A lovely day at Tallulah Gorge

My older sister and I had planned this trip for a long time. I'm so glad we went; Tallulah Gorge is a beautiful place. The water churned and flowed in stunning shades of blue and turquoise and amber, and the trees and rocks and everything else was so amazing to see in person. You really need to visit this place!

There are a few hikes available in the park; there's one that takes you around the rim of the gorge, and a much more strenuous hike that leads down to the river's edge. In the above right photo, you can see one of the intrepid wanderers who hiked down to the bottom of the gorge.

The park wasn't terribly busy, but there was a steady stream of people walking around, so wildlife wasn't exactly in abundance. I was, however, able to make the acquaintance of this fuzzy buddy:

10/10 -- I do recommend a visit to Tallulah Gorge. I hear it's brilliant in the autumn.

Photoblog: a somber visit to Andersonville Civil War Prison

Tornado devastation in FDR State Park

The left side of the photos above and below used to be a campsite. Used to be. 

While visiting my older sister in Georgia in 2011, my family decided to take a hike on the Pine Mountain Trail -- a hiking trail that meanders through the lovely FDR State Park. As we drove to the trailhead, we were met with the first evidence of just how powerful Mother Nature is: there was a gaping, freeway-sized path carved in front of our car, from one side of the road to the other, like a giant bulldozer had gone on a rampage through the forest. It was only a hint of what we would see at the first overlook on the trail:

Felled trees littered the landscape as if they were nothing more than discarded matchsticks. There were parts of the trail that were blocked by massive, old trees, and we had to climb over and under them in order to hike onward. I kept thinking about what people's homes must look like, if a tornado could do this to the trees out here. I hoped everyone was okay.

Despite the devastation left behind by the storm, the cycle of life continued on, and out of the debris of the fallen grew a new generation of flowers and would-be ancient trees.

If you are the type of person who finds meaning in nature, like I do, you could see this as a sort of reminder. Bad things happen. Sometimes in life, trees fall. You can either lay down and join the debris, or you can use it as a nourishing foundation for life to begin anew.

Riding out the storm on the Appalachian Trail

It was almost two years ago to the day that my mother and I set out on an overnight hike on the Appalachian Trail. Our hike would take us to the summit of Springer Mountain and back. I had previously completed this same hike on the approach trail in a single day; hopefully I can locate those photos to share them with you, because that experience was life-changing.

On this particular hike, we were able to take our time and enjoy the early summer scenery. The approach trail -- which is the first 8.5 'unofficial' miles of the Appalachian National Scenic Trail -- can be rough and altogether unforgiving; it's as much an exercise in mind as it is in body. Its natural beauty makes up for it, however.

Here is Amicalola Falls, sitting pretty at 729 feet tall; it's the tallest waterfall in Georgia. Amicalola is a Cherokee word meaning, "tumbling waters," and it is an apt name, indeed. The falls bounds over huge boulders and courses through a series of natural stone "steps" to the forest floor below.

We made it to the top of Springer Mountain between 2:00 and 3:00 PM. After a celebratory photo next to the southern terminus plaque, we took a short walk to the nearby hiker shelter to inspect the guest log and poke around. In the end, we decided to camp on the summit instead.

I picked out a good place to camp on the summit that appeared free of potential falling branches. My mother set up her tent and I put up my beloved hammock, and then we made and ate our dinner.

At around 5pm, some clouds wandered past us, dark and brooding. They eventually cleared away, leaving us with this absolutely gorgeous sunset:

We watched the as the colors went from that painterly peach-and-purple haze to a dusky indigo, hung our food bag, and then turned in to sleep for the night.

We were woken in the middle of the night by one hell of a storm! Lightning, thunder, the wrath of the gods was upon us on that summit. My hammock was literally bouncing in the wind, though I was safely ensconced under my trusty tarp and wrapped up like a burrito in my sleeping bag. It was a strangely lulling sensation, almost like being rocked to sleep.

My mother was not as comfortable, apparently; she was rather panicked, and kept calling my name. At one point, she hilariously and irrationally started blowing her whistle to "keep the bears away from our food." I will never get over that. I laugh to the point of tears whenever I think of it.

When we woke the next morning, we were greeted by cool weather and a flooded mountaintop. I had chosen our campsite well: our site was clear of debris, but all the surrounding tent spots were littered with large, fallen branches. We were lucky.

We broke camp and made our way back down the mountain. The forest was chilled and foggy; it was a peaceful descent. 

We stopped at one point and filled our Nalgene water bottles at one of the water sources on the trail. It was there that we encountered a fellow hiker who gave off a homeless-but-hiding-it vibe; there are actually quite a few homeless people who wander between the shelters on the Appalachian Trail.

I would love to explore more of the Appalachian Trail; my goal hikes are through the Roan Highlands, the 100-mile Wilderness, and the White Mountains. I'll be sure to update here when I complete them. :)

Have any of you hiked the Appalachian Trail?

Bliss, bears, and belligerence at Cloudland Canyon State Park

I thought I'd take a break from all of the Florida posts in order to share with you my experiences at Cloudland Canyon in Georgia. My older sister and I camped inside the park, and we had the whole campground to ourselves for the most part -- aside from a passing bear in the night and a very loud deer in the morning.

We chose a campsite that was situated near the babbling waters of a deliciously cool creek (seen in the photo below). We used the creek as a sort of primitive refrigerator by placing our drinks in the water and surrounding them with stones so they wouldn't be carried off by the current. It worked like a charm.

That night, as I lay in my hammock, being lulled to sleep by the sounds of the creek, I caught a flash in my peripheral vision. I blinked and looked around. I was suddenly filled with joy and awe as I realized that our entire campsite was populated by a host of fireflies! I called out to my sister and asked if she was seeing what I was seeing; her answer was a hushed, mesmerized, "Yeah...." 

They wafted about languidly, blinking their fluorescent buggy Morse Code to one another. I held out my hand at one point, watching as it became limned by the pulsing glow of each passing firefly. It was such a quiet, magical experience, and I am so grateful to have had it.

When I'm camping, I generally wake up once or twice a night; this trip was no exception. It was still dark; the air held that pre-dawn chill that clings to everything. I drifted between la-la-land and Cloudland, and at one point, that familiar, musky-greasy-dirty bear smell hit me right in the sinuses. I was too groggy to look around and investigate, but it was unmistakably derived from a black bear. I went back to sleep.

The next morning, I was trumpeted awake by a large passing buck. The scenario was pure comedy; I was sleeping face-down in my Warbonnet Blackbird hammock. The deer -- moving from the direction of the nearby creek toward the deeper woods -- walked behind the hammock, and loudly announced his presence to the world. My head shot up; I was instantly awake. My adrenaline was pumping, my eyes were wide. I probably looked ridiculous. I looked around and there he was; striding quickly and purposefully, head held high, the bastard. It was like being roused by a military bugle call.

After I exited my hammock, I stretched and looked around.... Oh.

Our black bear friend -- remember him? -- left us a present in the night as he passed:

It was fresh; still leaking sap. It wasn't there the night before. It was ten feet away from my hammock. Fun times.

 That morning, my sister and I took had a saunter on the West Rim Trail; the hike was fantastic. The trail takes you through several small ecosystems and skirts around the edge of the canyon, offering multiple opportunities to take in the weathered, tree-covered expanse that the park is named for.

This flower -- a hellebore, I think? -- smelled heavenly. I wanted to bottle its essence and wear it always.

It was such a great camping experience that the end of it was almost paradoxical. As we were leaving, I decided to fill up the gas tank at the first station just outside the park before we got on the highway. Long story short, for some reason, my fuel gauge didn't pick up on the fact that there was gas in the tank after I filled up.

I went inside to inquire about the pump, not thinking it could be my car that was the problem. The owner came out, tested the pump, said it was fine. He walked around my car, saw my out-of-state plates, and then proceeded to lose his mind, accusing me of trying to scam him and threatening to shoot my tires if I tried to leave. I remained eerily calm in the face of this sudden assault, and I stayed where I was, and I called the police. I ended up filing a report against the xenophobic asshole, and then we got back on the road to look for another gas station. A few miles later, my fuel gauge finally registered the fuel input.

I laughed.

Let me ask you this, dear readers: have you ever encountered hostile locals while you were traveling? How did you react to their abuses?

Flat Rock Park

One time, while visiting family, my little sister and I took a day trip and wandered Flat Rock Park in Columbus, Georgia. As you can see, the water level was low when we went; depending on the time of year, the water can be the merest trickle or it can be a unyielding torrent. 

The rocks are very slippery when wet! When the water is at a manageable level, you can slide down the rocks as if on a water slide. Expect bruises. ;)

 I spent the time testing out a Panasonic DSLR that I later returned. I liked the camera; really, I did. It was just a matter of having to choose between two DSLRs, and the Canon won out. If I had the money, I would've kept both.

We found a turtle luxuriating in the muck of one of the many little streams in the park. Check out the algae growth on his shell... and that frown. Sorry for interrupting your quiet time, little brother.

If you've been following this blog for any amount of time, then you might have noticed that I tend to photograph the way that light plays off of objects, plants, and scenes. These next two photos below are no exception to that rule:

My sister and I pointed out various objects and plants to each other as we wandered around the park. At one point, we discovered a broken tree trunk, weathered to a driftwood-like texture and weight. We both agreed that it looked rather like a steer skull, horns and all, so we took turns "modeling" it for maximum effect.

The temperatures began to climb to uncomfortable heights, so we decided to end our visit to Flat Rock Park. We had a lot of fun; hiking, scaling the rocks around the natural water slide, swinging on the swings in the park's playground, and taking lots of photos. I look forward to our next adventure together.