The Foothills Trail (Part 3)
On the fourth morning of our trek we rose with admirably high spirits. The last cup of coffee was heated alongside the warmth of a well-deserved breakfast, and we spent every single sip enjoying the physical manifestation of our victories the day before. I filled our water and packed up camp while dad was getting his mindset ready for another day of climbing. This was his best day by far. We followed the river higher up the mountain under a blanket of cool morning dew. The whole morning felt like the first morning of my Art Loeb hike earlier this year. Euphoric steps taken at dawn guided by the song of the river trickling beside me made the beginning of the day fly by. Our pace was interrupted by a sign alerting us to a ruined bridge above one of the upcoming waterfalls, and we were rerouted along one of the forest service roads- straight up hill. By this point we felt seasoned enough to climb without much effort, but missing the only waterfall directly on trail soured our mood for a short period of time. Nonetheless, we made great progress climbing up, around, and back down the mountain to get us on track. We abandoned the idea of using the estimated mileage on the map since it always felt deceivingly longer than it appeared, and instead began reading the topos exclusively. This way we could count the number of mountains and steep grades between checkpoints, and we both fully embraced this system.
We passed two new campsites that day, and appreciated them as breaking points, but funnily enough they didn’t fit our itinerary, and so we kept moving from location to location until we hit the Eastatoe Creek. Having finally gotten ahead of schedule, we took a nice long lunch during the hottest hours of the day. A solid hour-and-a-half of soaking our feet in the river by Highway 178. Had we been able to get a phone call out, we may have had friends join us for lunch by the river, but signal isn’t really a thing along Pickens Highway, so we just quietly sat together snacking and resting before tackling the last two mountains of the day – Chimneytop and Sassafras.
Chimneytop starts steep and stays that way. This bad boy jumps straight out of the valley and rises just shy of the mountain’s peak. Overgrowth blocked most of the views on the way up, but we were able to see the ridgeline where we would find ourselves in the distance. They system continued to work for us. Walk for five minutes, break for one, walk for five, break for one, then after five more we’d break for five. This kept dad’s temperature well-regulated, as he has severe heat-induced migraines, and allowed us to keep a vague sense of time as the evening crept up on us. It was a long climb, but oddly enough went by in an instant once we peaked. We were almost a half hour ahead of schedule when we reached the access point, and that was awesome. That meant we only had one more mountain to climb before ending our day.
We sipped water, announced our opinions about the outdated map on the access point (it told us that we had a bonus nine miles to walk beyond what we considered the finish), and took off like bullets up the mountainside towards sleep. A true camping experience was our goal. We wanted a fire-cooked dinner, time to relax and talk by the fire, sit under the stars, and best of all get a full night to sleep through so we could catch up from the day before. With these goals in mind we went forward into the evening dusk. At this point I should mention that we were walking during a rather odd drought, and so Chimneytop had absolutely no water for us to refill with, and we were only going further up and away from the river from there. I kept my concerns to myself, but I really wanted to find some water that afternoon. We climbed, and we climbed, and we climbed until night fell. The vague directions about the campsite “near the top” of Sassafras Mountain meant that we might accidentally walk past it in the dark, but all I was really concerned about was water. The heat set in, and I could tell by the increased number of breaks we had to take. Dad stopped sweating, and that meant he was getting dehydrated fast. I stopped drinking water entirely so that I’d have reserved should he need them, but we still weren’t willing to open that discussion for the night – “Just keep going until we find water” – this was our mantra, our battlecry.
By a twist of fate we did find water about an hour after dark. A small spring head trickle that was just large enough for me to put my lips to. I instantly began digging a hole at the base of the line of water so that it would pool up, and we filtered not only enough water to drink but a sufficient amount for cooking as well. We were prepared to lie down on the trail for the night and throw our camping dream to the side when my headlamp caught a glimmer behind us. A large rock about fifty feet off the trail was glimmering and attracted me to it as a place to lay my sleeping bag down on, but it was more than just a hard surface to lie down on. Beneath the rock was a clearing with firepit, a continuance of our water access, trees perfect for hanging hammocks, and some off the way for hanging our bear bag. It was as if the world itself reached out and gifted us what we had been searching for.
The last of the whiskey came and went alongside my last culinary masterpiece for the trip. This was a delicately balanced cuisine comprised of MRE cheddar soup and quinoa, and it filled our bellies more than anything we had enjoyed that entire trip. We had our hammocks, we had our fire, the hot meal and some stars, and I was happier here than any other point of the entire adventure thus far. It just felt right, it felt earned, it felt like something we deserved.
Another morning started under the guidance of our headlamps and the climbing of a mountain. We began to top out by a rocky area that greeted us with crisp nighttime winds. We turned around to take the fresh air in, and off in the distance we could make out the city lights of Greenville as well as one of the largest moons I had ever seen. This was our first taste of society since leaving Oconee days before, and it was kind of amazing how quickly we felt estranged by the same kind of life we regularly lived. Rising with alarm clocks, getting in cars and going to punch in on a time card. We abandoned this system for an entire week, but a week is such a miniscule amount of time in life, yet even so it allowed for us to continually rethink and evaluate the things we were doing from day to day. Honestly, the things I appreciated most was getting to choose the company I kept that week and going to sleep without the distractions of Netflix or even my stereo serenading me at bedtime every day.
The trail split at the mountain top, and felt nervous about continuing through the brush without blazes. I told dad to wait for me to go back and scout for blazes before we continued on, and what I found was incredible. This was mt first time on Sassafras mountain, and so I hadn’t known that they had recently completed a massive viewing platform that looked across the state lines. We sprinted up to it excitedly, and watched the sun rise above the valley. The darkness held a single light in the distance. A building in the shape of a saloon was the only form of illuminance in the blackness of the mountains in the distance, and we stood there in silence for almost an hour before the first glimpses of the morning sun would appear and bring life to the land below. Purples, oranges, and reds began manifesting themselves into the world around us; a light show of natural brilliance and everlasting beauty.
The lights began to turn off over Greenville, and as the city rose and began tumbling with life, so did we rise from our post and took our last first steps of the trip. The cut down Sassafras Mountain was quick and easy, less than five minutes actually, so we felt good about clearing another access point so early. The next few miles went by with ease. It was mostly downhill, which makes sense coming off of the highest point on the trail. This last section held more views than any other part of the trail, and we took time to breathe in every single one. Massive rock faces, sections of sweeping views, distant lakes glistening in the midday sun, we saw it all. What’s more is we captured all these views amidst the worst overgrowth on the entire trail. Some sections spanned hundreds of feet where we couldn’t see the very ground we were walking on, and all the while we had our arms in front of our faces to protect from getting slapped and cut by brush and thorns. My fear of snakes kept me moving without breaks until I knew I was free of the undercut, and funnily enough this helped our time though it no longer really mattered when we finished. On the last long descent of the trip came mile markers, and that signified the end of it all. It was almost as if we had our own personal cheer squad there shouting encouragement every half mile. 2.5, 2.0, 1.5, etc. Just these small, two digit numbers were enough to keep our pace at a maximum, and early that afternoon we did it. We finished. Seventy-seven long, hot, and, at times, frustrating miles.
Mom greeted us at the parking lot with an ice cold soda for my dad, which is something he had been talking about since day two, and the coldest, crispiest cider I’ve ever had. I got so excited I drank two.
What’s weird is the lack of arm-pumping, cheering, and celebrating from dad and I both. We were both proud of what we had accomplished, but when we were done that was really all their was to it, a sense that it was over. I don’t want to say it was a bitter moment, but I think it made us both hungrier for more trips to check off our bucket list, but for the time it was back to punch cards and the normalcy of life before the trail. I’m sure we’ll both be back out there soon.
Adventure On!
-JGM