For most four-wheelers on the West Coast, Chattanooga, Tennessee, would seem anything but a hotbed of off-road activity. Indeed, much of the South remains a mystery to those on the opposite side of the country. After all, our paths don't cross much. But after having attended the Rosser Rendezvous for the last three years, we can say that our fellow four-wheelers in the South are as committed to the path less taken as those anywhere else in the country, and their rigs reflect the same go-anywhere attitude.
In many ways, the South is a four-wheeler's paradise, and Chattanooga is a splendid example. The mountainous countryside is dotted with pristine lakes, a vast variety of wildlife, and blessedly little metropolitan sprawl. Better yet, as with much of the eastern half of the U.S., most of the property is privately owned, which means that gaining approval to hold a four-wheeling event requires less bureaucratic hassle than we've come to expect in the West.
As in years past, Ken and Larry Rosser used the Raccoon Mountain Campgrounds again as a central gathering area because of its proximity to the hundreds of miles of off-road trails that surround Chattanooga. Here, where the city ends, nature takes over immediately, which is why most of the trails are no more than a few minutes from the campgrounds.
Bob Hazel of Sports-In-the-Rough has been promoting this event for the past few years and does a fine job of making clear what each trail demands from a rig and its driver. Each trail is rated on a scale of 1 to 5, with 1 meaning bring spare film and 5 meaning bring spare parts. Whether you come for spectacular scenery or challenging terrain, there is something here for everyone.
As we launched from the campground this year, we returned to a familiar trail, Aetna, which is rated a 4/5. It is essentially a power line trail that runs for miles with the kind of straight, unerring precision that only engineers can accomplish. As you travel the length of this trail, you are continually presented with opportunities to veer off into the surrounding woods for a little extracurricular fun. However, the primary path itself is usually enough to hold everyone's attention. Aetna follows the natural rise and fall of the countryside, which means extremely deep rises and falls of loose, badly rutted dirt. The crest of one hill will fall a good 100 vertical feet or more before bottoming out and immediately beginning the ascent to the next crest. Even for the most well-built rigs, the terrain exacts a toll.
When we tackled this trail last year, the weather was balmy and beautiful, and traction was good. This year, when the clouds were not brooding and heavy, they were producing the kind of downpour that seems to obscure everything more than 20 feet away. In a matter of minutes, everything was slick and muddy, including us. Thunder boomed just above our heads, while lightning crackled in the afternoon sky, illuminating the trail with incandescent white. We wouldn't have rather been anywhere else.
We spent the remainder of the day slipping and sliding up and down the trail, slowly but resolutely forging ahead. Having long since stowed the camera gear in exchange for a spare seat in J.P. Pritchard's TJ fresh up from Louisiana, we began one of the last ascents of the day only to realize that so much of the hillside had been washed away in the deluge that we would have to find another route. The persistent rain made it difficult to judge the proper line, but up we went. The TJ had snapped a front axle earlier in the day, so we clawed our way out with three wheels digging deep for any kind of traction. Then, near the top, the route narrowed to a small ravine that required us to put the front right passenger tire up on the rocks and rely on throttle control to bump us up and over. The Chevy 350 under the hood growled each time J.P. tapped the pedal. And then the combination of elements conspired to get the front of the TJ bouncing just a little too much, and suddenly we were staring straight at the sky. The frontend hung suspended in midair while onlookers rushed forward to grab the bumper and prevent us from tipping any further back. A wet, mud-streaked face appeared at the window to ask if we'd like to winch the last 10 feet or so. After a short conference, we agreed.