- May 18, 2001
- 7,869
- 361
- 126
A Week of Ned, part 1/5. Enjoy!
***********************************
It is all fun and games until someone freezes to death in a dark mountain ravine.
Im generally a pretty happy guy, and since my wee years were spent growing up in the great white north, Im naturally conditioned to love cold weather. I love playing in the snow as much as the next person. Still, the dreary time of year between New Years Day and the middle of April makes me a grumpy man. For whatever reason, the weight of a gray winter is bigger than me; it wears me out. It never fails that all through mid January Ill be my usual cheery self, and then one morning Ill wake up with an overwhelming desire to carve myself. Once I reach that point, the wife instinctively senses that it is time to book a short mid-winter vacation somewhere warm, and to put child locks on the medicine cabinets.
My buddy Steve is more or less the same. Several years ago we found a really good way to combat the winter blahs. It doesnt matter how cold the temperatures are, or how hard it is snowing, or even how little daylight there may be, we get out and hike in the mountains just like it was the middle of summer. It might even be fair to say that we welcome craptastic weather with open arms just so we can thumb our noses at nature. All winter long other men find themselves slowly dying, numbly staring at the television. In contrast, we can be found trudging through deep snow, cold and miserable yet with big silly grins on our faces.
One hike in particular that we have wanted to do has eluded us for several years; we have never found the time or the right conditions to make the attempt. Buckeye Falls is a local waterfall that many claim is the tallest in the eastern United States. Depending on the source of the information, Buckeye measures somewhere between 400 and 700 feet from bottom to top. The problem with this falls is its remote nature. The one known trail to Buckeye is especially legendary among the locals. We live in a mountainous backwater county in Tennessee where virtually everything worth seeing requires a long, torturous hike over impossible terrain. Even among such notorious trails, the Buckeye trail has gained a reputation as being a rocky grind past the middle of nowhere and off the edge of the map. Some say it is more of a free climb than an actual hike. In addition, this trail arrives at the bottom of the falls. Due to the shape of the surrounding ravine and the curvature of the mountain over which Buckeye tumbles, those who brave the trail are greeted at its end with an obscured view of only the lowermost section of the falls. To add insult to injury, unless there has been significant recent rainfall, Buckeye is typically little more than a trickle.
Back at the start of this year, Steve stumbled over something on the Internet that was very interesting to both of us. About six years ago some intrepid explorer blogged that he had found a mountaintop route to a ridge that overlooks Buckeye from high above, giving a complete view of the entire falls in all its glory. Apparently this route was not actually along any sort of established trail; several miles of bushwhacking through steep terrain had been required. The details the blog included were sketchy at best, but there were pictures that proved the guy had done what he claimed. We were immediately stoked. We had several days of moderate rain predicted ahead of us, so conditions were going to be just about right. We would attempt the route the following Saturday. We spent the week studying topographic maps trying to figure out which way the blogger had gone.
The day finally arrived, and Steve parked his truck in some mud beside a long gravel road that abruptly stopped where we would set out on foot. It was a frigid morning, and we were in the woods well before sunrise as we suspected that we had a long day ahead of us. Our plan was to head generally west high along the northern flank of a long mountain range. For the first part of the hike, we found an old overgrown logging road that we followed as much as possible. We didnt know exactly where the falls were, but we had a good educated guess of a general direction. With that knowledge, we had a rough idea about how far we could travel before we would begin to suspect that we were either going the wrong way, or that we had missed and overshot the falls.
From the very beginning, the route turned out to be very difficult. Even with the old logging road, progress was weary and slow. Thankfully, there was very little snow on the ground, and it was mostly concentrated in the shadowy gullies of the mountain. That said, everything had a dense coating of frozen fog on every exposed surface. Thick groves of laurels became nearly impassible as they hung low in the path due to the extra weight of the ice. It felt like we had to fight for every footstep as their wretched limbs grabbed at us or slapped us in the faces. Then as the sun started to peek over the horizon, the ice coating began to loosen up, creating a slushy snowfall on a cloudless day as it flaked off the trees. Before long we were soaked to the bone from both sweat and snow.
After several miles of following the logging road, we finally reached that point in our minds where we decided we had somehow missed our target. The day was getting along, and we knew our daylight was limited. We began to wonder aloud if we might have somehow hiked above the top of the falls since we were at quite a high elevation. During the hike we had crossed several small streams, any of which were potentially the source for our falls. We also acknowledged that the terrain was so convoluted that we might have easily overlooked the specific ravine we sought. Steve climbed to the top of a tall pine to see if the higher view could point us in the right direction, but it didnt help. It began to look like we might have to do a lot more exploration than we had originally figured. We finally decided to leave the logging trail behind to attain high ground at the top of a ridge to the south. We reasoned that from a higher vantage point we might either spot the falls or possibly hear falling water and find the right way.
It was a long, steep struggle to the top. At this point, we were at high enough elevation that the ground was no longer clear; there was slippery snow under every footstep. Every leg muscle began griping about the never-ending trudge. Partway up the ridge we reached a high knob where we could see into the valley on the other side and could hear water, but in completely the wrong direction from where we imagined the falls should be. Frustration began to taint our decision making as we agreed to make the long descent into the valley to locate the source of the sound. After a difficult downhill scramble, we were sorely disappointed to discover only a tiny yet noisy stream at the bottom. The stream flowed generally back in the direction of our truck, so resigned to failure we followed it downstream, not wanting to waste our remaining strength struggling all the way back up to the high ridge. Basically, we had spent the entire day hiking along the north flank of the mountain range, and now we were completing the circle by heading the other way on the opposite side.
Somewhere along the way, after a short but intense encounter with the local wildlife, we met up again with the logging road. We still had a little daylight and a bit of tired determination, and decided we were not quite yet ready to give up. We started out on the road again and doggedly followed our own footsteps again into the wild. Several long miles later, we reached the point where we had previously branched off the road up the mountain to the high knob. This time, however, we stuck to the road. We trudged on for an eternity and finally came to a point where the road seemed to end at a T. Neither branch of the T looked very promising; both were so tangled with frozen laurels that any further progress would take more will than either of us had left. Even so, we briefly split up to explore each side, but our desire to continue was quickly fading.
Some days you are the windshield; some days you are the bug. Finding the falls was not going to happen that day.
The sky was getting dusky, and we burned everything that was left in the tank trekking back to the truck. I got home late, weary to the bone. I took a long hot shower, ate virtually everything I could find, and then went to sleep for almost an entire day.
Steve and I vowed to return. One way or another, we would own bragging rights to Buckeye Falls.
Ice bank
Frozen fog
WARNING: you can't unsee this
Steve in the woods
***********************************
It is all fun and games until someone freezes to death in a dark mountain ravine.
Im generally a pretty happy guy, and since my wee years were spent growing up in the great white north, Im naturally conditioned to love cold weather. I love playing in the snow as much as the next person. Still, the dreary time of year between New Years Day and the middle of April makes me a grumpy man. For whatever reason, the weight of a gray winter is bigger than me; it wears me out. It never fails that all through mid January Ill be my usual cheery self, and then one morning Ill wake up with an overwhelming desire to carve myself. Once I reach that point, the wife instinctively senses that it is time to book a short mid-winter vacation somewhere warm, and to put child locks on the medicine cabinets.
My buddy Steve is more or less the same. Several years ago we found a really good way to combat the winter blahs. It doesnt matter how cold the temperatures are, or how hard it is snowing, or even how little daylight there may be, we get out and hike in the mountains just like it was the middle of summer. It might even be fair to say that we welcome craptastic weather with open arms just so we can thumb our noses at nature. All winter long other men find themselves slowly dying, numbly staring at the television. In contrast, we can be found trudging through deep snow, cold and miserable yet with big silly grins on our faces.
One hike in particular that we have wanted to do has eluded us for several years; we have never found the time or the right conditions to make the attempt. Buckeye Falls is a local waterfall that many claim is the tallest in the eastern United States. Depending on the source of the information, Buckeye measures somewhere between 400 and 700 feet from bottom to top. The problem with this falls is its remote nature. The one known trail to Buckeye is especially legendary among the locals. We live in a mountainous backwater county in Tennessee where virtually everything worth seeing requires a long, torturous hike over impossible terrain. Even among such notorious trails, the Buckeye trail has gained a reputation as being a rocky grind past the middle of nowhere and off the edge of the map. Some say it is more of a free climb than an actual hike. In addition, this trail arrives at the bottom of the falls. Due to the shape of the surrounding ravine and the curvature of the mountain over which Buckeye tumbles, those who brave the trail are greeted at its end with an obscured view of only the lowermost section of the falls. To add insult to injury, unless there has been significant recent rainfall, Buckeye is typically little more than a trickle.
Back at the start of this year, Steve stumbled over something on the Internet that was very interesting to both of us. About six years ago some intrepid explorer blogged that he had found a mountaintop route to a ridge that overlooks Buckeye from high above, giving a complete view of the entire falls in all its glory. Apparently this route was not actually along any sort of established trail; several miles of bushwhacking through steep terrain had been required. The details the blog included were sketchy at best, but there were pictures that proved the guy had done what he claimed. We were immediately stoked. We had several days of moderate rain predicted ahead of us, so conditions were going to be just about right. We would attempt the route the following Saturday. We spent the week studying topographic maps trying to figure out which way the blogger had gone.
The day finally arrived, and Steve parked his truck in some mud beside a long gravel road that abruptly stopped where we would set out on foot. It was a frigid morning, and we were in the woods well before sunrise as we suspected that we had a long day ahead of us. Our plan was to head generally west high along the northern flank of a long mountain range. For the first part of the hike, we found an old overgrown logging road that we followed as much as possible. We didnt know exactly where the falls were, but we had a good educated guess of a general direction. With that knowledge, we had a rough idea about how far we could travel before we would begin to suspect that we were either going the wrong way, or that we had missed and overshot the falls.
From the very beginning, the route turned out to be very difficult. Even with the old logging road, progress was weary and slow. Thankfully, there was very little snow on the ground, and it was mostly concentrated in the shadowy gullies of the mountain. That said, everything had a dense coating of frozen fog on every exposed surface. Thick groves of laurels became nearly impassible as they hung low in the path due to the extra weight of the ice. It felt like we had to fight for every footstep as their wretched limbs grabbed at us or slapped us in the faces. Then as the sun started to peek over the horizon, the ice coating began to loosen up, creating a slushy snowfall on a cloudless day as it flaked off the trees. Before long we were soaked to the bone from both sweat and snow.
After several miles of following the logging road, we finally reached that point in our minds where we decided we had somehow missed our target. The day was getting along, and we knew our daylight was limited. We began to wonder aloud if we might have somehow hiked above the top of the falls since we were at quite a high elevation. During the hike we had crossed several small streams, any of which were potentially the source for our falls. We also acknowledged that the terrain was so convoluted that we might have easily overlooked the specific ravine we sought. Steve climbed to the top of a tall pine to see if the higher view could point us in the right direction, but it didnt help. It began to look like we might have to do a lot more exploration than we had originally figured. We finally decided to leave the logging trail behind to attain high ground at the top of a ridge to the south. We reasoned that from a higher vantage point we might either spot the falls or possibly hear falling water and find the right way.
It was a long, steep struggle to the top. At this point, we were at high enough elevation that the ground was no longer clear; there was slippery snow under every footstep. Every leg muscle began griping about the never-ending trudge. Partway up the ridge we reached a high knob where we could see into the valley on the other side and could hear water, but in completely the wrong direction from where we imagined the falls should be. Frustration began to taint our decision making as we agreed to make the long descent into the valley to locate the source of the sound. After a difficult downhill scramble, we were sorely disappointed to discover only a tiny yet noisy stream at the bottom. The stream flowed generally back in the direction of our truck, so resigned to failure we followed it downstream, not wanting to waste our remaining strength struggling all the way back up to the high ridge. Basically, we had spent the entire day hiking along the north flank of the mountain range, and now we were completing the circle by heading the other way on the opposite side.
Somewhere along the way, after a short but intense encounter with the local wildlife, we met up again with the logging road. We still had a little daylight and a bit of tired determination, and decided we were not quite yet ready to give up. We started out on the road again and doggedly followed our own footsteps again into the wild. Several long miles later, we reached the point where we had previously branched off the road up the mountain to the high knob. This time, however, we stuck to the road. We trudged on for an eternity and finally came to a point where the road seemed to end at a T. Neither branch of the T looked very promising; both were so tangled with frozen laurels that any further progress would take more will than either of us had left. Even so, we briefly split up to explore each side, but our desire to continue was quickly fading.
Some days you are the windshield; some days you are the bug. Finding the falls was not going to happen that day.
The sky was getting dusky, and we burned everything that was left in the tank trekking back to the truck. I got home late, weary to the bone. I took a long hot shower, ate virtually everything I could find, and then went to sleep for almost an entire day.
Steve and I vowed to return. One way or another, we would own bragging rights to Buckeye Falls.
Ice bank
Frozen fog
WARNING: you can't unsee this
Steve in the woods
Facebook
Twitter