But my first foray into the Linville Gorge was a wake-up call. I’ve had hikes kick my ass in the past, but the trails down into this deep, narrow
The Linville River has sliced an astounding wound into the Earth here. In places it’s more than 2,000 feet deep. Further enhancing the experience of seeing this, it maintains that depth for miles along the course of the river from the northern end to where the canyon finally gives up to the foothills and Piedmont in the south.
Since I missed a day hike with friends into the gorge two weeks ago, I
The Pinch In Trail has a reputation for being one of the roughest in the gorge, with possibly only the Rockjock Trail surpassing it in general ruggedness. The trail passes into the forest out of the parking lot and soon begins to descend at a not unreasonable rate. Suddenly, though, I came out of the woods and into the burned area from the severe forest fire of last year. This was an especially intense fire during a terrible drought and the fire burned not only the tree cover, but also succeeded in igniting and burning off some of the forest loam. Any worse, and the fire would have burned right down to the mineral soil. As it is, I think the forest is going to have a tough time of recovering. Time will tell.
Despite hiking through the burn (a natural event, after all), one is almost immediately struck by the fantastic scenery lying to the north and south. I kept stopping along the trail to seek out views on the exposed cliff tops, with each few yards finding views to rival or exceed the ones that had stopped me in my tracks minutes before. Soon, I found the trail descending at a more and more tremendous rate, moving down into soaring rocky canyons and passing beneath and beside towers of pale stone. The hiking is hard on your legs, but pleasing to the eye. At one point, peering down beyond a tower of rock that stands in the way of the trail, I could see the route of the Pinch In Trail following the contour of the ridgeline that dropped precipitously toward the Linville River.
At around this time, I began to be able to hear the roar of the still distant river. Even standing more than 1200 feet above it, I could feel the power of the engine that had sliced this canyon into the seemingly solid rock. I shouldered my pack and continued on, moving through the severe burn area and dropping down into the parts of the forest where the fire had finally lost its impetus. Even with a living canopy above my head, I could see the carbon black remnants of the fire that had somehow been brought to heel as the flames got down to the river. Perhaps earlier fires had used up much of the ground fuel. I don’t know. But I can say that the power of the fire was spent by the time it reached within a few hundred yards of the river, and the trees in this part of the gorge were not consumed.
The intersection of the Pinch In and Linville Gorge trails leaves you with two choices: north or south. I looked at some extremely beautiful campsites to the north (within ¼ mile of the intersection), and then went south to see what was available. I located a great, level campsite with a huge stone fire ring and a bench someone had cobbled together with a river-washed plank deposited after some storm, and supported by logs. I chose this spot, as it was not only the most pleasing to my eye, but had the great plank bench for cooking and meditating.
Normally, I would never build a campfire in a wilderness area. I have actively discouraged others from doing this, too. But for some reason I felt the need to build a campfire. Maybe because it was a good bet I was the only person in the gorge on this Sunday, late March evening, or because it was such a well-used fire ring. Or maybe because I felt like being a hypocrite. I can’t say. I will admit that this is the first campfire I’ve built while backpacking in over twenty years.
In short order I had my tent up, my stove ready for cooking later in the afternoon, and the fire going. I scouted around for firewood (the river leaves it in abundance along the rocky banks), piled it up high, and went to scout out a spring for filtering water which I found not far north of the intersection of the two trails. Later, after I’d cooked my supper, stored everything away, and hoisted my food bag high into a tree (this is bear country, in a major way), I grabbed my camera and went on a sight seeing trip north on the Linville River Trail.
I found some fantastic views along this part of the trail, but as the day was drawing to a close, I headed back to my campsite and built up the fire. Soon, I had a really tremendous blaze in the fire ring and I was tossing on logs that I would have assumed far too large to burn effectively. The fire gobbled them right up, though. I made a few more trips to the riverbank to gather more firewood for the night and returned to meditate, just gazing into the flames. Soon, though, I had to realize how tired I was and I retreated to my tent. As I was lying there, preparing to huddle in my new down bag (first time I’d used it), I peered up through the door of my tent and realized that I had set up directly beneath a hemlock tree. A few needles were hanging on, and I could see them against the fading twilight of the cloudy sky. A twin twilight for me to see: that of the day, and of all hemlock trees in the east.
The night went quietly, and I slept a good ten hours! My sleeping bag kept
After breakfast (a nasty Mountain House concoction), I methodically packed up my campsite. I’d used up all of the water I’d brought with me and knew I’d need some for the steep climb back to my truck, so I stopped at the spring I’d located the day before the pump some water with my new filter (MSR Sweetwater). The pump worked great and I soon had two bottles filled for the brief, but extremely steep hike back up.
A winter of not much hiking had really done me no good. Fifteen pounds heavier than when the season began, and loaded with a 40-lb pack, the one and a half mile hike took me an hour and fifteen minutes to climb. And it was a very rough climb. Some people think that the Pinch In Trail should be abandoned, as it’s extremely steep and, worse, succumbing to erosion in a way that makes portions of the trail not much more than a ditch where storms can dig deeper and deeper into the ridgeline. If the wilderness aspect of the area precludes any engineering on this trail, then it should probably be abandoned to the heavy foot traffic it absorbs now.
Finally, much wetter (from perspiration, not rain), I arrived at the
Where I promptly showered and fell asleep again for a five-hour nap!