Max Patch

Oct. 24 - There are a few choice places on God's good earth where I believe the distance between us and Eden is particularly short. These are places of such breathtaking beauty that all but the most hard hearted must feel their heart leap with delight. They are places where earthly beauty is so deeply powerful that despite all the sorrow and suffering of this world one knows that creation is good. They are places where we are reminded that above all else this world is a gift. Locally, that place is Max Patch: particularly Max Patch at the height of autumn.

Max Patch is an hour or so drive from our house, close to the Tennessee border. It is an enormous grass height that affords spectacular views of the Smokies, the Blue Ridge, and the flatlands of Tennessee. I'm told once it was a favorite spot to launch air balloons. I don't know if that is true or not, but I can well imagine it. Now, it's a spot for amateur photgraphers, lovers lost in reverie, and kite flying.

Diane, Paul, and I (with the dogs) drove up on that Saturday. It's only a short, though steep, walk from the parking area, so it's an easy stroll for the family. At first, our boxer-mix Katie did a marvelous job of taking Diane for a walk, so I took both dogs myself. By our return, I believe my right arm was several inches longer than my left! We made our way up the slope, stopping frequently to look back at the view to the south. Paul, who doesn't in general like hiking, is transformed by spots like this, and he ran back and forth introducing himself to everybody else on the slope.

When we reached the top, Paul and I explored around while Diane (who was a bit under the weather) resumed her studies for the CPA exam. As you can see from the pictures, the colors were almost overwhelming, as though suddenly we were seeing everything in Technicolor. I sauntered along with the dogs while Paul dashed up and down slopes, jabbering non-stop in his usual way. The dogs really wanted to join him. Who can blame them?

Eventually, we came across a young family flying a kite. Without hesitation, Paul introduced himself to them all and joined them in their kite flying. He had a wonderful time helping the father launch the kite. He even got to fly it once himself while Diane and I watched with visions of him accidentally releasing this obviously expensive kite to be blown far away. For their part, Katie and Gawain thought the kite looked awfully tasty!

Finally, after drinking in the views for a couple of hours, we made our way back down to the car for the drive home. Behind us we left, for another year, the autumnal splendor of Max Patch along with at least a week's worth of stress. Between that afternoon and the previous day's walk at Hot Springs, I was feeling particularly good. I think everybody needs a good shot of autumn's gift of color to carry them through the grey of winter. This year, thanks to God, I have had more than my fair share of that. And there would be more color to come.

Hot Springs - click pics

Oct. 23rd - I awoke this morning with the decision already made in my mind to strike out for new territory. Thanks to Backpacker magazine, I knew of a loop walk along the Hot Springs area of the Appalachian Trail. Hot Springs, so named because of, well, its hot springs, is a lovely little community that lies along the French Broad River northwest of Asheville. Now that we were in the deepest part of autumn, the walk promised to be lovely with vistas of the French Broad and the Smokey Mountains. This time I had no problems finding the trailhead.

As is typical for the AT, after a short easy start to the trail, I found myself scaling the path upwards and upwards towards the heights of the mountains. At times like these, I am convinced that trail blazers are a sadistic bunch who, if they can get away with it, prefer a straight shot upwards to a gentler series of switchbacks.

But the climb was worth it. Soon, I reached a vantage overlooking the French Broad, Hot Springs, and the distant mountains. The colors were breathtaking, even in the gloom of the overcast day. At the top, the trail leveled out, and I could enjoy a pleasant walk under a canopy of golds, reds, and oranges. A think blanket of leaves covered the ground, crunching loudly under my feet, and the musky smell of earthy decay surrounded me.

After a couple of miles, the path led away from the view of the French Broad and plunged into a dank gully along the north side of the slope. Trees gave way to walls of rhododendrons, which grow like weeds here in western North Carolina. A mile or so later, I left the AT and followed another trail steeply down towards a disused mining area. There was no sign of the mine itself, but I did pass two old cinder block buildings whose doors were ominously painted with the warning "DANGER! EXPLOSIVES!" I continued on past them and mounds of moss-covered rotting railway ties.

It was not a long hike as my hikes go, but pleasant enough. On my way home, I stopped at another trailhead to scout it out. I would try to come back soon to explore it further. But for now, I shoved off, stopped briefly for a cup of hot coffee, and then slowly made my way home on a road that ran along the French Broad. All in all, it was relaxing day, one which must have been God-sent as it turned out. Two days later I would receive a call that my father was seriously ill in hospital and have to make the drive north to spend three days with him in Morgantown, WV.

Searching for the Bald

Oct. 14th -- I decided that I would make another attempt to reach the bald a few miles east of Sam's Gap along the Appalachian Trail. I found directions to a trail head two miles closer to the bald than my prior starting point. According to my information, the hike to and from the bald would be just under 8 miles, easily do-able in the time I had before Paul got home from school. So, I confidently set out on that cool morning looking forward to the hike.

I followed the directions carefully and ended up a crossroads. The paved road ended at a fork. The left gravel lane was surrounded by welcoming signs such as "NO TRESPASSING" or "TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT." I decided against that way. The other gravel lane was filled with grooves and holes large enough to swallow a car. I edged that way a bit but it didn't seem promising. So I backed up and searched for other possibilities. Although I did stop to ask for directions from some of the locals (a flock of wild turkey crossing the road), I didn't get anywhere nearer to finding the trailhead. Finally, I decided to do some blind navigation. During a previous hike, I had passed the parking spot and knew that it lay alongside a gravel road. If one end came out on my end of the mountain, the other end should be somewhere north of me. So, following a web of country lanes, I worked my way around the mountain and up the other side. After a half hour of driving through the land o' mobile homes, suddenly I came upon it...the parking spot. And so the hike began.

It was a lovely walk through the early autumn woods. I discovered a stand of chestnut trees and collected a hand full of fallen chestnuts. This was quite a discovery as almost all chestnuts in western North Carolina were wiped out years ago by a blight. In fact, I didn't know any remained. After collected the nuts, I resumed my walk at a brisk pace, knowing that I had used up a lot of time trying to find the trailhead. The path took me along a ridge with a grand view of I-26, along the slope of another mountain, and then down into a gully that contained a unused campsite. The woods around me had changed a great deal since my July hike of the area with much of the undergrowth now dead for the winter and a carpet of red and yellow leaves littering the path.

Eventually, the trail began to climb steadily. The temperature hadn't risen like it was supposed to, and I was woefully underdressed. After two hours of hiking there was still no sign of the bald. So, I stopped for lunch (clam chowder soup) and to rest. Ahead of me the trail climbed steeply, I assume to the bald.

But I wouldn't know for certain because my time was up. I had just enough time to get back to my car, make the drive home, and have a little leeway before Paul returned home. So, with a shrug of disappointment, I started back for the car. At one point, though, I stopped and like Lot's wife, peered back. There, between the trees, I saw something I'd previously missed: a glimpse up above of the bald. I had come within a half mile of it!