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We were about 4000 feet above sea level in this part of the Citico Creek Wilderness Area, so this naturally meant that it would be much colder here than it would be in the valley. At the time, it was about 38 degrees on the Cherohala Skyway, while the temperatures within Jeffrey's Hell were much, much colder. As the wind blew across the mountain, the icy air stung our exposed skin like a razor wire. I couldn't feel my hands most of the time!
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If you’re from this corner of East Tennessee, then you might be familiar with the folklore of this rather ominously named region of the Citico Creek Wilderness Area–Jeffrey’s Hell. Jeffrey’s Hell is located opposite from Fall Branch Falls, ironically descending into a rhododendron and mountain laurel infested thicket that we locals refer to as “hells”. Technically speaking, Fall Branch Falls lies within this strange realm, a jungle of sorts in the higher elevations of southeastern Tennessee.
According to local legend, Jeffrey’s Hell received its rather unusual name after an unexplained disappearance that occurred sometime during the 1800s. An ornery old man by the name of Jeffrey went hunting in the Citico Creek Wilderness Area one day with a buddy of his, whose name is never mentioned. After a day of hunting, the two men were getting ready to turn around and head for home. However, Old Man Jeffrey’s hunting dogs were nowhere to be found, lost within the deep tangle of the hells, their barks echoing throughout the mountain. Understandably upset, Old Man Jeffery begins to frantically call for his dogs, but no avail, his dogs never returned. Bound and determined to find them, he resolves to find them himself, despite the warnings of his friend, who reassured him that the dogs would eventually find their way home.
As he walked into the dense tangle of mountain laurel, Old Man Jeffrey turned around to face his friend for one last time, his words seemingly sealing his fate,
“I’ll go to Hell and back to find these dogs if it’s the last thing I do!”
That was the last time anyone had seen Old Man Jeffrey. His body was never found, perhaps swallowed whole by the very hell he damned himself into.
They say that this area is haunted by the spirit of Old Man Jeffrey, who searches endlessly in vain for his missing hunting dogs. Some say that he can be spotted, carrying a lantern on the night of a full moon. Others say that his frantic calls for his dogs can be heard, sounding throughout the laurel thickets as the muffled sound of barking can be heard in the distance.
This rather unusual looking tree stands just feet away from the banks of Fall Branch, acting as somewhat of a marker to alert weary travelers that their destination was lying in wait for them up ahead. The roots are planted firmly in the ground, undulating in strange twists and knots that appeared as a living cascade on the muddy trail.
JEFFREY’S HELL (2024)
This is a follow-up to “Chest” (2022). The filmmaker wants to do a follow-up on that story by making a historical documentary about the cave from that movie. He reads the internet, and one day an anonymous source emails him the location of a cave! He decides to go explore the cave and promptly disappears! Yes, this is framed as “found footage,” as we watch the filmmaker’s video of his adventures. We also hear from his friends and buddies, who were the stars of “Chest.” They do a lot of talking about the missing dude, but don’t really add much to the film.
Anyway, we watch the filmmaker travel to the location provided by the anonymous source. He finds a cave and films himself descending into the entrance. Then we hear from the local police officer that the filmmaker’s belongings were recovered, along with some camera footage, but there was no cave at that location. The story goes cold, until some dude in Switzerland claims that he found the camera in a field. An anonymous group uploads the footage for the world to see.
Now we watch as the filmmaker, in a very stupid move, explores the cave by himself. He climbs down a tunnel, but he cannot return to the top because someone unties his rope! He wanders the cave, hoping to find an exit, and comes upon a ringing telephone. He talks to the police, but it is actually an evil spirit! Then he is chased by a man in a spacesuit (we started off with him talking about his childhood desire to be an astronaut) and then by a woman with long black hair. He ends up back in his house, but, naturlich, it's not really his home. The woman monster chases him back into the cave, and then he finds a sealed metal door in the ground. He talks to a version of himself, kills that copy, and then jumps through the door. He ends up in the air and the camera lands on the ground. One of his friends talks us out.
This was ok. The cave horror was well done; I can only imagine the technical difficulties of filming in such a location, and the filmmaking exudes a sense of dread and claustrophobia. The rest…wasn’t so good. The talking heads added nothing to the story. The plot was thin and the spooks were amateurish. The filmmaker rushed off to the cave due to some apparent growing sense of, if not mania, then obsession, but this wasn’t well explored in the rest of the narrative. The doppelganger he encounters at the end doesn’t confront him with some awful personal truth. It just mutters gibberish. Also, the potential spooks of the anonymous source that led him to the cave were unexplored. The filmmaker finds the person’s name written on the cave wall, but that was scant payoff for such an ominous hint. This left me disappointed.
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We found the remains of a campfire that appeared to have not been used in some time, as evidenced by the fine layer of powder snow that had collected over the pile of damp ash. By this time, we were all shivering, with the mists coming from the falls becoming more frigid as the wind changed direction over the laurel hells, blowing a silent breeze throughout the area. We all decided that it would be best to rest for a little bit before starting back up the mountain, which would be absolutely atrocious trekking in such icy conditions.
We used the campfire remains as a little rest area. Greg had packed a small camp stove and began to boil some water for a fresh brew of coffee. While I usually take my cup of morning Joe with creamer and sugar, I welcomed the warmth of the black coffee, which unthawed my numb extremities. All three of us spent about a half an hour drinking coffee, eating MREs, and discussing our lives in general as Fall Branch Falls roared in the background. It was a moment that I would cherish for a long time, one that I will never forget--food, friends, coffee, and a beautiful waterfall nearby. It could not have been a better morning!
I took this photo of the lower end of Fall Branch Falls, which almost completely encased in a layer of ice and snow. I don’t think this tree fell because of all that extra weight, as it appeared to have fallen some time before. In the morning sunlight, the ice glistened like diamonds.
