DELIVERANCE REVISITED
“Aintry? This
river don’t go to Aintry. You done
taken a wrong turn.”
From
“Umass”, by The Pixies.
“Deliverance” is a
critically acclaimed 1970 novel by James Dickey. A famous, or infamous, movie of the same name was made in
1972. But why read a book or watch a
movie when you can experience Deliverance for yourself?
Editor’s Note: Click on the following link (and turn on
your computer’s speakers) to fully enjoy this trip report:
After several months without
backpacking, I was ready for a weekend trip.
What I wasn’t ready for was an artic experience, so I planned a trip
along the Chattooga River in Georgia.
That area is at a relatively low elevation, and promised a warmer
weekend than the higher mountains. The
Bartram and Chattooga Trails stretch almost 20 miles along the river in
Georgia, from Russell Bridge (highway 28) to route 76. Although I had done several hikes in the
Chattooga area, I’d never made it that far downstream. I was thrilled when Bob, Myron, and Dorcas
decided to join me.
We all met at the US 76
bridge over the Chattooga at 9:45 Saturday morning. Originally we had planned to leave my car at the parking area on
the west (Georgia) side of the bridge.
When we arrived, we immediately realized that parking there wouldn’t be
an option. The bridge is under construction,
and the parking area no longer exists.
Instead I parked on the east side, at the developed river access. From there, we all piled into Dorcas’ Honda
Element for the windy drive to Russell Bridge.
We found our way through the South Carolina backroads, and arrived 30
minutes later. There were several other
cars at the trailhead, and we realized that we might not have the trail all to
ourselves for this trip.
When we met, I was almost
surprised that Myron didn’t have a canoe on top of his car. Myron has paddled sections 2 and 3 of the
Chattooga several times, and even successfully ran Bull Sluice, a class V
rapid, once. Myron does so much
canoeing, you could almost say that anytime he isn’t paddling, he’s portaging. Well, I suppose he’d have to carry a canoe
everywhere he went for that to be technically accurate, but you get the
point. For this weekend though, it
looked like he would be content to walk.
We hit the trail a bit
before 10:30, crossing the road to pick up the yellow-blazed Bartram Trail. We followed it a couple hundreds to the
first scenic highlight of the route – a sturdy metal bridge over the West
Branch of the Chattooga. The West
Branch is a lovely stream, and it sure has a pretty mouth. I know, because we could see its confluence
with the main river from the bridge.
Beyond the bridge, the trail
passed through an uninspiring area littered with fallen trees. Fortunately that didn’t last long, and a
short time later we passed an old home site where a stone chimney was still standing. Beyond we found a small stream, where we
paused for a short lunch break.
After lunch, we drifted
farther away from the river. We crossed
several ridges, and wandered in and out of numerous coves. Each cove seemed to have different
vegetation from the last. One was thick
with holly, while another featured dense rhododendron. Some areas were full of pines, while others
featured hardwoods.
The changing surroundings
kept us entertained until we reached the banks of Warwoman Creek. This stream is particularly attractive. We followed its exceptionally clear waters
through a calm stretch before reaching an area of powerful rapids. Not far beyond, we reached the dirt road
leading to Earl’s Ford. The road fords
Warwoman Creek on its way to the river, but I can’t imagine crossing it in my
car! When we passed the ford, we were
surprised to see two people in a car, apparently debating the merits of
attempting to cross. Wisely, they
turned away.
We passed several campsites
along the creek, but most were close to the road. Also, we had only come a bit over 6 miles, so we needed to cover
a bit more ground before setting up camp.
Fortunately, a stretch of trail along the river was only a short
distance ahead.
A fair climb led to a rapid
descent, and finally we were back at the river. I had enjoyed most of the trail to that point, but it had been
disappointing to be away from the river.
The Chattooga is a beautiful stream, and it is what I’d come here to
see. We hiked downstream, enjoying the
frequent rapids and calm pools. We
passed a couple of nice campsites, but the best one was down near a rapid after
we began climbing above the river. We
debated stopping, but we’d only come 8 miles, and Dorcas didn’t want to leave
12 miles for Sunday. We decided to go
another mile, to a campsite on Dick’s Creek.
That would leave us with a manageable 11-mile hike out on Sunday.
We crossed a ridge and heard
voices in the distance. The sound was
accompanied by the unmistakable smell of burning oil. A couple of minutes later, we reached an old jeep road, where we
found 5 or 6 local fellas on an assortment of motorized vehicles, including
ATVs, motor bikes, and even something that looked like a 4wd golf cart. We were a bit leery as we approached, but
they were blocking the trail, so we didn’t have many options. We greeted them, and one of them asked us,
in a tone that can best be described as drunken sarcasm, if “we were enjoying
the National Wild and Scenic River.”
The Chattooga is in fact a National Wild and Scenic River, and motorized
vehicles are not allowed within its protected corridor, which we were well
within.
Dorcas replied, in a tone
that was neither drunken nor sarcastic, that we were enjoying it. One of the fellas, a young bald guy, then
proceeded to tell us how we were on land that was owned by his
great-grandfather years ago. In fact,
he said, he represented the 6th generation of his family there (not
his exact words). He went on to tell us
how they liked to come back to visit his family’s land. I may have been reading between the lines a
bit, but I got the impression that he was really telling us that he’d ride his
ATV there if he wanted, regardless of what the federal government had to say
about it.
Later, Myron pointed out
that this guy, who I’ll call Baldy, looked like the offspring of the retarded
inbred banjo player from Deliverance if he had married his sister. I have to admit, the resemblance was
uncanny. Talk about genetic
deficiencies.
EDITOR’S NOTE: The actor that played the inbred banjo player is neither retarded nor inbred, and still lives in the area.
At this point, I began to
wonder if they meant to cause trouble.
I certainly didn’t want a confrontation for a number of reasons, not the
least of which was the fact that we were badly out-numbered. Plus, the chance of some of them being armed
was probably pretty good. I didn’t see
any weapons, but I’m pretty sure one of them had a rope. I thought about saying, “If you gentlemen
have a still near here, hell, that’s fine with us." But then I remembered that one of the guys
in Deliverance said something like that, and that didn’t turn out so good.
We didn’t really want to
hang around and chat, but we didn’t want to appear rude, either. The last thing we wanted was to create an
arrogant impression. Actually, we
might’ve stuck around a bit if they’d offered us a Budweiser, but they didn’t
(although they seemed to have plenty).
We feigned interest as Baldy told us about the land, and a slave
graveyard that was located nearby. He
even managed to shock most of his companions when he told us he could show us a
rock where “we used to burn the niggers”.
The conversation only went downhill from there.
EDITOR’S NOTE: The preceding quote was his words, not mine. Hence, the use of the quotation marks.
Somehow, we managed to
extricate ourselves from the conversation.
As we were leaving, Baldy bellowed, “THIS RIVER DON’T GO TO
AINTRY”! We hurried on down the trail,
relieved to be away from them. A few
minutes later, we reached our intended campsite on Dick’s Creek. We were leery about camping so close to
those fellas, but the map and guidebook suggested that camping options would be
limited in the next few miles. After a
brief debate, we decided to scout around for a more secluded campsite. I headed down the side trail to Dick’s Creek
Falls, hoping I might find a better spot along the creek or near the
river. Bob and Myron joined me, leaving
Dorcas alone back at the campsite. In
hindsight, this was probably not a good strategy.
We descended steeply to the
base of lovely Dick’s Creek Falls, which cascades 60’ into the Chattooga
River. It enters the river at Dick’s
Creek Ledge, a class IV car-wreck of a rapid that produces quite a roar. Initially we didn’t see any camping options,
but we explored upstream along the riverbank.
A minute later, we reached some deadfall that seemed to block further
progress. Bob found a way around it
though, and a minute later he was waving his arms at us. We followed him, and found a secluded
stretch of beach. It was completely
surrounded by steep terrain and the river, and definitely offered a more secure
(and attractive) campsite. We decided
to relocate, and headed back to the main trail to retrieve Dorcas and our
packs.
We climbed to the top of the
falls, where we found Baldy and his friends on their ATVs. This did not give me a warm and fuzzy
feeling. We chatted briefly about the
beauty of the falls, before hurrying back.
As we parted ways, the last guy at the end of the line quietly told us,
“don’t believe everything you hear”.
This made me feel a little better.
He was clearly intelligent, and seemed a bit embarrassed about what had
been said earlier.
We returned to the original
campsite, where Dorcas was waiting.
They hadn’t seen her there, but had ridden by, down the trail and
through the creek. The trail was now
sporting some fresh tire tracks, and there was an oily residue in the
stream. Generally I’m not opposed to
ATV use where its legal and appropriate, but it was neither here. As we walked by the reasons for this were
blatantly apparent.
Now what should we do? We didn’t really want those guys to know
where we were camping. I thought they
were probably harmless, but you can never be sure. People often ask me if I worry about bears or snakes or spiders
or squirrels when I’m out in the woods.
I don’t, but there is one critter to be leery of. Good old Homo Sapiens.
We decided to wait them
out. Hopefully, hopefully, they would
leave and we would be able to get back down to the campsite by the river. Unfortunately, it was already past 4, and
daylight was running out. Myron and Bob
decided to scout for other camping options, while I waited with Dorcas. After an eternity, the motors were revved,
and with a roar and a cloud of smoke they began heading out. They didn’t all leave though. One of them turned our way, and rode to the
edge of the campsite before turning around.
So much for them not knowing where we were.
The rest of them eventually
left, or at least we thought they did.
It was hard to tell exactly how many vehicles had headed out, since we
couldn’t see them from where we were waiting.
Myron and Bob returned a couple of minutes later, and we decided to make
a run for it. We couldn’t stay where we
were, since we had been seen. Plus,
even if they were harmless, there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t be riding
up and down the trail all night, drinking beer and hollering and maybe even
firing guns into the air. That didn’t
sound like my idea of a pleasant camping experience. We headed back towards the falls, hoping that some of them
weren’t still waiting down there.
Luckily the trail was clear,
and we hurried down to the hidden beach site on the river. It was a great spot, although we did end up
with sand in just about everything. The
site was only a few feet above the water line, so we could only cross our
fingers and hope that the water level didn’t rise much if the rain forecasted
for that night hit.
Myron built a great fire,
and Bob and I enjoyed a spaghetti dinner.
Clouds rolled in, blocking our view of the stars, but it was still a
great evening. The temperature didn’t
drop much, and we all stayed up until almost 10, enjoying some warm adult
beverages. Finally we headed to bed,
but I warned Bob that I would be jumping into his tent if I heard banjo music
in the middle of the night.
Fortunately, the only thing
I heard all night was the peaceful roar of the river. We overslept a bit the next morning, but still rose well before
the sun crested the far side of the gorge.
The sky had cleared, and the rain, or snow, that had been expected never
materialized. I enjoyed eggs and cheese
on a bagel for breakfast, before breaking camp. We paused to enjoy the falls on the way out, before climbing back
up to the main trail. There was no sign
of Baldy or his gang there, except of course for the damage to the trail and
creek bed that they’d inflicted a day earlier.
We climbed away from Dick’s
Creek, and reached a junction. At this
point, the Bartram Trail heads west, and then north, towards Rabun Bald and
peaks in the Nantahala National Forest of North Carolina. We continued ahead, on the gray-blazed
Chattooga Trail. A few minutes later,
we crossed Sandy Ford Road at a campsite, and began a steady climb. Eventually we crested the ridge, high above
the roaring river winding through the gorge far below. Some time later we began to descend, and
finally we found ourselves back at the river.
This was probably the best stretch of river along the trail, and we
decided to enjoy it. We found a
campsite, and stopped there for lunch.
It was a nice excuse to linger, and I nearly dozed off lounging in the
sun.
After lunch the temperature
dropped, and even the sun did little to warm us. The wind picked up too, and it finally began to feel like a
winter backpacking trip. We continued
downstream, passing some great campsites, before climbing up and away from the
river. This was disappointing, but we
did descend back down to it once at another campsite. After that though, the river was rarely in sight. That was the only disappointment to the
weekend. Although the Bartram and
Chattooga Trails are well designed and maintained, they are rarely near the
river. This is a bit different from the
Chattooga Trail farther upstream, in South Carolina. There it seems like the trail stays closer to the river.
The last few miles of trail
took us over intervening ridges and in and out of coves. We crossed some pretty tributary streams,
but by 4pm everyone was ready to reach the car. We finally arrived at the highway, and the bridge construction
site, around 4:30. We reached the car a
few minutes later, and Dorcas and I rode back to the other trailhead to
retrieve her car. We were the lucky
ones, as Myron and Bob had to wait for us in the frigid parking lot. We made pretty good time, and returned in a
bit under an hour.
This trip certainly had its
positives and negatives, but I’ll probably be back. The stretches of trail along the river are compelling, and some
of the campsites would be worth spending a weekend at. It’s probably not a good destination for
solitude though. Although it was
January, we saw quite a few people.
Fortunately, most of them weren’t riding ATVs (and had all of their
teeth).
Back to Georgia
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Please remember to Leave No Trace!