View west from rock
The morning comes early at Merriam Swamp on the last day of my bushwhacking trip through the Jay Mountain Wilderness. This one comes more quickly than most though, as I startle to consciousness with the notion that something is smelling my feet. However, when I look down at my feet, I see nothing there on the other side of my insect netting shelter. Was it a dream or did something really find my poor overworked and under washed feet alluring?
No sound of rushing feet fleeing the area greets me upon waking, nor do I see any animal in the immediate area either. As I regain full consciousness, I also remember thinking something was sniffing around my fuel and water containers earlier too, but they look undisturbed where I left them under my tarp, outside my mosquito protecting net. Was this just a sniffing themed dream night or did some apparition with an under-developed olfactory sense keep visiting?
I will most likely never know.
Section Stats:
Date: June 22, 2014
Length: 3.1 miles (3.1 total daily miles; 26.2 total trip miles)
Difficulty: Difficult
A beaver made a visit during the early morning too, but smelling is not on his mind. Instead, the sound of its tail repeatedly slapping the water rings through the area, apparently bouncing off the Jay Mountain range in the still early-morning air. An active morning chorus of birds adds their voice to the beavers warning as well, making my last morning in the backcountry one of a diverse cornucopia of natural sounds.
Not a bad way to get sent off, if you ask me.
The sky cleared in the night, bringing a bright morning of sunshine penetrating the overhead canopy. Wanting to make the most of my morning, I pack up my stuff as quickly as possible, with a plan of heading down to the dam to eat my breakfast and enjoy the view before departing the area, possibly never to return again.
The beaver would be very happy with that, I imagine.
After retrieving my food bag, I haul my hastily packed backpack down to the dam to prepare for breakfast. Cold cereal takes little time to prepare, so as I eat, I watch the direct sunlight slowly moves down the Jay Mountain ridge. It starts showing at the exposed peaks, and slowly but surely, it moves down the peak as the sun makes its ascension into the sky.
My appreciation pales in comparison to that of the wildlife however. Birds sing all around me, with purple finch, Magnolia warbler, Swainson’s thrush, Lincoln’s sparrow and golden-crowned kinglet only being a few of them. Not to be left out, spring peepers do their best to keep up, as do several gray tree frogs off into the forest. I even thought I heard a black-backed woodpecker, but that could just be my over-active imagination.
The conclusion of breakfast brings about the final packing of my backpack. When done, I head over the beaver dam with the pack firmly attached to my back, pausing for a last view of the surrounding area. After inhaling the beauty of the view for the last time, I cross the beaver dam and set a bearing on my compass just north of due west. My destination is a waypoint where I rested along the marked trail on my climb up to Jay Mountain. The route does not look that far on paper, but the terrain will likely make it an arduous effort given the closeness of the topographic lines on the map.
Merriam Swamp
After crossing the beaver dam, I climb out of the wetland through a forest with a healthy amount of understory vegetation. It does not take me long to realize this is the easy stuff, as I descend into a col thick with extremely dense vegetation. And I mean extremely thick! Thankfully, the going is not always so arduous, as I am able to locate a herd path to follow, but soon after finding it, I lose it in all the debris and I am on my own struggling through the jungle once again.
Spotting a clearing within the dense vegetation, I race toward the oasis regardless of whether it is on my bearing or not. The clearing turns out to be a small landslide, where a side of the mountain has slide down a short distance, exposing a hillside of brownish mineral soil. As far as oases go, this one leaves much to be desired, but I will take it for the temporary respite from the jungle it provides.
Grousey landslide
Avoiding the thick debris at the bottom of the landslide is paramount; believe it or not, it is actually thicker than the surrounding forest, as difficult as that can seem. Climbing a short distance up along the landslide provides an unfortunately short but sweet relief from the previous struggle I just endured making my way through the thick forest.
Suddenly, a flurry of feathers explodes around me. Ruffed grouse chicks fly off in all directions, staying close to the ground but out of the comparable exposure of the landslide. The mother, trying to sacrifice her own safety to protect her chicks, flies out into the landslide, nearly going head over teakettle when she lands. Not wanting to disappoint her, but not willing to head back down slope and into the debris, I continue on my original heading, being extra careful not to step on a chick as I go.
The dense vegetation resumes as I return to following the shallow col I originally descended into shortly after leaving Merriam Swamp. All good things, and some bad ones, must come to an end though. Thankfully, when the col runs its course, the thick vegetation ends as well. No rest for the weary however, as the thick vegetation is soon replaced with old fir tree blowdowns, with hardwood saplings growing thick, capitalizing on the sudden increase in sunlight.
Old blowdown
Thick is an understatement, as the saplings create a low and entirely closed canopy. Between climbing over the old large logs and the low dense overstory, a claustrophobic feeling washes over me, compelling me to pick up my pace in an area where I would be better off slowing down instead. This mess is the last place I would want to get injured in.
After crossing two small streams, I change my course more to the northwest, heading along the mountain’s contours toward the trail. Delaying my deliverance from this thick vegetation is just not an option for the near future. The easy going hike along a nice well-maintained trail would be paradise right about now.
The struggle through jungle-like forest conditions continues unabated. When I drop into a shallow depression (of terrain, not my mental state), the blowdowns disappear, only to be replaced with even more dense vegetation. At this point, I did not think the vegetation could get any denser, but apparently I am wrong, frustratingly wrong.
As I draw closer to the trail (I hope), I turn north in an attempt to reach it sooner rather than later. The mountain has other plans, as steep cliffs and impossibly dense vegetation does its best to block any progress. Someone or something does not want me to reach the trail apparently, at least not without extracting its pound of flesh first. Thankfully, the biting flies are not too bad, yet.
Resting block rock
Seeing an area with less understory vegetation under some smaller conifers, my instincts for relief kick in and I make a beeline to it. In the middle of this “clearing,” I find an almost perfect block of black rock. It is almost as if someone placed it there for an exhausted bushwhacker to take a break and rest. Not wanting to appear ungrateful, I remove my backpack and take a long overdue break.
Rocky cliffs or thick vegetation surrounds me in every direction from the resting rock. These conditions solidify my reluctance to start moving again. I keep snacking and drinking, looking down at the ground hoping that the surrounding conditions magically change. They do not.
When the compulsion to reach the trail reaches an intolerable level, I pick up my backpack and continue north as best I can, avoiding the dense vegetation and rocky cliffs as much as possible. As I climb through a rocky area that simply cannot be avoided, a glimpse of open sky catches my attention though the vegetation. Open rock and accompanying views are enough to tempt me out of the comfort of the forest, as the navigating through this continuous obstacle course is getting pretty old.
Rocky cliffs
When I pop out of the forest and onto a small boulder, the view stops me in my tracks. It opens up to the west, with nothing obstructing the rolling mountainous terrain as it unfolds before me. My position gives me a commanding view, which consists of rolling terrain with some higher mountains in the distance. A scattering of clearings exists within the lower areas, places where people have apparently left their stamp by removing forests. The view reminds me of that from the viewpoint near where the marked trail gains the Jay Mountain ridge from my first (and second) day of this trip.
Fluffy clouds dot the blue sky, each slowly moving as they travel on their own journey through the heavens. Dark blobs crawl across the ground as well, where the fluffy clouds obscure the sunlight from reaching the ground. Watching these dark spots slowly crawling across the ground is mesmerizing, making it difficult for me to turn away.
The view is so stunning, I find it difficult reentering the forest to continue my trek toward the marked trail. Everything seems so perfect here; why in the Hell would I want to return to fighting my way through the surrounding jungle? Unfortunately, the trail is not drawing any closer, so I steel myself for what must be the eventual end of my struggle. It MUST be!
View west from rock
The vegetation gets denser as I continue north, which seems pretty impossible at this point. At times, I am on my hands and knees, crawling under a network of stems and foliage that would be impossible to walk through without a machete. Mostly low-lying mountain maple and mountain ash, although knowing their identity does not make it any easier, especially with my hands and knees wet and muddy from the effort.
Suddenly, after briefly getting up on two feet again, I see what looks like a clearing through the brush. I refuse to admit the obvious as I draw closer, as a disappointment at this point would be devastating. Finally, when I am nearly on top of it, I admit to myself that the trail is now within my grasp. There has never been a more beautiful ribbon of dirt.
Resting rock on trail
An old rock sits just up the trail from my entrance point, giving me an ideal place to rest in the sun before heading down on my final phase of the trip. As I sit and enjoy some water, I start hearing what I take for human voices. As the first voices I have heard on my trip thus far (except for those coming from my radio), initially the thought that they might just be in my head dominates my thinking. The voices, once far off, creep closer over time, though they never seem to reach me.
Finally the anticipation is over and three older ladies come around a corner down trail, the first people seen since starting my trip five days ago (unless you count the silhouette along the Jay Mountain ridge yesterday). After a bit of chit-chat, where they reveal their destination is the lookout at the intersection just a short distance uphill, they continue on their way, leaving me to pack up my stuff for the hike down to my vehicle. I do not want to see anyone else and get a reputation as a lazy hiker, especially after what I just went through to get here this morning.
By 10 AM, I start my descent on the Jay Mountain Trail. My pace remains swift despite the steady downslope and my sore knee. I pass numerous groups of people on my way, including a women with a Great Dane, 2 couples presumably from Canada (as they are speaking French), an elderly man aggressively using his hiking poles, a balding man with his button shirt open, and a few groups with children.
Surprisingly, the entire hike down takes no more than an hour by the time I pass the rock wall and the attractive kiosk near the trailhead. Before I know it, the now-crowded parking lot is within view, where my best will be done to clean off the six-days’ worth of stink before the long ride home.
Rock wall near trailhead
Kiosk near trailhead
Although my sadness about Lot 8’s eventual fate never vanishes during the ride home, I feel somewhat better knowing that I experienced the property before its inevitable end for all intents and purposes. At the very least, its destruction brought me to the Jay Mountain Wilderness for the first time, and that, if nothing else was an important experience I will never forget.
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