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)