The winds roared overhead, howling across the treetops so fiercely at times that the thought of reaching the exposed, blustery mountaintop of the Shining Rock Wilderness seemed a bit formidable and Mother Nature impossible to ignore.
The gusts were unrelenting atop the massive chunk of quartz protruding from the mountain that is visible from the Blue Ridge Parkway to the south. At this elevation, perhaps 6,000 feet or so, twisted tree limbs quivered in the turbulence.
The mostly panoramic view from the top was perhaps no more spectacular than that of any other overlook in the Southern Appalachians. Soft blue and purple mountains undulated endlessly under sunny, blue skies, their humps resembling what some have described as the backs of sleeping dinosaurs.
But the sweeping sight of an unspoiled landscape that draws scores of nature enthusiasts each year brought the kind of wonder and fulfillment that might come only after such an ascent.
The Shining Rock Wilderness covers some 18,000 acres in the southern end of Haywood County in the Pisgah National Forest, its elevation ranging from slightly less than 3,500 feet to more than 6,000 feet. It was established in the early 1960s under the Wilderness Act, which Congress passed for the preservation of some nine million acres of pristine federal land.
The wilderness is the largest of its kind in North Carolina, made up of a network of tributaries and trails with names like Old Butt Knob and Greasy Cove.
The Big East Fork trail, named for the streams that flow into the lower-lying Pigeon River, stretches about three and a half miles. Cascades abound along the trail’s lower section, making it necessary to navigate across rocks or felled trees over rushing waters.
The trail is considered among the more physically demanding, though it might prove more strenuous for those who rarely take such excursions. While its terrain flattens at times, offering some respite, much of the trail is made up of a series of steep slopes, with stretches sometimes bringing one’s knees to sharp angle above one’s waist.
Exertion was apparent among a small group of hikers along the trail. They appeared weary, leaning and sitting on logs under rays of sunlight after coming down from the mountaintop. There was little dialogue, only a few terse exchanges.
Asked how much farther to the top, one replied, “About two more miles—it’s uphill.”
The climb was a chance for reflection, musing on a number of questions, such as why people might thrust themselves into nature, sometimes traveling great distances by automobile simply to go for what some might merely consider a long walk.
For many, a walk in the woods probably is seen as just any other getaway—a chance to leave what is familiar. But on a deeper level, we have some innate desire to connect with the wild.
Whatever the reasons, reaching the top of any mountain is, of course, fulfilling, especially after climbing the side of a huge rock against what feels like gale-force winds. And any trip down feels more like a victory lap.
However, perhaps focused more on finding a perch to sit and eat—sliced apples, cheddar cheese and hard salami—my trip took an unintended detour. Eventually a landmark helped to rediscover the way home and the brief disorientation served as a not so subtle reminder of the significance of staying vigilant in the wilderness.
Unlike other federally protected land such as national forests and parks, wilderness areas bear little sign of civilization. Any wilderness is managed in a way meant to “minimize evidence of human presence,” as the U.S. Forest Service puts it. As a result, trails are unmarked and sometimes difficult to discern, leaving open the possibility of straying off course.
“We try to go for solitude,” said Jeff Owenby, the recreation program manager for the Pisgah forest, describing time spent in the wilderness as “a more primitive experience,” and perhaps a perplexing one should one’s adventure be as much in getting home as in reaching the mountain’s peak.