Climbing Mt. Mitchell: Highest Peak In The Appalachian Range

​The day I arrived back in the mid-western United States from Arizona I ran into a buddy of mine, Big D. He asked how Arizona was and what all I'd done there. I told him about the different things, including mountain climbing. He said he had always wanted to go mountain climbing but just hadn't done it yet. “It's on my bucket list.” he said. I told him if he ever went and wanted advice, recommendations, or someone to go with, to get a hold of me. “I'd like to do it sooner than later.” He wasn't kidding, because by the end of our conversation his casual “want to do it someday” had morphed into “doing it ASAP”, and I was contracted out to lead him on his first mountain climbing experience. Within a couple days I had drawn up a list of possible options for him, and we settled on Mount Mitchell, the highest peak in the Appalachian mountain range. A couple days after that I had drawn up an itinerary for our expedition, encompassing 3 days, plus one to account for weather or unforeseen circumstances, for a total of 4 days. He found when he could take the time off work, and we were set to go.


In the week between his finalizing the dates for the trip and our departure I took off towards Kentucky to do some rural house sitting for a short term job. Tending goats, keeping an eye on cats, watching dogs, and mopping floors were how I spent my working hours, the off time on training and writing. The day I finished up the job I drove a couple hours, grabbed all the gear for the Mount Mitchell trip, which I was supplying, took a nap, and by morning Big D and I were on the road.


It was an eight hour drive from Big D's house to the general area of the Mountain, which sits on the Tennessee – North Carolina border. After that, it was another couple hours to the summit “check-in” station to let them know we would be climbing and camping and such. Talking to the girl working the desk, I got a map and recommendations on where to camp. “Y'all need to plan better.” Lady, my planning is great! She recommended we drive down to road “472” along a river running the base of the mountain, and camp there. It would be another hour or two drive down the mountain to get to this road and then to our camp. Assuming we had gone the correct way. Big D made a very confident wrong turn, and we drove all the way down the wrong side of the mountain before turning around, driving back up, and then down the correct side of the mountain. We had already been up and down twice in the first day! This would have angered Big D on it's own, but his frustration was elevated to infuriated status thanks to the bicyclists that were “clogging up” the road and slowing down traffic. Also, the fact he was texting and driving at the same time caused him to lose focus and run off the road and hit a rock that we thought might have broken open one of the car's fluid lines. Don't text and drive! Finally, we made it to “road” 472, which was less a road and more a miles-long stretch of drivable rocks. The map we were issued was little help as it seemed to be covered in roads that absolutely didn't exist in our current location of space-time or perceivable dimensional plane. We searched for a campsite and stumbled upon what, to me, was the absolute perfect spot. It was right next to the river, with ample tree covering and flat ground. Someone had obviously been there before us, because there was a fire ring built of forest rocks, and a cache of fire wood, kept considerately dry by a tarp! Don't mind if we do! We wasted no time setting up the tent I'd brought, and putting our things inside. A bit of precipitation made getting a fire going more of a hassle than it normally is, but we eventually got it and began preparations for our evening of dinner and relaxation around the fire. Big D said “I feel like we're on two different trips, but we're going together.” I laughed. Since I was the one was contracted to do what I do, I take my responsibilities seriously. I brought multiple fire sources, light sources, maps, compass, knife, first aid kit, gear, and did all the planning. Big D brought Mexican fast food that had been in the trunk of his car, a cooler of ice and ham, a bottle of rum, and a single lawn chair. “Two different trips” indeed! Still, why punch a gift horse in the mouth? Our dinner was old Mexican food and rum, and I was happy (despite the fact I usually don't like Mexican food!). After several hours of drinking rum and relaxing by the fire, I called the evening at around 11pm, since we had an early day and I wanted Big D rested.


We crawled into the “two man” tent that would have been too small if I had been all by my onesies, let alone with a massive 6'4” 250 pound solid body builder! It was so tight in there, it wasn't even a “big spoon, little spoon” situation, it was a “top or bottom” situation! Even so, we managed to fit side by side if we crossed our legs “Indian style”. Big D seemed to pass right out as I listened to the flowing river. It wasn't long after that that I heard the distant but unmistakable rumble of thunder. I had figured it would probably rain, so I thoroughly water-proofed the tent as best as it could have been before we left. I had had the tent awhile anyway, so it needed it... apparently more than I realized. Soon, I was getting rained on, almost as if I wasn't even in a tent. I looked over towards Big D, he was asleep and dry! Despite me only being about half an inch away from him, I was in a completely different climate zone! I laid awake for hours, subjected to the barrage of rain drops, as only MY side of the tent filled with water. Finally, around 4 in the morning I woke up Big D and said “I'm going to the car.” He decided to join me. We only had a couple hours before we were supposed to be up. As I tried to get comfortable I couldn't because I was so hot. Then it hit me. “Do you have the heat on!?” I asked in disbelief. “Yeah. I'm cold.” How!? “I got wet from the rain on the way back to the car.” I've been getting rained on for hours! I'm still hot! “well, I'm cold, so it's on.” How he could be cold I still don't know, but a couple rough hours later we were up and making preparations. Big D cooked breakfast in the coals of our fire as I did my morning exercises, then we tore down camp, in the process finding Bid D's shorts he had accidentally left outside all night in the monsoon. I made sure to cover some fire wood in the tarp for the next people to come through. After we were packed, we hit he road, on the way to “Black Mountain Campground” the start of the Mount Mitchell trail to the summit.


The Mount Mitchell summit trail is a 6 mile slog of rapid elevation gain that starts at the base and terminates at the 6,684ft peak. The official park information lists the trail as “strenuous, taking 4 and a half hours.” They also say that if you can make it in 4 hours, you've got some bragging rights. We didn't want to rush, but we're in better shape than most, so we were pretty sure we'd do it in 4 to 4 and a half hours. I was all warmed up from my morning exercises, ready to go. I made sure Big D was ready, “Yeah. I took some aspirin for my hangover, some muscle relaxers for my back, and my blood pressure medicine. I'm ready.” … Great. We started our climb about 8:30 in the morning. During the climb Big D was breathing hard, and sweating like he had Denge Fever. “UGH! How far in are we!? I'm dieing!” The time check revealed we were only 40 minutes in, best case scenario we had about 3 and a half hours left. “Agh!” He pressed on though, and was eventually able to tune out his body and efficiently hike through. At times I thought he was TOO tuned out, as a result of occasionally getting a cellular signal, so he would be texting and liveblogging the climb. He was missing the moment! I suppose it didn't matter though, because it was his trip, so as long as he was happy. I wasn't missing the moment, so it was fine.


We climbed up and up. Big D was sweating profusely, but we each carried about 3 liters of water and some snacks, so it wasn't a concern. Which was good, because Big D drank and ate fast enough that he became water or food logged and wound up vomiting up most of the water he had drank. I'm glad we weren't actually needing to conserve! Even though we were in the south-eastern United States, the mountains made the flora and fauna more like southern Canada. We were moving at an alright clip, but we weren't trying to push it. That is until we passed the one and only sign on the climb informing us that we only had one mile to go. We checked the time and realized we were making great time without even trying, so we thought we'd see what we could do with the last mile. When we reached the peak of Mount Mitchell we discovered we had crushed the “bragging rights” time of 4 hours, and we had only put forth an effort during the last sixth of the climb. We had ascended in 3 hours 20 minutes! Not bad for Big D, a guy who claims he's out of shape and had never climbed a mountain or gone on a rigorous hike before!


We decided to celebrate by eating at the summit and taking an extended sit down rest of at least a half hour. At the peak of Mount Mitchell is the grave of Dr. Elisha Mitchell, the geographer after whom the mountain gets it's name. While on an expedition to prove that Mount Mitchell is indeed the highest peak in the Appalachians he slipped off the top of a 40 foot waterfall and fell to his death. Near his grave is a viewing platform for looking out over the mountain range in 360 degrees. Beneath that platform in a semi-secluded nook is a slat that people had signed who had climbed the mountain. The adventurer's log. I added mine in the form of a sticker tag. After Big D and I had had our fill of the peak we began climbing back down. Big D was complaining about being cold anyway, something about cloudy and windy and being soaking wet. He was sweating so heavily, he should have been hot! Either way, we decided we were going to take our sweet time on the descent, uncaring of our time, especially because we had made such great time on the way up. It was a good thing we weren't racing, because soon my stomach was rumbling with the trouble that was Mexican trunk food and rum. The ghost of the previous night's dinner had come to haunt me, and it was not to be ignored! Good thing no one else was around, because after what I did on the side of that mountain they would have left. Later on down our descent I found what seemed to be a bear cave. It could have been full of treasure, or at least things hippies had dropped or stashed in it. I had a large knife and a headlamp, so there was no way I wasn't going in there. I'm glad I did, because it was WAY bigger on the inside than it seemed, dipping around and underground. It was the perfect place to stash something, but if there was something stashed it had already been looted. There was nothing in there but a giant spider and copious bear poop. I was just glad there was no bear! Continuing gown the mountain our horrific storm from the night before came back, and dumped near tropical amounts of rain on us. Battered by the rain, our descent was slowed drastically as everything became extremely slippery. I didn't care. I was just thankful it hadn't been like that on the way up. Physical misery and slippery-ness aside, there wouldn't have been an ascent at all, because the lightning would have caused me to call the climb off. We were far enough down the mountain now that the threat had been reduced from trip ending mortal danger to interesting background noise. Despite my bathroom break, treasure hunting, and the rain forest storm, we still made it all the way down in about 3 hours 20 minutes! Crushed it! My primary concern in leading Big D on the expedition was his notorious ankles. Even though he body builds, his ankles lack lateral stability and he has injured them many times in the past. Even though the rain caused him to slip in several spectacular ways on the descent, he never actually fell, and we both made it down unscathed! We hiked back to the car and changed into dry clothes.


Big D had now decided on a new time from for the tip. Originally I told him to plan for 4 days, and he took the appropriate time off. One of those days was for emergencies, such as a storm, but wasn't really a part of the trip. Right before we left, he un-requested that day off. This made me a little nervous, because if something went wrong we didn't have any wiggle room. However nothing (big) did go wrong, and now Big D had it in his mind that he wanted to drive straight back, further compressing the entire trip into 2 days! It was his trip after all. My job was to plan and get him up and down the mountain safely, which I had done. So, having conquered Mount Mitchell we now began our return trip. I was driving, and the fierce mountain rains had returned, forming streams running perpendicularly over the roads, threatening to wash the car off the side of the mountain if I wasn't careful. We pressed on, back up Mount Mitchell and down the other side we originally came from. All told, car rides and climbing combined, we had been completely up and down Mount Mitchell 4 times in 2 days! Big D was excited to get back to his place ASAP, so we drove with a purpose, slowing down and stopping only for fuel for the car and fuel for his gigantic body. Being a body builder he eats like a locust; he eats even more than I do! Despite his giant size and calorie intake, he still complained about being cold on the way back because I had my window down. I’m driving and I'm hot! How is he cold!? Though to be fair, I'm hot all the time and put out a concerning amount of heat, so the problem is realistically with me, but still. He eventually curled up in a sleeping bag and fell asleep.


He earned the rest; in a matter of a couple of weeks Big D had gone from a casual mention of wanting to “one day” climb a mountain to having scratched it off his bucket list, the highest peak of the Appalachian's no less! It's always nice to help a friend do something great. I kept the theme going, and when I got back I had just enough time to go help another friend would requested I corner him for his kickboxing fight.

​A rolling stone gathers no moss!
             -Nash