The View from Mt. LeConte (2013 Edition)

Our early departure from Peace Valley KOA did portend a good hiking day on Mt. LeConte in the Great Smoky Mountains. Once again, the trip was only made by a wingman and me – last year it was Wade, this year it was Brooks, one of Wade’s best friends.

Storm clouds drifted above Brooks and me the entire way through Murphy, the Nantahala Gorge, Bryson City, the Tuckasegee and Oconaluftee rivers. As we drifted down the tourist stops in Cherokee, the sprinkles started. Entering the park, fog shrouded the tallest peaks. At Newfound Gap, clouds misted through the parking lot and from the overlook, the vernal mountains faded into impenetrable gray in less than 100 feet. 

 

Newfound Gap at 8 a.m.

As we descended from the gap, the weather broke in our favor. We passed the Alum Cave Bluffs Trail that challenged Wade and I last year.  For the 2013 route, we had to enter Gatlinburg then reenter the park along the Roaring Fork Motor Trail.

The garish tourist town had just come to life, and fortunately after just five blocks and a single right turn, we were back in the wilderness. For one of LeConte’s busiest trails, the trailhead lot was only half full. I attributed the ease of parking on a summer Friday to our choice to hike the weekend after Memorial Day; the whole country went camping the weekend before and needed a breather.

As usual, I had some random butterflies in my stomach, but they faded as Brooks and I stepped into the forest below the third-tallest mountain in the park.

The area around LeConte Creek had multiple paths branching off after the Rainbow Falls sign, so I had to double-check lest we end up far from our destination. Much like the Alum Cave trail, we started our ascent through a creekside forest pocked with giant boulders. 

The boulders grew thicker as we continually crossed the mountain streams dribbling down LeConte. Just shy of Rainbow Falls, passing hikers told us we were almost there, to which I chuckled, “Trust me, we’re not even close.” That elicited an, “Oh, headed to the top. Got it. Good luck.” Everyone says hello on the mountain; with so few people and so many miles, there’s no space for rudeness.

Rainbow Falls plunged over the rocks 80 feet above us, forming a small creek at its base. It was more a gentle trickle than a roaring cataract. Still, the falls were an important landmark on our surge to the summit. By then we had already gained 1,500 feet in elevation and covered 2.7 miles, but could see LeConte’s ridgetop towering above us. Through the next four miles, only four other people crossed our path.  

Trail below Rainbow Falls

There would be more springs trickling from the rocks. This path was mostly forested, with plenty of breaks for scenic views. Unlike Alum Cave, the most memorable noise was small airplanes flying at our altitude. The noise sounded foreign but warm and comfortable.

At a few points we looked down upon Gatlinburg and its observation tower. From this distance, even Gatlinburg has a certain charm – but only from this distance.

Alum Cave might have steeper inclines, but it has flat spots. Rainbow Falls has few flat spots (Trust me, I would not have stopped as much if it did). The elevation gain is steady and unrelenting, although plenty of boulders for water stops line the trail. Alum Cave Bluffs rises 2,700 feet in elevation, yet Rainbow Falls increases 4,000-plus.

In stretches, Rainbow Falls was heavily forested.  Soon the forest would turn to spruce and tree height would shorten, signs that as far away as LeConte’s peaks looked, we passed through the right ecosystems. The path would always be rocky but would eventually turn into a stream of broken shale that moved under almost every footfall.

We paused where Rainbow Falls met the Bullhead Trail. Another hiker asked us about the thickness of the Rainbow Falls traffic and seemed incredulous to hear we saw less than a dozen people. He had seen no one on Bullhead, just a young black bear and some snakes, which boded well for our return trip. The last slog up Bullhead was rough, my feet slipping on the cumbersome layers of broken rock. Six-tenths of a mile rarely felt so far.

Yet soon enough, Alum Cave linked into Bullhead/Rainbow Falls, and we walked among the gray cabins of the Mt. LeConte Lodge. All our morning fog had been forgotten as we looked down upon eastern Tennessee from 6,500 feet. The traditional picture in front of the lodge came first, the date on the lodge dining hall providing proof of our trip.

We reloaded our water and had a quick snack of non-bake cookies at the lodge. I bought shirts for Nancy and myself, plus a handful of postcards stamped to recognize that llamas would ferry them down from the mountain.  I eagerly approached the guest book, scrawling a satisfied “2” in the column for number of visits to the LeConte Lodge. Mostly it was first-timers signing the book, plus a scattered 8, 10 or 15.  I had catching up to do, even if it would take another decade or more.

Brooks and I lounged on its back porch for a few minutes to recover before we tackled Cliff Tops and watched my favorite non-native Mt. LeConte fauna. 

Adjacent to the porch stood the llamas. The staff fed them snacks before they took their Friday trip back down the Trillium Gap Trail. 

If no other wildlife appears on the trails, at least the llamas can be counted.  They appear personable until they spit. Even as they fed them biscuits, the staff members were wary about these beasts of burden’s defensive habit.

Then it was time for Cliff Tops. My legs had not recovered and the last 1/5^th mile was brutal, with a lot of cramping. But when I pulled myself up, I was in Eden at nearly 6,600 feet. The mountain plunges precipitously and offers the best views of the interior of the Smoky range.

The winds roared, and the tightly packed shrubbery that grew from the stony outlook formed a garden with narrow, maneuverable paths. We lingered here because there were few places to linger of this magnitude.  One of these years I'll make it to Myrtle Point and the actual sumit, but every year I'll make a point to return to Cliff Tops. It is unparalleled.

Brooks at Cliff Tops

We barely left the combined Bullhead/Rainbow Falls section before my hamstring seized up. I could barely move and it took all I had just to remove my dromedary bag and hope the muscle would calm down. In the span of the few minutes, I drank half of my reservoir. But at least my legs backed off for the rest of the hike.

At points, Bullhead took us out on some relatively narrow ridges, where the path was just a few feet wide and it dropped quickly on either side. Grasses encroached on the path in the sunnier spots, and with the day’s heat upon us, we gingerly moved down the mountain. Compared to the descent of Alum Cave, it was a cake walk. The rockiness of the path meant we could never take eyes off the ground, but at least the grades were bearable.

At Cliff Tops, a long way from our foggy morning stop

Several miles in, Bullhead began to switch past a series of massive rock formations that provided perfect shelter for man or bear. We took a rest among the cooler spots, where tiny springs of water ran free of LeConte. 

After pointing at a narrow spot in the trail, Brooks’ foot caught the trail’s edge and he slid off the side, his hands digging into what he could grasp of the trail. I lashed out with my hiking poles to help him pull himself back up. He would not have fallen too far because of the relaxed slope and thick foliage. Aside from a few cuts and scrapes, he came away fine. Still, it was a wake-up call. In the wilderness, even with a clearly marked trail, danger always stands a step away.

Later, I almost stepped on a snake, even though Brooks had been careful to walk around. When I saw it wasn’t venomous, lacking the skull to house fangs.  But I had no desire for the same close call with a copperhead or rattlesnake absorbing sun on an unexpectedly hot final day of May.

Brooks deserves a lot of credit--- he wanted to see a bear in the worst way. As we reentered the river ecosystem at the bottom of LeConte, our time has running short. We were talking about all we had done and how we felt when he stopped and called for quiet. Sure enough, the sound of dead leaves crunching under heavy steps run through the nearby woods. I stepped forward. A twig snapped beneath my foot, and about 50 years away, a massive black stopped and eyeballed us. He/she probably weighed around 300 pounds.

Yes, there is a black bear in this picture.

It was a good staring contest for a few minutes. Brooks and I traded spots so we could watch him/her. Due to the density of the foliage, I could not tell if the bear was alone. Zooming as far out as I could with the camera, I snatched one picture before I accidentally stepped on a water bottle and the bear bolted up a hill, moving faster than anything that large should.

The trail widened until a convergence with a horse trail, and then we reemerged in the little Rainbow Falls parking. Remembering the beating my feet took on Alum Cave last year, I was surprised to feel so fresh after covering 14 miles.

The day would be nearly dark before we reached the campsite. But we got another full tour of Newfound Gap Road and five blocks too many of Gatlinburg. The park had largely emptied so we had the deep valleys and soaring mountains mostly to ourselves. 

We circled back around Mt. LeConte, its green crown rising above all others. It seemed implausible that we stood atop the mountain just four hours earlier. We walked among the stiff winds of Cliff Top.  At its base roamed a bear that locked eyes with us. Yet as we hurtled away from Newfound Gap, even prominent LeConte got swept up by the rolling Smoky ridges nearing sunset. 

One more time from Cliff Tops