Viewing entries tagged
Appalachian Mountains
It had been a while though since my last backpacking trip, so when a friend asked if we wanted to go very socially distanced backpacking (we hike at slightly different paces and we’d have all our own separate gear) on the Appalachian Trail then I jumped at the opportunity! A little bit of planning later and we had a section hike mapped out: Sam’s Gap to Spivey Gap along the NC-TN border.
A long time ago, in the area where Franklin, NC now sits, local Cherokee told a story of a winged beast that swooped down from the skies and stole children. Heartbroken and desperate, the local villagers sent a warrior to the highest mountain to keep watch for the winged monster and to discover its lair. The warrior found the lair, but it was in a place in the mountains inaccessible to humans, so the Cherokee villagers prayed to the Great Spirit for assistance. The Great Spirit heard their pleas and sent thunder and lightning to destroy the winged monster. The lightning scarred the surrounding mountains but the warrior, afraid for his life, tried to abandon his post. To punish his act of cowardice the Great Spirit sent a bolt of lightning to the mountain summit, leaving a bald and turning the warrior to stone. From that day forward the mountain was called Yunwitsule-nunyi which means "where the man stood."
Today we call it Standing Indian Mountain. The bald is still there, as well as the rock scars on the sides of the nearby mountains, but the rock shaped like a man is crumbling, forgotten to all except those that know to look for it.
When was the last time I'd backpacked alone? And I mean really and truly alone - no Ryder pup, not even other hikers nearby. I was out there in the wilderness and I felt completely alone. I was acutely aware of every noise in the forest around me and I realized I was never this worried before about venturing into the wilderness. I wasn't sure if it was because everyone else's fears of the wilderness was seeping into me, or if it was because my general anxiety about the world was increasing, or if it was just that I was venturing into wilder and more remote places and, honestly, that's scary. But I had to take this leap of faith. I had to prove to myself that I could be alone in the wilderness and that it would be alright.
Some photography requires just the right setup, just the right lighting, just the right variables, just the right whatever, but that's not how I operate in the backcountry. I just want to watch, to identify some small moment and capture it forever.
Two minutes and thirty-seven seconds is hardly enough time for that.
Some weekend trips just work out perfectly. Sometimes you expect tough climbs or bad weather, or that you'll have to sleep in a cold car the night before you get on the trail. And sometimes you get a bed & breakfast and a beautiful sunset on a stunning bald. My friend Sherry and I explored the Appalachian Trail from Carver's Gap to 19E over Easter weekend, and it was one beautiful adventure!
I was slow to get moving on Saturday morning, putzing around for last minute packing and shopping for food like salami and trail mix. All this meant I was a little slow to leave for Boone, past rusting cars in a field by a sign that read "Dirt for Sale" and billboards and signs advertising ski supplies and fly fishing guides. Worse than being late though was finding the Profile Trail parking lot blocked by orange cones and a sign that read "Lot Full." I skidded into a parking lot down the road from the trailhead to try to figure out my next move. There was another trail option for hiking up Grandfather Mountain: I just had to find it.
Over the holidays I somehow managed to convince my dad that I totally needed a GoPro. I carried the GoPro on the recent Grayson Highlands backpacking trip. I loved the photo results from that post, and I finally got around to playing with some of the video. So, without further ado: here's a video!
If anyone, especially me, ever asks you if you want to backpack the highest peak east of the Mississippi in cold, persistent rain, make sure your answer is “HELL NO.”
