Zoned Out – August 18, 2019

After breakfast today, George, Zone and I drove over to the Douglas Falls trailhead. A few years ago, George and I had ridden mountain bikes from camp to the trailhead and hiked over to the falls. This time, we decided to drive the several miles of gravel road and start hiking from the trailhead. Our plan was to hike the 9 mile round trip up to the Craggy Gardens Ranger Station and back.

The trail is mostly level for the first half mile to Douglas Falls, although the trail surface is covered in thick tree roots and large rocks. Even though it is late summer, there was still plenty of water coming over the 60’ high falls. It is fed by a tributary of Waterfall Creek down slope from Craggy Pinnacle, which ultimately flows into the Ivy River.

The trail does a good job of mostly following the contour lines, which makes for generally level hiking. However, since the start of the hike is at around 4200’ elevation and the ranger station is just under 5600’ elevation, there are some sections where you have to do some climbing.

We took our time getting to the top, where we took advantage of the cell phone reception and made a few phone calls as we stood beside the Blue Ridge Parkway. Then, with distant thunderclouds looming on the horizon, we turned around and headed back down the trail.

The thunder was following us, and Zone did not like it. She kept trying to run into the woods to hide. Eventually, the storm bypassed us and we continued our descent.

At one of the stream crossings, Zone plopped down into the water and demanded that we stop and rest a while.

After a full day of hiking, we returned to camp and had a great dinner of filet mignon grilled over an open wood fire. Then, it was time to prepare for my early morning drive back to Herndon and my flight back home.

 Many thanks to George and Roxanne for a most enjoyable visit!

Next:  Return to VA in a couple weeks for baby arrival

Lumber Chores – August 17, 2019

All is not fun and games when you live in the forest, so we decided to take a day off and attend to some projects that George needed to get to. Roxanne had left earlier in the morning to help celebrate her mother’s 101^st birthday in South Carolina, so George and I were left unsupervised.

In a tree’s ‘circle of life’, there comes a time when it stops growing and it slowly transforms into dead wood. Regardless of whether or not a falling tree makes a sound in the woods when there’s no one around to hear it, if that tree is hanging directly over your vehicle you’re going to notice it when it falls.

With that in mind, the first order of business was to get rid of a dead limb from a very tall tree next to the driveway. The limb was about 30’ in the air directly over George’s van. The plan was to get a rope around the limb, attach the rope to a steel cable, connect the cable to the rear of the van, and then pull the limb from the tree.

We tied some string to a piece of an old rubber bushing so that we could throw it over the limb. Since I was visiting from out of town, George let me be the one to climb onto the top of the van and begin tossing the string. On the third try we got the string over the branch, tied the string to some rope, and pulled it over. In short order, we had the cable hooked up to the van and it was time to bring down the limb.

View looking up the driveway.

Close up of limb.

Arrow denotes flight of limb downward.

This was such a success that we decided to bring down an entire tree located a short distance away. It was not a threat to any structures, but it represented good potential firewood for the coming winter months. The tree was about 60’ tall and it had already fallen into some other trees, leaving it leaning at a 45 degree angle to the ground. We brought this one down with no problem.

Then there was one more dead tree to attend to. This one was on a hillside across the stream from camp. It was not accessible by vehicle, so it was up to George to bring it down with his battery powered chain saw. The tree was about 60’ to 70’ tall and the top of it was resting against another tree leaning toward the camp at a 45 degree angle, with the base of it anchored on the hillside. George began cutting near the base, thinking that this would dislodge the top of the tree and it would fall away from camp against the hill.

Instead, each time he removed a section of the base, the bottom of the tree began to swing slightly down slope. This made the entire tree become more vertical, although it was still firmly wedged against other trees at the top. After a couple more cuts, it looked like the next one would bring the tree safely down against the hillside.

Just as George pulled the chainsaw away from the tree, the base began a slow pendulum swing toward the camp. As the tree became perpendicular to the ground, it dropped down the slope a few feet. Then, to our utter amazement, the top of the tree began a slow arc down toward the camp! Starting slowly, but ending quickly, the tree crashed to the ground inches from the camp structures. Who would have thought the camp was only about 60’ away from where we’d been cutting? It’s a good thing Roxanne wasn’t there to witness this!

We cleared the debris from in and around the stream, cut and stacked the wood, and congratulated ourselves on our narrow escape from disaster.

That left one final chore: a huge granite boulder at the back of the driveway sitting about a foot away from where George really wanted it to be. Notwithstanding our considerable collective physical strength, this thing was way too big for the two of us to move. Channeling our inner-Archimedes, we decided to use levers to move it. After a few minutes of trial and error, the rock was in its proper place and we called it a day.

Next: Hike to Douglas Falls and Beyond

Ferns, Fungi, Flying Machine and Fearsome Fecal Matter in the Forest – August 16, 2019

George got up early this morning to start the stew for a small dinner party later tonight. He told Roxanne (thus, forming a verbal contract) that he and I would return to camp from our planned hike by around 3:00PM.

We drove up to the Blue Ridge Parkway to a trailhead near Balsam Gap. Our destination was Rainbow Gap. The trail follows part of the Mountains to Sea Trail along a ridge line through a beautiful stretch of lush forest just to the southwest of Mount Mitchell State Park. George told me that we’d possibly see wild blueberries and an old airplane wreck on the way.

After a steep climb up to the ridge, we were in an area of dense ferns and moss. You know you’re in a damp environment when you see mushrooms climbing up a tree.

About three miles into the hike, and having seen no sign of wild blueberries, George made a discovery that likely explained part of the reason for this. In the middle of the trail was a huge purple pile of poop. It seemed clear to us that the local bears had made it to the berries before us. Several subsequent piles along the trail confirmed this theory.

When we reached four miles, the trail started to descend sharply and we wondered if we’d passed Rainbow Gap. George consulted his topographic map and said we needed to keep going a little further. By this time, our 3:00PM return time was in real jeopardy. George made a quick phone call (we had some cell reception up on the ridge) to Roxanne to explain. Luckily, our dinner guests had called to say they’d be delayed, and this got us (George) off the hook.

Shortly thereafter, we came upon a small clearing and found the remains of a very old single passenger airplane. I asked George if he knew anything about how it got there. He said he’d spoken with park rangers and others, none of whom knew anything of the story behind it. I later did a search on the internet and could find nothing about it. It remains a mystery.

We hiked back to the car and made it back to camp by 4:30PM. Then, we had a wonderful dinner with some of George and Roxanne’s friends.

Next: Logging

Splish Splash, We Was Taking a Bath – August 15, 2019

Less than 24 hours after soaring through the Appalachian skies, I was already looking for my next adrenaline fix. Fortunately, George had booked reservations with the Blue Heron Whitewater rafting company for a full-day trip on the French Broad River. Joining us for the day was George and Roxanne’s neighbor, Peter (Peter and his wife, Mimi, had hosted us on Monday night to a delicious dinner of chicken and dumpling stew cooked in a cast iron dutch oven over an open wood fire).

In order to get to the river on time, we all had to be ready for an early morning getaway. If you look below, you can see, in the pre-dawn glow of a trunk lid light, the very disappointed face of a would-be stowaway.

As with the day before, we began our trip by signing lengthy liability waivers and sitting through an orientation briefing that emphasized the importance of ‘taking personal responsibility for our actions’, in order to ensure our safe return from this journey.

Outfitted with helmets, personal flotation devices (they made sure to point out that these were NOT lifejackets – likely on the advice of their corporate counsel), and kayak paddles, we were pumped up and ready to go.

The four of us (Roxanne, George, Peter and me) chose to use individual inflatable kayaks, known as ‘Duckies’. During orientation, our river guide told us that these were suitable for those who (1) had some basic skills in handling a boat, and (2) those who wanted a little more excitement going down the river. Since I met at least one of the two criteria, I was pleased with my decision to go with the duckie. The rest of the tour's rafters rode in a large multi-person raft piloted by our river guide. We would be following their raft down the river in a line, in what could be best described as the ‘mother duck’ and her four duckies.

Our rafting route took us 9 miles down the river, starting in the whistle-stop ‘town’ of Barnard, and ending at the Hot Springs Resort. This stretch of river has rapids rated Class I through Class IV (the higher the number, the more exciting the ride). We put our vessels into the water and off we went.

The first couple of Class II and III rapids got our blood flowing nicely.

Me.

Peter.

Roxanne.

George.

We pulled over for a quick dip into the river, via a jump of approximately 3 meters from a shoreline rock outcropping.

Me.

Peter, waving to the admiring crowd of onlookers.

Later on, we pulled over to a sandy beach, where our guides set up a buffet table for our lunch. This allowed us to prepare ourselves for the next set of rapids, including the Class IV known as Frank Bell’s Rapids.

After lunch, and after getting through a couple of more Class III’s, it was time for our final rapid – Frank Bell’s. Our guide gathered her four duckies into a calm stretch of water to give us some last-minute advice on navigating the multi-drop rapids. She calmly told us that about 50% of the rafters ended up ‘swimming’ through this part of the river. According to her, once the rafter is dislodged from her/his vessel, the churning water (called a ‘hydraulic’) will take you to the bottom for what seems like a very long and dark several seconds, and then shoot you out into a relatively calm pool on the other side of the rapids. She said it was important to remain calm, hold your breath, and keep your feet pointed downstream while this is happening. And, she also offered us a last chance to ditch the duckies and ride the big raft the rest of the way.

Although this little duckie may have been quacking quite a bit while riding through the previous rapids, and he may have even felt some quaking sensations, he was not going to crack (quack?) under the pressure – so it was 'damn the torpedoes and full steam ahead!'

Our guide sent a large raft ahead of us to wait (and, to gleefully observe the action) for us on the other side.

We have no photos of Frank Bell’s rapids because everyone was focused on making it through. So, I’ll just have to tell the story:  I went first, using the logic that there would still be potential rescuers both upriver and downriver. All I remember is seeing a quickly approaching horizon, water above me, around me and below me; and then a big sigh of relief as I shot over the last drop – backwards! – and into the calm pool below. I was still in the boat!

Next, it was Roxanne’s turn. She’s done a lot of canoeing with George and her experience showed as she skillfully wove her way through the rapid. There was one point where she got a little off track, but she made it back on course just in time for the last and biggest drop.

Then, it was Peter’s opportunity to showcase his waterman’s skills. He displayed a calm and stoic visage as he blasted through the rapid with a few well-placed strokes of his paddle.

Finally, it was time for George to come through. We had already beat the 50% attrition threshold described by our guide, so it was with great anticipation that we awaited the final, and most experienced, member of our duckie group.

Things started out great as George went over the first couple of drops. Even the river guide, in the raft waiting below, commented on how well George was using his paddle to take him through the rough water. As he dropped onto the penultimate shelf, however, the river gods decided to give George a spanking. He got turned laterally into a large hydraulic and he could not paddle out of it. A murmur went through the crowd of rafters waiting below as we wondered what would happen next.

Meanwhile, our own guide’s large raft (they had been waiting above the rapids) came down through the rapids past George and into the viewing area. Now, it was just George and the river.

We could see him getting pulled slowly back toward the churning wall of water above him. Then, in just an instant, we saw the duckie do a barrel roll back into the water behind it. 

When the boat righted itself, there was no one in it. In fact, there was no sign of anyone ever having been in the boat as we scanned the water along the length of the rapids. After a few seconds, an empty bootie floated to the surface, quickly followed by a very wide-eyed George grasping his paddle in one hand and treading water with the other hand.

The waiting crowd was very relieved (and ultimately, much entertained) to see this. I must say that, personally, this was the highlight of my entire trip. Thanks, George!

George waving to us - look closely.

On the shuttle bus back to rafting headquarters, our guide held a brief ceremony inducting George into the Blue Heron Whitewater Swim Club. It was a good day.

Next: Some woodcraft