"A son is a mirror to the face of his father; be always mindful of influence and behavior which may forever be reflected."
As you know if you've read any number of these blog entries; you get a mixed bag of content. At times the subject is strictly about birds and bird-like information, and others it's hard to separate my musings from the story-line. This latest entry is the wistful celebration of a fortunate Dad (who just happens to like birding). I hope you find it entertaining as well as informative.
I've always tried hard to find ways to say, 'yes' to opportunity. Surely not everything turns out the way it started in theory, but that's not a good excuse to not try something. So it was with the plan. Plan "A" was crafted carefully over the months after the initial "let's do it" was agreed upon. My son Nelson and I decided to hike and camp the Great Smoky Mountains together in July of 2012. We began with the idea some six-months prior, and I slowly filled in the missing pieces to make it happen. He arranged his busy schedule to carve out a week of precious time and I did the same thing. The trip began on the sixth of July in the early hours of that Friday morning. We were to drive all the way to Pigeon Forge, TN and spend the night. We'd head out of the highest point in Tennessee, Clingman's Dome the following morning as early as possible. The trip was to take about four and a half days and cover over 45 miles.
After loading up the WPT with our backpacking gear, (mine was mostly borrowed) and some extra overnight clothing; we started the six hundred and sixty six mile drive. The weather had been extra hot in the weeks prior; in the record-breaking ranges, and the day promised as much. The compulsory stop for gasoline and a McDonald's steak, egg, and cheese bagel sandwich was also accounted for and executed. I had previously "Googled" for directions to our overnight destination and had also printed them out. Technology advances (such as Nelson's I-Phone) had practically made that process archaic if not quaint. All one needs to do now is tap on the touch-screen of their handheld communication device of choice, and instantly (via GPS) your exact whereabouts are digitally displayed along your intended route. Nelson, along with being a (almost 23 yr-old) recent undergraduate bearer of two music degrees; is also an accomplished passenger-navigator. As a result, we had no problems with our directions to the southeastern edge of Tennessee. Traveling around the traffic-challenged city of Chicago is however another matter for another blog.
Dumping the contents of my borrowed (exterior frame) Gregory backpack on the hotel bed; I sorted through the miscellaneous flotsam to determine just how to shave off a few of the over 45 pounds I had loaded into and onto the pack. Now I'm not exactly in the greatest of physical condition, but I was fairly sure I could "handle" the weight, as it was (of course) strapped to my back. However the more times I hefted it behind me, the less certain I was becoming of the poundage VS the distance(s) to be carried. I also worried slightly about an unforeseen dislocation or nagging back strain. Ultimately about a dozen instant meals were left behind as well as some extra "meal bars." That shaved about four pounds off my total, but planning for a five-day hike meant extra gear was anticipated. Confident we had what was necessary for the adventure, we walked down the steep driveway and across the six-lane, jam-packed in both directions, street to the Tony Roma's of Pigeon Forge for one last civilized dining experience (complete with beer, of course).
My oldest son Nelson is cool. I know I am dating myself when I use that phrase, but that is just what he is. He might disagree with me because he's pretty hard on himself at times in a perfectionist manner, but trust me; I know "cool" and he is it. This is a kid who has been mostly on his own for the better part of five years since high school while getting his education. He's experienced quite a slice of humanity in his short life. He likes almost everybody and they like him after meeting him. I am proud of his accomplishments in his chosen field of music (he primarily plays the saxophone) and I am impressed with his ability to smile in the face of adversity. He has a clever sense of humor along with a positive outlook on life. He tells me often that, "life is too short not to enjoy it." Nelson is in great physical shape. He runs as well as using his bike to get back and forth to work. I knew he'd be just fine; it was me I was worried about...
The next day held several surprises on the way to the beginning of the trail-head we had chosen. First, mother nature had decided to deliver an aggressive storm in the days prior to our arrival. The area was littered with the remnants of downed trees and limbs. Our drive to the Sugarlands Visitor Center was quite a bit longer than the 18 miles it was supposed to be. We were preempted first by an horrific traffic accident in the small village of Sevierville on Wears Valley Rd. that (as we later discovered) had tragically claimed the lives of three family members killed in a head-on traffic accident. While we waited in line on the narrow and twisting section of road, we met Curtis Clarke from Allstate Insurance (who was attempting an 8:00 appointment) and had the unique and unexpected opportunity to sample the original "Grandmother's Cathead Biscuits". Nelson had volunteered to gather the tasty breakfast while Curtis and I stood watching the long line of cars and flashing emergency vehicles in the distance. Nelson returned with a bag containing two small biscuit-sandwiches. He explained that "Cathead" meant literally the SIZE (or as they say down here, "s'aahs") of the biscuit and how he chose differently when provided the facts. The biscuit sandwiches (bacon and cheese, and sausage) were nonetheless delicious. An hour had passed with no movement, so with the aid of his I-Phone, we eventually navigated a new (unorthodox) route past the lengthening line of stopped vehicles.
Unbeknownst to us, the only road from Cades Cove to Sugarlands was closed and blockaded against through-traffic due to multiple downed trees. We arrived at the "T" intersection and proceeded left. The flashing lights of the National Parks Service vehicles and arms-crossed
officials standing on the roadway told us the unfortunate truth. This caused us to have to backtrack our entire route all the way into Pigeon Forge. The accident was still in place as the State Patrol performed their triage and diagnostics of the disaster, so around the detour we navigated once more; finally pulling into Sugarlands around 10:30. So much for the early start we had tried to get. I filled out a back-country permit with our preliminary destinations for each day. This listed the exact day and campsite we expected to overnight in for the entire week. We each visited the restrooms and the gift shop before getting back in the truck to drive the 23 additional miles up to Clingman's Dome. Up, up, up we drove to just about the 6000 foot mark to the parking lot. I unlocked the three Masterlock padlocks on the gate of the WPT and we each claimed our individual burdens of gear.
The blazing sun was shining brightly at this extreme altitude and the temperature topped 90 degrees as we mingled with the dozens and dozens of giddy families who had driven up and parked with a far different expectation in mind. Nelson shouldered his pack with youthful ease, and a typical Nelson (this is so cool) grin. I grabbed mine and labored it to my back; shoving my arms clumsily through the twin straps. The 42-pound block of stuff on my back whispered into my ear, "what a fool you are Devereaux...ha, ha, ha..." as I began to trundle up the unforgiving side of Mount Crumpet. But first, we needed to fill our water bottles...but how?
(This is the end of part one...)
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