Smokey Mountain High

One day this summer I checked out  Ken Burns' fantastic documentary about our National Parks from the Emmet O'Neal  Library. After a good twelve hours of watching and learning, I was ready to set out.

I'd love to visit Glacier, Yellowstone, Yosemite, or one of the other Western parks. I have visited Rocky Mountain National Park and was duly impressed. But for the time and funds I had available for this trip combined with an already arranged vacation in North Carolina, it made sense to see our country's most visited National Park.

Great Smoky Mountain National Park sees around ten million visitors a year. Supposedly most of them see it from their car. Well, that sounds pretty lame to me.

I didn't have any experience with any hike-in camping, or backpacking, as they say. I was ready to give it a go however.

Once I made my list of items I'd need I realized that camping gear is expensive and my list was quite extensive. I called my friend Jim Watkins who knows a little bit about almost everything and seems to have had every hobby known to man at some point in time. Later that day, while we were looking through boxes in his massive garage, I happened to pull one down that had a full fox hunting outfit. No kidding.

I just took a pack and a few other items I'd need.

So I loaded up with some freeze dried meals, a small plastic shovel and the rest of my gear. I set out with a friend from  the Big Creek campground in the northeast part of the park on a Tuesday for a nice twenty-ish mile stroll.

For the first mile and a half or so of the trail, we had a lot of company. The trail ran alongside a beautiful creek that had a few nice swimming holes. Many of the locals were taking full advantage. Jumping from rocks, yelling, and splashing were the order of the day.

I'm glad they were having a good time, but honestly I didn't miss them when we got a little further on along. I like my solitude when I'm on this sort of endeavor.

After about six miles, we arrived at  the campsite for night one, Walnut Bottoms.

Lots of things came out of those packs.

There was one family there. Their campsite was about a hundred yards away from where we settled. Not so far that they couldn't hear our screams in the event of a bear attack in the night.

I'm not sure what religion they were, but the men wore some sort of long shirt/night gown looking thing and the women basically dressed as if they were Amish. I'm pretty sure it was a religious thing and not a fashion statement. They were one of two groups of people we saw for two days. The other was a father and son who were doing the same loop as we were, Mount Sterling Loop.

The next morning, I spent a few hours wading and fishing down a cool Smokey Mountain stream for native Brook Trout. They were tiny, but beautiful. It was a fantastic morning.

I actually photographed this one before,

and after I caught him. A first for me. Him too I'm guessing.

 Then it was time for the ascent up to Mount Sterling.

 

Four miles up to the Mount Sterling Trail, then a couple of more to the campsite. It was a tough walk with the pack, but quite beautiful. Late July deep in the forest with a cool mist and wildflowers and butterflies. There was some really beautiful scenery. My photos can't do it justice, but here's an attempt anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

Once on the top, there was still tree cover, so there was really no view,

until you see the tower.

 

Speaking of photos not doing things justice, this doesn't come close to capturing the fear and apprehension I walked through the first time I climbed up the  steps on this puppy.

Although it got easier each time I did it. And over the course of the 14ish or so hours I was on top of Mount Sterling, I went back several times. For this:

Sunset was reason enough to go back up the tower.

  

God is everywhere. Sometimes and some places though it seems just a little more obvious.

I'm in Alabama, but this blog will begin in Minnesota.
It was late July 2011 and I was in serious need of a fishing trip. I was stressed out with work and some other things. I had read the most recent Eastern Fly Fishing multiple times. There were several quality pieces about Minnesota Smallies. I happened to have a very nice Southwest Airlines voucher. An otherwise off the radar fishing trip was just what the doctor ordered. It was Tuesday.

I made the call.

Thursday morning at 6 a.m. I was on my way.

I hooked up with Kip Vieth whom I found in the aforementioned  magazine. In the initial phone call, he informed me that there was a garage apartment at his house I was welcome to use.

My pad above the garage.

Sounded good. Two days of fishing, western drift boat style should be about right.

My ride on the river.

I had never actually caught any Smallies. There aren't any in my neck of the woods although they are in North Alabama and Tennessese. I'd heard many great things about them and was very enthused.  My first day  fishing on the Mississippi near Monticello was very slow. I did manage to catch about three of the target species and was impressed with the strength of the fish, but it was certainly not the kind of day fishing that you travel 1100+ miles for.

My first Smallie.

We wrapped up a long day with few catches and took it back to the garage apartment pad.

The next morning Kip and I headed up to a spot a little farther north on the Mississippi. The sky was ominous. We backed the boat into the water in the middle of a moderate to light rain. There was some thunder and lightning  in the area, but it didn't really seem too close. Kip rowed the boat into the river. Just about the time we reached the middle of the river, the largest lightning bolt I have ever seen fired down from the sky and exploded about six inches from the top of my head.

Being the professional guide that he is, Kip left the decision up to me to make the call. The decision was simple, get me the heck out of this river. We hustled back to the car, loaded up, and headed for home.

So, it appeared to be over. An impulsive weekend trip costing me a fairly significant chunk of cash, netted me three fish.

It was time to work on acceptance and gratitude.  Phooey.

But my man Kip had other ideas. Approximately six hours later, we were back on the mighty Miss in another spot, ready to give it a try.

The river was swollen, but in this game, we're just banging the bank anyway. The action was fast and furious. In a relatively short float, we netted about 25-30 Smallies. All came on a large yellow cork popper. Now for the fish porn.

Beauties like this.

And this.

Don't tell me they all look alike, this poor fella had one eye.

Kip Vieth, rower and guide extraordinaire.

So, this trip turned out to be just what the doctor ordered. Catching Smallmouth Bass, overcoming adversity, and making a friend. Kip has a fantastic story of leaving the corporate world to go on his own and be a fishing guide. He was an excellent guide/friend/counselor.

I was able to go back the next summer and hopefully will for years to come. I can't say if it was the fish or the newly formed friendship that made this such a meaningful trip. But really, who cares?