Short Trips: Shy of Chimney Tops

Buddy Bison at Chimney Tops. The man behind climb the top.

This was not the trip I wanted. I had dreams of a third consecutive June opening with a trip up to Cliff Tops on Mount LeConte.

But I found no willing companions. Seeing relief from those who months before had been willing to make the 13-mile commitment, I realized I need to a day to myself in the national park. At daybreak I set out anyway, fully intending to climb LeConte alone.

Breezing through Bryson City and Cherokee, I drove the Scion up the winding lengths of the Great Smoky Mountain National Park, taking a traditional stop at Newfound Gap to walk along the steep edge on the North Carolina border. The clouds stuck to higher elevation, the morning air was crisp and the temperature perfect for a long hike after a rainy evening.

As I drove along Newfound Gap Road, looking at the peak, cloud-covered and six miles from the trailhead, I flinched. Then at the Chimney Tops trailhead, I officially chickened out and opted for a new hike. Challenge me about LeConte, and I will still insist I could have made the trip.  But a 13-mile roundtrip with nothing but the black thoughts that had been brewing in my head for days sounded like a disastrous decision.

The four miles for a roundtrip to Chimney Tops appealed more. While nowhere near as high as the rolling Smoky peaks, Chimney Tops brought hikers to a perfectly placed small peak with 360-degree views of those grand mountains.

 Chimney Tops with stranger's thumb (upper left).

Crossing a roaring creek, I disappeared into the forest. Without hiking poles, I did my best to charge up the mountain, but had to pause in some exceptionally rough terrain.

A barred owl spoke its famous sentence from an unknown hideout. “Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all” echoed through the verdant mountains.

The path narrowed, maintaining its steep grade. In less than 2 miles, Chimney Tops gains nearly 1,500 feet in elevation, just as steep as the Guadalupe Peak Trail Nancy and I finished six weeks earlier. As the trail near the final ascent, every footfall grew in challenges.

Crossing ancient gnarled root systems, I came to the last climb. I was ready to climb to the little peak surrounded by the largest peaks in the park. Climbing up about 20 feet, thoughts of descending with a steep drop so close pounded at my temples. The edge seemed sharper and steeper every time I looked.  My hands felt naked without gloves to provider a more secure grip.

Promptly I chickened out. Seeing 20 or more people survey the climb and make similar judgments, I felt better – well, slightly. In my 40 minutes at the last pre-climb junction, no one ascended to the top. Two people who had reached the flag before I arrived remained there during my entire stay. In my backpack, I carried the Buddy Bison that Nancy bought the previous weekend. Given my mood, a plush bison was the only travel companion that would tolerate me.

Still, I made friends where I could, even if they were purely ephemeral. I chatted with hikers when affable ones past, probing for information on good Smoky hikes that I knew I would probably not take before shuttling off to north Georgia the next day. As more weekend tourists crammed on the scant ground below the rock formation, I made my escape.

The previous night’s rain made the descent more eventful than I expected. I slipped four times, often finding that no terrain was stable. Even the log stops proved wet and treacherous.

Eventually the terrain leveled out and I loitered around the creeks near the trailhead, oblivious to everything but the swiftly flowing waters and giant slabs of rock forming shaping the creek.

Back at Newfound Gap, I debated a trip to Clingmans Dome, Tennessee’s highest point and the park’s most touristy peak. The weekenders were pouring into the park deepened my debate; a brief stop to stamp my park passport at the visitor center took much longer than necessary.

If the car before took the Clingmans Dome road, I would skip it, I swore. The car turned, and I began I slow descent from Newfound Gap, stopping every chance I had to survey the mountains unable to shake their fog.

Like LeConte, Clingmans Dome’s high point hid within a small cap of clouds that would evaporate through the day . After each stop in which peaks sat deep within fog, a morning that stopped shy of Chimney Tops felt like the best way to salvage a a day of hiking.

Maybe next year.