by Craig Carver
A 4-day, end-of-January trip (2005) around the perimeter of Big Creek in the southeast section of Great Smoky Mountains National Park was my first winter backpacking jaunt since doing one as a Boy Scout in Utah when I froze my tusch off nearly forty years ago. After that experience I swore I’d never do a winter trip again. But after moving to the south (Kentucky) a few years ago, the relatively milder winters tempted me to try again. It was well worth it.
This 34 mile loop is a good winter hike because it follows the high ridges around the Big Creek drainage system, almost half of it on the Appalachian Trail, and offers scenic views through the leafless trees. (Kevin Adams discusses this loop in his book Hiking Great Smoky Mountains National Park - A Falcon Guide, trip #80.) The high elevation (5000-6000 ft) also makes for a snowier and colder hike. Because I’ve heard so much about the crowded conditions in the Park (more than 9 million people visited the Park in 2004) and much of the appeal of backpacking for me is solitude, I chose to go during the week (Tuesday-Friday). As it turned out, I didn’t see a single person until the last day.
I started at the Big Creek ranger station, which you get to by taking exit 451 (not exit 457 as Adams says) off I40. It was a warm beginning, high 40’s, so the 3-4” of snow on the Chestnut Branch Trail leading to the AT was slushy in spots. I decided not to take my instep crampons, and although I worried about it the next night when the temps plummeted, it proved to be a good weight-saving decision. This first two miles is uphill -- heck the whole first day is uphill – and follows a little creek, which had icicle rimmed falls and was dappled with sunlight.
This first day is 8.2 miles of climbing that ends at the Cosby Knob Shelter. It was my first experience staying in a “shelter,” and not to put too fine a point on it, it looked more like an animal stall -- dark, dank, and dirty. It’s too bad that this gorgeous backcountry area requires these shelters, but it seems to be the best way of preserving it: by sacrificing small and specific areas for heavy human use. Although I crawled into my 15 degree down sleeping bag accompanied by a full moon perched on the distant hills in a clear sky, I woke at about 1 a.m. to the sound of rain. I dashed out to retrieve my uncovered backpack that hung from one of the cables. To heck with bears and mice. I didn’t want a soggy pack. (Bear note: I didn’t see any sign of bear or for that matter mice the whole trip. The only apparent wildlife were birds – friendly flocks of chickadees, and the occasional nuthatch, woodpecker, and wren.) It rained hard the rest of the night, and I was grateful that I had the shelter and that it was happening at night and not during a hiking day.
The trails were a mess the next day to the Tricorner Knob Shelter. The clouds were low, so there was very little visibility, at times down to 100 yards, though occasionally they would part to reveal a mysterious landscape of frosted pines and veiled peaks. The trails at this higher elevation had about six inches of wet slushy snow, even more on the windblown and northern sides of the ridge, making the going difficult. I was glad I had taken my gaiters. They kept my heavy hiking boots drier and warmer.
The Tricorner Shelter is new and much nicer. It didn’t have the primitive feel of Cosby. It had a built-in table and benches, making it easier to sit and read or write or whatever. That night the temperature dropped into the low 20’s or high teens – difficult to tell exactly with my little toy-like thermometer. I had to wear more clothes to bed to stay warm. At the last minute I had thrown a few of the chemical foot/hand warmers into my pack, and these turned out to be very useful. I put one in each frozen boot an hour or so before getting out of the sack in the morning. They were also a lifesaver for keeping my butane/propane stove warm enough to work, and for keeping my canteen from freezing during the day (and night), wrapped in an extra piece of polartec clothing. Oddly enough, someone had generously left hanging a package of chemical warmers at the shelter, the “body size” version. I gratefully took one of them to use the next night. The cold definitely adds another layer or two of complexity to backpacking. For example, without the relatively luxurious outhouses at the shelters, it would have been a real project digging a cat hole in the frozen ground and baring one’s butt crouched in the wind-chill. Not fun.
The next day warmed up to just above freezing and the sun appeared later in the afternoon. This day was the longest (11.3 miles). It was also the most level hike, first on Balsam Mountain Trail then on Sterling Ridge Trail ending at campsite #38 on the top of Mt. Sterling. The last two miles, however, are steep, and once you get to the campsite you still have to hike .4 mile down the other side to the spring. That was a killer. I had been warned about this, so I took an extra 2-liter platypus.
It had warmed up enough during the day that I could get my tent stakes in the ground. I picked the flattest spot and quickly set up my tarptent, hung my food bag using one of the cables, and set off with my nearly empty pack to get water. Toward sunset I climbed part-way up the lookout tower -- “part-way” because I don’t like heights and the stairs were icy -- to get a nearly 360 view of the mountains receding in the smoky distance. This site had the least “wilderness” feel to it, not only because it is at the foot of a tower with a metal out-building, but because you could hear semi-trucks gearing down on I40, which you could see from the tower. You could also see and hear Walters Dam ablaze with electric lights after sunset. Even so, it was wonderful having the place to myself, and I was grateful for a relatively mild night, temps probably in the low 20’s, and a clear star-filled sky.
The last day (Friday) was an easy downhill hike of 6.2 miles on Baxter Creek Trail through an amazing variety of trees and plants. I saw a few friendly hikers going up, the first people in four days. This was a very enjoyable trip, but I learned that I’m a fair-weather backpacker. I could never be a mountaineer, trudging up Denali or some Himalayan mountain, which is way out of my league. The good ole Smokies offers enough challenges for this backpacker.
About the Author
Craig Carver finds solace and sustenance in the natural world and is a middle-aged fool for a good hike.
A Walk in the Grand Canyon
by David Hanson
