Bearmageddon

After entering Shenandoah National Park at its northern tip, we began to leisurely drive the 50 miles south to our accommodation at Big Meadows Lodge. We had most of the day to do this and planned for a few small hikes along the way, really just to stretch our legs after a few days in the car.

Our first stop was at the Dickey Ridge area, where we strolled along the 2-kilometer Fox Hollow Trail past the remnants of old homesteads and a cemetery. I'd pulled up with a sore shoulder after either our Mount Le Conte hike or cycling through Cades Cove, so we wore our backpacks just to see how I'd manage. We may have looked like idiots, but the pack felt great and we were excited about the rest of the day.

The next stop was Mathews Arm campground, from where we decided to tackle the 8-kilometer Knob Mountain circuit.

The big loop on the left

We should have known this trail was a bad idea the moment Daniel nearly stepped on a snake while walking down the road to the trailhead. We'd only just got over instinctively watching for snakes as we do back home. It barely twitched but the little bugger was definitely alive; it was holding its head taught, ready to strike. Daniel's lucky it was feeling lazy, because he couldn't have been any closer to it. We think it might have been a Copperhead, one of two kinds of venomous snakes within the park (the others being Rattlesnakes). It let us get surprisingly close, and apparently freezing is a typical behaviour because their camouflage is so good.

After a short stretch on a fire road, we turned onto Knob Mountain Trail proper. The area was forested and the trail was cool and shady. We passed a handful of other hikers, but otherwise the trail was quiet. Maybe a mile or two down the trail Daniel, who was plodding along in front of me, paused, took a step backwards and threw his arm out to stop me from continuing on. "There's a bear" he whispered (I may have left out the expletive). Some 40 to 50 meters ahead of us, plodding along the trail was a large black bear. We'd been talking and clapping, hooting and hollering as we walked, so he definitely knew we were around. After watching him for maybe 5 seconds, he lackadaisically sauntered off the side of the trail and disappeared. It was all very civilised, and this is what I meant when I said they're not usually aggressive, at least if they know you're there and you're not too close. It was the perfect bear encounter for hikers, and we were stoked.

The only problem was that he'd disappeared out of our line of sight, and we didn't know where or how far he'd gone. Turning back seemed the safest option. Soon enough a couple of hikers came through from the other direction. We waved and yelled to let them know we'd just seen a bear near where they were walking, and they just looked at us like we were a couple of crazy skips who'd never been in this part of the woods before. Fair enough. Continuing on, we came across another couple. "Keep an eye out" I said, "we've just seen a bear on the trail maybe a mile up". The male hiker let out a hearty laugh and replied, "well now you've seen three bears, because our surname is Bear." It's always nice to meet an American with a sense of humour.

We kept going, pausing only to share a bagel and cream cheese for lunch. The loop covers multiple trails including a mile or so on the Appalachian Trail, which runs for 3500 kilometers from Georgia to Maine. I read Bill Bryson's A Walk in the Woods a couple of years back - despite hiking the trail in its entirety, he didn't see one bear.

Walking, walking, walking, we knew we were getting close to the Elkwallow trail head when I spotted something moving in the bushes ahead of us and stopped. The trail curved to the side to go around a rise, and on that rise, through the trees and shrubs, I could see a bear. "It's small, looks like a cub" I said to Daniel, who replied "Nah, it's big, definitely adult". We were looking through different parts of the thicket, and he was watching Mama Bear. I don't know how close we were at this point, but it was a safe distance. Due to our being deliberately noisy as always, they were aware of us and kept turning back to check us out. After a minute or so we could see them politely wandering away - it looked as though they were heading off to the side, down the opposite slope of the rise.

We kept talking so they could hear us, before deciding to press on after a few minutes of loitering. The trail curved around to a stone staircase, and there was much less visibility than desired. However, based on our earlier encounter, we assumed all would be honky dory. In slow motion we walked up the steps, talking the whole while. At the top of the stairs and a few steps onto the trail we let out a sigh of relief, only a second before catching sight of Mama Bear and cub looking down at us from a tree, MUCH too close for comfort. After staring at each other momentarily, dumbfounded, Mama Bear started scrambling down the tree, presumably at us. I think we may have actually discovered the elusive drop bear? We backed out of there pretty darn quick, still talking so she could hear us getting further away.

All of this, and I didn't get one decent photograph. I only managed to capture a couple of black shapes through the trees, and a very blurred shot which I think shows the beginnings of Mama Bear's descent from the tree. However, I assure you that the memories are forever imprinted in both our minds and our underpants.

At this point we were far from cool, calm and collected as we had been originally. Our nervous systems had gone haywire, and we still had to get the hell out of the woods somehow. Mama Bear was too mad for us to consider trying to go forwards again, and there were no other hikers around, so we started to double back. Every squirrel, every spider web made us jump. To make things worse, we were acutely aware that by this time it was bear o-clock (late afternoon, early evening), and we had no idea how long it was going to take us to find a safe route out. I suppose this is exactly why you're always told to pack extra water, food and clothing.

Earlier we'd passed a parking lot next to where the Appalachian Trial crosses Elkwallow Trail. Worse case scenario, we could hike all the way back to there, probably two miles from where we'd been forced to turn around. But of course we were now going the wrong direction, and the further we went, the further we'd have to double back again. Eventually the trail got close enough to the road for us to scramble up a rocky bank and edge out onto the roadside.

We relaxed a little then and started to trudge back towards where our car was parked. I seriously considered trying to hitch a lift, and if a ranger had driven past, I would have. Walking along the roadside isn't much fun either - the road is windy and the cars drive quicker than they should. Most of the bends had small stone retaining walls that we stepped onto and used to keep our distance from the cars. We kept making as much noise as our dwindling energy stores allowed - after all, we'd seen two bears on the roadside in Glacier National Park.

Maybe halfway along the road, while walking along one of those walls, I turned my head toward to the forest and found myself face to face, at eye level, with a baby bear up a tree. Remember those little koala toys that had bendy limbs you could wrap around your finger? He was just hanging there, exactly like that. All I could think was "where's Mum" and I flew off the stone wall and into the road. Luckily there wasn't a car coming. He wasn't particularly impressed either, and as soon as we'd made eye contact he scampered straight back down that tree as if it were a fireman's pole.

This was getting beyond a joke, and we just had nothing left in us. When we finally reached our car we didn't know whether to laugh or cry in relief. We kicked off our shoes and scoffed down some food. We hadn't eaten nearly enough. The eight kilometers had unwittingly turned into more than sixteen.

As you can see above, Daniel had actually been tracking the hike on Strava, a GPS application. This shows you exactly how close we were to the trailhead when we ran into Mama Bear and her cub. Should we just have waited longer and tried to push through? I don't know. Nor do I know if we'll be hiking tomorrow.

I waited until we were safely in the car and on our way before I bashfully confessed to Daniel that this had all been my fault. You see, after the first bear on the trail, I'd spent some time quietly musing to myself that there were only two things we were yet to see. Yep, you guessed it. Bear cubs and bears in trees. My bad.

Bolting Along the Blue Ridge Parkway

The Blue Ridge Parkway runs for 755 kilometers through North Carolina and Virginia, between Great Smoky Mountains National Park to the south and Shenandoah National Park to the north. It's supposed to be slow, scenic driving, winding atop the mountains. Instead, we drove the whole thing in less than two and a half days.

The views are undeniably gorgeous, but they're homogenous, and after a couple of days we actually started to get a little bored. The view from the top of Mount Mitchell, the highest peak east of the Mississippi River, is particularly outstanding. Or so we've been told.

Despite being engulfed in clouds and caressed by freezing winds, we walked up to the viewpoint, deserted but for a couple conversing in a strangely familiar accent. I asked where they were from. "Australia", they replied in unison, their hands in their pockets and their shoulders hunched against the cold. "Well yeah, which part?" At this point they realised and laughed, before saying "you first". I ventured "Perth" and they countered with "formerly Perth, now Australind". Turns out they lived in Wembley Downs. You can't make this up.

An hour or so of our final afternoon on the Parkway was whiled away at an overlook, our legs dangling off the edge of the wall and the sun warming our backs. A series of strong thermals were dancing up out of the valley, and we were treated to a paraglider and a hanglider setting up their gear before soaring off in quick succession.

Biltmore Estate

George Washington Vanderbilt II bilt Biltmore at the end of the 19th century while still a bachelor. I'm not quite sure how he was planning to use its 250 rooms, but I'm quite sure that this show of extravagance was exactly the point.

Biltmore

Located in Asheville, North Carolina, and still owned by his descendants, it's the largest privately owned house in the country. When GWV II's only child, Cornelia, died in 1976, her eldest son got to choose between the house or the estate. He chose the estate, which was the more profitable of the two at the time. I've no idea how the estate is faring now, but the house receives nearly a million visitors a year, each paying up to $60 just to get onto the property.

You may have seen the house in one of many movies including Richie Rich and Forrest Gump. We took a tour through the interior but weren't allowed to take photos. Not that this stopped a middle-aged American woman wearing tucked-in double denim and sporting the best bleached blond mullet you'll never see.

The most amazing feature of the house is its 265 cubic meter indoor swimming pool, which used to be pumped full of water from a nearby natural source. Given the lack of filtration or chlorination, it would be filled on demand, used and then drained. It even had underwater lighting, which is quite extraordinary given that plenty of folks probably didn't even have electricity at that point in time.

The extensive gardens around the house were designed by Frederick Law Olmstead, considered the father of American landscape architecture. Amongst his most famous creations is Central Park in New York City.

Gardens

Once you've paid your entry fee, there are plenty of restaurants, shops and activities to keep your wallet busy. We settled for a couple of ice-creams for the long hot walk back to our car (there was a shuttle if you didn't want to attempt the five minute stroll).

Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough

Luckily we didn't order double scoops, because the servings shown above are supposedly single scoops. How that's even possible, I don't know. It must increase the demand for the shuttle bus.

Things We Wish We'd Never Eaten #2.3: The Little House of Pancakes

The Little House of Pancakes in Gatlinburg should actually be known as the Little House of Not-So-Little Pancakes. Still famished from our hike the previous day and further exhausted from attempting Le Tour de Cades Cove, we stopped in here just before closing time for a late lunch (and an early heart attack).

Pancakes (and especially waffles) seem to have a close synergy with fried chicken in the south of this country. Don't ask me why. I think I got through one of the pancakes, maybe one and a half. Daniel polished off his fried chicken, doused in smoky BBQ sauce, and also managed a couple of free soda refills.

On a side note, you may notice that Daniel is growing a beard after deliberately "forgetting" to pack a razor. It has white whiskers and ginger streaks in the cheeks. Enough to put anybody off pancakes.

Cycling in Great Smoky Mountains National Park: Cades Cove

Every Wednesday morning Cades Cove Loop Road is closed to car traffic to allow cyclists free reign through this scenic valley. Daniel is never going to pass up an opportunity to pedal, so we hired single-speed bikes and sped off into the morning fog. Except we slowed down pretty quick. Turns out there isn't much juice left in one's legs the day after climbing a mountain. And the bikes were as stiff as our knee joints.

Magic

This hill was bigger than it looks, ok?

The loop isn't overly steep but there are more than a few rolling hills. In particular, there are two which you're supposed to walk your bike down. Naturally we ignored this sage advice. There would have been no dramas had Daniel not decided to lay down a skid of epic proportions (his words) halfway down. He managed to keep control for a few seconds before drifting sideways down the wet road, finishing upright but facing the wrong way and in the bushes. The GoPro was filming from my head, so he was pretty chuffed. Come to think of it, that was probably the reason he attempted this display of prowess (his words) or idiocy (my words) in the first place...

Challenge accepted...

The loop weaves through forests and meadows, and passes by a number of historic buildings which reflect pioneer life in 19th-century Appalachia. Interestingly though, they don't reflect the area when the park was chartered in 1934. The residents of Cades Cove were strongly resistant to the park's creation, and their properties were eventually seized by eminent domain. By this time, most of the locals were living in modern frame residences rather than the log cabins which have been preserved.

Old Homestead

On the Tennessee side of the Smokies (the park straddles Tennessee and North Carolina) there are two main gateway towns: Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg. These have to be two of the most bizarre places we've visited. The main street of Gatlinburg looks like this: candy store, novelty t-shirt store, gaming arcade, ice-cream store, Ripley's attraction, and then just repeat. Four or five times. It's the strangest adjunct to an area of outstanding natural beauty. It seemed to be just as much of a tourist attraction as the park itself, although who knows for what reasons. We did play mini golf though. I won, just in case you didn't assume.