First off, this is not a trail. There is but a trace of an old logging road on one ridge top that would approach the notion of trail, and it’s quite a miserable route. Here the creek is the trail, or the sandy drip line. This route is difficult, yes, rather grueling, yes, slow, yes, but it is well worth it! The sight of towering sandstone bluffs surrounding you, closing out the sky and the surrounding land, hemming in a narrow strand of stream and forest, is not something usually found in the Southeast- if it is I haven’t seen it, not canyons this narrow. Certainly not one expects from Alabama. The description I give below is of but a small corner of the large Sipsey Wilderness, most of which is utterly trail-less and, I am sure, is on the same scale of grandeur and solitude. The canyons surrounding Quillan Creek would make interesting trips, as I know little of them other than the stream names and that they look great on the topos.

Starting Out:

I must relate an incident, that, though at the time seemed rather dismal, proved to be a blessing in disguise.  I had planned to start into Quillan Creek from FR 208, which looked to be a shorter, easier route-indeed, that is right on the money. But upon traveling north along FR 210 through the Old Macedonia community (which isn’t really the old Macedonia, the real one being a couple thousand years older at least), then turning down FR 208, we came point blank into a massive pitch pine that had toppled across the road and onto the power line, fully blocking the road and any drivable margin. Thus halted, we turned back and looked over our options. The most obvious route I could see was down an old motorway that veers off of FR 210 a mile and a half below Old Macedonia on the left (that is, when traveling from FR 208). We could not discern whether this patch of land, marked on my map as a private holding, was indeed such, for, spiked to several trees, were Forest Service boundary signs. Ah well I figured, the alternative to this ridge was a bramble covered and very steep slope that looked very uncomfortable. So we walked down the gated road to the wilderness boundary, where the road turned to a grassy track and was fully blocked by logs. Heck with them-all a part of the wilderness experience. We walked, or rather climbed and shimmied, down the snag clogged ridge, until we came to a low saddle which was supposed to contain a fork into Quillan Creek. Sure. Unable to locate it (no mountainous in 30 years can do wonders), we struck off into an open, steeply sloping drainage that soon leveled out into a lovely little glen, complete with a bubbling creek and gravel bed. This stream quickly dropped into a shady hemlock grove flanked by some low bluffs. Below here, the stream gathered speed and the bluffs rose, replete with some fascinating, very deep rock houses. But the real marvel of this stream lies about midway in its course. Here it plunges into a deep cleft which eventually leads to Quillan Creek. But rather than a conventional plunge over a sandstone lip, the stream has cut a narrow slot in the lip, and instead falls through that and into the cave like recess behind. With this odd feature, and great cliffs all around, one might for a moment or two forget he is in the Deep South.

 As "Skyhole Falls"' stream winds down through a narrow, short hanging canyon, it meets the bluff line of Quillan Creek and falls over this lovely  waterfall, "Three Step Falls, highlighted by contrasting bands and crevices of sandstone.

This stream rushes down to the edge of Quillan Creek Canyon, spilling over a fine three step falls on the way in, the largest on this little stream. This is a great waterfall, but a few feet from the larger stream, and very imposing cliffs soaring high above. Here to our route opened into the canyon via a low rock lip to the left, the only break in this cliff line for miles. The view was breathtaking, and again I felt transported to some western canyon, magically transformed with verdant trees and abundant water.

And to think, had that tree not been blocking the road, I would have missed all the wonders of this fine little stream and its sky light falls.

From here on, our route was a continual wonderland of geology-tall cliffs, honeycombed rock, massive talus falls, great clefts and splits, and numerous waterfalls. The most difficult portion of this bit is found just below the “entrance”, above a hidden (I could not see it) cascade called Quillan Cascades, whose upper portion was beautiful, pouring over gently slanted, shining rock filled with whirling potholes (this kind of stream bed is not encountered downstream and was very unique). But below this enchanting spot, the cliffs narrow seriously and the stream itself is totally impassable. At first, we feared that this was a ead end, but upon scurrying along the drip line of the bluff, whose base was a vast conglomerate of jumbled boulders running down to the cascades, we found that, upon skirting some deep crevices and sheer drops, it was possible to climb down a ten foot ledge back towards the creek. 

A bit of rough going, this stretch of rock scrambling at first seemed impassable until we spotted a ten foot or so ledge that could be shimmied down thanks to a birch root that kindly extended down the rock. The rope came in handy here, though.

This ledge marked the end of the talus jumble, which in places was a good forty to fifty feet above the stream. Here apparently a bench extends along the stream, all but obscured by the heaps of rock upon it. To be quite honest I did not look around close enough. We lowered our packs by that rope you have stashed in your pack, thinking you’ll probably never really need it on the trail, then climbed down our selves and proceeded down canyon. From here to our camp site, the trail was either the drip line of the south bluffs or the creek-depending on which was more readily walk able. Along the way there are several fine waterfalls and many nice cliffs and formations. Of special interest is one I call “Talus Falls” as, after dropping down a very shaded cliff face, the water seems to disappear as it flows under a pile of fallen stone hugging a cliff line, then chatters down to the creek.

This wispy falls, "Ethereal Falls", sung the night away a few hundred feet behind our campsite, tucked into a remarkable, nearly fully enclose bowl.

We struck camp on a narrow hemlock flat beside the stream, with a boulder field on the right and “Etheral Falls” on the left, the creek behind. It served out purposes quite well, and, as far as I could tell, should you travel over this place, you will find no trace of our being there.

Up the Box Canyon and Out by Ledge

The next we all explored a fine box canyon I had stumbled upon the evening before. Up this cool, dark canyon, enclosed by fine grained black walls of sandstone, stand, protected by two steep, rugged rock falls, several large, old tulip poplars, untouched by loggers. At the end of the canyon gurgles a twenty foot waterfall, which was quite low at our visit but is doubtless spectacular in season. On one wall beside this deeply enclosed falls gushes a remarkable spring, pouring out of solid rock and onto the sandy floor several feet below. The flat, sandy basin at the base of the falls, well suited for a couple tents, and the whole canyon really, bore no signs at all of man’s presence-rather remarkable when you think about it.

Sugar Camp Falls" gathers it water in a remote little hollow, then cascades down into a narrow, sort hanging canyon ringed by low bluffs, then plunges over this deeply creviced falls, then clatters steeply to Quillan Creek through numerous sugar maples.

We now trudged down canyon to another delightful, though very steep waterfall glen, this one I refer to as “Sugar Camp Falls”. Its deep, climbable ledges lend a special aura to the place. We found an exit on a slick little ledge a hundred yards to the right, which we climbed up. After resting at the brink of the falls, which I found wasn’t Sugar Camp Falls but instead a smaller, hidden waterfall only a few feet back from the larger one) we walked up an old grade of sorts then straight up the cove and onto to that miserable ridge, which, a couple miles of deadfall and briers later, brought us back to FR 210, ending a fine trip into Alabama's largest wilderness.

This trip report was written Jonathan (Longleaf Redneck) from Ellisville, MS.  Copyright 2001