The Great Smokies

Don loves the Great Smoky Mountains. Don and Pat often go more than once a year. Paul had been there before, but Robert and I had not. Spring break was coming. Don proposed we take his camper and travel there……. in March.

Remember, my previous experience on the western slopes of the Appalachians in March?  At least we were not planning to stay at the Shangri-La, but were going to camp out.

Connie and I had traveled down the Eastern Continental Divide in the Smoky Mountains while driving to Fort Gordon when I was stationed there. We had driven down the slopes in the dark after midnight. It was not a pleasant experience.

We met to plan the trip. Don’s camper was too small for four men, so Paul decided to bring his tent. Paul had a large van, so he would also drive. This trip would not involve boats, as the creeks in the Smokies are shallow and rapid. We needed special waders with felt soles to navigate the rocks.  We would need special lures which included barbless hooks to protect the indigenous species of trout. So a big trip like this took a lot of planning for food and equipment. We ordered a lot of stuff from Cabelas including clothing.

Don and Paul claim they like to fly fish. They talk about it all the time, like it’s a religion. They use all this strange language of 5 weights and parachute Adams. They tie flies in the winter; read all the fly fishing magazines, and have even built fly rods. Their favorite fly fishing movie is “A River Runs Through It” based on a short story by the same name. I have to continually remind them the hero in the story gets killed. 

We all bought lots of new equipment for the trip. The only old piece of equipment was Don’s camper. Don and Pat loved their camper. They have taken it for thousands of miles and camped everywhere in the country. It was filled with great family memories, and when Don talks of those trips he talks about all the enjoyment he had.

Unfortunately for us, most of the actual detail work of Don’s camping trips was done by Pat. She stocked the camper, made sure everything was working, made sure Don had everything he needed, but Pat wasn’t going on this trip.

Don has great skills as a carpenter; he can dry wall and roof. Electricity, however, baffles him. Don also tends to procrastinate when something needs repair. Sometime before we were to leave for the Smokies, Don’s grandson decided that the tail light on the camper would look better if he hit it with a ball bat. The day before we were to leave, Don decided to replace the broken taillight. He also knew the tires needed air, but decided that could wait until we were leaving.

With big plans to leave before sunrise, we all arrived at Don’s. As I approached the house, Don and Paul were struggling to hitch the camper to Paul’s van. The hitches didn’t match. After some maneuvering they finally got the van and camper connected. They tried the lights. The taillights worked, but not the brake lights. The brake lights would only work if the taillights were off. It was still dark, so we had a choice which we wanted to use. Since it was nearing sunrise, we decided brake lights were more important than tail lights. 

We left to stop at a gas station to put air in the tires. However, there were no open gas stations at that time of the morning. As we sat at a station waiting for it to open, we decided to eat donuts.

Finally we left. We had a good time telling stories as we made the trip across Illinois and Indiana, heading for eastern Tennessee. The trip seemed enjoyable and uneventful. Paul and I switched driving after a few hours. After a few more hours, we switched back. Then we left the flat lands and headed into the foothills and mountains.

It was in the foothills that we discovered our taillight plan was flawed. The hills were covered in fog. Fog was so thick that you couldn’t see a car in front of you except for its tail lights. People also tended to slow down in the fog, so it helped that you see them brake. Except no one could see us until we braked.

The only solution we could see was to cycle the tail lights and the brake lights. With Paul driving, we all were watching for any cars in the fog. We turned head and tail lights on until we needed to brake, then shut them off so the brake lights could be seen. This made the trip downhill rather frightful especially when a car suddenly appeared out of the fog.

Fortunately we avoided any incident, and made it to Pigeon Forge, TN at the base of the Smokies.  Pigeon Forge is the home of Dollywood.  Gatlinburg, TN is a few miles down the road and sits at the entrance to the Great Smoky Mountains.  The main street and entire distance between the two towns is filled with tourists. Traffic barely moves and there is no place to park unless you want to pay for it. We stopped at a local tackle shop to buy licenses, pick up some recommendations for lures, and investigate as to hiring a guide for one day. We headed into the Great Smoky Mountains National Park to locate our campsite for the night. We were excited to spend time fishing in such a scenic area.  (To be continued)

“Mai Tai”

The next trip to Shelbyville, Don’s friends, John and Jim, joined our group.  We followed all of traditions stopping for pizza along the way. This year we needed to rent another boat as there were now six of us. Jim brought along Crown Royal so our liquor experience rose to a new level.

Saturday began with someone starting his truck outside our motel room, and leaving it run. The fumes came in through the window so we had to close the window. This made it warm in the room. This made John mad, and he stood in the doorway yelling out at who ever could hear him. “Thanks a lot you M…F…”   We all thought the day was going to begin with a fight.

Jim was very talented at fishing and we caught several. Don and John fished with Jim, while I rode with Paul and Glen. It was nice warm day with no wind.  A perfect day for fishing was also a perfect day for drinking beer. We had brought along many cans of beer which needed to be consumed. The more we drank, the less we fished. I recall just keeping a line in the water with no bait.

With two boats it was inevitable that one would run low on beer.  Surprisingly this was the boat I was in. We began to practice the fine art of throwing beer between the boats. The fishing net became quite useful for this purpose, and Glen was quite proficient at snagging the flying beer in midair.

My friend from teaching, Gerry, joined us later that afternoon, after we stopped fishing (drinking). As was our tradition, we headed to Jibby’s.

As we settled in, a waitress came to take our drink order. After drinking beer the night before and all day, we started placing orders for hard drinks. After the first two ordered different drinks, someone (probably Don) suggested we all get something different. With six ordering ahead of him, by the time the waitress got to Paul, all the more common, that is manly, drinks were ordered. Paul stammered around while he tried to think of something. Finally he ordered a Mia Tai. We all cracked up.

When the waitress placed the order the female bartender said “What fag wants a Mai Tai?” which embarrassed Paul further. When the drinks came, the waitress made sure to give Paul his drink last, and she stuck a little umbrella in it. She also brought him a miniature lai, so Paul got”laid” that night.

Paul was getting married that summer. Don and I planned a trip down to Shelbyville for some additional fishing. We took a “short cut” suggested by his secretary. We got lost. Again.

Eventually we found the place. We fished for the afternoon and planned to head back. We decided we needed a wedding gift for Paul. We stopped in at Jibby’s and I emptied out six of the offerings from the condom machine. Included were several versions of “The Screamer”. When we got back, I bought a plastic lure box with six slots.

On the day of his wedding, I decided it might not be too cool for the girls opening wedding gifts to see our present. Don and I got Paul aside and made a personal presentation. We think Paul had an enjoyable honeymoon, but we never got any details.;-)

“Whoa means Woe”

On our next trip to Shelbyville, we added our fourth. Robert and I had fished together, but had not taken a trip before. Robert was working multiple roles in his administrative position. He needed some time away.

Of course we already had some traditions to follow. A stop at Pizza Hut in Mt. Zion, and reservations at “Almost Holiday”. With Robert along, we had two rooms. It all started after we checked in and got some ice from the owner’s ice cube trays. We also had some running jokes about the motel. The absence of neighborhood animals was noted again.

By this time, Paul had acquired a new boat. This was a wide Lowe with four seats and a large motor. The first night he kept the car hooked to the boat and parked it along the road.

Paul’s boat was a terrific addition. We were comfortable even with four fishing in his boat. Unfortunately we were not very successful. We returned to the motel and decided to return to Jibby’s for dinner.

Jibby’s was downtown so we needed to drive there. Rather than pull the boat into town, Paul decided to leave it at the motel. The motel catered to fisherman, and has a wide parking area next to the rooms. It was slightly elevated above the roadbed and wide enough for a boat and trailer and a vehicle connected to the boat. Unfortunately the boat had to be backed in.

While Paul was moving the boat, Don recalls “I had Robert pour out some of the George Dickel while I went to the lobby to “ask” for ice. When I returned, Robert had divided the entire container into four cups, leaving little room for ice.”  They wondered what was taking Paul so long to unhook his boat.

This is what caused the delay. As Paul was backing up the boat, I was supposed to watch to make sure he didn’t hit anything. As he backed up over the slight curb from the road, he had to gun his engine. I hollered “Whoa”, but he didn’t hear me and kept coming and backed right into the brick motel wall.

Alternative version

Paul’s version is that I hollered “Whoa”, after he hit the motel.

The propeller on the boat was bent. I apologized. Paul got a pliers to try and bend it back.  It looked pretty bad. We went to the room for some George Dickel and then had dinner at Jibby’s.

The next day we took the boat back out to the lake. The marina had a boat shop. They couldn’t fix the propeller so Paul had to shell out $100.00 for a new one.  I offered to help pay, but he said “No”. I decided that, to Paul, boat repairs were part of the responsibility of the owner, even if he doubts he was the cause.

We fished for a short while and headed back home. Not many fish and a bent propeller, but some good memories.

 Trained Mouse

Our next trip Glen replaced Robert. As a fellow principal, Glen appreciated the opportunity to get away in late April.

After a few beers on a nice night we decided to sit in the parking lot next to the rooms. Glen brought Cheetos, one of his favorites. After a while we noticed Glen would occasionally throw one on the ground. When we asked why, he said he was feeding the mouse that came out from the wall of the motel.

We didn’t catch many fish again. When Paul and I retired, Glen made a point of describing his fishing experience with us. As a southern Illinois small town guy, his fishing experience was like mine. Cane poles, nightcrawlers, and not a lot of success. He said he expected with a boat, fish finder, maps, lures and rods and reels, we would certainly catch a lot of fish. We, of course, never caught much of anything. We couldn't even catch the mouse.

The year of “The Screamer”

Almost Holiday Again

We returned to Lake Shelbyville after our first year. We also booked a room at Almost Holiday. We arrived earlier and checked in. The smell of curry pervaded the lobby. The ice machine still had the “ask for ice” sign meaning they would dump an ice cube tray for you.

Paul was checking in when one of us (me) made the comment something like, “Did you ever notice there are no dogs or cats in the neighborhood?” This coupled with the smell of the reception started our speculation as to how they were cooking them.

 I was somewhat better prepared for rain in that I had purchased a rain suit from Farm and Fleet to replace my poncho.  Actually it was more of a rain slicker, as it was bright yellow and didn’t fit well. Paul and Don could not resist telling me how much I looked like Big Bird and I should head back to Sesame Street.

Our day of fishing was pretty uneventful. By that I mean we didn’t catch many fish. After fishing all day, we decided to go in early and get some dinner.  Jibby’s steak house had a great reputation so we decided to clean up and head in.

When we found Jibby’s it was pretty busy. We found a table, Paul went to wash up. He came back and said “Guys, you won’t believe what they have in the restroom. They have a condom machine and it has something called “The Screamer”.This had to be investigated so I went to check it out. “The Screamer” was a studded cock ring.

After we finished the meal, I decided we needed to get one for Paul. I told Don to distract Paul, while I went back to the restroom. I made the purchase and gave it to Paul when we returned to the hotel. Paul has been forever known by us as “The Screamer”.

 This trip was different because we had sworn off Southern Comfort. However, Don brought some George Dickel which did not go down smoothly, but did keep us laughing.

We headed back on Sunday and actually turned the right way. We decided we should do this every year and returned to work telling everyone what a great time we had.  When asked about the number of fish we caught I said “It isn’t about the fishing”