Day 4

I got back from my short hike to find G3 sitting contentedly in his hammock. I think that was one of the best Christmas presents he’s ever gotten. It makes hanging out at the campsite more enjoyable for him. I also think hanging out in his hammock is a highlight of this trip thus far. I made coffee for me and hot chocolate for him. While we sipped our drinks, we chatted about our favorite national parks. G3’s favorites are Glacier, Theodore Roosevelt, and Apostle Island. Mine are Glacier, Badlands, and Acadia (probably because I enjoyed it so much when I was a kid).

It is now raining which is disappointing since we are supposed to spend the day in Great Smoky National Park. I am hoping the sky will clear by the time we finish breakfast so we can go hiking.

I need to talk to Dad. It is really upsetting me that I can’t. I need to find out why he hated Great Smoky Mountain National Park. I would completely agree that it is not as unique or as beautiful or as awe inspiring as the parks out west, but it is pretty. G3 said he even likes it more than Shenandoah—although he quickly followed that by saying he was younger then and doesn’t remember it all that well.

This is the most visited National Park in the country, and while it was definitely crowded, the traffic didn’t come close to being as horrible as it was in Yellowstone. Nor did it feel as overrun with people as Acadia, which had felt claustrophobic in places. So I’m curious as to where all the people were. I am surprised the park service doesn’t charge people to enter this park. They charge everywhere else. It feels like the government is missing out on an opportunity for revenue which seriously doesn’t make sense. What is their motive for keeping this park free?

Even though we are camping in the western point of the park, in order to access the heart of the park—and the closest visitor’s center—we needed to drive over an hour. The drive—both on the outskirts of and inside the park—was pretty. For much of the day dark clouds lingered in the sky but they kept there distance. While it rained in parts of the park, the rain seemed to stay ahead of us. We encountered wet ground but we stayed dry. Thank Dad.

We hiked the 2.3 mile trail (4.6 miles round trip) to Alum Cave Bluff. At one point during the drive it was 94 degrees, but as we re-entered the park and started to gain altitude the temperature dropped. At the trail head, it was a comfortable 76. Okay, maybe not that comfortable for everyone but definitely not miserable like it was in Arizona. The hike was relatively easy. It was all uphill but it was not a steep grade. The rocks, however, were slippery in spots. The first half was along the creek which was pleasant. The babbling sound of water is always immensely soothing. When the path turned away from the water it got a bit steeper and the clouds—mostly— behaved allowing us to enjoy the views of the mountains.

The Bluff was stunning. The ranger told us that they used to mine for saltpeter there to use in the gunpowder during the Civil War. I assume it was the Confederates doing the mining, since we are in the south, but I didn’t ask for clarification. Most of the time, I am not shy about asking questions, but I was overly aware of my yankee accent compared to the ranger’s southern one. Also, I am very much aware of the fact that I’m not liked in parts of the south. Therefore, I thought it best not to ask questions.

Usually, when we hike as a family, I am the pack mule. I carry all the water and whatever else needs to be carried. Today, I carried the pack most of the way up the mountain when it occurred to me G3 is a fit preteen. He is also a Boy Scout. I started to wonder when I should pass the responsibility of the pack to him. Coincidentally, that was when he made a snarky comment about how we should walk faster. Well, he was walking faster because he was not weighed down by the pack. It seemed like the perfect time to hand it over, so I did. He grumbled about it, but he carried it for the rest of the hike. With the burden turned over to him, I felt like I had springs on my feet.

Ah, mystery solved. I texted Mom pictures of me and G3 on the hike. She responded, “It looks like a nice place.” I said, “It’s the place Dad hated.” Later, when I called, she told me Dad never visited the park. What?!? How can you hate something you’ve never seen? Mom went on to explain that they stayed in a town just outside the park—she thinks in North Carolina but doesn’t remember for sure—that was so uber touristy, between the souvenir shops, outfitters, hotels, and restaurants, that it completely turned Dad off. She thinks Dad decided he hated the park based on that town and so they moved on only seeing the park from a distance.

We had not showed since Monday morning when we left. The crusty layers of bug spray, sunscreen, and sweat were getting kind of icky. Kati actually said she felt “repulsive.” So when we got back to the campsite we went for a swim in the cool creek. It was more of a dip, a long dip, but it was refreshing. And we no longer feel gross.

Bathing in the creek, of course, means sitting around the campfire drying our underwear. Kati, is this more embarrassing than when we were on our honeymoon in Costa Rica and I would wash my underwear in the sink and hang them on the balcony of our fancy hotel rooms to dry? G3 sure is embarrassed. He told me not to write about it. Shhhhhh…don’t tell him.