Rattlesnake Ridge, TN

We have an interesting cultural interpretation of rain. Many movies include rain at the most dramatic moments – and while the rain can be symbolic of many things, it adds a flair that’s otherwise missing. It heightens intensity. It dramatizes the most theatrical scenes.

 

 

*Swoon*

Be it a scene written with drama in mind or an ordinary hike, rain adds excitement. I’ve always loved playing in the rain, not minding the inconvenience of wet clothes. From one of my first flag-football games, when the parents retreated to their cars and the cheerleaders ran squealing to the concessions stand, to these blog posts appealing to my vanity, I relish the chance for rain to make me feel cooler (pun intended).

 

Excited at the forecast of rain a couple of weeks ago, I set out to hike a portion of Rattlesnake Ridge below Unaka Mountain. Starting from Rock Creek Park in Erwin, my plan wasn’t as formal as usual – I had several destinations in mind, and the one I would choose would depend solely on my mood mid-hike. It had been raining off-and-on for a few days, and I had hopes to visit the waterfalls of Dicks Creek if the water-level was high enough for decent pictures. Alternatively, I could hike farther up Rattlesnake Ridge to an off-trail route atop a spur-ridge – as I had seen on a few maps, the ridge-top had a long, exposed section.

The forecast of rain had my blood pumping, and a constant drizzle fell on ym way to the park. Once I reached the parking area near the trailhead, the rain had stopped. I was left with the mugginess without the excitement.

My hike that day was more tiring than normal – my winter-ready body wasn’t prepared for the humidity, and each step felt like I was walking through a warm pool. Though the clouds were calm, my clothes were soaked within half-an-hour of easy hiking. The trail along the edge of the park’s campground is level, but once you cross a footbridge and onto Rattlesnake Ridge proper, it becomes more strenuous. The grade is slight, interspersed with short, steep jaunts, but humidity strangled my already labored breathing and made things that much more difficult. Just short of a mile, I stopped for a quick break on a tree that had fallen across the trail.

As I sat and caught my breath, I unsheathed my knife and playfully chopped into the branches of the dead pine. To my delight, the woody flesh within was rich with resin and had the distinct smell and color of quality fatwood – great tinder material. Excited, I removed my axe from my pack and replenished my supply. Hey, you never know. 

After 15 minutes of resting my aching knees and collecting fatwood, I hit the trail again. The forest was alive with colors and fragrances, amplified by the recent rains. With the humidity, the moisture soaking my clothes from trailside brush, and distant birds of all species chirping wildly, it felt like I was traipsing through a tropical rainforest.

After nearly a mile of hiking uphill, I reached Dicks Creek gap and its crossroads of trails. The road directly in front of me descends down to Dicks Creek, the road to the left is ominously marked “Dark Hollow”, and the trail to the right is the continuation of Rattlesnake Ridge trail. On the hike up, I noted that Rock Creek and the surrounding streams weren’t as voluminous as I had hoped – and so I concluded a trip to either of the falls on Dicks Creek wouldn’t be worth my time. Instead, I chose to continue up Rattlesnake Ridge in hopes of reaching the exposed spur.

Rattlesnake Ridge trail extends all the way to the top of Unaka Mountain, to the Pleasant Garden overlook, and provides a beautiful hike through changing greenery and wild scenery. My hike along the trail only lasted another quarter-mile, at which point I went off trail toward my destination. Within a few feet of hiking off-trail, the brush became nearly impenetrable – a sign of things to come. I blindly pushed and clawed my way up the spur ridge, stopping only at the top.

Once atop the ridge, I knew I was in the right place. The peak at the top was very rocky, and occasional crags exposed themselves from the dense underbrush. I began to move south, down the edge of the ridge toward the exposed section I had seen on maps. My route took me below the rocks on the eastern side, but the briars quickly became too thick to overcome. I studied the terrain and decided to take my chances at the very top of the ridge, hopping from exposed rock to exposed rock.

My plan worked for a long distance – better than I expected, really. But after so far, the rocks became larger as did the gaps between them, and I not only had to deal with climbing up and down these outcroppings but through the tangled messes between them. The briars and heath shrubs tore me (and my clothes) to shreds. Two weeks later, I still have the cuts.

 

Despite the blood and frustration, I pressed on, and the exposed sections became larger and larger, until I reached a seemingly impassible rock buttress. I could see the largest-yet exposed section beyond it, but this giant rock – with sheer faces all around and a thicket of briars and trees on top – was quite the obstacle. My excitement to reach my destination fueled my strength and ingenuity to do so. I cinched down everything I could and carefully scaled the side of the rock, clutching the strained branches of a pine tree overhead. After one last leap to a level rock, I was there. With the tree-tops below me, I had unimpeded views of the southern portion of the Unaka ridgeline and beyond.

 

 

 

 

Rattlesnake Ridge

 

Once I had snapped a few pictures and recovered from the shock of the magnificent views, I became aware of how menacing the clouds all around me had become. I’m often surprised at how quickly clouds can move, especially in the mountains, and the erratic movement of the sky that day had me unsettled. I hadn’t felt a drop of rain since I parked at Rock Creek Park – much to my previous disappointment – but a few sprinkles fell on my face as I snapped pictures as quickly as possible. I knew the rain I had been wanting would soon come in excess.

 

With a few cracks of thunder and the wind knocking me off balance on the exposed precipice, I knew it was time to leave. I stashed my camera deep in my pack, dug out my pack-cover, and started my way back to where I had left Rattlesnake Ridge trail. Within a few dozen feet, the sky opened up. In seconds, I was drenched.

 

I scrambled through the brush more easily on the return – the driving rain had tamped the briars and made them slick. It was still rough-going, but at least the rain quickly washed away the blood. The wind blew the rain in every direction, and it was difficult to see. I dropped off the top of the ridge, below the rocks, and moved slowly, keeping my bearings by the rocks.

 

I finally reached the top of the ridge where I had ascended from Rattlesnake Ridge Trail, and just in time – the rain and wind were at the height of their ferocity, and I was struggling to breath in the dense rain from my final quick jaunt to the end of the ridge. I collapsed beneath a rock overhang that shielded only a portion of the deluge, but it was enough for the respite I needed. Despite my heart pounding, arms leaking, legs screaming, I smiled at the thought of how much fun I was having.

 

As I gathered myself to descend to the calmer trail below, I noticed a tree that had fallen long ago adjacent to the rock under which I was licking my wounds. Beneath the tree, I could see an old National Forest boundary sign mangled beneath it – knowing this sign had passed its purpose, I removed my axe and quickly stowed the sign in my pack as a keepsake.

I surprised myself by returning to the exact point where I had deviated from the trail before (I marked it with a blaze) – it’s a shame my memory and sense of direction doesn’t apply to large parking lots. The hike back down to Dicks Creek Gap and Rock Creek Park was uneventful; the rain slowed with each step I hiked down the ridge, and by the time I returned to the trail beside the campground, it appeared as if the park itself hadn’t seen a drop of rain. As I slogged toward my 4Runner, I passed a few campground hikers who seemed shocked at my appearance – I imagine I looked almost as rough as the terrain that had just man-handled me. Soaked, torn clothes hanging from my limbs, clinging to my core; blood seeping from my arms; my hair, long overdue for a trim, matted and wild; body aching, yet smile beaming.

Thanks for reading!