To start this one, I want to give a grand ol' shout out to FireInMyBones, who shuttled me on this trip and let me use his shower before I drove home: thank you, Jeremy!
Video, Part One:
Video, Part Two:
My story begins last July, when FIMB and I tried a thru of the FHT. That trip didn't work out particularly well, due to the 102* F heat, my water filter being stopped up, and my poor physical condition. We made it all of sixteen miles in, I lost my lunch on the side of the trail, and Jeremy called the hike--with very good reason, considering we were in the easiest terrain of the hike.
I started working on my physical conditioning and gear choices soon after, planning to go back when things were cooler. I'd hoped to finish the trail in four days with an option for five, instead of the three with an option for four that FIMB and I had originally intended. I thought that this would be within my physical limits, and I dislike leaving things undone.
Fast forward a year and a third.
Day 0 (0 miles): I got a hold of FIMB a couple of weeks before my scheduled hike, and he kindly agreed to shuttle me for my thru attempt. The Monday before I left, however, I managed to pull an hamstring squatting at the gym. It was a pretty bad strain, one that kept me from being able to squat down without pain for the week. I hoped to be at about 85% by Friday, following the R.I.C.E. method and NSAID treatment. Sure enough, I felt pretty okay by the time I went into work on Friday night.
Friday night, the 12th of October, I left work, showered, changed, and got in my rental to drive northbound around midnight. I raced through the dark across north Florida, the length of Georgia, and into South Carolina on my way to Greenville. Jeremy met me at an Hardees for breakfast near the REI in Greenville, as REI was having its semi-annual garage sale.
We spent a couple of enjoyable hours getting breakfast and checking out gear at the garage sale before heading to Table Rock state park to drop off my rental and shuttle over to Oconee state park. Jeremy dropped me off at the southern terminus of the FHT around 1 PM, was kind enough to shoot a short video section with me standing in front of the trail register, and wished me well before I hit the trail.
Day One (~15.3 miles): I left the trail head at Oconee, where there was a charity event (the Ultimate Hiker's southern terminus) occurring. I spent a moment chatting with them and promising to text FIMB if I had cell service anywhere on trail and was going to take five days instead of four (note: I have AT&T, and I did not have cell service anywhere on trail).
I filled out the register there and hit the trail. Wondering at the great weather I was hiking through and observing the turning Autumn colors in South Carolina, I was truly enjoying myself even while pushing myself to the limit on speed to try and make my scheduled campsite before dark. About three miles into the hike, though, I stepped aside to let some of the Ultimate Hikers go by me uphill and stepped onto a yellow jacket nest. First time I've been stung by one since I was ten years old (we don't get 'em down here in FL). I didn't let that slow me down, though; I brushed the bug off of my leg and kept going.
I hit the Chattooga river some time around five in the afternoon and realized that I was probably going to be night hiking into camp. At this point, I stopped for a quick lunch down by the river side and fished my headlamp out of my hipbelt pocket so that I'd have it around my neck when I needed it. Two tortillas with almond butter and honey later, and I was packed up and back on trail.
I raced the waning light of day through the river valley, watching the sun disappear behind the sheltering hills. The cool alpenglow lit my way for a while, the twilight making things seem a little unreal. As the light faded from my path, I lit my headlamp and things narrowed down to the tiny space that it illuminated. My head moved from the terrain underfoot to the next blaze instinctively, and I slowed to compensate for the lack of depth perception that artificial light induces.
By seven-thirty, it was full dark and I felt a little claustrophobic from only being able to see for maybe thirty feet in any given direction--and more so from only being able to do so in one direction at once. It was an eerie feeling, being in only semi-familiar terrain with very little in the way of visual clues to give me a feeling of distance covered.
Around seven-forty-five or eight, a light ahead made me blink. It surely wasn't my headlamp reflecting from something; this was orange and flickering. As I approached slowly along the trail, I realized that someone had a blazing campfire going not far off-trail. A three-person tent was set up next to the trail, and I was hailed from the tent.
A father and his young child were camping just a few feet off of the trail and offered to share their campsite with me. I thanked them for their generosity but mentioned that I wanted to continue on to Burrell's Ford campsite. The father said that it was a pretty easy hour ahead, maybe a mile and an half to two miles. I thanked him and continued on my way.
About another twenty minutes down trail, I ran across another set of folks camping by the riverside. Their two dogs greeted me with barking and blocking the trail. The dogs' body language was wary but not aggressive, so I simply waited for the owners to come on out and collect them. After thanking the owners of the dogs, I continued on trail for another four or five minutes, pondering what kind of reception I might get at the campsite.
I realized that if the river sites this far out (where there were no established campfire rings or bear cables) were this busy, the campground was probably going to be packed and I might not be able to get a site. Rather than stumble around in the dark there, shining my headlamp onto folks trying to sleep, I decided to camp at the next clear spot by the river. I'd already nearly taken two falls from sheer exhaustion (I'd been awake for over thirty hours at that point), and I was starting to feel the strain of carrying my pack all day on top of that. It took me all of thirty seconds to find a site, and I set up maybe twenty feet from the water's edge.
I slept well that night, if a little cold: the humidity from the river was 100%, and I never really dried out from the sweat I'd built up during the day. The low for that evening was 55* F, and my space blanket fell off of my shoulder a little bit. Between that and the humidity, I woke a little cold.
Day Two (~22.5 miles):
The morning came early, and I awoke in the predawn chill. I was packed up and on-trail by 6:45, right around the point at which I could actually see my hand in front of my face, headed on towards Burrell's Ford Road and hiking by headlamp once again. Moving along, I had the pleasure of watching the sun crest the hills and throw its golden light across the river valley.
I made the side trip to King's Creek falls on the way (I highly recommend this if you've got the time), shot a short video section, and then continued onward. The slog up and over Median mountain was a bit of a shock to my system after the relative flatness of the day before, but my legs were game and I made short work of things. My hamstring twinged at me a couple of times through here, but never really gave me any real trouble. I simply shortened my strides to limit the amount of strain I was putting on the muscle.
I reached the Sloan Bridge access area by 11:15, where I stopped for a short break and some lunch at the picnic table there. It was nice to be able to sit upright with a level surface in front of me; one of only two times this would happen the whole trip. After a short video section and some chatting with a local hunter who was out scouting for deer locations (actual hunting in SC being illegal on Sundays), I packed up and headed out once again by 11:45, this time over Round mountain.
I made good time over the mountain's slope, keeping my pace up and enjoying the views of the turning vegetation. Somewhere through there, though, I came upon a deadfall across the trail that was a bit tricky to navigate. I shot some video of me going across with my pack on, dropped my pack, and came back to retrieve the camera. Going back across was fairly easy without the pack, but I definitely recommend caution there; if you're not as nimble as I am, that could be an easy place to fall.
I reached the upper Whitewater falls overlook parking by 1:50, making my pace 2.68 mph (yes, anal retentive, I know...), and putting me ahead of schedule to reach my assigned campsite by that evening. I took another fifteen minute break just down the trail from there before heading down the (many) stairs to the falls overlook, approximately seven hundred feet below. I think I took those stairs too quickly, though...more on that in a bit...
The falls overlook is absolutely beautiful, right where the trail crosses the Whitewater river. A trestle bridge spans the river, and then the trail follows the river for quite a ways once you cross the bridge. I descended to it and followed the trail for a while, finally climbing up out of the river valley for a bit then dropping down precipitously to the Thompson river before hitting a flat section and dropping down again.
Through this section, I met a young man who was hanging in an hammock next to the trail. Apparently, he had lost his hiking buddy somehow and asked about campsites up ahead. I mentioned that there was one just over the ridge (perhaps an half- to a quarter-mile ahead) that was just about perfect. He seemed content to wait where he was, though, and I wished him well before heading on my way. About another twenty minutes up the trail, I ran into his hiking partner, who had thought that the young man I'd just left had gotten ahead. I mentioned where I'd seen the young man and the campsite I'd described for him. Hopefully, they managed to reunite before hitting Bad Creek, as that was where they were supposed to exit the trail.
The sun was beginning to wane as I continued on my way, only stopping to remove my boxers (which had been causing me some chafing issues over the last couple of miles; I don't think I'll be using that particular brand again) and check my map while I dug out the headlamp again. I hung it 'round my neck and continued on, only having a couple of miles to cover to reach my assigned campsite for the evening at Bearcamp creek.
I rolled into camp around 6:30 and set up my cook set first thing to get water going. I highly recommend that particular campsite: aside from the standing dead tree that I knocked the rest of the way over, I didn't see any widowmakers there, the creek is beautiful, and there are plenty of hang sites. I set up my tarp before the hammock, since it looked like rain, and it was a good thing I did. It rained fairly hard for about an half-hour while I was getting camp set. I then went over to get my (now-hot) water and put it into my dinner...at which point I, of course, knocked the durned water over, spilling it. After a short series of pungent words, I pulled everything over to the tarp and finished setting up...only to find that I'd let the stove sit where it could get water into the wicking and my lighter where it could get wet. I spent about twenty minutes trying to get the stove to light before saying, "Screw it," and simply drinking cold chocolate before going to bed.
I slept a little cold that night, due to (I think) the pervasive dampness and my caloric deficit for the day. I woke a couple of times during the night, but not often enough for me to worry about my ability to get up in the morning. The low that evening reached 61* F, which is definitely within my insulation's rating, despite my coolness.
Day Three (22.2 miles):
I woke early, at about 5:45 AM, and commenced my packing up. I was on-trail by 6:30, but my knees were complaining a bit (remember my mentioning that I thought I might've taken those stairs a little fast the day before...yeah...about that...). I shrugged it off, thinking that I was just a little stiff from the day before and that I'd warm up as the day went on. Yeah...not so much.
By the time I made the ~700 ft. descent into Gorges State Park in NC, I was cursing at my knees' weakness and the pain they were causing me. I'd wrapped my left knee (my bad knee), but it didn't seem to be doing any good. I passed a pair of hikers who were climbing out of the park, and they warned me of the stairs coming up ahead. I thanked them and continued on my way, still cursing under my breath.
Even with that pain, the beauty of the park demanded (and got!) my attention. It was absolutely gorgeous (pardon the pun), and I truly did like my time there, my knees notwithstanding. Soon enough, I came to the level section near the Cane Break boat access point, and was making decent time. Soon after, I crossed the massive suspension bridge spanning the Toxaway river (which made all of that worth it, just on its own).
However, I knew that Heartbreak Ridge was coming up soon, and I was dreading the experience with my knees feeling the way that they were. I needn't've, though: I climbed the ridge easily enough, taking my time to breathe when my lungs began to burn and then going down the stairs backwards on the other side. Not the safest thing I've ever done, but it certainly took the pressure off of my knees and placed it on my calves. Given proper pace, it's doable.
I cleared Heartbreak Ridge in about an hour, stopping for lunch at the campsites on the other side. It was there that I decided, knees or not, to push on to the campsite just short of the Laurel Valley access point. Perhaps not my wisest decision, but I'm stubborn...
I trudged through the Laurel Valley, which is a temperate rainforest. It was some of the wettest terrain I've ever been in, and my spirits sank a bit, even given its beauty, since I was soaked to the bone. Occasional sprinkles rained down on me, but it was never enough to be able to tell if it was actually going to rain or if the general humidity was just high enough that tree pee was getting to me. Still and all, I hauled the poncho out and put it over the pack, just in case I needed it.
Soon enough, I came to the beginning of the climb out of the valley. I passed a pair of young ladies who already had camp set and a fire going; I asked them about possible campsites up ahead, past Virginia Hawkins falls. They didn't know, unfortunately, having come in from another direction. Which was okay; I passed the falls about fifteen minutes later.
During this section, I hit a patch of mud the wrong way and fell. I fell onto my left-hand trekking pole, which then snapped under my weight. Fortunately, it didn't skewer me, but it definitely underlined the need to be careful out there when one is on a solo. I picked it up and strapped it to the pack, continuing onward and upward.
That slog up and out of the river valley was probably where my spirits sank the lowest of the trip: I was soaking wet, it was getting dark, I wasn't sure just how far it was to my campsite or how fast I was moving, I'd just snapped a pole, and my knees hurt like the dickens. Still, I continued onward, out of sheer stubbornness and an unwillingness to let the trail beat me a second time.
After about an hour and an half of headlamp hiking, I came to my designated campsite for the evening, on a plateau just after the first road crossing before hitting the Laurel Valley access point on the trail. It was a great campsite, except that I almost hung from a standing dead tree and couldn't find the water source that was there (it was about an hundred yards up trail, by the way, for anyone coming into that site from the south). So, I reset my hammock, and had a dry camp that night. Again, I didn't eat dinner, leaving me caloric deficient for the day.
I spent another cool night (it got down to a low of 51* that night), mostly due to caloric deficit.
Day Four (17.3 miles):
I knew that I would need to wake early to cover my mileage for the day on Tuesday. I'd only made about 1.6 mph over the latter half of Monday, and I was going to have to go at least that fast through rougher terrain this day. I was up and on-trail by 6:15, headed on to my destination. My determination this day was to finish the trail and be headed home by 6:30, and by gob, I was going to do it!
I stopped at the small stream just up trail from camp, realizing that I could've found it the night before if I'd looked hard enough. C'est la vie, though. I filled up and continued on, beginning the sharp descent to the Laurel Valley access point and then Highway 178. At the access point, I found the perfect hiking stick that someone had left by the trail, and I replaced my substandard one that had replaced my broken pole.
From there, it was a climb to the Sassafras Mountain (the highest peak in SC) parking lot and overlook. I took it as quickly as possible, knowing that my knees would slow me down more on the downhills than the uphills. I cleared Sassafras right on time, worrying me, as I didn't have a lot of cushion in my day's schedule. Despite there being wonderful vistas, y'know, right there, I pushed onward without a second glance. One of the very few things I regret about this trip.
I passed another trio of hikers just down the trail from Sassafras, and they mentioned the Cantrell home site. If I was going to take five days to finish the trail, that would've been my campsite for that evening. I wished the hikers well on their journey and continued on, pushing myself as hard as I dared.
I stopped for a quick video and photo op at the home site. Despite there being water somewhere nearby, I couldn't find it. Which was okay; there was water less than a mile up trail that I stopped at to have my first lunch stop and refill. During this section, I'd seen some dog scat and prints; apparently a pair of bear hunters had lost one of their hounds overnight and were still looking for her. During my break at the water source, one of the hunters went past me, homing on her radio collar, and came right on back with her; apparently, I'd passed the hound on the side of the trail without even noticing her.
I ascended the slope to the side of Hickorynut mountain and then descended to Emory gap--one of the more painful moments of the day. The climb from there, though, up to the intersection of the FHT and the Pinnacle Mountain trail in Table Rock State Park, was gasp-inducing. I'd hike for thirty or forty steps, stop, breathe, and then continue once again. True mountain hiking for the first time on the trail.
I reached the intersection of the PMT and the FHT at approximately 2:00 PM. My spirits soared, since I "only" had four and an half miles to the bottom and my car! Yeah, about that...
The trail down Pinnacle was designed by a mountain goat who was also a sadist. Subscribing to the "switchbacks are for wussies" school of trail design in several spots, it caused my knees to be screaming at me by the time I hit the bottom. I was doing a single mile per hour by the time I reached the 0.5 mile marker--and from there, it was all hardpack red clay and rocks. Seriously, I was considering gnawing off my legs at the knees and simply stumping my way down; there was no way it would hurt more.
But, I persevered, reaching the parking lot and the end of the trail by 6:00 PM. My spirits buoyant, the pain in my knees notwithstanding, I piled into the car and headed across the street to let the rangers know that I'd exited the trail (they have you register when you're doing a thru so that SAR can attempt to find you if you don't make it out on time).
I texted Jeremy and headed towards his place for a (wonderful!) shower and a shared pair of Guinness to celebrate the completion of my thru. Some gear talk and general hiking chat, and I was packed up and headed back through the dark of night for my front door.
Four days and four hours after I left my front door, I walked through, exhausted and in high spirits, to collapse into bed with my beautiful wife.
My knees still don't feel 80% or better, but I'm betting that they will be in a week or so. This was a great trip, and I highly recommend it to anyone who has the time and/or the stamina to do it! The Foothills Trail is a true jewel, and it's one that just isn't talked about enough.
Lessons Learned
I need to remember to bring a spare shirt and socks to sleep in if I expect it to be wet, even if it's going to be above 50* F.
I need to rethink my undercover design (I think I have a good idea how to rework it) to prevent pull-away at the corners; and I need to chop between six and eight inches off of the front of it, so as to keep it out from under foot.
I need to plan my late afternoon water stops better, so that I roll into camp with at least a liter and an half.
I need to cut down my days a little and/or work my knees harder when I train for long hikes (not sure how to do this, outside of actually being in the mountains with a pack; I'll definitely entertain advice, though).
I want a pack system that requires less thought Before Coffee when I'm packing up in the morning. I think there may be a new DIY pack on the horizon for me...
Coconut oil remains solid at temps below 70* F; I need to remember to place my container in my water when I heat it if I'm going to use the stuff as a calorie booster with dinner.
I need to get better poles if I'm going to be in difficult terrain.
Serious headlamp hiking is not as easy as it looks.
Photos:
What the trail looks like in the easiest section:
The Chattooga river valley is awfully beautiful:
The Autumn colors were just beginning to show:
King's Creek Falls is worth the short side-trip:
The area was somewhat wet, enough to produce impressive fungi:
My first view of the mountains in the distance:
More photos and (eventually) video to come!
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Originally Posted by BillyBob58
Thanks for posting the pics.
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