In my last post, I covered the 33 mile section between the US-27 trailhead and Great Meadows Campground. I was traveling through the Big South Fork, once the homelands of Cherokee American Indians, whose abodes were the rock shelters I hiked beneath, and the fertile creek bottoms I roamed thru on this hike.
Was this once the home of a Cherokee family?
Then white settlers invaded the land, first engaging in fur trapping, then establishing homesteads and mining towns. I'd love to find out more about the lives of early American Indians in the BSF, but unfortunately information on the internet available about them is really limited.
Back to the trail--It was Tuesday, June 1st. I left Great Meadows campground under cloudy skies, recovered from the grueling 25-mile day before.
I was hiking alongside rock creek for most of the morning, step-by-step closing in on the Kentucky-Tennessee border. I saw people enjoying their day, fishing, as I passed over scenic little streams and towers of rocks to my left.
Rock Creek, and some anticlimactic signage on the KY-TN border
Creek Crossing right after crossin' the border
Ancient landscape touched by anthropocene design.
Small falls and towering rock walls along Massey Branch.
Mountain Laurels in the midday sun :)
I left rock creek and massey branch and traveled up to Divide Rd--the only lick of gravel I'd see that day, and the only point at which I had barely enough cell service to get a phonecall out all day.
Signpost at divide road, and a (black or pipevine??) swallowtail on some mountain laurels.
After crossing divide rd, you're hiking along a sandy ridge, with views of Tennessee hills.
Vistas framed by mountain laurels--a lonely stretch, I saw no one else that day after crossing the state line.
The humble John Muir overlook--reminded me of overlooks in the Red River Gorge, a little closer to home and about 200 miles earlier along the Sheltowee Trace.
A wrigglin' newt, and another swallowtail.
Signs of a settlers past in the Big South Fork--creeks with ominous names like "Diffuculty" and "No Business", and some rock monoliths near where I camped that night, probably the remnants of a homestead along the creek.
That night I made camp near a bridge over No Business Creek, near stone pillars that remained from some structure of long ago. The woods had a definite vibe of solitude that erred towards the side of creepy. In the dark some woodland animal screeched like a siren wailing. From the cocoon of my hammock I heard rain beginning to fall in the wee hours of the morning--there was a steady drizzle as I packed up and ate breakfast. The rain would not cease all day.
Rock shelters and lush forest. A trail void of sun yet still full of wonder.
After just a handful of miles my boots were soaked by the undergrowth.
Once again following the Cumberland. The valley was full of fog on this rainy morning.
The trail became wider and sandy as it followed high on a bank of the big south fork. I remember it being full of mudholes and difficult to negotiate.
In this section of trail I crossed paths with two NPS employees on an ATV. I think they were surprised to see me out there with a big backpack in the rain. I probably looked like a bat out of hell--soaking wet with blood trickling down my legs from thorny undergrowth. But it was nice talking to a couple of people after a long period of solitude.
I pushed forth to Bandy Creek Campground, where I was ending my section hike for the week. Horseriding seems to be popular in the BSF as a lot of the trail was wide shared-use.
Trees make way for a clearing--IIRC, an experiment by the University of Tennessee at Martin to replicate natural grassland environments.
At this point I was nearing the end of the road, Bandy Creek Campground. I was wet and tired, and ahead I saw a wide, open clearing. and a big, unbroken sky of pure slate, clouds shedding rain, and heard wind that howled and commanded the grasses and gentle white flowers of the clearing to sway.
Hordes of red-spotted newts! These are juvenile land-roaming efts.
And thus ended my backpacking adventures of the summer. I got to the campground and a couple of families were there, kids riding their bikes around, and I re-read the entirety of Go Tell It on the Mountain while I waited for a ride to deliver me from the forests of South Kentucky/North Tennessee I'd roamed for the last couple of days. A total of 138 miles over two separate weeks.
I was really bummed out in July when my little notebook containing all my writing from my backpacking trips was stolen while I was working. These notes were part of my heart. The rawest form of my experiences were taken from me. There's prose and poetry and drawings in there that I'll never be able to recreate and in all likelihood was tossed in some dumpster by the soulless crackhead asshole that nabbed my shit. There wasn't even any damn money in the bag of mine that they stole!!!
Whatever. The hurt of loss falls away with the passage of time. The world slowly transforms. The Big South Fork will soon fill with the myriad of colors of autumn--warm tones touching the trees. And I will traverse the land again, taking nothing but my pictures and notes, leaving only my small footprints. And then winter will come, life sapped from the forest, and then springtime, again. And then the schoolyear will end, and I'll take another chunk of time out to try and thru-hike the sheltowee from the top again. Who knows--maybe third time's the charm.
Some flowers of the summer: Rhododendron calendulaceum (flame azaelia--with vibrantly red stamens) and Spigelia marilandica (woodland pinkroot)
Cheers to the ways of the world, to the mountain lions, the pileated woodpeckers, to the red-spotted newt ambling across the path, to the greenery and flowers staking their claim on lonely ridgelines and making their homes in the cool, wet shade of a rockshelter deep in a valley, to the cumberland river, mighty, constant, may you swell with the fertility of this coming spring--I will wait, patiently, for your return from the dearth of winter. I love you and I trust you.
