The Pulse of Autumn: Bartram Trail Day 1

Field Notes III.XLII: Backpacking and photography. Mile 0 thru 14. Along the Chattooga River.

Welcome to Field Notes!

Why would I have called ahead? I’ve called in the past. This is my third time trying to thru hike the Bartram Trail. The first attempt was derailed by Hurricane Helene a year ago and the second by a wildfire last spring. Each of those times and including today I planned to leave my car parked at the Nantahala Outdoor Center near Bryson City, North Carolina, where the hike would end. The process is simple. You tell them what you’re there for, they give you a tag for your rear view mirror and tell you where to park. No charge.

I checked the NOC website a couple of days ago. It hasn’t changed, so why would I have called? The door to the NOC General Store squeaks as I open it and step inside. At the counter I explain to the older man running the store that I would like to leave my car here for about 8 days while I thru hike the Bartram Trail. I have a shuttle scheduled to pick me up from here in about an hour at 10 am to drive me to the trail’s start.

“Hmm. Well… the thing is…” he begins. “Next weekend is our biggest festival of the year here at the NOC. There’s really not a lot of parking. We’re having to bus our employees in from a different location.”

Oh no! I try explaining that I had no idea and that the website didn’t mention the festival or the limited parking. The man describes to me of all of the vendors and spectacles that are likely to be here, but as he is talking I notice that he has also picked up a tag for the rear view mirror and is writing on it.

“I have a hard time telling backpackers no.” He smiles. We confirm what day I plan to be back, and then he adds several days to that in the event that I get delayed. Then he instructs me on where to park. Crisis averted.

Now for the next complication. My backpack, loaded with likely too much food, leans on the outside wall of the General Store along with my trekking poles as I stand waiting on Josh with Sherpa Shuttles. That is all I know.

I scheduled the ride a couple of weeks ago with a different shuttle. That guy texted me that he had to cancel, but he made arrangements for me with Josh. A day ago Josh texted me to confirm. I gave him my description and my vehicle description, which Josh acknowledged but did not reciprocate. We didn’t set an exact pick up place at the NOC and I have no idea who I’m looking for. It seems ridiculous, but I am simply waiting here for someone to pull up and recognize me.

And that is exactly what happens. A white Mitsubishi pulls into a parking space. The driver’s window rolls down. A man with a big gray flecked beard and long hair, wearing a loud tie dyed t-shirt looks over and asks “Hey, are you going to Russell Bridge?”

I smile. “Yeah! Are you Josh?”

“Yep!” and the back hatch of the SUV pops open. I throw my gear inside and we are off.

How do you really know if you are prepared for something that you’ve never done before? I think I am prepared, but this particular trail has a lot of variables. There are issues of timing how far I go and where I make camps. Can I really walk the distances I have sketched out in my mind? And a re-supply in the middle of it all. How is that going to work?

This is only going to be a week or a little more in the woods. Not all that long. Still, at 120 miles it will be the longest trek that I’ve done in both distance and time. All of this I plan to do solo.

There comes a point where you just have to go, trusting that you’ll figure it out along the way. I left home at 5:30 this morning for the three hour drive to the NOC. The night sky became covered with clouds before dawn. Somewhere the sun rose, leaving a strange purple-red color cast to the sky as I drove into the heart of the Appalachian Mountains. Winding roadways snaked through hollows and rural villages of clustered old trailers and crumbling houses, leading up to the NOC.

Now I sit in conversation with Josh. The gathering cloud cover releases a steady rain, pelting his windshield. For two more hours we drive back to Georgia, nearly the same route I had just driven. We speak of life in Franklin, NC, working in restaurants, photography, and many other things.

Around a forested bend in the roadway we arrive at Russell Bridge over the Chattooga River, at the border of Georgia and South Carolina. Josh quickly pulls into the small gravel parking area with its trail sign. Without much ceremony at all we exchange our thanks. Then, Josh’s tires crunch across the gravel as he quickly drives away.

Its noon. I stand alone at the start of the Bartram Trail. The rain has just now subsided and the air is damp and cool. The only sound is of gentle and irregular water drops splattering on multi-colored October leaves all around. For efficiency’s sake I forgo any lunch and don my poncho. It is time to start walking.

I’ve hiked along the Chattooga River and these mountains and valleys my entire life. The crystalline streams flow through my veins. Damp soil and underlying rock aggregate to form my bones. I feel my own pulse in this earth; in this ground that gives rise to the enveloping vivid red and yellow autumnal foliage of the trees. Stepping into this forest feels like a return home. Yet, can I really call this land my own?

The land does not belong to me. Others have called this place home for generations past. William Bartram explored the area in the late 1700’s and this trail is an approximation of the route he took. At that time, this was the land of the Cherokee people, and I can only imagine that they experienced a connection with it similar to my own.

Here the trail is a flat and easy walk from the outset. The Chattooga flows broad and calm to the left. Across its waters is a flat expanse, now forested, that was once the site of the Cherokee town of Chattooga Old Town. What an experience it would be to meet another culture tied so closely to this land. Would drum beats resonate through the river valley? Cooking fire smoke hang heavy in the treetops? And the voices of a community, in an unfamiliar language, murmur like the river itself?

But it is empty now, shrouded in the day’s drizzle. Silence echoes through towering trees forming a cathedral for ghosts.

The foliage is brilliant; warm hues burst in striking contrast to the wet and cool conditions. Contorted trunks of sourwood explode vermilion in the understory. Yellow and red maple leaves scatter across the forest floor. The trail is blanketed with the broad notched leaves of towering tulip trees, some bright yellow and many a deep muted orange.

Hiking at a steady pace, I grow hot underneath the poncho. Its advantage, though, is plenty of ventilation. Sopping brown fern, waxy dogbane, and yellowroot brush my legs as I move, saturating my shoes. For a couple of hours I walk until reaching Warwoman Creek, where it is crossed by Earl’s Ford Rd.

It is 3 pm and I finally break for lunch. A woman and her two dogs relax on rocks in the river. We speak briefly of the conditions of the day and of my planned hike, but very soon I must move on.

The clouds begin to part and a breeze picks up. Ahead, down a short side trail is Dick’s Creek Falls. I visited and photographed this waterfall several years ago. The rocks and stream above the falls are very familiar as I once again lay eyes on it.

Dick’s Creek drops off of this precipice and plummets 60ft to the Chattooga River below. A vertical scrambling descent through rhododendron brings me to the roaring water at its base. It looks different down here than I remember, possibly due to the low water level now or just the fading of memory with time.

The waterfall is mostly recessed in shadow. I set my tripod and begin to make photographs. With the clearing skies above, the shadows help to keep the shining white of the flowing water from gleaming out of control.

Time slips by like the current of the stream while I am absorbed in photography. More clouds begin to gather overhead and the surrounding forest grows dark. Yet its still just 4:45. The more ground I can cover today means less for the following days, though. So, I pack my gear and start walking yet again.

The trail begins climbing through the hills, slowing progress. A strong gusty wind stirs the branches above and clears the sky once more. Shadows deepen. One element of this hike in late October I had not considered is how short the hours of daylight are. Morning and evenings I will be hiking by headlamp. Do I have enough battery power for that?

My feet begin to hurt in their wet shoes. I know this pain. It could be blisters, but also could just be the tenderness of saturated skin. How far can I make it today? The map shows several upcoming campsite possibilities. I keep pushing. A long climb follows Bob Gap and it is a fatigued struggle. Darkness falls after 7 pm. A campsite at the next hilltop is the goal, but once there I cannot find any place to pitch my tent. I hate to backtrack, but must do so slightly to get to the last good site. I have come 14 miles since starting the trail at noon.

Pitching camp is a familiar routine, smooth and efficient. The peak of my tepee style tent rises with the propped trekking pole in just a few minutes. I then heat dinner and eat hurriedly, anticipating an exhausted crawl under my quilt to my inflated sleeping pad and pillow. First, I must hang my food bag at a safe height away from bears. The only real possibility is actually a perfectly bent tree. Its just a bit too close to my tent than I would like at only about 20 yards away.

This has been a very long day. There is a small blister on my right foot, but I’ll wait till morning to put tape over it. Laying in the darkness and wind above, I think again of the Cherokee and how they related to this land. And then I wonder about the inverse- how the land itself experienced those people? And how the land perceives me now? Does the land welcome me as part of its own? Or am I merely passing through? The thoughts accompany me as I drift away to sleep.

We are under way on the Bartram Trail! Day 1 was exhausting. I got up at 4 am, left at 5:30, and rode in cars for 5 hours just to get to the trailhead! I wish I could have gotten started on the trail earlier, but still managed to get in 14 miles. I won’t lie, I’m pretty proud of that!

I hope you all are enjoying this so far. Buckle up, cause its going to get a bit more interesting! I intend to make this a long 7 part series, filled with highs and lows, gut clenching moments, enduring grinds, and some victories, too. I hope you all are up for it! Let me know what you think in the comments!

Read the next episode here-

The Pulse of Autumn: Bartram Trail Day 2

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