Looking Down from Mt. LeConte

The legendary Smoky Mountain haze took a day off; blue skies prevailed. The wooded path and Alum Cave Creek, its companion stream, rough with boulders and trees swept from their moorings, gave us no indication of the pain ahead. As planned six months ago, my buddy Wade and I stood at the terminus of the Alum Cave Bluffs Trail. Just 5.5 miles ahead, the summit of Mt. LeConte awaited us. We could hardly tell --- from here, it looked like an ordinay walk in the woods. It would be anything but that.

The hike was conceived in January as a reason for me to join Wade’s whitewater/kayaking trip to North Carolina. When he got burned out on water, I would head up and we would hike. We had six months of lead time. He trained; I stayed in neutral. At best, I took some shorter hikes and studied up on LeConte, the third-tallest peak and most prominent in Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Still, most information gave me little idea what to expect in a 11-mile roundtrip trail hike.

The quiet drive from the Turkey Creek Campground in Almond through Bryson City and Cherokee gave little indication, although the scenic vistas of Newfound Gap Road hinted at a rewarding challenge. Newfound Gap Road rose steadily for 20 miles before we reached the trailhead. Aside from a flock of motorcyclists and a construction crew, the nation’s busiest national park almost looked deserted. Lots gear earned its first use – hiking poles, hiking shoes, and the Camelback bought for Montana in 2010 (oops). Just north of Newfound Gap, the lowest crossing in the Smokies and the border of North Carolina and Tennessee, the morning bore a strong chill.

We set off in light coats, unsure of the weather changes ahead. With every step the path steered us upward. The morning sun barely broke the thick canopy. In the light-poor environment, ferns dominated spaces between the rocks and dead trees. The path thickened with rocks immediately after crossing the bridge above Alum Cave Creek. Less than a mile under foot, we both shed our coats.

Amid a series of log-cut bridges suitable for one or two people at best, we came to the Arch Rock, a dark rock structure hiding a steep staircase. Only 1.5 miles in, I felt my quadriceps strain. Miles later, it became a common burn. Soon we encountered our first sets of cables. The path wound away from Alum Cave Creek and its rich river ecosystem.

From the final ascent, the rolling Smoky Mountains were in full view.

At the Alum Cave Bluffs, a bank of cliffs 80 feet above the path and an obvious shelter during storms, the sudden steepness caught me. I realized I had no chance of pacing Wade for the entire trip. As his pace quickened, my need for rests increased. Talking with fellow hikers helped. At Gracie’s Pulpit, I gave up any hope of keeping him in sight and stopped to talk with a fellow hiker. He looked incredulously when I told him I had never been here; he came every few weeks. The shock diminished after he found out I had only been in Tennessee for five years. From the pulpit, we could see the summit, the rocky cliffs approaching the top and the rough U-shape of the trail heading there.

Aside from a half-mile of downhill grade, everything forward was steep and grueling. The flowers helped. As the grades steepened, the rhododendrons flourished. In some areas the flowers already coated the ground with a thin layer of petals; in others the flowers occupied hundreds of bee colonies. For a mile or more, their buzzing became the backdrop to the narrow path. Aside from a few birdsongs, no manmade sounds traveled to these heights.

Passing other hikers required someone to stop then step off the path. When one lone hiker let me pass, I immediately wished he hadn’t. As I moved to the path’s outside edge, my right leg hit soft soil and I went down on the path. I was due for a collapse this close to the four-mile mark. Thank goodness something else stood there. I didn’t come close to tumbling off, but I pledged more care with future steps. He asked if I came from Asheville, because I looked like someone knew named Dean. I had to let him down gracefully.

Hikers were helpful on the increasingly steep climb to the Final Stairs. Two men in the seventies marveled that we had come close to the Final Stairs in just over two hours. Later I found out they queried Wade for his time up the mountain. The stairs were hardly the world’s toughest, but after a difficult vertical climb, these nearly shut me down. My feet turned to lead, my legs into osmium. Once above them, I let my heart rate revert to normal before attempting the last climb.

Not knowing what to expect, I grabbed the cables and strode into the unknown. Here, the adrenaline set in. For long stretches the trees faded. The views only grew in splendor. To my left, the blow rows of Smoky ridges rose mightily. Peaks that we drove beneath hours before now sat quietly beneath me. In many places, the trail turned into a ledge, with cables to help in crossing rock faces dampened by shallow pools of metallic water. Cables grew thicker and more essential as some twists in the path could lead to 1,000-foot plunges.

Finally leaving the cliffs behind, I head into a deciduous forest. The pines were short, spindly and often inches apart. Soon path gave way to a fresh gravel path and the well-weathered wood structures of the highest lodge in the eastern U.S. Despite a lack of training, I had arrived. As I walked up the lodge, I heard my nickname. Wade awaited me, arriving almost 30 minutes earlier. We decided to go the next elevation together.

Rather than hit the actual summit, we went for the scenic loop of Cliff Tops, which gave a panoramic glance at the Smoky range. The Cliff Tops also hosted the only evidence of black bear activity that we found (ahem) deposited on the mountain. At another time, we might have been endangered. But the bears roamed elsewhere on that pristine morning.

The top was quiet but not lonely. Several groups of hikers milled around, plotting moves down the mountain. In a small paddock behind the lodge dining hall, a staffer outfitted their pack of llamas for the descent. The lodge long ago replaced horses with llamas, which take less of a toll on the mountain paths. On a patio outside the lodge office, I ran into the gentlemen from Gracie’s Pulpit. We chatted again for a few minutes about the lodge, the lunch they served and that last cliffside segment. Wade and I could not rest; 30 minutes atop LeConte would be enough.

Staff prepare the pack llamas to journey down the mountain.

Hitting a spigot to reload our water, we started back down the narrow but level gravel path to the cliffs. As we chatted about the descent, I quietly swore at a sight on the trail. Wade expected a bear, but this was a declaration of exuberance, not sheer terror. I could see movement on the gravel and at first thought one of the llamas came up the Alum Caves Trail.

Instead, female deer and her young faun, still replete with white spots, walked calmly down the path. She could have kicked and turned violent. As we got within about 30 feet, the pair turned right up a steep embankment. It would be our trip’s wildlife highlight, and we had it to ourselves. The return along the mountaintop cliffs proved the easiest section of the return hike. Those who had hiked LeConte before recommended we journey back by one of the longer, more level trails. The inability to use two cars killed any transport between trailheads, so we chanced a descent by the same steps.

Heading up the mountain, I didn’t want to stop for fear of losing momentum; coming down, I couldn’t stop. The grades that tested my calves and quadriceps now stressed my hamstrings and Achilles tendons. Only the hiking poles slowed my momentum. The constantly dropping terrain and the heavier volume of people complicated every stretch. Wade motored on; my natural clumsiness force me to rely on the poles or risky some nasty stumbles.

Most people climbing Mt. LeConte book an evening at the lodge or lean-to at the summit. Returning the same day is not as common. Hikers heading up at noon or after likely would not return that day. Every step rang with pain. The downward movement pummeled my toes against the front of my shows. The shoe's hard front, intended to protect them, played the opposite role. Later, I found bruises on three toes.

The downhill miles turned grueling as I returned to the caves, for scores of tourists now milled around, most blocking the steep path. I quickly scooted through the sandy rock formation and went back to the river ecosystem. The final steps seemed to last forever. At last, the forested path spat us out in the parking lot. Six hours later, we had traveled to the top of Mt. LeConte and back. Soreness would wait for the evening.

Thanks to the lodge's time stamp, I can prove I stood there.

Driving back to Almond from Newfound Gap Road, the sense of accomplishment mirrored a runner’s high. We didn’t beat the mountain, but we endured its toughest trail twice in a day. I immediately began contemplating what other peaks I could reach – once I recovered from rewarding 11 miles of Mt LeConte.