Tales From The Trail

January 23, 2016. A winter storm is coming and is going to slam into the Western North Carolina mountains along the North Carolina–Tennessee border. Having been three years off my thru-hike, I had a serious itch for some adventure at this time in my life and decided to try to figure out the best location on the AT in my region to try to land right in the storm for an overnight in the snow.

Remembering back on my hikes over the years through North Carolina, I had a few places come to mind, but one stuck out the most, and that was Big Firescald. Back in 2010, I had taken a winter trip with the guys in this section and happened to get hit by a winter storm in this exact location. I wasn’t carrying the best camera gear and was unable to document the occasion as I would have liked, but I remembered how walking this exposed ridge line in the snow was incredible. I must go today to relive it and try to get some awesome pictures.

After some extensive digging on Google Maps around this span of mountains in Madison County, I determined that the Fork Ridge Trail was the closest access by car from the lowest elevation to avoid getting stuck in my vehicle and access Firescald the fastest. I set out with my gear in my Nissan Pathfinder and headed up Highway 26. It was already snowing outside and accumulating in Asheville, North Carolina, as I left. I didn’t know if getting to the trail was feasible, but decided that if the highway was still black, I’d commit to making it to the trailhead parking lot. As I got closer and closer, now winding through the back roads in Madison County, it started to become clear that this was a lot of snow. Once I reached the forest service road, I had to cross through a couple of creeks to make it to the trailhead. At this point I figured if I was able to drive in, there would be no reason I couldn’t drive right out tomorrow, so I committed and set out on the Fork Ridge Trail to intersect the AT.

Within a few minutes of hiking, I realized the snow was up to just under my knee, and hiking practically straight up this trail was outrageously hard. I had spent time hiking in deep snow before but was not expecting it to be quite this bad. It took me way longer to make it to the top of the ridge line and link up with the AT than I thought it would. It now being the middle of winter, the second half of the day was setting in, and I knew the sun was going to start dropping soon. Making my way along the ridge line, I was thankful to not be increasing in elevation anymore, but the snow got deeper and deeper.

At one point I was filming a video in waist-deep snow in a drift around a bend in the trail. It was getting darker, and I wanted to make it to the exposed ridge line of Big Firescald Knob and try to find a nook to throw my tarp up on.

Having not been there in a few years, I wasn’t sure if there would even be enough room for me to pitch when I arrived. It was getting dark quickly, so I started to decide that making it all the way wasn’t an option. As the elevation started to change and rocks started to seem more abundant through the snow, I started to think that if I went too much farther, finding a viable spot to sleep might not be possible, and I wouldn’t have time before dark to turn around and come back to find one. I decided to head off-trail and aim for the flattest spot possible; seemed like an easy task, but now with a foot to 2-plus feet of snow on the ground, it proved to not be. I ended up a good 100 feet off trail, digging out a hole to pitch in. Not ever owning a tent and always using tarps has served me over the years, but this evening I was wishing I had an enclosed tent. Luckily, the berm of snow I was in did a relatively decent job of cutting the wind. I had a great sleeping bag with a thick wool blanket inside, so I was confident it would still be a comfortable night. I made dinner, took some pictures, and enjoyed the solitude until morning. I have realized that most of my stories I tell people about my time on the AT seem to be stories of what not to do. This story is no exception. Waking up, the snow had passed, and my God, the scenery was beautiful. I was jaw-dropped at the views of the frozen trees and the massive amounts of snow I was seeing through the ends of my tarp tent. Then my heart dropped as I realized I had forgotten to completely undo the laces of my hiking shoes and put them under me while I slept. I knew I had screwed up because I had encountered this problem before. I had photographed the condition of my shoes the evening before and had intended on dealing with them before I slept, But I didn’t. It is literally impossible to get your feet into shoes this frozen. Luckily—and feeling tickled I had prepared for this—I just happened to have put an extra pair of trail running shoes and waterproof socks in my pack, just in case the worst happened. So I laced up and headed out to make my way to the exposed portion of the ridge line.

After a bit of a rock scramble, I popped up out of the trees onto the ridge line and it was incredible; everything was frozen unlike anything I had seen before.

The snowstorm from my previous trip was burned in my brain, but this time was even better. Thrilled, I started photographing and doing my thing and then, getting cold, decided to pack up and start making my way back down the mountain to my vehicle. A few minutes in, I started to get annoyed with one of my feet; having waterproof socks on top of wool socks inside my running shoes was a tight fit and was driving me crazy. I finally decided to try to loosen them and adjust, so I stopped and tried to adjust my left shoe because it felt the worst. I wasn’t expecting what I saw when I pulled my foot out of the deep snow. The whole sole of my shoe had opened from the front end and was packed solid with snow.

At this point I’m starting to realize that the reason I couldn’t move my toes on this foot wasn’t because the shoe was too tight—they were completely numb.

Alarmed, I ripped everything off my foot and assessed; it seemed OK, but, man, I couldn’t feel a thing. Knowing that I was only about 15 minutes from the Fork Ridge Trail to head down, I loosened up the snow and figured that I’d move fast and get the blood flowing and see if my toes got any better as I walked. I dealt with the pain for about 10 minutes and started to panic a bit because I realized that, being distracted by all the picture taking and landscape and having my feet at least a foot under the snow, I had no idea how long my foot had been like that. I decided that maybe it had been numb for a lot longer than I thought and I needed to fully address this now.

I threw my pack off, threw my tarp on the ground, pulled out my sleeping bag, took everything off, and got my lower half inside the bag right in the middle of the trail.

Here it gets a little blurry. I couldn’t do anything to get feeling back; rubbing, kicking, and trying to move my toes as much as possible wasn’t doing much, but I stayed consistent. After what felt like a lifetime, I started to feel sharp pins and needles turning into actual sensation. What relief! I really thought I had screwed up this time in the worst way. Frostbite can happen fast, and I was in the world of great concern for a solid half hour there. Now that I had gotten to the other side of things, I knew the broken trail runner shoe was no longer an option. I pulled my knife out and cut all the frozen laces and tongue out of my hiking shoe, shoved my foot in, tied it with paracord, and made my way down to the comfort of my vehicle at the bottom of the mountain. Having now made the frozen boot mistake twice in my life, I vowed this would be the last.

Reprinted with permission. Copyright 2022 by Falcon Guides.

About the author

Joshua and Amber Niven live with their children in Madison County, North Carolina. They have both hiked the Appalachian Trail, and wrote Discovering the Appalachian Trail to share their love of the nation’s longest marked footpath.