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.

Changing Weather in the Sipsey Wilderness

 I hiked into the Sipsey Wilderness on a Tuesday in shorts and a T-shirt in January. It was unseasonably warm, but my joints told me that the weather would be changing soon. I hiked in to a bluff where I sometimes camp when the stormy rains are expected. The bluff offers me a place to cook in the rain and a safe place from falling limbs and trees when the winds begin to blow. This bluff is particularly nice in that the fire ring is also under the bluff so I can build a fire during the rain. The problem with bluffs in the SW when it is unseasonably warm is that they tend to drip from condensation--usually right on my bald head. So, when I got to this bluff I hung my footprint over my cooking spot to keep the dripping off of my head.

The Sipsey Wilderness has a lot of bluffs, some large enough to pitch a tent under and some just large enough to bivouac under in an emergency. I've found about five or six that are really comfortable for a multi-day trip. I'm at the age now that I enjoy hiking in a few miles (usually less than five), setting up a comfortable camp, and day-hiking around the wilderness to explore.

On this Tuesday, I drove into the Thompson Creek TH about 10-ish and headed toward the bluff, arriving about an hour and 20 minutes later. After I had cooled off some and hung the footprint over the rock I planned to sit on, I went to the nearby creek for water. Most of the time during the winter, I don't carry a filtering system because I have to boil the water anyway and it will quickly cool in the winter weather. While my water was boiling, I set up my Rainbow TarpTent. After I boiled some water, I made some black bean soup that I had ordered through Mast General Store. Pretty tasty, but needed a jalapeño to add a little heat. 

 After lunch I had two choices: take a nap or hike. I decided to do the latter, since rain was predicted for the next day, I might not get to hike much. I hiked down the White Oak Creek valley and climbed upon a couple of rocks that offered me a higher view of the creek valley. The Sipsey Wilderness is a beautiful area and I always enjoy hiking and looking at the terrain during different seasons. Actually, I've gotten where I enjoy hiking in the winter more than any other season in the deep South. It's less buggie and, because the leaves are off the hardwood trees, one can have an mildly obstructed view of the terrain.

 

After a brief foray down the trail and back, I decided to take that late afternoon nap after all. I dozed for an hour or so, not wanting to spoil my sleep for the night, then got up to think about a fire and some supper. I had camped under this bluff about a month earlier and cut enough wood to give me a good burn for the night. Some of the wood was still in long logs that I had dragged up, so I had to saw some fire-length sticks and quickly got them piled up by the fire ring. I read a quote the other day that said something like, "Early Americans cut wood to keep their fires going and stay warm. Contemporary Americans stay warm by cutting wood for their fires." It's true! Anytime I'm out on the trail and I get a little chilled, I get up and saw some woods. It's always good for getting the body's BTUs up. Because not a lot of campers come up in the area where I was camping, there is generally an abundance of downed wood to cut for fires.

And speaking of fires, I normally start my camp fires with lint balls with some paraffin dripped them. My flint/steel generally can get the lint burning after only two or three sparks. After the paraffin starts burning, I pile on some ends of dead fir branches--something I call spider webs because of their size. However, in this camp site, there is only one medium size fir tree anywhere around, so I generally have to forage for dead wait-a-minute vines which work almost as well, although sometimes tough on the hands when gathering them. Over on the east end of the Wilderness, near FT 200, there is an abundance of fir trees, so I never have to stress over fire starter. There aren't many on the upper reaches of White Oak Creek.

I started my fire, got my water boiling for my supper, and sat there loving solitude the woods and the wilderness. Almost exactly when I was thinking about solitude, from less than 50 yards away an alpha male coyote howled. It sounded just like the traditional howl of a wolf that you've heard on the National Geographic channel. I don't think there are any wolves in north Alabama, so I'm pretty sure it was a coyote. I have heard coyotes in the SW before, but usually up on the ridges at night. Anyway, this alpha male let out a long, low, and very loud howl. As soon as he had finished his howl, about six or so others began to howl and yip. They sounded like females and young pups--not like the alpha male. I wasn't especially frightened because I was pretty sure they were coyotes and not wolves ... but just to make sure, I put another couple of sticks on the fire to build it up a little. I also thought about what I would do if I looked out over the fire and saw a dozen or more eyes glowing in the night ... 

I'm pretty sure the alpha coyote smelled my fire and decided to gather his pack before heading up the trail. I never heard anymore the rest of the night. Maybe he was gathering his pack to get somewhere protected before the night time storm rolled in. I see signs of pigs all over the SW, but haven't paid much attention to the signs of coyotes. So many people bring their dogs on the trails in the SW that when I see dog-type prints and scat, I assume it's domestic dogs ... but maybe not. Coyotes are usually skittish and don't come around where humans are, but get braver and less reserved the more humans they are around.

Sometime during the night the wind started blowing horrendously. As I said, I wasn't worried because I was under a protective bluff. Then about 6:30 AM, the rains and colder winds came in. Comfortable in my tent, I was in no rush to get up. After about three hours, I got out of my tent to see if the rains had diminished or stopped. When one camps in the forest it's sometimes difficult to tell whether the rains have stopped because of all of the dripping off of the trees and rocks. The rain had stopped ... the dripping continued for an hour or so.

One thing I always look forward to when it rains and storms in the Sipsey Wilderness are the changes in the creeks and rivers. White Oak Creek is fed by enough smaller streams in the valley that it usually gets up in a hurry. While eating some oatmeal, I sat and listened to the ever increasing roar of the waters. I have seen the Thompson Creek, Borden Creek, and the Sipsey River get out of their banks, so I'm always conscious of where I camp when the forecast is for rain. 

I love to go out when the creeks are up and take photos of the changes. 

After hiking around for a couple of hours admiring the beauty of the fast-flowing streams, I made my way back down to my campsite to cut some more wood for the evening. I could tell by the clouds and wind that the weather wasn't through putting on a show, so I figured that I would need some more firewood for the night.

After a filling supper of beef stroganoff and some hot tea, I through some more logs on the fire to see if I could coax the coyote pack to come up and join me around my warm fire. They didn't seem to be interested in joining me, so I turned on a few tunes on my phone and stared at the fire for a while.

About 9:00 or so, I noticed that it was raining ... only the rain didn't sound like rain. I pulled up my hood and walked out from under the bluff to see beads of ice bouncing off of my sleeves. It wasn't raining, it was sleeting. After letting my fire burn down, I decided to brush my teeth and turn in. 

The next morning was sunny and warmer, so after some granola and a couple of cups of Via, I packed up and started my hike out. Hiking out is always a time when I reflect on my trip and decide what I want to do the next time I come out in the wilderness -- because there will always be a next time.

Walkabout 2011 - Mt Mitchell, Black Mtn Crest Trail, Table Rock, Kitazuma, Curtis Creek

For the 2011 annual Walkabout I had decided to gain some elevation; not elevation like the Rockies, of course, but the greatest elevation east of the Mississippi River. After driving out of Mississippi (max elevation 600 ft), I camped at Black Rock Mountain State Park in north Georgia. The next morning I drove to Mt Mitchell State Park in North Carolina. For those who don't know or have forgotten, Mt Mitchell is the highest point east of the Mississippi River at 6684 ft. (Interestingly, when we lived in Colorado, our house was only a couple of hundred feet lower in elevation than Mt. Mitchell.) The little state park (6320 ft) only has nine walk in tent sites, so one must plan ahead to stay there ... and the sites are almost never vacant. The first night a cloud and a two-hour rain storm passed through. I had a good tarp over my table and have a great tent in which to stow my gear, so I did not get a drop on me, except the few I got walking down to the restroom. Most of the night I sat at the table and read from my Bill Bryson book ... I love to sleep in a tent in the rain!

I'm again trying to visit some places I visited as a boy ... and by 'boy' I mean from the age of nine until I was almost 18. I have a bucket list of re-visits before I can't get to them anymore. After a day of acclimation and a short hike around Craggy Gardens on the Blue Ridge Parkway--a place I had first visited when I was ten, I set out on my main trip: a 4.9 mile hike from Mt Mitchell to a campsite at Deep Gap along the Black Mountain Crest Trail. Deep Gap sits at about 5600 ft in elevation, but one loses those 800 ft over and over again, and finally steeply down to Deep Gap.

Beginning in the Mt. Mitchell parking lot, one travels north through the picnic area to find the Deep GapTrail (Black Mtn Crest Trail) trailhead. The trail follows the crest of the mountains on an easy trail from Mitchell (6684') to Craig (6663'), then down and back up to Big Tom (6584'), down and back up to Balsam Cone (6596'), down and back up to Cattail Peak (6584'), down and steeply up Potato Hill, and, finally, steeply down to Deep Gap(5600'). Deep Gap is the only legal campsite between Bowlens Creek, at the north end, to Mt. Mitchell. I saw several illegal campsites on Potato Hill and Cattail Peak. The state park boundary runs along both sides of the trail until just before the top of Cattail Peak. An orange plastic blaze pretty clearly marks the way along the trail--very difficult to miss. The downside to this trail is that there is not a great water source at Deep Gap, so one has to carry a gallon or so of water for the trip. There IS a water source about half a mile below Deep Gap, but the rangers say that it is not always reliable this time of the year.

I left my vehicle in the Mitchell parking lot about 9:00 AM, with the proper registration form on my dashboard. The walk over to Mt Craig was fairly comfortable, except for the big stone steps going down. These steps work on a backpackers knees when carrying a load, but the trail is a popular one with the dayhikers. I couldn't help but think that these steps would also not be fun when an older gentleman returned the next day. As one approaches Mt. Craig, there is a warning sign to "stay on the marked trail" to avoid the delicate plants on the second highest mountain east of the Mississippi.

The hike down off of Craig to Big Tom is not a killer, but it does have some steep places along the trail. After topping Big Tom--named after the guy who found Dr. Mitchell's body in 1857--the trail down was more challenging with rocky scramble places that the park service has put ropes. There are two sections with fixed ropes, the first obviously placed to assist the hiker, but the second looked as if it was placed to direct the hiker to the side of the trail that the park service wanted hikers to travel. I don't know that they were all that needed, but they were helpful. A person carrying a pack has to pay attention to footing and not walk mindlessly because the trail goes over several rocky areas. The trail is very well traveled and the large rock sections are easily traversed.

As I climbed Balsam Cone I could tell that I was not in the top physical shape that I should have been for an easy climb. I took off my pack and rested a little while eating lunch. I was feeling pretty good about my hike so far until the members of a senior adult tennis club (that's what they looked like) came strolling up to eat their picnic lunches. I'm not positive that they were even perspiring. Some of the women looked like they were fresh off the church bus on a weekday outing.

The trip down the north side of Balsam Cone was even more challenging. Parts of it were steep and rocky. I was trying to look around at the scenery at the same time I was watching each step. The forest was thick with fir trees and other undergrowth. This is the summer, after all, and lots of summer plants and vines had crept out to touch the hiker. The state park rangers and forest service rangers must monitor this trail frequently because the fallen trees--of which there were many--are skillfully cut for the backpacker to travel. I can only remember one or two trees that I had to maneuver under. The next day as I was hiking out, I passed a couple and their two granddaughters, ages 12 and 16. The grandfather was enjoying himself ... the grandmother was not ... and the girls weren't sure whether or not they were having fun. I got the idea that the grandmother was holding the little group up so much the other three were frustrated.

The state park ended between Balsam Cone and Cattail Peak; although I wasn't sure exactly where. Another hiker's blog about the trip says that it is very obvious where the park ends and the NF begins, but I couldn't tell. The trail had some repairs and cross-trail logs to stop erosion practically the whole way to Deep Gap. Anyway, I was too busy watching my step along the way. Except for the first three-quarters of a mile between Mitchell and Craig, the hiker/backpacker has to watch footing. It's not treacherous, just constantly rough and rocky.

After a climb up Cattail Peak there is a big level area where I counted four or five fire rings. The wood is plentiful there and there is a sign to tell the hiker how far he/she has come, and how far he/she has to go. Interestingly, the sign has been pulled out of the ground and is leaning against a tree not accurately pointing in the right directions. Also interestingly, there seemed to be a "piss tube" like we used in the military ... a piece of three-inch PVC vertically driven or buried in the ground for the streaming of urine. It seemed widely used by males ... couldn't say how accurately it was used by females, but, honestly, I've never seen one out in the wild before ... it was certainly being enjoyed by the blowflies.

One the way down the north side of Cattail I encountered a group of ten or eleven young girls from a "summer camp" in the area (there are many). These young ladies looked to be 12, 13, or 14 yrs old, being led by a young man of about 19 or 20. They were stopped in the trail waiting on two girls who had fallen behind or stopped for some necessary relief. The girls said they were on a four-day hike, had hiked up to Deep Gap the day before, and were on their way to Commissary Ridge campsite for the night. I was impressed! The hike up to Deep Gap from any direction is formidable, and it's a good six-mile hump from Deep Gap to Commissary Ridge. Although their packs didn't look too heavy, they looked none too tired for the mileage. They sarcastically said that they had been promised some ice cream if they survived the four-day outing, but they weren't counting on it. They became more excited when I said that the little pizza store at the top of Cattail was open, but that all the owner had was pepperoni, and that the store was out of cokes and only had diet drinks. The look of anticipated ecstasy on one of the girls face quickly caused me to tell them that I was only kidding.

As I was hiking out the next day, I passed two 20-something women who were enjoying a lunch break on the south side of Cattail. They were on their way to Potato Hill trying to get in shape for an extended upcoming backpacking trip. We chatted equipment for a while because one of the women was just beginning to purchase her equipment. Of course, I don't need much encouragement to compare opinions about backpacking equipment.

The north side of Potato Hill was a challenge to tired legs and very tired feet. It went down and further down, and down some more ... and down some more. When the terrain would level out some, I would think that I was closing in on the campsite, but then the trail would go down more. At 2:00 PM I finally recognized the campsite from a couple of pictures on the web. I found a fire ring around which the grass obviously had been slept on by ten or so young girls. Unfortunately, they or someone before them had brought food in tin cans and had left the burned cans in the fire ring. That is one of my pet peeves about hiking in the woods ... I continue to be amazed a people who do not clean up after themselves. Since I was not going to build a fire, I found a place back in the woods a bit to stretch my hammock. After a snack and a nap, I woke up to see the sun beginning to fall down in the west and prepared my eyes (and my camera) for a beautiful sunset. The temperature was about 65 degrees with a wind out of the west at about 10-15 mph ... perfect weather for a campout. I pulled out my freeze-dried chicken stew and fired up my Jetboil ... and, BTW, while I'm on Jetboil stoves ... the new ones have this thingy on the side to tell a person when the water is boiling. IMO, a person who can't tell that his/her water is boiling has no business cooking in the woods ... or messing with a fire source in the woods ... okay, moving on ...

That night I got my best night's sleep on the whole trip. The wind was constantly sounding through the trees and a recording of it might have been put on one of those ambient noise machines that supposedly help people fall asleep and stay asleep. I did wake about 2:00 AM from a dream about sweeping out a school building, but quickly fell back to sleep, waking about 6:00 AM ... my usual waking time. Well, actually I wake at 5:00, but I was in the Eastern Time Zone, so 6:00 was my 5:00 ...

I began my hike out at 8:30 the next morning and climbed uphill for one complete hour before the trail leveled off any. Fortunately, I had drunk all but a liter of water and my pack was considerably lighter. I'm not sure why Potato Hill was named that, but the mental image of a large Idaho potato standing on it's end and being hiked over is a pretty good one. I saw a T-shirt that said, "Attitude is Everything - Have a Good One," and I kept thinking about my good fortune to be in the woods enjoying some of the most beautiful scenery in the eastern US ... consequently, it was not difficult to keep a positive attitude ... and, honestly, for old knees carrying a pack, climbing uphill is less punishing that going steeply downhill. The climb out of Deep Gap was actually not too bad ... the decent down the other side of Potato Hill and the ascent up the north side of Cattail was a challenge. It wasn't too long until I was back on the top of Balsam Cone where the Swannanoa Tennis Club had lunched with me the day before. From Balsam it was back up the ropes on the north side of Big Tom. I wasn't too tired to pretend I was actually doing something dangerous and pulled myself up without a belay. After Big Tom, it wasn't far over to the top of Craig where a day-school class of first- and second-graders was climbing ... their teacher was struggling with the concept of "staying on the trail," which had so plainly been posted on large signs on both sides of the mountain ... too bad first- and second-graders don't comprehend reading so well ... and, needless to say, she didn't linger long on top with the 15-or-so excited children ... in fact, she headed back down before the last few stragglers were herded to the top by a volunteer.

After returning to the parking area, grabbing a soft drink from the concession area, and putting my stuff in my vehicle, I drove 45 minutes or so around to Carolina Hemlocks Campground. I first stayed in the NFS campground when I was 11 or 12 after hiking up the Greybeard Trail, which begins at the back of Montreat Assembly near the town of Black Mountain. I think the old trail follows the old Mt Mitchell toll road ... or, at least, I remember hiking in the late 50s on something like a road up through there. I don't remember much about my stay at Carolina Hemlocks in the 50s except the swimming area on the South Toe River. The campground has been improved by the NFS and even has showers ... which were very nice after four days without a shower ... I stayed in the campground two nights and took a shower both nights ...

The morning after the first night in the CH Campground, I drove over to the Linville Gorge area to climb up on Table Rock. Last summer I descended down into Linville Gorge from the west and camped at the river. I tried to get up the east side of the Gorge to Table Rock, but couldn't make it and return to my camp before dark, so I turned around. This time I drove around the east side to the picnic area south of Table Rock and hiked from that point. After a one-mile hike and getting to watch some rock climbers summit TR after a 300-ft climb, I sat near a spot where I first stood when I was 12 yrs old. It was about 1:00 AM when I was there as a 12 yr old and I left very disappointed ... but that's another story for another time.

Thursday evening, I had a craving for a tomato sandwich, so I went to a little convenience store/fruit stand in Durbin, NC, four miles from Carolina Hemlocks ... I had put "'mater sammich" in my GPS and that's what I got ... and bought a loaf of wheat bread, a jar of Hellman's, and two large tomatoes ... and as soon as I got back to my campsite, I was loving on three big tomato sandwiches ... what else can I say?

On Friday, I packed up and left Carolina Hemlocks for a couple of more check-offs on my bucket list. The plan was to stay at a commercial campground near Old Fort. I had checked it out on a web site and it looked pretty good. When I drove up to the campground, I realized that some company that writes scripts for local politicians must have advertised for the campground. It was horrible! I couldn't stay there. Then I remembered that on the way in to Old Fort I had seen a sign for another Pisgah NF campground: Curtis Creek Campground (No Alcohol Permitted) was about six miles north of Old Fort. I drove on a paved road which became gravel about halfway up the mountain. Curtis Creek Campground was a gem. Most of it was new; which meant fresh outhouses--the big ones, not the portable ones. The new part had about 10 pads for trailers and RVs and four walk-in tent sites, one of which was calling my name. I quickly staked my claim and pitched my tent and hung my hammock. I was in business ...

At the top of the long hill on I-40 that runs from Ridgecrest to Old Fort is a small mountain named Kitsuma ... at least, that's the way the maps show it. When I went to camp nearby for 10 years, it was Kitazuma. In fact, there is a nearby street in the community named Kitazuma. Nevertheless, for one of the recognitions at the nearby camp, a camper seeking the top rank had to meet several tasks. One of the tasks was to run the mile up Kitsuma without stopping ... this was attempted at about 4:30 in the morning after staying up all night to keep a fire burning. I had accomplished this task when I was 11 yrs old, and had not been up Kitsuma since 1961 or '62. Also, down the backside of Kitsuma is a trail along Young's Ridge which runs down to a campground/picnic area near Old Fort. When I was a cabin leader at the camp, I had taken my cabin down the trail, eating blueberries all the way. Now the Young's Ridge trail is a popular bike trail ... and one biker passed me as I was hiking up to the top of Kitsuma Thursday afternoon (For old times sake, I thought about running up the trail again--a mile of switchbacks--but decided that I didn't want to get my shirt all sweaty ... yeah, right ....) When my son had been a camper at the same camp in the late 80s, early 90s, he had climbed Kitsuma several times. I emailed him a picture of the top when I got up there that afternoon.

I got a pizza on my way back through Old Fort and took it back to my Curtis Creek campsite. Ah, ain't roughin' it wonderful!

The next morning, after sleeping late with a pizza hangover (one can't waste good pizzas), I headed for another bucket list visit to a place known as Catawba Falls. I probably hiked to and camped near Catawba Falls twice every summer for the first five years I was at the boys' camp. Then, about 1959 or '60, a college-aged young woman fell off of one of the high ledges of the falls onto the rocks below and was killed instantly. The falls were closed to all hikers for the next five or so years, so I never went back. My second memory about Catawba Falls has to do with the Ratman story that was told every year ... and the first Ratman cave I ever saw was at Catawba Falls. Sadly, the rock over the top of the Ratman cave there has collapsed and one can hardly tell there was a cave ... it was much, much bigger and scarier when one is camping nearby at nine yrs of age. Some of us begin to see a pattern in the storytelling when every cave we came upon during hikes at the camp were declared to be Ratman caves. I think there is even one on the back side of Kitsuma.

Even this late in the summer, as dry as it has been, the falls are still very beautiful--as beautiful as I remember from 55 years ago and I almost didn't want to leave the place that afternoon.

I don't have a lot of places left in my bucket list of repeat visits, unless I start the visits over again ... and that's not a bad idea. I have a framed needlepoint that was always on my wall in my office that quoted John Muir as saying, "Climb the mountains and get their good tidings." I'm not too old to climb yet, so I'll be one of those old dudes who is so full of good tidings from the mountains, he can hardly stand himself.