Great Smokies (TN)

Watching the river rise.

We arrived at Smokemont Campground around dark with no ranger present and no idea which site we were supposed to camp in. So we grabbed one, threw up our big new stand-up tent and fortunately, weren’t chased off in the middle of the night by a 40-foot Winnebugger. It rained and rained some more, all night and into the next day. But that didn’t deter us from seeing some sights, including a morning drive up Clingman’s Dome, the highest point in the park and highest point in Tennessee.

The park map said there was a store near the top, and given the cold rain and gusty wind threatening to disembowel our umbrella, Kris was envisioning a hot cup of joe. But it was not to be. I know the Park Service struggles budget-wise, but they coulda made a killing on hot drinks that day. We marched on up the steep wide path to the overlook—just a short stroll, I promised. About 300 huffs and puffs later, we reached the ridge and the longer-than-it-looks-curvy-twirly-spyro-giro circular concrete ramp-a-doodle thing that led to the million-dollar view above the trees, only it was more like a two-dollar view that particular morning. It was blowing at least 40 and like all the other tourists, we were fashionably underdressed. A boy of about 10, descending, said “Don’t go up there!” We shrugged off his sage advice and leaned into the wind for the final stretch to the top. Click, picture, about-face and down.

Blowing 40.

Click!

Water everywhere.

What the heck, let's go to Katahdin.

View from the room in Gatlinburg.

Love this t-shirt.

Mini-golf on a steep hillside.

Smoky is for salamanders.

We headed next to the west-side campground, Elkmont, and pitched our tent during a break in the squalls. Then it was off to Gatlinburg, which an officemate had warned me not to do. Whoa, what a place. The amusement park atmosphere wasn’t exactly our cup of tea (reminiscent of Niagara Falls, Canada), but we made the most of it and tried to blend in. The weather began to dry out finally, but Kris had soaked up just the right amount of rain by then and wisely suggested we find a motel room for the night, which we did. She conked out early, so with the skies improving, I decided to brave the crowds and see what Gatlinburg was about: ice cream, caramel apples, miniature golf and t-shirts. I also found a nice little coffee shop and bakery tucked away and took Kris there in the morning.

Back on track weather-wise, it was time to get a good hike in. Mount LeConte had beckoned from my prior research, some calling it the best hike in the Smokies. So how could we not do it, especially now that the sun was back and all was perfect again? We packed a lunch and headed for the Alum Cave Trailhead. The first mile is a breeze, a nice warm-up for the steeper parts above. After a couple of footbridge crossings, we entered a very cool, dark crevice where a couple dozen stone steps climbed steeply behind a giant slab of rock. Having designed a few trails myself, I applauded the vision of the trail geek who saw the possibility here. They did an excellent job solving a technical problem, while creating a unique trail experience that people can ooh and ah over, me included. Woohoo, I love this stuff.

The crevice.

Alum Cave.

The trail climbed more earnestly and eventually reached a major landmark, the Alum Cave (really, a large overhang), two miles up. The terrain steepens and cables are bolted to the rock for handrails where the path has been carved from the rock. Views improve until we finally reached the LeConte Lodge five miles up. The lodge is a collection of cabins with a dining hall high on the peak. We agreed we most definitely want to come back here again with a cabin reserved and waiting, maybe for our anniversary next year? It would make a fabulous place to spend a couple of nights and perhaps take in a thunderstorm or two, and sip a shot or two or three of Jack Daniels, reading Michael Frome’s story of the Smokies, Strangers in High Places. It was nice to see Michael’s wise words highlighted in a big display at the one of the visitor centers. We enjoyed our lunch on the grand deck out back of the hall, then scooted over to the rocky ridge crest for a view, before heading back down. The clouds were moving in again, which I’ve learned is par for the course in the Smokies. Minutes from the truck, the rain arrived, so that was pretty good timing. We toughed it out, whipped up dinner at camp, and made it through another rainy night in our nifty new tent.

Day three in the Smokies was departure day and after a stop at a waterfall, it was off to Chattanooga for some civilized sightseeing there. But first came breakfast at the Riverstone Restaurant in Townsend, Tennesse, just outside the park. Splendid. The Smokies had be wet and wild, but a great time was had by all, and return we will.

On the patio.

Another salamander.

On the way down.

Michael Frome's words.

Back at camp.

So long Smokies, we'll be back.