 | |||||
 |
Journal Entry: Sunday 15 October, 1995
As we approached the "Big Poplars" area we met a trio on horseback, and one was a real Fraidy-Horse. The rider had a real hard time controlling him; we were just standing there, but I guess that horse didn't want anybody else on the same trail. Oh well. We moved on, going steadily uphill (which would become a theme on the route I'd picked out...) until we came to the Rough Fork Trail. I noticed right off that this also fell into that "uphill" genre that we'd been into lately, but the Guidebook said that it followed an old logging railroad bed, so how bad could the grade be? Well, after a while, bad enough. Along the way I did spy a few old railroad spikes stuck in some crossties that had been left behind. Eemer, being the Speedy Weasel he is, missed them entirely as he motored along. His loss. After about 3.5 miles uphill we hit Polls Gap and the Heintooga Ridge Road, where we plopped down and rested and had lunch. This gave me a much needed Attitude Adjustment, as I'd been feeling like I was on the Bataan Death March for the last mile or so. Had I but known what was in store for us ahead... 2 p.m. and we struck out along the Polls Gap Trail, bound for campsite #42, one of the highest elevation backcountry campsites in the Park (elevation 5480'). Of course, this was again mostly uphill, about 4.5 miles to the campsite. Now, on Friday when I called, the Ranger said that we should have no problems along our route. The Appalachian Trail was closed, and the Little Cataloochee Trail was heavily damaged, but we weren't going on them. So, we'd gone a little way up the trail and found a huge tree had fallen across our path, and we had to negotiate our way over, around and through it with our packs. No big deal, we'd had to do that a couple of times earlier on the other trails. Hurricane Opal had swept through the Park not too long ago, after all. However, after fighting through the neck-high Blackberry Brambles that grew across the trail we found another downed tree in our way. And another. And yet another. All interspersed between those Godforsaken Brambles. Things got steadily worse as we climbed to the top of the Cataloochee Balsam (at 5970') and we stumbled, clawed and scratched our way across the top of the ridge. There were a lot of dead Fraser fir trees up here, but when Opal came through, she took the top off the ridge, and most of the trees went with it.
My legs were scratched to ribbons (Eem said it looked like I waded into a vicious cat-fight) by the Brambles and branches of the trees we had to get past; both knees were banged and cut up from jumping up, down, and crawling under fallen trees; and I nearly got a Pine-Tree-Enema, courtesy of a broken branch on a log when I slipped while clambering over it. Just missed, if you know what I mean, and I think you do. There was a section along Chiltoes Mtn. where about 70' of the trail had gone downhill with 3 or 4 huge pine trees that had blown over. We had to drop our packs and pull them along behind us as we crawled under and over all that. Amazingly enough, we got to the campsite about 6 p.m., which means that we did about a mile an hour through the wreckage that used to be the Polls Gap Trail. My whole body was one big ache & pain, from my tattered legs, to my knees, and to my back and shoulders. Even Eem had a bad knee and a leg giving him a hard time. If there was ever a time that we were wishing the Swedish Bikini Massage Team was set up in a campsite, this was definitely it. No such luck, of course. So, cursing and groaning, we set up camp and went for the quickie pasta dinner:
While we were making the meal, I tried to make a fire, since it was getting cold, and I knew that a little warmth would go a long way towards easing our aching bodies. But the Mountain Gods denied me even that small pleasure -- all the wood was still wet, and I tried, but only got a small "smoker" going, which died a quick death. A reasonable quantity of "Boy Scout Water" would probably have done the trick, but I wasn't about to do that. We wolfed down the meal and collapsed into the tent to try to sleep off our wounds. I went into that sleeping bag and was out like a light.
outside || previous || next
|
|
|||
 | |||||
his whole day was one long ordeal, beginning with having to get out of a nice warm sleeping bag and into the cold morning air. We lay there contemplating the arctic blast that awaited us, then Eemer got up, and I had to follow shortly thereafter. Actually, once I got up and out, and we started making oatmeal & coffee for breakfast, the morning was OK. I did manage to change out of my longjohns and into boxers and hiking shorts in the cold, which was no mean trick, believe me. We pumped about six liters of water from Caldwell Fork, then broke down the tent (which was cold & wet, of course). Hoisted our packs, said "so long" to the other group there, and headed for Rough Fork Trail.
