Return to Pine Mountain: The trip that could kill off backpacking for the boys

By Captain

Only time will tell whether the return to Pine Mountain will be the trip that ended the backpacking days of the Patio Boys.

The drinking club with a hiking problem has come to a dark realization that not everyone in the group enjoys lugging maxi pounds through the beauty of the wilderness with the promise, at day's end, of freeze-dried chili mac eaten from a foil bag washed down with a mug of Diet Mountain Dew and bourbon, no ice.

Maybe we are getting too old, too worn out. Maybe the thrill is gone. Mountaineer George Mallory's elemental explanation, "Because it's there," was never meant to suggest that human beings should climb every mountain there that is. Were it so, Sherpas would be hanging prayer flags in Rabbit Hash, the base camp for anyone planning an ascent to Burlington.

Alas, you cannot climb everything. It has to stop at some point, somewher.

But why Pine Mountain? Why now? How could the Patio Boys, prideful and strong, begin to think the once unfathomable? Here is the tale, herein told without certitude that this will be the end of our backpacking days, only merely a passing threat.

The fall hike of 2012 was the first domino. The epic disaster. I won't go into the whole story here. You can read it under John Hennessey's byline on the website. His account, "The Snows of Pine Mountain," begins like this, "Death is the whisper one never hears, wrote Hemingway in 'The Snows of Kilimanjaro'" You know right away, things did not go so well atop Pine Mountain. A cold wind blew in, and the Devil himself appeared to offer a glimpse not of hellfire but of a barren and frigid abyss, wherein the charmed were now the maledict. It got so bad that, in the retelling, John felt compelled to list the stages of hypothermia. He might just as well have listed the circles of the inferno itself, where "the wind bellows as the sea does in a tempest" and "before you are fields full of distress and torment terrible."

With the fear and trembling of 2012 fresh, the group decided to revisit Pine Mountain and perhaps establish a new, more uplifting memory of the place. There are several reasons why this happened. First off, like socialized medicine,  Benghazi, the federal debt and the bedbug epidemic, this was Obama's fault. Our Kenyan-born president shut down the national parks. OK, I don't believe the part about his being Kenyan born; just having fun – besides, no matter where he was born, his mother's birth canal was, by constitutional definition, U.S. territory, and thus he was and remains a constitutionally sanctioned "natural born U.S. citizen." Nor do I believe the part about him personally shutting down the national parks. The Tea Party did that ― happily, I might add because they aren't buying the "gifts to ourselves" argument that Americans embraced after Teddy Roosevelt federalized recreation and conservation.

The shutdown ruled out the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. We also considered the Hoosier National Forest, but again the word "national" meant that, like the Smokies, it was closed for the duration. The park's website explained that no park employees would be there to sell permits to visitors but law enforcement would still be on duty. Translation when read in Kentucky: You can come here and hike, but we'll arrest you and put you in prison and all the guards will look and act like Bobby Knight and if anyone finds out you are a Cats fan you can expect to scrub toilets night and day during March Madness. OMG! Not going there.

We also considered a return to the Sheltowee Trace trail from Laurel Lake to Cumberland Falls, repeating a 1990s hike and an option that our titular leader, Bob Pauly, embraced. Pretty good idea, actually. But in democracies, good ideas sometime perish in the heat of the debate and something harebrained gains inexplicable, unwarranted momentum. Out the blue, someone said, "Why don't we go back to Pine Mountain?" Like a strand of beef jerky caught between your teeth, that stuck.

Given Pine Mountain's loathsome status in the pantheon of Patio Boy destinations, why go back? John Hennessey put it well: "To look the devil in the eye." Let us return and face down the mountain. We would be tough. We would be strong. We would fear no trail. Also, the forecast was favorable. The iPhones were out, confirming as much at Weather.com. Little or no rain. Moderate temperatures.

We voted. Pine Mountain it was.

Time will judge whether the decision was a bad one. Maybe we did need to go back and prove ourselves worthy of the mountain. Or maybe one lesson on Pine Mountain should be enough for anyone. Either way, ours was a hasty decision. Normally, the planning meeting is a few weeks ahead of the departure date. This time, no planning meeting materialized until Bill Ankenbauer generously invited us to his house the night before departure. I don't fault Ank. He did what he could for the cause. He bought beer, made chili and built a nice fire in his backyard fire pit. He stepped up when others did not. But a planning meeting 12 hours before departure stretches the definition of the word "planning" and its implicit contextual assumption of occurring sufficiently in advance of the event being planned to permit reasoned, informed planning of said event and, if necessary, time to reconsider.

As the scribe, I try not to personalize these accounts too much. It's not about me. It's about us. My job is to report. But let me say that I voted for Pine Mountain because I'd not been there. I missed last fall's trip and have regretted it since. The 2012 trip will live on in Patio Boy legends across future generations. Inadvertently split into two groups and out of touch for a day after one group followed the wrong trail as the weather deteriorated, my fellow Patio Boys suffered. Rain fell. Wind blew. Temperatures fell. Unable to find the trail or a campsite, the misplaced contingent huddled under an overhanging rock to endure the night, fearful for their lives as the wet chill reduced them to shivers. The next day, they found their bearings, and found the others, but in time the snow arrived, whipped by the wind into a blizzard. The real damage was some 600 miles away, where Hurricane Sandy reduced the Jersey shore to kindling. But Pine Mountain was no picnic that weekend. The trail is a challenge in any weather, as we would discover this trip. But with wet rocks and snow there is an exponential uptick in the level of difficulty. Sick though it might sound, I'm sorry I missed it.

There's another reason for my wanting to hike Pine Mountain. I am a son of the mountains, and I hate what has happened to them ‒ the way they've been mined to destruction, the way their wealth has been transferred to zip codes far away, the way this sanctuary of the creation has been disparaged in exchange for something false and temporal. So when those who live near Pine Mountain, and who had fought for it year after year against the moneyed interests who would exploit it, took it upon themselves to create a volunteer network to ambitiously build a trail over the magnificent mountain, I cheered from afar – and made a commitment to one day go and see for myself what they had accomplished.

To hike Pine Mountain is to affirm what those wonderful people have accomplished. No matter what you read here, go there. Hike the trail. Shout "Hallelujah!" from 2,800 feet, as you look out over the serene expanse of Appalachia, heartbreakingly marred in places by the remains of a mountain mined to its bone, the skeleton stripped of every tree, every bush, every berry, every fern, until what was once one of the earth's most diverse and abundant ecosystems is now as dead as if a nuclear holocaust had struck. Somewhere in China, or wherever in the world the coal goes after extracted in this nonsurgical way, a few days of energy was provided in exchange for eliminating nature's construction of a Cumberland Plateau mountain, accomplished over eons. But I tell you this: Even an offense this grand cannot steal all the awe from these mountains. Go and see.

We departed Ank's house happy with the choice and all set. We had six people. We were all leaving at the same time (9 a.m. on Friday morning). No staggered departures. No one said, as they so often do on this trips, "I will catch up with you Saturday morning" or "I have to leave on Sunday." We all planned to leave together, stay the whole long weekend and drive home together on Monday. We would take two cars and follow one another. No trip in recent memory had been so synchronized, so aligned.
There was a slight directional challenge on the way down. One car headed east on I-64 and the other waited before cutting across the mountains, costing 30 minutes or so of extra time. Maybe it was a harbinger of things to come; we feared as much. But by late afternoon we were all pitching tents together the Breaks Interstate State Park campground and mapping out a short day hike before dinner at the lodge. By the way, don't bother asking for the lodge's recipe for a hot brown. But at least it was served with free Christian karaoke and, as it turned out, free peach cobbler and ice cream ("I won't tell," the waitress whispered, permitting us to visit the buffet table's dessert section at no extra cost).

By morning, we were up and off to Pound Gap, Va., where, in 1862, Col. James Garfield (yes, later to be president for 200 days ‒ assassinated before he could prevail upon history to provide him with a legacy beyond being shot) pushed the Confederates east; and then two years later crazy John Hunt Morgan pushed the Union forces back the other way. Now the place is a gas station that serves breakfast in the back and uses a digital technology to immediately adjust the price of gas according to current market conditions. While we sat, a gallon of regular rose of $3.18 to $3.20.

All around you at this spot is evidence of what some local, main-chance people think of their mountains. They think the mountains are there to be flattened out. The gas station itself sat atop one such flat spot. Immediately adjacent, where the Pine Mountain Trail used to start, a bulldozer equipped with a giant jackhammer was flattening more land. All of this is at the pinnacle of U.S. 23 after it cuts its way through a truly stunning carved mountain that, courtesy of drills and dynamite, now features a high wall of stone towering over 23's passage out of Jenkins, KY to the Virginia state line.

Mountains, I guess, are to be conquered, these builders thought. And so did we, though we meant to do our conquering by walking with three days of provisions packed on our backs, not with Caterpillars.

Off we went, signing the trail registry shortly before 11 a.m. and, ahead of us, five miles to cover the first day. We expected something of a walk in the park. It was, after all, sunny and calm. We were rested, fed and fit. Snow was out of the question. Even rain was unlikely.

But here's the truth about Pine Mountain: No matter the weather, she's a bitch to walk. The trail undulates without mercy. Up. Down. Up. Down. Like shampoo instructions that say "rinse, repeat" as if describing an infinite process, Pine Mountain rises and repeats. Every mile seems to harbor its own "gap" ― a gap being a low spot in the ridge, which when hiking means you will first descend, losing most of the elevation you just gained. Next you climb again, usually steeply and knowing whatever gain you make you will be giving back at the next gap.

Furthermore, for all the efforts of the volunteers who have built this trail (and our hats are off to them!) the trail as it is today is not in great shape. The worst of it is a long section where a bulldozer has been allowed through, I don't know why. The trail is wider, of course, and you welcome that at first, as parts of the Pine Mountain Trail are no more than a footpath for elves, which is why people get lost, I suppose. You are, in those sections, never certain you are on the trail. So the wider section is at first welcoming, but soon enough the downside is evident. It is like walking across a construction site. Boulders are strewn. Roots are exposed. Every few steps you trip on one or the other. Your feet take a beating. Blisters, avoided until this point, boil up. Whose bad idea was it to let the bulldozer up here?

There is another problem with the Pine Mountain Trail, or at least with this section, called the Highlands Section, which is 15 miles more or less. Many hike it over two days, and the common shelters are positioned to accommodate that schedule. We planned five miles per day over three days, which meant we needed a campsite at five miles and ten. At five, the Indian Grave Campsite is marked on the map and with a trailside sign ― but as independent trail guides mention and we can attest, there is no campsite there. Nor is there water. Just a sign that says "WATER" and an arrow pointing the path that leads to a dry and tiny streambed. We stayed there and made do, building a fire ring, hoarding our water and pitching tents over the brambles.

The hard hike. The scarcity of water. The mislabeled campsite. The bulldozed campsite. No one thing wore us down but together they had everyone questioning whether backpacking has ceased to be fun for us. Around the campfire the final night, when the campsite was even less than the night before, the dominant topic wasn't the usual fare: old girl friends, Covington Catholic football, God, politics, death, movies, movie stars, kids, the stock market, best bourbons, the Cats, Catholicism, past trips, future trips, home improvement projects, "Dexter," Dex and something called the reverse crab walk, Sean's death, music. The topic was: Are the Patio Boys finished with backpacking?
There we were, six bone-tired suburban backpackers, out of water and out of patience with a trail that had kicked us in the gluteus maximus. Think "Grumpier Old Men II," with Matthau and Lemmon gone and Sophia Loren unwilling to reprise her role as Maria to redeem the grumps. The complaining was incessant. "My feet are killing me." "My back hurts." "My pack's too heavy." "This trail sucks." "Too many hills." "No good views." "I never liked backpacking."

Really? Man up, Patio Boys! This was 15 miles, not 150! The most challenging thing that happened was when I lost my reading glassed and couldn't read another page of "Absalom, Absalom." Do we need Jack Nicholson to deliver the speech he gave to Greg Kinnear in "As Good As It Gets?" Did the "Rifleman" wus and whine around his campfire? Didn't Daniel Boone kill that bear ‒ not quiver in his moccasins and ask it to please go away now? Did Reagan back off when the scientists told him "Star Wars" was a movie not a real, life, actual defense against intercontinental nuclear weapons? No, by God, he stood up like the man he was (or played in the movies and the White House). And so should we: Hike. Hike like men. Hoist and hike! Pick up those packs! Cause you and me, we sweat and we strain. Body all achin' and wracked with pain. Tote that barge, lift that bale. Get a little drunk and we land in jail!

I want to make this one editorial comment: None of this is a criticism of the idea of the Pine Mountain Trail. Those who conceived it and who have invested their time and, really, their soul in making this trail a reality deserve every praise the rest of us can extol upon them. But if you hike this trail, understand that what it is today is rough. One day those shelters and designated campsites will be more accommodating, and one day the water sites will likely have pumps to draw enough water to sustain you over these difficult miles. But as of today, it's a challenge. Don't kid yourself.

In time, we came around. We just needed to get all that off our chest, though the next morning tested us again. More steep climbs. No water to refill our Nalgenes until we were near enough to the end to not bother.

But this last section also has the trail's best views, delivered from atop high slabs of barren and beautiful rock formations. Slip Rock. Mar's Rock. High Rock. And, though it offers no view, Lemon Squeeze ―a tight little passage so narrow you must remove your pack to pass through ― is just fun. Of course, what follows the fun one of the final ascents before the trail mercifully ends at, of course, another hill.

I'll let the Bull – John Hennessey – take it from here. This is an excerpt from an email he wrote upon his return to his brother, Paul, who was on last's year's trek of terror:
"Good weather or bad, this is the toughest trail the Patio Boys have experienced and arguably the toughest in the eastern United States. If you want a Rocky Mountain hiking experience, this is it. We have a new appreciation for what we actually did last year....

"This time we went in at the gas station hiking the opposite way. There is 450 ft of elevation gain in the first half mile that kicked our ass bad, then another 500 gain in a half mile at the 4-4.5 mile point. We made a makeshift campsite just past Indian Grave Campsite because there is no Indian Grave Campsite, no water as marked 5.1 miles in at 1,800 foot elevation gain, and we were extremely fatigued. Weather was good which makes what we did last year, 1,500 feet in the snow, that much more unbelievable.

"Total elevation Day Two for this trip was 500 feet, six miles camping between High Rock
and Lemon Squeeze and about 500 feet, four miles on Day Three to the finish for 2,800
cumulative elevation gain.

"Lesson is learned, no more Pine Mountain or of the like."

Know this: That account was not written by a wimp. It was written by the toughest of the tough. The Bull. A man with whom you do not mess. A man who said, upon voting for this trip, "Let's go back. Let's stare the devil in the eye." A man, who when he sent this account to his brother received this reply: "The devil winked."

Damn devil.

TRIP QUICK FACTS

When: Oct. 11-14, 2013
Where: Pine Mountain Trail, Pound Gap, Va. (US 23), to Whitesburg, Ky. (3 miles south on US 119)
Who: Bob Pauly, Mark McGinnis, John Hennessey, Mark Neikirk, John Curtin and Bill Ankenbauer
How far: 15 miles, plus or minus (some guide and maps say 14, some say 16)
Key points: No water; limited campsites; limited scenery; bulldozed trail for long sections, with exposed roots that trip hikers.
Good: Well marked; green blazes show the way. The volunteers have done a fantastic job with these. Second half of the trail is more technical and features several stunning overlooks, although one overlook looks toward a mountain devastated by mining.