It’s an awful thing when your phone decides to hoard pictures and refuses to share them. Such is the story of our day in the Great Smokeys. Mom took hundreds of photos, but Siri decided they were hers to keep and a fight ensued. Mom finally won by calling in the experts at the Apple store. This is why this post is so late after the fact. Talking about the Great Smokeys without pictures would be stupid, even for a teddy bear.
It’s a humbling experience to see the breathtaking beauty in a place like the Smokeys, and we were fortunate enough to be there while it was in it’s most beautiful-est. It was 70 degrees that day, the sky was clear, and the leaves on the trees were a-changing! Everywhere we looked, the trees seemed to be exploding in fiery colors! It was all Dad could do to keep his eyes on the road as we looked and looked at the trees and colors all around us.
We stopped at one of the overlooks to get a better look at the mountains. Being from Michigan, we don’t see mountains like this. The mountains seemed to have been plopped down one beside the other like scoops of ice cream in a bowl. We’d been to Colorado seven years ago and these mountains were a lot different. Yeah, Colorado had lots of mountain ranges, but this area of Tennessee had LOTS of ranges, one running into another, sitting side by side, squeezing into each other. Driving the roads in the park, a lot of times there was a shear rock wall on one side and a drop into nothingness on the other. And here we were on this ribbon of road cut out between them.
Mom had bought a map of the trails, so she picked one near the entrance of the park to try out. It advertised a waterfall at the end. Mom and Dad are nuts about waterfalls. I think it’s something about running water that doesn’t come with a water bill for them to pay. The trail marker said it was only 1.3 miles to the falls. Easy peezy!
A few hundred yards down the path, we found this huge rock with holes in it. Dad said over the years, water had cut those holes. Say what? Water? That wimpy wet stuff that splashes around in the washer when I get a bath? That stuff cut holes through this big old rock-hard rock? Yeah, right, Dad. What’s the punchline?
Dad looked at me real hard and sighed.
Mom and Dad started walking up the trail. They soon figured out that 1.3 miles walking up hill was a lot different than the same distance in a flat place like Grand Rapids. They were both puffing and wheezing pretty quick into the hike. About half way up, we met a ranger along the trail who was there to make sure everyone stayed on the path. He said there was a bear and her cubs seen in the area recently, and he was there just in case she showed herself that day. He reminded everyone about the importance of not feeding the bears. Mom had read I Survived the Attack of the Grizzlies https://www.laurentarshis.com/i-survived a few months earlier and knew that human food makes bears less fearful of people and more likely to cause trouble. That story took place in Glacier National Park, Montana, not the Smokey Mountains of Tennesse and North Carolina, but the same principal applies. DON’T FEED THE BEARS!
Aw! I wouldn’t have minded meeting some cousins.
Mom and Dad looked at each other. They had packed some of their sandwiches in the backpack and had planned on having lunch once we reached the fall. But sandwiches, even gluten-free ones, produce bread crumbs. Bread crumbs could attract bears. Without even saying a word, they both agreed lunch would wait until we were back in the car.
As I said before, walking in those mountains wasn’t like walking in Grand Rapids. The trail was on the side of the mountain and it was kind of scary looking over the side of the trail. One tiny slip, and you’d find yourself falling down a hundred feet or more. It’s a quick way to get down the mountain, but not one I would recommend.
After an hour of walking uphill, we finally got to the waterfall. Mom and Dad were relieved. The water was still running and hadn’t been shut off yet. Maybe they do that at night, after everyone goes home. Anyway, someone was kind enough to take our pictures at the falls as proof that we actually did hike all that way. Well, Mom and Dad did the hiking. I mostly rode in the backpack and got out for photo ops. That’s the kind of thing you do when you’ve got short legs and run around bear footed. Get it? I’m a bear. I’m BEAR footed, even when I’m wearing shoes. I will assume you’re laughing.
On the way back down the mountain, Dad was walking along and someone passed him going up.
Is it a hard climb?” the guy asked.
“Not too bad,” Dad said. “As long as you stay on the trail.” As Dad said that, he looked over his shoulder and one of his feet stepped off the trail.
It was a terrifying moment, riding there on Dad’s back as he stood there wobbling and flailing his arms. Mom was screaming at him. “Careful! Careful!” Duh, Mom! Like she really thought yelling that at him would help him get his balance again! I don’t know, maybe it worked, because he was ok again in a few seconds. He gave a nervous laugh like it was funny.
“Oops.”
Mom didn’t seem to think it was funny. “You do know that they can’t get an ambulance down here?” She reminded him. “And I wouldn’t climb down there to drag you back up.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.”
“But I’d want you to throw the backpack up to me.”
I perked up. Mom cared about me and would want me back! My hopes were dashed pretty quick though, as she went on to explain her request.
“I got a sandwich in there, and gluten-free bread ain’t cheap!”
Dad thought that was funny and it got both of them laughing and lightening the mood again. I didn’t laugh though. I had thought I was more valuable than a lousy old sandwich.
Just for that, Mom, I stepped all over your sandwich on the hike down the hill. How do you like those apples, huh?
