Every good story has a protagonist and an antagonist, right? Well, in this story, the protagonist is me. The antagonist? The nearly two-thousand feet of vertical gain standing between me and a mediocre waterfall I need to check off my list. As I drive to the trailhead to meet my hiking gal pals Beth and Charlotte, and Charlotte’s sweet pup Pepper, I try to mentally prepare myself for the six miles ahead of me. I’ve put this hike off for years, even though it’s close to home. I’m bad about this, getting into my head about hikes and talking myself out of them. When Beth invited me on this hike, I said yes, not only because I wanted to hike with her and Charlotte, but because I knew I was less likely to back out if they were counting on me to show up.
Six miles isn’t a lot, but I’ve been lazy about hiking this summer. While I’ve seen a ton of waterfalls and I’ve really crammed a lot into my days off, most of the hikes I’ve been on have been short, and few have been any more difficult than an easy moderate. As a result, today is going to kick my ass. But it’s ok, I need it.
The hike up is slow. We are all feeling our individual setbacks. Mine are a lack of conditioning to the elevation gain and a lack of sleep the night before. I’ve been off since Thursday, but still haven’t successfully switched my sleep schedule around from night shift. I was awake most of the night, and I’m feeling it today.
The first mile of this hike is painfully steep, and then the incline gets slightly more gradual. Charlotte curses William Bartram for not considering the grade of the route he was taking all those years ago, the route this trail is based on. I don’t think we are ever going to get the first mile behind us, but eventually we pop out at the intersection of the Bartram Trail and an old logging grade that leads to Handpole Branch Falls. I still need to see Handpole, but Beth and I have heard tale of yellow jackets along the route and decide it’s best saved for winter. We all stop for a snack before continuing on.
The hike is more gradual now, but still uphill. Our jello legs and my lungs protest each step, but we do eventually all make it to the waterfall. Bartram Falls is a tall slide waterfall that is horribly obstructed by overgrowth and deadfall. It’s actually a pretty waterfall– more so than I was expecting–but you have to crawl through the rhododendron and downed trees to get any decent view of it. Honestly? I wouldn’t consider the effort worth the reward for this waterfall unless you are a) thru-hiking the Bartram Trail and happen to pass by it, b) come in October and hike the whole trail downhill from the trailhead on Nolten Ridge Road, or c) just have to see it to check it off your 500 waterfall list.
We all snap a few photos and ready ourselves for the clamber back down the mountain. About half a mile down we pass a large family with several small children. They ask how far it is, “to the top,” likely not realizing that though the Bartram Trail technically ends at Cheoah Bald (another 3 miles up), the trail ends at an intersection with the Appalachian Trail, and you can walk all the way to Maine if you’re so inclined. I ask them what their destination is, and they aren’t sure. So we just tell them they are about a half-mile from the waterfall, and another 3ish to Cheoah Bald. They make it clear they are only going to the waterfall and thank us for the information.
Shortly after our encounter with the family, Charlotte begins yelling about yellow jackets. We didn’t encounter any on the way up, but clearly a nest has now been disturbed. All of us take off jogging down the trail, trying to watch our footing on the slick and muddy rocks. Charlotte gets stung two or three more times before we are far enough away that we think we are safe. We stop to apply benadryl to Charlotte’s stings, and a few minutes later the flying assholes have caught up to us! She gets stung two or three more times and we run off down the trail again. Thankfully, neither Beth nor I nor either of the dogs seems to have been stung; poor Charlotte bears the brunt of their misguided anger. We all hope the kids in the group behind us don’t suffer a similar fate.
We are relieved when we make it to the intersection that marks the beginning of the steep descent back to the trailhead, for no other reason than this is our last obstacle. If uphill hurts my lungs, downhill kills my joints, especially when I’m not in great hiking shape. My right knee twinges, never letting me forget the old hyperextension injury I sustained on the Appalachian Trail years ago. The descent seems as unrelenting and never-ending as the ascent did, but finally we round a switchback and can hear the road and the Nantahala river down below. I wobble into the parking area on trembling legs just as rain starts to fall from the sky- the showers we expected all day giving us the grace to wait until we were finished.
I’m ravished by the time we are finished hiking, and Beth and I decide to grab dinner before heading home. I often struggle to eat enough during difficult hikes; for some reason I’ve always lost my appetite with intense physical exertion. I also didn’t drink enough water today, and never took the time to stop and add Liquid I.V. to my water. As a result, I’m dizzy and nauseated by the time I arrive at the restaurant. I tell Beth I need to do better about eating and hydrating, but thankfully a meal and several glasses of water have me on the mend. We part ways, bidding farewell until later this week when we will get together to hike again.
I pull into my driveway just before dark. As I exit my vehicle, I wince and stumble slightly. My legs are trembling. My feet ache. There’s a slight twinge in my right knee. I’m exhausted. Shooter grunts as he jumps out of the back of the 4Runner, a sign he’s a little sore, too. We are both that good kind of tired that comes from a long day of moving and using your body. I know I’m going to hurt tomorrow, but I’m so glad I finally did this hike.
Adventure Like A Girl 
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