More Bushwhacking Lessons

OK, so, after my near disastrous bushwhacking attempt, I decided to give it another go. After two weeks of  recovery, and feeling like a job was left unfinished, I took off up the spring branch. Accompanying me on this trip was my dog Rocket who is a champion hiker who would rather go for a stroll in the woods than eat. We left much, much earlier than the previous attempt. There was no way that I wanted to risk being caught in the dark a second time.

During those two weeks, I pored over the topo map of the chosen route to be traveled. I studied every bend and every route that was possible. This turned out to be an invaluable exercise as my GPS ended up turning into nothing more than extra weight to carry in my pack.

About 1/4 of the way into the trek, I paused to check the GPS to determine my progress and, low and behold, the screen went dark and the battery icon was blinking then unceremoniously informed me that the battery was too low to track my location. I was not going to let this route beat me for a second time, so we moved ahead relying on my memory of the aforementioned topo map.

When I reached the top of Hullander Cove on the saddle position between the Hullander Knobs, the point where I abandoned my route last time, I felt a sense of satisfaction that every step I took from this point on was a victory. We stopped here to rest and share an apple, and give Rocket a water break. Traveling ridge tops and  saddles, there usually aren't many spots of surface water, so I have to pack extra water and a bowl so that the dog can stay hydrated.

After our break, we began to head up the steep slope of Hullander Knob west. Rocket is a true leader in as much as he must be in the front at all times. He also has a keen sense for finding the easiest route available, so I readily follow his lead. We wrapped around the southern slope of the knob until I realized Rocket stalled and didn't seem very eager to move forward. When I caught up to him, I was staring at an extremely steep side slope of exposed granite outcrops. I decide we needed to travel up slope to the summit of the knob to get a better vantage point and find the easiest drop from here to the northern base of Mine Mountain.

The climb was bruuu-tal! Every step made my thighs cry out for a rest.  Looking in an upward direction became demoralizing so I decided to keep my head down and tackle the slope one step at a time, often depending on small trees for a hand hold and extra power by using my arms to help pull me upwards. Once at the top, I was able to spot the black ribbon of Hwy 76 that I travel to and from work. It was nice to know that I was finally up on the peak that I spy from the road almost everyday.

Finally, the easiest route over to Mine Mountain could be seen, though easy it wasn't. Rocket slowly picked his way down the rocky slope and I began to notice him slowing a little. This pace evened out as we reached the saddle and began a mild climb up the north slope to the top of the mountain. Standing at the summit and looking down, I realized that my call to abort the trip two weeks ago seemed like a genius move. The slope is probably between 40 and 50 percent with long and often wet and slick granite shelves. Even with a light, this would have been extremely dangerous to navigate in the dark.

About fifty yards down, poor Rocket had literally had enough of heading straight down the slopes. He actually began to double back on our route like he was going back home. I wonder if he could make the return trip by retracing our steps by scent. After calling him back a couple of times, he abandoned that strategy and began to bear off to the east following the contour. Knowing that straight down was the quickest way to the road, I spent the rest of the descent prodding him to stay with me.

After what seemed forever, which included a butt plant and about a ten feet slide down a slippery and wet slab of granite, we crossed the 100' power line clearing, then down to the gravel road where a cell tower sits. From here we walked down the gravel road to Bowling Gap Circle where we sat down in the grass  and Rocket enjoyed the last of his water and 1/2 of my granola bar. Mission accomplished. All that was left to do was rest our weary legs and wait for our ride to arrive. 

New lessons:  1. Always carry extra batteries for your GPS.
                     2.  Take a topo map and a compass for a back-up...no batteries needed!

Now, I am compelled to make this trip again with fresh batteries so that I can map the route. When I do, you'll see it here. Bushwhacking is much more labor intensive than following a trail, but the sense of excitement, of exploring the back country where not many people have been is worth the effort. Just be smart and safe!

Bushwhacking: Lessons Learned

One of the most exciting ways to explore the mountains and valleys of my home here in North Georgia, is to leave the trail, and bushwhack. You push your way through the forest,whether it consists of dense, choking Laurel and Rhododendron thickets, blow down areas where wind felled trees temporarily block your path, or the classic canopy/forest floor combination. These areas are rarely traveled by man, and you find yourself wondering, 'when was the last time somebody was present in this exact spot?' It's all very neat to explore, not to mention quite a workout. However, some basic rules should be followed, which I found out the hard way.

I recently purchased a quality GPS and couldn't wait to take it into the wilderness as a guide, using the topo maps to direct me to the most gentle approaches to the ridge tops. I decided to enter the National Forest land near the house, make my way up the long first ridge to the summit of the eastern Hullander Knob, traverse a saddle feature, then up the steep slopes of the western Hullander Knob, then follow the ridge top to Mine Mountain, then the steep ascent down to Hwy 76. Easy enough, right? 

If you are planning a day hike excursion, allow yourself enough daylight to complete the trip. I mapped out a route that appeared to be a little over three miles. I usually can cover three miles an hour on an improved trail, so when I left at 3:30pm there wasn't much of a concern that I would run out of daylight. Being somewhat prepared I made sure to pack my flashlight hat just in case. This turned out to be a lifesaving act.

Do not try to apply a "trail pace" to bushwhacking on ridge tops.  Trails generally follow the contour of the land, with a few ascents and descents. When you are traveling the ridge tops, you are going straight up a mountain, then straight down the other side, then straight up the next peak. Simply put, it is exhausting.

By the time I reached the saddle position between the two knobs, it was 6:15pm and dusk was rapidly making its exit. I had to make a decision whether to continue my planned route, or abort the route and drop down into the bottom of Hullander Cove, find the creek and follow it until I hit familiar territory near Collins Lane. I chose the latter. The thought of making my way down a steep slope in the dark was not appealing. I barely managed to complete the 800' drop (which was quite steep in itself) down to the creek bed before darkness required me to put on my flashlight hat.

Following the creek down the cove became an exercise in clearing brush with my face. The foliage was so thick in places, that I had to double back several times and find a new route because the briars were impenetrable. My GPS unit showed a road on the other side of the creek, so I crossed and began the climb up the opposite bank. I kept climbing expecting to find a distinct grade and gravel base, to no avail. Finally I checked the GPS again and it showed that, to my shock, the road had been crossed already. So, back down I went and realized that the "road" was barely a road at all, but a long ago abandoned logging road that consisted of nothing more than a slight cut that was overgrown with underbrush and a downed tree every 100' or so. There's nothing like being exhausted and forced to run a steeplechase in the dark.

It took two hours past dark before I stumbled out of the woods and into a 100' wide power line cut. In between the fog of my breath as it passed through the hat light, the unobstructed sky was clear and full of the most beautiful stars. The absence of the light pollution of civilization had something to do with their beauty, but mostly it was because I knew I was going to be home shortly, enjoying a hot shower.

To wrap it up, my basic tips for safe bushwhacking include starting early, giving yourself time to be finished before dark; always carry a light source; and make sure you have extra batteries for your GPS ( I will talk about that one in the next post). 

   

 

Bird Watch

So far, 2011 has been a slow one when it comes to spotting new birds to add to my list. Other than the Red-tailed Hawk mentioned in an earlier post, I have spotted a Golden Crowned Kinglet, an American Kestrel (formerly known as the Sparrow Hawk), a Red-headed Woodpecker, a Screech Owl, and a Eurasian Collared Dove.

Hopefully, during a week on the South Carolina Coast later this summer, I will have a similar haul to last year's trip when I identified 12 birds in the span of a few days. I have 29 birds to go before I reach 100!

I wish I had more time to simply go to a birding habitat and just sit there, for hours even, watching for a flash of unfamiliar color, hoping that I can get the binoculars up and into focus before the flash disappears. I can't think of many things that are more enjoyable. If you've never tried it, go get a good bird book, pick a date and start making a list. You will get hooked.

Lack of Peakbagging

Sadly, I haven't bagged any new peaks since February 11, 2010, when I attained the summit of Cheaha Mountain, the highest peak in Alabama. For the most part, hiking has still been a steady part of my weekly regimen, until this summer.

The hyper-extending knee incident earlier this year put me on the sidelines for a while. I decided to keep my walks on the paved roads of my neighborhood, or on the not so rough paths of Meeks Park. My knee felt "loose" for many weeks and made me shy away from uneven terrain. I kept imagining an improperly placed step on a rock, or a rut and having my knee hyper-extend, this time with more severe consequences.

In fact, when I did finally venture out on the Appalachian Trail hiking north from Dick's Creek Gap, my knee did exactly that. On two separate occasions, my knee just buckled backwards, for seemingly no reason. They weren't bad enough to send me to the ground, but bad enough to make me realize that it wasn't completely healed.

Then in late spring, I caught a cold that lasted the better part of three weeks. Coughing, sinus pressure, the whole works. Once I got over that ailment, it was summer which swept in with a vengeance.

For the first part of summer, it rained almost daily here in my part of North Georgia. Then, like the flick of a switch, it stopped, and has been very dry. Right now, my garden looks pitiful due to the excessively high temperatures and lack of rain.

I have also spent a lot of time on my property attempting to control an infestation of Chinese Privet which has taken over the lower part of the lot next to Brasstown Creek. It may seem strange to a lot of folks, but I really enjoy clearing brush, as well as cutting and trimming trees without the use of any power tools.

I have three tools that I use: a pruning saw, a tree pruner (loppers), and a swing blade for non-woody vegetation. It's a slow process, but knowing that I am clearing the land without using a pollution spewing two-stroke engine, doing it the way it would have been done 100 years ago, is rewarding. Plus, it is labor intensive which provides me a bit of a workout to replace the lack of trail time I've had this summer. I also like that the work is done while still being able to hear the babbling of the creek, the wind blowing through the trees, and the kingfisher's call as it races up and down the creek.

The dogs and I finally worked the trails back into our weekly routine, just for workout hikes. We'll go an hour up the trail and return. As soon as this heat wave breaks, the goal is to add Sassafras Mountain in SC, and Mount Mitchell in NC to my list of state high points. Until then, its yard work and short walks until I have something more interesting to share.

Slaughter Mountain - Elevation 4,338'

View of Blood Mountain from Slaughter Mountain summit.

Open granite outcrop on summit of Slaughter Mountain.

February 23, 2008

Start - Wolfpen Gap - 3,260'el
Trail - Duncan Ridge Trail, with some bushwhacking.
Time to summit - 55 minutes
Time of descent - 42 minutes
Ascent - 1,078'

Parking my car adjacent to Duncan Ridge Road, I grab my pack and walking staff out of the back seat. Across the road, a nearly inaudible conversation is taking place between a couple of bike riders and hikers. Other than this, the two-lane ribbon of asphalt that is Highway 180 is silent in between cars that can appear from seemingly out of nowhere as they round the curves, heading either towards Suches or Vogel State Park. I step in the direction of the trail, cross the highway and begin the steady climb.

The clouds are hanging low and as I look up slope, they can be seen rushing through the treetops, obscuring whatever view of the mountain that would normally unfold. As I look back at my car, two other guys with complete packs and ski poles have come off the ridge from the direction of Coosa Bald. They begin to take a break while I disappear into the woods. The uphill climb is immediate as I step up onto and around small boulders here and there that flank either side of the trail. The goal today is to bag the summit of Slaughter Mountain, the 5th highest peak in Georgia.

About twenty minutes up the trail I begin to hear the metallic click of the ski poles belonging to my fellow hikers. Judging by their increasing volume I know that they are rapidly gaining on me. I always pull of the trail for a breather when I know someone is about to overtake me. It's good hiking etiquette for there is nothing worse than having momentum and coming upon someone ambling along and holding up your progress. They both passed me, in staggered form as one was about three minutes faster than his buddy. At this point, I was sucking air so hard that I was glad to stay put until both of them passed.

The trail finally levels out and the burning in my calves fades with each step. I look up and notice a patch of blue sky. It looks as if the clouds may burn off after all. The patches of blue become larger as I walk on. Finally, the areas not shrouded by trees are flooded with a beautiful sunlight. The contrast of the sun with the remaining low clouds is wonderful.

I knew from studying the topo map before this hike that the Duncan Ridge Trail does not cross the summit,  meaning I'm in for another bushwhacking adventure. As the trail descends, I know it's time to leave it to the right and begin to fight the sparse undergrowth. The goal is simple...to keep walking up until you reach the highest point.

It appears that I have not been the only person with this goal. A clearly visible trail opens up in front of me, then I notice a faded red blaze on a tree. 'What the hell?', I thought. This was not on any of the maps I researched. Why would this be a secret? Is it an attempt to discourage people from entering this area, or simply a forgotten path? I gladly follow this trail all the way to the summit, sparing me from the normal fight with briers. A search for a USGS marker is fruitless.

Like most of the peaks in GA, there is not much of a vista. Like Coosa Bald, there is a small granite outcropping near the summit that provides a small window in the direction of Blood Mountain. The clouds slowly blow through the gap between Slaughter and Blood Mountain, finally revealing the highest point in GA on the Appalachian Trail. I sit on the outcrop and soak up the sun for nearly an hour before retracing my steps back down to Wolfpen Gap.

Late Evening Light

A few days ago I had one of "those experiences" that simply cannot be captured by a photograph, or painted onto a canvas. My fellow outdoor enthusiasts know what I mean. It's usually some phenomena that involves being at THAT place, at THAT very moment, and it is usually over as quickly as it starts. The "double-rainbow" guy certainly knows what I'm talking about.

I was in the woods on a late afternoon hike with the dogs. I have noticed that as we head into March, the after-work hikes no longer involve a double-time pace in order to get out of the woods before full darkness covers us. The angle of the sun's rays are changing, to the point that you can actually see and feel a difference. As the hike began (Miller Trek Trail, again), the sun was still dancing across the fallen leaves that make up the forest floor. The sunlight, still shining yellow down upon the trunks and the tops of the trees, was blazing brightly as I slipped into the forest.

After crossing a few streams and making my way uphill and across the powerline cut, the shadows from the still leafless trees had grown longer. With my back to the sun, I noticed that the groundcover was no longer privy to the warm glow It had been cast, just until sunrise, into the oncoming darkness. Then, I slowly realized that the bright light had faded altogether, making a gigantic leap from low-level light to the dullness of twilight.

I had climbed high enough on the ridge so that when I looked back, I could see that there was a bank of clouds hiding the sun. It was just a thin strip, but enough to block the rays from landing directly at my position. I turned and continued to head upward, deciding to allow Tobey to run off leash with his already loose companion Rocket. I struggled to keep pace with them.

After about five minutes of  picking my foot falls carefully (my left knee's strength still being suspect), I sensed a glowing from up on the ridge above me, a very bright light. As I looked up in that direction, the most beautiful mixture of pink and purple was radiating all of the trees from mid trunk up into the naked branches at the top. I looked behind me and saw that the sun, much like a toddler that gets that second wind right before bedtime, was saying, 'Not just yet!'. It had found the last gap of clear sky between the cloudbank and the northern ridge of Ivylog Mountain.

Through that gap came pouring the light, picking up where it left off before, but so much more brilliant this time. Those colors in contrast with the already shadowed forest floor gave the groundcover an eerie, colorless gray, while the pink and purple combination made the upper half of the trees appear as though they were glowing embers. The phrase "For purple mountain majesties..." in America the Beautiful is what I was seeing, right in front of me. Maybe a very expensive camera, or an operator that really knew their f-stops and shutter speeds could capture what I was seeing, but I knew I couldn't. So, I simply watched.

I stood there trying to catch my breath as I watched the colorless gray slowly move up into the treetops nearest me. This continued like a giant blanket moving up the slope claiming the lower elevations first, then the middle ridge, and finally the highest ridge above, as they bid farewell to the sun.

The dogs stood panting on the trail about fifty yards ahead, waiting patiently for me to take a few steps in their direction. This would be the signal to lunge on ahead and find something good to sniff. Now that the bright light was gone, the subtle colors of the forest came back into view...the browns, the light yellows and grays, all reclaiming their positions. A cool wind began to fill the gap where the light was. I zipped the fleece up to my neck and continued on, hoping to avoid the next progression in the daily ritual of color change.  

Casualty of a Dog Battle

...This time, I was out getting in a quick walk with the dogs. The roads were dry, no problem there. It was approaching darkness and I just wanted to let them stretch their legs for a bit, get some sniffs in, and take care of business. Our only obstacle to a peaceful stroll would be one of their cousins.


Over the past few months, a new dog has shown up in the 'hood; a brown shaggy-looking mutt that is very territorial of his section of road. Usually he just comes down to the edge of the yard snarling and barking. The problem is when his weiner dog brother is in the yard with him. That yappy little dachshund gives the mutt an extra dose of courage and he ends up in the road, baring his teeth while my large dogs pull forward silently, wishing that I would let 'em at this annoying duo of canine bluster.


On this particular evening, I'd had enough of their threatening charges and decided that a small rock on the backside would put an end, once and for all, of this daily harassment. I heard them coming through the woods, so I stepped into the roadside ditch to find said rock and found nothing but leaves and dirt. They were coming rapidly so I aborted my search to get back up on solid pavement for the latest face-off.


I stepped up onto the  pavement with my left foot, which my dogs mistook as an invitation to lunge at their fellow canines. While the entire weight of my body was on my left leg, my right still lifting up out of the ditch, my dogs surged towards the source of irritation. The problem this time was all of the pea gravel left over from the snow events. Ironically, this material is spread to provide traction in icy conditions; when the snow and ice is gone it becomes an impediment to traction. My left foot slid forward while my body stayed behind, bending my knee joint in an unnatural backwards trajectory.


The pain was instant with white flashes showing up in my eyes. I fell on my right side while refusing to let go of the leashes. Rocket and Tobey continued forward not bothering to realize that they were dragging their beloved master, all 300 lbs of me, across the asphalt. After about ten feet they mercifully stopped allowing me to writhe and moan in a singular location. This is what I fear most, a hyper-extended knee; an injury that often ends with torn ligaments that require major surgery and a long period of inactivity.

Finally, I shook off the agony enough to remember that there were hostile dogs about that would love the opportunity to attack the throat of their enemy laying helpless on the road. I looked around, expecting to see teeth inches away from my face. Instead, the dog was just standing there about twenty feet away, looking at me curiously and not making a sound. Finally it gave a half-bark, then turned and walked away. It was almost like it wanted to make sure I wasn't hurt too bad before going back home.

I considered calling Jennifer on the cell phone to come help me get up off the road. But, I decided if I could get up that I could hobble my way back to the house. It was a long trip, but I made it without further incident. For the next few days I was certain that I did some real damage to my knee due to the pain that was not subsiding, that combined with the sensation that my knee joint felt weak and kind of floppy.

Day by day, the pain has eased and things now feel pretty much back to normal. I did discover that intense knee pain is a cure for nagging neck pain in that it made me focus on something else for a while. Warmer days are coming, hopefully no more pea gravel will need to be applied to the roads so that I can enjoy firmer footing. Brown mutt and weiner dog still come out to harass, but neither have ventured into the road anymore. Maybe they too have decided it just isn't worth all the fuss. I'm ready and eager to get back up on the steep slopes.