2018: Though it gets harder every year, I wasn't about to break an 18-year streak. But if I really needed additional prodding, dad was making his first attempt at a full traverse after an eight year hiatus following his shoulder dislocation and self-extraction near Cedar Rock in 2010. I knew it would be an awesome adventure to join in with dad although I was far from top fitness.
In fact, no longer do I consider myself an ultra runner: 30 miles is close to my monthly total for flat FL running. But years of experience and a favorable (overly-optimistic?!) forecast encouraged me. Experience can also be an impediment, however... As I now do far too often, I erred on minimalism with my gear. How's that slogan go: fast, light and dumb?
Before launching into some comedic misadventures, let me first say how impressed I am with my father's performance. Not often do you get to share so many wild miles with your dad. At 68 years old this weekend, he did amazingly well. All things considered, he safely negotiated the unexpectedly difficult and challenging terrain to get back to the lodge.
There were some moments of doubt. First, it started when my phone busted right at the Davidson parking lot. Dad mentioned he didn't have a phone and I knew we would be bringing up the rear. Not ideal. Although I knew we would be slow, somehow I still packed like I was going to be racing a shirtless Adam Hill in his jorts...Okay, not that bad, but close.
Before launching into some comedic misadventures, let me first say how impressed I am with my father's performance. Not often do you get to share so many wild miles with your dad. At 68 years old this weekend, he did amazingly well. All things considered, he safely negotiated the unexpectedly difficult and challenging terrain to get back to the lodge.
There were some moments of doubt. First, it started when my phone busted right at the Davidson parking lot. Dad mentioned he didn't have a phone and I knew we would be bringing up the rear. Not ideal. Although I knew we would be slow, somehow I still packed like I was going to be racing a shirtless Adam Hill in his jorts...Okay, not that bad, but close.
The weather was near freezing and the wind calm, but my fingerless gloves were all I had for my hands and I grew concerned about keeping them warm. Layering consisted of a modified windshirt and homemade sil-nylon jacket, (indispensable as a vapor barrier)... and the obligatory trash bag. As a wussy immunocompromised Floridiot, it was barely enough.
The slinky was in full-effect with me naturally pulling ahead of dad and then cooling down while waiting for him to catch up. I didn't want him to push too hard early on, but I knew these were going to be the easiest miles we'd get all day. Dennett and Kate were awesome at snapping pics, helping out and keeping us company for a while in the caboose position.
By Gloucester Gap, we were on an 11-hour pace. We weren't even on the harder snowy stuff yet. Dad attempted his first hat trick for the day and said he'd walk up Pilot Mtn road, bypassing the summit. He could focus on hydrating and eating on the easier grade without his poles, something that he'd been neglecting. As a bonus, I got to borrow his poles.
We split up, but agreed to wait for each other at the next shelter. I figured I'd need to push hard on the climb to arrive at the same time as dad. My effort got the heart pumping and left me hacking up crud. On the summit, I caught up to Dennett and Kate as well as the tail end of a separate WNC/TN group numbering in the teens(!) doing the traverse this year.
After some pics, we started down the snowy backside of Pilot. We got to the shelter, no sign of dad. I went to refill my water and wait while Dennett and Kate went on ahead. After a little while, I heard dad yelling back somewhere in the distance: "Matt!"
I yelled back: "Dad!"
Pause... "Where are you?"
"At the shelter, where are you?"
Pause again... "Matt!"
The slinky was in full-effect with me naturally pulling ahead of dad and then cooling down while waiting for him to catch up. I didn't want him to push too hard early on, but I knew these were going to be the easiest miles we'd get all day. Dennett and Kate were awesome at snapping pics, helping out and keeping us company for a while in the caboose position.
By Gloucester Gap, we were on an 11-hour pace. We weren't even on the harder snowy stuff yet. Dad attempted his first hat trick for the day and said he'd walk up Pilot Mtn road, bypassing the summit. He could focus on hydrating and eating on the easier grade without his poles, something that he'd been neglecting. As a bonus, I got to borrow his poles.
We split up, but agreed to wait for each other at the next shelter. I figured I'd need to push hard on the climb to arrive at the same time as dad. My effort got the heart pumping and left me hacking up crud. On the summit, I caught up to Dennett and Kate as well as the tail end of a separate WNC/TN group numbering in the teens(!) doing the traverse this year.
After some pics, we started down the snowy backside of Pilot. We got to the shelter, no sign of dad. I went to refill my water and wait while Dennett and Kate went on ahead. After a little while, I heard dad yelling back somewhere in the distance: "Matt!"
I yelled back: "Dad!"
Pause... "Where are you?"
"At the shelter, where are you?"
Pause again... "Matt!"
This conversation repeated itself ridiculously a couple more times. I could hear some of the TN crew snickering by the creek as amateur hour got broadcast throughout the listening area. Unable to tolerate it anymore, I went towards dad's voice. Surprisingly, it lead me back up towards Pilot. I caught dad on his descent: "I took a wrong turn." So much for a hat trick...
As we climbed towards the snowy parkway, conditions became more apparent: there was a lot more lingering accumulation up here. Thankfully the wind was still calm, but the going would obviously be slower and more tedious than expected. I knew for sure now that we would not make it down before dark. I also knew dad had a few more "reroutes" in mind.
Splitting up had already proven to be risky, but both of us were relentlessly stubborn: I wanted to stick to the ALT, and dad wanted to bypass the 6ers on a lower road and then take a shorter creek descent to the lodge. Fortunately, we both knew our respective routes really well; it was just a matter of keeping injury-free. I told dad I'd wait for him at a few junctions.
The low solstitial sun beamed down on a winter wonderland atop Black Balsam and Tennant. I'd never seen the views up there so crisp and clear. There was only the slightest breeze making for some good peak gazing, but I was a bit preoccupied with the approaching darkness as well as concerned about dad and I safely getting down. Onwards...
The low solstitial sun beamed down on a winter wonderland atop Black Balsam and Tennant. I'd never seen the views up there so crisp and clear. There was only the slightest breeze making for some good peak gazing, but I was a bit preoccupied with the approaching darkness as well as concerned about dad and I safely getting down. Onwards...
The shady backside of Tennant was a reality-check. The temperature plummeted in the shadows where overburdened limbs obscured rocky, icy obstacles along the trail. This was the first of the nightmare freezer sections that gave me flashbacks to 2009. I escaped back to the dwindling sunshine of Ivestor Gap, but not before nearly getting an eye poked out.
Like clockwork, dad and I reconnected at Ivestor. I told him I'd backtrack from Shining Rock Gap to check that he could find the shortcut creek trail. Back into the icy shadows, I post-holed onwards towards Flower Gap thankful for the footprints in front of me. This was definitely reminiscent to 2009 conditions and I couldn't wait to get down to lower elevations.
Progress was slow with no hands... They were too busy groping my own butt cheeks, my go-to hand-warmers for the last few hours. The footprints zigged and zagged in front of me. Like lemmings, each subsequent set of prints followed a puzzled pioneer. I quickly learned that blazing a more direct path had it's own drawbacks when I plunged up to my thighs in a drift.
I passed a few brave wintertime backpackers near Shining Rock Gap fighting through the sunken tunnel of snowy limbs. We exchanged pleasantries and I backtracked to find out if dad had made the cut-off. It turned out to be nearly a mile roundtrip to get there, but it was worth it as dad thoughtfully left me a sign in the snow indicating he was on the right path.
Reassured that he was headed down safely, I focused on getting to and through the Narrows and then as quickly down from Deep Gap myself. Although bonking, I enjoyed the sunset colors from the Narrows. It's hard for me to remember a scene as serene and beautiful as this one after all these years. Deep Gap brought such relief... to now be on the final descent!
I took it as a challenge to see how far I could go without a light. I passed a few of the TN/WNC crew descending and became aware that they were slightly concerned about two of their own who might've left the trail. First order was to get down and see where things stood. I had to use my headlamp for the last half hour arriving to the lodge after 12 hours.
Everybody from our group was in... Except dad. As exhausted as I was, I quickly scrambled to prepare some gear to go looking for him. But just as I made it to the door, he walked in, what a relief! Later the TN/WNC crew came in and informed us on their missing members. They had taken another trail down, had made contact and all were safe as well. Good stuff.
Lodge life by the fireplace is always extra enjoyable after a full day in the mountains. I was also thankful that 15-year-old Udog got to share a sofa and warm crackling fire in the Vance Lodge, likely for her last time... It's times like these that make for the most memorable WNC memories. Photo credits: Terry, Dennett and Jeremy!
In retrospect:
Another successful adventure, but not without some unnecessary risks. In hindsight, knowing my health (pneumonia!) and pace, I should've packed more clothing for myself. Dad and I (as well as any person attempting this traverse in the wintertime) should've also had access to two devices for emergency communication in the event one failed/broke. True, in the early aughts we carried none. But as older, and hopefully wiser people, we'll make better use of technology for safety.
Sometimes it's hard to get a read on conditions. Access to timely NWS regional discussion, NOAA accumulation and a NSFS Cold Mountain webcam certainly help. Local knowledge is indispensable, so too is previous experience on the trail. This is why strong priority is given to veterans. We keep our group to less than 10 people not only out of respect of Wilderness regulations, but also because experiences from younger/dumber years have taught us that it's harder to account for bigger crowds.
In nearly two decades, I'm happy to report that we haven't had to activate a SAR. Although conditions can fluctuate from mild to severe in the Southern Appalachians, the risk of traversing 30 miles, +9,000' climb on high elevation, rugged wilderness trail in wintertime conditions should not be underestimated. Anyone who endeavors to attempt this should carefully consider her/his fitness, equipment, communication, emergency preparedness and the company s/he keeps.
These are just some lessons that I've learned and wanted to pass along. I obviously think this is a worthwhile adventure and want it to remain so. Access to the trail is free. The USFS and NPS cannot and do not recognize one group from another. A SAR, or worse, would be detrimental to the tradition as a whole and is best avoided through diligent planning and preparation by all involved. Thanks for reading. Here's to safe and happy adventures in 2019 and beyond!
In retrospect:
Another successful adventure, but not without some unnecessary risks. In hindsight, knowing my health (pneumonia!) and pace, I should've packed more clothing for myself. Dad and I (as well as any person attempting this traverse in the wintertime) should've also had access to two devices for emergency communication in the event one failed/broke. True, in the early aughts we carried none. But as older, and hopefully wiser people, we'll make better use of technology for safety.
Sometimes it's hard to get a read on conditions. Access to timely NWS regional discussion, NOAA accumulation and a NSFS Cold Mountain webcam certainly help. Local knowledge is indispensable, so too is previous experience on the trail. This is why strong priority is given to veterans. We keep our group to less than 10 people not only out of respect of Wilderness regulations, but also because experiences from younger/dumber years have taught us that it's harder to account for bigger crowds.
In nearly two decades, I'm happy to report that we haven't had to activate a SAR. Although conditions can fluctuate from mild to severe in the Southern Appalachians, the risk of traversing 30 miles, +9,000' climb on high elevation, rugged wilderness trail in wintertime conditions should not be underestimated. Anyone who endeavors to attempt this should carefully consider her/his fitness, equipment, communication, emergency preparedness and the company s/he keeps.
These are just some lessons that I've learned and wanted to pass along. I obviously think this is a worthwhile adventure and want it to remain so. Access to the trail is free. The USFS and NPS cannot and do not recognize one group from another. A SAR, or worse, would be detrimental to the tradition as a whole and is best avoided through diligent planning and preparation by all involved. Thanks for reading. Here's to safe and happy adventures in 2019 and beyond!
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