Wickedly difficult hike with a snowy twist and a beaver coda.
Blue Ridge Road-Hoffman Notch Trail-Hornet Cobble-Blue Ridge West-Blue Ridge-Hoffman-Hoffman Notch Trail.
Had I known what was laying ahead maybe I would have been better off to turn around on malevolent Blue Ridge West and call it a decent day. But, all the way up Hornet Cobble's steep and slippery 800 feet and down even the steeper 300 feet I was thinking how great it was I would not be returning the same way. Especially since the Hoffman Notch Brook crossing had been deeper than expected (mid-thigh and pulling hard) and had soaked my rolled-up pants that I had to remove and wring out before proceeding.
Last fall Hornet Notch was bone dry, walk anywhere but don't expect to fill up. Yesterday it was an inland sea. I gingerly crossed on a narrow beaver dam and miraculously kept my feet dry. The rest of me was soaked thanks to drippy conifers all the way up Hornet. The sun was out and a breeze was drying me off.
I pulled out my printed table and read out:
At Location: Hornet Notch
Elevation 1900'
Dial in 117 mag.
This single bearing was to get me 1500 feet up to the top of BRW. The only kicker with this type of navigation is it assumes you are in a precise location when you set your next bearing. When you bushwhack the terrain almost always pushes you off course. My solutions to this weakness were a printed map, a pair of eyes and the ultimate backup in off-trail navigation weaponry: a GPS.
Unbeknownst to me, I indeed had begun my 1500-foot ascent of BR West somewhat off. In retrospect, once I got back home and looked at the gpx file my watch had written, I was off by maybe 200 feet. I saw that I had followed that 117 bearing line as if I was glued to it and this turned out to be a very good thing because from previous trips the woods just over to climber's left get horrendously thick for the final 300 feet of elevation gain. 50 feet elly from the summit (according to my altimeter) I looked straight north at what I figured had to be the summit, meaning I was a bit off. I switched on the GPS and saw that this was so. Now the woods, which had been surprisingly open the entire way, became incredibly tight with blowdown and prison bar re-growth.
The exact second I crossed the summit to the east side I began to post-hole knee-deep in soaking wet, rotten snow. I stopped and put on my gators and a shell and decided to see if the snow stopped as soon as the slope became steep. It didn't and was mixed with deadly ice. I had come equipped with no snow or ice footwear. I stepped into holes that were cleverly hidden by the snow -was it 6 inches deep or three feet? No way to tell so each step was taken stiff-limbed.
Then the slope became extreme with cliffs. Blowdown was pooled below and full of ice and snow. I went back and forth looking for a way down and after deciding it was impossible I turned face-in to my enemy and very carefully descended a 6-ffot cliff wall onto more sane terrain that nevertheless sucked up my energy like a hoover vacuum. I knew though that I would be in decent woods within 10 minutes and sure enough the snow completely disappeared and I carefully but easily walked in the sun.
The snow had given me serious pause and at the cliffs I very nearly turned around. Blue Ridge West was the lowest peak and the north side of Hoffman (nearly 400' higher) was not going to be a picnic. I kept going and down at the Blue Ridge-BRW col there was plenty of snow. I was able to weave around most of it and got up to the shoulder of BR (new bearing of course) and across to the summit (another new bearing towards the dreaded BR-Hoffman col) ) with nothing more than a relentlessly pounding chest.
Descending to the col I got off-course and found myself in very thick woods. The correct line avoids all the thick sections so I was not pleased. I thought I was following my compass needle religiously but once again the terrain always gets the last word.
I fired up the GPS to get through that miserable col. Every time I have been through there I have gotten poked in the face, the eyes, had razor wire spruce lacerate the tender skin of my neck and become disoriented. There was a lot of snow. Almost always rotten but at times solid until you stepped up onto it, then it collapsed to the uneven forest floor. I wound my way across the col, slowly, giving myself all the time in the world. The woods, the GPS, the terrain, the compass, and the snow all were worked to give me the best route through the thousand yard col – ever.
I began the 500-foot climb to Hoffman with trepidation being worried about snow. As soon as the north slope lifted in front of me the ground was mostly white. Nevertheless, the snow-free islands were sufficient to get me up 200 feet and then the entire view-scape was solid white - no more green islands. I was sinking in midshin to knee and the snow was soaking wet and getting deeper with every foot of gain. This was looking grim and I started thinking of bailing out towards the Hoffman Notch trail passing between Hoffman and the Blue Ridges. When I went into my hips (now about 300 feet above the col) with the summit and my carefully laid exit plan so close at hand I decided I had had enough. I stopped and leaned against a tree to work out my new line. Then I looked over towards the west side and saw a lot of green over to which I waded. Long story short, the snow dried up almost completely as I spiraled westward and upward. I was convinced from the get-go that there would be next to no snow on top and even less once I descended south then west. It felt great to hit an opening and walk on dried grasses in the sun and take in the sweeping view of the (snow-clad) Great Range.
My exit followed the ridge for 200 feet of descent (very faint herd path. ie. mostly moose and the odd hiker). Then it turned and followed a 310 bearing for 900 feet of descent. Turns out there was lots of snow but it was not too deep. I stuck steadfastly to my various bearings and dropped 1500 feet in mostly good woods. The snow persisted with patches here and there down to 2300'. There was falling water on both sides of me and numerous rills out of which I drank greedily.
The beaver coda:
The final stages of my exit route zigged and zagged around beaver swamps and crossed Hoffman Notch Brook twice. The brook begins in the BRW-BR col and gathers steam quickly with each trib and rill providing a feeding frenzy. Down in the flats below 2000' I discovered that the busy beavers had expanded their operations considerably. I had no choice but to deviate widely, 180 degrees away from my ultimate goal - ie. my vehicle in woods that were very scrappy for such low elevations. The GPS indicated the trail was a half-mile away and 30 minutes later it was still a half-mile away. I was beat-tired but found a slow and steady rhythm and patiently wound my way between the beaver swamps that went on forever. Finally I crossed the barely perceptible height of land and saw a yellow trail marker. I was 90 minutes from the car and the trail was a watery mess, the ground littered with branches that snagged and tripped up my tired legs. Once I got passed my brook crossing point towards Hornet Cobble the trail improved dramatically and I enjoyed a slow saunter out surrounded by beautiful woods and screech owls.
Back at the car I looked up and Hornet Cobble and Blue Ridge West were all aglow in the sunset. I imagined what I would be feeling if I was still on BRW at that time and was damn glad to get in the car, turn on some music and head home to a cold beer.
Blue Ridge Road-Hoffman Notch Trail-Hornet Cobble-Blue Ridge West-Blue Ridge-Hoffman-Hoffman Notch Trail.
Had I known what was laying ahead maybe I would have been better off to turn around on malevolent Blue Ridge West and call it a decent day. But, all the way up Hornet Cobble's steep and slippery 800 feet and down even the steeper 300 feet I was thinking how great it was I would not be returning the same way. Especially since the Hoffman Notch Brook crossing had been deeper than expected (mid-thigh and pulling hard) and had soaked my rolled-up pants that I had to remove and wring out before proceeding.
Last fall Hornet Notch was bone dry, walk anywhere but don't expect to fill up. Yesterday it was an inland sea. I gingerly crossed on a narrow beaver dam and miraculously kept my feet dry. The rest of me was soaked thanks to drippy conifers all the way up Hornet. The sun was out and a breeze was drying me off.
I pulled out my printed table and read out:
At Location: Hornet Notch
Elevation 1900'
Dial in 117 mag.
This single bearing was to get me 1500 feet up to the top of BRW. The only kicker with this type of navigation is it assumes you are in a precise location when you set your next bearing. When you bushwhack the terrain almost always pushes you off course. My solutions to this weakness were a printed map, a pair of eyes and the ultimate backup in off-trail navigation weaponry: a GPS.
Unbeknownst to me, I indeed had begun my 1500-foot ascent of BR West somewhat off. In retrospect, once I got back home and looked at the gpx file my watch had written, I was off by maybe 200 feet. I saw that I had followed that 117 bearing line as if I was glued to it and this turned out to be a very good thing because from previous trips the woods just over to climber's left get horrendously thick for the final 300 feet of elevation gain. 50 feet elly from the summit (according to my altimeter) I looked straight north at what I figured had to be the summit, meaning I was a bit off. I switched on the GPS and saw that this was so. Now the woods, which had been surprisingly open the entire way, became incredibly tight with blowdown and prison bar re-growth.
The exact second I crossed the summit to the east side I began to post-hole knee-deep in soaking wet, rotten snow. I stopped and put on my gators and a shell and decided to see if the snow stopped as soon as the slope became steep. It didn't and was mixed with deadly ice. I had come equipped with no snow or ice footwear. I stepped into holes that were cleverly hidden by the snow -was it 6 inches deep or three feet? No way to tell so each step was taken stiff-limbed.
Then the slope became extreme with cliffs. Blowdown was pooled below and full of ice and snow. I went back and forth looking for a way down and after deciding it was impossible I turned face-in to my enemy and very carefully descended a 6-ffot cliff wall onto more sane terrain that nevertheless sucked up my energy like a hoover vacuum. I knew though that I would be in decent woods within 10 minutes and sure enough the snow completely disappeared and I carefully but easily walked in the sun.
The snow had given me serious pause and at the cliffs I very nearly turned around. Blue Ridge West was the lowest peak and the north side of Hoffman (nearly 400' higher) was not going to be a picnic. I kept going and down at the Blue Ridge-BRW col there was plenty of snow. I was able to weave around most of it and got up to the shoulder of BR (new bearing of course) and across to the summit (another new bearing towards the dreaded BR-Hoffman col) ) with nothing more than a relentlessly pounding chest.
Descending to the col I got off-course and found myself in very thick woods. The correct line avoids all the thick sections so I was not pleased. I thought I was following my compass needle religiously but once again the terrain always gets the last word.
I fired up the GPS to get through that miserable col. Every time I have been through there I have gotten poked in the face, the eyes, had razor wire spruce lacerate the tender skin of my neck and become disoriented. There was a lot of snow. Almost always rotten but at times solid until you stepped up onto it, then it collapsed to the uneven forest floor. I wound my way across the col, slowly, giving myself all the time in the world. The woods, the GPS, the terrain, the compass, and the snow all were worked to give me the best route through the thousand yard col – ever.
I began the 500-foot climb to Hoffman with trepidation being worried about snow. As soon as the north slope lifted in front of me the ground was mostly white. Nevertheless, the snow-free islands were sufficient to get me up 200 feet and then the entire view-scape was solid white - no more green islands. I was sinking in midshin to knee and the snow was soaking wet and getting deeper with every foot of gain. This was looking grim and I started thinking of bailing out towards the Hoffman Notch trail passing between Hoffman and the Blue Ridges. When I went into my hips (now about 300 feet above the col) with the summit and my carefully laid exit plan so close at hand I decided I had had enough. I stopped and leaned against a tree to work out my new line. Then I looked over towards the west side and saw a lot of green over to which I waded. Long story short, the snow dried up almost completely as I spiraled westward and upward. I was convinced from the get-go that there would be next to no snow on top and even less once I descended south then west. It felt great to hit an opening and walk on dried grasses in the sun and take in the sweeping view of the (snow-clad) Great Range.
My exit followed the ridge for 200 feet of descent (very faint herd path. ie. mostly moose and the odd hiker). Then it turned and followed a 310 bearing for 900 feet of descent. Turns out there was lots of snow but it was not too deep. I stuck steadfastly to my various bearings and dropped 1500 feet in mostly good woods. The snow persisted with patches here and there down to 2300'. There was falling water on both sides of me and numerous rills out of which I drank greedily.
The beaver coda:
The final stages of my exit route zigged and zagged around beaver swamps and crossed Hoffman Notch Brook twice. The brook begins in the BRW-BR col and gathers steam quickly with each trib and rill providing a feeding frenzy. Down in the flats below 2000' I discovered that the busy beavers had expanded their operations considerably. I had no choice but to deviate widely, 180 degrees away from my ultimate goal - ie. my vehicle in woods that were very scrappy for such low elevations. The GPS indicated the trail was a half-mile away and 30 minutes later it was still a half-mile away. I was beat-tired but found a slow and steady rhythm and patiently wound my way between the beaver swamps that went on forever. Finally I crossed the barely perceptible height of land and saw a yellow trail marker. I was 90 minutes from the car and the trail was a watery mess, the ground littered with branches that snagged and tripped up my tired legs. Once I got passed my brook crossing point towards Hornet Cobble the trail improved dramatically and I enjoyed a slow saunter out surrounded by beautiful woods and screech owls.
Back at the car I looked up and Hornet Cobble and Blue Ridge West were all aglow in the sunset. I imagined what I would be feeling if I was still on BRW at that time and was damn glad to get in the car, turn on some music and head home to a cold beer.
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