Discovering the Backcountry of the Smokies

It seems as though summer is determined to vanish faster than I can fully get to know this wonderful place. In the last few weeks, I’ve seen and done a lot. I went swimming in a mountain stream with cascades and a beautiful view (until I turned into a prune), discovered a delicious local barbecue restaurant, became more familiar with web design at my job as I completed more tasks and projects, participated in a second photography workshop with the artist in residence, and finally, went flyfishing and backpacking with my dad.

I had July 3^rd off for Independence Day, and my dad came to visit me for an extended weekend of outdoor fun. I haven’t had a chance to go on a backpacking trip with anyone here yet, so I was excited to be going out for the first time with my dad. We finished packing up our bags late on Friday morning, with everything from sleeping bags, mats, food, water, and a tent, to matches, tarp, rope, bungee cords, first aid kits, and a compass. After adjustments and a last check of the car to make sure we weren’t forgetting anything, we started up the centuries-old gravel road that was the start of Jakes Creek Trail.

Our destination was campsite #26, nearly six miles up the mountain with over 2,500 ft of elevation gain. On a normal day hike, maybe the climb wouldn’t have felt so bad. But weighed down with food, water, and camping gear, I felt the stretch in my calf muscles with every climbing step. It was over three and a half miles to Jakes Gap, where we would climb out of the first valley. The trail led us past a rushing stream, and sometimes across it by the way of log bridges. The water was flowing fast from the recent storms, and I knew that at these lower elevations flash flood warnings were in effect for the next two days. (One area of the park was recently washed out by a 4 foot wall of water that came down a mountain stream).

As my dad dropped to his knee to fill up his water bottle filter at the first stream crossing, I eyed him skeptically. I’ll admit it—I was still unconvinced that the little black spout was going to filter out the illness-inducing protists that lurked in the streams of the Smokies. I pulled out my water bottle—still full of well water from the house—as we continued on.

Jakes Gap

Turns out my dad is a bit of a photographer as well.

The trail winded us up switchbacks as we gained elevation. Finally we reached Jake’s Gap, similar to a pass, with large pine trees and empty terrain between them, for a change. It was humid and the mist blocked any view through the trees from sight. We continued up Miry Ridge Trail for the next two miles, still going up. Every turn around every corner became a new frustration as no break from the endless hill appeared. As we climbed higher, we began to realize that we were miles away from the last time we'd heard the stream, and as we were continuing to climb to our campsite, it was unlikely another stream that large would appear. Not finding more water would mean a cold dinner in order to conserve the water we had left for drinking. Along one of the hillsides, we came to a small spout of water running across the trail, leaving puddles in the muddy ground. We followed it along, looking for a spot where the water was rushing faster. To say rushing is really an exaggeration: the fastest spot we found was a trickle off the right side of a trial, no more than a couple of inches wide and an inch or so tall as it continued to run along the ground. But it was water, and though there were small pieces of leaves and sticks in it, it didn’t look particularly dirty. My dad held my wrist as I lowered myself off the side of the trail on the mountainside to collect the water—slowly—into our empty water bottles. The filter would purify it, and if I had any doubts we could boil it. It meant we could still have a warm dinner.

Miry Ridge trail led us around the mountain side, spiraling us up until we were at what I assumed was Miry Ridge. We reached a large rock outcrop on top of the mountain. I enjoy being at the highest elevations because there is no vegetation overhead, and seeing the sky is invigorating after being in the dense underbrush for so long. It started raining, and the clouds that we were enveloped in prevented us from seeing a view that I am sure that it would have been one to remember.

We donned our rain gear and reached the first stretch of downhill so far—barely a mile to our campsite. As we began to step off of the rock, the path led us into a dark tunnel, where we were surrounded by a dense thicket of rhododendron. The rain began to pour from the skies and flowed down the path we were walking on, causing the trail to become muddy and wet. The nearer we got to the campsite, the less I tried to keep my feet out of the puddles. The rain soaked our hats and then began to pour off of the rims. we looked forward to a hot dinner and dry bed.

 A wooden post with the number 26 inscribed underneath a tent symbol greeted us as we arrived, by this time completely soaked as the water-saturated, overgrown trail foliage had brushed against us. The campsite was another couple hundred yards off of the trail, through overgrown grass and unavoidable mud. The campsite opened up to a large clearing with ancient trees and flat dirt for tents. One other couple was already set up, and they came over to greet us briefly as we arrived. After setting up our tent, we also rigged a tarp up using trees and tall sticks to protect our tent. It turned out to be worth its weight in gold—our tent would have been completely saturated with rain water come morning had it not been protecting us.

After a delicious dinner of chicken noodles, we packed away our food and gear into one pack and hoisted it into the air with the bear-proof pulley system that is located at every backcountry campsite. There are 1500 bears in the park—that’s over two per square mile!—and is extremely important to take precautions in the backcountry from them. We settled into the tent at around 9:30 pm, worn out from the day’s work. I used my raincoat to isolate my sleeping mat from the wet tent floor, and fell asleep quickly.

The next morning, we woke to find a tent bottom soaked-through, a saturated rain coat beneath my mat, and our rain-covered hanging pack drenched through the back. Nothing sitting outside or in had dried since yesterday. Reluctantly, we began to make our way home, stopping at a campsite along the way to collect water, eat lunch, and take a nap in a hammock. After hiking back down the mountain in soaking shoes that squelched with every step, a dry house was more than welcome.

 

All in all, a wonderful weekend of adventures. This one’s for my dad, the greatest guy in the world for coming all the way out here to spend a few days with me! I love you!

Lindsey

P.S. Below I attached some of the photos I took at the photography workshop, which was focusing on long shutter exposures. This means that I set my manual settings so that my shutter stays open longer, tracking the water as it flows, creating a smoother effect. It was so amazing to learn from one of the best. So scroll on if you’re interested, and if not, that’s okay, too. Cheers!