Pinnacle Mountain Fire Tower

Last week, on November 6th, I awoke with a strong desire to see a lookout tower. It had been a while since I'd last been in one, that being the Nordhoff Lookout Tower back in July. In fact, now that I think about it, I haven't really visited that many lookout towers...like at all.  Like, what? C'mon now! What am I doing with my life? Lookout towers are some of the coolest things ever. There's hundreds of thousands of them across the globe. And yet, I've barely seen even a fraction of 'em. Slide Mountain, Hi Mountain, Thorn Point, Buck Rock, Nordhoff, and the Cuyama Lookout Tower just about cover it for me. A measly selection of towers at best. I've gotta do better. 

There's something neat about a lookout tower. The architecture of it all, just a big ol' tower rising out of the ground, a spindly mass of steel and wood standing tall above the land, offering a bird's-eye view to whoever dares the climb. Lucky for me, East Tennessee and North Carolina have a plethora of lookout towers, many of them easy to access. I wanted to see one that required a wee bit of effort, just enough to get the blood pumpin' and lungs suckin'. The one on top of Pinnacle Mountain seemed to offer just that, so I set off on the drive to the trailhead, the skies crispy and clear. 

The trailhead lays off I-26, just outside of Unicoi, TN. I pulled into the dirt lot on the side of the road, a few other vehicles scattered around. I walked over to the restrooms where a map of the area was on display, highlighting the route to the top of the tower in bold color. I studied the route for a second, tightened my shoes, and then started up the trail at a steady pace. 

I had the whole thing to myself for a while, just me and the birds and the lovely fall foliage. Like the day prior at Buffalo Mountain State Park, the colors were absolutely amazing, all of them made better by the light of the mid-morning sun. I once again found myself stopping far too often to take pictures of the wonderful scene that surrounded me. Who woulda known that something as simple as leaves could be so pretty? 

I eventually passed a mile marker in the trail, a small, rectangular wooden object with a basic sketch of a lookout tower etched into its surface. These were a nice touch as they helped gauge my progress up the trail. From my understanding, the route would be nearly 5 miles long, slowly gaining elevation through a dense forest with almost no views until reaching the top. These markers helped me understand that yes, I was making progress. Pretty as the scenery was, it all looked very similar. I was kinda just moseying along though the woods, evidence of my gaining any significant elevation only evident in my legs. It wasn't until I was well past mile marker 2 where I started seeing some views through patches in the trees. I continued along, the weather still nice and clear. 

I passed by an old gentleman, the first person I'd seen all day. "Boy, you walk fast" he said. Dressed casually, sporting a long beard and carrying a big ol' walking stick, the guy looked like he knew these woods well. "I guess so" I said. "Going to the top?" he said to me. "Yep, and I'll see you there." At that he laughed, then replied "I don't think so." We parted ways, I continuing along with a steady gait, he with his easy-going, lackadaisical shuffle. 

It wasn't long after that when I saw two more folks, both of them trail runners. One of them passed me not much longer after I passed the old man, completely leaving me in the dust. The other one was heading back down, running fast, dirt kicking up at his heals. He took one look at me, said "Sup" and then was gone. After that it was back to solitude, back to silence. 

I came to a wide dirt road just past mile marker 3, the whole thing covered in crunchy leaves. There were no signs, no indication of where to go. A truck was parked by a locked gate, the road beyond which I suspected led to the lookout tower. But I didn't wanna walk on no road, so I looked around for the trail. I found one, straight across the road and to the right. The first indication that this was an extremely incorrect choice were the trail markers, which were red. And we all know that red=bad. Just look at Star Wars. The second indication that this was an extremely incorrect choice was that I heard a big ol' rumblin in the distance, an angry engine, the sounds of an off-road vehicle tearin' its way up the trail at breakneck pace. And the third, and most telling, indication was that I was going downhill. Yep. Ain't no lookout tower gonna be downhill. That's just plain silly!

The road

 

The correct trail

So I hightailed it back to the road, looking for another sign. I found it almost immediately; the proper trail was right in front of me the whole time. Just had to go straight and a little to the left. Green diamond-shaped markers identified the trail. And as we all know, green means go...so I went. Just as I was heading down the trail, a guy on a dirt bike drifted around the corner of the incorrect route, flying off the trail and onto the road. He bypassed the gate and kicked it into overdrive as he sped on up the road to the tower, the sound of his engine louder than my thoughts. 

Almost there...

This next part of the trail was definitely the most peaceful; only met one other group who were on their way down. The forest opened up a bit, some pines entered the mix, and I started to see views to the north and west. Tip Top, the summit I had climbed the day prior, could be seen in the distance, a small and unassuming little bump on a heavily forested mound of rolling hills. I followed the trail, gently gaining elevation, one step after the next, gazing up at the tall trees, observing the change in their leaves, watching as some broke free and drifted in the wind. I went up a switchback, then another and then I caught up with another group, two older guys who had never before been to the tower. We reached the top as a group, each one of us gazing upon the magnificent structure for the very first time. "Wow" said one of the old guys. "Didn't think I'd make it."

This was by far the tallest lookout tower I've ever seen. The thing must've been at least 40ft. The older guys took off their packs and rested a bit, whereas I eagerly climbed the steep, narrow staircase to the top. I remember them being a tad rickety, highly reminiscent of Thorn Point, but perhaps this was a by-product of my imagination. Those things were long and steep and high. Though I'm not afraid of heights, these things definitely gave me a bit of an adrenaline rush, dare I say a bit of vertigo. The mind can play devious tricks on itself. But no matter. I desperately wanted to see the view at the top, so I trucked on up there without breaking stride.

View North(ish)

View East(ish)

A little south, a little west

Up top, I discovered the tower to be completely open to the elements. Perhaps at one time it was a functional fire tower, fitted with walls and windows and a stove and whatnot, but as of right now it's strictly an observation tower. All metal, all open, with a big ol' picture of a compass painted on the ceiling. 

By some miracle, the weather remained perfect. Panoramic views stretched off in every direction, the visibility utterly insane; I was able to see for miles and miles and miles. And the forest that surrounded me didn't even look real, appearing as if some giant had unloaded a can of multicolored spray paint upon the treetops. Deep green and gray in the higher mountains, sharp, fiery orange and red and yellow everywhere else. And to think that the "peak" of these fall colors had already passed, to think what this place looked like then, to imagine a scene even more insane than what I was already witnessing, it was impossible. I probably spent 30 minutes up in that blasted tower, gazing in each direction again and again and again, walking from one side of the tower to the next, trying to fully absorb the scene that lay before me. I've never seen so many trees, an entire forest, look so red. I became entranced by the sublime nature of it all, completely losing track of time. 

And then something flew into my hat and I snapped out of it. And then something flew into my face, and then my shirt, and then my leg. And before I knew it, I was surrounded by hundreds of ladybugs. Red, orange, yellow—they looked just like the fall foliage that lay before me. And they floated in the wind and buzzed around, their goals and aspirations a mystery to me. I brushed them off my clothes, and then they'd come right back, landing on my arm, my foot, my shirt. I couldn't get rid of them. Down below I heard one of the old men laugh "Look at all these damn bugs!" "Sure are a lot of them" replied his friend. They had gathered their stuff and were heading up the stairs.

I met them at the top, we chatted a minute, mostly about the swarm of ladybugs, and then I wished them a good rest of their day and set off down the steep, vertigo-inducing stairs. There were even more ladybugs at the base of the tower; perhaps that's where they had set up base. I didn't stick around to find out. Though nice at first, ladybugs can turn mean at the flip of a switch. Them suckers will bite, and bite hard. Not very ladylike in my opinion; maybe it's just the males that do that. I set off down the trail before they could turn mean, brushing off the remaining hitchhikers as I went. 

I trotted most the rest of the way down, stopping to walk when I darn well felt like it. Didn't see too many people making their way up, didn't see anyone heading back down. Though there were numerous mountain bike tracks, I didn't see a single rider all day long. It was a nice, easygoing, gentle downhill the whole rest of the way, my mind still thinking about the view I'd seen at the top. It replayed in my memory as I crossed the dirt road, as I rounded the turns of the switchbacks, as I exited the trail and started my car and drove on out of there. 

There was a particular mountain to the south, rising high above most everything else, that had caught my interest in particular. Later that evening I discovered that this mountain had a name, and a trail to reach it. I decided, then and there, that I'd climb it in the morning. So I turned in, falling asleep at a fairly reasonable hour, the image of those millions of red, red trees still burned into my mind. It had been an excellent day in the woods, with a superb lookout tower to top it off. I'm sure to visit more in the future.

White Rock Loop

 

I got off work at 11am and decided to check out a place called Buffalo Mountain State Park. Located very close to Johnson City, the park covers a small expanse of forested mountains, minuscule compared to the larger summits of Appalachia but beautiful nonetheless. Though the "peak" of fall foliage had passed, here in the lower elevations there was was still quite a bit of color on display. I followed windy roads towards the park, gazing upon the small, multi-colored mountains the entire way until finally entering the canopy. 

This was five days ago, on November 5th, and the weather that afternoon was absolutely perfect. High 60's, a light breeze, cloud-dotted skies and good visibility. I drove to a fork in the road, turning left to park at the desired trailhead. I had heard of something called the "White Rock Loop" about a week prior and had wanted to check it out ever since. According to the map, the loop would give me a nice sample of most of the park, circling its outer edges and hitting up three popular summits. I pulled into the small dirt lot, put on the parking brake, and then slid out of the car and onto the trail. 

It would seem that most do this hike counter-clockwise, following the trail up a drainage and then turning right to cross a small bridge. But I wanted to see the namesake "White Rock" first, so I'd be doing the loop clockwise, turning left at the bridge and immediately heading up out of the drainage to gain a forested ridge. Along the way, I found myself time and again looking straight up at the canopy. Every step farther down the trail offered a new perspective, a new collection of trees, new colors, new lighting. Some trees still had some green left in their leaves; paired with a bright yellow and afternoon sunlight they appeared like thousands of golden flakes suspended in the sky. Other trees were a mixture of oranges and reds, not as brilliant as the yellows but beautiful in their own, special way. I walked up a few switchbacks, following the trail as it made its way up the ridge, my feet slipping in the crunchy leaves, the trees gently swooshing overhead. All of it made for a rather peaceful walk, and I was enjoying every second of it.

C'mon now, don't take the shortcut!

At one point, I reached a junction with the "Wimp Shortcut." According to the map, this route steeply ascends the ridge, cutting out a large portion of a long switchback. Not wanting to cut the loop, I decided against taking the Wimp route, my decision highly influenced by the desire to see more fall colors. As I rounded the bend of the long switchback, I finally gained the ridge, walking in a forest of orange and red. For whatever reason, this was the most scenic part of the forest I'd seen thus far; had I taken the shortcut, I would've missed it entirely. I probably spent way too much time in this section taking pictures of the leaves, completely losing track of time. It wasn't until I met up with the other end of the Wimp Shortcut that I finally snapped to and continued trucking up to White Rock. 

A break in the trees, White Rock right

I gently gained elevation along the ridge, slowly closing the gap between me and White Rock. There were random moments when there'd be a break in the trees and a view to the east would open up, and I'd go off the trail and see what all there was to see. One of the breaks was quite large, a clearing of lichen-covered rocks with expansive views of the east and a clear view of rest of the ridge. Looking south, down the ridge, I could see another clearing in the trees, a large rock jutting out of the canopy with great authority. I figured that this had to be good ol' White Rock. Five minutes later and I was there, standing on the rock, looking at the best views I had seen all day. 

The view from White Rock

White Rock ended up being a collection of rocks, none of which were white. They were numerous and smooth, well-worn by the countless footsteps of those who've braved the trek to the top. I checked out most every outcropping, each one gifting me with the same spectacular view to the north and east. Much of Johnson City and Elizabethton could be seen, I-26 a small line jutting through patches of orange and green. Holston Ridge popped up in the distance, and far away, rising high above everything else, I could see Roan High Knob and Grassy Ridge Bald. It was neat to see everything from this angle; in fact, climbing a mountain is one of my favorite ways to orient myself with new territory. Each summit (if it has a decent view) offers a new perspective, putting much needed life in all those crazy contour lines on a map. I stayed at White Rock for a good ten minutes, soaking in the view, trying to orient myself as best I could. And then I set off down the trail, heading south, following the trail as it curved away from the ridge. 

Going down...

Random marker

I walked past a collection of radio towers, following the trail as it curved west. I climbed a small hump and then started down, rather steeply, back into the forest proper. The trail was well-marked with numerous signs and rectangular patches of white paint on several trees, and a good thing it was because the entire thing was buried in a blanket of leaves. Evidence of any trail at all could only be seen with careful observation, looking for the slightest indentation in the carpet of dry, crunchy leaves. 

I met some people who were doing the loop counter-clockwise, and travel was much easier afterwards as they had broken a path through the leaves. I continued going down, slipping, sliding, until finally going uphill yet again. At one point I passed a random marker on the side of the trail; why it was placed there I do not know. Not long after that, I reached a fork in the trail. I decided to head left toward "Tip Top," the highest peak in the park. It was only about .3 miles away, and I had plenty of daylight left, so I figured I'd give it a looksie. 

On the way to Tip Top

The way over to Tip Top was as scenic as ever, the trail following a gentle ridge all the way to the summit. The breeze was a tad stronger by this point, and with it came an occasional shower of leaves. I'd stop and watch as the forest rained leaves, all of them different colors, all of them glowing in the afternoon light. I'd never seen anything quite like it; a stupendous sight to see for sure.

Summit of Tip Top

Johnson City, TN

A small hump appeared ahead, the summit of Tip Top no doubt, and I climbed it without haste. On the summit there was a picnic table and a bench, as well as decent views of Unaka Mountain to the southeast and Johnson City to the north. For whatever reason, I enjoyed this spot much more than White Rock. Though White Rock had superior views, the summit of Tip Top felt a little more isolated, offering a glimpse of the rolling hills and mountains of Appalachia, colored red, orange and yellow on this lovely early November afternoon. I spent a long time on the summit, trying to point out landmarks, watching the leaves float in the wind, gazing at the sunlight dancing on the treetops. Reluctantly, I said my goodbyes and headed back to the fork. Once there I continued on the loop, heading down the mountain, taking pictures of the magnificent fall colors whenever the need arose. 

Down, down, down I went, following yet another ridge, descending deeper into the canopy. The downhill never stopped, proving to me that going clockwise is definitely the easier route. I only met two groups heading up, all of them walking at a steady pace, their faces showing the faintest of scowls spurned from the arduous toil physical activity. The trail eventually left the ridge, zig-zagging down into a dry creek bed. I was soon out of the sun and in the realm of shade. The temperature surprisingly got much colder, and I found myself forced to trot down the trail in order to warm myself. 

But the shade was short lived, and I soon found myself back in the sunshine. Eventually, I reached a sign marked "Sunset Point" and decided to check it out. Just off the trail was a bench and a nice view to the west. There were some people hanging around Sunset Point so I didn't stay long, continuing down the trail and nearing the end of the loop. 

View from "Sunset Point"

The last brief pit stop before the completion of the loop was a small little jaunt up to Huckleberry Knob, a tiny, open summit with nice views of the surrounding country. I could see the summit from the trail and decided I might as well head up there and check it out. On the top I found four benches and far superior views than those found at Sunset Point. A bucolic scene was on full display to the west and north of the summit; nothing but rolling hills, little homes, curvy roads, and patches of green grass. I took a few more pictures and then headed back down, almost done with the loop. 

The short path to Huckleberry Knob

There were more people out now, all of them heading uphill. The afternoon was growing long, the sun slowly falling across the sky. It seemed like most people were parked in the upper lot; this is where I would've gone had I made a right at the fork in the road near the entrance to the park. I passed the trail that led down into the upper lot, continuing my downhill walk through the forest back to where I had parked. I crossed the little bridge I'd seen earlier that afternoon, made a left, and completed the loop not much longer after that. The whole thing ended up being about five miles and change, with a fair amount of uphill and downhill—a nice, moderate outing and a great way to pass the time on a sunny November afternoon.