The Great Balsam Range

  After much anticipation I took a few days off and headed to one of my favorite southeastern backpacking destinations - the Shining Rock Wilderness of the Great Balsam Range in North Carolina, about 30 miles west of Asheville.  The Great Balsams are among the highest mountains in the eastern United States, with several peaks soaring over 6,000 feet above sea level.  Many of the mountains in this area feature large, treeless areas called "balds" with occasional patches of matted thickets, or "hells", of rhododendron, mountain laurel, flame azalea, and mountain blueberry.  There are also occasional stands of Fraser fir, erroneously identified as "balsam" by early settlers.  As late as the 1930's, these mountains were also the summer range for cattle driven up from the valleys below.  The Shining Rock area, at over 18,000 acres, has been designated a wilderness area by the U.S. Forest Service since 1964 and no development has occurred here since.

Looking toward Wash Hollow and an unnamed ridge.  The cloud base is at about 5800 feet so most hiking was done in whiteout.

   I arrived at my parking area off the Blue Ridge Parkway to a fury of gusty winds and sideways drizzle.  To avoid the rain I had to pack all of my gear while sitting in the back of the car.  Due to the high winds I opted to avoid the hiker's trail that followed the unprotected ridge above and instead struck out along a horse trail that paralleled the ridge and was somewhat sheltered.  Unfortunately, it was also very washed out with rain.  After fifteen minutes or so of hopping from rock to rock in my running shoes trying vainly to keep my feet somewhat dry I did what any reasonable person would have done and took off my socks and sloshed merrily ahead. 

Trail conditions along the Ivestor Gap Trail.

Visibility was limited, but occasionally there would be a break in the clouds and I would pull out my map and try to discern my progress.  Having been here several times before I had a general idea of what features to look for, but the incessant rain and fog were obscuring everything and I was getting confused as to my exact whereabouts.  I reached Ivestor Gap and knew that I had made it at least halfway to my intended destination surprisingly quickly.  After studying the map I made a right turn at the next trail junction and strolled confidently ahead knowing I'd make it past Shining Rock Mountain by nightfall, and hopefully out of the worst of the weather.

Where in the fuuu?

  Despite the rain I was keeping warm and dry under my umbrella.  I was neither carrying nor wearing any waterproof layers, and my clothing consisted of only a wool T-shirt, two windproof jackets and a neck gaiter for warmth.  I think I was wearing pants too.  I much prefer an umbrella to a rain jacket for wilderness travel as it allows me to dress for the temperature and not for the precipitation, thus leaving me more comfortable (and drier in fact).  Also, I was able to point the umbrella into the wind thereby blocking the brunt of it so it wouldn't suck the heat right out of me.  Sort of like a tent on the move.
  After about another hour of hiking I started to feel like something was amiss.  I was traveling downhill more than I should have been and started to wonder if I had made a wrong turn.  The thing that was bothering me most was that my compass didn't seem to be working either.  That was disconcerting because compasses don't lie - they point north.  But after years of abuse and being stored in a hot attic (I guess) the capsule had formed a bubble which the needle wanted to settle toward; so the needle would stop on what I thought was north, then I'd jiggle the compass and lo-and-behold. . . the needle would point in some other random direction.  Where was I?  I went ahead a little further until I came upon a creek and knew I had made a wrong turn.  I was then able to determine my approximate whereabouts.  I would have to head back uphill until I reached the last known trail junction.  These mountains are steep, and going back uphill would be slow going.
  All the way back up the mountain I made mental notes of reasonable campsites in case I'd have to head back to it before nightfall.  I made it back to Ivestor Gap in the late afternoon and it was then that I saw where I had missed a very faint trail turn-off.  The fog hadn't helped.  By my best estimation I had gone four miles out of my way and had lost almost three hours.  Getting back on course would have led me over Grassy Cove Top at just over 6,000 feet.  The rain had stopped but it was still very windy and getting colder, and I was reluctant to attempt to traverse an exposed summit so late in the evening.  I decided to find shelter before nightfall in a small stand of firs.  It wasn't the most protected campsite, but it would do.
  That night brought a maelstrom of fierce winds and the temperature dropped like a testicle.  I pitched my tarp much lower to the ground than I normally do and pinned the windward edge to the ground.  The trees weren't offering as much protection as I had hoped.  This was one of the few times in my wilderness travels that I was thinking about how dire the situation could get.  I was planning an escape route back to the car just in case.  Could I hike it at night?  I didn't relish the idea.  Was I warm?  Sort of.  Was I making sound decisions?  I hoped so.  I really wished I had brought along the wool sweater Kelly had encouraged me to pack.  After setting up the tarp I crawled underneath, put on some fleece tights, my puffy jacket, a hat and gloves, and changed out of my sopping wet shoes into some dry ones.  I climbed under my quilt, lit-up my trusty stove and made a dinner of white rice, butter, and smoked mussels.  Then I hunkered down for a long, cold night.

Tarp in low pitch.  The wind was coming from the left in this picture.  Notice the umbrella used as an additional windbreak for the stove.

  I actually slept rather well and my quilt kept me plenty warm as it always does.  Some snow had managed to migrate into the shelter with me, but since the temperature was well below freezing it didn't saturate anything.  Despite some tossing and turning I slept for over ten hours that night.
  When I woke up I started packing for the day's journey right away.  I had counted on the weather clearing up overnight but the winds were still howling and the visibility hadn't improved.  At least the snow and rain had stopped.  I was able to get most of my things packed under the cover of my tarp, and then I pulled stakes and sort of half-folded my shelter into the large outer pocket of my backpack.  My sopping wet shoes from the previous day had frozen solid overnight.  They weren't flexing at all and there was no getting them on.  I opted to wear my backup shoes intent on not getting them so saturated.  I also decided to head back to the car so I could drive to an area with cell phone coverage and call home and talk about my night.  The hike back was pretty quick despite the jumping from rock to rock I had to accomplish due to the trail being so wet.  I slipped on ice a few times as well.  I was better than being up on that ridge though.  When I got to the car at 11 AM the temperature was only 29 degrees.

This place really does have amazing views.  Sometimes.

After stopping in Waynesville for a phone call and a hot cup of coffee I went back up to the trailhead and struck out for Shining Rock Mountain again.  Upon leaving the car I ignored my usual admonition against wearing cotton in the backcountry and put on a sweatshirt that I had brought along for the drive.  My puffy-jacket was too warm to hike in, and since the sky was clearing I wasn't too concerned about getting my sweatshirt soaked as long as I kept the pace down and didn't let it get too wet with sweat.  Because I was getting such a late start I had returned to my original wet shoes and sloshed down the horse trail at a pretty good clip.  I was getting familiar with the scale of my surroundings by now and was better able to estimate my progress via the map.  I had a place to camp in mind and was intent on building a fire to dry out my shoes that night.  As I hiked along I would pick up any bits of dry tinder or twigs that happened to be sheltered under fallen logs or rocks or whatever; and after several hours I had a pretty good-sized pocketful of sticks the size of golf pencils, and plenty of cherry-tree bark that I've found always seems to burn, even when wet.
  I made it to Shining Rock Mountain in the late afternoon and climbed to the top of the rocks for the view.  The clouds had finally cleared.

Shining Rock is so named because of the giant quartzite rock formation atop it that, at a distance, looks like snow.  This views shows (nearest to farthest) Flower Knob, Grassy Cove Mountain, Tennant Mountain, and Black Balsam Mountain.  The parking area is on the other side of Black Balsam.

Close-up view of Shining Rock from Grassy Cove Mountain

  After descending the mountain a ways I found a suitable campsite in a rhodo-hell.  I dropped most of my gear and headed up another trail to a nearby spring to get some water.

Collecting water from a shallow rivulet - a few ounces at a time.  Since this water originates only a few hundred yards away with no human habitation or agricultural runoff, I don't bother treating it.

  After drinking several quarts of water (super-saturating) and filling up my bottle once more, I headed downhill on yet another trail to find some more firewood in the drier hardwood forest of the lower elevations of a south-facing slope.  In short order I gathered several bundles of two-inch thick branches that I shuttled back up the hill bit by bit.  I wished I had emptied out and brought along my backpack to put all the firewood in; but I managed to carry enough of it - looking rather ungainly I'm sure - back to the campsite by dark.  I built my fire with just one match, then enjoyed another delicious dinner of white rice, butter, and smoked mussels.

The second night's camp, this time with the tarp pitched a bit higher to offer a bit more headroom.

  Since the clouds had cleared the temperature dropped even lower that night, and I was glad to have a fire going.  By the time I had burned through most of my collected firewood my shoes were mostly dry, so I placed them underneath my groundsheet to keep them from freezing again and laid halfway out from under my tarp to look at the stars, and several shooting stars.  The view of the night sky from up here with no light pollution was astounding.
  A while later I heard something rustling off to the side of me and found a mouse eating its way into the chocolate bar that I had set nearby.  I let it have a few nibbles before I scared it away with my hand, then enjoyed the rest of the chocolate before it came back for more.

  Still later, as I lay dozing off under the sky the mouse ran over my face causing me to bolt upright in frustration.  I didn't think I'd be able to sleep with rodents crawling on my face.  I moved the rest of my food a little farther away and settled into the interior of the tarp, hoping the mouse wouldn't keep bothering me.  That was the last I saw, heard, or felt of it.  I slept well again, despite the cold.
  When I woke up I packed up my things and began the hike back to the car.  This was my last day here so I walked slowly and enjoyed it as much as I could.  As I got closer to the parking area I began to see more people who were enjoying this beautiful day.  It could not have been any nicer.  Here are a few pictures of the scenery:

 

Slate-colored Junco

Approaching Flower Gap, looking at Flower Knob

Looking back toward Shining Rock Mountain in left side of frame.  The large mountain in the distance is Cold Mountain - the same as in the movie and film.  Twice I have tried to hike to it but have been thwarted by weather or lack of daylight.

Sunning out gear at the end of the journey.  Almost all of my gear is made at home on my sewing machine including my tarp, backpack, sleeping quilt, all stuff sacks, water filter (not used) and green windbreaker.  Also pictured, stove and cookpot, water bottle, shoes and backup shoes, puffy jacket, and gray small bag containing first aid kit, knife, matches, whistle, hand sanitizer, dental floss, spare cord, and two lighters.  Total weight of everything carried on this three day journey was about 15 pounds, including food and water.

Looking Glass Rock from the Parkway.  The large exposed north side is about 400 feet tall and features many popular climbing routes.  Doug Pettersen, Doug Mudar and I climbed the 5.8 rated Nose Route in 2001.  That has been my only ascent of this rock.

Achieving By Not Doing

  It would seem as if for the past eight months, I haven't been participating in anything.  I've certainly been negligent about writing.  In fact, the opposite is true.  Life beckons.  I just never make the time to write about it.  That being said, I've decided that I will write about it; and I've been thinking of late how incredible life would be if I simply did the things that I wish I had time for one day.
  I've done quite a bit since my last visit here, so I'll recap as briefly as I can:  I completed my personal 28-day challenge mentioned previously.  Lost a bunch of weight.  I ran the Nashville Half-Marathon.  I picked up heavy things and put them back down.  Gained a bunch of weight.  Experimented with a wheat-free diet.  Stopped any sort of "dieting" whatsoever. . .  and of course I participated in the raising of my girl and all the joy that entails, and went to work, and cooked meals, and did a lot of dishes and so forth.
  One thing I've been struggling with is creating the personal time that I need to feel like a complete human being.  I feel that I get pulled in so many directions by the demands of family and work and life in general that I don't have time to get the rest I need, or meditate, or walk in the woods, or finish a project I've started, or begin one!  Or write, for that matter.
  And for that matter let me describe how in the past eight months I've learned a lot about myself, and in strange ways sometimes.
  Since I started this whole blog with a diet I'll start there, but my discoveries extend beyond food, and my writings will too.  Considering how easy it is to access information on this thing we call the Internet I was led down a rabbit hole of notions regarding diet and healthful ways to eat and be.  I discovered a lot, and I also found out that so much is bullshit.  For anyone interested I am happy to extoll my knowledge of biochemistry and biology and what we "should" be eating and what we "should not" be eating; but I prefer not to approach it from anything resembling proselytization - for eating is so much like religion in so many ways.  This has all been a path to self-discovery, and so I'd like to share with those interested.
  The 28-day Challenge described here was successful insofar as it was pretty easy to stick to, and it did achieve it's stated goal of weight loss.  Really, it wasn't so much of a challenge at all, probably due to the cheat day built in to each week.  We still ate our fair share of french toast, burritos, and ice cream.  It was also easy to go without fruit due to it being the middle of winter.  Since I have a principled objection to shipping nectarines from Argentina to be enjoyed out of season I didn't think twice about fruit for that twenty-eight days and for several months afterward.  Some might object to that notion, but without a doubt my European ancestors we're not enjoying nectarines and orange juice in the middle of winter and they did not die out for lack of fruit.  Around that time I started going running with Ryan two or three times a week - easy three to four mile jogs to loosen up for the half-marathon a few months hence - but I certainly wasn't doing the "recommended 5-days days a week 30-minutes a day" fitness regimen recommended by the AHA and others.  Nonetheless, my weight dropped from 158 to a low of 151.5 pounds in just twenty-eight days without really trying.  By this time I was ready to gain some weight back.
  The Nashville Half-Marathon that Ryan and I intended to run was slated for the last day of April, meaning that we had just eight weeks to quadruple the distance of our easy three-mile jogs.  Unfortunately, due to a ruptured blood vessel in his leg Ryan was forced to drop out from participating in the race.  I would have to go it alone.  My training for six weeks consisted of running just once per week, sometimes less.  The other six to ten days between runs were spent resting.  My running days consisted of sprinting 100, 200, 400, or 800 meter repeats as fast as I could until I had run just one-mile, or 1600 meters; so for instance I'd run sixteen 100-meter sprints, or two 800 meter sprints.  It doesn't  take long to run two 800-meter sprints, so my running days we're less than ten minutes each, albeit intense, hence all the rest days built in.  The only other training I did was stretches for my hip flexors and I would spend several minutes each night in a deep squat position to regain some hip and lower back flexibility.  In mid-April I went for just one six mile run on the hilly roads of Percy Warner park.  One half-mile into the run and up a steep hill I began to think I didn't have a chance of finishing a full thirteen miles, but the run got easier as I warmed up and I ended up completing the six miles in just 44 minutes.  I thought seven and a half minute per mile pace on Percy Warner's hills was good enough and proceeded to sit on my ass for the next two weeks.  I hoped that my $100 entry fee to the race wouldn't be wasted.
  When I filled out my entry form for the race I estimated a nine minute per mile pace and estimated I'd be running for close to two hours.  Daunting, I thought.  On race morning I took my scooter downtown, ate a spoonful of coconut oil and some Rice Krispies and enjoyed being in such a throng.  It was pretty intense.  The mood of the crowd was joyous and it was a beautiful and cool morning.  And the run started.  I ritually jogged for ten minutes at a time until my watch alarm went off, then I'd walk for two minutes to recover my heart rate and start running again.  I repeated this endeavor religiously until the finish line.  At times I found myself wanting to continue running after my alarm went off but I forced myself to stick to my plan.  At mile eleven however, my calves felt as if they were going to fall off.  I was wearing some brand new minimalist shoes that I had received in the mail the day before.  The shoes, in retrospect, helped my run by weighing absolutely nothing but they hindered me after a time by having no mid-foot or heel support to speak of, forcing me to land on the balls of my feet with each step.  That sort of gait is not foreign to me, but ten miles of it took it's toll on my calf muscles who were not ready for that kind of distance.  I struggled through the last mile and a half until I could actually see the finish line.

Then I sprinted the last 50 yards or so to the end - the most comically slow sprint of my life to be sure.  My official time was 1:58, so my estimate was right on; although considering the two minutes of walking every ten minutes my actual running pace was faster than expected.  I ate two bananas, an apple (my first pieces of fruit in months), drank a quart of some sort of sugary liquid and laid down on a bench.  For two weeks my calves would not allow me to ascend or decend stairs properly.  I have barely run at all since.