Musings on genre writing, waterfall wandering, and peak bagging in the South’s wilderness areas.
The woman was mortified. How dare I say such a thing?! My wife, too, thought my request was beyond rude.
|“You’re a gott-damn genius, Private Gump!”|
The route I had set aside was similar to one I had hiked with other people some years back. My plan was to park at the fish hatchery near Looking Glass Rock and take the Cat Gap Trail to the Art Loeb Trail. Originally I had figured on taking an unmarked side trail to the summit of Cedar Rock Knob from Sand Gap and camp on the summit. But since I knew the weather could possibly suck mightily I had a backup plan to skip the summit and push on to the Butter Gap shelter where I would have a wooden roof over my head.
By the time I reached Sand Gap and began to climb the 300 or so vertical feet to the top of Cedar Rock the rain was coming down heavily and the atmosphere was like pea soup and the wind was gusting. I could hear the odd limbs crashing down to the forest floor here and there in the forest. So I decided that I should bypass the summit as my alternate plans indicated and instead I pushed on the couple of miles or so to Butter Gap where the shelter waited.
Once at the shelter the rain began to come down even harder. And by that time–despite my excellent rain gear–I was pretty much soaked. So I rigged some clothesline and changed into my long underwear (dry in my backpack) and hung my wet clothes on the lines inside the shelter. Then I set up my tent because there were a couple of small leaks in the roof and with the rain coming down as hard as it was I thought that some more leaks could develop and the tent would keep me dry. It was here that I saw the only person I encountered during the two days–a day-hiker doing essentially the same loop I was doing, but without a backpack and in one day instead of two.
After that I did the regular old backpacking deal. I got my tent comfortable, put the things I might need in the night close and handy (such as my headlamp), cooked supper, cleaned up, hung my food bag and then retired to the shelter to meditate. The rain was pouring down and the air was cool. Gusts of heavy wind would routinely blast through the forest. Limbs would hit the ground nearby, a couple of them actually just in front of the shelter. I meditated, thought about things, came close to doing some writing in the journal I’d carried along but ended up not even doing that. I just sat at the front of the structure, then lay in my tent and waited for it to get extraordinarily dark.
And it did. It got so dark that all I could sense was a sheet of purest black before my eyes. The world was essentially invisible to me. I had the sleeping pad under my back, my down bag around my body, the winds roaring outside the shelter, and the rain drumming incessantly on the roof.
It was cool.
As I sometimes do when backpacking I slept off and on, waking from time to time and then dozing off. Finally I was wide awake at a tad after 6:00 am. Even then I wasn’t quite ready to fix breakfast and break camp so I waited for the sun to paint the gray skies with some manner of dim light and then finally got my motor running.
After breakfast it only took a few minutes to pack up and be on my way. My pants and rain coat had dried in the night but not my cotton shirt (stupid of me to wear a cotton shirt, but there you go). So I just wore my long underwear top on the final leg of the trip.
As near as I could tell from my map it was somewhere between 3.5 and 4 miles back to the fish hatchery. And almost all downhill. So I knew the miles would vanish, even carrying my backpack. Just past the shelter the Cat Gap Trail intersects with the Butter Gap Trail and I took that back down, intersecting once more the Cat Gap Trail that took me the final half mile or so.
Since it was raining very heavily off and on I had opted to leave my camera stored safe and dry in my backpack. Thus, from the shelter and on to the truck all I had to record the journey was my GoPro camera which I had strapped to my chest.
Despite how steep and slick parts of the trail was on the way out, I made very good time. Even stopping occasionally to view and make video of waterfalls along the way (there are a lot of waterfalls on that stretch of trail) I made extremely good time. By 10:00 am I was back at my truck and storing my backpack and camera gear.
Since the fish hatchery was locked up tight–even the rest rooms–I drove to the single toilet that was unlocked in the entire area at the Sycamore Flats Picnic Area and washed up and changed into clean, dry clothes that I had brought with me. When you’ve been backpacking in heavy rain and are that wet, there’s nothing better than changing into clean, dry clothes and shoes.
After that I killed an hour just walking around, thinking, and then ate at a nearby restaurant that I like and drove back home.
It was a good trip.
|The first bridge near the fish hatchery parking lot.|
There are a LOT of stream crossings on the web of trails I took. Some have foot bridges. Some do not.
|This dead tree had recently fallen across this campsite. I was tired and used the dead tree as a seat to catch my breath after several miles of uninterrupted hiking.|
|The Butter Gap Shelter. It’s in poor repair and needs some fixing up. But it was still a hell of a lot better and drier than pitching my tent in heavy rain and howling winds on a mountaintop.|
|My tent and stuff inside the shelter.|
|My truck, waiting safely for me at the end of the trip.|
The odds of being attacked by an animal are slim. Almost to the point of being able to statistically dismiss even the dimmest of possibilities where such things are concerned. Yes, I take certain precautions against even such an outside occurrence by not cooking in the same spot where I’m going to sleep; never taking any food into my tent–not even a snack; and hanging all of my food and heavily scented things (like toothpaste) from a sack high in a tree before I prepare for bed.
But there are a few things that I do worry about when I go backpacking alone. First and foremost is the possibility of being attacked by a human. This does happen to hikers and backpackers and almost always when they are hiking or camping overnight near a trail/road intersection. The kind of person who is going to do such a thing as victimize a backpacker is a lazy sack of shit and will only walk a short distance. Thus, I always try to camp at least several miles from the nearest road.
Then there’s lightning. Lightning does kill people. You don’t have to be hiking to be killed by lightning, but when you’re outside, the great, gray dome of stormy weather overhead can be a threat. Whenever I hear thunder I know the possibility of a lightning strike is there and so I mitigate them by doing my best to stay away from high ground (such as summits) during an electrical storm. I will go down into a cove or gap and wait it out if I can (additionally being sure not to hunker down near a tall tree).
And that brings me to the one thing that I do actively worry about when I backpack. And that thing is deadfall.
When you’re in a forest a respectable percentage of the trees are dead, dying, or growing in a place where a stiff gust of wind or saturation by water of the loose soil can bring it down. If you happen to be camped under such a tree it can fall over on you, or it can lose a stout limb overhead. And then it’s curtains for you if you happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The possibility of such a thing is rare, but it is one of the concerns that I seriously take when I am picking out a spot to pitch my tent before nightfall.
On this trip into the Pisgah National Forest I was travelling in mainly heavy rain, and during brief periods of gusty wind as bits of the front passed through. I saw limbs falling, and at one point in the night I heard a very large tree give up the ghost somewhere in the woods and hit the earth. Later, on my way out of Butter Gap I saw what was probably the tree I heard as it fell. It wasn’t far from the shelter I used and it had fallen across the trail.
But even that–my main concern when I backpack–is less than the odds of being involved in an automobile accident on my way to or from a trip to the forest.
|This tree had very recently fallen at an established campsite along the Cat Gap Loop Trail. Anyone under it would have been crushed like a slug.|
|I encountered a ridiculous amount of recent deadfall on this trip.|
The forecast called for heavy rain but I decided to go anyway, mainly because I knew that it would make the likelihood of finding some solitude that much more likely. And that is, in fact, what happened. I saw only one other person on the trail for the two days–a day-hiker who passed by the Butter Gap shelter where I spent the night.
I’ll post details about the hike later. It has been a while since I’ve carried a 45-pound backpack over rugged terrain and my muscles are complaining. More after a night’s rest.
|The point where I caught the Art Loeb Trail. I really appreciate the well-signed trails of the Pisgah National Forest.|
Accidental selfie. I had set the camera up for self-timed shots, then realized I had forgotten my mini-tripod and put it down on my camera bag. Whereupon it went off, catching this photo. Pretty cool!
Musings on genre writing, waterfall wandering, and peak bagging in the South’s wilderness areas.
Last night I watched a film that has been on my to-see list for a very, very long time. It’s a UK film called THE LIFE AND DEATH OF COLONEL BLIMP. Now, some sources that I had researched refer to the movie as either the best or one of the best British movies of all time. Having now seen it and digested the experience it certainly is not the best British film I’ve ever seen (much less of all time). What I can say is that I enjoyed it immensely and it may actually rise in my estimation as time passes.
One thing that I came away with from watching the movie was that it is very strange. Almost a weird film. It begins as what I could only term as a farce–dialog and situation almost slapstick in some respects and with humor that spans from low-brow goofiness to almost Wilde-like.
At the end of this initial episode we are introduced to an old general (Clive Candy, portrayed by Roger Livesy) who is the principle character of the movie–and then are reintroduced to him in flashback as a young officer in London on leave from the Boer War some decades earlier.
COLONEL BLIMP was filmed in 1943 and was meant as a patriotic film for the public during the Battle of Britain when London was being regularly bombed by the German Luftwaffe. As a bit of gaudy nationalism is it effective and obvious without being terribly offensive in that respect.
On the other hand it is an excellent biography of a fictional character who could very well have been one of the old guard officers who has found himself made obsolete by a new form of warfare and against a modern opponent who is altogether more monstrous than anything previously encountered (the Nazis). The movie focuses on that career and on the strange happenstance of a friendship that arises between the British officer and a German officer–the friendship that carriers over for decades, though they mostly find themselves on opposing sides.
And then there is, of course, the love story. Deborah Kerr was–I think–only 22 or so when she made this film, and I was struck by her beauty. I don’t recall seeing her act at this age since my exposure to her were in films made in the 1950s and 1960s. In this movie she was heart-stoppingly gorgeous. And another sub-text of the story is that Livesy’s Clive Candy only realizes that he loves Edith Hunter (Kerr) after he has relinquished her to his German friend Theo before he understands that he has fallen in love with her. By that time it is too late, and so he ends up searching thereafter for a woman to match her.
For her part, Kerr plays three different roles in the movie–Edith Hunter and two other women that Candy sees as matching her in beauty and personality as the film progresses.
Livesy pretty much overwhelms the movie with his performance as Clive Candy. First as the headstrong young officer, and later as the career soldier moving up the ladder until he is a major-general. Although he was in his 30s when he made the film–and his youth and athleticism are evident in the sections in which Candy is young–he also makes you believe the parts of the film that portray him as first a mature, and then an aged general.
I don’t recall ever seeing Livesy in any US films, but his voice stood out the second I heard it in the opening moments of COLONEL BLIMP. So I’ve obviously seen him in British movies I’ve watched when I was a kid, but I couldn’t recall his face. However, that voice immediately reminded me that I’d seen at least some of his movies when I was much younger. Once you hear him speak you can’t forget his voice.
I was impressed enough with the movie that I’ll watch it again. But to my way of thinking it certainly is not the finest British movie I have ever seen. I don’t know why anyone would tag any movie with that label. But it is a great feature with an effective script, clever direction, and wonderful performances.
|Livesy as the young officer version of Clive Candy.|
|Livesy as the aged Major-General. The makeup was excellent, but even Livesy’s speech patterns and body movements displayed those of an old man.|
|Deborah Kerr as Edith Hunter. I think she was 22 years old when she made this movie and was absolutely gorgeous. I had previously seen her in movies like From Here to Eternity and The Innocents and had not been so impressed with her beauty.|
|On one side, The Great Bolo!|
|On the other, Brute Bernard!|
Remember…the US Presidential election, like rasslin’, is REAL! Don’t be fooled! Get out and cheer for the good guy! And recollect to vote, dammit!
|Votin’ is for reals, people.|
Water is an amazing substance. Here on Earth it exists at what we call the triple-point. That is, at the temperature ranges and atmospheric density on our planet, H2O can exist as a gas (water vapor), a solid (ice) and a liquid (water).
For you morons, here is what you see when you look up into the sky and perceive your stupid, fucking “chemtrails”: you are seeing the contrails produced by cooler, moisture-laden air (that would be water vapor–please pay attention, you fucking morons) flowing over and through jet engines that produce heat and cause the water vapor to condense into first tiny droplets of liquid water and then ice crystals. Both the condensed droplets and the ice crystals are very tiny and very light and they tend to remain suspended in the atmosphere for extended periods of time at the extreme heights at which they are formed.
Eventually, winds will disperse these elongated contrails, and sometimes a weather front will emerge and engulf them. But they are not trails of poisonous chemicals created by dastardly super-villains sitting in subterranean lairs or in their billionaire penthouses in New York, Berlin, and Moscow.
Contrails have been around since the first meteors and asteroids began to pelt the surface after the atmosphere formed with high levels of water vapor. An incoming meteor will also create a contrail. No evil scientists needed. Humans began to create contrails with the invention of the first high-flying aircraft. There were contrails reported over the battlefields of Europe during the First World War. Fighter craft such as the Fokker DVII could climb to 20,000 feet (6100 meters) and they certainly left contrails under the right conditions. While military engineers were involved in creating the Fokker DVII (and other aircraft) they certainly were not trying to control the minds of human beings through the application of some wily chemical brew.
It’s water vapor, you fucking morons.
“But there are so MANY of them, Mr. Smith! Explain that!! Gotcha!”
Alas, you stupid fuckheads, you again show your ignorance and display the fact that where your brains are supposed to be there is, instead, a vile wad of shit.
On most days in the USA there are close to 90,000 flights, a huge portion of them being aircraft with large and powerful jet engines flying at high altitude. Those warm surfaces on (and in) those engines encounter otherwise invisible water vapor (the gas I mentioned earlier) and transform it into airborne streams of liquid water droplets and then into tiny ice crystals which form the human-cause equivalent of skinny cirrus clouds. And keep in mind that even propeller driven aircraft create contrails. You don’t have to fly to 30,000+ feet to create a contrail.
So, instead of poisoning your already weak minds with bullshit delivered via websites about comic book conspiracy theories, read some science tracts my dumbass “chemtrail” numbskull citizens. It’s bad enough that I have to share the Earth with more than seven billion humans. I’m supposed to deal with fucking morons who don’t understand basic chemistry and the simplest of physics?!
|Contrails created by B17 Flying Fortresses during World War II. Multiple contrails for the bombers with four engines, and single contrails for their fighter escorts.|