The Badger and his adventure crews live for the wild, off-the-beaten-path treks in the Southern Appalachians—the steeper, wetter, and more obscure, the better.

In late May 2017, Rock Sprite Kitty Myers and I joined a strong crew for what was billed as a one-day descent of Thee Creek, a rarely visited waterway plunging down the eastern slopes of North Carolina’s Black Mountains. As any experienced ‘Schwacker’ knows, Mother Nature rarely sticks to the itinerary. What began as an ambitious day hike became an unforgettable overnight bivouac that still ranks in my personal hall of fame.

The plan originated with our self-styled “Navigator,” Brett Haas. He envisioned a three-day exploration of the steep, waterfall-rich drainages east of Mount Mitchell and its neighbors—the highest peaks east of the Mississippi. Life intervened, shrinking the trip to a single day focused on Thee Creek.

We met at the hiker parking area in Black Mountain Campground: Brett, me (the Badger), Kitty, her fellow Woman of Epicity Jill Young (née Cash), plus veteran waterfall chasers Jack Buchanan and David Holle.

I’d done my homework, consulting waterfall guru Kevin Adams. He and “Waterfall Rich” Stevenson had recently descended the creek and confirmed a solid route: hike the high crest from near Mount Mitchell over Big Tom, bushwhack to the headwaters, then follow Thee Creek’s rugged course down to Rock Creek and a shuttle out via Colbert Creek Road.

The first miles were glorious—high-elevation trail walking over Mount Craig and Big Tom, then down the Big Tom Spur to the Buncombe Horse Trail (the BHT). Once we left the established paths near 5,700 feet, the real adventure began. Thee Creek became our guide for a relentless 2,500-foot vertical drop over roughly three miles. This waterway doesn’t play: it’s a near-continuous cascade with at least a baker’s dozen legitimate waterfalls plus countless smaller drops along the main stem and tributaries.

We started strong with Nahnaiyv (“Distant”) Falls high above 5,500 feet, then spent hours boulder-hopping, root-grabbing, rhodo-thrashing, and creek-walking around drops reaching 150 feet. The crew moved well—seasoned, focused, and fired up.

But our late start caught up with us. As twilight fell between Tsuyawetsvhi (“Tired”) Falls and Lower Thee Creek Falls (now known as Badger Island Falls), we faced what looked like a sketchy 20-foot slide in the fading light. Thee Creek has no easy bailouts. You’re committed.

I checked the topo on Gaia GPS, assessed our emergency gear and the group’s fatigue, and when the suggestion came to push on in full darkness, I made the call: “Badger ain’t going anywhere tonight.” Kitty, Jill, and Jack backed the decision immediately; Brett and David wanted to continue. The next day proved it was the right call.

We bivouacked on a tiny 8×8-foot rocky outcrop at 3,995 feet—“Badger Island Bivouac”—hemmed in by rhododendron, a small waterfall, and a plunge pool, and that ominous drop. Jill started the fire with her business cards (absolute genius), David gathered kindling, Kitty distributed emergency blankets, Brett hauled wood, and Jack kept spirits up. The fire roared, dried our soaked gear, and held off the chill of a late-spring night at 4,000 feet. We had snacks, spotty cell service for family check-ins, and plenty of stories. Sleep was minimal, but we stayed warm and avoided hypothermia.

At first light, we assessed the obstacle that had stopped us: a 150-foot plunge we christened Tombstone Falls. Kitty dryly noted that attempting it in the dark would have been a literal tombstone moment. Even in daylight, it was serious—exposed, slippery, and guarded by steep rhododendron walls we used as handholds.

Brett and David decided to peel off and bushwhack their own way back to the cars. The remaining four—Badger, Rock Sprite, Jack, and Jill—continued the grind. Over the next two-plus miles and final 1,000 feet of descent, we navigated Cleft Falls on Thee, Side Slide Falls, Horrifying Falls, and several other significant, unnamed drops of 15 feet or more.

A brief drama unfolded when I misplaced my phone (containing our GPS track), but Kitty spotted it, and another mini-disaster was averted. When we finally reached the confluence with Rock Creek, a rough trail appeared, then a better one, and finally a wide path leading back to the vehicles.

To call the Thee Creek Tour merely “difficult” understates it. From the crest of the East’s highest mountain to the bottom, mostly off-trail, it ranks among the most strenuous and committing hikes Rock Sprite and I have done in the Southern Appalachians.

Was it worth it? Absolutely. Kevin Adams was right: Thee Creek remains one of the last true frontiers of North Carolina waterfall chasing: a wild, beautiful, humbling slice of the Black Mountains that earns every bit of effort you pour into it.

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