While looking at a map of Joyce Kilmer National Forest I notice a hiking trail called Jenkins Medlow. The name sent me dreaming of an open field, on top of a mountain, surrounded by a breath taking view of the Smokes. Then, I thought, I must go there.
Joyce Kilmer is one of the few remaining virgin forest in the United States and was named after the poet who wrote the poem, Trees.
The trails are intentionally kept primitive so they are rugged and steep with few markers. It is important to heed to this warning. The trail I will be on is the one that my friend become lost and spent several days and nights in the woods. Because of this I have added a map and compass to my gear. The hike is fairly simple; one day up (7 miles and 3000 feet), camp at Jenkins Meadow (in theory) then one day down.
At sunrise, full of excitement, I hurry to the trailhead. Once there I stop and stare up the mountain and think; I hope Jenkins Meadow actually exist. After stepping off the asphalt I put my head down and start the climb. As my thoughts fade and I raise my head I begin to see the forest. Its lush green leaves block the sky and the floor is a thick profusion of plants that have been growing for hundreds of years. I become hypnotized by every detail. Great weathered old trees that are the largest on the East Coast, with moss and small snails clinging to their roots. Vines and plants in a life or death struggle for the sun. I can just see the trail covered by the bushes. Its reddish with small gray rocks, maybe like Mars, hope there are not snakes. Occasionally a fly will break the silence. I’ve never seen any thing like this. I must see what’s up ahead. As I Push deeper onto the wilderness, how wonderful it feels to leave the problems caused by man far behind. In fact there are no people, and I am on my own.
The day is wearing on and my morning energy is wearing off. Exhausted I plop to the ground and look at the map. Am I in the area of Jinks Meadow or is it just where they placed the name on the map? Not knowing I push on to an intersection of two trails. After struggling up a sheer vertical cliff, I step on to a small ledge, a weathered sign with an over grown path is behind it. My first though is; this is as far as I go, and Jinks Meadow it ain’t! But it is a relief to take off the pack and I decide to explore. Unfortunately the thick vines force me back to my little spit of dirt. I wish I could see out. Above me is the ridge line. So with all my might I head straight up the mountain, only to be pushed down again. I resign myself to my fait, I’m trapped and it’s only 3pm. What will I do with all this time? Hoping to keep the nats away I build a small fire, but didn’t work. I shift my weight trying to get comfortable on the hard dirt. I lay back and stare at the leaves and the sign. Then I notice a faded arrow pointing to the left. I wonder…
Excitedly I push through the growth. But this time it thins out quickly. The trail runs right along the ridge line and I marvel at how easy it is to walk on flat ground, there’s even a nice breeze. Up ahead I see something. Then to my surprise I’m standing in what must be Jinks Meadow and it is every thing I had image it to be. In the middle of the opening is a huge oak tree surrounded by a field of ferns that drop off to reveal a massive red sun setting behind the Great Smoky Mountains. For a moment my head spins as I stand at the center, with the ground below and sky above. It is so peaceful here and it’s all mine. But the darkness wakes me and I must turn away. I’m so relived to have found this. It will always be here for me, and I will be back.
