Last weekend, the wife and I used the holiday to squeeze in two hikes; Jones Gap Falls at Jones Gap State Park and Pinnacle Mountain Falls at Table Rock State Park.

Pinnacle Falls is off the Palmetto Trail behind the conference building near the Table Rock State Park campgrounds (get directions here).

You park at the trailhead and it’s a pretty easy hike until the abandoned dirt road near the ridge. From there, it gets a little more challenging as you make your way down the hill and parallel to a dilapidated church camp that looks like the abandoned set of a teen horror film. A little while later, you cross a little creek on what looks like an old stone cross-vane. After fording the creek, and I use that term loosely, the turn-off for the falls is maybe about a hundred yards ahead on the right. It’s demarcated by a tree with yellow paint on the trunk. A fallen tree blocks the unofficial trail to the falls, but it’s a well-worn path, as you can see from the picture below.

The trail up to the falls is tough. Really tough. The first two hundred yards or so are easy, but then you hit a boulder field that goes all the way up the mountain. It’s like climbing the stairs of a thirty-story building. As soon as your legs turn to jelly and you think it’s time give up and turn around, you’ll be about to see the falls. Climb a little higher and you can rest for a while in the waterfall’s cool mist.

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Late fall through early spring is my the favorite time to hike in the mountains. The foliage has changed and fallen, there aren’t many people out on the trails, and you can see for miles from the mountain peaks. We got out early on Saturday and drove to Triple Falls at Dupont State Park just over the North Carolina line.

We’ve seen the 120 foot high cascade from the bottom before. This time, we thought we’d hike up to the covered bridge at the top and work our way down to the river below. Triple Falls is a popular area for parties and company outings. There’s a pavilion at the top that people rent, so the trails are actually gravel roads. We should have brought our bikes. Afterward, we stopped at a roadside barbecue stand on US 276 near Traveler’s Rest, SC. It’s always crowded, so we figured it had to be good. It was.

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Since it’s early autumn and there were no big SEC football games during the afternoon, the wife and I thought we’d spend some time in the mountains. We recently climbed the Lookout Tower at Frying Pan Mountain in the Pisgah National Forest. Black Balsam Knob Mountain is about ten miles farther south on the Blue Ridge Parkway, and Skinny Dip Falls is a popular area about three miles down the valley from the mountain top.

Black Balsam Knob Mountain is also called Black Balsam Bald because of its unique tree line. The whole area better resembles the Rocky Mountains than the Appalachians. It’s the only mountain in the area that features so many clusters of evergreens and a grassy top. It’s only about a mile hike from the road to the peak and it’s really easy, considering the elevation involved.

We got there pretty early, so there weren’t too many people around. But once we got down to the two waterfalls around Skinny Dip, the park was more crowded than I’ve ever seen it. All in all, we hiked about six miles and stopped in Brevard, NC on the way home to grab some lunch. The quaint mountain town hosts a small college with a famous infestation of mutant, albino squirrels. I snapped a bunch of photos and posted them below.

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Some days are ordinary. Other days are extraordinary. Yesterday was what I refer to as a bookmark day.

I woke up in a church where I had spent the night volunteering as a chaperon for several homeless families, which provided me with some very valuable perspective. Next, I picked up some Chik-Fil-A for myself and the wife and headed home. After breakfast, we drove to the Blue Ridge Parkway to spend the day in the mountains. Parts of the Parkway are closed for half of the year due to icy road conditions, so we try to make the most of it in the summertime. Once autumn rolls around, the area gets clogged with narcissistic motorcyclists, lane-hogging RV’ers, and tortoise-paced retirees who putt from town to town to watch the leaves change.

We decided to finally climb the fabled Frying Pan Mountain Lookout Tower, which sits atop Pisgah National Forest in North Carolina. The tower was built in 1941 and is around 70 feet tall. It provides panoramic views of Cold Mountain, Pisgah National Forest, Shining Rock Wilderness Area, and Mount Mitchell, which is the highest point west of the Rockies.

You couldn’t paint a prettier day. Aside from some brisk winds, it was picturesque. And the Blue Ridge Mountains were proving to be a little smoky, which is always fun. We had no trouble finding the entrance to the trail, which is marked by a gated gravel road and a narrow hiking trail. As we entered the trail, we encountered an elderly couple that was camping nearby. They wasted no time in telling us in excessive detail just how many bears were in the immediate area. As their warnings became more dire, so did the pain in my bicep from the wife’s vise-like grip.

As they spoke, a fog started to roll in. It was like the opening scene of a horror film.

You know how all horror movies seem to be the same? You shake your head disapprovingly as the main characters get stranded in the middle of nowhere – without cell coverage – and decide to abandon the main road for a sketchy dirt road that’s always steeped in an eerie mist. Then you think “what are they doing” as they meander up to a shack with dead animals hanging from the eaves and bloody farm tools everywhere. Then you say “these idiots deserve what’s coming” when they voluntarily walk into the house of horrors.

That’s what the onset of our hike was like. As we entered the forest, the fog continued to creep in and the wind contorted into a low howl. We were utterly alone and we could only see about twenty-five feet in front of us.

I’m not going to lie; I grew up watching Gentle Ben and Yogi Bear, so I was eager to spy a bear until I saw two large piles of what I can only assume was black bear scat. That’s when the fantasy edged closer into the realm of reality and my eagerness turned into anxiety. At that point the wind started to howl and the fog thickened. My mind began to replay scenes from every horror movie I’d ever seen. At any moment, I expected a young, scantily-clad Jamie Lee Curtis to run shrieking by.

The wife, being a fervid Jazzercier, was forcing me to literally run up the mountain. She was so sure we’d encounter Gentle Ben’s angry, inbred cousin that she was clutching my keys between her knuckles in a sort of ‘key claw.’ I had to stop her halfway up the mountain to tell her that I couldn’t keep up. She didn’t want to ease up at all until I explained that, at that pace, I’d have no energy left to mitigate the inevitable bear attack. She slowed down at once.

As we walked through the dense fog and forest, I got the distinct impression that Hansel and Gretel had come this way. It didn’t help the overall mood when I casually commented that we were in a part of the forest where “no one could hear us scream.” And the wife’s attitude worsened considerably when she asked, “what do you do if a bear comes out,” and I sarcastically retorted, “I run away faster than you do.”

We couldn’t see the lookout tower until we were upon it. By that point, the wind was whipping faster than anything I’ve ever walked through. I’m sure it’s always windy at the top of the mountain, but this had to have something to do with Hurricane Irene, which was directly to the east of us at the time. It wasn’t stormy, meaning there wasn’t any thunder or lightning. It was as if we were in a damp, high-speed cloud that was more fun than any amusement park ride I’ve ever ridden. You could actually lean into it a little and not fall over.

At this point, sane people would turn around. I don’t want to get into a thought experiment about what it says about me, but my gut reaction was one of childlike eagerness. I figured that we’d come all this way and we might as well climb the damn tower. The wife wasn’t pleased, but she struck a confident pose. I was pretty impressed.

It was with mixed feelings as we started to climb the tower. When we got one flight up the stairs, it became obvious that we were battling 50 mile-per-hour winds, and that’s a conservative estimate. The tower was shaking like a twizzler in a toddler’s hands. The warped, rusty stairs were wet and slippery.

The wife shot me that glare that every husband recognizes as the “I do this at your peril” face. I responded sincerely that “we don’t have to go any higher.” As soon as the words left my lips, she scuttled down the steps. I lingered a while with a boyish grin on my face and then worked my way back down to the base of the tower. I gently rubbed the wife’s shoulder and asked intrepidly, “are you ready to go back down and face the great bear menace?” When she hesitated, I realized that there was a window for a little more adventure. I was shocked when she boldly asserted, “I’m gonna do this thing,” and worked her way back up the wobbly staircase.

By the time we got to the top (or as far as you can go before you encounter a gate), the wind was rushing even faster. That inherent voice inside me started to assert with vehemence that, “if this thing topples, we don’t walk away.” But I wrestled my common sense into submission and enjoyed my time on the trembling tower.

Being the wise, amateur historian that I am, I decided it was more important to capture the moment on film than to hold onto the rails. I took this 30-second video:

For a comparison, click here to see what the view looks like on a clear day.

We finally descended the vibrating staircase and stepped onto the damp, but stable, ground. As we worked our way back down the path, the wind slowed, the skies started to clear, and the fog thinned a bit. I snapped a few more pictures that showed the area in greater detail.

I looked to the right and spied a power line that a bear had recently used to sharpen its claws and mark its territory. Our pace immediately sped from casual to brisk. After another bend in the trail, we passed a single, elderly fellow on his way up the mountain. I murmured to the wife, “both of us can outrun that guy.” We giggled to ourselves and our mood relaxed.

As we finally emerged from the forest and started driving south down the Blue Ridge Parkway, the skies cleared up completely. It was as if the entire episode had been engineered for our pleasure.

From there, we drove to downtown Asheville, where we had an excellent meal on the patio at Bistro 1896. I highly recommend the food and the people-watching. Next, I calmed the wife’s nerves with a dozen cinnamon-apple donuts from Sky Top Orchard. Finally, we drove back home where we sat on the front porch swing and enjoyed the unseasonably cool weather over a glass of white wine.

Like I said, it was a bookmark day.

Here are the pictures of the hike. Click on the first image to enlarge, then use your right arrow key to advance:

We’ll go back and get some pictures of the mountaintop panorama on a prettier day. I got a picture of a coyote that walked right past me on Mount Mitchell a few years ago. Maybe next time we’re at the lookout tower, I’ll finally get to see a black bear.

One a side note, the wife and I recently revisited Issaqueena Falls and got some pictures of the view from the hidden ledge beneath the waterfall.

If you didn’t know about the walking trails, you’d think the area was just a wasteland around the abandoned Conestee Mill and dam. It’s going through the early stages of redevelopment (and gentrification) as new community ballparks, commercial interests, and natural areas are established. The biking and walking paths wind their way around the lake, which is really more of a swamp, and it’s all fed by Greenville’s Reedy River, which is a glorified creek. I wish the trails were a full loop so we wouldn’t have to backtrack, but otherwise it’s a pleasant way to spend a morning. We walked almost four miles and got back to the car before the sun got too high. (parking and trail map)

I forgot to bring the camera, so I had to take pictures with my phone. Click on the first image to enlarge, then use your right arrow key to advance:

Paris mountain has a swimming lake, campgrounds, and lots of biking/hiking trails. It was our second time to the park, but our first time to really get out and hike. We decided to hike the Sulpher Springs Trail. It’s mostly a mountain biking trail, but a third of it is hiking-only. When we started walking, we noticed that almost everyone was going in the opposite direction. We shrugged it off and kept on trekking.

When we got to the mountain lake and dam, the place was crawling with kids. There’s a parking lot and picnic area nearby and lots of people seemed to be forcing their children outside to enjoy the unseasonably warm weather. We crossed the road and started hiking back up the mountain to where we had parked. It was then that we realized why almost no one had been going in our direction. The path was almost straight up. The first three-quarters of the trail had been so mild that we questioned why it had a difficulty rating of 8/10. Now we knew why. The last quarter of the hike really gassed us. I had to stop twice to catch my breath and shed a few layers of clothing. We learned a lesson we’ll not soon forget; go with the traffic.

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We didn’t see anyone all day until we were near the lower falls when six teenage boys suddenly came running toward us from below. They were all giggling uncontrollably. When they saw us, they immediately went quiet, blushed a little, and scurried up the mountain. The wife and I looked at each other perplexedly and we kept on trekking. After another hundred yards, we finally reached the lower falls. As I started bouldering over to the bridge across the water, I spied a couple in their early twenties laying on a large rock in the middle of the stream. The guy was quickly pulling his pants up and the girl was rearranging her sweater. All of a sudden, we realized why the teenage boys had been smirking and acting so awkwardly. I turned around to the wife, giggling to myself, and gave the couple and minute to compose themselves. The girl picked up a book, the guy acted like he was taking a nap, and the wife and I finally got to explore the area.

After resting for ten minutes or so, we climbed the grueling trail from the bottom up to the Upper Falls viewing area and got a view of the majestic falls. By the time we got back to the car, we had hiked the hardest three miles of our lives. I swear it was uphill both ways. Click on the first image to enlarge. It may take a moment to load, then use your right arrow key to advance:

Normally, this would have been a very safe and easy stroll. But because of the lingering ice and mud, we had to be extra careful. Looking back, it was probably a little foolish to go hiking after an ice storm, but the views were great.

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Stumphouse Tunnel has an interesting story:

The tunnel was first proposed in 1835 by residents of Charleston, South Carolina as a new and shorter route for the Blue Ridge Railroad between Charleston and the Ohio river valley area which until then was only accessible by bypassing the mountains entirely to the South and then traveling up north through Georgia and middle Tennessee. In 1852, 13 miles of tunnel were proposed to cross the Blue Ridge Mountains through South Carolina, North Carolina, and into Tennessee. Construction on the railway was begun in the late 1850s and was successful through most of South Carolina until hitting the mountains around Wallhalla in Oconee County. There Stumphouse tunnel along with three other tunnels was to be built.

Construction on Stumphouse tunnel began in 1856 when the George Collyer Company of London brought many Irish workers into the area for this project. Many of the workers lived in housing on top of Stumphouse mountain called Tunnel Hill. By 1859, the State of South Carolina had spent over a million dollars on the tunnel and refused to spend any more on the project, therefore the tunnel work was abandoned.

The tunnel is pretty imposing, especially when you consider that it was excavated largely by hand:

There are all kinds of ghost stories associated with the tunnel. Most of them are contrived at best, but that didn’t stop me from reciting them all to my wife before we entered the crypt-like cavern. She didn’t seem to bite on the ghost stories, but she really got scared when I casually noted that there could very well be a wounded animal in there, frightened, and ready to lash out at any threat. She grabbed the flashlight with one hand and my arm with the other. We entered at our own risk:

After you get about 1600 feet in, the remaining tunnel is blocked by an old, rusted gate. Standing alone in the dank darkness, I was reminded of Poe’s Cask of Amontillado. This is the view from the inside:

There are supposed to be graves on the mountain above the tunnel, but we hiked all over the place and didn’t see any marker stones. After hiking back down, we wandered across the park to Issaqueena Falls. Here’s the story behind the name:

[The] falls were apparently named after an Indian girl who discovered her tribe planned to attack a nearby community of white settlers.

She quickly dashed away on her horse to warn the settlers of their peril. During her ride, she named the places she passed – such as Mile Creek, Six Mile, Twelve Mile, and Eighteen Mile – until she finally reached the threatened settlement now known as Ninety Six.

Learning of her betrayal, Issaqueena’s tribe chased her to the falls, where the young maiden pretended jump but hid behind the wall of water instead. Assuming she was dead, the tribe called off its search and Issaqueena was able to make her escape.

This is one of the few waterfalls we’ve visited where you see the falls from above. You hear the roaring water as you approach and there’s a viewing area off to the side where you can take in the falls:

If you look at the picture above, you can see the hidden ledge just below the top where the water falls straight down. We wanted to hike down to it, but it was too muddy. We’ll get a picture behind the water wall next time we’re in the area.

UPDATE: We finally went back to the falls and got some pictures from the hidden ledge.

The hike to the falls is under 1.5 miles, but it takes about 40 minutes because the path constantly changes from a wide, canopied pathway to a narrow, rocky ridge line.

It took us a little longer than usual because several sections of the trail were covered in thick ice. The hike takes you alongside and eventually across the Middle Saluda River, which I’m embarrassed to say is more robust than downtown Greenville’s Reedy River.

The falls are about fifty feet high and break in stages.

Because of the near-constant shade and the cool, moist breeze coming off the water, this would be a perfect hike for the dog days of summer when the smothering heat and humidity keep most people indoors.