restaurants

Raven Cliff Falls Hike January 2010



Titles I’d considered for this story:

Wish I’d brought my ice-axe.
I’ve never been so afraid.
The dumbest thing I’ve ever done.
Why did I leave the rope in the truck?

What is it about a group of men tossing their gear into an old pick-up and heading off in the twilight hours to the mountains? Since Josiah was a wee young thing he was thrilled to be awakened before dawn for whatever adventure might await. “Hey buddy, time to wake up.” His sleepy eyes would slowly part then widen. Recognition of what awaited would stir the anticipation in his eyes and a big, beautiful grin would transform his tiny face. A love for wildness and adventure must be encoded in our masculine DNA.
This morning, my boy (now 17) opted to sleep in. Nonetheless a band of brothers, old friends…3 generations of the Garrett clan: Chester, Josh, Taylor and I would find our way to the Mountain Bridge Wilderness to see what adventure awaited us.
When I was invited along on this hike I first checked the weather (high of 32 degrees with a chance of snow) then I called the ranger to make sure the trail hadn’t been closed (It hadn’t been but apparently a particularly treacherous section made it a close call) and then finally and most importantly I confirmed the existence of an all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet (Doris’ Kitchen) in Marietta.
Upon wheeling my truck into Doris’ parking lot, I hopped from the cab and very nearly ran into the restaurant. (The benefits of a pre-hike-southern-cooking-romanesque-food-orgy can not be over-estimated) We were greeted by a friendly young waitress who seemed more than accustomed to seeing a bunch of unshaven, unkempt, backwoods looking characters at 7 am. That could only be a good sign. A restaurant that draws rugged, working-class men typically could be counted on for the kind of high-fat, cholesterol laden fare I was hoping for. I was not disappointed. Moist, tasty, scrambled eggs were accompanied by buttery grits (of course) along with some tasty, well-browned milk gravy, cat-head biscuits and an assortment of delicious meats including bacon, country ham, thick-sliced slabs of fried bologna (or baloney as it is correctly pronounced) and an assortment of other items that never made their way to my plate. After shoveling in an over-sized helping of these breakfast delicacies I was disturbed to discover that a vat of what so obviously was syrup (it was with the pancakes) was not. It was red-eye gravy. Not to wax philosophical, but deep within the heart of every true-blooded southern boy is a hole that can only be filled with red-eye gravy. So I returned with an empty plate for a second helping of grits and a watershed helping of some pretty decent red-eye. Gorged and wired from too many cups of black coffee, we set out for the last stretch of asphalt that would lead us to the mountains we had come for. Thanks for breakfast, by the way, Chester.
We arrived in the Raven Cliff Falls parking area right at 8 am. After completing the requisite hiking forms we donned our coats, shouldered our packs and made our way down the red-blazed trail with even more enthusiasm than we’d shown earlier for Doris. It was cold. As cold as I’ve ever been. Fortunately, our bodies are designed with an internal heater which is switched on by getting your butt in gear. So we did. Buggy and I were both intrigued that our bodies seemed to warm in stages, core first, then legs and arms, one foot then the other then toes and finger-tips.
It was a cold (have I mentioned that?), crisp morning and due to the season there was no foliage to block the beautiful views of the Mountain Bridge Wilderness. Guess it was the pay-off for braving the temps. Chester wondered out loud what the temperature was and I remembered that my Dad had just given me a whistle equipped with both a compass and thermometer. When we reached the over-look for the falls I pulled it from my pack and hung it outside. It read 25 degrees. It read 25 degrees for much of the hike. After some cheesy-poser shots, trading cameras and photographers we headed back to the trail to enter the Dismal. Our trek through this old hardwood forest would involve a descent of over 2,000 feet in a mile and a half. The purple-blazed Dismal Trail dumps you, with quivering legs of Jello at a juncture with the pink blazed Naturaland Trust Trail which leads to an exceptionally fun cable-crossing over beautiful Matthew’s Creek. We stopped and spent about a half an hour doing some rock-hopping, boulder-climbing and junk-food munching before crossing the creek and beginning our equally steep climb up the deceptively pink-blazed Naturaland Trust Trail. Pink is apparently not for sissies.
It was in the midst of this difficult climb that I realized the water in my bottles had frozen…solid. I managed to abate my thirst by licking a little moisture from the opening but more than anything was taken aback that my water could actually freeze. It was really cold.
Our trail led us to a high-pass that wormed it’s way around the base of a huge granite out-cropping. I’d walked this trail a year or so ago in the summer but the ice and snow of winter had transformed the landscape so that what we were hiking now was really a different trail. Spectacular vistas and ice formations became visible throughout the entire hike but nothing could have prepared us for what was around the next bend. We made our way up a series of steps cut into the earth and crudely fashioned with wood and slabs of stone, to enter “The Cathedral.”

Even a brief study of architecture reveals that ancient (and sometimes modern) man-made cathedrals are engineered with high-vaulted ceilings and open, ethereal spaces so as to make the congregant aware of his own smallness in relation to the building. Some say this was done to emphasize the vastness of God but history has often proved otherwise. In many cases the motivation was that the congregant be reminded of his own insignificance and subsequent need for the institutional church…de-emphasizing the love and grace of an Abba who moved heaven and earth to rescue us. Having said that, the magnificent view of the 150 foot high granite face covered in enormous ice formations not only spoke of the vastness of God but also his un-explainable infatuation with his creatures, the object of his affection. It seemed as though he had set this otherworldly setting up just for us…just for me.
As I began to awaken from my reverie it slowly dawned on me that we had to cross this. Our path to the other side was a 6 foot wide slab of solid ice probably 50 ft across. Josh wasted no time. He dropped to his knees and began to crawl across the icy slab. A third of the way in he called for Taylor who crossed in the same fashion…reaching out for a hiking pole his dad extended to him. Chester decided that, caution being the better part of valor, he’d explore other options. Against my better judgment and for reasons un-explained I went with Chester. He reasoned that rather than cross at the top where the ice was level he’d cross down lower where the ice formed what can only be described as a 15′ foot wide, 75 foot long giant-ice-slab-sliding board. His first step was to be placed on a piece of bark about the size of a credit-card, his second a rock about the size of a hamburger bun, his third on a loose rock Josh had just tossed onto the ice and finally a rock protruding from the ice that was about the size and shape of a nalgene bottle. Each of these “footholds” were a full stride apart. Now understand, one slip, one mis-step would send him rocketing 50-75 feet down this uneven, solid-ice-slip-and-slide to what (if God was merciful) would be death, if not, a long, cold, painful wait for Mountain Rescue to arrive and drag his broken body to a hospital. He yelled, “Get out of my way!” and ran across. I swear to you he ran. When he reached the other side I realized I had been holding my breath. I exhaled and it immediately occurred to me that all 3 of the Garrett boys were on the other side of this icy slip-and-slide-of-death. Probably ranks as the all-time dumbest thing I’d ever done…I followed him. I did not run. I hesitantly and awkwardly twisted and stretched, legs trembling, palms sweating and tried not to think of what the bone-crunching impact would be like when I smashed into the bottom. Well, I made it. Thank God I made it. Stupid, stupid, stupid…but I made it.

We found the trail and continued our ascent which grew more difficult (though not as treacherous) with every step. It was time for lunch. The bitter, winter winds had made their appearance and drove us to find shelter for our meal. Chester pointed out what appeared to be a three and a half foot high open cave beneath a boulder. I thought he was kidding. He worked his way around the massive monolith and discovered a much bigger area than I’d first imagined. A perfect place for lunch. (Bear Grylls would be proud) Taylor fired up his new Snow-peak iso-butane stove and minutes later was enjoying a hot-steaming plate of Ramen noodles. I had chosen to go low-tech. A half bottle of denatured alcohol and an entire box of esbit tablets later I sat down for a tasty meal of Lipton Alfredo Noodles. Next time I’ll bring a wind-screen or fall back on my trusty iso-butane stove. By the time I was done cramming down my noodles, the rest of the boys had shared a cup of coffee, were packed and ready to go. “On the trail again,” Josh “willied-out” as we worked our way up and around the mountain.
Moments later we arrived at the suspension bridge spanning Raven Cliff Falls. People standing on the overlook we’d just left a coupla hours ago would (with binoculars) be able to see us shivering in the freezing mist on this bridge. More phenomenal ice formations were visible just beneath us. We snapped some pics and continued to follow the pink blazes. Eventually our trail connected us with the blue-blazed Gum Gap, basically a Jeep trail, that led us back to the familiar red-blazes we’d started with early this morning. As often does, excited banter and playful ribbing gave way to a contemplative, natural silence comfortable only among old friends. Occasionally I’d chuckle to myself at the ridiculous chance we took crossing that icy section of the Cathedral, amazed that we were alive and un-scathed. We walked, ran and played our way back to the truck, where we un-burdened ourselves from our packs and rode back down the mountain, basking in the afterglow of a rugged hike, grateful for friendship, grateful for the warmth of the truck heater, grateful for mountains, rivers and waterfalls and grateful to be returning to our families. Chester said, “Hey, let’s do this again tomorrow!” Soon, old friend. Soon.

Pompous Pig

In the Chinese culture each year is given an animal affilliation. I decree this year to be the Year of the Pig. I love, looooove, good barbecue. In fact, as I’ve stated and overstated I am a barbecue snob. I’m on a never-ending quest for good smoked meat. I am usually disappointed. End of disclaimer. This year, I’ve discovered several very good barbecue joints in our area. Two days ago an old friend ,David Cox (who has drastically different standards for barbecue) called me and told me he had just eaten at a restaurant that has “your kind of barbecue” (meaning MY kind of barbecue). His words. Last night Josiah and I visited the Pompous Pig on Clemson Blvd in Anderson. I ordered a chopped pork (I prefer pulled)/ smoked chicken combo. Jo had a sandwich. Jo enjoyed his sandwich. I moaned in what could almost be referred to as ecstasy…but I digress. We were met, upon entering, by an extemely friendly teenage girl who welcomed us enthusiastically and informed us in a perfect southern drawl that we were “Gonna have a real good time.” Once we decided to order we approached the register where we were greeted by yet another teenage girl who was intelligent, lucid and friendly. Upon being seated at our table we were approached and checked on faithfully and attentively by no less than two servers. My pork was graciously prepared per my request with “outer meat.” (This ups the smoke taste exponentially and makes me happy.) Not only was it smoky, but moist and delicious. The smoked chicken breast was the best I’ve ever had. They had somehow managed to achieve a strong smoke, a delicate seasoning and a moist tenderness that rivaled crabmeat. Most people I know in this area won’t appreciate the quality of this barbecue. It’s kind of sad, actually. Nonetheless, I am impressed and enamored. Now, I normally wouldn’t waste anyone’s time on side-dishes. They’re such a non-issue to me they’re not usually worth mentioning. I make an exception here. Jo’s fries were less than spectacular. (The Pompous Pig could take a lesson from Henry’s on Wade Hampton.) My side was fantastic. I had the “mashed potato bake” (think Cracker Barrel’s hashbrown casserole in mash potato form…layered with crispy-chewy cheese skank) and cornbread which was moist like pudding and was made with what tasted like fresh corn…oh yeah, and it came with home-made honey butter. Dang. As if this wasn’t enough the owner brought us a complimentary sample plate which was made up of mexican-restaurant-style tortilla chips, “Texas Caviar” (think salsa made from black-eyed peas, corn, onions, peppers and tomatoes) which was really good, smoked chicken salad and broccoli salad with almond slivers. To sum it up, I’ve a new favorite restaurant and the Pig has plenty reason to be pompous. Check it out…unless of course, you think 3 Little Pigs has good barbecue. Something about casting pearls before swine comes to mind.
Just in case you’re reading this Dave…thanks for the recommendation. You’ve redeemed yourself for the harsh words you had for Henry’s.

8 Miles










Uh yeah…not whatcha think. Musically powerful tune but that ain’t it.
This weekend Dana suggested we hike to Raven Cliff Falls. Considering her level of endurance and my recent back issues that seemed an easy, reasonable hike. 2 miles, hour and a half up, hour and a half back. Dana caught a nasty flu virus and was out of commission but Jo, Brandon and I hit the trail early Sunday morning. Weather was amazing as it has been all week. Only moments after setting foot to the trail I was in my element. Even with the boys, there was ample peace and virtual solitude. It still amazes me that when the noise is eliminated how conscious I become of God’s presence. It was a powerful time interrupted only sporadically by, “Look at that view” or “Check out that boulder.” Segue. A great old tree stuck it’s branch out over the path about seven feet in the air. Yep, time for a stop. After exploring a side trail Jo was in the tree in a flash. That’s my boy. Once back on the trail Brandon somehow ended up in the lead position again which gave us a spectacularly entertaining view. He couldn’t seem to walk more than a few paces with out an “SAT” (slip and trip). We kept track. By day’s end I had accrued 6, Jo 8, I think and Brandon 18. No kidding. Just over an hour in we reached the viewing platform for Raven Cliff Falls. We were so far away that you couldn’t really grasp the height and power of this 410′ waterfall. Dismal Trail which passes through The Dismal (“a mature hardwood forest” as my trail book describes it) was just around the corner so we decided to take it to its end, turn around and come back. The boys were all for it so we were off. We ran, slipped and slid down the steep incline for a half hour or so. Once at the bottom we decided the path with more adventure and certainly no more exertion would be to complete what we had started of the Raven Cliff Falls Loop. So upon the advice of a fellow hiker we took off. We encountered several more views of the falls and even heard it nearby but never really got a better view. We did encounter a man-made cable crossing over a shallow stream which was a lot of fun. One cable was low for walking on and the other slightly above it to hold on to. About an hour later we crossed a suspension bridge over a gorge which was cool but not near as much fun as what we had just crossed. Next came the strenuous part of the trail. It went on forever. We had only brought enough water and snacks for the short trail and on this section we annihilated most of what we brought. As we started approaching the end of the loop we encountered a lot of other people on the trail, most with dogs, headed toward the falls. (Love the dogs. I gotta get Scooby out there soon.) Well, once back at Caesars Head we ran into the guy who had given Jo and I a shuttle after our Rim of the Gap hike. We spent a few minutes catching up and he told us to check out the overlook for the hawk migration. 340 had been spotted the day before but we saw nary a bird. We hopped back in the car and headed down the mountain with voracious appetites, eyes desperately searching for my barbecue guy. We weren’t disappointed. He was there. This roadside vendor (right on 276) of Turkish-spanish descent (Tim Lara, I think) has some of the best smoked pork I’ve ever had…ever, and as you well know I’m a barbecue snob. Today wasn’t quite what it usually is due to the fact that his wood supplier brought him pecan rather than hickory so it had a much milder flavor, but it was still really good. (He assured me next time I came through he’d be back up to par.) What a great ending to our longest hike to date…8.3 miles. Put it into perspective, though: Average hiker on the AT does anywhere from 12 – 22 miles…every day. Jennifer Pharr Davis averaged 38 miles per day doing 63 miles on her next to last day which was in the mountains of Georgia! Crazy. Don’t think I’ll be hitting 63 miles a day anytime soon (Not even sure I want to!) but hopefully we’ll build our endurance do some longer hikes. Can’t wait! Look out AT, we’re coming!

Blue Ridge Journal Day 5

Started reading “Authentic Relationships” by Wayne Jacobsen and his brother Clay. Great stuff. Causing me to reflect on how many incredible friends God has placed in our life. Tom Conlon’s song, “Arms of Jesus” is playing through my head. Thinking this might be a good direction to go with the small group. Hopefully learned our lesson with the TVA. Called the night before and the message said the dam would release at 1pm. We loaded the canoes and prepared to leave at 12:15. Just prior to departure I called again…thank goodness. The release time had changed to 3pm. We squeezed in some more fishing and hang time, called at 2pm to confirm and left by 2:15. We were gently drifting down the river when the dam released. Not nearly as spectacular as I had hoped for. I assumed it was due to the fact they were only running one generator. We watched as the river began to slowly rise and we had a much easier paddle back to the cabin. Just as we arrived at the cabin the girls informed us that they had once again postponed the release time by and hour. As we pulled the boats out of the river we watched the river rise quickly to what looked like flood stage and the current increase dramatically. Dang, we had missed it again! We cleaned up and headed into Blue Ridge for some tasty but seriously over-priced pizza. We drove through town trying to find info on how to get on the AT but everyone was closed. Looks like I should’ve planned better. We’ll have to move the hike to Friday morning.