Whitefish Point Bird Observatory Trip

The weather downstate gave us a beautiful send off Friday afternoon, with bright blue skies overhead and warm sunshine streaming through the windshield as we raced north on US 127. Although we were some 300 odd miles away from the Whitefish Point Bird Observatory, the birding started in earnest. We witnessed both an immature bald eagle and an osprey from the highway. Hopefully both would be good signs for our weekend.

The weather remained beautiful throughout our drive to the straits of Mackinaw. As we passed Gaylord patches of snow began to appear on the north facing hillsides, most notably in the Pigeon River Area. We had heard reports of miserable weather and heavy snow for the past few days in the upper peninsula, so were weren't exactly sure what we would find as we drove further north.

As we rounded one of the bends on I75 the majestic towers of the Mackinaw Bridge came into view. They looked hazy and more distant than I recalled, standing watch over the still frigid waters in the fading daylight. We've crossed the bridge too many times too count, but it never loses its fascination for me. Flashing road signs warned of high winds as we approached the water's edge.

During our crossing we were treated to the sight of a ferry cruising east towards the islands. The water was calm enough that the giant ship's wake lingered far to the west in Lake Michigan. As we descended towards Saint Ignace, the low, pine covered coast of the upper peninsula came into view. It was like seeing an old friend after too many months apart for me. Somehow, it had been almost 8 months since we last visited. Too long to stay away from the quiet forests and mesmerizing waters!

We stopped off in St. Ignace for dinner at the Driftwood Inn. It was still too early for most tourists, so we did our best to blend in with the locals. We've actually been confused for locals in the past at the Driftwood, an indication that we might have been frequenting the place a bit too much! An all-you-can-eat buffet complete with hush puppies, whitefish and perch was the special for the night, and we happily partook.

After eating and watching a couple innings of the Tigers' route of Atlanta we were back on the road and heading further north. The forest grew quickly dark on either side of the road. It was hard to tell how much snow there was in the dark.

A little after ten we pulled into the parking lot of the Vagabond Motel in Paradise, MI. The woman working behind the desk looked relieved to see us, as we were the last customers to arrive for the night. Presumably, her work day didn't end until we arrived. We were planning to camp at the River mouth Campground south of Paradise, but weren't sure of its status in light of all of the snow. A quick drive through the campground confirmed our decision. Drifts of snow piled high by snowplows had turned the campground loops into tunnels, and the campsites themselves were buried under a hard snow pack. It continues to be an epically terrible spring for hiking and camping!

The alarm went off at 6 am Saturday morning. The drive north to Whitefish Point from Paradise is about 10 miles, and we wanted to be at the point in time for the early morning bird walks lead by the WPBO volunteers. The sun had just risen above the tranquil waters of the Whitefish Bay when we drove out of town.

Whitefish Point was truly spectacular on this early spring morning. The air was cold and crisp, but the winds were warm and from the south, and the sand dunes and birch trees were awash in sunlight. It felt as if the world was finally shaking off a long, frozen winter. The parking lot was overflowing with cars, and everyone seemed happy to be outdoors and looking for birds. There is something therapeutic about spending time with the type of people that are willing to drive hundreds of miles in order to crawl out of bed in the pre-dawn dark and stand around in freezing temperatures all to look at some birds.

I am, at best, a novice birder, and it is always both nice to spend time with veteran birders, and at the same time a bit intimidating. We purchased some muffins and coffee from the makeshift tent the WPBO volunteers had assembled and took a leisurely walk around the point. A ferry was headed to the west, towards Grand Marais. A few sharp-skinned hawks were already flitting about in the breeze, although the best of the aerial show would wait until the air warmed up in the afternoon.

At 8 AM we joined the guided walk out to the point where the waterbird count was being conducted. The WPBO volunteer who lead the birding walk was very informative and helpful. He gave the group a number of tips to help us identify the birds we were likely to see during the weekend. The walk to the point took us through a small forest of jack pine trees. He told us that there were probably hundreds of Sawhet and Borreal Owls roosted in this forest for the day, but "good luck finding one." It was neat to think about these tiny nocturnal predators being mere feet from us as we walked over the hard packed snow and sand.

At the point there was a small shack where the official waterbird count was maintained. A rugged looking man from New Jersey was manning the post this season. He and some other volunteers had a number of scopes set up on tripods to use in the identification of the passing birds. We were able to see a couple of interesting species in the surf while we were at the point: Common Mergansers, Common Loons, and Red-Necked Grebes. During the walk, our guide relayed interesting facts and stories about the migration. The violent nature of the animal world was a central theme. He said there was a group of birders watching a song sparrow at one of the feeders near the WPBO headquarters when a sharp skinned hawk zipped by and took the bird for breakfast, leaving behind a little cloud of feathers. He had other stories of a similar nature: in the fall, some of the hawks will hang out at the point waiting for migrating birds to complete the arduous crossing. Often a red breasted nuthatch, or some other song bird will finish the crossing exhausted, only to be picked off as an easy snack by a bird of prey. Such is the day to day existence of the natural world.

After touring the lakeshore the group walked back through the jack pine forest. A scattering of flickers passed over head, a common bird for the weekend's migration. The small, woodpecker like birds looked a bit like torpedos zooming through the air.

While we were on our walk, the guide also clued us all in on an unusual bird sighting in the area. A Townsend Solitaire had been seen at the State Harbor, about three miles south of the point. The Solitaire is a thrush that is common in the west and only makes the occasional appearance east of the Mississippi. He advised us all to check it out at some point during the weekend. On our drive back to Paradise we pulled into the harbor. Sure enough, several more serious birders had scopes set up, watching the rare bird. This made for an easy sighting for us less experienced folks. After being sure to write down the unusual sighting in my records, we headed south for a late breakfast at the Berry Patch Restaurant.

Next, we decided to head a little further south of town to check out the Tahquamenon River Mouth Area. This part of one of MIchigan's largest state parks is where the mighty Tahquamenon River empties into Lake Superior. This meeting of bodies of water provides a great vantage point for a number of water birds. We were not the only birders with this idea. Cars lined the sides of M-123 and birders with scopes were set up on both sides of the road. My less-powerful binoculars made birding at such a distance more difficult, but I was able to sight a number of scaup, multiple species of Mergansers, and some swans. Identifying the swans from a distance was difficult, so I'm not sure if they were Trumpeter Swans or the more exotic Tundra Swans, which multiple birders had seen in the area recently

The afternoon air had warmed considerably, and it was now possible to shed the winter coats, hats and gloves. We returned to Whitefish Point to check out the Hawk Platform. The warm air and southerly breeze had produced the best travel conditions of the season for the large birds. Standing on the hawk platform provided views in almost 360 degrees, making for the ideal spot to watch for migrating hawks. I like to think of this as birding on steroids, and it was the real reason that so many birders had come from so far away for the weekend. If I trained my binoculars on a large bird circling in the distance, I would find dozens more, either farther off or higher up. The skies were awash in large birds. Turkey vultures, red-tailed hawks, broad winged hawks, rough-legged hawks, Northern Harriers, Kestrels, and too many sharp skinned hawks to count circled above. Cory, the man in charge of the hawk count this season employed a number of scopes and binoculars to document the migration. By the end of the day he counted more than 1,300 sharp skinned hawks passing the point, and over 2,000 large birds in all. Several Bald Eagles, and a Golden Eagle made appearances. Near the end of the afternoon a Peregrine Falcon zipped by overhead. A number of Sandhill Cranes passed throughout the day, traveling in formation like a squadron of bombers. As the air grew cooler the activity level began to fall, but it was an impressive day to witness.

We decided to make the drive out to the Tahquamenon Falls in the evening. The Tahquamenon Falls Brewery is located right at the State Park. The brewery has the best food in the area (which isn't really saying a great deal - Paradise isn't exactly known as a foodie destination!) and brews their own beers. We enjoyed some more Great Lakes fish for dinner and took an after dinner walk down to the falls. The air away from the lake was downright balmy! The river swelled with snowmelt, the upper falls were the biggest I had ever seen.

After our dinner and walk, we returned to the hotel in Paradise and watched some of the Red Wings while waiting for it to grow dark. Whitefish Point is a natural geographic funnel for migrating birds, and this phenomenon is not just limited to diurnal birds. A large variety of owls pass over the point each night in the spring. Birders have been known to spot everything from Sawhet Owls, Short-Eared Owls, Long-Eared Owls, Boreal Owls, and Barred Owls to even Great Gray Owls and the occasional Snowy Owls. Needless to say, I was excited to return at dusk and check out the scene.

Viewing from the platform was standing room only, as dozens of birders strained their eyes peering into the twilight for shapes moving. Eventually, someone would spot an owl and attempt to describe its location to the rest of the group. While we were there we witnessed several long-eared owls passing overhead. One of them was "crabbing" meaning its head was looking at us, but it was flying away from us towards the crossing. This is a pretty cool trick that owls can do.

Once the last of the day's light had faded the crowds dispersed. We walked down to the owl banding shack and waited with a few other hardy birders to see if the owl banders would bring any captured birds back for us to see. After a few minutes, they came out of the building. They said they would check the nets to see if anything had been caught, and if they had any they would bring them back to show us in a few minutes. We waited in the chilly night air as the sky overhead filled with stars. It was one of the best night skies I have seen in a while.

When one of the banders returned empty handed we thought we were out of luck. She reached into her pocked and pulled out a tube-shaped container about half as big as a Pringles Can. At first I thought she had a feather, until she pulled a Sawhet Owl out of the tube! Holding it by its feet, she held it up to show the crowd. The little bird shook off its feathers and looked at us with an expression of bewilderment. Another man returned from the forest with what looked like a soft sided cooler. One of the birders referred to it as a six pack. Sure enough, he pulled out several small owls.

The WPBO staff attach small identification bands to the birds and then release them back into the wilds. This is all part of an effort to document the distribution and migration of owls in the region. It was by far one of the coolest things I have ever witnessed. We drove back to the hotel under a beautiful night sky. It was a full day of fresh air, beautiful weather, and birds galore. The Whitefish Point Bird Observatory's Spring Fling was worth making the long drive!

A Michigan Moose Book Review: The Windward Shore

A Michigan Moose Book Review:

The Windward Shore:  A Winter On The Great Lakes by Jerry Dennis


One advantage of the cold, miserable weather we've been having in the Great Lakes Region so far this "spring” is that I've had extra time to curl up with a good book.  I often spend so much of my time reading guide books and studying maps that I don't get to read for pleasure as often as I'd like.  I just completed Jerry Dennis's The Windward Shore and was blown away by his latest ode to the region I call home.  I stumbled into Dennis's writing a few years ago when I found The Living Great Lakes on a display bookshelf in Horizon Books in Traverse City.  His prose took the reader on a riveting tour of the great lakes complete with a sailing trip on a tall ship through the Erie Canal and across the Gulf of Maine.  Dennis also provided us with a lifetime worth of stories centered on the majesty, mystery and power of these great lakes.  From tragic shipwrecks to ecological disasters, The Living Great Lakes was a page turner that I tore through in a couple of days!

Needless to say, I was excited to discover Dennis had another book out on a topic that is of such interest to me.  On the surface, The Windward Shore is a narrative of a year spent living on the shores of Lakes Michigan and Superior, both in his own home on Old Mission Peninsula and in a variety of borrowed dwellings in magnificent lakeside locations - locations such Cathead Point on the Leelanau and from a rocky vantage point along the coast of the Keweenaw Peninsula.  Needless to say, this made me more than a little jealous of the amazing experience it must have been to do the research for this book!  Beneath the surface, however, Dennis's book is so much more than a narrative.  In addition to exploring the ecological challenges facing the future of the lakes and their surrounding environments, this book attempts to plunge into the minds of the people that live and have lived in these rugged lands, to better understand what drives the day to day life of an often misunderstood region and culture. 

Beyond this, The Windward Shore takes a swing at understanding some of the heavy themes that dominate all of our lives - the passing of time, the sense of "place" we gain from spending our lives as part of a land and a people, religion and our attempts to understand a higher power and the idea of nature and the role it plays in shaping our lives.  Dennis follows in the footsteps of Emerson and Thoreau and crafts a compelling vision of the world we live in today through a transcendental prism.  Reading The Windward Shore most reminded me of the time I have spent studying Thoreau's Walden, but instead of reading about a time and place foreign to me I was examining the world I live in each day. 

Dennis closes his book by making a challenge to the reader.  "Go forth.  Make tracks, throw stones.  Assume this is the only life we have.  Gather the people you love, and embrace them until your bones crack.  Laugh, cry, get pissed off, howl.  Stand tall beneath the stars.  Sing you heart out.  Here is Creation, right before our eyes." 

A strong proposition for all of us, and one worth seeking to achieve.  The Windward Shore is a must-read for anyone willing to devote a few hours to better understanding the natural world and our place in it, willing to challenge assumptions and confront simple truths.  This is a book worthy of your time. 

Smokies Day 6

For our final hike in the Smoky Mountains we decided to check out a section of the park that was new to us. The Greenbrier area is a quieter part of the park that sees lighter use. Located about 15 minutes east of Gatlinburg and consisting of a single, narrow road that follows the Little Pigeon River into the mountains, the Greenbrier area provides access to a number of quieter trails. Our hike for the day was to the Ramsey Cascades, an impressive waterfall located a couple thousand feet below Mt. Guyot. The trail makes a 4 mile, 2,200 foot climb into the mountains, and dead-ends at the falls. Since it doesn't connect to any other trails or access any campgrounds it sees lighter traffic than many trails.

On the drive to the trailhead we were treated to a show by some whitewater kayakers making the descent down the Little Pigeon. The previous day had brought over an inch of rain turning the creeks and rivers into raging whitewater displays. We had chosen the perfect day for visiting the cascades.

For the first mile and a half of our hike the trail was a wide dirt path that was closer to a road. It climbed moderately and afforded views of the creek along the way. Eventually the trail came to a roundabout, a first for a trail in my experience. Beyond this point the trail quickly narrowed and increased in difficulty. Trees of rhododendron blocked out the daylight, turning the trail into a tunnel. The surface of the trail had turned into moss covered rocks, thick, tangled mounds of tree roots and mud, all of it slick from the previous day's rain. It was slow hiking picking our way up the trail. Eventually the trail arrived at a bridged stream crossing. The park service had constructed a wood beam across the stream with a railing on the lower side. The crossing was a good ten feet over the raging water. Looking down made my toes tingle during the crossing. A second bridge of a similar nature appeared about twenty minutes later.

As the trail climbed into a more open and airy part of the forest I was struck by the giant trees. They were something like Sequoias of the East. Hundreds of feet tall and tens of feet in circumference, these giants blocked out the sun, preventing much of the undergrowth from taking hold. The result was an unusually open forest, something uncommon for the east where most forests have been logged in the last hundred years.

As the trail climbed further and further into the mountains it continued to increase in difficulty. In places it was necessary to use my hands to crawl over large rocks and under downed trees. The trail here was more like something I would expect to find in Maine or Canada.

After what seemed like more than four miles the trail finally spilled out onto large, flat slabs of rock at the base of the falls. Ramsey Cascades exceeded my expectations. Granted, we were seeing them at a high water level. Probably 40-50 feet in height, the falls were really a myriad of shorter drops, slides and chutes. The sun had finally come out, so we relaxed on the rocks and ate granola bars. Mist from the falls made it necessary to wear our rain coats while eating.

The skies cleared completely and the air warmed into the 60's for our return hike, making for a pleasant downhill stroll on a beautiful spring day. Ramsey Cascades is now one of my favorite Smokies hikes.

Sadly, our vacation had drawn to an end. We were lucky enough to experience the mountains in variety of conditions: buried in snow, shrouded in fog, frozen in sheets of ice and bathed in spring sunshine. My respect for the power and majesty of this place has grown considerably. Sad as I am to leave, our next adventure awaits, and the season is just beginning. Happy hiking everyone!

Smokies Days 4 and 5

We made the scenic drive on TN-32 out of Deep Creek, happy to be off our feet for a while. Mary remarked "look, we're going so FAST!" 32 is one of those roads that makes you question the engineers that had the nerve to design a road in this manor. Either that, or praise their competency in crafting a route through the mountains that saved us a trip on the Interstate. Conspicuously lacking guard rails, the road is not only never straight, it is rarely level from side to side. The 35 mph speed limit seems like a joke. Who could handle these hairpin turns any faster?

Eventually the road hooked up with the parkway and we cruised into Gatlinburg. As excited as we were for showers and a comfortable bed, we were dreading the experience of visiting the greatest tourist trap ever created. Gatlinburg has more ways to waste an unwise tourist's money than any place I've been unlucky enough to see. Haunted houses, Ripley's believe it or nots , magic shows, carnival games and freak shows line the streets of this eyesore. At Cosby Knob we had asked two thru-hikers what the oddest thing they had seen in their month on the trail was. After some consideration, they both agreed: Gatlinburg.

We found a reasonably-priced hotel room, and took full advantage of hot showers, scrubbing off the mud that was caked onto our bodies. Gatlinburg does have a couple of restaurants worth braving the sea of tourists. For dinner we hit the Mellow Mushroom. This pizza joint is in my top 5, and also has a huge draft beer selection. In the morning we visited the Pancake Pantry for breakfast. With a line that sometimes wraps around the block, Pancake Pantry is very popular, and for good reason. They specialize in giant plate sized orders of Crepes. We split the raspberry peach Crepes.

Having satisfied our cravings, we eagerly fled Gatlinburg and returned to the National Park. We couldn't quite bring ourselves to strap the backpacks on again so soon, so we elected for a front country campsite. Elkmont campground is run on a first-come, first-served basis this time of year and we had no trouble securing a campsite. We set up our new tent and organized our gear for some day hikes. Our site provided views of both the mountains and a pleasant, babbling stream that fed the Little River.

We decided to take advantage of the proximity of the Little River trailhead and take a pleasant stroll up the Little River trail. Our hike followed the raging creek up-stream for three miles, past countless waterfalls joining the creek from both sides of the ravine. The skies were partly cloudy and the air crisp and cool, probably in the low 50's. There was something very relaxing about not being in a hurry and having time to absorb the tranquility of the forest. A few brave wildflowers were beginning to appear on the hillsides, proof that spring was actually coming.

We ate our lunch on a couple of large rocks on the riverbank, doing our best to ignore the family that decided the best way they could enjoy nature was to lob rocks into the creek.

After our hike we heated up some dehydrated Mac and cheese for dinner. The campground was less than half-full and a laid-back atmosphere permeated the place. Obviously the type of folks camping in this cold spring weather are more likely to be mellow, seeking a quiet experience in nature.

We crawled into our down sleeping bags and opened our books. Mary quipped that I looked like a happy caterpillar in my sleeping bag. Funny as the comment was, it was a true. I couldn't imagine a more comfortable place in the world. The quiet of the woods was only broken by the soft music from our neighbor's campsite: Mumford and Sons, Avette Brothers, The Civil Wars - good taste!

Shortly before we turned off our headlamps the call of a barred owl sounded through the campground. It was quickly answered from across the river, and for the next few minutes we were treated to a cacophony of hoots and howls. It sounded like they were having a party in the woods.

In the morning we slept in, avoiding the cold morning air in favor of our warm sleeping bags. When we finally crawled out of the tent we were greeted by blue skies, warming sunshine and birdsong. We cooked up some oatmeal and coffee while planning our day. We elected for the Abrams Falls trail. I had avoided this hike due to its popularity, but now seemed like a good time to try it out. The trails in higher elevations would be an absolute mess with all of that snow melt, and any trail with a noteworthy stream crossing would be out.

The hike was beautiful, but beyond crowded. In multiple places we had to stop and wait for the traffic jam in front of us to clear to proceed. The trail followed beautiful Abrams Creek for 2.5 miles, occasionally climbing a few hundred feet above the water, offering views of the low ridges west of Cades Cove. The falls themselves were impressive. A single drop of probably 20 feet, Abrams Falls carried a high volume of water, providing for an impressive water show. A sign on the riverbank warned that there have been five deaths in the falls. We ate our lunch by the falls before making the return hike.

After arriving back at the trailhead we drove back into town to a convenience store for some cold beverages and a bag of potato chips. We enjoyed hot soup with our chips and beer at our campsite. Jealous of our neighbors campfire, we decided to splurge on a bundle of wood from the camp store. The wood was dry and burned quickly, offering a chance to warm up before we hopped into our sleeping bags. Just as the fire was burning out Mary spotted a bird gliding silently beneath the trees in the campground. One of the Barred Owls we had heard the night before landed in a tree near us. I always feel thrilled when I'm lucky enough to see these mysterious creatures in the wild. The owls would continue to talk throughout the night.
We returned to our sleeping bags and our books ready for another quiet night in the forest.

Smokies Day 3

Our second night at the Cosby Knob shelter was spent with a large, raucous group of young AT thru-hikers. Mary was the only female hiker for the night. When that much testosterone congregates in one place, particularly when that place is a cold, dank shelter in the woods, there is a propensity for hilarity and a bit of vulgarity. We were well entertained throughout the stay with the stories, jokes and antics of the thru-hikers. All of them had just come through the snowed-in high country during one of the worst spring snow storms in memory. Not one of them had a dry piece of clothing or gear left.

We had barely crawled into our sleeping bags before rain and gusts of wind began to pound on the shelter. I was relieved to be in a shelter in these conditions.

In the morning we were greeted by bright sunshine and bluebird skies. Most of the snow had melted during the night leaving behind a much more welcoming environment than the one we had gone to sleep in. We lazed around the shelter enjoying multiple cups of coffee while listening to the tales of the thru-hikers. We had decided to hike back to Big Creek and our Jeep. The rugged hiking across the snow-covered terrain in soggy boots had beaten me up more than I expected. My feet were sore and threatening to blister, and my pack had started to leave welts where it was rubbing on my hips.

The hike back down to Big Creek was more spectacular than on the way up. The heavy rain during the night and the snow melt above had brought every stream and creek overflowing its banks. The Smokies are a temperate rain forest, and it was easy to see why on this day. Water seemed to leap down the mountainside in all directions. The show became even more impressive at Walnut Bottoms. Big Creek had turned into a raging whitewater show.

Mary and I are beginning level white water kayakers, having taken a couple of classes. We were in the process of evaluating the possible lines for running the myriad of rapids when we passed three kayakers getting ready to launch from the riverbank. Watching these kayakers run the raging river was a real treat. All three of them flipped after the first big drop and nailed their rolls right away. They were obviously very good.

We reached the trailhead just as the skies began to turn gray and sprinkles started to fall. We threw the packs in the back if the Jeep and headed for a hotel. We'll take a night off in civilization before heading back into the park. This backcountry trip was unlike any other I've taken.

Smokies Day 2

Last night was a long, cold night of tossing and turning, although our winter bags kept us warm enough. Heavy rain pounded the tin roof of the shelter for several hours. The thru-hikers staying there were up and at it early, so we had the shelter to ourselves for breakfast. The skies cleared up a bit by the time we started hiking.

The hike started innocently enough. The trail climbed up to Ross Notch, which afforded spectacular 360 degree views. The mountains stretched endlessly in every direction, with patches of thick, white cloud drifting over the landscape. The surrounding hillsides had patchy snow lingering, but the trail was only muddy so far. After the Knob we dropped down to Camel Notch and a trail junction. We stopped for our first break here. Several AT hikers passed by while we rested. They all had dire news about what lay ahead: A raging river of liquid ice crashing right down the trail. Several of them mentioned that they were afraid they were going to lose toes in the process. One lady from New Hampshire said it was the coldest water she had ever felt. With each comment I could see Mary give me that raised-eyebrow look. Still, I wanted to press on.

The trail climbed steadily, and the further we went, the deeper the snow was we were climbing through. I think I would have preferred cold, frozen snow to the quickly melting muck we were in. It was impossible to keep our boots from getting soaked. As we approached 6,000 feet of elevation the views became truly spectacular. We had unbroken views to the East to the Mount Sterling Ridge. Mostly covered in white, it looked like something out of our ski trips to the East.

We took our lunch break before Mount Guyot. While we ate we listened to more horror stories from northbound hikers about the knee-deep ice water covering the trail ahead. All the while thick clouds of mist seemed to close in around the ridge. It was at this moment that I began to grasp the severity of our situation. We were cold and tired, sitting in deep snow, preparing to climb several hundred more feet before reaching our next shelter, which promised to be cold and snowed-in. As I finished my peanut butter wrap I realized suddenly that I was trembling from the cold. The idea of climbing higher in the suddenly chilling air was pretty unappealing. Mary was relieved to hear me suggest cutting our losses and returning the way we came.

We hiked quickly, eager for our body heat to kick in. The trail descended rapidly , and the air warmed as we walked. It seemed like just as the panic over the cold was subsiding, it began to rain. Big, hard drops of rain pelted us for the next two hours as we scurried towards Cosby Knob and a dry place to sleep. The rain aligned with the melting snow to turn the trail into a river. I've done a lot of hiking, and I don't think I've ever been so cold and miserable as I was today.

We reached the shelter and were elated to find there still was room for us. We got changed into dry clothes, had some hot soup and coffee and crawled into our sleeping bags, relieved the ordeal of the day had ended.

We're not sure what our next destination will be, but I'm certain it will avoid the cold and snowy higher elevations of the park for now. I had a coworker who once said "sometimes discretion is the better part of valor." I'm confident we made the wise choice today in getting out of the high country when we did. There is still plenty of park to explore!

Smokies Day 1

We had set the alarm for 8 am this morning, hoping to get a good night of sleep before a long day of hiking. When I pulled back the curtains to our hotel room I was disappointed to find gray skies and light rain. The mountains were completely obscured by low lying clouds and fog. When I checked my twitter I found more bad news. The high country had gotten 5 more inches of snow during the night. Newfound Gap road was closed, and a tweet from the park service said that only experienced hikers should attempt travel in the higher elevations.

By the time we had both showered, dressed and loaded the packs into the Jeep the rain had stopped and the skies lightened a bit. The free hotel breakfast had already ended (who ends a breakfast before 10 am?!), so we hit up the Waffle House next door for some delicious and greasy fare.

By 10:15 am we were on the road. Our nervousness was overtaken by excitement as towering mountains and a raging river both came into view. Our fears were further assuaged by a crowded parking lot at the trailhead. Apparently we weren't the only ones heading out today. The skies had cleared considerably by now, and the sun was streaming through the tall stands of still-bare deciduous trees. We were on the trail at 11am sharp.

My pack was heavier than I would have liked, and I could feel it dragging my shoulders down as I trugged up hill. Hopefully it will feel lighter after we eat some of this food. The trail followed Big Creek for most of the way to Walnut Bottoms Campground, and put on a spectacular show. The freshly melted snow ran a brilliant shade of blue, almost like the glacier fed lakes we've seen in Montana. It crashed over an endless series of waterfalls throughout its path out of the mountains.

The trail was crowded with hikers, most of them on day hikes. One couple moved at the same speed as us, providing the opportunity for pleasant conversation that distracted from the uphill climb. They were retired ex-military from Florida on a 1 year tour of America's National Parks. Talk about a dream vacation! They were both delightful to talk to, although the man provided a less than ideal report on the conditions higher up. They had climbed to the Mt. Cammerer fire tower the previous day and found snow over a foot deep. This was not the news we were hoping for.

We stopped for lunch at the Walnut Bottoms Campground, relaxing in the sun on a large wooden bridge over the creek. This might be the most appealing campground in the Smokies. I would highly recommend it to anyone on a shorter backpack. A couple of horse parties passed by while we ate. Two of the horses forded the steam, an impressive trick to witness, and one I'm sure to be jealous of the next time I have to wade a steam.

After lunch the trail began climbing much more steeply. Big Creek fell further and further beneath us, it's roar still audible for a while. Scattered snow began to appear on the hillsides, but the trail remained dry. Trails in the Smokies all seem to follow the same principles. They follow the path of least resistance, much like rivers, and climb gradually up ridges. The result of this is that a hiker is made to feel as if he is in a wooded maze. Approaching each blind corner on the trail holds the promise that the scenery will change. Rounding the bend and finding more of the same is the usual result. After hours of this, we would sometimes wonder if the ridge ever stopped climbing. We were both overjoyed when the end finally came into sight. Low Gap appeared before us, and for the first time we had views to the East and the West. We were out of the maze.

We stopped to take pictures and eat granola bars at the junction before heading south on the Appalachian Trail. As we climbed the crest of the Smokies we found more and more snow. In the places where the snow was melted, the trail was a soup of mud and water. It was slow going picking our way through this mess. Eventually, we arrived at Cosby Knob Shelter.

We were delighted to learn that the ridge runner working this shelter was the same man from our last Smokies hike! Billy is a former AT thru hiker, and really knowledgable about the area. He was working when the winter storm blew through last week. He showed us pictures on his phone that looked like something out of an Everest Expedition. I'm glad we weren't here any earlier in the week. Billy said that there were reservations for 8 parties in the shelter tonight that weren't AT thru hikers. Of the 8, we were the only ones staying the night. Most were no shows, and two hikers showed up, heard about the heavy snow that lay ahead and turned around and left.

We cooked some soup and a freeze dried dinner of rice and lentils that was surprisingly tasty. The thru hikers staying here tonight are a cold, wet, miserable bunch, eager to get out of the Smokies. Everyone was in bed by 8 am. As I write this, I am tucked into my zero degree sleeping bag, feeling pretty cozy. It was a long day and there is a sense of accomplishment warming me as I prepare to turn off my head lamp and go to sleep.