Ever since being forced to flee for my life from dangerous flooding in the middle of the night 2 years ago, I’ve been dying to get back and more fully explore the Dolly Sods. On a recent weekend, I finally got the chance to return with my friend Sam for another 3 day traverse of the coves, bogs, barrens, and high-elevation sods of this area that for many is synonymous with central Appalachian backpacking.
We arrived at the Red Creek trailhead on FR 19 shortly before dusk, and the arrival of darkness found us stuffing the final few necessities into our packs and setting off on the old railroad grade into the Dolly Sods. At first, the trail was easy to follow. However, about 15 minutes from the trailhead, one arrives at the first cluster of campsites. With such a short hike in from the trailhead, it’s no surprise that these sites on Red Creek are heavily used, and the evidence of this use was readily apparent- the lack of firewood, the faint but unmistakable odor of human waste permeating the air, and the number of social trails that spread out throughout the forest. We ended up on such trail, a fisherman’s path that follows closely to the shore of Red Creek. We realized our mistake before long, and figured that the actual trail was likely to our right, but a dense tangle of rhododendron and mountain laurel prevented us from easily reaching it. We continued on the fisherman’s path, hoping that as it grew fainter and fainter it would lead us in the right direction… and when we eventually pushed through one final tangle of undergrowth, we were glad to find ourselves once again on the wide and well-traveled railroad grade.
(On our hike out 2 days later, we saw where we went astray. After making the very first stream crossing, the main trail makes an almost immediate sharp turn to the right while the path we continued on heads straight, towards the campsites. There was a low stone wall that someone had built to guide hikers in the right direction… we’d managed to step right over it in the darkness.)
We’d originally planned to cross Red Creek at the very first crossing, and follow the Little Stonecoal Run Trail up to a campsite somewhere near the headwaters of that creek. In our confusion in the darkness, however, we found that we’d walked right across the Little Stonecoal Run trail without realizing so, and had rejoined the Red Creek Trail upstream of that crossing. The next opportunity to cross Red Creek was at the Big Stonecoal Run Trail. Fortunately, the junction here was obvious and the ford.
Heavy rains that had tapered off a few hours earlier meant that Red Creek was running high. As we stepped out into the water, we could feel the current tugging quite strongly against our legs. In the midst of the creek, the water was up past our thighs, nearly to our waists, and it took concerted effort to lean against the current and steady ourselves with our trekking poles while trying to avoid slipping on unsteady rocks lining the creek bottom. We found a large rock just barely beneath the surface mid-stream and stood in the eddy while we surveyed the final 15 feet or so to the far shore. Here, the current was strongest- a turbulent, swelling mass of water. I thought that it was doable, provided that it didn’t get any deeper than what we’d already passed through. I reached out with my trekking pole, and set it down to gauge the depth… to find that the creek here was deeper than the pole was tall. I tried again, a few feet downstream, and found the creek to be the same depth. I tried once more, upstream this time, and again I found water whipping over my hand before the trekking pole found solid bottom.
“Nope,” I said to Sam. “We’re not getting across here.”
“We just don’t have enough alcohol inside us,” he replied, only half-kidding.
The next opportunity to cross Red Creek was about a mile further upstream, near Fisher Spring Run, and would mean that we’d be circumnavigating the Dolly Sods counterclockwise rather than clockwise, but would still enable us to complete the same loop. We carefully made our way back to the south shore, returned to the Red Creek Trail, and continued upstream. Along the way we passed several decently sized tributaries in the dark. Each had a strong but easily crossable flow, an encouraging sight as it meant that we’d have that much less current to fight against during our second attempt at fording Red Creek.
As we approached Red Creek again, we passed by the site where I’d camped during my previous visit to the Dolly Sods. In the darkness, I could faintly make out the low ridge not far above the creek where I’d set up in a campsite on what was a safe and dry piece of mainland, only to wake up in the middle of the night to find that I was on an island, with howling torrents of water on all sides of me.
This time, Red Creek here was easily crossable despite running relatively high. We found a spot a short distance upstream of the actual trail crossing where the river was wide, and we had no trouble getting across through the waist-deep yet calm current. On the far side was a nice, moderately-used campsite just off the trail, and as midnight was fast approaching, we elected to stay here for the first night.
Of course, no matter how late it gets, it’s never too late for some bourbon and a small campfire. Especially on a clear night when the light of a crescent moon is filtering down through the trees.
We awoke early Saturday morning to gray skies and the threat of rain. Any chance of precipitation in the Dolly Sods means that one would be wise to be warry about the possibility of getting trapped at a ford across Red Creek, but the forecast had assured us that any rainfall would be light. At the very least, we weren't concerned that conditions would worsen upon our return to Red Creek, and in any case, the creek had obviously come down a few inches already overnight.
After quick breakfast of oatmeal, refried beans, butter, hot sauce, and instant mashed potatoes (indeed, a breakfast fit for champions), we were packed up and continuing on our way. Our destination for the day was the nothern Dolly Sods, which we were hoping to traverse before swinging south again to find a suitable campsite for the second night.
Thus far, much of the Red Creek trail had been on old logging narrow-gauge railroad grades, and today was no exception. For the most part, these grades were devoid of any evidence of the trails themselves, but along one short stretch we did encounter a few old railroad ties with spikes still sticking out of them.
About two miles upstream of where we camped is The Forks, an area where Red Creek splits into the Left and Right Forks. The crossing of Left Fork here was merely knee deep.
The Forks is home to a number of small but scenic cascades on Red Creek. Accordingly, the area is also a popular place to camp, and we counted at least 5 or 6 well-developed and heavily used campsites. Evidence of tree-cutting for firewood here was also readily apparent. The cascades were beautiful, at least.
Beyond The Forks, the trail began to climb to the shoulder of Blackbird Knob. For the first time in our journey, we were emerging from the lower valley of Red Creek and entering into the northern Dolly Sods. The southern portion of the wilderness area is characterized by a classical Appalachian cove ecosystem, with the deep Red Creek valley sheltering many hardwoods that are less tolerant of adverse growing conditions. In contrast, the northern Dolly Sods contain a high-elevation plateau (the highest plateau in the US east of the Mississippi, in fact), and are home to many species that are typically found much further north. Heath barrens, sphagnum bogs, and, at the highest elevations, grass balds are ubiquitous to the northern stretch of this wilderness area.
Beyond Blackbird Knob, we entered the first of many heath barrens. Open fields of blueberries stretched in every direction for hundreds of feet, while the hardwood trees at the fringe began to give way to spruce and the occaisional fir.
The further north we went, the more ubiquitous the heath barrens became. Turn of the century fires, resulting from lumbering operations, also contributed to the spread of these meadows beyond what had constituted their historic range.
As we passed through one forested section, we caught a glimpse down into a sphagnum bog fringing one of the tributies of Red Creek.
By now, a steady drizzle had begun to fall and the wind had started to pick up. The lack of shelter across the heath barrens gave the wind especially a bit of a hard edge. We knew that Cabin Mountain lay ahead of us, and that this stretch of trail was likely to particularly well exposed to the elements, so we decided to eat lunch sooner rather than later. The trail descended a short distance down into the sphagnum bog, where it crossed the tributary on an old causeway. Here, we found a sheltered spot to eat lunch.
While we hunkered down and ate, a lone hiker appeared across the stream. "Do you guys know the way to the Raven Ridge Trail?" he asked. "I was using my phone to navigate and it died on me."
I rumaged through my ziplock bag of maps and gave him general directions. Sam grabbed one of the extra print outs I was carrying and handed to him. The hiker refused to take the map until Sam said quite sternly "It would make me feel a lot better if you took it." In recent years, I've grown less and less critical of using technology for navigation, provided that one carries a map and compass as a backup. The idea of hiking anywhere in a remote backcountry area with a phone alone as a navigational aid to me still seems downright foolhardy, and this encounter definitely served to reinforce that perception.
After finishing lunch, we crossed the stream and joined the Dobbin Grade Trail for a short stretch. The expanse of the heath barrens stretched out around us.
Soon, we arrived at another junction with the Raven Ridge Trail. Here, we turned left and started a gentle but steady ascent away from the stream. As we climbed, we were treated to more views out over the barrens and bogs. At times, we could see for miles in just about every direction.
As we climbed, not only did the temperature drop, the wind increased in velocity as well. Soon, we weren't just being pelted by raindrops, but by ice pellets as well. The occasional snowflake swirled past, briefly visible before being lost in the murky grayness of the low clouds. Near the junction with the Bear Rocks Trail, we huddled behind a spruce for a moments respite out of the wind while donning rain jackets as added defense against the elements.
Continued....
We arrived at the Red Creek trailhead on FR 19 shortly before dusk, and the arrival of darkness found us stuffing the final few necessities into our packs and setting off on the old railroad grade into the Dolly Sods. At first, the trail was easy to follow. However, about 15 minutes from the trailhead, one arrives at the first cluster of campsites. With such a short hike in from the trailhead, it’s no surprise that these sites on Red Creek are heavily used, and the evidence of this use was readily apparent- the lack of firewood, the faint but unmistakable odor of human waste permeating the air, and the number of social trails that spread out throughout the forest. We ended up on such trail, a fisherman’s path that follows closely to the shore of Red Creek. We realized our mistake before long, and figured that the actual trail was likely to our right, but a dense tangle of rhododendron and mountain laurel prevented us from easily reaching it. We continued on the fisherman’s path, hoping that as it grew fainter and fainter it would lead us in the right direction… and when we eventually pushed through one final tangle of undergrowth, we were glad to find ourselves once again on the wide and well-traveled railroad grade.
(On our hike out 2 days later, we saw where we went astray. After making the very first stream crossing, the main trail makes an almost immediate sharp turn to the right while the path we continued on heads straight, towards the campsites. There was a low stone wall that someone had built to guide hikers in the right direction… we’d managed to step right over it in the darkness.)
We’d originally planned to cross Red Creek at the very first crossing, and follow the Little Stonecoal Run Trail up to a campsite somewhere near the headwaters of that creek. In our confusion in the darkness, however, we found that we’d walked right across the Little Stonecoal Run trail without realizing so, and had rejoined the Red Creek Trail upstream of that crossing. The next opportunity to cross Red Creek was at the Big Stonecoal Run Trail. Fortunately, the junction here was obvious and the ford.
Heavy rains that had tapered off a few hours earlier meant that Red Creek was running high. As we stepped out into the water, we could feel the current tugging quite strongly against our legs. In the midst of the creek, the water was up past our thighs, nearly to our waists, and it took concerted effort to lean against the current and steady ourselves with our trekking poles while trying to avoid slipping on unsteady rocks lining the creek bottom. We found a large rock just barely beneath the surface mid-stream and stood in the eddy while we surveyed the final 15 feet or so to the far shore. Here, the current was strongest- a turbulent, swelling mass of water. I thought that it was doable, provided that it didn’t get any deeper than what we’d already passed through. I reached out with my trekking pole, and set it down to gauge the depth… to find that the creek here was deeper than the pole was tall. I tried again, a few feet downstream, and found the creek to be the same depth. I tried once more, upstream this time, and again I found water whipping over my hand before the trekking pole found solid bottom.
“Nope,” I said to Sam. “We’re not getting across here.”
“We just don’t have enough alcohol inside us,” he replied, only half-kidding.
The next opportunity to cross Red Creek was about a mile further upstream, near Fisher Spring Run, and would mean that we’d be circumnavigating the Dolly Sods counterclockwise rather than clockwise, but would still enable us to complete the same loop. We carefully made our way back to the south shore, returned to the Red Creek Trail, and continued upstream. Along the way we passed several decently sized tributaries in the dark. Each had a strong but easily crossable flow, an encouraging sight as it meant that we’d have that much less current to fight against during our second attempt at fording Red Creek.
As we approached Red Creek again, we passed by the site where I’d camped during my previous visit to the Dolly Sods. In the darkness, I could faintly make out the low ridge not far above the creek where I’d set up in a campsite on what was a safe and dry piece of mainland, only to wake up in the middle of the night to find that I was on an island, with howling torrents of water on all sides of me.
This time, Red Creek here was easily crossable despite running relatively high. We found a spot a short distance upstream of the actual trail crossing where the river was wide, and we had no trouble getting across through the waist-deep yet calm current. On the far side was a nice, moderately-used campsite just off the trail, and as midnight was fast approaching, we elected to stay here for the first night.
Of course, no matter how late it gets, it’s never too late for some bourbon and a small campfire. Especially on a clear night when the light of a crescent moon is filtering down through the trees.
We awoke early Saturday morning to gray skies and the threat of rain. Any chance of precipitation in the Dolly Sods means that one would be wise to be warry about the possibility of getting trapped at a ford across Red Creek, but the forecast had assured us that any rainfall would be light. At the very least, we weren't concerned that conditions would worsen upon our return to Red Creek, and in any case, the creek had obviously come down a few inches already overnight.
After quick breakfast of oatmeal, refried beans, butter, hot sauce, and instant mashed potatoes (indeed, a breakfast fit for champions), we were packed up and continuing on our way. Our destination for the day was the nothern Dolly Sods, which we were hoping to traverse before swinging south again to find a suitable campsite for the second night.
Thus far, much of the Red Creek trail had been on old logging narrow-gauge railroad grades, and today was no exception. For the most part, these grades were devoid of any evidence of the trails themselves, but along one short stretch we did encounter a few old railroad ties with spikes still sticking out of them.
About two miles upstream of where we camped is The Forks, an area where Red Creek splits into the Left and Right Forks. The crossing of Left Fork here was merely knee deep.
The Forks is home to a number of small but scenic cascades on Red Creek. Accordingly, the area is also a popular place to camp, and we counted at least 5 or 6 well-developed and heavily used campsites. Evidence of tree-cutting for firewood here was also readily apparent. The cascades were beautiful, at least.
Beyond The Forks, the trail began to climb to the shoulder of Blackbird Knob. For the first time in our journey, we were emerging from the lower valley of Red Creek and entering into the northern Dolly Sods. The southern portion of the wilderness area is characterized by a classical Appalachian cove ecosystem, with the deep Red Creek valley sheltering many hardwoods that are less tolerant of adverse growing conditions. In contrast, the northern Dolly Sods contain a high-elevation plateau (the highest plateau in the US east of the Mississippi, in fact), and are home to many species that are typically found much further north. Heath barrens, sphagnum bogs, and, at the highest elevations, grass balds are ubiquitous to the northern stretch of this wilderness area.
Beyond Blackbird Knob, we entered the first of many heath barrens. Open fields of blueberries stretched in every direction for hundreds of feet, while the hardwood trees at the fringe began to give way to spruce and the occaisional fir.
The further north we went, the more ubiquitous the heath barrens became. Turn of the century fires, resulting from lumbering operations, also contributed to the spread of these meadows beyond what had constituted their historic range.
As we passed through one forested section, we caught a glimpse down into a sphagnum bog fringing one of the tributies of Red Creek.
By now, a steady drizzle had begun to fall and the wind had started to pick up. The lack of shelter across the heath barrens gave the wind especially a bit of a hard edge. We knew that Cabin Mountain lay ahead of us, and that this stretch of trail was likely to particularly well exposed to the elements, so we decided to eat lunch sooner rather than later. The trail descended a short distance down into the sphagnum bog, where it crossed the tributary on an old causeway. Here, we found a sheltered spot to eat lunch.
While we hunkered down and ate, a lone hiker appeared across the stream. "Do you guys know the way to the Raven Ridge Trail?" he asked. "I was using my phone to navigate and it died on me."
I rumaged through my ziplock bag of maps and gave him general directions. Sam grabbed one of the extra print outs I was carrying and handed to him. The hiker refused to take the map until Sam said quite sternly "It would make me feel a lot better if you took it." In recent years, I've grown less and less critical of using technology for navigation, provided that one carries a map and compass as a backup. The idea of hiking anywhere in a remote backcountry area with a phone alone as a navigational aid to me still seems downright foolhardy, and this encounter definitely served to reinforce that perception.
After finishing lunch, we crossed the stream and joined the Dobbin Grade Trail for a short stretch. The expanse of the heath barrens stretched out around us.
Soon, we arrived at another junction with the Raven Ridge Trail. Here, we turned left and started a gentle but steady ascent away from the stream. As we climbed, we were treated to more views out over the barrens and bogs. At times, we could see for miles in just about every direction.
As we climbed, not only did the temperature drop, the wind increased in velocity as well. Soon, we weren't just being pelted by raindrops, but by ice pellets as well. The occasional snowflake swirled past, briefly visible before being lost in the murky grayness of the low clouds. Near the junction with the Bear Rocks Trail, we huddled behind a spruce for a moments respite out of the wind while donning rain jackets as added defense against the elements.
Continued....
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