In 2015, I hiked over 800 miles on the Appalachian Trail. While that didn’t technically make me a thru-hiker, for those two and a half months I lived just like one. It helped that I spent my days with them - people who had started in Georgia and were making their way up to Maine. My section had begun in West Virginia, so I missed out on the entire southern half of the trail. When thru-hikers would reminisce about their early days on the trail, they would often wax lyrical about the famed Smokies.
“I woke up at the ass crack of dawn to catch the sunrise that morning, and it was the most epic of my life.”
“Oh my god sooooo many bears!”
“It rained for three days straight. Ugh.”
For hikers on the AT, it was the stuff of legend. Many said it was their favorite part of the trail up to that point (though, we hadn’t made it to the White Mountains of New Hampshire yet and I had a feeling that would claim the title anew). I was sad to have missed it. But, since the Smokies are their own National Park, I knew I would visit one day. Finally, in 2020, I did.
Kian and I spent five days at the Deep Creek campground and used that as our home base for all of our adventures. It wasn’t long before we realized that it did rain a lot. Every afternoon a storm would rumble its way in, thunder ricocheting off the mountainsides and lightning creating silhouettes out of the trees. We had only just added a blue tarp to our car camping inventory and fortunately had the good sense to bring it with us, so we set that up over our picnic table. It would have been otherwise impossible to cook our dinners. For all of the inconvenience and humidity, the rain showers did create a particularly lush forest. Tall ferns, bright green moss, and gushing creeks abounded.
We woke up early a few mornings to catch the famous sunrises, and they certainly lived up to the reputation. Layers of ridges glowed blue and purple beneath pink-is orange skies, clouds dappling all of the colors. We even hiked up Clingman’s Dome to catch those breathtaking views, but perhaps we were getting greedy by wanting to see the sunrise from the tallest point in Tennessee. When we finally reached the observation tower at the top, we were sad to see everything was completely shrouded in fog. It definitely had its own particular beauty, though. On a different morning, we were driving pre-dawn and the fog hung low and thick over the road with just the faintest bit of light permeating the scene. All of a sudden, I had to clamp on the breaks because ahead of us the shadow of an elk had materialized out of the mist without warning. It was absolutely haunting. We rolled the car slowly past, realizing more elk were in the meadow to our right. Everything was in black and white. We could see the outlines of their ears and antlers as their heads dipped to munch on dewy grass and wildflowers. My camera was in the back of the car at the time and I lamented not being able to take a photo, but in some ways I think it was one of those moments that is just a bit sweeter when it lives only in your memory.
Besides chasing down gorgeous views, we had plenty of other adventures. Hiking, painting, whittling, swimming, creek tubing. We took advantage of our time as much as we possibly could. On our last evening in the area, we stayed at a teeny cabin on a mountainside outside the park and enjoyed a campfire and glorious showers. That final night ended in an absolutely massive thunderstorm that we watched creep towards us over the ridges. When it finally hit, it created a terrific noise with flashes of lightning that made everything outside look like it was daytime. It was magnificent, the perfect reminder of the power of this place.
