Big Bend Trail

It snowed in the mountains this week, so we changed our hiking plans. Surfing to a popular hiking trail site, we perused a couple of South Carolina counties for hikes we'd missed, and discovered the Big Bend Trail.

According to the website, the trailhead for this 2.7 mile (one way) hike through a "predominantly hardwood forest" is located just south of the Cherry Hill Campground. However, the website failed to mention the trailhead is on the west side of the road and difficult to see if driving past. After a few drive-bys, we finally located the small wooden sign that marked the beginning of the trail, and we were on our way.

Almost immediately after getting on the trail, we entered a clearing. The trail isn't clearly marked in this area, and we weren't sure which direction to go. We walked up a small rise and found FS 709, which is always a bummer when you want to be on a trail and not a road, but within a minute, we saw another entrance to the path and finally, we were on our way. Again.

Conditions for Big Bend this time of year are interesting. The entire ground is covered with a mix of fallen leaves and pine straw. In other words, we couldn't see the actual path. However, the general indention was there, and after we figured out the trail was a series of switchbacks, determining where to go became much easier.

The ground cover was thick and hid roots and other hazards, and we did a fair amount of tripping, stumbling and grabbing on to one another for support. It was also slick, and hiking became even more interesting when the trail narrowed to little more than a slight ledge on the side of a steep hill (dandy for someone who is afraid of heights.) It was a bit tedious at times, but challenging, especially when we came across one of the many tree trunks lying across the path.

Being January, it was cold, and I have a lack of experience hiking in low temperatures. To overcome this, before I left the house, I followed advice and layered my clothing. Good call, bad choice of clothes. In addition to silk thermals under my jeans, I chose a leather jacket (mistake), my pink Mt. Mitchell hooded sweatshirt (mistake), and a clingy thermal shirt, which I wore beneath the Mt. Mitchell hoody (loblolly of a mistake). The physical exertion in addition to the simple act of walking quickly warmed us up. Forty minutes into the hike, I was burning up. When hiking in cold winter, layer wisely.

The website stated Big Bend Falls is located .6 miles after the trail dead ends into the Foothill Trail. However, the site doesn't mention the fact that the trail splits. After going over a small bridge to our right and walking down that branch for a few minutes, we saw the Chattooga River below us through the trees but no falls, so we retraced our steps and took the other path. While we didn't locate the cascade, we did find steps that led to a solitary spot on the gorgeous Chattooga.

We stayed for awhile, but it was nearing three in the afternoon and the temperature was dropping. Time to head back. We never found the falls, but we had a good time.

Buckhorn Gap Trail - Pisgah National Forest

I'm not sure how to approach this trip report. I don't feel like writing it with a humorous twist because in the end, it wasn't funny. But I can't get overly dramatic because for the most part, we enjoyed ourselves and we did survive. I'll just stick with the facts. Read carefully.

Our original plan was to follow the lead of another member of our hiking group and go to Little Glassy Mountain, but after a problem filled week at work I needed something a little more secluded, someplace where problems and a cell phone signal couldn't find me. This little tidbit will come into play later in the story.

I picked up Kevin Adam's Best Wildflower Hikes in NC and flipped through it until I came across Hike #47—Twin Falls in Pisgah National Forest. It sounded perfect. After making sure we had EVERYTHING under the sun except for a jacket because it was warm outside and a manageable map because I had Mr. Adam's book, we left. Unfortunately, that was around noon. That was our first mistake.

FR 477 or Avery Creek Road, the road that leads to Buckhorn Gap Trail (the trail that takes you to Twin Falls) is located just past the Pisgah National Forest’s visitor's center on Highway 276. It's a road I'm sure we've seen in the past, but we totally ignored, so when we turned and saw the sign announcing the road was closed 1.75 miles down near the stables, we decided to explore it anyway. After all, it's in Pisgah. It had to be interesting.

It was. We stopped several times to check out the campsites along the road or the clear water running through Avery creek. We weren't in the mood to leave, so we decided to hike along 477. As we were grabbing packs and walking sticks, two hikers returned from the direction we were about to head in and mentioned the trailhead wasn't very far. It was getting late but a quick glance at our watch told us we had another three and a half hours of daylight left, so we decided to hike to the falls anyway. That was our next mistake.

This was by far the most scenic trail we've been on this winter. It follows Avery Creek for awhile but then branches off and follows another white-water, cascade filled creek.

It had rained the day before, consequently, the trail was drenched and we walked through mud, soggy leaves, and pools of water as we went. There was water everywhere. Part of the trail was washed out in one spot and just impassable in another. We held onto trees as we skirted around the muddy bog. I kept wondering what it looked like when the flowers were blooming.

We reached the falls around four o'clock and spent as much time as we dared enjoying the view. But time was running out so we left. Because I didn't feel like hiking with Mr. Adam's book, I left it in the car. Another mistake. The result of that decision was our getting turned around a bit and heading in the wrong direction after leaving the falls.

I was sure the trail was a loop, so we kept on walking, certain we'd reach 477 soon. We reached a gravel road, which make hiking easier. But about an hour later, night fell. We pulled out our flashlights and when we reached a Y-Junction that had absolutely no markings on it, we decided to back track.

We were at an elevation somewhere in the vicinity of 2,600 feet. It was cold on that mountain and we didn't have a jacket, but as long as we moved, we were okay. It was also dark. We had two flashlights, but the batteries in mine were weak, and soon after, the light faded. I walked behind my husband as close as I dared, but the darkness swallowed the light and I could barely see. Back tracking the remainder of the trail was out: after we left the falls, we'd climbed a hill with an elevation of around 1,400 feet. We'd have to make our way down that hill in the dark, and if we did make it, the trail below it was confusing. If we missed one of those orange blazes, we would be lost in the Pisgah National Forest.

We were obviously lost, but what could we do without a map? We reached the gravel road and stopped at the point where the Black Mountain Trail intersected with Buckhorn Gap to regroup our thoughts and to make a plan. The cold began settling in our bones. We saw a sign for a trailside shelter. Kelley searched for it, but couldn't find it. He rejoined me where I stood in the dark, and finally, the realization that we were in big, big trouble sank in.

Late Afternoon Rays Indicate Trouble Is Ahead

I carried a Cobra hand radio in my pack, so I tried to contact someone to find out how far we were from the trailhead. No answer. I shouted into the darkness. No answer. We both tried using our cell phones. No signal. We were stuck in the dark on a mountain in the cold and we were lost.

Why didn't you build a fire? You might ask. We could have, but keep in mind this is January. The sun set around 5:30 or 6:00. We were facing twelve hours of darkness. It takes a lot of kindling and firewood to keep one warm for that amount of time, and to collect it meant risking a fall down steep slopes hidden in the darkness. We were also in the middle of a drought, and while it had rained, we had no guarantees that it rained there. We were surrounded by trees with nothing but leafy ground cover under our feet.

We finally realized we wouldn't make it through the night. We were about to die.

We had a lot of sweet moments in the time that followed, and we didn't hesitate to say how much we loved each other and how blessed we were to have the other in our lives. Surprisingly, I wasn't scared. I was on the trail with my husband, and I knew where I was going. It was okay.

We didn't give up though. At times I shouted (I have a really big voice), and Kelley still sought solutions. I tried my cell phone again, trying this spot and then another. And with my phone (not Kelley's, for I tried) and while standing on one spot, I was finally able to reach 911. We shared our predicament. They took the info and said they'd call back. An hour later, with my phone and on that spot, I called back. As it turns out, they'd been trying to call me but couldn't get through.

I should take a moment to mention that I have an old Nokia phone. I need a new one, but I refused to give up this particular phone because Nicholas Sparks used it to say Happy Birthday to my daughter during one of his book signings. No way I was going to give it up. Because of that, my old dual-band phone was able to reach 911 in a forest which, according to rescuers, has only 11% cell coverage. God does indeed work in mysterious ways.

Two hours after we called for help, two ATV's and a pickup arrived. We then learned we were three miles from the trailhead. If we'd had a map, we would have known the gravel road we'd stopped on led back to the stables. That may have helped, we don't know. It took a half hour to drive down it, so there's no telling what would have happened to us while walking in the dark.

We arrived at our car at 10:oo PM. The temperature at the stables where the Brevard Rescue squad had set up rescue operations was 43 degrees.

Lesson learned: No hikes over two miles during the winter. We start early, make sure we have flashlights with fresh batteries, proper clothing, and those little silver emergency blankets. Most important, we don't assume we'll be okay just because we hike frequently.

Buckhorn Gap is an attractive trail, and with Twin Falls waiting for you at the end, a hike well worth the effort, but take a map with you and stay aware. Learn from our mistakes and hike smart.

Mountain Bridge Wilderness - Part II

Coldspring Branch intersects Bill Kimball at a clearing near the Middle Saluda River, two and a half miles into the Mountain Bridge Wilderness. A small sign indicates camping is permitted there, and we saw what appeared to be a fire pit. We decided we wanted to go back in the spring, have a picnic lunch, and then return to the parking lot the way we came, because we never, ever, ever, ever want to hike the Bill Kimball trail again.

Never.

The trail at the Coldsprings/Bill Kimball junction is deceptively tranquil--and level. After a short repast of water and my undamaged Clif bar, we began the return trip to the car via the Bill Kimball trail, hiking along at a nice pace thanks to the second walking stick. We enjoyed the view of the valley we'd hiked into (hint, hint, hint) with the bubbling Middle Saluda River to our right and wispy rhododendrons lining our path to the left. At one point, Kelley stood at the top of a rise I had yet to traverse, and when I looked at him, I saw a tall peak in the background. I commented on how high it was. Little did I know....

Not long after, the trail veered left, up a steep rise, and I huffed and puffed and joked as we made our way upward. I took the lead a short time later and within minutes, had to stop when the "trail" suddenly ended. We searched for the pink blaze that would indicate we were on the Kimball trail. Kelley saw it off to our left. It was the first of three times that we would get turned around. Fortunately, we paid attention to our surroundings and quickly found our way back to the trail each time.

I was really surprised at how steep that hill was, and how long we stayed on it. Seems we missed the tiny lines and the even tinier 2400 on the map that indicated the elevation gain in this area. It felt never ending, and at one point, when I turned a corner and saw an even steeper slope, I called time out and drank one of my three bottles of Gatorade. Gosh that stuff really works. Within minutes, I was ready to go and we pushed forward.

And somehow, the trail became even steeper.

In broken, breathless words, I told my husband I would either have a heart attack or I would accidentally slip down the mountain on all those leaves. Meant it, too. Dry, dead leaves made the ascent so incredibly slippery, only the rocks and roots that created natural steps kept us from sliding down. At this point, one of us mentioned turning around and heading back to the car via Coldsprings. After a bit of discussion, we decided we were too far into the trail. And besides, how high could that hill go?

*sighs* Really, really high.

The path leveled a time or two, but we soon discovered we weren't near the top. We were simply preparing for the worst part of the hike--the rocky part. A sheer rock face parallel to the trail peeked through bare trees. Imagine our surprise when we walked straight toward it!

To our dismay, the dirt path gave way to large boulders. We carefully navigated through patches of slippery mulch on very narrow paths with steep descents beside it. I was so tired, and my body ached so bad that I no longer cared. And it didn't end. It just kept going.

"Please tell me that isn't the trail," I said soon after. Too tired to talk, my big, strong husband pointed to the blaze and shrugged. Then we saw the chain.

"Kelley, why is there a chain there?" He shrugged again and climbed up the four and a half foot boulder that stood between us and our destination. He reached down to help me, but I still had a hard time climbing up. I scraped my knee and my elbow in the process, but I made it and found out why the chain was there.

The trail was even steeper!

A short while later, Kelley shouted back (I'd fallen way behind by that time) with the good news we'd reached the top. He was wrong. Sometime after that, as the sun inched toward the horizon, we were still climbing. Finally, we reached a ridgeline. Bone tired, I trudged along, my two walking sticks dragging behind me as Kelley led the way. It was around three o'clock. Night would fall in a couple of hours and we had no idea how much trail remained.

As Kelley began discussing a camping plan, I remembered failing to include the Bill Kimball trail and an emergency number on the hiker registration form. I had a Cobra walkie talkie in my pack, but no jacket. Along with night would come the cold, so we hastened our pace.

I have no idea how long after that Kelley spotted a sign--the map we saw at the beginning of the hike! We only had a half mile or so to go. My whoo hoo! echoed through the hills.

I could barely walk by that time. My ankle was sore. I'd strained the hip that I hurt during our Georgetown/Pawley Island trip in August. My left knee hurt (I was wearing my knee brace on the right one) and my calves and arms--and back and lungs--ached. But I walked on as if I'd walked so long, my body didn't know what else to do.

Near the end of the trail, we opted to take 276 back to the car. The walking sticks served as crutches by this time, and I hobbled across the road to put the pink portion of our hiker registration form in the box. I called out to Kelley, who struggled to fold his body in the car, and asked for the time.

Three fifteen. We hiked the entire loop in three hours and forty minutes. How? I don't know.

I limped for days, and had to wear a wrist brace, an ankle brace, and my knee brace, but by golly, we did it. Yes, we made a few mistakes that we need to correct, but we did it. We hiked Bill Kimball.

Never again.