Great Smoky Mountains National Park
GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS NATIONAL PARK
Ridge Runner Rescue
Adventures with the Parkers
Mike Graf
ILLUSTRATED BY
Marjorie leggitt
FALCON GUIDES
GUILFORD, CONNECTICUT
HELENA, MONTANA
AN IMPRINT OF GLOBE PEQUOT PRESS
Text © 2012 Mike Graf
Illustrations © 2012 Marjorie Leggitt
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, except as may be expressly permitted in writing from the publisher. Requests for permission should be addressed to Globe Pequot Press, Attn: Rights and Permissions Department, PO Box 480, Guilford, CT 06437.
FalconGuides is an imprint of Globe Pequot Press.
Falcon, FalconGuides, and Outfit Your Mind are registered trademarks of Morris Book Publishing, LLC.
Photo credits:
Licensed by Shutterstock.com: Title page (all); 1; 3; 5: © Kurdistan; 10; 12: © Tim Mainiero; 13: © BZ Photos; 14; 16-17; 21: © Melinda Fawyer; 22; 23; 25; 29; 30: © Betty Shelton; 38; 41: © Jeffrey M. Frank; 46; 53: © Tim Mainiero; 62–63; 65: © Jeff Kinsey; 66; 70; 71; 77: © Tim Mainiero; 83; 86: © Vahe Katrjyan; 89: © Tim Mainiero; 90; 94 (inside back cover)
© Mike Graf: 11; 24; 26; 31; 43; 54; 59; 70; 78; 79; 82; 88
Illustrations page 73 by Ann W. Douden
Map courtesy of National Park Service
Illustrations: Marjorie Leggitt
Models for twins: Amanda and Ben Frazier
Project editor: David Legere
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.
ISBN 978-0-7627-8691-6
Printed in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
1
Hi. I’m Morgan Parker, writing to you from Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Our trip is nearly over, and I can’t wait for you to read all about it. It’s been quite an adventure.
It’s early evening and we’re spending the last few minutes of our time here along a “Quiet Walkway.” Here’s what the sign says about it:
“A short walk on this easy trail offers close-up views, subtle aromas, and the serene quiet of the protected woodland. You will be walking one of the last great wildland areas in the East. But you won’t need a backpack or hiking boots. Take your time. Have a seat on a rock or a log bench. This trail has no particular destination, so walk as far as you like and then return.”
That’s just what we’re doing.
Mom is up ahead with her journal, sketching leaves. She really wants to remember the names of as many of the Smokies plants as possible. That’s quite a feat because there are so many of them. If I know Mom, she won’t forget any of the butterflies and bugs either, like those macaroni-and-cheese-colored centipedes.
Dad is sitting on a bench. His clothes are coated in wet, gooey mud. He’s trying to ignore that and instead admire the scenery one last time. I know Dad is amazed at the geology here. He says the Appalachians are some of the world’s oldest mountains.
James is over by the river trying to find a few more salamanders. We’ve seen loads of them and at least a dozen different types. But we still haven’t seen the giant waterdog. I think James is hoping for one last chance.
And me? I’m thinking of the things I’ll remember most about the Smokies. Like how I got sick while backpacking in the mountains, the women who refused to leave their home when this land was made into a park, the old historic buildings, the streams and waterfalls, and the Appalachian Trail, or AT Trail, as they say here.
But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself.
Right now, above the gurgling, misty river several specks of light just flashed brightly.
When we first saw those we had no idea what they were.
And James just moved closer to the river. “Hey, you guys, come here!” he shouted.
I better go and see what’s going on.
Morgan Parker
2
Dad unfolded the park map.
“It looks like the quickest way out of town and into the Smokies is on this road,” he pointed out.
Mom turned onto the side road. Immediately the road steepened. A dense canopy of trees shaded the remote highway.
“Now it looks like we’re in a national park,” James commented.
“We’re on the Roaring Fork Motor Nature Trail,” Dad said.
The road climbed on. After a while Dad pulled the car over at a turnout, and they all piled out. They walked over to a clearing in the trees with views of the dense, hazy forest covering the rolling hills.
Morgan gazed out. “Now I can see how the park got its name.”
“I think,” Mom reflected, “the park’s natural blue smoke comes from moisture emitted by the plants.”
“But some of the haze we see here is also from air pollution,” Dad added.
“It looks like a jungle under all those trees,” James said. “I wonder what’s out there.”
“Maybe it’s time we find out,” Mom suggested.
After driving a short distance, the Parkers loaded up their gear for their first hike. Then they began sloshing up the wet, muddy path. The shadows of the bright green, lacy trees draped over the trail. Birds chirped in the forest. A nearby stream gurgled steadily as it cascaded down the canyon.
They hiked on. A group of hikers passed the Parkers on their way down. “There’s a bear up there,” one of the hikers warned.
“Where?” Mom asked.
“About twenty minutes up the trail,” the hiker replied. “It was turning over rocks, looking for grubs when we went by.”
“Thanks,” Dad said. “We’ll keep our eyes out.”
The Parkers climbed steadily up the rocky trail. Morgan and James scanned the forest as they walked.
Another group of hikers came down.
“At least we got a glimpse of the bear,” one of them said to their group.
“But we didn’t get to see a hellbender,” another replied.
The hikers walked past.
Morgan stopped. “What’s a hellbender?”
Dad shrugged. “Don’t ask me,” he replied with a puzzled look.
The Parkers hiked on, passing trickling wet gullies and small streams. A giant slug slowly crossed the trail.
Dad looked up through a clearing at a massive mountain across the way. “I think that’s Mount LeConte. It’s one of the sixteen peaks over 6,000 feet in the Smokies. We’ll be perched up there soon enough.”
“Speaking of perched,” Mom whispered, “come here.”
Morgan, James, and Dad joined Mom beside a small stream.
Mom pointed to a rock.
“A salamander!” James exclaimed.
James edged closer to the tiny creature. It quickly dashed under the rock. James looked back at his family.
“Sorry,” he said.
Our picnic view.
“The Smokies are the salamander capital of the world,” Mom said. “I bet we’ll see some more of them.”
“I’ll keep looking,” James announced.
The family hiked on. James and Morgan kept searching for salamanders, while Mom and Dad watched for the bear.
A while later, they crossed over a log bridge and looked up. An arching, feathery veil of water spilled over a cliff and crashed onto the rocks below.
“Rainbow Falls!” Dad said. “We made it.”
The Parkers walked up to the falls, sat down, and took out their picnic lunch.
After lunch, Mom fished through her backpack. “I think now’s the perfect time for my surprise.”
Dad looked at Mom. “Surprise?”
Mom pulled out a tattered old book.
“What’s that?” James asked.
“My grandfather’s—your great-grandfather’s—journal,” Mom said. “I’ve been saving it for our trip to the Smokies.”
Morgan, James, and Dad looked at Mom and waited for her to explain further.
“He worked here,” she said, “for the CCC, or Civilian Conservation Corps, during the Depression. Many young men did park service back then. Grandpa often talked about it when I was a little girl. I remembered his stories when we started planning our vacation here. So I rummaged through his trunk in our attic a few weeks ago and found this.”
Mom held up the old journal. “Great Smoky Mountains CCC Days” was inscribed on the cover.
THE CIVILIAN CONSERVATION CORPS
During the 1930s the United States and much of the world experienced a period of time called the Great Depression. People were hungry and out of work. Our president, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, created the Civilian Conservation Corps during this time to employ many of the nation’s five million young men who needed jobs. The work was mostly outdoor labor and conservation jobs. These jobs were for unmarried men eighteen to twenty-five years old who had to remain in the CCC camps for at least six months. Their wages were low, and usually more than half of the money the men made went home to their families.
Morgan looked at the journal curiously. “Can we read it?” She smiled and randomly opened the journal. “How about a few pages each day we’re here?” Mom suggested.
June 27, 1938
Max Davis here:
I had a day of f work today and I sure did need it! Every day the fellas and I haul rocks, build steps, and move and fill dirt to make this trail. The hours are long and hard. But all in all, it’s a good job in the beautiful outdoors. And at the end of the day, we have a bed and food. That’s a lot more than many folks have these days. Anyway, I hope this trail lasts long into the future so people can appreciate what we’ve accomplished.
This morning, Freckles, Mop Head, Slim, Jar Head, and I got it in our heads to swim in the Little River. It was cold, but it was great to be clean again! Then we wandered over to an old schoolhouse. Freckles noticed a dirt road nearby, so we followed it. Walking is so easy without our work gear to haul around.
After a bit, we stumbled upon a cabin in the middle of the woods. Much to our surprise, five women were living there. And I thought once this place became a national park every one was forced to move out. Not these women. They refused to go.
We stayed for a bit and chatted with the gals. They even gave us some apple butter and homemade cornbread for our journey back. Boy, that was a treat.
The Walker sisters is what they call themselves. I’ll have to learn more about them. But for now, it’s time to hit the hay.
Sincerely,
Max Davis
A.K.A. “Bean Pole”
“I can’t wait to hear more,” Morgan said.
“Me too,” Mom replied.
The family packed up and walked down the Rainbow Falls Trail.
Morgan abruptly stopped. “Hey, look at these!”
A group of yellow and turquoise butterflies were gathered together on a pile of leaves. They flitted about frantically, with several landing in the pile again.
“They’re puddling,” Mom said. “That’s when butterflies all gather in one place.”
Morgan zoomed in her camera and took close-up pictures of the butterflies. “Do you know what kind they are?” she asked Mom.
“The yellowish ones look like swallowtails,” Mom answered. “I’ll have to look at your pictures and my book later to identify the turquoise ones. But they sure are pretty.”
The Parkers walked on.
A few minutes later, Dad stopped. “Whoa!” he called out.
A long black snake was gliding across the path. The snake slithered along, flicking its tongue in and out of its mouth, then quickly disappeared into the bushes.
“A black racer,” Mom said. “Beautiful!”
“If we missed the bear, at least we got to see a snake,” James said.
The Parkers eventually made it back to the car. They climbed in and continued driving along the Roaring Fork Motor Nature Trail.
They drove up to an old cabin.
“Pretty unusual to see that in a national park,” Dad said.
Dad pulled over and parked the car at the Ephraim Bales Place. A path led up to the old log home, and it had two rock chimneys.
The Parkers got out and gazed at the structure. James read the information sign.
“Eleven people lived in that house!” he exclaimed.
“That must have been snug,” Mom said.
PIONEER PLACES
The Great Smoky Mountains has one of the best collections of log buildings in the eastern United States. Almost eighty historic structures, including houses, barns, churches, schools, gristmills, and other buildings, have been preserved in the park. The best places to see them are at Cades Cove, Cataloochee, Oconaluftee, and along the Roaring Fork Motor Nature Trail.
The Parkers walked inside the cabin. James peered out of the only window in the house. “There’s another building out there,” he noticed. The Parkers walked outside while Morgan took several pictures. “That must be the corncrib,” Mom said of the other structure.
They walked back to their car, passing the yellow, blue, and green Alfred Reagan Place.
“I could live in a home like that,” Dad stated.
“It does look much more modern and kept up,” Mom replied.
Soon they approached an area of large, mossy boulders. Small branching waterfalls cascaded down in between the rocks.
“This must be the Place of a Thousand Drips,” Morgan announced.
Dad pulled over and parked the car. The Parkers stared at the series of mesmerizing waterfalls.
As the family stood there, Morgan pulled out her journal and wrote.
Dear Diary,
I’ve been to several national parks before, but so far nothing at all like the Great Smoky Mountains. There are so many unusual things about this place. James and I really want to see more salamanders. And what is a hellbender anyway? But I think what we’re most interested in are the old buildings. What are they doing here—and what happened to all the people who used to live in them? I hope we’ll find out as we spend more time here.
More soon, I promise!
Morgan
A thousand-drip waterfall.
3
Mom looked at her family. “It’s time to climb!” she announced.
“And without having to haul a ton of gear,” Dad added.
“It’s kind of a novelty hiking to the only overnight lodge in the park,” Mom said.
“And apparently it’s a pretty famous place. I had to make the reservation a year ago,” Dad added. “It was built in 1930, before the Smokies became a park.”
It was a cloudy day, and the Parkers were on the Alum Cave Trail. They headed toward the Mount LeConte summit, five-and-a-half miles ahead.
The beginning of the trail followed a gurgling stream with a wisp of mist hovering above it. Morgan and James glanced at the water often, hoping to get a glimpse of more salamanders.
Ahead, a series of stairs led through a massive slab of rock. “That must be Arch Rock,” Dad announced. He gripped a cable and led his family up the wet stairs.
Dad waited at the top and looked down through th
e rock formation. Morgan reached Dad first. “It’s kind of like going through a cave,” she said.
Mom and James caught up, and they all climbed on.
Soon the trail came to a rocky point with purple flowers blossoming in the nearby bushes. “These are the rhododendron the park is famous for,” Mom announced.
Morgan examined one of the shrubs. “They look like the type of flowers we have in our yard.”
Mom studied the purple petals too. “You’re right!”
A while later, the Parkers approached a massive overhanging rock protecting the trail underneath it. Dad led the family up some wooden stairs and underneath Alum Cave Bluff.
James felt something land on his head. He looked up. “There’s water dripping down from underneath the top of the rock!”
After a few minutes at Alum Cave Bluff, the Parkers climbed on. The trail passed more mossy, wet areas with cables along the side for gripping.
“You know,” Dad commented, “Mount LeConte is 6,593 feet high. That means it’s one of the highest mountains in the park, and in all of the Appalachian Mountains, for that matter.”
James took a deep breath and rested a moment. “I can tell.”
Morgan, James, Mom, and Dad trudged on. The trail leveled out for a time, and the family got their first view of the bulging summit ahead.
“We still have to climb all that!” James exclaimed.
Raindrops started plunking down, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Mom broke out rain parkas and handed them out. They put on their colorful rain gear and forged ahead.
They’re so cute.
“Look!” James announced.
On the base of a mossy tree was a tiny orange salamander. It clung to the trunk and stayed motionless as the Parkers inspected it. Morgan zoomed in her camera on the beautifully colored amphibian and took several photos.
“It’s the same color as your parka,” James said to Dad.