FHT Days 3: This Trail Has Some Teeth…That End in a Cliffhanger

Thursday, May 23rd, 2024, 0630-1700
Hilliard Falls to Chimney Top Campsite, mm 63
27 miles, Gain: 5680′, Loss: 4920′, elevation 2300′

Something in all the waterfalls must have supercharged me, because I woke with a feeling of wanting to crush miles. My goal was to leave only half a day’s distance for the last day, and boy did I and then some! This day was actually just typical of ones on the BMT, and it was quite a bit easier…though the stairs really reared their ugly head in a few spots. Since I managed to get a pretty early start, I figured I’d shoot for my 10 by 10 standard. I passed the halfway mark of the FHT just after 7 am and was practically running along the trail, in touch with my stride and feeling better than I had in awhile. It was good to just be in the zone. It also helped that the trail was pretty flat and on old road beds a lot of the time. The miles came very easy and I found I’d done 11.2 miles by 10 am, well ahead of my goal.

Another motivating factor was a privy up ahead. Could I make it 12 miles before needing to go? I’d find out. Speaking of such things, one of the campsites I passed (Bear Gap), had an incredible amount of toilet paper and even poop just visible on the surface, laying all around the outskirts of the campsite. I’d also noted that many of the established fire pits had partially burned trash in them. It was sad that such a nice and well-cared-for trail had these many signs of overuse (but I suppose these 2 factors do go hand in hand). The developed campsites seemed to particularly attract some ridiculous and unacceptable human behavior. Of all the trails I’d hiked, the FHT seemed to be in the most need for some better Leave No Trace education programs. I would suggest LNT priniciples at least be posted around the campsites, if nothing else.

As I descended into the Toxaway River valley, I found a few pieces of microplastic (the torn-off tops of things like Hammer Gels) in the middle of the trail. I don’t get upset about finding these little bits of trash because I realize they are easy to escape a well-meaning person’s pockets. I simply pick them up and figure I’m making up for the few times little bits get away from me. But it did clue me into the fact that I was just behind another person. Based on the trash, I had a pretty good idea who, because I’d just seen the particular food items at the cache the day before. I also passed a stream where there were fresh wet footsteps on a rock on the other side. The 3rd clue was the lack of cobwebs across the trail…but this was less reliable information since I’d passed several groups going the other way in the morning. One of my favorite games is playing trail sleuth and tuning into such details. I also get excited about catching people…if for no other reason than I get to meet new people or see people I already know.

At the bottom of the hill, I finally spied him…as I suspected, it was Jacob from my shuttle on day 1. I wasn’t too surprised by this and I’m not certain if he was either. He stopped to take a dip in the river and I waved and waited for him on the other side of the big bridge. He’d camped at the Bear Gap site, about 6 miles back. We chatted briefly and I was glad to get to see him again, one last time? I felt bad that just as soon as I caught him, I stopped to use the privy, and he hiked on. I wasn’t sure if he wanted a hiking companion, as he was still trying to push big miles to finish this day. My plan was to go a bit further and take a nice long lunch break, seeing as how I’d already covered so many miles in the morning.

Just past the river, the trail pulled a fast one on me and went straight up a ridge alongside the lake. Having just reached the lake, I’d been expecting a nice lakeside stroll. Oh, NOOOO! Suddenly it was just a wall of steps and steps, and more steps. It reminded me of some of the climbs between the Cinque Terre towns in Italy, which were are all perched on incredibly steep cliffsides along the ocean. Still in my mode of crushing miles, I blasted up the stairs, elevating myself a couple hundred feet in no time. The feature even had a name: Heartbreak Ridge. It sure was. Almost immediately it went back down, and I was staring at the lakeshore again. Talk about a PUD. Then I was climbing once again, this time over a more substantial ridge that at least had a nice cruisy flat section on top. The trail paralleled a FS road for about half a mile, so I jumped on it just for fun…I love me some blue blazing! Perhaps it’s my need to break the rules just a bit now and again.

I’d gone a whole morning and 18 miles without seeing a waterfall, but luckily there was a nice one just in time for lunch. Laurel Fork Falls had a viewpoint from the trail and then a huge campsite at the head of the falls. I snapped a shot at the viewpoint, which would have been a nice break spot, but I needed water and wanted to go for a dip. Once again, I found the campsite a bit dingy with some trash and soot everywhere, but the creek was lovely. I went in the pools right above the falls, daring to get as close to the edge as I could, peering over the roar of the abyss. This was one of the few that had access from the top, so it was pretty cool. I soaked my mile-weary feet and actually started to get a bit chilled by the end. The clouds had moved in, threatening rain for the end of the day. No bother I figured. I’d get to camp early and hopefully escape the rain in my newly-patched and hopefully dry tent.

Only a few miles after lunch, I came to yet another gorgeous waterfall, which was perhaps in a tie with Hilliard Falls as being my favorite. Virginia Hawkins Falls was like a wedding cake of beauty and a scene from a tropical rain forest or something. It was absolutely mesmerizing. I wished I’d taken my lunch break here, instead.

After being so in the zone in the morning, plus the stunning energy of the waterfalls, the afternoon miles were a drag. All the wind was let out of my sails. There was a big long climb along Laurel Fork creek, but at least it was pretty gradual and every crossing of the creek was nicely bridged. I barely recalled having to hop across anything on the FHT. I gained a ridge, crossed a few roads, then descended steeply to a gap where HWY 178 ran through. There was a cop at the intersection, inspecting what looked like a recently abandoned motorcycle. Actually, I had no idea what the situation might be but I hoped they weren’t looking for a fugitive!

I continued on in a hurry, eager to get away from the road. I had less than 1 mile to go to my planned campsite, but it was more than 600 feet of up. It started to sprinkle a little as I climbed and I heard distant thunder, so I tried to pick up the pace. I was very tired after a fast-paced 27 mile day. I just wanted to get my tent up and have an early night, allowing for an early start and finish the next day. I had just 13 more miles to go, which was a nice distance for the next morning.

The campsite had a nice spring running next to it, just enough to collect water and clean up a bit. I avoided all the over-used sites near the campfire, as they appeared to be very prone to pooling/flooding. Instead, I found a tucked-away spot on some duff, with just the right amount of a slant to drain. I’m no fool. No sooner had I gotten my tent up that it began to rain…hard! Water began steaming off my canopy with fervor. There was the usual thunder and flashes of lightning, with a few close strikes but nothing too terrifying. I was used to all this after many years on trail and felt pretty safe inside my tent, laying on my mattress. It’s most likely a false sense of security, but I had thousands of data points to suggest otherwise.

I rode it out, content to be dry AND have cell service! After about 30 minutes, I peeked out through my rain flaps, noting with smug satisfaction the sudden lake that was once where the overused campsites were. I knew it! My patch of ground was still draining well. My tent didn’t leak either, which made me very happy. But the rain didn’t last long enough to fully convince me that I’d solved the issue. After all, it took hours for the leak to develop in the night of the deluge, weeks before.

Once the storm began to let up, I decided to re-emerge and finish my evening chores. Just as I began to think about this, I heard the soft padding of footsteps nearby, much too close. I recognized the delicately quiet footfalls as belonging to something very contrary to what the sound would imply. The largest and burliest of forest dwellers are often the stealthiest, while the loudest are almost always armadillos. This was no weird anteater, I suspected. I peaked through my rain flaps and realized with dread that I was correct. It was indeed a black bear, closely inspecting the campsite. But it was a juvenile, no more than a year old, which immediately gave me the incentive to start hurtling curses and go on the offensive. I quickly emerged from my tent, grabbed my free trekking pole, and starting putting on a convincing show that I was the meanest, most badass animal in town. The bear of course ran off and was never heard from the rest off the night…like they all do. Or at least like they all had done before, right? Wrong.

To be continued…