Smoky Mountain Rain
…keeps on fallin'
And so it was, that after almost 1000 miles in the luxurious comfort of a 16' Budget rental truck, I find myself lodged at the Comfort Inn on the Cherokee Indian Reservation, at the foot of the Smokys in western North Carolina.
Cherokee, NC, on the Kwalla Reservation, is exactly what you would expect: Depressing. Gambling is legal (naturally) and Harrah's is gradually consuming the eastern end of the town. This of course attracts a most undesirable element: fat midwestern tourists. The morbidly obese bible thumpers pay their penance to the one armed bandits, pray to Sweet Jesus that the dollar come their way at the tables, congregate at the $7.99 all you can eat buffet, and flock to the houses of cheap trinkets and imported souvenirs.
A walk through town looking for genuine Cherokee made items proves almost fruitless... the three options I could find being swords, blowguns, and miniature totem poles. Since I don't need a sword, and my blowgun cabinet is at capacity, I succumbed to temptation (Burn in hell yankee) and purchased a miniature Cherokee totem pole, probably imported from Vietnam.
Time to leave.
Blatantly disregarding the "NO COMMERCIAL VEHICLES" and "VIOLATERS WILL BE ARRESTED" signs, I pushed my forlorn Budget truck up US 441 into Great Smoky Mountain National Park. Hey, wait a minute, isn't 441 the road that (according to false myth) that girl in the Tom Petty song killed herself on? Indeed it is, only it wasn't, since it's not true.
Oh, she could hear the cars that night, out on 441
Ain't no summer like a southern summer, and mid-August in western North Carolina holds that true. Upper 90s, both for heat and humidity, and it quickly becomes apparent how the Smoky Mountain remain so smoky. It's beautiful to look at, a site to behold, and air you can wear. As you wind up the 15 mile climb to the summit, it goes from sunny to pouring rain, switching back and forth and you ascend through the various layers of humidity. Ronnie Milsap may have never actually seen the Smokys, but you feel that sweet rain hitting your face and it puts you right in the song.
I made my way from L.A. back to Knoxville
Hanging around in the park for sunset is a real treat. After abandoning the foolish notion of getting pictures from the fogged in Clingman's Dome, I frantically started searching for a western view that was below the murk. I returned to a couple places I scouted on the way up, but was losing ground fast. Then it dawned on me... I'm looking for the wrong thing!
I found a suitable overlook, completely devoid of tourists, set up my gear and waited. And then, it happened. For a very brief period of time, after the sun has dipped below the mountains and before total darkness sets in, the world magically turns purple. The blue mountain haze gets lit indirectly by the setting sun reflecting off the low ceiling. The valleys are filled with "smoke", the mountain ridges gradually fade into oblivion, and your are consumed with a sense of awe.
At this point, yet again, you realize how insignificant everything getting to this point has been. The flat tire on the interstate, brash hotel clerks, depressing Indians and gorging tourists. The cicadas are deafening as another night comes to life. You watch from the top of the world and it feels as though it was made just for you.
And that, my friends, you don't read about in a pamphlet from the rest area.
Updated: Thursday, August 12, 2010
Great Smoky Mountains 2010
My first visit to the Great Smoky Mountains. Fogged in and hazy, as normal, but a spectacular sunset closed the day out right.
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