OLD SCREAMER

The best thing about 911 is that all of the previously unnamed rural roads now have names. In most cases, the roads have taken the name of their resident. In some cases though, the names show more creativity. Dave and I encountered an excellent example of this last week in Clayton, Georgia. We were on our way to the trailhead to start a backpacking trip in the Standing Indian area when we passed a real gem. There it was, “Old Screamer Road”. Boy, I sure would like to meet the folks living at the end of that road.

Our plan was to explore a remote section of the Southern Nantahala Wilderness along the North Carolina / Georgia line. Most of our intended route would be in North Carolina, but the access to the trails is through north Georgia. From Clayton we headed west and then north along the Talluah River. The Talluah has an interesting history. It starts on the slopes of Standing Indian Mountain, before cutting through a deep gorge and spilling over several waterfalls and emptying into the Savannah River. Unfortunately, it is one of the south’s great damned rivers. Much of the gorge is now flooded by a chain of lakes, which hide many of the rapids and waterfalls along the original course. Despite this, parts of the river are still open to canoeing and kayaking during scheduled water releases. Many of the classic whitewater scenes from the movie “Deliverance” were actually filmed on the Talluah.

We only saw the upper portion of the Talluah on our trip, but that remains the best part. Above highway 76, the Talluah is a wild, remote mountain stream. We drove along the river, watching the many fishermen test their skill. We passed three forest service campgrounds, and finally arrived at “Tate City”. We knew we had arrived when we passed a sign proclaiming “Welcome to Tate City – Population +/- 32”. Tate City is a former mining community turned retirement village. The picturesque valley now harbors a handful of lovely horse farms and a few impressive homes. It also features the “Tate City Mall”, which appeared to consist of a stack of firewood for sale.

Just beyond Tate City we arrived at the Bly Gap Trailhead, which was our intended exit route. According to the map, the Bly Gap Trail runs from the Appalachian Trail at Bly Gap, on the Georgia / North Carolina line, to the Talluah River just upstream from Tate City. Extensive research turned up exactly one sentence on one website confirming this. I hadn’t been able to find any other mention of this trail in any guidebook. Since this was our planned exit route, I knew we were taking a risk. What kind of condition would the trail be in, if it even existed at all? We decided to scout the trail briefly before beginning our hike and committing ourselves to the route.

The trailhead was easy to find, thanks to a blue blaze on a tree. At the blaze, a rough road heads downhill towards the river. After 100 yards, it ends at a parking area. I explored, and found a faint path running upstream to a ford. On the far side a trail was apparent, but it quickly disappeared into the woods. Scouting further would’ve required wading the river. Clearly there was a trail, in the correct place according to the map. However, there were no signs, and no blazes except for the one marking the road to the trailhead.

We decided to take a gamble, but planned out a couple of alternate exit routes in case we had difficulties. From the Bly Gap Trailhead, we continued up the road another mile, crossing into North Carolina. At the Beech Creek bridge we passed the original Beech Creek Trail, which is now someone’s driveway. The property is posted, so we continued another half-mile to the official Beech Creek trailhead and parking area, where we found a single car and a dog. We let Saucony and Sasha out, and chaos ensued as the 3 dogs got to know one another.

It was during those festivities that I discovered that I had made a serious error in packing. In all the years I’ve been backpacking, I’ve never forgotten anything critical. I’d occasionally left out something minor, but I’d never left behind a tent, or sleeping bag, or boots. Well, I hadn’t exactly forgotten anything this time, either. I had boots all right; unfortunately, they weren’t mine. In my haste, I had grabbed my wife’s boots! So there we were, after a 4-hour drive from Charlotte, and my footwear options consisted of my wife’s boots and my Tevas. What to do?

Luckily, Christy has big feet. In fact, they’re almost too big, as I had to put on 3 pairs of socks to keep my feet from swimming around in them. I was reluctant to attempt an exploratory, strenuous 3-day backpacking trip in my wife’s boots, but I was more reluctant to go home. I decided to give it a try and see how the first day went. If it went poorly, we could always cut the trip short. It didn’t even occur to me that this might be a bad omen.

Dave and I collected the appropriate dogs and crossed the road to the trail. There was no warm up, as it climbed steeply right off the bat. I trudged upward, thankful that the heels of Christy’s boots weren’t slipping. Unfortunately, they weigh a pound more than mine, and it was a chore dragging them upward.

The initially climb ended quickly as we crested the ridge and descended to Beech Creek. We rock hopped the stream, but I slipped and got one foot wet. I sloshed upstream from there, through a lovely forest. A few minutes later we rock hopped Bull Branch and stopped for lunch. After eating, we took a short side trip up a red blazed trail to Bull Branch Falls. It was a pleasant visit, and worth seeing since we were in the area.

We resumed the hike after lunch and returned to Beech Creek. We crossed the stream again, with Dave making a long leap from a log to a rock. I chose to wade, as I didn’t have much confidence in my footing. From there, we followed the trail up through the Beech Creek Gorge. The trail climbed high above cascading Beech Creek, clinging to the wall of Big Scaly Mountain. Several small waterfalls spilled down the wall, showering us as we passed by. At the last one, we reached a huge washout. During the fall hurricanes, a huge wall of water had tumbled down off Big Scaly Mountain, pushing trees and boulders ahead of it. Since then, the forest service has done considerable work to restore the trail. The route is now rocky and messy, but passable.

We passed a pair of hikers heading down before reaching the turnoff for High Falls. We dropped our packs and followed the side trail down to the creek. We turned a corner, and found ourselves at the base of an impressive waterfall. Beech Creek cascades over 100 feet down High Falls, and the stratified rocks add to the appeal. We enjoyed the view for a while before returning to our packs to climb the switchbacks out of the gorge.

The climb was punishing, but luckily the worst was over quickly. After the last switchback, we walked up a high hanging valley on a nearly flat trail. The forest was a lush green, and wildflowers were everywhere as we strolled up the trail. Most notable were the delicate Dwarf Iris, hillsides covered in large white trillium, and literally hundreds of trout lilies.

Near the head of the valley we began searching for a campsite. We passed a nice one on an island, but continued ahead to see if we could find one higher up. We passed another one along the creek, and one near the spring that is the source of Beech Creek. We found a final site at Case Knife Gap, but decided that the first site we passed was the best. We backtracked for 10 minutes, and set up camp in the middle of Beech Creek. The campsite was practically a garden of wildflowers, and it was tricky moving around without trampling any of them.

After setting up camp, we walked back up to Case Knife Gap to hike the “Nature Trail” to the summit of Big Scaly Mountain. This path looks nothing like the typical nature trail. It follows the ridge on a gentle ascent, winding through dense thickets of rhododendron. Near the summit, we scrambled over a few rocks before finding ourselves on a cliff with a fine view west, south, and north. The best view was to the northwest, over the Talluah River valley to Chatuge Lake and Tusquitee Bald. We enjoyed several views on this trip, but this one was the best.

We returned to camp, where we dined on jambalaya. Dave had left his stove at the truck since I had mine, but he had accidentally packed his fuel. This ended up coming in handy for coaxing a campfire out of the wet wood. We enjoyed the fire, the stars, and a few relaxing beverages before retiring for the night.

CHUNKY GAL

We broke camp the next morning and hiked back to Case Knife Gap. This was the fifth time we had covered this section of trail, for those of you that are keeping score. From the gap, we left the beaten path behind. We picked up a primitive, steep route heading east towards the Appalachian Trail. This trail doesn’t appear on the map, but I had stumbled across it in a happy accident a few years earlier. It was much as I remembered it. It is one of those trails where it’s easier to just stare at your feet and not think about how much progress you’re making. After an eternity, the grade lessened, and we weaved our way through rhododendron thickets before popping out on the superhighway known as the Appalachian Trail. I had chosen to do the route counter-clockwise because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find this trail heading down. I shouldn’t have worried. The junction is marked by a cairn and a ribbon on a tree, and the path is fairly obvious from the AT.

The AT led through a tunnel of rhododendron that would be lovely in June. An easy stroll led to a junction amid a sea of campsites. We turned left onto a blue blazed path for the final ¼ mile to the summit of Standing Indian. At 5499’ Standing Indian is the tallest peak in the area. For northbound thru-hikers it is a point of some significance, as it is the first peak over 5000’ that they climb. For us, it was the highest point of our journey. From the grassy clearing on the summit, we were greeted with a nice view to the south and west. We lingered there for 30 minutes and enjoyed having the mountain all to ourselves. Before we descended, we headed out the ridge on a faint path, where we found another overlook with a slightly better view.

We returned to the AT, and followed it downhill on an old roadbed. This section of the trail is an endless series of gradual switchbacks that is probably frustrating to climb. The path finally leveled out at a fairly large stream below the Standing Indian Shelter. We decided to have lunch at the shelter, as I have some fond memories of it.

Six years ago, Myron, Dorcas, Bob, and I backpacked the same area in January. We climbed the same primitive trail from Case Knife Gap, and reached the summit of Standing Indian late in the afternoon. We arrived in fog and drizzle, and debated our options. We had originally planned to camp at the summit, but that seemed less appealing considering the weather. We debated camping or continuing on, but nobody wanted to make a decision. Finally, Dorcas expressed a strong preference for hiking down to the shelter. It may be the finest decision she has ever made. We spent that night in the shelter, and endured a tremendous thunderstorm that lasted hours. The shelter has a tin roof, and I slept great, despite the racket. All I could think of was what it must’ve been like in a tent up on top of the mountain!

The weather was great on this day, though a chilly breeze had us putting on jackets. We met two hikers at the shelter. One was section hiking the AT from Springer to Damascus. It was his second of four sections, and he was amazed at how much better than scenery was than it had been in northern Virginia. I told him it was only beginning to get good. The other hiker was planning on going all the way to Maine, but had gotten a late start. It looked like he was having a tough time, but the roughest part of any long thru-hike is the first couple of weeks. If he can survive them and adjust to the rigors of daily hiking, he can make it.

After lunch, we descended to Deep Gap, where we encountered a puzzling forest service sign. It said, “A bear has been taking packs between Deep Gap and Wayah Gap. Please exercise caution”. My first thought was, Holy Crap, where do I find this bear! From Deep Gap to Wayah Gap is 31 miles. I’d be happy if he’d just take my pack 4 miles to the Muskrat Creek shelter. I’ve heard of using all kinds of animals as pack stock, including horses, mules, and llamas. But bears? Amazing.

From Deep Gap, the trail ascended gradually as it curved around the north end of Yellow Mountain. This section of trail passes through another wildflower garden, which helped keep the hike interesting. We crossed an old road at Wateroak Gap, before more easy hiking brought us to the intersection with the Chunky Gal Trail.

The Southern Nantahala Mountains are known for their creative place names. There is a Big Butt, a Molly’s Nipple, a Pickens Nose, and of course, an Old Screamer. Most notable though is the unfortunately named Chunky Gal Mountain, and Chunky Gal Trail. I don’t know the history of this name, but I do know that the Gods of Bizarre Coincidences must’ve been working overtime on this Tuesday. I almost hate to say it, but when we reached the junction, we actually met a Chunky Gal. I swear I’m not making this up. There she was, an actual chunky gal, hiking along on the AT, right past the Chunky Gal trail sign. I regret to admit that I did not get any photos.

A few minutes later we passed a guy, followed by a gal that was decidedly NOT chunky. We then arrived at Whiteoak Stamp, where we had a break in a small clearing next to a pleasant campsite. This was a particularly pretty area, and we took some time to explore. The map shows the Chunky Gal Trail starting near here, but the actual junction is about ¼ mile north of where it is shown on the map. Of more interest to us was the Holden Cove Trail, which should join the AT here from the south. The Holden Cove Trail was our backup exit option, in case we had trouble finding the Bly Gap Trail. There was an obvious route heading in the correct direction, and I followed it 100 yards, where it disappeared at the top of a steep hill. I explored around, but found no sign of it. So much for our backup plan.

We briefly considered camping at Whiteoak Stamp before choosing to hike on to the Muskrat Creek Shelter. 15 minutes of easy hiking brought us to the shelter, where we found several other campers. Since we had the dogs, we didn’t want to disturb the other hikers. We moved to a campsite along the stream just up from the shelter. It was a decent spot, and more private than the campsites close to the shelter itself.

That evening, we explored the ridge southeast of the shelter. The internet guide I was basing our exit route on claimed there were two viewpoints in the area, but we had no luck finding them. After 45 minutes of wandering around in rhododendron thickets, we gave up and returned to camp. We still had a fair bit of daylight left, so I made another attempt, this time on Ravenrock Ridge, west of the shelter. This time, a well-maintained, blue-blazed trail led out to a fine viewpoint. The vista was to the south, and included much of the next days planned route along the AT, as well as Hightower Bald, one of Georgia’s tallest peaks.

I returned to camp and made chicken and noodle stir-fry with fresh vegetables. We went to bed early that night, knowing that an early start would be wise, given the uncertainty of our route. Since we hadn’t been able to locate the Holden Cove Trail, our next best backup option was to hike the AT all the way to a dirt road along Charlie’s Creek. We could follow this to the Talluah River, but we’d still have a 4-5 mile roadwalk from their back to the car. I didn’t sleep well that night, as thoughts of everything that could go wrong on our hike out danced through my mind.

A NAVIGATIONAL ADVENTURE

We were up early Wednesday, heading south on the AT. We followed the trail up, then down, then up again as we passed west of Courthouse Bald. Beyond the peak, we paused at a nice viewpoint northwest towards Lake Chatuge. After a steep descent, we climbed briefly to Sharp Top, where an exceptionally steep side trail leads to a nice overlook of the Talluah River headwaters. From Sharp Top, we endured a knee-pounding descent all the way to the state line at Bly Gap. The gap was easy to find, as a sign marks the state border, and an old Indian marker tree stands solitary in a clearing.

At Bly Gap, we found multiple trails. An old road heads west, which we dismissed. It crosses the AT and descends to a spring and a campsite. I was pretty sure that was the route southeast, down Shooting Creek. I had Dave scout it anyway, while I explored another old route heading east. The trail contours along the slopes of Sharp Top, aiming for a gap in a north-south ridge, exactly as shown on the map. I was highly confident we had found our trail, even before Dave returned from his scouting. I kept my compass and map handy though, as I knew we’d consult them frequently on the way out.

We reached the gap, where the obvious route turned south along the ridge. This looked wrong, and Dave spotted the correct trail at a small cairn. A cairn! I was starting to feel better about this route. That feeling didn’t last long. The map suggested that the trail would contour around a drainage, but instead it plunged steeply down into the valley. This section showed signs of illegal ATV use. The trail finally bottomed out near a stream, and once again, our path turned off the obvious route at a cairn. We followed it across a couple of streams, and past a garden of sunflowers. After the last creek, we climbed steeply out of the valley, towards a gap on another north-south ridge. It looked like we were back in sync with the map.

At the next gap, we avoided a trail running along the ridge, and descended steeply again. This time we headed down into the Falls Branch drainage. Before too long, we were hiking along Falls Branch. The trail remained in good shape, despite the occasional fallen tree, and we even passed a well-established campsite. At one point, we passed a single blue blaze. It was the only blaze we saw on the whole trail. Near the top of Falls Branch Falls, we stopped for lunch. At this point, we were feeling pretty confident, as the Talluah River was only about a mile away.

The trail didn’t provide a view of the waterfall, is stayed high above the creek. We curved away from the stream around the nose of a ridge, and spotted the buildings of Tate City in the valley far below. The final section of trail was quite annoying, as we climbed in and out of deep drainage ditches. Finally we reached our final decision point at an unmarked junction. A faint path descended steeply towards the river, while the obvious route continued ahead in a gentle descent. I was tempted to head directly down, but the path looked primitive. Instead, we continued ahead, and eventually dropped down to the river. We forded the stream without much difficulty, except for a panic attack from Sasha.

We reached the far side, but the trailhead was nowhere in sight. My initial thought was to bushwhack to the road, which couldn’t be far away. Before we made it very far, we stumbled across an old overgrown jeep track running parallel to the river. Bushwhacking looked nasty, so we followed the jeep track upstream, reasoning that it would at least lead us in the direction of the truck. Surprisingly, this actually worked. A few minutes later, we reached Beech Creek, which we followed to the road. From there, it was only ½ mile up the road to the truck. I suspect that if we had taken the steep trail down at the final junction, it would’ve led to the trailhead. Somehow, going the wrong way ended up being a shortcut, as we cut off about ½ mile of road walking.

We finished up at 1:30, which gave us plenty of time to stop at the Dairy Queen in Clayton before we headed home. Our final adventurous day couldn’t have gone any better, and it capped a fine backpacking trip. I'm sure I'll return to the area, but next time I plan to bring my own boots!

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