National Park Guide: Tennessee's Great Smoky Mountains

 

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My 11-year old son, Eli, and I watched the cub from about 3 feet away.

It was a moment of awe — a combination of wonder at being so close to a wild creature and fear that its mother would soon come looking for the cub and find us in the way.

We'd been told before setting out on the hike to be prepared for surprises. But even our guide for the day, Dan Barger of the National Parks Conservation Association, didn't expect this.

"I've been hiking in this park for 40 years and never come that close to a bear," Barger said after we'd passed safely by.

Even before we saw the bear cub, our day at the park had been a success.

We'd started with a mile hike off the Foothills Parkway to the observation tower atop Chilhowee Mountain, with its panoramic view of the southern end of the half-million-acre national park, first chartered in 1934.

From there we drove down through a gap in the mountains to Townsend, Tenn., where cellphone coverage disappeared, and into the park.

Not long afterward, we hit the day's first bear jam — a traffic backup caused by the appearance of a bear walking through the woods. A few dozen visitors, many with cameras, watched a black bear roam 50 feet away, foraging for his breakfast.

Among them were Kenny and Julie Brown of Mexico, Ind. They first came to the park five years ago and have returned every year since. During their last visit, they'd seen 37 bears.

Even more than the bears, Kenny Brown said, the park's mountains, lit by the sun setting over the forest of oak, hemlock and maple trees, keep them coming back.

"If you come here in the evening, just before the sun goes down, there's not a more beautiful place in the whole world," he said.

Our tour of the Cove took us past pre-Civil War graveyards, churches and settlers' cabins before we set out on the hike to Abrams Falls.

We passed by thickets of rhododendron and through a landscape dotted with flowering mountain laurel and herbs such as teaberry and Solomon's seal and wild ginger before making our way up to the ridge line and the bear cub.

Then it was off the falls themselves — where Abrams Creek drops 20 feet off a rock ledge to a wide pool. The roaring of the falls, the sounds of people splashing their weary feet in the water, the shouts of shock from a few brave souls who dove into the chilly April water filled the air and gave a sense of peace found few places in the modern world.

"At the end of every hike, there's a jewel," said Terre Maisel from Mettawa, Ill.

No one walking in the park was checking e-mail on a cellphone or posting updates on Facebook. It's a place for perfect strangers to talk to one another as they rest by the side of the trail or take in a scenic vista. The noise of everyday is replaced by the quiet sounds of real life — the singing of birds, the rustling of the wind through the trees, the bubbling of a creek.

By the time we got to the car, Eli was already planning a return trip. Next time, he wants to camp by the river, so he can fall asleep to the sound of the water.

He summed up the trip in one word: "Epic."