Table Rock and Hawksbill Mountain

 

I've been feeling especially lazy as of late. Haven't been spending much time at all in the local wilds. Sneezy winter illnesses and minor physical ailments played their small part, tempting me to lay on the sofa and binge-watch Netflix for hours on end. I succumbed to the temptation with open arms. January has been the month of the couch potato, and I've been the most willing participant. That was, until a couple of days ago.

A big ol' storm is brewin' out west, a storm that most meteorologists are claiming to be one for the history books. Stretching from Texas to New York, this storm is likely to leave chaos and destruction in its wake, with record amounts of ice and snow and maybe a tornado or two. Using my expert analysis and staggering intellect, I was able to deduce that this storm is probably gonna shut things down for a few weeks, so if I was gonna do anything this month, I'd better get to it. Pronto. 

The day to do it was Wednesday, the 21st. I wanted to do something quick and easy, something that required minimal effort but offered big rewards. My mind immediately though of Table Rock Mountain out in North Carolina, a summit I'd seen from the top of Hump Mountain back in December. Several weeks after summiting Hump, on my way to drop Grace off at the airport in Charlotte, we drove right by Table Rock, its pointy summit visible through the bare trees off of Highway 181. I was enamored. Fascinated. It looked even more interesting up close and was just begging to be explored. So that about settled it; I was gonna climb it one day. Doing a little research, I found that it's pretty easy to get to, just a short hike on a nice trail through beautiful country. Alright. It was settled. I was climbing this thing. 

I got a late start, arriving at the trailhead right at 12:30pm. A few other vehicles were parked in the dirt pullout on the side of the road. I started walking on the Table Rock Gap trail, moving along at a brisk pace through the chilly air. The forest here was a mixture of bare deciduous trees, tired and faded pines, and of course, tons of rhododendrons. A slight breeze slithered overhead; everything smelling fresh and clean. I walked on, the trail mostly flat, enjoying the peaceful scenery while I could before things got steep and rocky. 

The trail started heading uphill, and it remained that way for a long while. Switchback after switchback, higher and higher, views started to appear through the leafless trees. Bits and pieces of rock and debris materialized upon the ground, with several roots snaking their way up and down the trail, all of them well-worn by thousands of footsteps. Hawksbill Mountain became visible to the north, a large forested bump jutting out of the landscape. And then came the views of Linville Gorge, a wide, forested valley that stretched off to the northwest. 

Hawksbill Mountain

Linville Gorge

There was a small group of hikers making their way down the trail. They passed me by, wishing me a lovely day. I continued on, deciding to check out a little spur trail to the left that steeply made its way up to Table Rock. I assumed this to be a climbing trail; the route hugged the base of these huge cliffs with excellent climbing opportunities everywhere. I did a little bit of lookin' around, following this crazy path for a ways as it snaked its way around to the east. Once I had my fill, I decided to turn around and head back to the main trail, careful not to trip on the pointy rocks. 

Back on the main trail, I followed it for a little bit until reaching the official junction to the summit of Table Rock. The ground that surrounded me was covered in slick and slippery ice; in fact, much of the trail was in this condition. It wasn't until I was about halfway to the summit when the ice disappeared. I slipped a few times, fell on my hip a few others, but all of it was simple good fun. I carried on, the trees now mostly pines, the views getting better and better with each passing step.

I reached the summit in good time. It looked as if there had been a structure up there at one point, maybe a lookout tower. All that remained was a crumbly stone foundation. I found the USGS marker, dropped my stuff, and then looked around. I had the whole place to myself; not a soul to be seen. To the southwest were staggering views of Linville Gorge. And looking on, rising up in the distance stood Mt. Mitchell and Co, some of the tallest mountains east of the Mississippi. It was crystal-clear that day; the views stretching off into infinity. I took a few pictures and then made my way to the northern part of the summit, following a well-worn path through the low brush. 

Table Rock Summit

The path terminated in rocky cliffs that offered unobstructed views to the north, east, and west. These were by far the best views on the mountain so I lingered for a while, setting up shop on a little ledge. I found another USGS marker glistening in the sun, its existence a mystery to me. Oh well. Can't hurt to have a spare. 

I sat and soaked in the views, picking up landmarks in the distance, putting names on unfamiliar bumps. Off to the northwest could be seen Roan High Knob, Grassy Ridge Bald, Big Yellow Mountain, and of course, Hump Mountain, all of them looking quite cold and uninviting. Directly north rose Hawksbill Mountain, its rocky summit appearing like little dots of gray on a mound of green. And there, off to the northeast, rose Grandfather Mountain and Co, an interesting collection of rocky peaks that I'm sure to visit in the future. Off to the east I could see the mountains Grace and I drove through on our way to Charlotte, following them south as they grew shorter and shorter until disappearing altogether in the southeast. There, for miles and mile and miles, stretched an infinite land of green hills and tiny glimmering things and even tinier columns of smoke rising into the air. Civilization never looked so pitiful.

Northwest, Hump Mtn dead center in the distance

Northeast, Grandfather Mtn center left

East

Southeast

Southwest

These were some of the best views I've seen on an eastern peak; I could see why this is such a popular spot. But there was still one cardinal direction that hadn't revealed much to me, and that of course was the view to the south. So I gathered my things, said goodbye to my ledge, and then made my way back to the main summit. From there I followed another well-worn path that weaved its way through boulders and brush to the south, the pines waving in the breeze. 

This little jaunt to the south was proving to be quite fun, bobbing and weaving through boulders and trees. I followed a ridge of sorts, hopping from one rock to another. The thing kept on going, getting more and more extreme, but there was no need to follow it for very long. I picked out a nice, open spot, sat down, and enjoyed the tremendous views to the south, Lake James visible in the distance. Directly ahead, down the ridge, rose a plateau of sorts covered with several rock formations. This must be the famous Chimneys I'd read about on various trip reports, a land of rugged cliffs and scraggly pines. Standing there from my vantage point, I could tell that this place was definitely worth checking out. But not today. The clock was a tickin', so I reluctantly made my way off the mountain, retracing my steps back to the summit. 

South

Table Rock summit

Back down the trail...

I said goodbye to Table Rock and made my way back down the trail, stopping for a quick detour to check out something called "Devil's Cellar." I followed a path beneath the pines that eventually spit me out on top of a huge crack in the mountain. I was standing on top of a chasm, the cliffs probably 70ft or more in height. On the shady side of the chasm were a collection giant icicles, some nearing 30ft in length. The only other time I'd seen ice like that was up in Billings with Daniel and Liam. Strange to think that icicles like these could be found all the way down in North Carolina. But what do I know. I ain't no local. 

"Devil's Cellar"

I jogged the rest of the way down the trail to the car, my wrists frigid and limp from the cold. I luckily still had some time to kill so I decided to check out Hawksbill Mountain on the drive back. Why not? I'd been looking at it most of the day and it was right there so I might as well see what it had to offer. Plus, I'd read that the route up Hawksbill is short and steep, so it would be a perfect way to end what was turning out to be a pretty good day in the woods. I drove up the dirt road, finding a spot in the pullout by the trailhead. I got out, tightened my shoes, and then began the short jaunt to the summit.

The trail mostly passed through the woods as it made its way up the mountain. It's fairly mellow at first, and then it gets steep and continues to be steep pretty much the rest of the way to the top. I met a couple of hikers making their way down, a young man carrying a huge pack and an older guy with a scented bandana strung around his neck. I walked up and up, following the switchbacks through the woods, careful not to trip on a root or two. I reached a trail junction and turned left, ascending through woods until reaching a flat, open spot. From there I followed a well-worn path north and topped out on the rocky summit in no time. 

A guy was up there with his two pugs, all of them laying on the rocks in the sun just having a jolly good time. Wanting to give them privacy, I ventured a little ways to the north, posting up on some ledges. The views were much of the same that I'd seen on Table Rock. Linville Gorge, Mt. Mitchell, Grandfather Mountain, the whole shebang. I looked around for a bit before heading back to the summit proper, the icy breeze making me wish I'd brought a jacket. 

The Summit

Northwest

Southeast

I stopped and chatted with the guy for a bit, mostly talking about the coming storm. "Heard it's gonna be mostly ice" he said. "Yep" I said. "Seems like it." We wished each other well and I ventured to the southwest, following a rocky ridge of sorts that offered tremendous views of the surrounding country. These were without a doubt the best views I'd seen all day. Table Rock rose in the distance, looking like a stubby thumb jutting out of the mountain. Below was the rest of Linville Gorge, light reflecting off the icy cliffs like miniature suns. The views stretched on forever, the mountains rose and fell, frozen in place like gargantuan waves on a turbulent sea. And the sun slowly etched its way across the sky, falling toward the horizon, illuminating the whole scene with delicate winter lighting. And that got me thinking. Watching a sunrise or sunset on this peak would be absolutely spectacular. I could just tell, you know? It's just one of those peaks. I made a note to come back someday to witness such an event. But for the moment, I simply sat down, rested my head on my hands, and observed. 

Southwest

South, Table Rock left

Cool rock formations

I didn't want to leave. But it was cold up there and the breeze was chillin' me to the bone and I had no jacket and I had to be somewhere that night and I had a long drive ahead of me so I got up, said goodbye, and trucked on out of there. On the way down, by that flat area beneath the summit, I made a super quick detour to the south to see if there was anything to see of note. After poking around for a bit through brush and boulders, I found a nice little overlook of sorts that offered much of the same views that could be seen from the summit. Turning around, I made my way back to the trail, trotting and skipping the rest of the way back to the car. And that about wrapped it up. All that was left was the long drive back home.

I was glad to finally do something after succumbing to sloth for so long. It had been an excellent day in an excellent place, one that I'm sure to visit again in the near future. As for this coming storm, well, it's gonna be interesting. Maybe it'll be awful. Hopefully not. All we can do is just wait and see what it does. 

Year in Review 2025

 

I don't know if it's just me, but this year seemed long. Longer than normal, like there were a few extra months sprinkled in somewhere that nobody seemed to notice. The events of March, April and May felt like eons ago; January and February like ancient history. I recently had a conversation with Liam about it, reminiscing about all the things that had happened this year. And I brought up our hike to Willett that we did on January 30th and he said, "What? That was this year? Really? That seemed so long ago." And he was right. If I hadn't the pictures to show it, I woulda thought the same thing.

Perhaps the reason this year felt so long was that it was very busy. Lots of things happening. Lots of things changing. It started off in a bang with the famed New Year's day hike to Cienega Camp and ended in a bang with a dog biting me in the ass. And in between? A whole series of bangs and explosions, one after another after another. I managed to capture some of these moments on this blog, but of course I couldn't write about all of 'em. But as has become tradition with this blog, it's now time for the yearly wrap-up, the moment where I look back on what's happened and recall certain personal highlights, highlights that defined the year, highlights that I'm sure to never forget. 

January started off warmer and drier than normal, at least initially. It wasn't long after the hike to Cienega when ol' Alex and I tried hiking up to Hines Peak on a cold, blustery January morning, waiting at the Sisar Trailhead in complete darkness for over half an hour for somebody that never showed up. And so we started walking, the winds ripping through the canyon, sucking out all the remaining confidence we had for a successful summit. We passed Howard's Place, left the canyon, and made it to the first overlook, standing there and watching the rising sun cast its first rays of light over sleepy Upper Ojai. And the wind blew hard and fierce and we stood there and decided to try again on another day. And we walked back down, defeated but content, the morning beautiful, Alex's summit beers turning into trail beers, conversation light and legs left relatively fresh. Alex and I never did make it up to Hines Peak together, but our next attempt ended up being something better, that being our trek up to the Bluff to see the snow. 

And then there was the hike to Willett with Liam, a long, scenic walk through the Sespe to a place I hadn't seen in over a year. The river was low, the water icy, the surrounding foliage dead and desaturated. But the lighting was neat, those strange, late winter sunbeams elevating the landscape into something interesting and wonderful, highlighting the blue of the water and the sparkle of the snow still lingering on the bluffs. We encountered only one other person the entire day; a lone backpacker moving at breakneck pace traveling deep into the wilderness to who knows where. And when we got to the hot springs, we had the whole thing to ourselves, and the water was clean and clear and the tub looked great and it appeared that somebody was taking good care of the place. And we soaked in the steaming waters, the area just as peaceful and serene as I had remembered it. And then we trekked back down the trail, back to the river, back to the parking lot, back to civilization. It had been a quiet day, free from the insanity and capriciousness that seems to define life on this planet. Just a good ol' long trek through the wilderness to some sizzling springs with good company and gooder conversation. 

Willett Hot Springs

January came to an end, February rolled on by, the fam and I went to Zion and I ran the fastest race of my entire life. The air that time of year oozed with benevolence and brightness; everything felt right. This always happens at least once every year; a moment where everything slows down, allowing me to take a step back and absorb the essence of the times and just soak it all in with no questions asked. In 2022 it was when I went down to San Diego with Benny to see the rugby game. In 2023 it was the brief trip to see Jakob and Zach and Gormie, where I traveled up to San Fransisco and cut across north of Yosemite to avoid the toll and then climbed Mt. Whitney for the very first time, making a big ol' crazy loop. In 2024 it was those short drives up through Pozo and Santa Margarita in early May when the grass was just turning golden and summer was on its way. And now, in 2025, it was this period of time in late February and early March where these things occurred, for what reason I do not know. Wasn't a particularly eventful time of year, wasn't even the most notable thing of the year. It was simply a period of time where things aligned just enough for me to see with clarity. The moment was there, I saw it, I lived it, and then it was gone. 

March arrived, and Grace wanted to to the Tri-Tip challenge up in SLO before she graduated. And so, on a bright spring morning surrounded by green, we set off for Bishop Peak, deciding to walk the whole thing with no shuttles. We took our time, climbing each summit at an easy pace, talking about things interesting enough to help the time go by but trivial enough to not be remembered in three days' time. Bishop, Cerro San Luis, and the Cal Poly P; we walked to each summit on trails and roads and sidewalks, watching the cars go by, stopping for a quick lunch at the local Panda Express mid hike. Finishing the hike at the P, Grace had finally completed the challenge she felt obligated to do for four years. Didn't even train for it. She just woke up one day and did it. Needless to say, she was quite sore for a few days afterward. But it was all worth it in the end.

The days rolled on by, March dragged on, and a marathon game of Heroscape lasting well into the wee hours of the morning took place, the longest game of my life. We all gathered at Daniel's place, burning a whole hour just setting up the game. And then we played for hours and hours and hours, rolling the dice, moving the pieces, reading the cards, capturing flags, and drinking a fair amount of liquor in the process. By the end of it, a whole 24 pack of beer had disappeared, the cans stacked into a little tower, everyone was exhausted, and Daniel's girlfriend had an expression on her face seeming to say "what are we doing here?" But that's how Heroscape usually goes. It's a marathon, not a sprint. If you commit to a game of Heroscape, you better darn well know what you're getting yourself into. It ain't for the faint of heart. 

Not long after the Heroscape slog, Grace and McKenna and I did a little overnighter at Piedra Blanca. This was the very first time we went on an overnighter as a group, which was exciting. We showed up late, the weather nice and cool, and we set up camp somewhere deep within the the labyrinth of rocks, boulders and sticks. And then we wandered around, climbing up all the formations, seeing all the sights, and spying on another group from atop what I dub the "Elephant's Head." We sat up there for a good half hour, in the sunset, clearly visible, and they didn't suspect a thing. And then we went on over to what I call "Jabba's House" and we watched the remainder of the sunset and then we went on back to camp and had us a fire and told stories and watched as the marine layer crested the mountains and covered everything in sight.

April came and went, marked by such notable hikes as the Ojai Triple Crown and the day hike to Bluff Camp and the trek to those "Seldom Visited Falls." And it brought along a nice and healthy Spring with a fair amount of water and greenery and good conditions for multiple visits to the creek. And that's what we did. Me, Carl, Alex, Benny, the fam—all of us made trips to the creek several times that month, enjoying the cool water and the fantastic spring scenery. At one point during the month, McKenna and I hiked out to Timber Canyon for a little overnighter with my Mom and Uncle. They had already been there for one night, and since McKenna and I had the time we decided to go out there and pay them a visit. I set up my hammock in some trees and started reading Steinbeck's East of Eden but never finished it, and that night the wind picked up and I had one of the worst sleeps of my entire life. But in the morning everything was fine, and I jumped into the Sespe and I wasn't tired anymore, the waters jumpstarting my battery. And then we left as a group and hiked on out of there, saying goodbye to Timber Canyon and the swim hole and those ancient ice can stoves that linger and persist despite years of sun and wind and water and snow. 

And then May arrived, and May was busy as ever. So much stuff, so many things happening all at once. A trip to Los Angeles to see The Broad. A quick drive up to Hi Mountain for a picnic lunch of chips and cookies and pesto sandwiches and such. Preparing for the move, purging personal belongings and junk and stuff, getting rid of books and papers and clothes and the couch. So many trips to Goodwill, so many trips to Bart's and antique stores, so many lunches at Jim and Rob's and Indian Rasoi and The Lebanese Oven. And ol' Alex got me hooked on Mineragua, and I found myself driving to Super A Foods in Fillmore and the Vallarta Supermarket in Oxnard for the really good deals on them, getting a whole twelve pack for $11.99. And it was in May that I finally, FINALLY, figured out how to solve a Rubik's Cube. I'd had the same dang cube since 2nd grade, and it had been left unsolved for all those years. Not anymore. Hallelujah.

And then came June and June was hot and eventful as ever, the pace never slowing, everything rising to a fever pitch. Last minute packing, a trip to the Griffith Observatory, Grace's graduation, a going away party at Daniel's place. Ahh, the going away party at Daniel's place. It was like the Heroscape marathon, but without the Heroscape. Burgers and chips and dip and a random mid-party jam session between Liam, Sarathi and Adam. And then it was morning and Ry gave Liam a sweater and I fell asleep and woke up a few hours later and drove all the way up the 33 to Fox Mountain and Cuyama Peak where I fell on a yucca and stabbed my knee and limped into the Bánh Mì Grill the next day and explained to the kid behind the register what had happened. And then Benny and I drove down to Los Angeles to see Ehab, taking the 405 and marveling at the lack of traffic. Going there and coming back: no traffic whatsoever. A total miracle. And then we hooked up the trailer and got out of Dodge, driving for five days across the country to Tennessee in search of a new place to live. 

July came and went, with summer thunderstorms, summer bugs, summer stickiness and fireworks and yard work at the Grandparent's residence. And we made trips out to Asheville every Wednesday for Grace's swing dancing, and there was a street performer there that balanced on a 10ft tall unicycle and juggled bowling pins and plates and stuff. And the air was heavy with moisture and the farm cat sprawled out on the porch with its weird ear and pleasant demeanor. And one day we went out on the lake on a pontoon to celebrate my Uncle and Grace's birthdays, and a storm blew in and lightning struck the water and it was a race against time to get back to port before the storm overtook us. And then Grace and I flew on over to California, beginning our month long trek back across the country. 

We stayed in town for 2 weeks, July transitioning into August, taking our time to see the sights and smell the smells and deal with some unfinished business in the local wilds. At one point, Daniel and I did a long drive up to Pine Mountain Club, stopping at Frazier Mountain along the way to check out the disintegrating lookout tower on the top. The stairs were gone, the tower leaning slightly, but we found a way up because we were determined and stupid. And we climbed up there and looked inside at all the broken glass and splintered wood, and we looked at the views and the trees and dry air and haziness on the horizon. And then we drove into PMC and had lunch at La Leña and hung out at the pond and then drove up to San Emigdio Mtn and had some beers and looked at the beautiful views into Bakersfield. 

And then Grace and I went up to Pine Mountain one last time, went to the beach one last time, walked Shelf Road one last time. And then we left town and went on that long, meandering journey across the west, a trip I've already described in four separate blog posts. And then we returned to Tennessee and the pace slowed down just a bit, but things just kept on happening. Such is life.

Along came September and the humidity was gone and the weather was mostly good, except for the occasional thunderstorm. My mom, sister, Grandma and I took a short walk out to Margarette Falls one day, rain in the forecast but the skies clear as can be. And just as we made it to the falls the rains came pounding down, a cold, harsh rain that turned the trail into a creek and the creek into a river. And we shuffled down the trail, the rain so heavy it looked like fog, the ground saturated and textured with zillions and zillions of raindrops. And after that, my Grandma was wary of going on another hike with us but she relented one day and we went up to Roan Mountain, driving up to Carver's Gap to check out the overlook. 

Margarette Falls

 

Roan High Bluff Overlook

Late September brought trips to the Biltmore and Cumberland Gap with our Dad, trips to Cades Cove and the Smokies with our cousin Lisa. I ain't never seen so many bears in one spot, most of them mamas with cubs. And the humidity was long, long gone, the air nice and light. A coolness had arrived, slowly permeating the landscape, preparing everything for the coming fall. 

Cumberland Gap

Cades Cove

Kuwohi

The Smokies

October came, and so did the colors. So many colors. It started slow, barely noticeable. And then it was like a bomb went off and all the trees in the higher elevations looked like a quilt, and the colors trickled on down into the valleys as the month went along, oozing into every deciduous tree in sight. And then November showed up and the colors faded away, winter fast approaching, the trees soon bare and wispy and dark and gray. And then the temps dropped and the ice and snow showed up, and then it was December, and the year finally came to a close. 

The past few months have been spent settling into the neighborhood, finding jobs, living life, you know—the usual. It's been busy for sure, but luckily there's still time to get away for a bit and get out there and touch some dirt or whatever. I started running again, preparing for a half marathon in February. And it was on one of these runs in the cold air of late December when a dog ran up to me and bit me in the butt. Just ran up, chomped on my ass, and then ran away. Tore a big ol' hole in my running shorts too. Those were my favorite, dang it! And that about captures the year. Busy. Very busy. Lots of things happening. Perhaps 2026 will be a bit more mellow. Who's to say. Probably not. I got a lot of things planned for next year. Whether or not I actually do them is to be determined. 

Per aspera ad astra