Decisive. "Are you solo?" The concern in her voice was crystal clear. I was asked a variation of that question fairly often, and when I confirmed, I always received the same warning: be careful, sometimes followed by a number count of who else was on that particular trail with me, or another warning that they hadn't seen anyone else at all. As it was, there were a grand total of twelve other human beings with me on the trail to Ramsey Cascade in a less-visited corner of Great Smoky Mountains National Park, an 8 mile out-and-back dayhike who's destination and delight was a lacey waterfall whose cold water was incredibly inviting.
The trail meandered alongside several creeks, gaining elevation steadily as it climbed through the forests to the falls. I had started the hike under an overcast sky which steadily darkened as I progressed, but I was prepared for the rain. After lightly drizzling for about 15 minutes, I stopped under dense vegetation and pulled out my rain jacket and pack cover just in time for the sky to open up. I hiked on, never even considering going back. In some places the trees and shrubs were so thick that they shielded me from the worst of the rain, and I felt like I was walking through a dark green tunnel. Ever seen Lord of the Rings? Fangorn has a parallel within the Smoky Mountains.
Soon, however, I left the protection of the thick trees and wandered out into more open forest. It wasn't raining terribly, just a steady rain that was actually refreshing. I was just thinking to myself that it could always be worse, when I rounded and corner and found myself facing a wide, rushing creek over which a thin log bridge with a single railing hung suspended 20 feet above the slick rocks. It was worse. Don't I know by now not to think things like that??
I really, really didn't want to cross a thin, swaying log bridge with only one hand raid that was slick with rain. Like, at all. My destination, however, was still a ways off, and I was determined to reach it. After several calming breaths, I inched my way across the slick wood just wide enough for one foot in front of another, gripping the railing with both hands. I could feel the log bowing as I reached the center, and tried to not think about having to cross it on my way back. Once on the other side I quickened my pace, wanting to reach the falls without becoming totally soaked. I scurried over two shorter, less-scary log bridges and scrambled up slippery rock steps alongside a rushing creek. The last quarter mile I was straight up climbing, using my hands as much as my feet to move up the next boulder, hunched over and looking for all the world like a turtle with my green pack cover.
I could hear the falls before I saw them, as is the case with most white water. I rounded a corner and found myself dazzled; the sun had come out at that precise moment and reflected off the falling water, bouncing a glare right into my rain-soaked face. After several blinks to clear my vision, I found a sunny spot and attempted to dry out along with three couples who were enjoying the falls as well. I splashed around in the cool mountain water, getting right up to the foot of the falls so that I was pelted with water, then backing off to dry. When the clouds closed in again, I decided it was time to leave, and headed back, passing three other couples on their way to the falls.
Myself and one couple left at the same time, and we played leap frog as we passed each other on the way back down the trail. I finally left them behind, and was about a half-mile from the trailhead when I heard something that made me stop in my tracks. Behind me, someone was blowing a whistle followed by incomprehensible shouting. The only reason someone should be blowing a whistle in the mountains is if they're in trouble, and with all of the warning signs about active bears in the area, I could guess what the trouble was. What was more, the only people within shouting distance was the couple who left the falls with me. A small part of me hoped that someone was just messing around, and the other person was yelling at them for being an ass, but I didn't stick around to find out. As a solo hiker, I knew there was absolutely no good I could do if there really was a bear, and because I knew there were mulitple people still on the trail behind me, I booked it back to the safety of my car.
I ran into a couple of guys just setting out on the trail and warned them about what I heard. They, in turn, informed me that there was a bear just beyond the parking lot, ambling down the road and minding its own business. I reached my car and sighed with relief, starting my slow descent to my campground and hoping those on the trail were ok and wondering if I would see a bear on my way back. Despite my adventure on the trail, I was disappointed that I didn't see one.
Whhat I'm listening to: Let It Be by Blackmill Feat. Veela
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