Day 7, Talladega Mountain to Cheaha Mountain

The damp air made the morning several degrees cooler than other mornings so far on this hike.

Leaving our campsite, the first two-tenths of a mile finished a descent we started yesterday afternoon, ending where a couple of small streams flowed at the bottom.

Part of the way up, we found the slope covered in rocks. They were small and annoying, though not nearly as bad as “Rocksylvania” on the Appalachian Trail. There were enough of them that some care was necessary to avoid twisting an ankle.

It didn't help that the rocks were still wet from the rain that just ended a couple of hours earlier.

Though the trail climbed for 250 feet in half a mile, the trail didn’t yet go up to the top of the ridge. Upwards in that direction, the slope looked like a controlled burn had been conducted recently to clear the undergrowth. The ground was only starting to green up again.

After walking for about an hour, we arrived at Adams Gap. A couple of roads crossed here. One was the old Skyway Motorway, which became a paved road and continued north as State Highway 281.

In the 1970s, the U.S. Forest Service restarted planning begun in the 1930s to create a 75-mile paved scenic highway. This road was part of the route that would have followed the ridge between Sylacauga and Borden Springs.

Some environmental advocacy groups banded together in 1977 and sued the Forest Service, claiming an Environmental Impact Statement was required for all of the proposed highway, not just piecemeal sections. A U.S. District Court judge in Birmingham agreed and halted the effort until a complete Environmental Impact Statement could be prepared.

That same year, the Carter administration began taking an inventory of roadless areas for possible inclusion in wilderness protection. Although the resulting recommendations were challenged in court cases, Alabama's senators introduced the Cheaha Wilderness Act. The legislation, which became law with President Reagan's signature in January 1983, put the brakes on a paved scenic highway.

The trail left the road junction and began a climb away from Adams Gap. This is where the trail entered Cheaha Wilderness, the land protected by the combined efforts of environmental groups and U.S. senators.

The wilderness covers nearly 7,400 acres and includes 7.8 miles of the Pinhoti Trail.

Although the rain stopped falling more than two hours ago, clouds continued to hang low and prevent the sun from drying the ground. The trail was soggy on the climb.

I had more problems with loose rocks and wet leaves than navigating. That was also true on the way down from the other side of Stairway to Heaven.

After starting the descent, Tengo and I stopped for lunch. The overcast sky and a gusty breeze made the spot we chose chilly, so we didn’t stay long.

The lunch stop failed to improve my energy, and I was beginning to feel like I was dragging my body along the trail. The problem may have been because of my feet. Once again, they hurt, though not in the same way as before.

Although my wet socks probably didn't have anything to do with the soreness, I decided to stop and change into a drier pair anyway. I figured they couldn’t make the pain any worse.

The clouds weren't as dark in the early afternoon, though the sky remained dreary. With no sunshine, the only brightness to view was a few azaleas. The blooms were large and showy on this overcast day.

The first water source we came upon in a long while was a small stream with a thick layer of mud on each side. The FarOut app identified this as a seasonal stream, but for today, there was plenty of water.

The climb up Stairway to Heaven didn't go to the top of the ridge. We eventually got to that elevation after walking two more miles. At the top, a couple of ledge overlooks provided expansive views north.

Finally, the sky began to brighten at about 3 p.m.. The clouds were thinning and starting to break up. It took a while before the temperature began to feel warmer, however.

We had several boulders to navigate around on the last climb before entering Cheaha State Park. Then after crossing the boundary into the park, the trail made two sharp turns. The first one doubled back and continued the climb toward McDill Point.

The trail made the second sharp turn at the point, then went past the wreckage of a single-engine plane crash.

A 50-year-old man died here when the Mooney aircraft he was piloting alone crashed into the mountain in December 1972. An investigation into the crash revealed he was not certified to fly at night or in bad weather. He tried to fly below low clouds and failed to see the ridge.

There wasn't much left of the plane when I walked by. The site could be easily reached from the state park, and much of the debris had been collected by souvenir hunters over the last 50 years.

From a ledge near McDill Point, I could see the weather was continuing to improve. Tengo wasn’t there when I stopped, and I assumed he was now far ahead.

I didn’t get much farther, though, before I heard him call to me. He said he missed a turn.

Less than a mile from the ledge was the highest point on the Alabama section of the Pinhoti Trail, Hernandez Peak. Getting there didn’t require much of a climb.

At 2,344 feet above sea level, Hernandez Peak's summit is just 61 feet lower than the state's highest point, Cheaha Mountain. The Pinhoti Trail did not go over that mountain, though the trail passed within a mile of it.

Perhaps that will change someday. A recommendation in the trail's master plan, which I mentioned earlier, calls for moving the trail to go over Cheaha Mountain.

A bronze plaque mounted on a large, granite boulder stood on the descent from Hernandez Peak. It was placed there in 2008 to commemorate the linking of the Appalachian Trail, the Benton MacKaye Trail, and the Pinhoti Trail.

In recent years, a small group of people is trying to get the Appalachian Trail's southern terminus moved to Cheaha Mountain. Jeff Hayes, one of the owners of Next Step Hostel, is a vocal leader of that group.

In their view, moving the terminus to Alabama would realize the original vision of Benton MacKaye. That’s not to say they want to replace the Pinhoti, however. Their idea is to construct a new trail running roughly parallel to the Pinhoti. They hope additional side trails can connect both major trails to offer loop hike opportunities.

I understand the appeal of moving the terminus to Alabama, but I don't agree with the proposal and don't expect it will ever happen. The proponents justify their idea by saying MacKaye's plan called for a "branch or extension" trail into Alabama, vaguely ending near Birmingham. I see this as a distortion of MacKaye’s vision, which never called for the terminus of the main trail to be in this state. Ultimately, such a move would require agreements with the Appalachian Trail Conservancy and the National Park Service, and getting those seems improbable.

The AT's southern terminus has been at Springer Mountain for more than 60 years. A lengthy tradition like that would be difficult to break.

Thousands of hikers start from there each spring. That requires a maintained trail, campsites, shelters, and a dedicated group of ridge runners and other volunteers. The Georgia Appalachian Trail Club provides much of that with its 600 members. I don’t see how that could be duplicated in Alabama.

I wish the Pinhoti Trail could just continue to be the Pinhoti, and let the AT be the AT. The Pinhoti would be better off if its leaders focused on making that trail the best it can be. From what I’ve seen of it so far, there is plenty of room for improvement.

Though the Pinhoti doesn’t go to the central facilities of the state park, which includes a camp store, we could have followed a side trail to get there. We decided we didn't need anything from the store. More to the point, we didn't have the energy to walk the added distance, even if it was less than a mile.

At one time, a restaurant was also located in the park, and if it were open today, I might have felt differently. It closed in December 2021, however, and park officials say there are no plans to reopen it.

While we were stopped to fill our water bottles at a small stream, I told Tengo about a campsite the FarOut app said was just half a mile away. He filled his water bottles first, then headed for it. I followed a short time later.

As soon as I arrived at a side trail that led to the campsite, I could tell he wasn't there. This surprised me, and I admit I was a bit peeved. My feet were hurting more than ever, and they were probably driving that emotion. I was ready to be done hiking for the day.

When I caught up to Tengo, he told me he didn't see the campsite and decided to keep walking. He stopped more than a half-mile farther up the trail when he found another campsite.

Some dinner, three ibuprofen, and a little time to reflect ended my annoyance about walking a little farther than I wanted. The truth is, I could never get mad at Tengo. He’s too congenial, easy-going, and fun to be around for that. I enjoy hiking with him.