Jack Burns Lives!

Fall is the favorite time for most people visiting the Smokies, since, in my opinion, its panoply of colors is rivaled only by the forests of New England. But New England, even the magnificent White Mountains, cannot surpass the incredible diversity of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

Its boundaries contain more species of native trees than in all of northern Europe and more native trees than any other national park. The exact number is undefined but it’s generally agreed there are between 100 and 135 native species of trees found in the park. And with elevation ranges from 875 to 6,643 you can experience a similar range of flora that you might see if you drove from Georgia to Maine.

It’s a genuine national treasure, but like many of our irreplaceable natural areas, it’s under constant attack.

In the case of the Smokies, there are three major culprits. One is the coal industry in the TVA region. Two, the balsam wooly aldelgid, a non-native pest reeking havoc on the spruce tree populations above 5000 feet in elevation. And three, tourists. The Smokies are no different from Arches and several other national parks in that they’re being loved to death. Too many cars, too much exhaust and too much encroachment upon its borders by monstrosities like Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg.

My wife and I are willing and frequent participants in the madness, although we’ve imposed some new restrictions on our visitation. From here on out, the car is parked on the edge of the park. No more drives deep into the interior. Inconvenient? Yes. Necessary? Maybe not, but it makes me feel better about visiting, since I’ve concluded it lessens my footprint and therefore my impact.

This is our second trip to the Smokies in the last sixty days, only this one is a short stopover on our way to Knoxville to visit our son, a student at The University of Tennessee. We decide to go to the North Carolina side this time, pulling off I-40 at the Pigeon River. Our destination is Big Creek trail, a 5.9 mile, well graded path through some of the prettiest forest in the park.

We make our way to the parking area at Big Creek ranger station and park. Stopping here requires another three quarters of mile walk to the trailhead, but a small price to pay, I say, to gain access to what lies ahead.

After checking our packs and supplies, we move out.

Approaching the trailhead, I’m startled to hear a screeching, high-pitched noise, coming from near the campground. I conclude it’s a small engine, probably the two-cycle type found in leaf blowers and in fact it is. Looking up, I see a park service employee blowing a small collection of leaves in front of the bathrooms. I’m astounded.

Why the hell do you need to blow leaves in a national park? And even if you insist on removing the leaves, which will return by tomorrow, couldn’t you use a rake in such a small area?

Allison encourages me to keep moving and ignore it, and I wisely follow her advice. After all, what’s the guy going to do, stop just because some wild-eyed Ed Abbey devotee chastises him about a leaf blower? No, he’s going to keep on blowing because that’s his job. His performance appraisal and income depend on it. If he could get away with it (he probably could) he’d just say “blow me.”

Although the area was heavily logged late in the 19th century, it’s recovered nicely. Evidence of logging remains, but large trees have reclaimed the slopes of the watershed. Allison and I take our time ascending gently toward Walnut Bottoms, a large, popular backcountry campsite. Since we got a late start, we decide we probably won’t go that far, perhaps only to the bridge crossing the creek, about 2.2 miles from the trailhead.

Moving along we pass second growth tulip, hemlock, maple and sycamore trees. Nearly the entire length of the trail is adorned with Skunk Goldenrod (Solidago glomerata), Big leaved astor (A. marophyllus) and various ferns, including Appalachian Rock Polypody (Polypodium appalachianum).

Initially, the trail rises high above the creek, but by the one-mile point, you’re nearly level with it again, as its clear, cold mountain water roars over and above massive boulders in its path. By the 1.5 mile point, we reach the well known Midnight Hole, a deep, green pool known to contain some very nice trout. We stop to take a little break and snap some photos and enjoy the silence of the forest.

As I sit and observe the water pouring over the rocks and into the pool, I contemplate the profound difference between life on the trail and life in the city. In the backcountry, there are no cellphones (at least not with me), no deadlines, no reports, no mortgage bankers, politicos and other malignancies. The forest wraps its arms around us and provides a place of refuge from the madness of the city.

I don’t want to leave.

Edward Abbey was right. “Wilderness is not a luxury, but a necessity of the human spirit.”

Heading back to the trail from the creek, we run into two families with children we passed early on the trail. There are several kids, probably five to fourteen years in age. The youngest look tired and bored, and the parents don’t strike me as regular hikers. They’re wearing jeans, don’t have day-packs, and don’t appear to have maps or any supplies other than a single Batman kids pack one of the dad’s is wearing. I hope it has water.

“How much longer, daddy?”

The father replies, not so assuredly, “Not far. I don’t think we’re far.”

The father’s attention then shifts to me.

“Do you know where the waterfall is?”

“Sure,” I respond.

“You’re at about 1.5 miles now, and if you’re trying to reach Mouse Creek Falls, that’s 2.1 miles from the trailhead. You’re almost there.”

Looking down at the boy tugging on his father’s leg I continue.

“You’re almost there, son. You can do it, and you’ll like it when you get there.”

His stares at me with a look of absolute fear and dread. This is the man his parents warned him about. I imagine there’s now a bruise where he’s clutching his father’s leg.

The mothers study us in attempt to gauge our reliability. They smile and offer a genuine “thank you,” so assume we passed the test.

After saying “good luck,” we move on down the trail.

Chuckling, Allison says “Those kids look like they’ve had enough.”

I respond, “They shouldn’t be, they’ve only walked a little over a mile. They’ll be fine, event though their parents are clueless.”

“At least they took them hiking,” Allison retorts.

“True. Maybe this will be the start of a life full of hiking!”

One can hope.

We reach the falls quickly and take in the unbelievable scene before us. Truly a magical place in the park but before long, we’re once again joined by the families.

My mood turns sour.

“Shit.”

The little boy, now smiling and eager to explore, changes my mood.

“See, I told you you’d make it!”

The little boy looks like he’s scored a major victory and all the kids look invigorated as they stare in subtle amazement at the falls. I’m happy for them and happy to share the trail with them.

We decide to press on, hiking to the bridge and searching for a few more places to take photos. The sun is now beginning to dip beneath the ridgeline, changing the character of the forest. As the canopy darkens, my mind races back to the many nights I camped in the park, mostly with my brother-in-law. I think about dusk, building a fire, preparing dinner and enjoying our conversations as I sipped a refreshing beverage. I relish those memories but also recall how much I missed Allison, especially in the evenings. I absorb the warm feeling I now experience knowing she’s by my side on the trail here in the Smokies and ponder the perfection of the moment.

Frequently given to overly romanticized notions, I consider what life would be like on the trail. To never return to the city and live like a rambler, just wandering the trail. To make your entire life a thru hike. It sounds appealing until you read the accounts of Appalachian Trail thru hikers and how much they enjoyed their stops in the towns along the way. There are benefits to showers, medical supplies and luxuries like ice cream.

I conclude that a “middle way” is the logical solution. To live in a smaller town, some place nestled near wilderness or something approaching wilderness. A slower pace of life in a place reasonably devoid of the horrors we face in our cities.

But what if everyone decided to move to small towns? Wouldn’t they all become like Telluride or Aspen, overpriced playgrounds for people with more money than brains? Certainly, there are a lot of people looking for an “escape.” Abbey wrote about it, and it’s even worse today. Ranchettes, million dollar condos, private retreats. Capitalist infections that drive up real estate prices and drive out the locals.

We return to the car refreshed from the vigorous walk and beautiful scenery, but I ironically find myself longing for dinner in the city with our son, Alex. I suppose a well lived life requires balance. Sufficient time on the trail and sufficient time in civilization.

Mileage may vary.

“Wilderness is not a luxury, but a necessity of the human spirit.”-Edward Abbey

The Forest

Great ethereal, enduring arms
wrap around me
keeping me
safe
from the sickness of the city
from its
liars
rulers
opportunists, peddlers and despoilers

My gentle, unforgiving refuge
nary a ruler
no lies
nothing
simply all, all that we require
to live
well
beauty
soil, shelter and sustenance

Weary, I submit myself,
her soothing call
whispers to
me
the storm within me, my unquiet
hurried mind
amity
in a lover’s embrace……

When the lower classes have had enough, they sometimes resort to breaking things, even killing their overlords. Of course, violence isn’t a good solution or necessary. As Edward Abbey’s Master’s thesis demonstrated, there’s no support for violence in the building of a more equitable society, at least not in the writings and thought of the five major European anarchist writers: Godwin, Proudhon, Bakunin, Kropotkin and Sorel.
Yet, it happens and will continue to happen as increasing numbers of people feel as if they’re under the boot of their overlords. Overlords like Bank of America and Cigna.
My suggestion to the wealthy is simple. Show a little more kindness, patience and compassion. Don’t always be a hardass that places making money over the needs of honest, working people. We don’t have to be communist or even socialist. I still think we can have a more rational, compassionate version of capitalism that works.

Ambition can make you look pretty ugly.

From Reuters:

French protests turn ugly as riots hit wealthy Lyon
1:07pm EDT
By Catherine Lagrange
LYON, France (Reuters) – Youths who pillaged stores, torched cars and fought street battles with police have transformed the genteel French city of Lyon into a flashpoint of violence over an unpopular pension reform.
One of France’s wealthiest cities and more commonly associated with fine-dining than riots, Lyon has seen the worst violence of this week’s street protests as clashes injured two dozen people and scores more were arrested.
On Wednesday, police in the southeastern city tear-gassed about 300 youths in groups around the central Bellecour square after calling in 800 extra officers to put down what one local official called “urban guerrilla warfare.”
Youths booed and insulted Interior Minister Brice Hortefeux who visited the city to back up police trying to contain the violence that first erupted last Thursday.
Disturbances in the Paris suburb of Nanterre have also marred otherwise peaceful street protests against President Nicolas Sarkozy’s plan to raise the ages for minimum and full retirement to 62 and 67 respectively, something he says is vital to rein in a soaring pension shortfall.
“France does not belong to hooligans, to pillagers and hoodlums. It belongs to honest people who want to work peacefully,” Hortefeux said in Lyon.
The flare-ups underscore France’s long-simmering problem of city suburbs full of frustrated youths, many of them unemployed immigrants, who use demonstrations as a pretext to go on a rampage.

More here.

Seen in Charleston, South Carolina….fans of Edward Abbey will understand:

Well, one of ‘em anyway.
Mike Coronella passed on a recent story in the Salt Lake Tribune about Ed’s red Cadillac, now up for auction. Here’s his truck with yours truly posing beside it….

“One thing more dangerous than getting between a grizzly sow and her cub is getting between a businessman and a dollar bill.” EA

Cases in point….Monsanto, Bank of America, BP, Exxon, Halliburton, Bernie Madoff, Wal-Mart, Cigna, McDonald’s and all the other money grubbing horses asses that nearly always put profits over people, non-humans and life in general.

A pox on all your houses.

Farfetched? Maybe so. Maybe not.
Apparently his latest girlfriend is an Abbey devotee, enviro and “sustainability” supporter, at least according to this article on the The Huffington Post.

Could Ed make CNN? Let’s hope so, ’cause what he has to say is a lot more interesting than anything else I’ve seen on CNN.