Private mountain
Jan. 31st, 2006 12:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
misterxCircumstances conspired Sunday to give me a wonderous, peaceful, renewing experience. The story and some photos are below.
Sunday I had plans to go hiking. The weather report didn't look promising... rain, maybe clearing in the afternoon. Sure enough, Sunday morning, a sincere and steady rain was pattering against the window when I woke. I checked the forecast again and it didn't look much better, but then I got the idea to check weather at Grandfather Mountain, since a mountain range or two can make a big difference. The weather there looked marginally better... scattered thunderstorms in the morning, moving to partly cloudy in the afternoon. Alrighty then.
I showered and ate, and then called ahead to make sure the trails were open. The front gate verified they were, so I got a rain shell and a fleece pullover and misc other stuff and headed out.
When I arrived the entire mountain was encased in cloud cover. Driving up, visibility was only about 10 yards. I made it to the top, which was deserted other than employee cars, and got myself and camera stuff ready to go. Went into the visitor's center, used the rest room, bought a less floppy winter hat (my old one spent half it's time inching over my eyes), and headed towards the trails.
The entrance to the trail was blocked with a chain, and a sign... Trails Closed.
Back into the visitors center. I rouse a fellow behind a desk from the edge of hibernation. He doesn't seem pleased.
"Are the trails open? I called ahead and was told they were."
The man makes a strange sound that I can't explain but which clearly conveys indecision.
"Could you elaborate?" I ask.
"Well, they were closed yesterday," he says.
"What about today?"
"Its very windy."
"I don't mind."
"It's sure to be muddy. And slick. There is probably still ice."
"Doesn't bother me."
"Well... just be careful."
So off I go, ducking under the chain, and onto the trail.
This didn't seem very significant at the time, but unbeknownst to me, I was about to get a mountain all to myself. The indecisive man must have gone back to his nap, because he never got around to removing the chain. I only saw two other people the whole day, and that was on my way back.
In a nutshell, the hike went like this... wind through the trails to the steep part of the mountain. Climb the ladders up the cliff face and cross the top to get to MacRae Peak. Hang out a bit, then set off down the boulder field and back up through "the chute" to reach Attic Window. Spend two hours at Attic Window, just myself and the mountains.
the Chute
The time I spent at Attic Window was mystical. The clouds were rushing down the valley on the north side, wind roaring and buffeting the peak, while clouds on the south side were coming in and piling up against the southern face, roiling and building until they crashed over me like a huge silent wave. This happened several times. It was only a matter of 60 seconds from miles of visibility and roaring wind, to near silence and total whiteout. And during those times of whiteout, when the trees turned to ghosts and the surrounding peaks vanished, the ravens would sound, sometimes far off, sometimes so near I couldn't believe I couldn't see them, rattling and cawing just over my shoulder. It was surreal, a living dream. And then the clouds would pass, and rush around me to surround Calloway Peak before continuing down the valley. It took me a long, long time to realize I was cold. Utterly mezmerizing.
from Attic Window, looking towards MacRae Peak
from Attic Window, looking towards Calloway Peak
I stayed until the clouds started to clear, around 3pm or so, and then decided to make the hike back. It was then that I turned and saw a couple standing on MacRae Peak, and I snapped a shot of them. I met them on the trail about 20 minutes later, they had come from another direction. They were the only people I saw up there.
The trek back was slow and measured, and full of texture and smells that I swear hadn't been there on the way up.
Various pics:
My watch, supposedly good to 150 meters below water, doesn't like 5949 feet above sea level much.
A short ladder, leading to an ice covered rock slope, on the way from Attic Window to MacRae Peak.
I liked these roots:
I'll be posting more pics in a bit.
Sunday I had plans to go hiking. The weather report didn't look promising... rain, maybe clearing in the afternoon. Sure enough, Sunday morning, a sincere and steady rain was pattering against the window when I woke. I checked the forecast again and it didn't look much better, but then I got the idea to check weather at Grandfather Mountain, since a mountain range or two can make a big difference. The weather there looked marginally better... scattered thunderstorms in the morning, moving to partly cloudy in the afternoon. Alrighty then.
I showered and ate, and then called ahead to make sure the trails were open. The front gate verified they were, so I got a rain shell and a fleece pullover and misc other stuff and headed out.
When I arrived the entire mountain was encased in cloud cover. Driving up, visibility was only about 10 yards. I made it to the top, which was deserted other than employee cars, and got myself and camera stuff ready to go. Went into the visitor's center, used the rest room, bought a less floppy winter hat (my old one spent half it's time inching over my eyes), and headed towards the trails.
The entrance to the trail was blocked with a chain, and a sign... Trails Closed.
Back into the visitors center. I rouse a fellow behind a desk from the edge of hibernation. He doesn't seem pleased.
"Are the trails open? I called ahead and was told they were."
The man makes a strange sound that I can't explain but which clearly conveys indecision.
"Could you elaborate?" I ask.
"Well, they were closed yesterday," he says.
"What about today?"
"Its very windy."
"I don't mind."
"It's sure to be muddy. And slick. There is probably still ice."
"Doesn't bother me."
"Well... just be careful."
So off I go, ducking under the chain, and onto the trail.
This didn't seem very significant at the time, but unbeknownst to me, I was about to get a mountain all to myself. The indecisive man must have gone back to his nap, because he never got around to removing the chain. I only saw two other people the whole day, and that was on my way back.
In a nutshell, the hike went like this... wind through the trails to the steep part of the mountain. Climb the ladders up the cliff face and cross the top to get to MacRae Peak. Hang out a bit, then set off down the boulder field and back up through "the chute" to reach Attic Window. Spend two hours at Attic Window, just myself and the mountains.
the Chute
The time I spent at Attic Window was mystical. The clouds were rushing down the valley on the north side, wind roaring and buffeting the peak, while clouds on the south side were coming in and piling up against the southern face, roiling and building until they crashed over me like a huge silent wave. This happened several times. It was only a matter of 60 seconds from miles of visibility and roaring wind, to near silence and total whiteout. And during those times of whiteout, when the trees turned to ghosts and the surrounding peaks vanished, the ravens would sound, sometimes far off, sometimes so near I couldn't believe I couldn't see them, rattling and cawing just over my shoulder. It was surreal, a living dream. And then the clouds would pass, and rush around me to surround Calloway Peak before continuing down the valley. It took me a long, long time to realize I was cold. Utterly mezmerizing.
from Attic Window, looking towards MacRae Peak
from Attic Window, looking towards Calloway Peak
I stayed until the clouds started to clear, around 3pm or so, and then decided to make the hike back. It was then that I turned and saw a couple standing on MacRae Peak, and I snapped a shot of them. I met them on the trail about 20 minutes later, they had come from another direction. They were the only people I saw up there.
The trek back was slow and measured, and full of texture and smells that I swear hadn't been there on the way up.
Various pics:
My watch, supposedly good to 150 meters below water, doesn't like 5949 feet above sea level much.
A short ladder, leading to an ice covered rock slope, on the way from Attic Window to MacRae Peak.
I liked these roots:
I'll be posting more pics in a bit.
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no subject
on 2006-01-31 06:49 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-02-01 06:15 pm (UTC)