I cracked my eyes open in the dull blue light of predawn. The sun was long from breaking the skyline but the summer sun begins rising early up there. My watch read half-past five.
View of sunset on the Bond Cliffs, one of the 4,000-foot peaks in the White Mountain 48 Challenge, as seen from West Bond. Superfly and I would bag it the following morning with clouds scraping its summit.
Next to me, inches from me in fact, laid one of my best friends, Superfly, who was still sound asleep. The tarp we had quickly thrown up late the night before was barely still hanging on. It had been a stormy night with winds ripping through our camp perched high on the side of West Bond, one of New Hampshire’s 4,000-foot peaks.
Superfly and I were finishing up part of the Pemigawassett Loop which brought us over several of the other 4,000-foot peaks in New Hampshire’s White Mountains. The long term goal was to touch every peak in New Hampshire above 4,000 feet. Unfortunately, I was just a guest on this conquest, as I had only the summer to accomplish this goal.
The Lake of the Clouds Hut and the Lake of the Clouds sitting beneath Monroe, Franklin and Eisenhower, all 4,000 footers and part of the Presidential Traverse.
Peak bagging, as it is known, has been popular in the North East for decades and made its way out West where people have bagged all 14,000-foot peaks in Colorado or other similar challenges. For many years the South Eastern Appalachians seemed to be a dead zone for this altitude obsessed line of hiking. Forty out of the 41 peaks east of the Mississippi River above 6,000 feet lie within the region, so it was only a matter of time before hikers began jockeying for those high points.
Enter Hugh Thompson of the Tennessee Eastman Hiking and Canoeing Club. In 1968 Thompson was inspired by the well established White Mountain and Adirondack Mountain peak-bagging challenges and set out to create one for the Southeast as well. Nearly three decades later the popularity of the challenge called for the first edition of the South Beyond 6000 Handbook.
A view of the several of the 6,000-foot peaks in the northern section of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Taken from the shoulder of Mount Kephart.
The South Beyond 6000 Challenge, or SB6K, has always been an honor-based achievement. Hikers attempting the challenge must send in the routes they hiked for each peak and essentially promise to be truthful about reaching that peak. Between 1973 and the end of 2018 less than 300 people have completed the SB6K, according to the Carolina Mountain Club, the current presiding body of the SB6K.
The iconic ramp to the top of the tower perched on top of Clingmans Dome.
There are, however, some rules to the challenge. The Carolina Mountain Club acknowledges that there are, in fact, over 60 summits in the South that exceed 6,000 feet of elevation. The twenty-something that are not included do not meet the standards of the CMC, which are that the peak must be over ¾ of a mile from the next closest peak or that there must be a descent of at least 200 feet following the highest line between it and the nearest peak. This ensures that the 40 chosen are peaks themselves and not just shoulders or spurs of a larger peak.
Nick crossing the Conasauga River, one of over 30 crossings. It was on this trip that we decided to go for the South Beyond 6,000 Challenge.
My own path to starting the SB6K is not a solitary one. In fact, it was hardly my idea to attempt it. Nick Sauer, known as Sitting Bull on the AT, is the one who first brought it to my attention. We had linked up to hike a river trail in the Cohutta Wilderness in August, shortly after my return from Maine for the summer.
Much of the first night on trail was spent catching up while sheltering from a light rain. After a long story about one of mine and Superfly’s adventures up one of the 4,000 footers in New Hampshire, he told me about a similar pursuit in the South. By the end of the night, we had decided to commit to bagging every 6,000-foot peak in the region.