cellini's Diaryland Diary

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A Successful Expedition.

My expedition was both grueling and productive.

First of all I am enormously impressed with the landscape of the Kentucky/Virginia border country. These are some serious fucking mountains. I have climbed probably a hundred or more different mountains in my life and these hills made an impression on me. They are very, very steep.

It turns out that my fears about Bob (Trish's father) having gone a little soft through years of camping out of the back of his truck in formal campgrounds were well-founded. Every single thing that I had warned him about came to pass and he was totally unprepared for any of it.

I said that we should prepare for rain and he said that the forecast called for clear weather so he wasn't going to bring a decent tent (just a bivy sack) or a poncho or anything like that. Naturally, it began to rain about an hour after we put the canoe in the water. With the threat of thunder we had to make camp quickly. Except that there were very, very few places to do so on account of the bank being so incredibly steep. We couldn't go very far inland to look for a camp site because Bob didn't pack all his stuff into a frame pack or easily haulable form even though I told him that the topographical maps showed that lake-side campsites would be few and we would have to prepare for hiking half a mile or more inland.

We finally found a level bit of shore to pull out on and make camp. Bob complained constantly because the rain was getting harder and everything had turned to mud. I quickly shimmied up a tree with a 50 foot rope and tied on end of it to the trunk. I climbed back down and anchored the other end to a heavy rock at a low angle and put a tarp over the rope with some light cords holding the corners tight. And thus we had shelter.

I figured I'd wait until the heavy rain stopped before putting up my proper tent. Meanwhile, I was perfectly happy. I set up a folding chair, put my feet up on a log, read a book and ate some gouda cheese on pita bread.

Bob, meanwhile, is not exactly freaking out but is constantly bitching about the whole thing. Personally, I have trouble relating to this. We're in a remote wilderness looking for the most elusive large animal on the East Coast. You were expecting the Hilton?

When I took my 3 week Outward Bound course in the Smoky Mountains, it rained all but one day. I fucking lived in mud. Rain, mud, exhaustion and pain were my constant reality (a tip of the hat to Erin and her recent brag/complain diary entry). As far as I'm concerned, being able to sit under a tarp and read in all that mess is a luxury. It means I'm not having to walk another 8 miles or whatever in that mess with a 70 pound pack on my shoulders before I can stop.

By the next day Bob had settled in a little more and was complaining less. He has the actual skills in terms of woodcraft and so on that it takes to be comfortable outdoors. He just had to adjust his attitude. Altogether he is a pretty good camping and hunting companion who will get better as he does this more.

The next morning we were up at just after dawn. It was still drizzling a little and there was a heavy mist covering everything. I had a quick breakfast and a cup of coffee and then suited up for some serious scouting. I was pleased to find that Bob was ready to go with me despite the weather.

We followed the remains of what was once a road or perhaps a railroad grade for some long-gone mining operation. A couple miles down this road that twisted along a creek through a steep mountain pass we found an enormous beaver meadow.

A beaver meadow is what happens when beavers are left to their own devices and humans don't constantly fight the beavers' efforts to transform the landscape. These beavers had probably been at work here for at least 10 years and they had cleared probably at least 50 acres or so of trees, creating an oasis of meadow grasses mixed with patches of marsh. Throughout this meadow was a large series of terraced ponds that the beavers had built. Some of these ponds were built in a bowl shape such that when I stood right next to it on dry ground, the level of the water was actually about level with my knees.

It was a strange place. More importantly, it is a place where deer and elk will come to feed on the grasses. It's a spot where we can set up an ambush in a stand of hemlock or rhododendron and have a clear shot across 100 to 300 yards in a place where elk are likely to be.

On our way back down the old road I realized that aside from the beaver meadow there is really not much food here for deer and elk. Yet there were deer prints everywhere and we saw a good number of does. In order to support this many deer year round (and thus elk as well) there had to be more food around somewhere. Clearly it's not in the valleys and drainages, which meant that it was time to start climbing some mountains.

There were no established trails so Bob and I started bushwhacking up the side of the mountain on one side of the abandoned road. About halfway up I started to see some hardwoods. A few maple, some oaks and a lot of hickory. Which meant food for deer, elk, turkey and squirrels. Then I actually heard a squirrel and saw it leaping from tree to tree about 40 yards ahead. I shouldered my 20 gauge shotgun and dropped it mid-jump before announcing "lunch!"

After pausing to find the squirrel and stow it in my pack, Bob decided that he'd had enough of mountain climbing for one day. So he headed back to camp while I continued on up to the summit alone.

It had been years since I'd done any really serious mountain climbing and I'd forgotten just how fucking hard it is. You use muscles that you don't even realize that you have. My thighs, calves and shoulders ached (and still ache) but the climb up was well worth the trouble. The ridge was covered with oak and hickory trees. This is where the deer and elk will be feeding most of the time in November when the nuts drop. I found lots of deer shit and one pile of elk shit. Mission accomplished! I found evidence of elk living on the Virginia side of the border. This was the whole point of the trip.

From that point on, Sunday's hike was rather less fun. To cut a long story short I got completely lost. I never go out of sight of camp without a fully provisioned day pack containing all of the basics for survival in the event that things go terribly wrong. But foolishly I did not have a topographical map with me. It is a little frightening getting lost in a place like that because if something happens, you will probably never be found in so large and remote an area. If you get lost then whatever you do don't get injured or else you are probably fucked. I started being very careful with my descents, painfully aware that twisting or breaking my ankle could put me in a truly life-threatening situation.

Probably I hiked about 5 miles or so until finding my way out. Which doesn't sound like very far but it was up and down 4 different mountains and left me exhausted. Also, I was bushwhacking. Bushwhacking is hiking straight through the brush without a trail and it's a lot more work than just walking down a path. I am now covered with scratches from thorns and branches.

What finally got me out of there was thinking logically (always helps) and remembering that so long as I was still on the Virginia side of the border (and I was because I hadn't climbed any mountain high enough to be part of the main ridge), all I had to do was follow water routes. Because all of those little creeks eventually feed into the lake, which is something like 4 miles long and runs basically parallel to the mountain range. If you in a situation where you are lost and staying in the same place is not an option and there are no roads or real trails, following water is usually a smart thing to do. A stream will eventually run into a river and people build things along rivers. Water takes you to civilization eventually. In this case I knew that following a dry wash to a creek and so on would eventually get me to the lake where I could just follow the shore until I found my camp.

Probably the most harrowing part was when I arrived at what turned out to be the opposite end of the beaver meadow I'd encountered earlier (although I did not know at that point that it was the same meadow). This end of the meadow was lots of marsh and a very deep series of ponds that went right up against a hillside steep enough to be almost a cliff. I had to make my way along the side of this very steep hill at about a 120 degree angle on a tiny little beaver path with rocks and water 40 feet below. On wet, slippery ground. This was scary shit. One slip and I would have been well and truly fucked.

A few hours later I arrived in camp, shirtless, wet, covered with mud and scratches. I have to say that this was exactly the experience I was after. I wanted to be pushed through something physically grueling in a situation where I had no choice but to press on through it. This was what I got.

I could go on and on about skinning squirrels and how we broke camp and ended up driving through weird fucking back country along the Kentucky border looking for places that elk might hang out but I think this entry has gone on for quite long enough. Suffice to say that the trip was physically demanding and successful all around.

List of notable species of animal I saw over the weekend:

3 different types of frogs
2 types of salamanders, one with 5 orange spots along it's back.
1 species of cray fish
4 or 5 different species of fish
Great blue herons
Mallards
Wild turkey
More deer than I can even count
Box turtle
A female hummingbird
A bunch of goldfinches
Beavers


2:52 p.m. - 2007-09-04

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