The anticipation build-up for a two-day experience in the Smoky Mountains was extreme to say the absolute least. The iconic mountain range located in the beautiful states of Tennessee and North Carolina are one of Nature’s gentle reminders that we exist on the molecular level in comparison to her poetic creativity. That Nature does not name her mountain ranges or have specific references to certain locations factualizes this reminder. For us ‘mere mortals’, the “Smokies” are a [difficult-for-humans-to-habitate-and-thus-perfect-to-commercialize] natural wonderland that provides well to do United States of American residents an opportunity to fantasize about being connected to an ecosystem that is one of the final frontiers of urban development. They are also a part of the larger Appalachian Mountain Range, which stretches two thousand miles up and down the Eastern side of the United States. As far as things worth to see in the world go, the Smokies is a must, but just make sure you bring a few bucks.
It was still dark when we fired up the Ford Escape, which was jam packed full of food, the monopoly board and the hiking gear. With the anticipation level still off the chart, we rolled out of our community and headed towards Hurstbourne, where our travelling companions were waiting for us to rendezvous. Once we got there and exchanged a quick greeting, the noses of our two cars were pointed in the direction of the Smoky Mountains, and we were off.
The freeway down through Kentucky was jam packed with pickups, SUVs and semi-trailers as you’d expect from any arterial road in the US. But the scenery was different. We were heading up and then down frequently, the landscape beautiful in its auburn glow. Winter was just around the corner, but Nature still had some colour left in her. Cruising along, we passed the Kentucky River, Kentucky Lake, Cumberland and the Daniel Boone Forest Area. All places that we need to return to individually to explore. Once we got to the Tennessee border, the speed limit immediately reduced and so did the quality of the road, which perhaps was the reason for the first observation? Undoubtedly there must be more investment in the road network and infrastructure in Kentucky with the higher rate of tax and potentially higher population, but I’m only speculating. [I literally just googled the population of both states and I was wrong with a small difference of only 2 million people – HA!]. It wasn’t long before the freeway teetered out into a dual lane road littered with traffic lights. Eventually we drove through Knoxville, a quaint city that had yesteryear bubbling at its seams. The historical aspects of this area were not lost with the majority of the infrastructure standing the test of time and standing it quite well. Tennessee really is a pretty state, full of life, color and character. After a short period of time and traversing some rally race car type roads (so cool to drive on these windy, hilly tracks), we steered the vehicles into Gatlinburg, the metaphorical gateway to the Smoky Mountains.
The surrounding foliage of Gatlinburg in early November conjures a spectrum of chilli flakes and Mediterranean salad. The reds, yellows and lingering splashes of green are a sensory feast for the eyeballs. The town itself is a tourist experience, setup to entice the uninitiated to sample and of course to spend money. Our first stop (after the $20 parking fee) was the chair lift ride up the side of the nearest steep incline. After paying the nominal $75 fee to ascend the mountain by sitting on some steelwork suspended from a moving cable, we were on our way up. When we were almost at the end of the ride, a mandatory photo pose was assumed, before being ushered off the seat by a few bear-like locals in order to free it up for the next paying customer. We were greeted by a picturesque view of Gatlinburg itself with the surrounding vista – just amazing. Then we were gently reminded that we could purchase our photo from the kiosk inside the adjacent building. What the heck, you only live once. The photo more than likely was printed on a deskjet printer, but at least it was a memory jerker. Another $20 😊. From the building, we moved across a suspension bridge that spanned between two small summits. The novelty was great, especially where the floor of the bridge became Perspex, giving wary crossers an unruly levitation sensation. We suspected that Mark, one of our travelling companions, was the least in love with heights out of our party, which we exploited at every available opportunity by making the bridge move while he was on it. We crossed the bridge, gawked at the amazing scenery and took in everything that the atmosphere provided. After a couple of mandatory selfies with bear statues and a brisk walk (without touching anything) through the souvenir kiosk, we jumped back on the suspension seats and made our way back down to the bottom.
The town itself was full of people from all areas, but it could not be argued that the flavor of the spirit was all ‘Southern’. There were accommodation houses everywhere, which indicates that during the peak season, the place would be absolutely pumping. When we walked along and found the Ol’ Smoky Whiskey Distillery, there was only one irresistible option and that was to check that place out. Entering the main area, you were greeted straight away by viewing rooms of the vats themselves in each stage of cooking the moonshine. After walking through some open doors, a large central bar was a beacon of which we used as our main navigational tool. An introduction to the varied flavors and proofs of the local moonshine was about to commence, and a curly haired overall wearing barman named ‘Scott’ was our inductor. With $5 down and careful scrutiny of identification credentials, we had a sacrificial miniature shot glass with our name on it placed before us. First shot was ‘Blue Fire’ – 120 proof. We all downed that without the correct expectation. I know that I was thinking that we had 9 shots of moonshine to get down, which should be a walk in the park, but that first taste ‘explained to me in detail’ how inept I was at drinking. I mean, not that drinking is a skill you should be proud of, but not holding down one shot of liquor should not be your defining moment. All I know is that I was not looking forward to the next one. Everything burned…it was not cool. But it got better. Scott had deliberately dished out the rocket fuel on the first hit because it would not be commercially viable to finish with. The next few shots were actually blissful – there was a variety of flavors from apple pie to raspberry and all the way through to a caramel cream which we ended up buying as a Christmas libation solution. Suffice to say, we walked out of there significantly poorer and less sober. On the way out, we had to stop to listen to the sounds of the Smokies captured in a trio band of banjo players that appeared as in-bred as the legends claim:
“I’m feelin’ a little bit tired, but I’m be okay tomorrow, be okay tomorrow, be okay tomorrow.
I’m feelin’ a little bit tired, but I’m be okay tomorrow, coz my baby’s comin’ home!” Twang – twang!! Pure gold.
Well, after a stroll around the town to soak up more of the atmosphere and to exhaust the moonshine from our pores, we made the executive decision to get back into the vehicles and navigate our way to the cabin that we had booked for the two-night stay. The Smokies and their surrounding areas are home to the American Black Bear, a diverse range of reptiles and a plethora of birds. The Bears are not something you are likely going to see just walking down the street, and this time we did not see any at all, but the thought of being close to them gave us all an extra few degrees of peripheral vision. The name of the road that the log cabin was located was called “Cougar Crossing”. Driving into this area, I wasn’t sure of whether we should be taking that appellation in the literal sense. Pretty cool name nonetheless.
The cabin itself was nestled amongst many other cabins of the same construction, but in a beautiful hilly area within the foliage that was the Smokies themselves. The split-level cabin was open plan with two massive bedrooms connected to their own bathroom. Mark and I were delighted to see the grill out on the deck, which after a gentle debate we decided we’d use the next night to cook up some steaks. But the first night was a feast of Ash’s Buuz, which she labored over the previous day. The upper level of the cabin had a pool table, a lounge area and a cool little arcade game with a dicky joystick (which was a let-down). The cabin itself was in Pigeon Forge, which is the next jurisdiction from Gatlinburg. I can never work out why they decided to put together two words that should never really be combined like that. It happens a lot in the US I’ve noticed. Perhaps the early settlers had an insatiable thirst for ‘Blue Fire’ whilst they were baptizing geographical locations. The first of the bud lights were quickly consumed over a game of pool before the wine was poured for dinner followed by a couple of games of Muushig. The card game was infectious, both Mark and Marta (his wife) enjoying the game immensely. The game itself, with Mongolian origins never fails to bring participants together to create a thoroughly enjoyable atmosphere. The fact that we were in the Smoky Mountains just added to the revere. After a couple of rounds and a little bit of Greta Van Fleet playing in the background, we all headed to our respective rooms to catch some sleep.
The next morning greeted us with clear skies, a temperature teetering between 15 and 20 on the degree Celsius scale and just a hint of anticipation for what was on the sensory menu that day. A breakfast of fruit salad and cheesy hogs (ham & cheese croissants) was thoroughly washed down with coffee before we made a plan to drive across to Clingman’s Dome, which is where you can climb to the highest point of the Smoky Mountains atop a viewing platform. This is one item that should be ticked off as completed whenever travelling to the area. We were all keen to do some hiking as well, which the Smokies provide for in abundance. We decided that we would hike from the Dome to Andrew’s Bald, and then decide what else we would do at the time. Marta was keen to get in as much hiking as humanly possible, especially after her proclamation that she will be entering an insanely long endurance run that finishes somewhere in Georgia as a bucket list item and wanted to start conditioning training. There was still a little residual fogginess of the brain after the variety of alcohol consumed during the previous 24 hours, so the rest of us were happy to hike without any conditioning whatsoever.
We all piled into Mark and Marta’s car for the drive over, which took about 30 minutes. The sensory menu was chock-full of vistas, landscapes and colors for our eyes to feast on. We stopped a couple of times to take some beautiful photos of a cascading valley and a mountain stream with pools in it. The water was icy, but undoubtedly pure. A constantly gentle winding incline eventually took us to a carpark area that resembled a box of unmade lego with the number of cars jammed into every available nook and cranny inside and outside of the carpark. It appeared that there were a few other like-minded people in the area. With the conditioning still in her mind, Marta suggested we turn around and find a space back down the descent further allowing us to hike back up to where we wanted to be. We all agreed and not long after, Mark parked the car. With the fresh air in our lungs and a skip in our step, we started walking up to Clingman’s Dome. The ascent wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t traumatic either. After about 20 minutes of climbing the paved track, we arrived at the viewing platform which was built sometime in the early 1900s.
The view of course was stunning, albeit a touch hazy. I guess the name Smoky Mountains would have stemmed from this haziness. On a clear day, I believe the view would have been nothing short of breathtaking. Spending a short time on the platform led us back down and into the path of a volunteer Ranger who had been coming back to the Smokies every year for 9 years. Some people would describe him as an ‘Old Timer’ that had an understanding of all things Nature-Wise in the area. We quizzed him on the whereabouts of the Bears, which he stated that we probably would only see below a certain elevation this time of the year. Probably the same elevation of the cabin that we were staying at. Ha! He also mentioned that the Appalachian Trail, the famous pathway that traverses the Appalachian Mountain Range can be walked from this very location. We couldn’t resist getting a photo of us next to that particular track. One day, we will walk a portion of it for real. After a little more conversation, the Ranger (I actually forget his name) gave us some directions to the track that would take us to Andrew’s Bald. So, without further ado, we headed off the paved pathway and into the scrub properly. One thing about the trails is that they are well walked, and well maintained. The trail was very easy to follow and headed down all the way for a couple of hours until we came out into an open expanse with a 360-degree view of the surrounding vista. We lay down in a comfy area, shared a little Mongolian milk curd and some apple. (Mark didn’t have the refined palette for the curd, so half a cheesy hog was on the menu for him). By this time, it was actually getting later in the day, and we did want to get back to the car before they locked the gates (6pm curfew). After re-hydrating a little, we mentally prepared ourselves for the climb back up. It’s funny how sometimes the trip back seems to take less time than first leg, I wasn’t sure if this was the case, but I know it wasn’t for Mark. Marta was in ‘conditioning mode’ much to his trepidation. Needless to say, there were quite a few called-for opportunities to stop and re-hydrate or take photos. I will admit though, the climb up did give us all the detox that we needed, as the sweat poured out diluting the absolute last of the previous nights’ libation. By the time that familiar landmarks indicated we were coming to the crest of the return trip, almost all was forgotten as again we came out onto the beautiful scenery and sounds that attracted us to this place in the first instance. After a little drying out and Mark wringing out his underpants (a little shared joke between the party), we climbed back into the vehicle and made our way back down towards the cabin. Ash and Marta succumbed to the call of meditation where one must watch the back of their eyelids for an extended period of time.
Back at the cabin, we fired up the grill and cracked open the warm-up Buds. Dinner was going to be grilled steak, a creamy potato bake and a mixed green salad. Just what the Doctor ordered. The festivities were a direct replication of the previous night, with just a little less booze. This allowed us to have a better night’s sleep.
The next day, we made some quick plans to do a hike before we headed back to Louisville. Both Mark and Marta had work commitments that day, but Marta’s conditioning program influenced her to stay with Ash and myself for the hike rather than join Mark in returning early. We all packed up and were ready to say goodbye to Cougar’s Crossing before 11am. Mark headed out and we followed close behind, but taking a left turn back towards a hiking trail while he turned right to hit the freeway back to Kentucky. The trail we decided on was going to be about 4 miles, but the one we found ourselves on was going to be about 8. We were not in a hurry to get back, so we decided to head out on that one. The leaves on the ground were about 5 inches thick along the trail which was another reminder that we were there just a couple of weeks too tardy. The trail was amazing, and it winded around the surrounding hills providing us with the all-natural experience. After about 3.5 miles of quick paced hiking, we decided to turn around in order for us to get Marta back home in time for her work shift. It was a little disappointing that we didn’t see the Falls that rewarded hikers who completed the track, but that was okay, because we would be back.
We got back to the car after Ash lost her glasses whilst doing leaf angels, grabbed some coffee from a local barista and whispered a ‘see-you-later’ to the Smoky Mountains as its beauty dwindled from our rear-view mirrors, but remained undeterred in our hearts and minds.
