!" Gilligan was a much better name for him and I congratulated him on a good change. 

The two women packed up and left before me, and, although I didn't see which way they went, I thought later that they must have headed back toward Woody Gap to get a ride out. Gilligan left the site before I did because he wanted to get over Blood Mountain and out to the hostel at Neel Gap to wash some clothes. (His clothes were pretty muddy from all of the sliding down!) It was a little sad to see Gilligan leave. He seemed to be a super guy, a school teacher (choral music) in Georgia, who was hiking all the way to Clingman's Dome where his parents would meet him. We had not hiked together, but had stayed at the same location three nights at the various stops along the way. It's curious as to how quickly one gets attached to fellow hikers and then never sees them again. I hope to connect with him some time after he finishes his hike--and I hope he makes it all the way. He seemed to be a great guy.

Wood's Hole shelter

I left the Lance Creek area about 30 minutes after Gilligan and began the ascent up the south side of Blood Mountain. Actually, I was hiking over Burnett Field Mtn, Gaddis Mtn, and Turkey Stamp, but at each of them I gained a good bit of elevation and didn't lose much down the back sides. I had heard so many horror stories about hiking up the north side of Blood, I was glad to be hiking up the "easier" side. Even though I was gradually gaining more elevation, the trail was not too bad. My original plan was to stay in the old CCC shelter up on Blood that night, but while I was hiking and checking my AT Hiker app to make sure I didn't start up the last section of Blood without getting enough water for the night, I started thinking about delaying my push over Blood until the following day. By early afternoon I arrived at Wood's Hole Gap at the bottom of the final ascent up Blood. I stood at the gap and pondered my three options: I could hike to the top of Blood and camp, I could camp there at the gap, or I could go .4 of a mile down the blue blaze trail to the Wood's Hole shelter. I decided to hike the .4 mile down to the Wood's Hole shelter and stay the night there. I was in no hurry to hike out the next day; I didn't have anyone waiting on me to hike out; and I would lose and regain only 50 feet of elevation by going down to the shelter. But probably the deciding factor was that I needed a half-day to just chill. It turned out to be one of the best Plan B decisions I made the whole trip.

The Wood's Hole shelter was very clean and well-kept. Because it is almost a half a mile off of the AT, not a lot of folks make the trip down to the area. The shelter is out on a beautiful little knob that drops off fairly steeply down three sides. The roof covers the table and the trees are open enough to let in enough sunshine to dry my gear from the rain the night before. Rain in the mountains doesn't have to soak gear, but after a rain, almost everything is damp. I dried my tent and the foot print. I dried my bandanas on top of the shelter. I dried some plastic tarps over a log; and I dried some clothes over some blackberry bushes beside the shelter. I chased the moving sun all around the knoll to get my stuff dry. I also watched a couple of bird parents--some sort of wood sparrows, I think--feed their three babies in a nest on one of the rafters near the roof of the shelter (see photo above the "Wood's Hole" sign). I even had a chance to read some of Keith Foskett's book while I was chilling. And while I was chasing the sun with my clothes I boiled some water and made a wonderfully tasting tomato pasta--a small extra meal I had thrown in in case I broke down on the trail and had to stay an extra night. It was really good to eat an extra meal and relax for the afternoon. I agreed with myself that I had made a great decision to hike down to Wood's Hole and stay for the night. It would have been difficult to find a better spot for an old introvert to chill for the afternoon.

About 6:00-ish, a young couple came in saying they had hiked over Blood Mtn to practice for their hike in the Indian Peaks Wilderness up above Boulder, Colorado. I shared with them that my son and I camped up there several times while we lived in Denver. This was the young woman's first camping experience and she wasn't yet convinced that she was having fun. The couple--mainly the guy--and I talked about equipment and the guy showed me a pot his father had camped with 30 years earlier. That was pretty neat that he was camping with his father's old pot. I showed him a couple of aluminum boxes that I have camped with for forty years--back in the Paul Baird era. The couple had brought their tent and decided to set it up right outside the shelter and not over by the bear cables where the tent sites were. Although I'm certainly not an expert on backpacking, it's always fun to talk gear and experiences with fairly new backpackers, and I enjoyed telling my equipment and camping stories. I have had a lot of experiences in several different settings and I can share some of the things I've learned along the way. 

Just before dark--I was already stretched out on my mat--a single hiker came down to the shelter, looked around, and sat down on the log outside and began typing on his phone. It was barely light enough to see--already dark in the shelter--and I couldn't really tell what he was doing. I invited him to throw down inside the shelter with me, and he grunted something unintelligible. In a few minutes, he hiked away. I figured he was a kid hired to survey the shelters to see how many people were staying. I wondered where he was camping for the night ... and would find out later. I actually didn't see or hear him hike away because I had already fallen asleep.

I slept pretty well that night and didn't even hear the pig(s) that rooted all around the trail about a couple of hundred yards from the shelter. I did wake up once when I heard the birds fluttering around their nest. I think maybe one of the shelter mice got too close to the nest and the parent birds were attacking. The feedings resumed the next morning so I presumed that the attack had been unsuccessful. The couple reported that they heard what they thought were bears grunting and running around back up the approach trail. It was fun listening to their story about lying awake listening for the bears to get closer to our shelter/campsite--I have known the feeling, and I'll bet the young woman didn't sleep too much on her first night in the woods. I finally suggested that when they heard a lot of grunts and rustling in the leaves, they were probably hearing feral pigs instead of bears. As I was hiking out the that morning I confirmed to myself that it had indeed been pigs that had rooted all around a whole section of the blue blaze trail. Feral pigs are really becoming a nuisance in much of the wooded south.

I must have begun my last leg on the section hike about 9:00 as usual, although I don't remember checking my watch when I left. It was nice to pack up dry equipment and almost no food. I still had too many snacks, but the young couple didn't want any, so I was going to have to pack them out. I had brought too many protein bars--which are heavy--and not enough energy drink powders--which are not heavy ... lesson learned. It was a beautiful morning, though a little too warm. I knew the top of Blood Mtn would be beautiful and I started my ascent.



To add insult to my tired feet, while I was hiking up to the top of the mountain, about 15 men and women trail runners came running by as I stepped aside on the trail. They were running from Woody Gap over Blood Mtn to Neel Gap and back to Woody Gap. Although most of the runners were 30s and 40s, a couple of the guys looked to be about 60. That didn't make me feel any better! I wished them well, and hiked on at my slow, plodding pace as I said to myself, "Slow and steady wins the race." The back (south) side of Blood wasn't too tough. It was steep enough to have switch-backs, but not so steep as to make it really miserable. It's said to be much easier than the front (north) side--and definitely is, as I was later to find out. The top of Blood is very beautiful with it's azaleas, mountain laurel, rhododendron, and rock outcroppings.

On the top of Blood is a stone shelter that was obviously built by the CCC in the '30s. It's an iconic building for the day hikers and is a cold but dry shelter for AT hikers. All of the guidebooks and descriptions for the AT say two things about the stone shelter: use it if you must, but it will be cold and there is no water nearby, so take warm sleeping gear and pack all of your water in. Those factors were a pretty significant influence on why I chose to stop at Wood's Hole and not pack it to the top of Blood the afternoon before.

When I got to the shelter I went inside and discovered three teenaged backpackers who had hung their hammocks inside and slept there overnight. I asked how it was, and they said, "Cold!" As I was asking one of them to come take my picture at the door of the shelter, another one of them said, "Hey, I saw you last night down at Wood's Hole, didn't I?" I agreed that he had and asked him what he'd been doing. He said he was just checking out the shelter while his buddies ate supper up at the junction. (Again, I thought, ah, youth! to be able to run a half a mile down a trail and a half a mile back up just to check out a shelter ... must be nice!) He had sat down on the log to text his two buddies back up the hill to report that they wouldn't be alone in the shelter. He had obviously hiked back up to the junction and the three of them had hiked up to the summit of Blood in the dark. It actually sounded fun ...

After the required picture in the door way of the shelter, I went out on one of the rock outcroppings and ate some snacks before my descent and hike out to my vehicle in the Byron Reece parking area. While I was sitting there the woman I had seen at Gooch Mtn shelter crawled out and sat down to admire the view. We chatted a few minutes about the beauty of the view and surroundings and compared thoughts about backpacking on the AT. I was reluctant to leave such a beautiful setting and end my hike, but I had a couple of steep, downhill miles to go yet, and so I needed to get the old knees moving. The white blazes are painted on the rocks as you descend from the top of the mountain. I'd hate to think of how a person would get down through the rhodo hells without the white blazes leading the way. Without the white blazes it would be a total maze getting off the mountain. The further down one gets off of the top of the mountain the rougher the trail gets. As I descended I met some of the runners that that passed me on the back side of the mountain. They had been to Neel Gap, rested a bit, and were running back over the mountain to Woody Gap. I swear that doesn't sound anything like fun to me! And I must admit, some of the runners didn't look like they were having a lot of fun running back up Blood Mountain.

I finally got to the Freeman Trail (that circles around the east side of Blood Mtn from Wood's Hole Junction, for those who don't want to go over Blood Mountain) Junction and turned left off of the AT down the Byron Reece Trail to the parking lot where I had parked my vehicle. At that junction, the AT travels through Flat Rock Gap to Neel Gap over about half a mile. The Byron Reece Trail went down and down and down, feeling like I was descending into a deep pit. The trail was very steep and rocky and not particularly easy to hike down. My knees were feeling the downward hike, but I was just glad I was not hiking up that trail to get to the AT. I thought to myself that those day hikers who park at that parking lot have a heck of a hike up the BR Trail just to get to the SoBo AT to hike to the summit of Blood Mtn. Now I understood why Gilligan had talked about how he'd much rather park at Woody Gap and hike to the summit of Blood than come up that north side. It was longer, but a much easier hike to the top.

I found my vehicle as I had left it ... with the moon roof slanted open ... which I had not intended to leave it. It had rained there while I was on the trail and although the floor of my vehicle seemed damp, the roof did not show any signs of having been drenched. Confession: I had been so excited to get on the trail Wednesday morning when Lumpy followed me to the Byron Reece parking area, I had paid Lumpy another $5 to go back by my vehicle and check to see if it was locked ... I couldn't remember whether or not I had locked it. Lumpy was glad to accommodate my carelessness and it was probably not the first time he'd done something like that. I had not remembered that I had left the moon roof slanted, but Lumpy wouldn't have been able to do anything about that.

Reflections of an old AT section hiker: Was I glad I had hiked the 32 miles? -- well, duh! Would/Could I do it again? -- yes. Did I learn anything? -- I learned a lot about equipping for a 4-night AT section hike. I carried just the right amount of evening meals. I took one too many oatmeal breakfasts. I carried way too many snacks. I thought I would eat more protein bars than I did--although I probably needed to eat more, I couldn't stop and eat them. I made more GORP than I would eat on the trail, but I snarked it down in the afternoons/evenings when I got to my camping/sheltering spots. It made a good desert for the evening meal. I can't think of any equipment I took that I didn't use except some lint fire-starter, and that didn't weigh anything. I can't think of any equipment I needed and didn't take. In short, the obsessive planning I did the month before the trip paid off. I was amazed to see how much stuff some of the other backpackers carried (jars of peanut butter, boxes of wine, etc.), but they were younger and more trail proof. 


I've read somewhere and heard people say (in fact a ATC ridge-runner guy in the hostel) that the important thing is to hike your own hike. John Muir was supposed to have said that he didn't like the word "hike;" that he more preferred the word "saunter." At 68, I definitely come closer to a saunter than a hike. I saw a T-shirt in Mountain Crossings that said the same thing about hiking ones own hike, and even though I've pretty much always practiced that philosophy, I now believe it to be more true than ever. It's not just about the pace a person hikes, or the gear you have, but the entire experience. From the planning to the drive back home, a person needs to remember that the hike is his/her experience and to plan it accordingly. I know that sounds a little trite, but it's an important value for someone whether on a day hike or a thru hike. Of course, the most important thing is to quit saying some day and get one's rear end out in the woods and soak in as much as possible. It was Teddy Roosevelt (although he wasn't talking about backpacking, per se) who said," Far better is it to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure .... than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much, because they live in a gray twilight that knows not defeat or victory." Get your rear end in the woods!

Spring Camping in the Sipsey Wilderness

I had listened to the weatherman talking about some possible storms for the weekend, so I thought, "What a great time to get into the woods!" Seriously ... I know some would think that is absolutely the best time to stay home, but I'm a little strange that way. The storms weren't due for until the next day, so that would give me a day to get to a bluff or a cliff overhang of some kind and be able to stay dry. Besides, some of the wildflowers would be blooming, so I really needed to get my lens to the woods to capture some of that wild beauty.

Since the next morning was supposed to be sunny and cool, but the rain was supposed to move in the next afternoon, I had the great idea to wait until my wife got home from work, tell her goodbye, and head to the woods for a night time hike-in. 

For some strange reason, when I know the trails I'll be hiking and I know in the general area I'll be setting up camp, I love to hike in at night. There is an added mystery to the woods hiking at night. A night hiker has to pick his/her steps a little more carefully, listen to the night sounds a little harder, and feel the comfort of what he/she cannot see in the surrounding woods. There are feral pigs, coyotes, a few deer, a turkey or two, and of course, opossums, armadillos, and always the sounds of owls declaring their hunting territories. I think the experiences and mysteries of the woods are illuminated by hiking at night.


So, I left the house about 6:00 PM or so and arrived at the trailheads of FT 208 and FT 206 about 9-ish ... a perfect time to begin a trek into the Sipsey Wilderness. I needed a base camp and knew of a little bluff down the trail that would give me some shelter if the rains moved in the next night, so I headed that way. I stopped a couple of times along the trail and turned off my headlamp to marvel at the beauty of the forest at night. It's amazing how some of the landmarks that are so familiar during the day look entirely different at night. I found my landmarks and after negotiating a creek crossing or two, arrived at the bluff which would be my home for the next three nights.


I contemplated building a small fire in a fire-ring, but decided to spend my time setting up my camp. I pitched my MSR Hubba-hubba and thought about not putting on the fly so I could see the moon and stars which were glorious. However, since the late night weather was a little iffy, I decided just to put on the fly and roll back the vestibules. I love to lie in the mesh tent on a crisp, clear night when I can see the sky. One of the great things about my trips into the Sipsey Wilderness with its steep walled canyons is that I can usually find a bluff large enough to sit under and cook. I have no problem pitching my tent out in the rain, but I prefer not to have to arrange some type of shelter under which to cook, or, even worse, to cook under the vestibule of my tent. Thus, I usually have in mind a bluff or two I can get to for a base camp. I can think of seven or eight bluff overhangs where one can seek shelter from a storm. I'm sure there are many more.

It didn't take me long to snug my down bag around me and fall asleep. I had on some new down socks I'd just purchased, so my toes were warm. I had on my little fleece hoody, so my ears were warm. And I had on my favorite Buff, so my head was warm. The sounds of the nearby creek were my "white noise," and I knew I'd sleep soundly. I'm sure I had a smile on my face when my eyes closed for the night.

The next morning I awoke with the sun shining on my tent. It had been after midnight when I'd finally crawled in my tent, so I slept later than I usually sleep back in the world. It was crisp and sunny and an ear worm of Willie Nelson's "Good morning, America, how are you?" boiled out of my brain as I looked at the woods for the first time in the daylight. Good grief, it was all green. (Well, duh! I had last camped before anything had leafed out, so the spring colors were new to me there.) The woods look so luscious in the spring when I've been camping all winter with bare trees. 

Ah, camp coffee on a beautiful morning. Does it get any better?. I quickly fired up my Soto Regulator stove and had water boiling quickly. After savoring half a cup of Via I pulled out a breakfast of eggs, ham, and various peppers. When I opened my little cook kit box, I was shocked to see that my spoon was broken. Granted it was a 15-year old polycarbonate that had seen a lot of trips and scooped a lot of meals, but I still had never thought about it breaking (unless I stepped on it or something). I always thought that polycarbonate stuff was virtually unbreakable. Anyway, I struggled to eat my breakfast holding the fat part of my spoon with the tip of my thumb and forefinger and knew that I didn't want to eat like that the next three days. Something had to be done ...

My cooking area under the bluff

Okay, so I had to be my own MacGyver and make a spoon from something I had available. After looking around at my stuff, I decided to take my hiking water bottle--actually a 20-oz green tea bottle that I carry on my pack strap--and cut it to make a spoon. I really didn't want to tear up something that would cost me to replace, and I had several other bottles back in my camping gear tub. I cut and I trimmed and I tried it out. I trimmed again and tried it again. Finally--tah-dah, I had something that would work to eat the remainder of my meals without dumping most of it on my old grey beard. It wasn't beautiful, but it would work to shovel some food into this old mouth.

My MacGyvered spoon

After breakfast I decided to take a wee walk in the beautiful sunny and clear morning. A few wildflowers were blooming along the trail, though I had already waited too late to catch the flame azaleas. The mayapples were not yet blooming nor were the trilliums. I don't know the names of many of the wildflowers, but I do love to look at them. I guess I should get a Wildflowers of Northern Alabama book and take it to the Wilderness with me, but that may be too much information for my old brain.

Afternoon brought increasing clouds and I thought the rains were on their way. However, it sprinkled for about ten minutes, then stopped. I spent most of the afternoon trying to pull some dry wood up under the end of the overhang so I could have enough for my evening fire. I don't have to have a fire, but I do love one when I can build one. 

For the evening meal I pulled out my WhiteBox alcohol stove and decided to heat my supper water with it. I hope to section hike on the AT in a couple of months and I'm still trying to decide whether to take my Soto Regulator and a couple of canisters or my WhiteBox stove and a bottle of alcohol. So, for base-camping when I only hike in a couple of miles, I'm hauling in both to play with. I have a 1.5L MSR Titan titanium pot in which I boil, and I eat in the nestled 1.0L titanium pot. It works out well, but I can't decide on which stove I like best. I have figured out that the alcohol stove takes just under two oz of fuel to bring the l.5L to a complete boil (in warmer weather), so I can figure out how much alcohol to take for the number of meals I have to prepare. The 1.5L is a lot of water, but I have enough for a freeze dried meal, a hot cup of tea/coffee, and enough to rinse my eating pot. I've also figured out that one small canister of fuel will produce a boil six times for my 1.5L pot (in warm weather). I am NOT going to carry both on my section hike, but I have yet to decide which to carry.


That night the temperature was considerably warmer, so I wouldn't need quite so many layers in which to sleep; but the warmer weather portended of things to come. After I fell asleep I was awakened by someone shining a flashlight into my tent ... wait ... no, it was not a flashlight. I was awakened by the sounds of a foraging feral pig about 20 yards from my tent, but sounded as if he was chomping on the rain cover on my pack. I was  pretty sure he didn't have a flashlight, and, after yelling at him to get away from my stuff, I realized that the light was actually lightening coming in from the west. The lightening got closer and the thunder rolled up and down the canyons of the Sipsey Wilderness. I lay there and watched and listened to about 45 minutes of lightening and thunder followed by a brief shower ... and then it was done. The next morning I could tell that it had not rained long, but the completely overcast sky told me that the rainy weather was probably not over.

I cooked oatmeal that morning and ate with my new spoon. After scraping the corners of my mouth for the tenth time, I decided to trim the spoon down a little more. I had trimmed it the night before, but had not quite gotten it where I wanted it.

I took a couple of hikes that morning and afternoon, but didn't get too far from my camp expecting the rains to begin at any time. I camp a lot and always read the forecasts before I hit the woods, but because predicting the weather is not an exact science, I've tried to learn to read the weather better, but I don't seem to be having a very good record. I would have taken bets that it was going to rain several times that day--and it did sprinkle a little--but the storm that I had thought was going to come in never came through.

Dinner that evening was country music on the iPod, chicken fajita wraps with some fresh jalapeños, some good Tillamook Extra Sharp Cheddar, and some strong lemon zest tea ... and, at a break in the music, I sang the Jalapeño Chorus, thanks to Handel's composition which I once sung, and I could almost heart the harmony part. Fortunately, no one was around to hear it, but I may have served to scare the pigs away. I wished I had had something sweet for desert, but I hadn't planned well for needing sweet after a Mexican dish. I had also wished for an adult beverage, but because the Sipsey Wilderness is within the Bankhead National Forest where they frown harshly on such things, I didn't pack that in ... however, I could almost imagine the taste of a margarita or a glass of sangria. Too bad they don't make exceptions for old men camping by themselves ... what could it hurt?

It was really muggy during the night and I woke up to a couple of long rolls of thunder up the river canyon. It rained sometime during the night but was not raining when I woke up. After a breakfast of Four-Cheese Potatoes with lots of jalapeño bacon bits, I started to gather things together and pack up for the trip out. Just as I was struggling to get my tent fly folded the sky opened and the flood began--just in time for the hike out ... well, that's spring camping in most of the country.

I got my gear packed up and thought about sitting under the bluff for a while to see if the storm would blow over. The thunder and lightening had started up again in earnest and I was a little concerned about using my trekking poles on the hike out. Oh, well, I thought to myself, the Sipsey Wilderness isn't the worst place I could think of to get zapped ... not that I was hoping to turn in to a crispy critter that day, but figured the lightening was more likely to hit one of the hundred thousand oaks, hickories, magnolias, or pines which were way above my head, so I headed out to my car. It rained most of the way and as most backpackers know, when it rains while you're hiking you're either going to get wet from the outside or from the inside, if not both. Fortunately, I had brought dry clothes into which to change and drive back. Once on the way out when the rains let up a little, I pushed the hood on my jacket back and looked back on the forest behind me and thought, Wow! God really did well in dressing up this forest! Its beauty almost takes my breath away.

It's probably all my fault ...

The first time I took my son, Jeff, on a campout he was barely old enough to sit up. He and I went car camping at Rocky Springs on the Natchez Trace. It was just us guys ... and I know he was only barely old enough to sit up because while I was putting up our pup tent, he didn't sit up. In fact, even though I had sat him safely in the middle of the picnic table while I put up the tent and when I turned around he wasn't on the table any more. He was on the ground in the gravel and dirt. Oops!

As I remember--and it was probably 35 years ago--he didn't cry or scream or whimper; in fact, he made no sound at all. (I like to think that he landed on his hard head, so it didn't hurt him.) And I was glad his mother wasn't with us to scold me for being so careless ... So, it's probably all my fault that he's the way he is now ...

Sometime about that time, we put him in a backpack and hiked through Mammoth Cave in Kentucky. I figure when they turned out the lights and we stood there in the pitch dark, the trauma of the darkness probably worked on his young head. And in the winter we used to hike in the Smokies with him in the backpack. Maybe the cold got to him when we'd put him in the creek.

A couple of years later, his mother and I decided to take him on an overnight canoe trip on the Strong River from D'Lo to where the Strong runs into the Pearl River. We stopped at a sandbar that afternoon and scrambled up the side of the hill from the river to find a place to set up our tent. I think we cooked and ate down on the sandbar, but that night--his first campout in the woods--he "heard a bear" during the night. Of course, there weren't any bears in south-central Mississippi--probably an armadillo--but he was convinced that a bear had walked by our tent. I know he slept, because I was awake off and on during the night listening to the sounds of the woods and the river flowing below us.

The next morning we loaded the canoe and headed on down the river. We came to a section of riffles (there really aren't any navigable rapids in Mississippi) and I saw an inner-tube that had washed up on the side of the riffles. I asked Jeff if he'd like to ride the rapids on the inner-tube and he said he would, although his mother wasn't sure it was such a good idea. We got out of the canoe at the top of the riffles and got the inner-tube and read the river to see how he would float. Then I scrambled down to the bottom of the riffles so I could catch him when he came floating down to me. I signaled to my wife to turn him loose and all was going well until his inner-tube went left when I had thought it would go right. He quickly caught the current and went to the opposite side of the river from where I was standing. Did I swim after him? No! I just stood there with my mouth open wondering why I had mis-read the river. Suddenly, I thought I'd better go after him, but by that time he was past me and floating on down the river and the canoe was at the top of the riffles. By the time I got to the canoe, my wife and I had paddled through the riffles, and caught up with him, he was well down the river, just floating and watching the scenery, seemingly not worried about a thing. Maybe the trauma of that made him the way he is ... and it's probably all my fault.

I remember several car camping events after that and another trip down the Strong River, but nothing that would serve to shape him until we sent him to a summer camp in North Carolina. At that summer camp, he slept in a cabin with screens for windows  all summer, hiked on the high mountain trails, swam in cold lakes or the ice cold creeks, learned to build fires with one match and no paper, and camped in the rain and under the stars in some of the most beautiful parts of our nation.

When we lived in Colorado for a few years, he and I once skied with backpacks up to Tennessee Pass near Leadville in January and camped on six feet of snow at 13,000 feet at -15 degrees ... maybe it was the thin air, or the cold night, or something else that made him the way he is now ... and it's probably all my fault. Or maybe it was the backpacking down to Horseshoe Mesa in the grand canyon, or rock-hopping above Moraine Lake in Canada, watching for grizzlies while hiking in Glacier NP, or watching shaggy mountain sheep in the little town of Waterton Lakes. There was bound to be something we/I didn't foresee to make him like he is ...

So, several years ago, he and his new wife moved to Oregon where they can hike, backpack, raft, and bicycle at least every other week. The get to gaze on Mt. Hood everyday. They've hiked the 90 miles of the Wonderland Trail around Mt. Ranier, snow-shoed around Crater Lake in January, climbed Mt Adams in Washington (three times) and South Sister near Bend, rafted Hell's Canyon in Idaho, canoed on unimaginably beautiful lakes in Oregon, and now he wants to climb Mt. Hood. What is wrong with this guy? He even gave his wife an engagement ring at the top of Multnomah Falls, and when he gets lazy she pushes him to get out on the trails ... I know it's all my fault! 

He keeps inviting me out to Oregon to hike with him and his wife ... and we went out last summer for a short backpack up to the Green Lakes area. He remembers going with me when I could do 15 or so miles a day ... but not any more, especially at altitude ... but he can ,,, And does ... And he really loves it!

I've ruined him, haven't I? And all because I left him on the table while I was pitching the tent. Do you think I'd do it all again? In a heartbeat ... his head is a lot harder now!

Bushwhacking to a new area (for me) in the Sipsey Wilderness

I had been reading some posts about the Clifty Creek falls area of the Sipsey Wilderness so I decided to try to find a base camp site and the falls. When I got out of my car mid-morning on a Monday, it was still raining, but not pouring. I had driven in the Bunyan Hill Road entrance to the north end of FT 200, where the bridge crosses Borden Creek. There is a gate at the bridge, so I parked my vehicle along the road with a couple of other vehicles. After changing from driving shoes to my hiking boots and getting all of my rain gear on--no small feat in a Miata--I headed up FS 224, formerly known as Bunyan Hill Road. Water was running down the gullies, so I had to be careful not to overtop my boots in the mud. That trail is also a horse trail, and since the horse people usually ride on weekend, this Monday's trail was severely mucked up.

After I had hiked up the trail a couple of miles to just east of the intersection of the FS 226 (old Cullman Motorway on some maps) where, judging from my GPS, the bushwhacking would be mostly downhill to where a feeder stream enters Clifty Creek. The first couple of hundred yards of the woods was thick with briars and blowdowns, so I had to be careful not to tear my pack cover. The going was slow and the briars were nasty. As I got to the feeder stream and the little valley began to widen out, the valley floor opened up some to make the traveling easier. The stream was pretty and growing from the rain and I soon came upon a small waterfall that was about ten feet high. After getting a photo there I worked my way along a steep hillside and down across the creek.

As the stream got even wider, I hoped that I was on the side of the stream where I could find a good campsite, because the farther down the valley I got crossing the stream was going to be problematic after the amount of rain that was still falling. Fortunately, I crossed to the south side of the stream before it got too wide and before I encountered another feeder stream coming in from a little valley to the north. Even in the rain the streams were beautiful in sight and sound. I love to find a campsite near enough to a stream to hear it running noisily throughout the night--doesn't everyone? And as these streams were growing from the rains, I was going to be able to hear running water from almost anywhere in the creek valley.

And because the rain was still falling, I began to look up on the sides of the bluffs to see if I could find a space large enough to get out of the rain for my cooking and relaxing by a fire. I had studied my GPS and topo maps and the area looked promising for a bluff. I can pitch my Tarptent Rainbow on almost any small level space, but I prefer to find a bluff under which to sit when I cook. Always more pleasant that way. I was prepared not to find a bluff, however, and wait out the rain in my tent if necessary. The forecasts had predicted an end to the rain late that afternoon and it did seem to be letting up a little.

I followed the feeder stream down to where it intersected with Clifty Creek and found a nice level campsite with lots of room for a group to camp--plenty of fairly level tent sites; however, I wanted to find a bluff if I could and began to backtrack up the draw to find an overhang large enough under which to sit. It was still raining and I was beginning to get wet inside my rain gear--which is usually the case, as most backpackers know. After about half an hour I found an overhang up the hillside. There was a good place for cooking and a great place to build a fire. Then I began looking around for a place not too far away to pitch my Rainbow. Well, that was going to be a problem ... the hillside in front of the bluff dropped down pretty steeply and the only place I could find was under the drip line of the bluff. I didn't really want to climb in and out of my tent with the bluff dripping on my vestibule. Then I remembered that I had brought along my 9x9 Noah's Tarp, so I pulled it out and strung it between two trees and pitched my tent right in the (former) drip line. Now I could get in/out of my tent without being dripped on.

I followed the bluff around the side of the hill and was able to pick up enough dry wood to build a pretty good fire until I could dry some other wood. I stacked some of the wet wood around my campfire to dry. I pulled up a couple of flat rocks to use as a cooking table and I was set for the three days.

I had recently purchased a Platypus Gravity System water filter and I went to the nearby small water fall to fill up my dirty water bag. After filling it, I filtered my water into a clean bag and then refilled the "dirty" bag. It took only about three minutes to filter four liters of water into the clean bag, so I pulled out my second "clean" bag and filtered another four liters. Then I refilled my "dirty" bag and figured twelve liters of water would be way more than enough for the next three days. I probably wouldn't take the Platy Gravity Sys if I were covering the miles, but for a base camp, it was perfect! 

I spent most of Monday afternoon/evening getting my base camp fixed up just right and heard my stomach growling for supper before it got dark. I started my fire and opened my MSR Titan 1.5L cook kit with the 1.0L pot inside a DIY cozy. Supper was done shortly and I wished for a bag of wine, but sadly, had to settle for decaf Via and cool water. I pulled out my Kindle and read a few pages in a Jeffrey Archer novel and decided I would read some more in bed. I brushed my old teeth and made sure the remaining coals of the fire were covered with ashes so that I might find a red coal the next morning. I climbed in about 8:30 or so and read for another 30 minutes before realizing that my Kindle had shut off and was resting on my chest. I listened at the creek gurgling down below and heard a distant owl hoot, and don't remember much after that.

The critter's nest

While brushing my teeth down the bluff from my campsite my head lamp shined up on a nest of some kind. It was made of pretty big sticks and there was no evidence of bird poop around, so I figured it was a critter of some kind rather than a crow or other bird. I looked at the nest over the next couple of days and, although it looked as if some of the sticks had been rearranged and more had been added, I never did see or hear a critter. The nest wasn't the kind of nest a bird would sit on but one something would tunnel into. It had a small opening and was about five feet off of the ground, so whatever it was climbed up there to get in the nest. Of course, the critter may have been hunkered down back in the back side of the nest, asleep. I kind of wanted to know what it was, but at the same time, didn't want to disturb it enough so that it would leap out on my while I was brushing my teeth.

Tuesday morning I awoke to a cloudy, but not rainy morning. I stirred my fire enough to uncover some red coals and with a little blowing and some dryer lint was able to get my fire going without a spark from my flint/steel. I was definitely cooler than the previous day, but not so cold that I needed gloves.

I cooked some oatmeal and made some good, strong Via and sat enjoying the view from my little home in the woods. I love the adventure of being alone in the woods. I guess I'm a throw-back to older days, but I am rarely uncomfortable by myself in the woods.


Tuesday, I had decided that my main goal would be to find a better way to get out of the woods than bushwhacking back up through the briars and inclines. Across the feeder stream by which I was camping I spotted some red markers tied on to limbs. These markers seemed to be marking an old road of some kind. Over the years I have found that the Sipsey if full of old logging roads and sometimes following them has been part of an adventure. (Once I happened upon the remains of an old still.) I crossed the stream and decided to follow it west--and up--to see if it led back to old Bunyan Hill Road/FS 224. I followed the old road about a mile and a half and could tell that it did indeed work back to an intersection with FS 224. It was not a particularly easy road to follow, but I was easier than bushwhacking back up the creek ravine down which I had come. If you've hiked in the Sipsey Wilderness you know what kind of old road about which I'm referring. It's a leveled out roadbed grown over by 30 year old trees. The roads could never actually be used as roads anymore, but sometimes make it easier to bushwhack. I knew that I could get back to my car if I followed Clifty Creek to an intersection with Brazeil Creek, and then Braziel Creek to an intersection with Borden Creek, and Borden Creek back to the bridge, but I estimated that to be about 4.5 or more miles, and I wanted to shorten my trip and experience a new part of the Wilderness.

After satisfying that I could follow the old road back to an intersection when I hiked out Thursday, I followed the sounds of water down another ravine to see if there was a waterfall there, but only found a noisy series of riffles amplified by the walls of the ravine. It was a beautiful little area, though, unspoiled by any trails except those made by coyotes, deer, and pigs (ugh!). I often follow game trails when I'm bushwhacking in the Sipsey. Most of them are easier ways to get around the woods. 

Let me interject here that I often bushwhack in the Sipsey. I almost always carry a GPS with waypoints set for my campsite and my car, and I always carry a topo map should something not look right on the GPS. And I have a pretty good sense of direction and knowing where I am in relation to the streams and creeks. I study maps of the area I'm going to hike in before I ever set foot on the trails. I often have to re-orient people I run in to that seem to be confused about where they are. I ran into three college students once near Auburn Falls that didn't have a clue where they were and had been hiking around for a day and a half trying to find Thompson Creek--that was about 75 yards from where they were standing. I showed them on my map where they were and they thanked me and headed off ... in the wrong direction! Oh, well ... some people get more of an adventure than they signed up for.

Clifty Creek Falls

Back to my narrative ... I headed back to my campsite and established where I would cross the feeder stream to keep from crossing two feeder streams when I hiked out in a couple of days. I also spent some time--as I often do in the Sipsey--walking along the bluffs looking for a good campsite under an overhang. My current campsite faced northeast and I wanted to find one that faced southeast if I could. Should a really cold front blow through when I'm back down in this area next winter, I wanted to be more protected than my current campsite might be. So, it was late afternoon when I finally got back to my campsite and I spent the remaining daylight gathering wood for the evening fire the next couple of nights. During the summer I never build fires, but during the late fall through early spring, I almost always build a fire if there is a good place.

Tuesday evening and night were uneventful except I woke up cold during the night realizing that the temp was dropping more than I had anticipated. I had enough sleeping clothes and a warm bag. I just had to put on another pair of socks, pull my hoodie up over my head, and zip up my bag ... which I did and was quickly back to sleep.

Wednesday morning I again used a little dryer lint to start my fire, which I needed to warm up the morning as I fixed my breakfast coffee. Getting water for my coffee I noticed ice in the bottom of my Platy bags--not solid ice, but enough to let me know it had gotten several degrees below freezing.

After a lazy breakfast I studied my topo map a little to see if I could see an easy way to hike up Clifty Creek toward the falls at the end of a canyon. I couldn't see anything particularly inviting, so I just decided to follow CC up its west side to see how far up I could get. After a half mile or so, it seemed that I had stumbled onto an old road that paralleled the creek. I followed it for a while until it seemed to disappear where the side of the ravine had washed out, then followed a game trail. The sides of the creek's valley got more narrow and more steep the farther up stream I went, but the sound of water falling was getting louder. The first waterfall I spotted seemed to come into CC from the west side feed into the creek and there was still a lot of water coming down the creek past that waterfall. It was a beautiful waterfall, though, falling about 100 or so feet in a noisy drop. I wondered if that was the CC Falls I had read about, but it didn't much look like the pictures I had seen on a Sipsey Hiking Club blog. A little voice told me that the main falls were up the ravine some more, so I kept hiking. Hiking now was pretty rough because the sides of the valley were so steep.

As I hiked I suddenly realized that I was hearing a bigger waterfall, and then I saw the end of the canyon and a larger waterfall that I recognized from some pictures. I'm not sure it was any more beautiful than the waterfall I had first spotted, but there was a lot more water coming over it than the first one. As I pushed on around the end of the canyon trying to get a good photo spot, I spotted a third falls coming over the edge of the bluff. So, three waterfalls at the end of Clifty Creek canyon ... not a bad spot to have a little picnic. However, after looking for a place to sit and be able to enjoy some jerky and juice, I spotted a sunny spot with some grass ... however, it was on the other side of CC. Making my way over was an adventure, but with the help of some large, house-size rocks and a fallen log, I made my way across, climbed up the steep side of the ravine, and flopped down in the bright sunshine. Ah, what a day!

Eventually, though, I had to make my way back down the creek and up to my bluff home. My old legs had gotten stiff and it took a few minutes to scoot back down the sides of the ravine to the creek, get across the rocks and log, and back up to the game trail on which I had traversed to the three falls. 

Eventually, I was able to find the old road bed and follow it most of the way back down to where the feeder streams flowed into the Sipsey. Right at that confluence of the feeder stream and CC, the campsite there was inviting and I pledged to return in the fall before the cooler nights came in. I tend to camp at the lower elevations and bottoms of the valleys during the warmer climes and up on the hillsides when it's cooler and the colder air is settling in the bottoms of the valleys. I learned that by camping in Colorado when I lived out there.

Wednesday nights supper was very pleasant as I reflected back on my three water fall find that afternoon. I'm pretty certain that only during the wetter periods would a person find all three waterfalls flowing. If you want to see waterfalls in the Sipsey you have to go in the late winter/early spring or after torrential rains. A lot of the smaller falls don't do their thing in the depths of the summer. The past couple of summers even Thompson Creek has dried up. White Oak Creek stayed dry for a long, long time.

Thursday morning I packed up and headed up the old road bed I had checked out on Tuesday. It was a pleasant and easy hike winding up around the hillsides until I got just past where I had turned around on Tuesday. As the road got to the top of the plateaus that led to the ridge line of Bunyan Hill Road, I found hundreds of blowdowns and struggled to keep on the old road. The previous year's two storms and tornados had really done some work to the large trees. It was not easy going and I had to use my GPS often to keep heading toward FS 224. Eventually, after many, many extra steps, almost like bushwhacking, I found 224 and wasn't certain that the way out I had chosen was any shorter, easier, or faster than just bushwhacking back up the way I had come down. However, as I journeyed back down Bunyan Hill Road to my vehicle I saw a lone wildflower and was again reminded of the immense beauty of the Sipsey Wilderness.