I never realized how beautiful the valley holding Townsend, TN in was until I drove through there. Somehow I had missed that all those years of growing up in the western Carolinas. Then I realized how others thought it was so beautiful as well: a cool $10 million for 400 acres! Driving into Cades Cove was another experience of how beautiful others thought it was. I guess I had only been there during off season. It took us probably an hour to drive the 10 miles or so into the visitor center. That's okay though, because it was sunny and we wer'nt in a hurry. After registering for the backcountry, and with odd looks from the rangers, coupled with remarks of "glad its you and not me - its supposed to be 20 degrees tonight up there", we were off. I thought the rangers would have a different outlook as compared to the tourists who drive in and drive out, some never even leaving their car and 95% of them only leaving the car to head inside to purchase a Smokies postcard - but I guess I had the wrong impression of America's backcountry gatekeepers. Maybe they ain't so rugged - at least some of them.
We hit the trail and began ascending right away, but it was a gradual ascent that we took our time with. I'm of the mind that some things can't be rushed, like a fine mountain climb headed for the frost-encrusted caps of mountain tops. We stopped for lunch number 2 and were afforded this terrible view. The weather was just horrible. :)
We continued to gain altitude and realized that the rain that came in valleys two days before was actually snow up in them hills. A few more inches would have afforded some nice cross-coutnry skiing.
On the way up, we were witness to more of the terrible views.
Once we reached the top of Gregory Bald, we knew that we had to spend some time there - 360 degree views with hardly a cloud in the sky. Instead of pushing on, we decided to call the sustained winds our friends and set up camp. We made quick work of it, were speechless because of the views, and then headed back down the mountain to check out a nearby campsite. Two college-aged guys who were out for a few days had just arrived. One was studying environmental science and when asked what he wanted to do with his life, he responded "live outside". I liked his way of thinkin.
We rushed back up the mountain for the sunset, which rivaled any I've ever seen. The night was mostly spent trying to stay warm while cooking. That night we retired early snug in our bags despite 20 degree temperatures with whipping winds.
Up at first light the next morning, it was time to get moving - and fast. Any woodsman knows that warmth comes with moving, and I took off down the trail after a hot meal wearing everything I had. I had no problem stopping later on to discard some clothing, but right then, I'd hike in it all, thank you.
Once we intersected the AT, we followed it northwards, past Mollies Ridge (lunch number 1), past Russell Field (lunch number 2), and into Spence Field. From there, we watered up and set up camp at the base of Rocky Top. The views not 25 yards from our camp were, again, just horrible.
To round out the day, we decided a climb up to Rocky Top and Thunderhead were in order. What's another few more miles when there is daylight to kill? Can't come all that way and not visit the famous rocky crag. We climbed up, were again rendered speechless, and hung out for a little while contemplating the deeper things in life - like the name of that peak, how mountains outdo beaches, and the self-timer function on the camera.
The other two stooges headed back to camp, but I headed in the opposite direction. I wasn't done just yet. Like a fresh breath of air, I needed more of this. I contemplated heading onwards to Katahdin one more time. But without the 4 months free, I stayed til about sunset and relunctantly slumbered back into camp afterwards.
The next morning we crossed a small spring along the trail. That trickle of a spring, like a snowball on a mission, picked up more and more steam until spilling itself over boulders and moss-shrouded creek bottoms, becoming the magnificently loud tumbling Anthony Creek. We followed it back down, down, down the mountain, hitched a ride several miles back to the truck, and sped off to leave the Smokies for our next adventure.
This time, though, I vowed I'd return a little sooner.