END OF THE BLUE RIDGE--Trip 2

Andy pulled into Bad Fork Valley Overlook, 3,350 feet. "It's a pretty day," he said. "Not a cloud in the sky." The TV weatherman had said it was 35 degrees in Asheville at 7:00 a.m. It had to be at least that cold on the mountainside.
Buck Springs Gap Overlook, 4,980 feet, led to the site of an old hunting lodge owned by George Vanderbilt in the 1930's. Andy cleared some large downed branches from the trail and picked up a couple stray coffee cups. "Good deed for the day," he said.

Lots of dead oak skeletons popped up around Mount Pisgah. "I wonder if that is the result of gypsy moths," mused Andy. "I read that acid rain was killing balsam firs, but those are oaks."

At Pounding Mill Overlook we turned around to see the chain of peaks behind us. It's easy to see why this stretch of the Appalachians was called "Blue Ridge." The folded chain of hills, piled dome against wooded dome, stretched as far as the horizon. A sign at Cherry Cove Overlook explained that the mountain chain was the migration route for Monarch butterflies. "They must follow the wind currents over the peaks," I said to Andy.

Years ago Graveyard Fields was so named for fallen trees that covered an open field between hillsides. The field and logs burned in 1925, but the name stuck.
We hiked a 3.1-mile loop to Lower and Upper Falls. Posted bear warnings seemed appropriate as we set out alone, but by the time we got back, at least 20 cars filled the parking lot. Lower Falls entailed 64 steps and four ramps down and up. A mile upriver, the Upper Falls plunged and then fanned in a white sheet over the solid granite.
We picked our way across, stepping on the dry spots of the rock. "Don't step on anything wet," warned Andy. "Hold my hand. Watch it! There's only one spot that doesn't have a dry step."
No sooner had he said it than my foot went out, and I plopped down on the slippery wet surface. Nothing like a wet butt. My jeans dried though by the time we got back.
"He warned me," I told a lady hiking on the trail nearby. "He knows after 42 years I'm not stable on uneven surfaces," I joked.

"At least he still takes you!" she laughed.
The John Rock View at 5,330 feet seemed like more than a 500-foot walk to see Looking Glass Rock, a granite outcropping of ledge in the distance.
Leaves had really changed around Mile Post 420. "Do you suppose it's the elevation?" I asked Andy.

"Probably," he said. "We're above 5,000 feet here. The highest point ahead is more than 6,000 feet."
Devil's Courthouse, 5,770 feet, remains the subject of Cherokee legend. One story said a cave near the top was the home of a sinister giant named Judaculla. The half-mile trail to the rock slabs was certainly sinister, climbing 2,500 feet at a 30-degree angle, but the view from the top was magnificent. We could even pick out Little Red, a dot in the parking lot below. Signs nearby warned tourists to stay on the path to protect the fragile plant species growing in the higher altitude. Andy also read, "Beware of timber rattlesnakes. This habitat is their home." And, in spite of the cool air, it was warm enough in the sun for them to be out.
At Haywood-Jackson Overlook, we took the Richland-Balsam Trail to the summit of Mount Richmond at 6,410 feet. "This is higher than Mount Washington," said Andy. The New Hampshire peak in the White Mountains is 6,280 feet. The smell of balsam fir trees permeated the air throughout our 400-foot climb. Two elderly rangers at the top were sending out Morse Code from portable transmitters.
"Did you tell 'em we made it?" I asked them.

"Yup," said one, "and you'll be on the news tonight."
Mile Post 431 marks the highest point on the Parkway road at 6,074 feet. We pulled in nearby for our last walk of the day and of the Blue Ridge Parkway at the Roy Taylor Forest Overlook, a .1-mile stroll at 5,580 feet. The sign paid tribute to the conservationist congressman who praised the accomplishments of mankind but noted that "no man can make a wilderness."

We got back in Little Red with 30 miles left of the Blue Ridge Parkway left to drive. "We've really lucked out," said Andy. "We've experienced every kind of weather: clouds, fog, snow, sun, hot, cold, wind and a little bit of rain. Couldn't ask for much better than that!"

Before we checked in for the night, we visited the Pioneer Village and walked around the old farm. Especially interesting was the spring house near the old barn to cool milk, butter and eggs and the bird houses by the garden to keep insects away from the produce.

In the field beyond the farm a herd of elk came to graze at sundown. They attracted tourists of all ages, and vehicles lined the road to watch. But unlike our experiences in Yellowstone, the tourists politely took pictures and kept a respectable distance from the animals. It could be because a ranger nearby kept a watchful eye.
Harrah's at Cherokee, a casino in Cherokee, North Carolina, may negatively tempt gamblers, but it has helped the Cherokee tribe, American Indians who were forced-relocated to Oklahoma.
The immense casino doesn't compare to Foxwoods or Mohegan Sun in Connecticut, but it was buzzing with activity on an off-season Monday night.
I can't even imagine what it must be like here in the summer, and the Cherokees have a perfect location--right at the entrance to the most visited park in the U.S.-- Great Smoky Mountain National Park.