Standing Indian, A Goodbye

Standing Indian in the Southern Nantahala Wilderness of North Carolina was the obvious choice for my last backpacking trip for a while in the southeast. (News flash: I’m moving back to Utah next week!)

A focused, clear path from here to there.

I've been yearning for views since moving back east. Not partial views through the trees, but 360 views of open sky.  And hoped to find a particular wildflower that grow in this botanically rich area.

Mostly though, Standing Indian holds many memories. I've been told I have a lousy memory for certain things. I call it being good at forgetting unnecessary stuff. But being in a place can help me to recall and reflect. Something that helps in a time of transition.

On the way up to North Carolina, I stop at a friend's cabin in the mountains for the night. A relaxing evening listening to the chorus of cicadas, talking about the joys and challenges of being a seasonal park ranger, and saying goodbye-for-nows.

I wake up to pancakes with blueberries from the garden! Life doesn't get much better!

Before I know it, I'm up at the Standing Indian Campground/ Backcountry Information trailhead. The Kimsey Creek Trail, the blue-blazed trail leading to the Appalachian Trail, never fails to delight. Sounds of the cascades filling the coves in stereo. A profusion of summer wildflowers-- the hot pinks of beebalm, joe-pye weed, and whispy delicate cranefly orchids, among other treasures. Maybe this is my favorite trail in the southeast. (Ya'all know I say that about whatever trail I'm on though...)

A sunbeam illuminates a rattlesnake plantain orchid.

When I pass a particular swimming hole, a memory of a trip with dear friends many (edit: 7!) years ago comes to me. I've only reconnected with a few of my friends from back then in these few months I've been here. Did I make enough of an effort or are diverging paths just a natural part of life?

The refreshingly cool waters of Kimsey Creek.

Up on the Appalachian Trail, wildfires that swept through in 2016 opened up the canopy completely changing the scenery from what I remember before I left in 2014. So much change! Blackened tree trunks and glimmering white rocks sparkling in the sunlight. (The rocks so white because the lichen got burned off, the sunlight so bright because the canopy is no more). The understory is now a riot of blooming wildflowers teeming with butterflies.

At first I am shocked by how much has changed, but then I meet some locals who say that fire is a natural part of this ecosystem. Native plants are thriving after the fire came through. It is good to be able to see all the change as a positive, necessary force for ecosystem health.

Seeing things with a new perspective.

The Appalachian Trail circles along the ridge for many miles, gentle and rolling and I glide along. Grades that were kind to me when I was first starting out backpacking. Now perfect for simply being present. Watching butterflies and delighting in the wildflowers. The joy that comes when you realize that you are exactly where you most need to be in the world.

If you stop chasing them and be still, they will just come to you.

Dancing along with joe-pie weed nodding to the beat.

A mother and daughter team are already set up under the Albert Mountain firetower when I arrive.  I feel bad about invading their space... and I really want to watch sunset from the tower.  So I go over to chat. They are new to backpacking, are surprised I'm solo, find out I've hiked in one day what they have covered in two, and start asking about gear and for advice.

I am flooded with memories of my early backpacking trips right here. All the things I didn't know and all the things I used to think were scary and thought were important that turned out not to be.

"You are doing it exactly right," I say, "in simply being out here. You picked a great place. The most important thing is to get out as much as you can!"

Finally, I get around to asking would they mind if I set up out of sight and returned for sunset?

Of course not!

By the time I tucked my hammock into a little spot and return, they are already in their tent for the night. I am relieved that I won't be invading their space as I tiptoe up the firetower and for the 360-degree evening show.

Watching the clouds do their swirling thing as the light changes and thunderclouds build.

Gazing in wonder.

As the colors deepen and get pinker, the lightning gets closer and I decided the fire tower may not be the best place to be.

 Owls hoot back and forth. A gentle wind blows but the storm passes somewhere else. My hammock provides me with deepest, most satisfying sleep.

Sunrise at the tower.

The next morning, a side trip to see the Wasilik Poplar. Which used to be the largest tree east of the Mississippi. Though now it is dead, the towering trunk is still breathtaking.

What remains

In the 1930's there used to be two huge poplars here but the other one got cut down by loggers. Legend has it that the only reason this one wasn’t cut down is because the team of oxen was too exhausted to come back for it after hauling the other one up the hill. The rich cove where it is found is still home to diverse wildflowers and makes a peaceful spot for contemplaing change.

water

I don't know when I'll be back. But I'm overwhelmed with gratitude for this place and to the people that taught me so much here.

More Information

Go see the Wasilik Poplar

Protect the Southern Nantahala Wilderness 

Returning to Standing Indian

I knew exactly where I wanted to go for my first trip in the southeast. Standing Indian Mountain in the Southern Nantahala Wilderness of North Carolina offers outstanding views and the botanical diversity can’t be beat. At least that's how I'd remembered it when I'd left here in 2014.

In particular, a favorite place of mine is a particular tunnel of purple rhododendron on the eastern slope of the mountain. In my memory, I can envision the gently curving twisting trunks supporting a riot of deep purple blossoms. To walk through is to be enveloped by beauty.

Heavy rains fell during the long drive to the trailhead. It has rained every single day since I’ve been back East, so this was nothing new.

A roaring Kinsey Creek overflowing its banks.

The rain persisted as I started up the Kimsey Creek Trail. The whole trail had been transformed into a stream.

Drenched.

I sloshed through the water, often up to my ankles but sometimes higher. Waves of rain pounded down, alternating with heavier, drenching rain as I joined the Appalachian Trail at the ridge.

Some parts were deeper.

I’d been up this trail many times, but this is not how I remembered it. What shocked me at the summit of Standing Indian was not that there was no view, but that the heath shrubs were scorched by fire. What had happened since I’d been here last in 2014?

No view, no flowers.

A check of the weather indicated more thunderstorms on the way. An alert revealed that subtropical storm Alberto was passing through. That explained everything!

I hurried off the summit, still anticipating the purple rhododendron grove.

Instead I found blackened trunks of the rhododendrons and the bare branches. Fire had killed this grove. How could I not have known this? I was totally shaken and flooded by waves of homesickness, not for any place in particular, but rather for a sense of belonging. It felt like I was utterly alone. What was I doing out here anyway, shivering in the horrible rain, far away from everyone I have ever loved?

Turns out a fire raged through here in 2016.

Just as I was sinking deeper into a self-pity party, four soaking wet hikers came up the trail. They’d been unable to cross a raging river ford up ahead. Other hikers were camped down at the gap, waiting for the water levels to fall.  Did I have any cell service to call a shuttle to pick them up to give them a ride into town?

Part of me wanted to go see if I could find a way across, but then I caught the eyes of a father and looked at his limping daughter. Automatically, I offered all four of them rides to whereever they needed to go.

I’d remembered the hike down the Lower Ridge Trail as taking only two hours. But it took us nearly four, with much slipping and sliding.

The young daughter spotted two salamendars! How cool!

As we hiked, we traded stories and helped each other over downed trees. It reminded me about everything I love about the Appalachian Trail— how quickly friendships are made, how people from different walks of life can come together. Hiking as a group and helping each other out was uplifting and gave me that sense of belonging that I needed to find.
Amazingly, we squeezed all five of us plus backpacks into my tiny car! Not the trip I'd expected, but exactly what I needed.

Making it all fit!