I had risen with the sun that morning.
The sky was pink and orange as Bucket and I set off into the Alabama hills (If you’re just joining us Bucket is my GMC Campervan). After clambering over a series of roads that rose and fell like waves in the sea, we cruised into the Lake Cheaha area of Cheaha State Park. The colors in the sky had given way to golden rays lofted down by the sun as it climbed over the surrounding mountains. My breakfast that day consisted of a banana, a Clif bar and a bug that flew into my mouth as I walked towards the trail. Ahead of me were 7.5 miles and the highest point in Alabama. I had no idea I would end up hiking quite a bit more than that.
It was the same day I had become all too familiar with a waiting room in a Chattanoogan auto-shop. I had set course due South, where I had found a cozy Wal-Mart parking lot to curl up in that night. It was about 20 miles away from the where I would be hiking: Mount Cheaha. The sun had already called it a day when my phone’s GPS led me from an interstate to a roller coaster like system of state highways and dark backroads that brought me through wooded hills, suburban towns and an incomprehensible number of “Crimson Tide” paraphernalia (Roll Tide). I made it to my destination and went to bed, ready for a stroll through the woods the next day.
The trail that I would be taking would go from Cheaha Lake right up the side of the mountain before ending in a parking lot. From there I would walk along the road to campsite that was home to a second trail that would lead me to the summit. While researching and planning for this hike I found very few helpful instructions, directions or maps online; there were even comments of people getting lost and giving up. I probably should have realized all those things were pretty clear foreshadowing.
I walked through the dappled, honey-colored sunlight on that mild Alabama morning in February. The lake trail took me along a stream and past a large outcrop of slate-grey rocks covered in grey-green moss. The trail had these rich blue blazes which you could see from approximately a mile away and that were generously spread along the trail. And I do mean generously. I remember thinking it was the most well-marked trail I’ve ever been on. Which was true…for that first portion anyway.
The Lake trail was just over a mile long, but after it’s quiet, flat start it shot upwards, similar to my heart rate while I was climbing it. I stopped a lot along that first mile, to soak in the nice views of the peaceful forest (but mostly to attempt to catch my damn breath. It definitely felt like the first hike of the trip).
I crested that difficult part of the trail after an undisclosed amount of time and a very undisclosed amount of sweat. Shortly after I came across small blue flags planted along the forest floor lining the trail along with the blue painted blazes. I thought to myself: ‘I had no idea Alabama took marking their trails so seriously.” Despite the challenging elevation gain it had felt as though the trail had effectively held my hand the entire way up with such a thoroughly marked path. This feeling would be short lived. It would soon feel like the trail had let go of my hand and in the same motion smacked me upside the head.
I continued walking. I passed by a sign for the “Mt. Cheaha 50k” (which, incidentally is the amount of money you would have to pay me to run that far) which explained the flags. The trail then split, with blue blazes to the left and pink to the right. I explored a little on the pink path and took some pictures. Then it was back onto blue. A little further I came to another fork in the road. The left path of this fork had blue markers while the right path had…blue markers. This was not mentioned in the description of the trail that I had on my phone. I shrugged and explored a little ways into each trail (I had all day in front of me after all). I ended up following the left trail which appeared to go ‘a little more upwards’. Luckily, I made the right choice and the lake trail came to an unceremonious end as it dumped me out onto a random parking lot on the side of Cheaha Mountain.
The good news was that I was in the right spot as indicated in the description of the hike, the bad news was that I had arrived to the point where some people had gotten lost. I followed the parking lot until I came upon the main road that led up the mountain. Again, left appeared to lead up the mountain. The directions said to follow the road to a campground, which would be on the right, and when there to find Campsite 5. I wandered up the road to the left on the lookout for any signs of the campground.
Along the way I saw a sign indicating the start of a side trail leading to 'Pulpit Rock.’ I decided to put off figuring out where the heck I was and instead check out Pulpit Rock which was supposed to have some of the better views on Cheaha. I followed the (well-painted) red blazes until I came before multiple rocky cliffs that jutted out into views of a tree-topped ridge-line running off into the distance. I sat and soaked in the sights for a while, thinking how the ridge looked like a massive earthen spine, the land’s backbone.
I arrived back at the road; it was time to figure out where the heck I was headed. I went further up the road to the left around a bend that led to more road and seemingly no campground. Doubt sunk it’s ugly talons into my mind. Maybe I hadn’t looked closely at that sign near the parking lot, did it say something about the campground? I sighed and turned back.
What would ensue would result in most of the extra miles I put on my legs that day. I ended up going back down the road, this time following it to the right wandering around through winding roads that led to cabins and perplexed campers who were wondering why the first thing they saw when they awoke was a strange tall man in a silly hat (I think it’s a cool hat, but I’ve been told other-wise). At one point I would find myself in from of a sign that said Campsite 5 wondering where the hell the trail was, before realizing the sign actually said “Cabin 5.” Suffice to say, this day is not good PR for my brain or general intelligence. Eventually (lots of emphasis on this word) it would click that I was clearly in the wrong spot. I walked up the road past Pulpit Rock Trail and around the bend and beyond. Figuring that worst case scenario the road would end up at the summit. Approximately seven minutes up the road I found the campground the description had spoke of. I walked through it until I found the mythical Campsite 5. Next to it was something that could be described as a trail if you have a very loose definition of the word or if you really squint. If the Lake Trail was the hiking version of getting to sit in first class on a plane, then the ensuing trail was the hiking version of getting stuffed into an overhead compartment. I should have known that trail would be trouble when I noticed it had no name. This ‘nameless trail’ began by basically going through campsite 5, whose campers were, thankfully, scarce or it probably would have seemed as if I was attempting to join them for breakfast. The blazes on the trail were supposed to be yellow and if you really used your imagination, one or two were. I don’t know when it was exactly that paint was invented, but sometime around then these yellow marks must have been slapped onto those trees. They were incredibly faded and the thing about faded yellow paint on a tree is that it looks just like bark. It’s basically camouflage. The entire trail would consist of me muttering to myself, feeling betrayed by Alabama’s trail systems, and stopping every five feet or so to locate the next blaze. Finally (FINALLY) the trail ended and turned to concrete at the top of an incline. I had made it.
I spend a good amount of time on top of “the Heart of Dixie” (apparently this is Alabama’s nickname, I can’t tell you what ‘Dixie’ actually is though). I checked out the Watchtower and Bigfoot carvings that decorated the summit and had a snack. I read over the directions and saw a road would take me back down to the top of Lake Cheaha trail. Easy enough. I began walking down.
I noticed I had reception so I gave my mum a call notifying her of my triumph. In classic ‘Mum style’ she was proud of me, but gave me a hard time for not taking a picture (or a selfie)of myself at the summit. I will readily admit that I am loath to taking selfies or really just being in pictures in general, I just prefer to take pictures of things that I think are neat. My face, unfortunately, doesn’t make the cut. I informed her it was too late, I had already descended down a steep drive and had done enough extra walking that day.
It was at least a mile later when I started to question (for the 60th time that day) if I was going the correct way. The lack of shoulder on the road and the weird looks from people driving by were pretty big tip-offs. I consulted my directions as well as google maps and put together that I could potentially walk down this road but it would be for at least two miles and would (probably) drop me off at Lake Cheaha. Alternatively I could retrace my steps and (after a few hours of feeling lost and uncertain) go for the sure thing. I looked up at the steep road I had just descended, groaned and began ascending while cursing the case of illiteracy that apparently set in every time I had read those god forsaken directions. I lunged uphill, back towards the vehicle entrance to the summit, past the Cheaha motel and store, and then to where I believed the yellow trail would take me back to Campsite 5. Or, at least, to a point with some yellowish bark on a tree, I wasn’t 100% confident in my navigation skills at this point. Before I went down the unnamed trail I had an unexpected visit from my conscience. It chided me, “You should be a good son and take a picture for your mum”. I told that do-gooder to buzz off, but it was persistent. I walked back to the sign indicating Alabama’s highpoint, made sure the coast was clear and may or may not have taken a selfie or two. I can’t confirm that these photos exist, but if they do they are for Sandra Hickey’s eyes alone.
I began my descent, which went without incident, thankfully. It was great to reunite with Buck, after being separated from him for what felt like ages. It hadn’t helped that my brain would toss out lovely thoughts during the hike such as “What if I get back to the Lake and the van is gone, or someone broke in?” Fortunately, Buck had simply had a quiet day sun bathing.
It had been a physically and mentally taxing day. I wrapped up the hike with a bit of a picnic near Lake Cheaha. This ‘picnic’ entailed me laying out my sweaty hiking clothes to dry in the sun and walking around shirtless and shoeless while eating a sandwich. This most likely raised the question: “What is that strange, homeless man doing?” amongst any nearby campers.
I reflected on the hike, not my best showing, but I had persevered and officially had my first check mark of the trip. I was pretty beat, but the day was still young. I figured why not set my sights on to the next state’s highpoint: Britton Hill in Florida.
P.S. I guess if this story has a moral (if you’re into that type of thing) it’s that you should always have a good map and directions with you while hiking. Getting lost sucks, I’ll tell you from experience even just thinking you’re lost can be terrifying, particularly at night in the middle of the woods in New Hampshire, but thats another story for another day.