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Cherokee to Gatlinburg -
A Day in the Great Smoky Mountains by Peter
Thody
[Map
of Route]
| A
personal greeting from a Cherokee elder, a walk in the
woods in Bill Bryson's footsteps, and two entirely different
bear encounters end Peter Thody's three-week trip through
the eastern U.S. Join him as he travels across the Smokies
and discovers that there's still plenty of room to breathe
in America's busiest national park. |
Great Smoky Mountains is, by a long chalk, America's
favourite national park. Every year, nearly 10 million people
come here to hike, camp, canoe or simply drive through, shutter
fingers poised in anticipation of an appearance by one of
the park's 1,500 or so black bears. Ten million people. That's
almost as many as the combined total for Grand Canyon, Yosemite
and Yellowstone, respectively the nation's second, third and
fourth most popular parks.
So what is it that attracts people in such numbers?
Well, location is certainly a major factor. Straddling the
border of Tennessee and North Carolina, the park is no more
than a good day's drive from most of the major cities of the
eastern United States. It's also free to enter. When Tennessee
handed over ownership of its section of Newfound
Gap Road - the road that crosses the park from north to
south - to the National Park Service, it stipulated that no
toll could ever be charged.
Great
Smoky Mountains National Park is also surprisingly accessible,
a "bite-size" park. This may seem an odd way to
describe "the largest wilderness east of the Mississippi
River," but if you were so inclined, you could cross
the park on Newfound Gap Road - now U.S. Highway 441 - in
under an hour. This makes it a perfect diversion for vacationers
looking for a change of scenery from the theme parks, outlet
malls and other temptations of the flesh of Gatlinburg
and Pigeon
Forge to the north, and our starting point, Cherokee,
to the south.
Cherokee is the headquarters of the Eastern Band
of Cherokee
Indians. With its picturesque setting next to the Oconaluftee
River, it ought to be a great place to visit, but the truth
is that it's a bit of a mixed bag of nuts.
Alongside the native
arts, theatre
and interpretative events at the Cherokee
Village, there are also cheap-looking amusements, three
bear
pits that many believe to be little short of barbaric,
and in some roadside stores at least, a distrust of visitors
that couldn't be more apparent. Of course, had I been forcibly
removed from my lands then "given" the right to
earn a living through tourism and casinos, I too might tend
towards curmudgeonliness, but surely a basic level of politeness
is a prerequisite of a sustainable tourism-based economy?
The shining light in the whole town, however,
is the Museum
of the Cherokee Indian, where we are personally and warmly
welcomed by Jerry
Wolfe, one of the tribe's most prominent elders. He tells
us a little about his own life (including a period in the
U.S. Army, during which he took part in the D-Day landings),
explains what we're about to see, and finally, without prompting,
signs our museum guide.
The museum is superb, too, bringing to life the
story of the Cherokee people through film, traditional stories,
displays, and artefacts. It's as different from the town's
main drag - with its gift shops, amusement parks and tubing
rides - as day is from night, and we head for the park feeling
slightly more affection for Cherokee that we had an hour or
so earlier.
The sun's already higher in the sky than we'd
originally planned, so we limit our stop at the Oconaluftee
Visitor Center to picking up a map and eavesdropping on a
ranger recommendation to "be sure to visit Cades Cove
before you leave." Then we make our way along an avenue
of sun-dappled trees into Great Smoky Mountains National Park.
The road rises almost imperceptibly at first,
the only indication of an incline being the shallow-flowing
Oconaluftee River that passes us by in the opposite direction.
We stop here and there, attracted by a scenic pool or the
splash of a small waterfall. The occasional sight of a parked
car reminds us that there are other people here, but generally
we have the place to ourselves.
America's busiest park it may be, but "busy"
is a relative term. Were my home country, England, to become
the USA's 51st state, it would rank 29th in size between Arkansas
and Alabama. But to match England's density of population,
you'd have to ask the good folks of Alabama to squeeze up
so 36 million Californians could fit in. And 10 million Georgians
too.
As the road emerges from the valleys and begins
to rise more steeply, the views become ever more magnificent:
perfect blue skies, foliage at its greenest, and a slight
haze - the smoke-like "fog" that gives this range
its name - emphasising the shapes of the mountains as they
fade towards the horizon.
In no time at all we're at Newfound Gap, the
high point of this route over the mountains, where North Carolina
turns into Tennessee. It's also, to my tremendous delight,
an access point to the Appalachian
Trail, the 2,175-mile walk that links Georgia to Maine
and is best known to many as the subject of Bill Bryson's
book "A
Walk in the Woods ."
Incredibly, I seem to be the only person excited by the idea
of a short stroll affording one the right to say "The
A.T.? Yeah, I remember this one time in the Carolinas …"
and therefore have it to myself.
From Newfound Gap we head back down into the
valleys along roads that are more winding and, if anything,
even quieter. The only sign of other people is slightly more
litter than you'd expect in a national park, and a great deal
more graffiti. "Becky Loves Freddy Belcher." "Tennessee
Rocks." That kind of thing.
After stopping for a picnic (and resisting the
temptation to carve "PT hearts CT" into a tree),
we realise that we're almost at the northern exit and it's
still only early afternoon. The park really is that compact.
OK, time to follow our overheard ranger tip and extend our
visit by turning left to Cades
Cove.
"Cove" in these parts means "valley"
and it's a very different countryside, more rural but no less
attractive for that. The fact that all drivers have to follow
a one-way 11-mile loop does mean it can be slow going, but
it's not the kind of place you'd want to rush anyway. The
mountains provide an impressive backdrop to views over open
fields and meadows, and the road leads past a number of historic
buildings, remnants of the farming community that was forced
out in the 1930s as the park was created.
Aside from its history and idyllic setting, the
appeal of Cades Cove lies in the frequency with which bears
are spotted. And sure enough, as we crest the brow of a small
hill, we're greeted by the telltale sight of a logjam of cars,
RVs, coaches and motorcycles, their owners jostling for the
best view of a black bear who's wandering through the woods,
seemingly oblivious to the commotion he's creating.
As he crosses the road between the crowds, it
strikes me that were the park authorities to apply the maximum
penalty of $5,000 for approaching within 50 yards of a bear,
they would top half a million dollars here. Not that our bear
appears remotely bothered; he even stops for a drink from
a roadside puddle before negotiating the parked cars and disappearing
back into the trees. The only downside of this encounter is
that we're now stuck in the middle of a good half hour's worth
of collected traffic but even then there's no sense of impatience
on anyone's part.
However, as this is our last "real"
day on the road (tomorrow's a get-to-the-airport day), we
don't want our final memories to be those of the back end
of a burgundy Ford Explorer from Maryland. So we make a break
and head for Rich
Mountain Road, a winding, one-way gravel track that leads
us out of the park in complete and utter solitude. Well, almost.
About 20 minutes into the drive, in an encounter that couldn't
be more different from the one earlier, we're joined on the
road by a mother bear and her two bouncing bundles of fur.
It's just us and them in a moment so captivating that the
idea of disturbing their play by getting out with a camera
is unthinkable.
This year's trip has taken in a number of historic
roads - the Natchez Trace, the National Road, the Blue Ridge
Parkway, even a short section of the Lincoln Highway - so
to enjoy a final highlight like this, on a primitive road
that began life as a Cherokee trail, provides a perfect memory
with which to leave Great Smoky Mountains National Park. That
and hiking the A.T, of course.
We began in Atlanta, Ga., three weeks ago and
our route has taken us through 14 states, plus the District
of Columbia. By the time we hand the car back tomorrow, we'll
have driven almost 4,000 miles through Bible Belt country,
rich farmland, sprawling cities, Civil War battlefields, shanty
towns, seaside resorts, coastal marshlands and mountain woodlands.
As ever, we have met some truly wonderful people, from the
gun-toting store owner who chased after us to give Carole
a T-shirt to the girls in a Kentucky bar who introduced us
to Maker's Mark, Knob Creek and Wild Turkey.
To them, and to everyone else we met during our
three weeks on the road, you should take as much pride in
the open-armed welcome you afford your visitors as you already
do in your beautiful country. Once again, we owe you our thanks.
Peter
Thody
10/19/09
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