For quite some time now I’ve been planning on throwing a tent and some supplies into the car and heading for someplace with trees, dirt and a river. With temps in the 90’s in 18 of the last 20 days, the heat was starting to make me clinically insane. Mountain air and a cold mountain stream were not just something to do – they were a medical necessity.
So last week, I posted a few messages on Facebook and invited a few friends to head out with me for the weekend. Two guys immediately agreed, we decided on a spot in the Joyce Kilmer National Forest near Robbinsville, NC, and I made plans to get the supplies I needed and sneak out of work an hour early on Friday.
Friday rolled around and I heard from one of the two guys (Brett) that the other (Ben) had backed out, and that he (Brett) was going to go someplace closer. I was okay with that – until he informed me that the closer place was a trailhead, where he would park his car before hiking a couple of miles to a waterfall.
Normally, I’d be fine with that setup, but I’d already packed my car, hadn’t bothered to bring things for hiking, and had no intention of trying to carry a bunch of loose odds and ends two miles up a path to stand under a waterfall. My stated intention was, had been, and continued to be, “I am going to park my car, set up my tent, start a fire, and sit in a river.”
So Brett went his way and I drove to Joyce Kilmer, arriving at about 7:30 Friday night. I parked the car, I set up my tent, I started a fire. I was sweating to death. I got naked and fell in the river.
You’ve seen the old “Nestea Plunge” commercials, right? The dude (or dudette) falls backwards into a pool and goes, “AHHHHhhhhhhhh.” Yeah. That was me on Friday night (sans the backwards plunge). I sat down in that river, which was probably about 50 degrees, and 12 years fell off of my life. Friday night, the air temperature in the mountains fell to around 60, and I actually woke up in my tent at around 3:30 Saturday morning because I was cold and needed an extra blanket.
Bingo. Joyce Kilmer is now officially my favorite place on earth.
Saturday dawned cool and sunny (temps in the 60s), and I slept until close to 9:00, which was a nice change. I love my cats, but I don’t like the fact that they have no concept of “weekend.” I spent the morning gathering sticks and logs and preparing my fire pit for Saturday night, then walked around and shot some pictures, ate a few crackers, and settled in to continue reading As I Lay Dying.
Early Saturday afternoon, it clouded over and started to rain a bit, so I moved everything under my tarp and took another skinny-dip. I’d just gotten back to my chair and was preparing to read a bit more when a truck went tearing past on the camp road and I realized that it had been Brett. When yelling and waving my arms failed to stop him, I got my keys and chased him up the road, catching him after about 5 miles.
By the time Brett got back to my camp, we were in a downpour. We spent 10 minutes or so stringing up his large tarp so that we could both stay dry, getting soaked in the process. Upon seeing us complete our task, Mother Nature immediately stopped the rain.
I took a bath in the river.
Brett apparently had decided that hanging out with his newphew on the hiking trail where he’d gone wasn’t all that relaxing, and so he’d come to see what I was doing. He also brought two ribeye steaks with him. After we’d built a roaring fire, we cooked the meat over it – and it was amazing.
Shortly thereafter, a young music teacher with a penchant for kayaking during his summer vacation pulled into the site next to us, and the three of us ended up sitting by the fire talking about nothing (in between occasional dips in the river) until I crashed at around 11.
Early Sunday morning, the skies opened up again, but the rain stopped by 9:00 AM or so. By 11, we were packed and ready to head home. When I left my campsite, the temperature was 65. When I arrived home at about 2:30, it was 93.
I want to go back now.
TWD