The Mt. Sterling Mistake
When we left home on Sunday, January 31st, we had no idea that we would be standing atop the summit of Mt. Sterling some 48 hours later.
It was not the mountain we had planned to climb, but circumstances forced us to take it or go home empty-handed. |
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For two weeks Stephen Dale and I had looked forward to climbing Chimney Tops, the rocky, 4,700-foot peak nestled between Balsam Point and Sugarland Mountain just west of the Pigeon River in northwestern North Carolina. But unfortunately, Chimney Tops also lies within the boundaries of the Great Smoky Mountain National Park. Due to snow and ice, park officials closed Route 441 on the morning of our intended climb making it impossible to reach Chimney Tops in a single day by any route, even on foot.
After a two-hour delay we unhappily settled on climbing Mt. Sterling instead, more than twenty miles further east. To reach Mt. Sterling we were forced to drive my small, two-seat sports car southbound on Route 32, which becomes a narrow, twisting dirt road ascending some three thousand feet. Covered by four inches of snow and a sheet of sheer ice and bordered by hundred-foot drop-offs, the drive was nervy and dangerous. My little sports car slid all over the mountain.
Route 441 was allegedly closed due to snow, but the drive on Route 32 to Mt. Sterling was far more hazardous than 441 could possibly have been. Regardless of the snow, at least 441 was a paved road with guardrails to keep a sliding car from plunging over the side of the mountain and would have been far safer than our trek up Mt. Sterling. But the staff of the Great Smoky Mountain National Park had already made the decision on our behalf and closed 441, leaving the treacherous road up to Mt. Sterling as our next best option. On the unnecesarily dangerous road to Mt. Sterling it was impossible not to wonder aloud how many people have been killed due to the park's insistence on making people's decisions for them. The national park system claims to have made our natural resources accessible to everyone, but in reality, the reverse was true. Had the mountains still been in private hands we would have had no trouble safely reaching Chimney Tops... but, in the ultimate irony, the park itself was the sole reason why the land was inaccessible to us. Still, by some miracle we arrived at the trailhead alive and managed to begin our climb.
We got out of the car and nearly froze to death. The temperatures had dropped dramatically after ascending several thousand feet. The winds had picked up as well, and the wind chill quickly convinced us to put on extra layers of clothing.
The north side of the mountain was coldest, since the winter sun arced further to the south and kept much of the northern face in the shade. We began marching up the east face before slipping around to the north side of Mt. Sterling. The forest was deep and beautiful, bathed in a thick layer of powdery snow. We climbed through a layer of clouds at around five thousand feet, but visibility remained fair and a wisp of sunlight filtered through the blue fog and tainted the snow an eery color. The only glimpses of the sun itself came on the summit and along the south face, where the snow was melting and the winds were considerably more calm.
Still, this was not a mountain climber's mountain. As beautiful as the forest is, it does not permit the breathtaking vistas one can find from the summit of Cliff Tops or Chimney Tops. Only rarely and only on the south face did we get a few brief glimpses through the trees, where we could see fifty miles into North Carolina and pick out the unique north-south line of peaks that make up the Black Mountains.
Upon reaching the summit, we found an old fire tower that begged to be climbed. We started up the hazardous stairway but turned around three flights from the cabin at the top. The stairs were covered with ice and the winds had picked up, making each step an adventure. There were virtually no guardrails on the stairs and a fall from that altitude would probably be fatal. Since it appeared that climbing the old watchtower was actually more dangerous than climbing the mountain, we thought better and came back down to enjoy a freeze-dried lunch of chicken and mashed potatoes.
The trip back down the mountain was uneventful, and we even managed to negotiate the snowbound Route 32 back to something resembling safe roadways, cursing paternalistic bureaucrats along the way.
Most mountains have rolling approaches that occasionally offer a break from the uphill stride, but not Mt. Sterling. Its trail goes relentlessly uphill without a break at a fairly good angle, testing legs and lungs. But the round trip is fairly short, spanning less than six horizontal miles and twenty-five hundred vertical feet. I would not recommend Mt. Sterling for those who enjoy mountain summits or great views, but it does make for a somewhat demanding workout for those with less stringent scenery requirements.
Still, a mountain is a mountain and a bureaucrat is a bureaucrat. Both gave what was expected.
After a two-hour delay we unhappily settled on climbing Mt. Sterling instead, more than twenty miles further east. To reach Mt. Sterling we were forced to drive my small, two-seat sports car southbound on Route 32, which becomes a narrow, twisting dirt road ascending some three thousand feet. Covered by four inches of snow and a sheet of sheer ice and bordered by hundred-foot drop-offs, the drive was nervy and dangerous. My little sports car slid all over the mountain.
Route 441 was allegedly closed due to snow, but the drive on Route 32 to Mt. Sterling was far more hazardous than 441 could possibly have been. Regardless of the snow, at least 441 was a paved road with guardrails to keep a sliding car from plunging over the side of the mountain and would have been far safer than our trek up Mt. Sterling. But the staff of the Great Smoky Mountain National Park had already made the decision on our behalf and closed 441, leaving the treacherous road up to Mt. Sterling as our next best option. On the unnecesarily dangerous road to Mt. Sterling it was impossible not to wonder aloud how many people have been killed due to the park's insistence on making people's decisions for them. The national park system claims to have made our natural resources accessible to everyone, but in reality, the reverse was true. Had the mountains still been in private hands we would have had no trouble safely reaching Chimney Tops... but, in the ultimate irony, the park itself was the sole reason why the land was inaccessible to us. Still, by some miracle we arrived at the trailhead alive and managed to begin our climb.
We got out of the car and nearly froze to death. The temperatures had dropped dramatically after ascending several thousand feet. The winds had picked up as well, and the wind chill quickly convinced us to put on extra layers of clothing.
The north side of the mountain was coldest, since the winter sun arced further to the south and kept much of the northern face in the shade. We began marching up the east face before slipping around to the north side of Mt. Sterling. The forest was deep and beautiful, bathed in a thick layer of powdery snow. We climbed through a layer of clouds at around five thousand feet, but visibility remained fair and a wisp of sunlight filtered through the blue fog and tainted the snow an eery color. The only glimpses of the sun itself came on the summit and along the south face, where the snow was melting and the winds were considerably more calm.
Still, this was not a mountain climber's mountain. As beautiful as the forest is, it does not permit the breathtaking vistas one can find from the summit of Cliff Tops or Chimney Tops. Only rarely and only on the south face did we get a few brief glimpses through the trees, where we could see fifty miles into North Carolina and pick out the unique north-south line of peaks that make up the Black Mountains.
Upon reaching the summit, we found an old fire tower that begged to be climbed. We started up the hazardous stairway but turned around three flights from the cabin at the top. The stairs were covered with ice and the winds had picked up, making each step an adventure. There were virtually no guardrails on the stairs and a fall from that altitude would probably be fatal. Since it appeared that climbing the old watchtower was actually more dangerous than climbing the mountain, we thought better and came back down to enjoy a freeze-dried lunch of chicken and mashed potatoes.
The trip back down the mountain was uneventful, and we even managed to negotiate the snowbound Route 32 back to something resembling safe roadways, cursing paternalistic bureaucrats along the way.
Most mountains have rolling approaches that occasionally offer a break from the uphill stride, but not Mt. Sterling. Its trail goes relentlessly uphill without a break at a fairly good angle, testing legs and lungs. But the round trip is fairly short, spanning less than six horizontal miles and twenty-five hundred vertical feet. I would not recommend Mt. Sterling for those who enjoy mountain summits or great views, but it does make for a somewhat demanding workout for those with less stringent scenery requirements.
Still, a mountain is a mountain and a bureaucrat is a bureaucrat. Both gave what was expected.