What a pretty little ditch.
I pulled in at the Pinchin Trailhead on Monday evening just as the sun was setting. A beautiful sunset to the West, unfortunately, left the Pinchin trail fully dark in about 10 minutes so I just hung my hammock about 100 yards down the hill and watched the lights around Lake James and Morganton before turning in.
Tuesday broke cloudy with a definite threat of rain. After a quick trip back up to the car for a more leisurely gear check I headed down Pinchin. What a beautiful trail. Steep, yes, but never so much as to require butt sliding. Even with the recent burn and without a single switchback I didn't see any erosion on the trail. The vistas were non-stop looking north and south. Every 100 yards or so I'd stop and stare and curse the gray clouds. Had it been sunny and blue skyed I'd likely have burned through all my camera batteries before I reached the bottom of the gorge. Even in muted light with a light drizzle the trail was a treat that time of year.
But the siren call of the roaring river kept pulling me downward. Or maybe that was just gravity. The clouds lowered and the rain kicked into full as I reached the gorge floor. Coming down Pinchin I spotted a couple of landmarks I could use to gauge progress up the river: The chimneys and Table Rock across the river. Of course once it started raining I couldn't see anything across the river so there went that plan out the window.
On the map the gorge trail north from Pinchin to Conley looked like a nice, flat, easy 3 mile riverside ramble. Maps lie. I'll stipulate that the distance was indeed only 3 miles (3 LOOOONNGG miles) but that was a seriously rugged trail. A scenic trail, along a wild river in a beautiful gorge with colorful foliage and all that good stuff, but SERIOUSLY rugged.
Rain, slick rock, wet leaves, out of shape middle aged hiker - it's an old story and you've all probably heard versions of it over and over. It usually ends with a particularly gruesome self amputation or a taxpayer funded helicopter ride. It's also a story best told by someone with health insurance so don't expect me to spin that tale. I took those three miles sloowwwly and carefully. 4 1/2 hours to cover three miles? I ain't proud. Or broken.
Just as I was wondering just how much further I'd have to poke along in the rain I rounded a last outcrop and saw my goal: the hidden tribe of the hamakahangas - the mythical men who sew. They certainly set up in a lovely spot. 15 minutes later I had hung my tarp and hammock, changed into dry clothes and felt at home among kindred spirits. Couldn't have picked a better spot.
What a great group of people. You figure it's a pretty self selecting sub sample of the human population. People with good taste in sleeping arrangements who value wilderness enough to hike into a primitive campsite in the middle of the week in the rain are the kind of people with whom I try to associate. You just assume that since they have good taste about so many of life's important issues they'll have good taste in the rest. And, with the unfortunate exception of that grainy, gray emetic known as Livermush it's true.
A word about Livermush: I tried it, I swallowed a bite, I kept it down. I ain't proud. I ain't that hungry, either. I wrapped up the rest of that livermush biscuit and hid it behind the firewood pile.
I spent the rest of the glorious Wednesday just kind of hanging around. Dried gear, read my book, walked a little bit upriver (not far) and engaged in some serious hydrological observations. At one point I actually observed the river change pitch and color for a minute (from a muted brownish-green to a subdued greenish-brown) and was all excited to witness this natural phenomenon until I realized that Hawk-eye had discovered my hidden livermush biscuit and tossed the mush into the river to feed the trout. I'd have expected a stronger reaction from the river.
I was dreading hiking back up to the road on Thursday. My experience with the Gorge's trails to that point had me expecting a long, steep bushwhack over rocks and laurel. I was wrong (again.) The Conley trail was just this side of being ADA compliant. I got to the top and still had a walking itch in my legs so I kept my hitchin' thumb in my pocket and road walked back to the Pinchin Trailhead. I ran into millergear along the way. He had just come up Pinchin after wrestling through the three miles of the gorge trail the previous day and was about to Rock Jock his way back to Conley.
I was in the car and headed back to flatland by 1. One last look behind me showed sun breaking through the high clouds and the gorge filled with brilliant reds and oranges and rocks. Beautiful. I'll be back.
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