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.