Target: Fork Mountain
Type: Highpoint
State: South Carolina

View on Map

The northern part of Sumter NF is in a region known as the foothills, the high hills that mark the edge of the Appalachian chain. Fork Mountain is therefore something of a misnomer. At 3255 feet it falls short of what most would consider a mountain. Nevertheless, the terrain is steep with plenty of elevation change.

Another oddity of this area is the Fork Mountain Trail, which avoids the actual Fork Mountain for the most part. Not that you’ll find me complaining about that. I often avoid high points because of the crowds. The mile long bushwhack from the trail to the summit peels away most people that might otherwise be drawn to it.

I picked up the trail at the Sloan Bridge picnic area. There were reports that it was overgrown and blocked by heavy deadfall, but it seems the trail crew had been threw in the last few weeks as the way was clear, at least along the first section. I could see recent cuts, so the info was not far out of date. Maybe the reports had kept people away, or maybe it just wasn’t a heavily trafficed area, but I saw no one else around and only old sign.

The first three miles were easy going, just enough elevation change to get the blood flowing. The trail rises up to a ridge along the shoulder of Fork Mountain before dropping off the other side to continue towards the Chattooga River and Ellicott Rock, the historical tri-state boundary marker between NC, SC, and Georgia.

I turned off at the shoulder, moving south toward the summit. There were faint trails traveling the ridge line, although it wasn’t clear if they were made by other hikers, or game avoiding the laurel choked drainages to either side. Cresting the first false summit I had narrow long range views of fall splendor. I was higher than the peak leaf line, but there was plenty of color still, and I was looking down on most of it.

The vegetation wasn’t too thick and I was able to skirt the worst of it. Before long I was approaching the top. I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye, low to the ground and moving fast. A rustle of brush and out popped a large dog with a radio collar. So there were bear hunters about, probably the only people that regularly pass through these tangled hillsides.

Sure enough, reaching the summit I saw an orange cap in the trees. Waving hello (and don’t shoot me) I met 76 year old Bob. He told me how he had been visiting this mountain, his favorite place in the foothills, for the last 40 years and I was the first person he’d ever seen at the top. I knew of course that various highpointers had visited, but it wasn’t much of a trophy peak so likely not many. Bob and I sat for the better part of an hour talking about these woods and others we’ve known, swapping stories and tips while his dog roamed the area. As it turns out Bob doesn’t hunt bears, he just likes finding them. He read a book once that said the best way to see country you would never think to look for is to follow a bear dog. So he got one and sure enough he knew every nook and cranny of these hills. An interesting fellow, I was sad to see him go.

Before he went he had suggested that I follow the ridge further south as it would eventually drop me down to a trail that ran along the East Fork of the Chattooga. From there I could head east towards the fish hatchery and back to my car. I followed the ridge, staying high to avoid the laurel. It is pretty country there and remote when you are off trail. I had a brief heart stopping moment when I scrambled across a creek bed to come face to face with a diamond headed snake in a cut of the bank. Jumping back recklessly fast I only realized halfway through that I was staring at a hognose pretending to dangerous. Feeling silly both for not seeing the snake until too late and for jumping at shadows I continued down the hillside. Eventually I dropped down a steep face towards the river. When I reached the trail at the bottom I decided to head west, away from the hatchery, to see if I could make a loop by connecting the east fork with the main river then back to the Fork Mountain Trail.

I wasn’t clear on how the trails connected. My USGS maps often showed things that were no longer there, while leaving off newer changes. It had no trails going north along the river from the East Fork, which seemed unlikely, but showed several going diagonal to Fork Mountain Trail. It would turn out that I had to make the full loop, down to the river, north on the trail that did in fact exist there, then all the way up to Ellicott Rock before catching the trail I started on.

Everything to this point had been very quiet, and felt remote, but as soon as I hit the river there were fisherman seemingly around every corner. This part of the Forest is old growth on the South Carolina side, but there was little to see of it since the trail mostly stayed down in the river cut. The East Fork was narrow and fast moving, and I stopped to have lunch on a rock by the water’s edge. A low cliff at my back seeped water that fed thick moss and hanging plants making the scene feel primal.

Once the East Fork joins the main river everything opens up. The water is wide and fast and fisherman were camped on both sides at intervals. It seemed a pleasant way to spend a weekend if you enjoyed such things. Everyone spaced themselves out nicely, finding blind hollows to maintain as much seclusion as possible. The rush of the water would mask any sounds and make you feel alone if you didn’t look around too hard.

Moving north the scenery stayed spectacular. I considered cutting across country, but the weather was cool and it was a pleasant walk along the banks. There are a lot of social trails through here, made by fisherman seeking fish and camps, so route finding can be tricky. Deviations are short though, as they inevitably end at the water before long. I managed to get through with only a couple of detours.

Eventually I found myself crossing into NC and turning away from the river. I was back on the Fork Mountain Trail and the people and rushing water faded away. The trail climbs quickly here in a long, steep section. The scenery changes just as rapidly and before long you are back in a low alpine setting. The combination of social and scenery changes is jarring and feels almost like someone flipped a switch, sending you to another time and place.

Once you reach the first ridge line the forest opens up, the trees spreading out, and the undergrowth waning in their shade. I encountered one couple camping off the side of the trail, but otherwise saw no one for the entire 7.5 miles. They said I was the first one they had seen all day. Eventually I passed the spot where I had turned off for the mountain summit and then it was just a few miles to my car.

The man I met at the top of Fork Mountain had mentioned a remote and difficult FS road that would be a good place to camp so I headed out to find it. After a couple of misses I turned off and headed down the unmaintained road just as it got dark. Making my way past deep ruts and heavy mud I found a pleasant streamside clearing to make camp and settle in.

The next day I drove to the end of the road and set up a hammock to spend a couple of hours relaxing and enjoying the fall breezes before making my way out and towards home.