A Summer Visitor’s Guide: The Popular Sites (1 of 4)

You’ve probably noticed that a consistent theme in this column about the Great Smoky Mountains National Park is this: avoid the crowds; whatever it takes, avoid the crowds. You can do this by visiting the less-famous sites in the park or going during the off-season, but we all have those inevitable moments when we don’t have much choice in the matter. Our relatives from out of town have one day to burn on their summer vacation, and they’d like you to show them around the park. What to do?

Well, dear reader, that depends on you and your relatives. If they refuse to get out of the car and insist on visiting the most popular spots during the middle of the day in the middle of July, then, yes, you will have problems with the crowds. You’d be better off just lying to them. Tell them the park is closed for repairs. Tell them the admission charge is $1,000 per car. Whatever you have to do, do not – I repeat, do not! – drive through Sevierville and Pigeon Forge during the daylight hours on a summer day, unless you enjoy the taste of carbon monoxide. It’s a trafficatastrophe of Biblical proportions.

However, if they are willing to be flexible, then you can avoid the worst of the crowds. During the peak visitation months of June, July, August (plus most of October, the Christmas-New Year week, and weekends in May), you’ll encounter crowds, especially at the most popular sites. However, there are some ways to limit the madness.

If the typical visitor were going to spend just one day in the park, it would make sense that they’d want to visit the well-known sites. That’s understandable. If I went to Yellowstone, I’d be happy to wander around the backcountry, visiting the untouched wilderness, but I’d also want to see Old Faithful, simply to be able to hold up my end of the conversation. “You mean to tell me you went to Yellowstone and didn’t see Old Faithful? Are you sure you were in Yellowstone, in Wyoming? The national park?” I’d have no defense. If you go to Yellowstone, there are certain things you are expected to see. Ditto the Smokies.

So what is the typical visitor to the Smokies expected to see?

First of all, every visitor has to drive the main road (Newfound Gap Road) from Sugarlands Visitor Center (near Gatlinburg) south over the main ridge crest at Newfound Gap and down into the Cherokee Indian Reservation in North Carolina. The main points worth seeing on this road are Sugarlands Visitor Center, the Chimney Tops (a pair of rocky peaks), Newfound Gap (a large parking lot with good views), Oconaluftee Visitor Center and Farm Museum, Cherokee Indian Reservation, and the numerous roadside views and pullouts. Also, near the midpoint at Newfound Gap, there is a side road that wanders seven miles along the state line to Clingmans Dome, the highest mountain top in the park, with a concrete observation tower at the top.

The other main road in the park also starts at Sugarlands Visitor Center and heads west about twenty miles to Cades Cove. On this road, there are two main sights on the way to Cades Cove: Laurel Falls and Little River. Laurel Falls is a beautiful but crowded spot at the end of a 1.3 mile walk. It’s definitely worth the walk, but it’s almost impossible to find a parking spot on a typical day of the peak season. Like many popular hikes in the Smokies, you have to arrive before 9 am or after 4 pm.

Little River, the wonderful stream that parallels this road for much of its length, is popular with picnickers, tubers, and fishermen. Stop and enjoy this beautiful part of the park while you drive on this road. And, of course, this road’s destination is one of the most beautiful places on the planet. Seriously. Cades Cove.

Most visitors see Cades Cove by driving the 11 mile, single-lane, one-way road past deer, turkeys, meadows, cabins, and an occasional bear. If I could do just one thing as a first-time visitor, this loop road would be it.

So that’s it – the three main roads and their best sights: Newfound Gap Road, Clingmans Dome Road, and the road to and in Cades Cove. These are the roads you must travel and the sights you must see. But how? When? Let’s come up with a plan. [To be continued; for information on some Smokies websites, visit www.greghoover.blogspot.com.]


Extra Website Info:

The official, government Smokies website is www.nps.gov/grsm. If you’ll look around here you’ll find a helpful Trip Planner. There are also several digital (pdf) maps you can download, mainly a Park Map and a Trails Map.

The Great Smoky Mountains Association is the educational and publishing arm of the park. It has two websites: www.SmokiesStore.org or www.SmokiesInformation.org.

Another related organization is Friends of the Smokies. Visit their website at http://www.friendsofthesmokies.org/.

Finally, there is a visitor center outside the park, very close to the #407 exit off I-40. From I-40 travel south on Hwy 66 (the highway leading to Sevierville, etc.) for 1.5 miles. The visitor center is on the right – a new building of red brick, white wood, and a green roof. It is mostly a store, selling books, maps, etc. It also has one “exhibit” – a nice 3 D map of the Smokies. The folks who work there are helpful and reasonably knowledgeable about the park. They can answer most questions that the typical visitors ask.

Carnage on the River

The great circle of life. One generation grows and prospers, only to pass the torch to the next. Yeah, that sounds good, but if you’ll think about it, that circle of life consists partly (fifty percent, I suppose) of death. Out there in the natural world, a generation of animals will thrive only at the expense of someone or something else. I suppose that works for plants, too. Kudzu smothers everything in its path.

Keith Oakes and I saw the death side of that circle on display last May on the Clinch River. We both are fly fishermen. No, let me re-phrase that. We both fly fish. Calling ourselves “fly fisherman” somehow sounds like we should be good at it. Saying “we fly fish” sounds a bit more modest, not to mention true.

We drove up to the Clinton and Norris area and wound around a few back roads to a certain boat ramp that provides access to the river downstream from Norris Dam. This boat ramp is no great secret, but being a fisherman – I mean, being a guy who fishes – I just can’t bring myself to give too many details. I’ve rarely been accused of having too many ethics, but there is a certain code among guys who fish about giving too much information.

So we arrived at the boat ramp, put my old canoe in the water, and paddled a few minutes to a nice spot where we could get out and wade among the shoals and moving water. Fly fishing for trout usually involves wading in knee to waist deep water, looking for the occasional splash of a fish feeding on some bug on or near the surface. And on this day in early May that’s exactly what we found – rainbow trout feeding on Sulfur Mayflies.

In the five or six hours that we were on the river, there was a steady trickle of Sulfurs coming off the surface and flying away to the trees. Or, that’s what is supposed to happen. The trout and the birds do their best to interrupt that water-to-tree migration.

We’d wade around until we’d see or hear a splash of a trout nabbing a mayfly off the surface. When we’d hear a splash, we could usually find the spot by locating the ring of ripples moving downstream. We’d cast there, letting our fly float repeatedly over the spot until the fish decided to take it. Or, if you are really into watching the natural cycle unfold, you can watch that general vicinity as another Sulfur floats by and is sucked in by the fish. Occasionally, a mayfly will bounce along the surface, trying to fly away on tender, new wings, when a trout will jump out of the water and take it in mid-air. The poor mayflies have no defense against this attack from below. In fact, the only thing that guarantees their species’ survival is their massive numbers. Like an army, individuals are expendable; it’s the species that must survive. And it does.

And the death-scene got even worse. An army of insect-eating birds – tree swallows and cliff swallows – moved in as reinforcements. I’d often find myself watching a mayfly who had escaped the fish’s jaws flying away, only to be picked out of mid-air be a speeding swallow. These birds are so fast and sleek that it sometimes looks like the bug just disappears in mid-air, right before your eyes.

Death from below and death from above. It was pure carnage; death was everywhere. It was pretty cool… but also a bit sobering. Every moment of every day, we are surrounded by death on a massive scale. Invisible, relentless slaughter. It happens in the dirt, in the air, on TVA lakes and rivers, in front yards, and on mountain peaks.

We live in a fallen world where death not only happens, it happens often, and everywhere. It’s the rule, not the exception. And yet, from death, life comes. In fact, because of death, life comes. I think I see some religious symbolism here. The death of One brings life to another. Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ve heard that before, somewhere.

The only ones not involved in the killing were Keith and me. We were catching fish (a lot of them, actually), but we always threw them back. Nevertheless, by the end of the day, even I got in on the killing: I had a tuna sub at Subway. A fish and a tomato died that I might eat. I know, not very dramatic. But like I said, the great circle of life and death happens everywhere, even indoors under fluorescent lights.

Colorful Language

I don‘t know if our Native Americans were exceptionally eloquent, but I do know that their language was earthy. Literally earthy. Many of their phrases and metaphors are born of the forests, rivers, plains, mountains, and seasons. So if you love the outdoors, you’ll love the manner in which they expressed themselves.

Black Elk, a Lakota (Sioux) holy man who had lived through the waning days of the Lakota nation in the 1870s and 80s, described a day from his youth when he challenged an older man to a horse race. His opponent taunted him by saying, “only crows and coyotes think your horse is better than mine.” Apparently crows and coyotes (the garbage collectors of our natural world) were not highly esteemed by the Lakota.

You’ve probably heard of the phrases in the old treaties which promised that the Indians could keep their land, unmolested by settlers and the army, “for as long as the grass grows and the water flows.” Those were words any Native American could understand. Many years after the Lakota had lost their land, Black Elk offered this wry observation, “You can see that it is not the grass and the water that have forgotten.” He also explained that trying to hold on to their homeland had been like “melting snow held in our hands.”

Black Elk tried to explain a life-changing vision from his youth but had trouble describing it: “When the part of me that talks would try to make words for the meaning, it would be like fog and get away from me.” What a great image to describe the problem we’ve all had of trying to describe the indescribable. Many years later he added,” I did not have to remember these things; they have remembered themselves all these years.”

In describing a council meeting in which nothing was resolved, he said, “They talked for days, but in the end it was just like wind blowing.” I doubt that Black Elk was familiar with the book of Ecclesiastes, so it’s interesting that his metaphor is similar to Solomon’s idea of fruitless labor being like “chasing after the wind.” And of course, Bob Dylan had some thoughts on answers blowing in the wind. Great minds think alike.

Animals, grass, fog, snow, rivers, wind. They described life in metaphors that sprang from the natural world. But they were more than poetic. The Native Americans were also insightful.

People have difficulty looking at their own society objectively. We tend to be blinded by the present, by our own way of doing things, so we can gain some insight into our own strengths and frailties by listening to the words of outsiders.

For example, the Cherokee and the Lakota described gold as “the yellow metal that they [whites] worship” and “that makes them crazy.” Of course, we’d all deny that we worship gold, but how else could an outsider interpret what he saw? Gold rush, gold craze, gold worship. And haven’t I read somewhere of a calf made of gold? Sure, you and I may just think of gold as a sign of love or commitment, but the gold has to come from somewhere, often at a very high price – a people’s way of life.

One of the most telling Native American quotes I’ve ever run across came from the Cherokee chief Yonaguska, probably during the 1830s. A missionary read a bit of the New Testament to him. After listening politely, he made a classic statement: “It seems to be a good book. Strange the white man isn’t better after having had it for so long.” Ouch!

Sure, we can quibble about the validity of judging an entire society or race based on the actions of a few. We can question whether those that Yonaguska had encountered were patterning their lives after the Bible. We can pick nits, or we can admit that Yonaguska was on to something. Undoubtedly, virtually every white person the Cherokee had encountered in the previous 100 years would claim to be a Christian, a believer in the Bible, even if they’d never read it. This was the early 1800s, when America was as thoroughly a “Christian nation” as it would ever be. And yet it was a nation that killed the native people with reckless abandon, while thanking God for providing an unoccupied, open wilderness for His New Jerusalem to be established by His new, chosen people. It’s a great story… if you love irony and hypocrisy, not to mention murder, deception, and greed.

The language of the oppressed often speaks the truth. It’s even better when it is spoken in such colorful language.

The Two Sides of Cherokee

I’ve always liked Cherokee, NC, probably because I first saw it as a child. A kid just can’t resist the wiles of Cherokee – real Indians, teepees, totem poles, live bears, souvenir shops. In the days before Disney World and video games, it was everything that a kid could possibly want. But like most of our illusions of youth, the charm of Cherokee gets a bit tarnished as the years go by. We learn that those real Indians are wearing eagle feather war bonnets that were part of the Plains tribes, not the Cherokee. Ditto the teepees. Totem poles? The Kwakiutl and Haida tribes of the north Pacific coast. The souvenirs? Mostly cheap trinkets, some of which are made in China.

On the other hand, I guess you’ve gotta make a living. Very few of us have ideal jobs that have no gray areas, and in a sense, what makes something “authentically Cherokee” anyway? If the Eastern Band of the Cherokee builds a casino or a McDonalds or low-cost apartments, I suppose that’s authentic Cherokee. Traditional Cherokee? No. Authentic? Yeah, sort of. It’s Cherokee people who are doing it, so that makes it authentic, right?

But there are some things in Cherokee that I just can’t bear. For example, in 1828 something happened that guaranteed the Cherokee people would lose their remaining shreds of land and would be sent west. Gold was discovered on Cherokee land in the mountains of North Georgia. So when I see a gold mine for tourists (“Pan for gold! Strike it rich!”) on the main road of Cherokee with a picture of a white prospector panning for gold, I can’t bear to look. Why hasn’t that place been struck by lightning? And why do the Cherokee people put up with it?

Just a moment of thought about human nature, history, economics, and tradition provides a quick answer. From the very beginning of white contact with the natives – both east and west – the tribe would divide into two groups. One faction wanted nothing to do with the whites. These people would usually just ignore the whites, or move further west, or eventually fight. The other faction was enticed by the products of European civilization – knives, guns, cloth, beads, alcohol. These were the ones who eventually sided with the whites because it was obvious that the whites were powerful and numerous and would ultimately win the war. The Sioux called these people “those who hang around the fort.” They became collaborators with the invaders. Or maybe they were just wise and pragmatic, choosing to go with the flow of the inevitable.

The same thing still happens today on most Indian reservations, including the Qualla (Cherokee) Reservation. There are those who are willing to pander to the stereotypes and dollars of tourists. Why? Because you gotta do what you gotta do. And one of the things you “gotta do” is make a living, in this case by serving the tourists. And it works. You can make a decent living from the tourist dollar in the town of Cherokee, but a traditional Cherokee might call these kinsmen “those who hang around the town.”

But there is undoubtedly the other group, a group which probably gets a little smaller every year as the youngest generation is enticed by money, video games, Hollywood, MTV, and that whole wasteland we call American popular culture. The traditional group doesn’t like the tourist town and what it has become and what it portrays. Maybe they don’t like the traffic. Maybe they don’t like the teepees and totem poles. Maybe they are still mad about the Trail of Tears the way some Southerners are still mad about the burning of Atlanta. They just want to be left alone, so they live away from town in the rural parts of the reservation. You probably don’t see these folks in town, except at the grocery or hardware store.

So, if you want to see traditional, authentic Cherokee people, untainted by tourism and pop culture, the museum might be helpful, or get away from the Casino and shops and spend some time at a small grocery store or hardware store on the edge of town. Just watch and listen. In that respect, the reservation is no different than any other county. If you want to see the heart and soul of a place, go to those living museums where average people buy their necessities: grocery stores, co-ops, hardware stores, gas stations. In spite of our historical and cultural differences, there are still a few things that we all have in common.

Four Waterfalls and a Junked Car, Part 3 of 3

The side path to Indian Flats Falls is perfect. It’s worn just enough to lead you to the falls, but it is not heavily worn – a sign that this is not just a gem, but a hidden gem with very few visitors.

This path leads to the upper of four falls, each about 10 to 15 feet high. During the low-water month of November, the scene is serene, comforting. During the wet months of spring, the scene would be noisy, definitely not serene, maybe intimidating; a good reminder that mother nature has many moods, not all of which are pleasant.

I don’t know whether to use singular or plural nouns in describing these waterfalls (this waterfall?). It’s not quite a single, tumbling cascade. It’s clearly not a single, plunging fall. It guess Indian Flats Falls is a series of four modest falls and for that reason it’s best to step back and take in the whole scene, rather than focusing on each individual waterfall, none of which are overly impressive by themselves. This is an example of the whole being greater than the sum of the parts. Four modest waterfalls, each by themselves, might not be worth walking two hours to see. Four waterfalls in quick succession, dropping about 60 feet in about 150 horizontal feet, are.

It was easy to find other lightly worn paths twisting through the rhododendron thicket to the lower falls. This is the point in the hike where you take out the book, crackers, tuna, and peanut M & Ms. It’s also the point at which you think, once again, that you really need to bring a small pillow with you on these hikes. Your bundled rain jacket will have to do.

I think the most inspiring view was from the bottom, looking all the way up; although, I know from past experience that scrambling around to the top of the uppermost fall (on dry land, not climbing up the wet rocks) and looking down as the creekbed falls away into the distance would have been impressive. I didn’t do it on this trip. I don’t know why. I guess I just wasn’t in kamikaze mode today. It was more of a slow-paced, “snoop around and see what you can find” kind of day.

When it’s time to leave, you’ll have one more decision to make: the easy route or the hard? The easy route is to backtrack the way you came. The hard route would be interesting but wet – get in the creek at the base of the bottom falls and hike/wade your way back down to the footbridge that you walked across earlier. It’s less than two tenths of a mile down the creek, so it would be very manageable. If you opt for the wet route, bring an extra pair of wool or nylon (definitely not cotton) socks to put on once you are back on the trail and your boots have drained.

As you walk back down the Middle Prong Trail, there are a couple more points of interest. In the Panther Creek Trail area, there are a couple of old chimneys remaining from old homesites. There’s also a deteriorating, old car which looks to me to be a 1920’s era Model T but is reported to be a Cadillac that once belonged to a CCC supervisor. The path to it is obscure. The best directions that I can provide are the following: When you pass the Panther Creek Trail begin looking to your left and you’ll see that the slope is rather steep. It remains steep for about half a mile, after which it begins to spread out, providing space for an old camp or homesite. The old car will be in that open area. My final bit of advice is going to sound useless: the side path is immediately after a rhododendron bush about 15 feet high and 15 feet across. I know, I know. “Turn left at the rhody bush” is like telling someone in East Tennessee to turn at the video store or tanning salon. But in this case it’s pretty good advice. This open area on your left isn’t lined with a continuous thicket of rhododendron. There are only a few significant rhody bushes, so after each one, look for a lightly-worn path.

I suppose providing directions to a junked car isn’t the most glamorous way to end an article on a hike in the Smokies, but Tremont is in East Tennessee, after all. It was only a matter of time before one of these articles ended with a junked car in a field by the side of the road.

A Hidden Gem: Indian Flats Falls, Part 2 of 3

There’s a hidden gem about 3.5 miles from the start of the Middle Prong Trail which starts at the end of the five-mile Tremont road in the Smoky Mountains. Oddly, the Middle Prong Trail follows Lynn Camp Prong, not the Middle Prong. So as I walked along this wide, easy trail, it was the sound of Lynn Camp Prong that kept me company.

The hidden gem is Indian Flats Falls, a series of four modest waterfalls, each about 10 to 15 feet high. I had never heard of these falls until I read about them in the Bearpaw, a small, seasonal newsletter of the Great Smoky Mountains Association. After reading the article, I studied my Smokies map and, sure enough, there it was, clearly marked with a waterfall icon. Indian Flats Falls is a bit out of the way and in a part of the park that I’m not very familiar with, so that might explain my ignorance. But as I thumbed through my Hiking Trails guide, I found another explanation – the description of the Middle Prong Trail didn’t even mention the falls. Could this be one of those spots that very, very few people know about, hearing about it mainly through word of mouth? Further investigation was clearly needed.

The hike up the trail was uneventful, which is a synonym for “peaceful,” so everything was proceeding as planned. I think the trails in the Smokies – the literal trail under your feet – are prettiest in the fall, just as the leaves have begun to cover them. The leaves form a red-yellow carpet that stretches far ahead of you and far behind. The trail glows as the leaves shine like the embers in a dying campfire. The fact that this trail is wider than most makes it especially pleasing to the eye. It’s a broad, bright, leafy turnpike. During this part of the hike, I realized that I should have made this an evening hike, with the return hike after sunset under the light of a bright moon. The trail, with its carpet of freshly-fallen leaves, would glow like new-fallen snow.

At about 3.5 miles you’ll cross a wide footbridge that spans Indian Flats Prong, a small tributary of Lynn Camp Prong. Without realizing it, for the last five minutes we’ve been hiking along Indian Flats Prong as Lynn Camp turned away from us, heading east while we walked south along Indian Flats. Five or ten minutes after this bridge you’ll encounter a sweeping U turn to the left. As you reach the “tip” of this big U, look down to your left, inside the U. I’d bet all the money in my wife’s savings account that this was the site of an old CCC or lumber camp or both. If you’ll take a few minutes to hop off the trail and explore this broad, flat area, you’ll find several old road beds. Something human happened here – either the lumbermen ravaging the area or the CCC restoring it, or both.

After you reach the end of the broad U turn, you’ll take a hard switchback to the right. At railroad switchbacks like this, the engine would alternately pull, then push, the train of lumber cars back and forth up these switchbacks, like a pendulum swinging back and forth, gradually working its way up or down the slope. As you reach the end of this first switchback, you’ll encounter another sharp switchback, this time to the left. Stop here and look around. (If you have a GPS, your location should be 35.593, 83.632.) Right in front of you you’ll see a natural rock “wall” about 5 to 10 feet high. Instead of following the Middle Prong Trail to the left, look for a lightly worn path leading to the right along the base of this wall. You may see that someone has scratched an arrow and the word “Falls” into the rock, about knee high.

This path is perfect. It’s worn just enough to lead you to Indian Flats Falls, but it is not heavily worn – a sign that this is not just a gem, but a hidden gem with very few visitors. In less than five minutes you’ll be at the falls. Mission (almost) accomplished. [To be continued.]

Middle Prong Trail, Part 1 of 3

There’s no better month for Smokies hiking than November. The leaves, the sky, the temperature. It’s all there. So, it was on a clear, mild November morning that I made a quick trip through Townsend and into the Tremont area of the Smokies.

This area was heavily logged by the Little River Lumber Company from about 1900 to 1939. Through a special agreement with the government, this logging company was permitted to continue its logging operations for four years after the national park was established. But don’t let the “heavily logged” part dishearten you. Most of the Smokies (about 75%) was logged, but it’s recovering nicely, and this portion is no different. It’s a beautiful part of the park; just don’t expect any 200 year old trees here. Almost all of them are 75 years or less, which is fine. Shoot, if I had a 75 year old tree in my yard, I’d carry a picture of it around in my wallet, right next to my granddaughter. I’d show both pictures to friends and unsuspecting strangers at every opportunity: “Yeah, she’s precious, but look at the size of my sugar maple. Ain’t she a beaut? You should see her the first week in November!”

Tremont’s logging past does have some benefits. There are occasional glimpses of the park’s human history – rock walls, old roadbeds, old RR tracks and camps. These human remnants catch some folks by surprise because they expect the Smokies to be an untouched wilderness. But they’ll understand what’s going on if they’ll stop for a second to notice that they are in the eastern US in a national park that is about 75 years old. You just can’t expect vast, virgin wilderness under such circumstances. This isn’t Yellowstone or Glacier. Fortunately, the fall foliage on a 75 year old sugar maple or scarlet oak is just as magnificent as that of a 200 year old, maybe better. (Not to mention the fact that Yellowstone and Glacier have very few of the beautiful hardwoods that we have. There’s a reason why all the talk of fabulous fall colors centers on the East, not the West.)

If you like nicely graded, wide trails, then you’ll love the Middle Prong Trail at the end of the road past the Great Smoky Mountains Institute at Tremont. Because this was a major railroad artery into this section of the park, the trail which follows the old RR bed is wide, smooth, and gradual. Some books call it “moderate,” but I’d call this portion of the trail “easy” because it rises only about 250 feet per mile.

This trail begins at the bridge where Lynn Camp Prong converges with Thunderhead Prong to form the Middle Prong of the Little River. (Not to be confused with the Middle Prong of the Little Pigeon River on the other side of Gatlinburg.) Your five mile drive to the trailhead paralleled the Middle Prong, while most of your hike will meander along the banks of Lynn Camp Prong; although the last 10% of the hike will focus on a small tributary called Indian Flats Prong.

Other than the river, trees, leaves, shrubs, and wildflowers, the first significant sight of this trip is Lynn Camp Prong Falls, about one mile into your hike. This falls is not a vertical plunge; rather, it’s a long, winding, sliding, cascading chute. It’s very nice even in the low-water month of November.

One thing I’ve learned about waterfalls is that the terrain surrounding the falls is often just as impressive as the waterfall itself. I think I had noticed this long ago, but like subliminal advertising, it took several years for it percolate up into my consciousness. Many waterfalls are in narrow gorges, squeezed together by steep slopes, huge boulders, and dramatic rock ledges. This becomes really apparent if you find yourself standing at the bottom looking up and wondering how you might get to the top of the falls. Of course, climbing up the rock wall of the falls itself is really, really stupid. Instead, look for an alternative route among the rocks, trees, and shrubs (usually rhododendron and dog hobble) along the sides. You’ll quickly see that there is no easy route. The terrain is usually mostly rock ledges. It would be an impressive sight even if there were no water at all.

If you ended your hike here, it would have been well worth your time. But if you can afford to spend four more hours on this trail, there’s a hidden gem at the end that will be worth your while. [To be continued.]