THE OLD HOME PLACE

Due to unforeseen circumstances, I didn’t get to do as much backpacking this summer in Peru as I had originally planned. By mid-September, work was crazy and I needed to spend some serious time in the woods. I contacted my friend Bob, and we began talking about doing a backpacking trip in mid-October. I suggested the Smokies, as it is a place that I don’t get to often enough. Bob was enthusiastic, and we pondered several routes. Eventually we settled on a 6-day, 60 mile loop starting from Greenbrier Cove. We’d start out following the Old Settlers Trail through the valleys on the northeast side of the park. We’d pass some of the largest trees in the park in Albright Grove before climbing up to the Appalachian Trail near Mount Guyot. From there, we’d follow the A.T. and the Boulevard Trail over to Tennessee’s most impressive mountain, Mount LeConte. We’d then drop back down to Greenbrier Cove on our last day to close the loop.

I picked this loop largely because it seemed to offer everything that is great about the Smokies. We’d see old ruins, tumbling streams, massive old-growth trees, Spruce-Fir forest, rugged ridgelines, and expansive views. With the trip planned for mid-October, I felt pretty confident that we’d see some fine fall foliage, too.

I called the National Park backcountry office exactly 30 days before we planned to start our trip for campsite reservations. Everything went well except that the campsite we’d planned for the second night, Otter Creek (29), was closed due to bear activity. We substituted the Sugar Cove campsite (34), which was only a little out of the way. It did mean adding some distance to an already ambitious agenda though. Even worse, day 3 would be a monster, with 12 miles and over 4000’ elevation gain.

Our trip started on Monday, October 18^th. We got off to a rocky start. First I tried to drive to Statesville in rush hour traffic to meet Bob. 50+ miles took two hours, and we were already behind schedule. The rest of the drive was smoother, aside from one near accident. The highlight of the drive was a scattering of fall color. The best was around the Black Mountain area, just east of Asheville.

We finally made it to Greenbrier Cove and stopped briefly at the ranger station to pick up a permit. From there, we headed up to the end of the dirt road at the Porters Creek Trailhead. We snagged one of the last remaining parking spots and began sorting our gear. Since it was already 1pm we had lunch there before starting the hike. Luckily our first day would be our shortest. We only had to hike less than 8 miles, and we still had 7 hours of daylight to work with.

The hike started with a one-mile road walk back the way we came. I’m not a big fan of road walking, but this was better than most. It was on a narrow dirt road, and there was enough fall color around to liven up the forest. The highlight was crossing a bridge over the Little Pigeon River. That stream is pretty at any time, but on this day it was beautiful, with golden leaves dancing above the water.

We found the start of the Old Settlers Trail on the far side of the bridge. There was only one car parked here, which was an encouraging sign. We were hoping for a good bit of solitude on this trip, particularly over the first few days.

We headed down the trail under sunny skies. Initially we hiked along but above the river. Before long we swung away from it, and began traversing the many streams and ridges extending north from Greenbrier Pinnacle. The hiking was generally easy, although there were plenty of ups and downs to keep things interesting. The biggest climbs came at the start and again at the end of the day. That last climb led us up through several old settlements, which were easy to spot by the numerous stone walls lining the trail. The best site of that first day came late that afternoon, when we passed an impressive chimney. A bit later, we arrived at our first campsite, Settlers Camp (33). This is the only campsite along the 16-mile Old Settlers Trail, so we knew that if we were going to see anybody in the first couple of days, it would be here. Sure enough, there was already a group set up when we arrived. They were a group of 4 or 5 older hikers from the Bristol area.

Campsite 33 actually has 3 or 4 separate areas. We moved to the second one, which is situated around the remains of an old chimney. That was kind of neat, but the area was very rocky. We ended up moving on to the far end of the camping area and selected the last site. It was a great spot in a lovely patch of forest just above Red Wine Creek. The creek was a nice companion for the evening, but I was disappointed that there wasn’t even a hint of Merlot in it.

We arrived around 5:30, which gave us a couple of hours before dark to enjoy the campsite. It was a nice spot, although we could occasionally hear the distant whine of traffic on highway 321. That evening was cool, but we were able to stay warm with a toasty campfire. I nodded off repeatedly by the fire, and by 9pm I was ready to give in. We went to bed early, tired but content to finally be in the Smokies.

It's been ten long years since I left my home

In the hollow where I was born.

Where the cool fall nights make the wood smoke rise,

And a fox hunter blows his horn.

I fell in love with a girl from the town

I thought that she would be true.

I ran away to Charlottesville

And worked in a sawmill or two.

What have they done to the old home place,

Why did they tear it down?

And why did I leave the plow in the field,

And look for a job in the town?

"Old Home Place" 
 by J.D. Crowe & The New South 

We got up at 8am on Tuesday, rested from 11 hours of sleep. We had a quick breakfast and hit the trail at 9:20 with 11 miles in front of us. We crossed Red Wine Creek and climbed past more ruins before reaching the well-named Noisy Creek. We climbed another ridge, and passed through an impressive forest of massive trees. The Tuliptrees were particularly eye-opening, and scattered fall color added to the beauty of the forest.

We reached Texas Creek a bit before noon. We stopped there for lunch and to filter water. We were just packing up when our neighbors from the previous evening caught up to us. We relinquished our lunch spot and headed downstream, following Texas Creek.

The next stretch of trail featured some of the best ruins of the trip. We passed several chimneys, and frequently followed massive stone walls for a ¼ mile or more. When we reached Webb Creek we found a side trail heading towards highway 321. We’d passed several unmarked side trails heading that way over the previous two days. This one had a sign though, advertising the Tyson McCarter barn. It was a short side trip, and it was only mid-afternoon, so we decided to check it out.

The side trail brought us to a wide gravel road after only a couple of minutes. I imagine the road leads out to 321, but we went the other way. We reached the restored barn a couple of minutes later. The barn was interesting, and it made for a nice 20 minute diversion from the grind of the trail.

We returned to the path and hiked upstream along Webb Creek. We passed more ruins and rock walls before crossing a ridge and descending to Dunn Creek. Dunn Creek was much larger than any of the previous streams we’d encountered, and there was no bridge. Despite a fairly dry fall, the water was high enough to present a challenge. We spent 10 minutes walking the bank looking for a reasonable place to cross. Bob eventually made a daring and largely successful rock hop. I didn’t think I could do it with my short stubby legs though. Unfortunately, I’d let Brett Farve borrow my Crocs a few weeks earlier, so I wasn’t able to bring them on the trip. Luckily, I’d thrown a pair of running shoes in my pack just before we left the trailhead. I’d been reluctant to carry that extra weight, but I knew I’d regret leaving them behind if I had to get my feet wet.

I switched to the running shoes and waded the stream. The water was refreshing and almost enjoyable, even though it meant carrying a pair of wet shoes around for the rest of the week. We continued on the trail a bit farther, and arrived at Indian Camp Creek. Oddly, this stream is bridged. It’s about the same size as Webb Creek, so it’s strange that the Park Service built a bridge across one but not the other. We took a break there by the creek before heading on, eager to reach camp.

We found another diversion a few minutes later. We explored a short side trail that led down to an old cemetery. Most of the markers were unreadable, but we did find one with 1877 carved on it. We spent a few minutes there before returning to the trail.

We reached the Maddron Bald Trail a few minutes later. We met a couple there with two young children. They had hiked up towards Albright Grove, but had turned around before reaching the biggest trees. They were on their way back out to highway 321, having enjoyed a nice family outing.

We continued ahead at the intersection onto the Gabes Mountain Trail. We climbed gently on this trail, winding in and out of beautiful coves offering classic Smokies scenery. After a mile or so we began a gentle descent towards Sugar Creek. There we found a lovely stream with campsites stretching downstream. The largest and nicest spot was down the creek a couple hundred yards. After a bit of debate, we decided to save that spot for our neighbors that were behind us on the trail. They had 3 tents, and it was better suited to handle a larger group. We took the first site just below the trail. It was a decent spot, though a bit rocky. Its best feature was a fine view of a run of cascades on Sugar Creek. I spent a bit of time photographing the creek before settling down to make dinner.

A bit later another group arrived, having hiked in from Cosby. They headed downstream and disappeared. We skipped the campfire that evening, as we arrived at camp a little later and were too tired / lazy to gather firewood. Before retiring for the evening, we debated what day 3 had in store for us. The last weather forecast I’d seen (on Monday morning) had predicted a good chance of rain for Tuesday night and Wednesday morning. We were hoping that it would hold off, as hiking uphill in rain gear is pretty miserable. We needed an early start, too, as we expected 12 miles of mostly uphill hiking to take us most of a full day.

RAIN SHOWERS AND SUNBEAMS

I was a bit uncomfortable that night, but I slept reasonably well until the rain started around 2am. The pattering of rain drops was not a welcome sound, and it made me realize that I needed to pee. I spent most of the rest of the evening tossing and turning, dreading getting up in the pre-dawn rain to break camp.

I eventually dozed off, and woke later to an owl hooting. This was a more pleasant sound than raindrops, which were surprisingly absent. My watch registered 6:40, which meant it was almost time to get up. I packed everything inside the tent and rolled out at 7am. We each had a quick breakfast of cold granola cereal in the damp, pre-dawn light before starting the unpleasant task of packing wet tents. We couldn’t really complain though, as the whole experience would’ve been much worse in a downpour.

We hit the trail at 8am without seeing or hearing our neighbors downstream. We backtracked west on the Gabes Mountain Trail, which made for an easy warm up on our most demanding day. Unfortunately, we’d gone less than a mile when the rain resumed.

By the time we reached the Maddron Bald Junction I was feeling a little grouchy. I was really looking forward to visiting Albright Grove, which features some of the largest old-growth trees in the southeast. However, the fog was so thick, I wasn’t sure we’d be able to see anything.

We turned onto the Maddron Bald Trail and began our climb. At that point we were at an elevation of 2450’. Our hike that day would top out just below the summit of Mount Guyot, around 6300’.

The first part of the Maddron Bald Trail is a gravel road that starts on highway 321. Although the trail itself wasn’t very appealing, the surroundings were. We were still a mile from Albright Grove but we were already surrounded by big trees. They loomed out of the fog, creating a spooky, surreal scene. A bit farther on, the road ended and we picked up a footpath. This led us to a bridge spanning Indian Camp Creek, which is still an impressive stream at this elevation. We crossed the bridge and climbed up into the heart of Albright Grove.

I’d been to Albright Grove once before, 8 or 9 years ago. I remembered being impressed, but on this day, the forest was magical. The rain let up shortly before we arrived, and even the fog lifted a bit. Massive Tuliptrees and Hemlocks towered above us, reaching up into the swirling mist. I would’ve killed for a tripod, but we didn’t really have time for serious photography anyway. I managed some decent photos by hand by ditching my polarizing filter and jacking up the ISO to the highest possible setting.

I walked very slowly through Albright Grove in a futile effort to delay leaving. Towards the upper end of the loop we noticed some dead Hemlocks, which was disappointing. I’d heard that the grove had been treated with pesticides to protect the trees, but it appears that they didn’t get to all of them in time. Either that, or those trees died from other causes.

We reached the end of the grove, but the hike remained beautiful. We climbed on, reaching another crossing of Indian Camp Creek a few minutes later. This one doesn’t have a bridge, and even Bob didn’t see any way to rock hop. We both switched shoes and waded. The water here was much colder than it had been the previous day!

The stretch of trail from there to Otter Creek was gorgeous. We passed through a mature hardwood forest that was at the peak of fall color. Huge, mossy boulders and vibrant green ferns lined the trail. We tromped along through a carpet of fallen leaves, enjoying the towering trees all around us. We even passed some late fall wildflowers, which came as a surprise. Oddly, we occasionally caught a whiff of something blooming that smelled like parmesan cheese. I have no idea what that was coming from, but it was making me hungry. Conveniently, I had spaghetti on the menu for the evening.

We passed an overlook, which gave us a teasing view of a fogged in valley and Maddron Bald. It looked like the weather was breaking, and the views probably would’ve opened up there eventually. Unfortunately we didn’t have time to loiter. We hiked on to Otter Creek and campsite 29. This campsite was closed due to bear activity, but we made the daring decision to stop there for lunch. We didn’t see any bears, and were back on the trail after a 30-minute break.

The trail remained beautiful beyond Otter Creek. We gradually left the peak of fall color behind. Before long, we were hiking through a deep carpet of fallen leaves. When we started out that morning, there’d been as many green leaves overhead as red and gold. Now, most of the color was on the ground. 30 minutes later, we found ourselves in a dark Spruce forest. From here on out, we knew the only color we’d see would be down in the valleys below.

We reached the crest of the ridge and continued to climb. A bit later, we found ourselves on the summit of Maddron Bald. I walked up a short spur trail to take in the view. Our timing was good, as the fog was finally beginning to disperse. Blue patches of sky began to appear as the swirling mist broke against the spine of the Appalachians. A dark, Fir covered ridge emerged from the gloom across the valley. The blueberry bushes were still a bright red here, and a few vibrant hardwoods stood out on the mountainside above us. We relaxed for a few minutes here to enjoy the rewards of the day’s climb. We also took the opportunity to change out of our rain gear. This was the first of several wardrobe changes we’d make that afternoon.

We hiked on through meadows and Spruce Fir Forest and joined Snake Den Ridge. This took us to the Appalachian Trail high on Inadu Knob. The fog closed back in here, and the temperature plummeted. Bob’s thermometer was registering in the low 40’s as we started up the A.T. It seemed like we’d started that morning in the summer, and had spent most of the day passing through autumn. Now we seemed to be walking into the dead of winter.

A bit later we reached an emergency helicopter landing pad in a small meadow on the crest of the ridge. We were teased with partial views here of the Big Creek valley and Mount Sterling looming out of the fog. The fall foliage looked brilliant down below, but the fog wasn’t quite ready to relinquish its hold. We hiked on, following an easy stretch of trail on a traverse around Old Black and Mount Guyot. It was along here that we experienced one of the magical moments of the trip. The clouds opened up just enough to allow a single narrow sunbeam to filter down through the Balsams:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/9067009@N03/5127828076/in/set-72157625209074139/

We paused there to soak in its warmth and dry out after a long, wet day.

From there we enjoyed a gentle descent to the junction with the Balsam Mountain Trail. We continued on the A.T. and arrived at the Tricorner Knob Shelter. The shelter was nearly full, and the crowd was a bit disorienting after seeing nobody else all day. Our neighbors included a couple of guys from Pittsburgh and a middle-aged couple from Hendersonville on their honeymoon. We enjoyed some interesting conversation over dinner, and a blazing campfire helped ward off the evening’s chill. It got rather nippy that night for mid-October. By Thursday morning, Bob’s thermometer registered 35 degrees inside the shelter. It was colder outside, as evidenced by some patches of ice surrounding the spring nearby.

DRYIN’ OUT

We needed another early start for our 13 mile hike on Wednesday, but it was cold enough that it was hard to get up. Fortunately the shelter was noisy enough that sleeping in wasn’t much of an option. We rolled out of bed at sunrise, around 7:30. Bob was moving unusually slow that morning, and we didn’t hit the trail until 9. I got a bit of a head start, but paused for a couple of minutes down the trail to enjoy an open area in direct sun. That warmed me up, at least briefly. It wasn’t long before the trail swung onto the northern, Tennessee side of the ridge. The weather was frigid over there thanks to the shade and a fierce wind. It was a huge relief when we crossed back to the North Carolina side of the mountains. With sunshine and shelter from the wind, it felt at least 20 degrees warmer over there.

The hike followed this pattern all day, which made for serious wardrobe challenges. Changing clothes every 15 minutes wasn’t an option. I underdressed for the Tennessee side and gritted my teeth each time we wandered over there. I did keep a warm hat handy, and put it on each time we ventured into the Volunteer state.

This stretch of trail was mostly wooded, although views opened up on several occasions. Early on we had a nice view south, but most of the vistas were in the other direction. Thanks to the wind and cold, we couldn’t really enjoy them for long.

We reached Pecks Corner, but skipped the .4 mile (one-way) side trip down to the shelter. We pressed on, and reached the site of a recent landslide a few minutes later. The opening provided a fine view of the peaks and valleys to the south. The overlook was in full sunshine, and sheltered from the wind. Since it was noon, we decided to stop there for lunch. We also took advantage of the opportunity to dry out our gear. Before long, we had tents and rain gear strewn up and down the trail. It looked like a sidewalk sale at REI, but it was worth it. By the time we left (90 minutes later) everything was dry except my extra pair of shoes.

The next stretch of trail must be one of the best in the entire park. Views were plentiful in both directions. In between, we walked a knife-edge ridge through meadows and old-growth Spruce Fir forest. The trail was never boring, and I didn’t want the day to end. The hike really hit a crescendo when we reached the Sawteeth. First, we were treated to a unique view of Mount LeConte, with the shattered face of Charlies Bunion in the foreground. A bit later, we reached a meadow with a grand view to the south. A few minutes after, we took a side trail out to Charlie’s Bunion, one of the Smokies most iconic peaks. From there we took in the view of LeConte and admired the brilliant fall foliage in the valley below.

We concluded the day with a draining climb up to the Icewater Springs shelter. We were surprised to find only two other hikers there when we arrived. Ira and Stewart, from Baltimore, were on their first trip to the Smokies. They looked awfully clean, and we quickly discovered why. They’d started their trip that afternoon with a 3-mile hike in from Newfound Gap. They were planning to take 4 days to hike from there down the A.T. to Davenport Gap on the east end of the park.

Their route is a popular one, as it hits a lot of high-elevation views but offers relatively easy terrain. I’m not crazy about it though, particularly for people from other parts of the country. The problem is that it follows the ridgeline the entire way. That’s great for Spruce Fir forest and long-range vistas, but it misses out on much of what makes the Smokies special. Where are the trout streams, and waterfalls, and old ruins, and monster trees? To me, a multi-day trip in the Smokies without at least some of these features simply doesn’t provide the full Smokies experience.

Ira and Stewart took an interesting approach to their trip. Their 4-day menu consisted ENTIRELY of power bars. Really. They had no stove, no fuel, and no cooking gear. That’s one way to save weight, but is it worth it? Oddly, their packs didn’t appear to be much lighter than ours, even without tents. The difference seemed to be clothing, as they were carrying quite a variety.

A bit later a solo “thru” hiker arrived. He wasn’t exactly your traditional thru-hiker though. Rather, it sounded like he was planning to hike as far north as the weather would allow. I never caught his name, but after he told us about spending the afternoon mooching food from tourists at Newfound Gap, I bestowed the trail name “Yogi” on him. He actually seemed to embrace that one. If you run into Yogi on the trail, be sure to slip him an extra granola bar or two!

The highlight of the evening was the moonrise. There is a nice view east from the shelter, and the moon was nearly full. It rose over the trees on the edge of the meadow, shining its light down into our humble abode. We struggled with the campfire, and endured another cold night. I slept ok, despite being on a hard wooden bunk for 10 or 11 hours. Yogi had a better idea, as he slept in a hammock suspended inside the shelter.

That night was the peak of the Orion meteor shower. Bob and I debated getting up before dawn to check it out, but the full moon ruined our plans. I woke once, around 5am, and the sky was still bright from the setting moon. I quickly gave up on that idea and snuggled deeper into the warmth of my sleeping bag.

WALKING DOWN THE BOULEVARD

I slept in the next morning. It was another cold dawn, and I had a fine view of the sunrise from my bunk. I did get up to take a few photos, but quickly retreated to my sleeping bag to re-warm myself. We only had to hike 6 miles on Friday, so I saw no need to rush. Eventually I emerged from my cocoon, once the sun had rise high enough to warm the shelter. Oatmeal and cocoa provided more heat, and we finally got moving around 10am.

The low point of the morning came in the privy. The last time I stayed at Icewater Springs, in December, 2009, the toilet seat had been covered in a 2” thick slab of ice. Conditions were better this time, at least until I dropped the required handful of mulch down the hole. When I did, I spotted a giant rat down there, in the middle of his own special breakfast buffet. I’m going to try to not think about that the next time I’m sleeping in a shelter and a mouse runs across me.

We bid Ira, Stewart, and Yogi farewell on their adventures and rejoined the Appalachian Trail. We were penalized for our late start, as we had to dodge a couple of groups of dayhikers coming from Newfound Gap, presumably bound for Charlie’s Bunion. We got off the parade route quickly though, by turning north onto the Boulevard Trail.

There are five separate routes to Mount LeConte. The shortest is the Alum Cave Bluffs Trail, which starts on Newfound Gap Road. Another popular option is a loop from Gatlinburg combining the Rainbow Falls and Bullhead Trails. We were planning to utilize the other two routes in our traverse of the mountain. We’d climb to Mount LeConte on the Boulevard Trail, and descend the next day by way of Trillium Gap and Brushy Mountain.

I’d only hiked the Boulevard once before, 12 years earlier, but it remains one of my favorite trails in the park. Although there are few views prior to reaching the upper slopes of LeConte, the stroll along a narrow ridgeline is breathtaking. The Spruce Fir Forest is peaceful, and the walking is a joy.

After a short distance on the Boulevard we reached the side trail out to the Jumpoff. The spur trail is fairly short (0.3 miles), and the view from the end simply shouldn’t be missed. We headed that way, working our way up a badly eroded, rocky path. This was actually rather arduous, but it was worth it. The trail ended at a sheer cliff with a dramatic view encompassing the entire route we’d hiked thus far. We gazed back across Charlie’s Bunion, along the rugged Sawteeth, to Mount Guyot, Balsam Mountain, Maddron Bald, and the other high peaks at the western end of the park. Far below, we spotted the isolated Porters Creek Valley and Greenbrier Cove blazing with prime fall foliage.

We hung out for a few minutes before heading back. Once back on the Boulevard we enjoyed a long gradual descent to a gap. We tackled a modest climb, before descending once again. Somewhere along here we paused for lunch. There was no view from our lunch spot, but the sunshine was plentiful. Once again, we were being treated to a sunny, cloudless day.

We began the real climb of LeConte after lunch. We passed several groups heading the other way as we worked our way up the peak. By early afternoon we reached a steep slope scarred by an old rockslide. The park service has installed a safety line here, as this stretch of trail is notorious for being icy. It wasn’t even damp on this day though, thanks to the brilliant sunshine. We hiked on, climbing up along a rocky slope, passing through a graveyard of ghostly white Balsams, long-dead from the blight. The dead trees were a little depressing, but the openings did offer more views of Brushy Mountain, Porters Creek, and Greenbrier Cove far below.

We reached the side trail to Myrtle Point a few minutes later. We contemplated making the side trip, but decided to hike on to the shelter to drop our packs. We passed the giant stone cairn marking the summit of LeConte a few minutes later. From there, we enjoyed a short downhill hike to the shelter.

We arrived around 2:30, and the place was deserted. We claimed a couple of prime spots, as we knew that the shelter would probably be full that evening. With that accomplished, we walked down to the lodge to get water. The “lodge” (which is really more of a collection of cabins) on LeConte has been operating since 1926. The accommodations are fairly expensive, but that doesn’t seem to hurt its popularity. They start taking reservations for the following year on October 1^st, and they fill up quick. At a prime time like mid-October, it can be nearly impossible to get a spot.

We found the spigot and filled up our pakteens and water bottles. We then weaved our way through the bustling crowd surrounding the cabins and returned to the shelter. We hoisted our partially loaded packs on the bear cables in preparation for a short walk out to Myrtle Point. This seemed like a good idea, until the telephone pole sized log supporting the cables bowed alarmingly. I thought the whole thing might come crashing down, but it held. Still, what would happen when other folks arrived and added their gear?

It took about 20 minutes to hike out to Myrtle Point. When we arrived, there were a couple of groups from the lodge there. Myrtle Point is a big area though, so it was certainly not crowded. We sprawled on the rocks, sipping lemonade and taking in the view. The vista from Myrtle Point may be the best in the park. We were treated to a 180 degree view that encompassed most of the park. My favorite vista was across the valleys and ridges leading up to massive Mount Guyot.

While we were relaxing we were subjected to some amusing conversation courtesy of the lodge-dwellers on the rocks below us. First, they pondered why the cliffs were called Myrtle Point. After some debate, they concluded that it had to have something to do with Myrtle Beach. I thought about setting them straight on this, but none of them asked our opinion, so I let it go. Then there was some lively banter about the lack of fall color on the peaks and ridges to the south. There were some interesting theories about this. One person concluded that the leaves hadn’t started to turn, while another was convinced that they had already fallen. A third decided that it was just a poor year for fall foliage. Finally, the rocket scientist in the group noticed that all of the trees in that direction were conifers. I barely managed to resist the urge to applaud.

We loitered there for more than an hour, working on our sunburns. I already had some impressive windburn, so I figured it would blend in nicely. This was a much different experience for Bob, who had stayed at the LeConte lodge only 2 weeks earlier. That trip, at the beginning of October, had coincided with the first snowfall of the year. LeConte received several inches of snow, and Bob’s group had failed to see a single view during their 2-day visit.

Finally we headed back, relaxed from our lazy afternoon on the roof of the Smokies. The shelter was a zoo when we returned. Apparently it was father & son night, as there were young boys everywhere. We weren’t sure what we’d be in for that evening, but it ultimately worked out fine. It was actually the quietest shelter of the whole trip, without so much as the occasional snore.

We had an early dinner before hiking up to the Clifftops for sunset. The Clifftops can be accessed by either of two trails leading up from the shelter and lodge. We arrived early, but stopped at an overlook well short of the official viewpoint. We knew that spot would be overrun with lodge-dwellers within minutes. Our cliff was small, but it offered an unbeatable view. We loitered there for some time, as the sun and temperature gradually dropped. We stayed until the final red glow disappeared from the western horizon, and hiked back to the shelter using our headlamps. It was a fitting end to the climax of a great hike.

PERFUME VALLEY

When we planned the trip, we knew that Bob would need to get an early start on Saturday. He needed to attend his brother’s wedding reception in Winston-Salem that evening, and that was a 9-mile hike and a 4-hour drive away. All week long Bob waffled on what time he wanted to get started Saturday morning. At one point he suggested hiking out in the wee hours of the morning by the light of the full moon. Later, he contemplated skipping the affair altogether. By Friday evening, we’d decided to get up at 7, which would put us on the trail around sunrise, well before 8. That would get us down to Greenbrier Cove around mid-day, leaving plenty of time for lunch on the way home.

Bob was up at 6:30. Unfortunately, there is no good way to pack up quietly inside a dark shelter. I Ignored him for awhile, but by the time he started letting the air out of his mattress, it was hopeless. Soon the whole shelter was stirring. We had a quick breakfast of cold granola cereal before hitting the trail. Originally I had considered hiking out to Myrtle Point that morning for sunrise, but I skipped it due to our time constraints. However, we did stop briefly at a clearing to take it in. It was nice to get one more view before leaving Mount LeConte behind.

We wandered through the lodge area and found our way to the Trillium Gap Trail. This is the route used by llama trains to stock the lodge. This was quite apparent, as the trail was heavily decorated in several places along the way. We hiked through the early morning chill, making good time on a steady, efficient descent. By the time we left the Spruce and Fir behind, I knew we were making progress.

We passed several groups on the way up, including lodge-dwellers and even a few ambitious dayhikers. By the time we reached Trillium Gap, we were back in the midst of prime fall foliage. Bob elected to take a break there to dig a hole, so I took advantage of the opportunity to bag Brushy Mountain. I dropped my pack and jogged up the 0.2 mile side trail to the summit of LeConte’s northern spur. The top of Brushy Mountain is a heath bald, much like Maddron Bald, which we had visited on Wednesday. At the far end I found a view of the Pigeon Forge area that completely failed to inspire me. More interesting were the views back up at the colorful slopes of Mount LeConte.

I had just started back when I flushed a large bird from its perch in a nearby shrub. It was big, and mostly white, but I didn’t get a very good look at it. I think it was either an owl or hawk, but I’ll never know which. I actually had my camera in my hand, but for some reason it failed to fire. Sigh. I thought I’d missed my chance, but I flushed the same bird again a few minutes later. This time I managed a couple of slightly blurry photos as the bird soared away from me. The photos aren’t great, but the bird easily qualifies as the most impressive wildlife sighting of the whole trip. Overall, the lack of wildlife was one of the few disappointments of the week. I’d expected more, since we were in a national park, and the dog wasn’t with us. Aside from the owl / hawk, the only other significant sightings consisted of turkey and grouse. Despite that drawback, the this may have been the best backpacking trip I’ve done in the Smokies.

Bob was waiting for me back at Trillium Gap. We headed down the Brushy Mountain Trail towards Greenbrier Cove, moving quickly despite the leaf-covered rocky trail. We passed through some breathtaking fall foliage, and only saw a couple of other hikers. Once we reached the junction with the Porters Creek Trail, we knew we were almost finished. The last mile out was a different experience. We passed a number of old settlements, including rock walls, a restored barn, chimneys, and a cemetery. We didn’t explore the area though, as Bob was ready to hit the road, and we were both looking forward to a lunch that didn’t involve peanut butter.

This stretch of trail was crowded, too, which only added to our motivation. We probably passed at least a hundred hikers over the final mile. At times, it felt like we were going the wrong way in a parade. Many of those folks reeked of soap, or, even worse, perfume. One woman offended my sense of smell to the point that I actually had a sneezing fit. Welcome back to civilization.

The highlight of the final 30 minutes was passing an unusually busty woman wearing a Frosted Flakes t-shirt. Given our location, it’s entirely possible that she was directly related to Dolly Parton. The shirt featured Tony the Tiger, with the slogan “THEY’RE GREAT!!!” sprawled across her chest in an unnecessarily large font. I thought about asking her if I could get her picture, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it.

The trailhead parking area was a zoo. On the way to Bob’s car, I played the license plate game. Tennessee had the best representation, but we were in Tennessee, so they are disqualified. There were nearly as many cars there from Ohio. Indiana, Pennsylvania, Florida, and Kansas were also represented. Oddly, Bob’s car was the only one with a North Carolina plate. By the time we had the car packed there was a line of traffic waiting for our spot. I suggested that bob auction it off, which probably would’ve paid for our post-hike meal. Ultimately though, we were both just glad to get out of there.

Bob turned on his navigation system to see what restaurants were in the area. The machine urged us to head into Gatlinburg, but traffic was awful, and that seemed like an exceptionally bad idea. We headed out towards Cosby, but found the pickings slim. Finally I spotted a restaurant called “The Front Porch”. I’d heard good things about it, though I’d never actually eaten there. We pulled into the parking lot, which was hosting a small-scale flea market. On our way into the restaurant, a bearded man in overalls and his unidentified female companion hailed us. After a lengthy greeting, they gave us the bad news – the restaurant didn’t open until 5. Waiting around for 4 hours wasn’t an option. At that point, the woman mentioned that she had worked at the restaurant previously, and that she could probably break in and cook something for us. We politely declined that generous offer, and I began to inch back towards the car. Bob, however, is a sucker for punishment. He asked our new friends if there were any other restaurants in the area that they could recommend.

We never got their names, so for simplicity I’m going to call them Cooter and Flo. Why Cooter and Flo? I don’t know, but I think those names will do just as well as any.

Cooter suggested that we try Shirley’s, which was just down the street. That isn’t to say that he specifically recommend it though. Actually, his exact words were something like, “I’ve eaten there a bunch of times and I’ve never gotten sick”. Cooter should write restaurant reviews for the Cosby Bill (or whatever the local weekly paper is called). I’m not sure how many stars “I’ve never gotten sick there” equates to, but it’s hardly a glowing recommendation. Still, after my recent trip to Peru, it was good enough for me. I took another half-step towards the car.

That’s when Bob uttered a phrase so shocking that I nearly fainted on the spot. He actually said, to Cooter and Flow and everyone else that had wandered over from the flea market to offer their 2 cents, “How do we get back to the highway from Shirley’s?”

That may not have been Bob’s exact words, because my memory is a little hazy due to the concussion I got from slapping myself in the head. I was just really glad that I wasn’t the one that was in a hurry to get home. Like I said, Bob is a sucker for punishment.

When I came to, I heard Cooter saying something about turning off the paved road, and you know where Red lives, right? That’s the house with the sofa and fridge on the front porch. And then there was something about taking the second left after passing the tree with the three hound dogs tied to it. I blacked out again.

It turns out that we could’ve just driven down the road until we got to the big blue sign that said “40” with an arrow pointing to the right. Or we could’ve used the navigation system in the car.

We eventually escaped the parking lot and headed down to Shirley’s. The service was a little slow, and the food was only ok, but at least we didn’t get sick. Yet.

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