Slate Rock

I didn't have a lot of time for a hike, as there was a mountain of chores awaiting my return. So, I grabbed my smaller lumbar pack, filled up a couple of water bottles, grabbed an apple and a bag of pistachios, and drove out to Slate Rock: perhaps my favorite "short hike"spot. The trail to my destination isn't long--maybe a miles and half--but it is almost entirely uphill and ends at one of the most spectacular vistas in the Pisgah National Forest: Slate Rock.

It is strangely an undiscovered place. Only twice have I ever encountered anyone there, which suits me fine. The rock itself is a wide, almost level in places, and scored with thousands upon thousands of years of run off from rain. It's a delightful spot for recouping from the hike up and for reading a good book. That day, I simply sat their, munching on an apples and pistachios, while I enjoyed the vista. To the right is Pilot Rock--another good, uphill walk--and ahead of me the level valley known as the Pink Beds after its forest of rhododendron. It's also a good place to watch falcons take wing in search of a tasty little snack.

The day itself was almost perfect: warm, but not uncomfortably so at this elevation, with a gentle breeze. I cursed myself for forgetting my prayer book since I love to pray my morning office in such places. I settled for a few minutes of quiet reflective prayer, followed by an even longer spells of sitting, eyes closed, and senses open to the smells, sounds, and feeling of my surroundings. Then, knowing that there was a lawn to mowed, laundry to be washed, and dishes to be cleaned, I grudging took up my walking stick and made my way back to the car. Such is life...

Labor Day Camp

After services on the Sunday in Labor Day weekend, I returned home for a quick nap, then backed up Paul and my backpacks and headed out to Black Balsam for an overnight camping trip. As it was the holiday weekend and still (just barely) blueberry season, the Blue Ridge Parkway was packed with cars. If you've never driven the parkway, you should; just don't do it on a holiday weekend because you'll be at the mercy of the slowest driver, usually someone from Florida in an over sized RV.

Eventually we made it to the parking spot. We decided that it would be better to go make sure out campsite was available, before we lugged our packs and firewood 3/4 of a mile uphill. Despite the multitudes, we were lucky and so the hauling began. Camping on the balds is an incredible experiences, especially at sunset and after nightfall. But it requires a lot of work. As these mountains are balds, there is not a lot of firewood to be found. So, you have to haul it yourself. By the time you're done, you are ready for dinner.

As this was camping Clavier style, my son and I ate proper-like. I heated up homemade chicken cacciatore that I had made the previous day. No hot dogs for us. Afterwards, we hiked around and watched a fog slowly roll in over us. The picture above was taken during a brief break in that fog. The rest of the time, you couldn't see much farther than a few feet ahead of you.

When the sun finally set, Paul and I sat by the fire and talked. I then pulled out King Arthur and, with the helpof my head lamp, read Paul tales of young Arthur while he sat with his head on my lap. And people wonder why I like to camp!

We didn't stay long the next morning. The chill and the fog had settled into everything--including Paul's bones--so we ate breakfast, hiked around to get the blood going, and then made our way back down into the heat of the lowlands ("lowlands" being 2200 ft). Quick trip, partially ruined by the fog. But that just gives us a reason to go back soon!