Location: Gatlinburg to Newfound Gap to Pigeon Forge to Gatlinburg
Weather: Mostly sunny, 50s
The more things change, the more they…don’t stay the same.
The mileage/distance profile of the hike to
After another indecisive morning (should I wake Alex up? Get in the shower? Turn the lights on and let them decide? Why not just lie in bed and relax?), plastic-bowl raisin brain, and a quick stop at the visitor center, we were up to 3,700 feet and one of three cars in a large parking lot at about 10:00. I was minorly freaking out about setting off in pants that weren’t wind- or poly- or any other sufficient buzzword. As important as safety is, I also definitely take some pride in walking the walk, or at least so far as it allows me to talk the talk. Passing 20-30 people in jeans and sneakers on the way down, even if they were only heading to the halfway point, kind of put things into perspective.
We eased into things with a nearly level walk along a babbling brook, complete with scattered hemlocks and lots and lots of what I thought were rhododendrons, but were apparently actually magnolias. So far, so familiar; the first inkling that we weren’t at home was the first bridged water crossing. Instead of a bridge made up of slats laid parallel to the water, we had one long, narrow log covered with concrete and a handrail on one side. The concrete was a nice touch, since wet wood can be really slippery, though the handrail was a little too necessary.
More strikingly, we definitely weren’t in
The grade slowly increased as we cruised past the bluffs that give the trail its name about halfway to the summit. Oddly, there was a strong sulfuric smell (from the alum) on the way down but not on the way up. Leaving the car, we had been unsure about how far we would be able to get but, having made good time to this point, we had no trouble deciding to continue on.
We took our first serious break a little later as Alex turned a post-it note into moleskin for a nasty blister. “What a trooper!” I thought. I was in the new winter boots and was fortunate to escape with just a small unpopped blister on one toe. The moderate grade continued through increasingly icy conditions; as self-appointed trip leader I tried to err on the side of “Are you sure you’re comfortable?” and was fortunate not to get eye-rolls in reply.
My favorite part of the day came after we reached the top of a ridge and the trail flattened out for the penultimate approach. The trees—mostly spruce—thickened on both sides and their needles formed an arch over the trail, which was now covered with a few inches of snow. Usually, I read trip reports that make claims like “it was like being in a cathedral!” with some skepticism, but this really was a spiritual experience. I was so thrilled just to be alive.
The spell was broken by the sight of the summit area lodge and a nervous passing of two other hikers at a trail junction (why didn’t I pack those damn pants?) Not knowing which of the several trails led to the true summit, we wandered around for a while before finding a nice-looking cairn in the woods and retreating for a quiet lunch at a nice outlook across the pass. We were still well below treeline, so the air was still and serene.
The view was simply mountains beyond mountains beyond mountains. It was kind of refreshing to just sit and bask without worrying about trying to figure out what was what. All in all, given the large differences in attractions (no arches or alum caves in NH), trail maintenance (bridges & handrails) and views (no treeline, general woodedness), the hiking experience in the Smokies was distinctly different from the Whites. I’m really glad to have tried and enjoyed somewhere else so much. After days of reflective travel, the trip down went by refreshing quickly as we traded roleplaying stories.
After all the worrying about turnaround times and mountain sunsets, we were back to the car by 3:30 and had plenty of time to drive up to the highpoint of US-441 (Newfound gap, 50xx feet), coast back to town, and shower up before dinner. We hemmed and hawed about where to go to dinner before ending up at a chain Italian place in the Macaroni Grill style; the food was great so we definitely won that one.
One great thing about this sort of trip is that you really do learn about other people and yourself. This most obviously happens, because of the out-of-character responses generated, with respect to quirks and pet peeves. So far, we’ve implicitly established that Alex hates ATM and parking fees and paying too much for meals, while I hate asking for directions and talking to strangers.
We were plowing through our chicken, garlic, and bowtie pasta and got to talking about the hike when I found that I just had to insert a “Yeah, and I was really impressed with how you kept going with that blister! You should give yourself a hearty pat on the back!” or something. “Uh-oh,” I thought and quickly tried to verbalize into a joke, “I’m turning into my dad” as past comments on bowling follow-throughs, test preparation, (of course) hiking accomplishments and most anything else flashed uncomfortably. Looking back, I guess dads are supposed to say stuff like that; maybe I should just work on stopping being so mildly conceited about stuff without dragging psychobabble into the mix.
Traveling with someone you don’t know incredibly well is hard! I know Alex as well as I know all but a handful of people, and still often have a hard time knowing when he’s happy with what we’re doing or is just tagging along. “You know, we can go into some of these shops if you want,” I hastened to remark as we strolled up and down Gatlinburg after dinner. Two days later, I got a little satisfaction out of being asked “Is this okay?” numerous times in
No comments:
Post a Comment