TOURIST MECCA MANIA--Trip 2

Predictions say temperatures will reach the mid-70's today and 77 degrees tomorrow with clear skies and bright sun . But it was 32 degrees this morning at 8:15 a.m. when we left the motel.
"This was a created park," said Andy, as we drove up into the Smoky Mountains. "It didn't look like this when the park was started in 1923."
Great Smoky Mountain National Park, 520,000 acres and the most visited park in the U.S., with 6,500,000 guests a year, was land set aside by the federal government. Later, the Blue Ridge Parkway, 469 miles long, was created to connect the Smokies to Shenandoah.
We had read that a group of concerned citizens initiated the creation of the park in 1923. Private individuals donated money to buy out farms and timber holdings. Tennessee and North Carolina also bought tracts of land. President Franklin D. Roosevelt dedicated the park in 1940.
Early settlers here had used poor farming techniques that took a heavy toll on the mountain environment. Poor farmers let pigs and cows roam free and only fenced gardens and fields to protect their crops. Fragile soil washed away. Pigs did the most damage by foraging for roots with their tusks; fall roundups of cows trampled what was left, exposing mud. The government took over by buying out residents, and most accepted the offers.
Andy wondered how the number of yearly visitors could possibly be determined because there is no ranger station or admission booth entrance area, and the drive is easily accessible with intersecting roads. So we took their word. I guess that's why Great Smoky Mountain National Park is "the most visited."
Today tree-covered slopes dominate. It's peak color this week at the top with lower slopes tinged brown, yellow and red.
We scaled the top of Clingmans Dome, 6,643 feet, before 10 a.m., in sole possession of the spiral lookout tower. Half an hour later old couples puffed and plodded their way to the top along the asphalt trail and the parking lot was filled with vehicles.
"Good thing we came early," said Andy. "The smoke has already collected in the valley. I read somewhere that it is caused by the sun and the trees."
Visibility has also been reduced by air pollution, but we experienced spectacular views on such a crisp morning. The early rising bears did too. Evidence of them and the mountain ash berries they ate for breakfast marked the foot path to the top.

"If that was Mount Mitchell we picked out from the sign, and I think it was, we could see for 73 miles," said Andy. "On most days the smoke hides much closer peaks."

The Spruce-Fir Trail should be marked "easy stroll" instead of "nature hike." The .4-mile walk along a plank path circled level terrain through a pleasant, wooded forest of Fraser fir trees.
Sugarland Nature Trail, a paved half-mile walk, demonstrated the recovering forest of maples, tulip trees and eastern hemlocks in an area that had been stripped bare less than a hundred years ago. Stone walls and two chimneys remain as a testament to the past civilization of farmers.

Out of necessity we drove the Cherokee Orchard Road-Roaring Fork Motor Nature Trail road at 10 m.p.h. First, that WAS the speed limit. Second, many vehicles blocked pullouts along the one-way loop. "I can't imagine what a terrible mess this must be in the summer," said Andy, "especially if it's bumper to bumper on a Tuesday in October."

Half way along the auto tour road stood the remains of old farms, some of the 90 historic structures that still exist within the park boundaries. We photographed the farm buildings and tried to imagine life in the log slat cabin. "That's how Dolly Parton grew up," said Andy. He remembered her stories from the concert we attended during the summer.

Ephraim Bales place, home to Ephraim, his wife Minerva ("Nervy") and ten children, included corn cribs, barn and spring house. Bales owned 72 acres but cleared and farmed only 30 of them. "I can't believe he could clear even that many in such thick woods," said Andy.

Alfred Reagan, rich guy on the block or creek as the case may be, owned and operated the mill. His house, painted white with turquoise fireplace trim, boasted a gigantic loft upstairs and was built on raised slabs of granite.
We commented about the graffiti--wood finish carved with initials, logs dated and signed in permanent marker, walls etched with love notes, fireplaces scratched with names.

"It's so sad there are so many morons in this country who deface our heritage," said Andy.

In spite of signs warning about fines for vandalism, people had written their names as recently as last month.

"I blame parents," said one older man, "for not teaching their kids values, and I blame kids for not recognizing how lucky they are."
We explored the Noah "Bud" Ogle farm, 400 acres in 1879, along a self-guiding nature trail. Much of the land was "not fit for farming," according to a land assessor's comment, and the nature trail even crossed a large boulder field. One of the first families to settle in the backwoods community of White Oak Flats--now Gatlinburg--the Ogle family, a prominent force in all phrases of local life, even had running water, feeding to the house from the spring in an open wooden trough or flume.

Later in the day we returned to the Roaring Fork Auto Tour road. This time Andy knew the way. No meandering hikers blocked our travels, and no vehicles drove at under 10 m.p.h. to sightsee along the way. Only a few cars filled the slots at pullouts. Instead of woodland chaos, the peaceful forest of hardwoods closed in around us as we climbed the one-lane road to Grotto Falls parking lot. With the sun already casting long shadows between the trees--white oak, magnolia, maple, tulip tree, hemlock--we set out on the Trillium Gap Trail to Grotto Falls. Returning hikers glanced as we pushed ourselves steadily upward, 1.4 miles, a 520-foot climb over tree roots, across small streams, through muddy dips, in 45 minutes.
The 25-foot high falls cascaded into a clear pool jumbled with boulders from the summit edge. We scrambled over rocks for pictures before heading back down the 1.4 miles to Little Red.
Pigeon Forge exists for tourists. A lot like the Strip in Las Vegas, lights flash, signs blaze, traffic crawls and leisure entertainment abounds. From wine tasting to zip line excursions and from miniature golf to helicopter rides, Pigeon Forge has it all. Gatlinburg is no different, but the older town gravitates more toward the shopper. From bird houses to motor cycle leather, every imaginable sort of junk is for sale on Main Street.

"I've never seen anything like it to this extent," said Andy. "It must be a living hell in the summer if on a Tuesday in October the streets are jammed."