Solving a Smoky Mountain Mystery

Ten million tourists a year can’t be wrong, but looking at this town of 3,700, I was beginning to wonder.

Signs dangling from lampposts proclaimed this the “Heart of the Smokies,” but all around me, I was surrounded by pseudo-Appalachia. There were cheap souvenirs in every shop window, and I found an abundance of wax museums, miniature golf courses and fast-food vendors. It was all so commercial.

That’s exactly what I didn’t want. I was here in mid-October last year, like thousands of others, to watch the show nature puts on as it packs up and prepares for winter. I wanted to enjoy my last hiking excursion before the snows covered trails and explore some of the more than half a million acres of Great Smoky Mountains National Park, which straddles the border between Tennessee and North Carolina.

This wasn’t my first visit to the area. Crossing through in the summer of ’98 while hiking the Appalachian Trail, I was told by rangers and others that the park, which has more than 800 miles of trails, is the most spectacular autumn venue in America. I wanted to see for myself.

After my jarring introduction to the touristy Gatlinburg, one of the gateways to the park, I also wanted to solve a mystery. What were 10 million visitors seeing that, at this stage in my travels, I didn’t?

I had driven to Gatlinburg from Atlanta, a 4 1/2-hour trip, and checked into the Riverhouse at the Park. (Gatlinburg boasts more than 200 hotels, motels, cabins, lodges, resorts and B&Bs;, so lodging isn’t usually a problem.)

My room had a stone fireplace and a private balcony overlooking Little Pigeon River. Though $100 was more than I wanted to spend, the room was cozy in a rustic way, enough so that I wished I had brought a guest. Besides, it was almost 8 p.m., and I didn’t yet have a camping permit, so staying in the park was out.

After stowing my gear, I headed out to explore. U.S. 441, called “Parkway” in town, was awash with cruising teenagers. Barkers tried to entice passersby into places like Ripley’s Believe It or Not and the Guinness World of Records museums. There were little shops designed to look like Swiss chalets and a host of restaurants touting the best trout and catfish in the country. I made my way to the Smoky Mountain Brewery, a restaurant-microbrewery with lodge decor, healthy beer sampler portions and excellent pizza. The atmosphere was fun, but despite the name, there was nothing more Appalachian about this pub than, say, the Hard Rock Cafe Gatlinburg I’d peeked at earlier in the evening. I walked back to my room to get some sleep before my foray into the park.

The next morning, after blueberry flapjacks at a faux-Appalachian restaurant, I headed east on U.S. 441. Just past the Great Smoky Mountains National Park welcome sign, the road carved through stands of maple, birch, oak, beech and hickory, their fat, glove-like leaves forming a multihued canopy that shaded the road.

It was just a preview of the variety that was to come. The park claims more than 100 species of trees. (All of England is said to have 150.) The leaves were changing, and the weather was nearly perfect, about 70 degrees and sunny with a light breeze. The park is often draped in a natural haze, partly a result of all the trees. (The Cherokee Indians called the Smokies “Shaconage,” or “Place of Blue Smoke.”)

A mile or so from the entrance, I stopped at the Sugarlands Visitor Center, one of three in the park, for a camping permit. Like access to the park, permits for shelters and back-country campgrounds are free. But reservations are required for many spots.

With about 800 square miles of terrain to choose from, I studied detailed trail maps. The ranger suggested Russell Field Shelter, a pleasant walk through the changing woods and not far from picturesque Cades Cove.

I drove out of Sugarlands on Little River Road for the 20-plus-mile drive to Cades Cove, a stopping place for 2 million visitors a year. With the brilliantly hued leaves arching over the road, the lazy musical river just to my left and the crisp mountain air whistling through my open window, I was beginning to get a sense of what attracts so many visitors: Everything seemed extraordinarily vivid and fresh.

About an hour later I came to Cades Cove Loop Road. Signs that pointed to a grocery store and a bike and horse rental place should have been a warning not to enter the loop until I had everything I needed; once you’re on this 11-mile one-way road, there’s no turning back.

At Cades Cove, I understood why this spot attracts the masses. Imagine grassy fields in a 6,800-acre valley where deer graze beneath a horizon of rolling mountain peaks. Hawks circled overhead, while two black bears drew the attention of tourists. Every white-tailed deer that came close to the road--I counted 27 on the loop as it circled the valley floor--created a traffic jam as visitors scrambled to see and snap pictures.

Cades Cove was once part of Cherokee nation land. In 1838 the U.S. government removed the Cherokee and forcibly marched them to Oklahoma on what became known as the Trail of Tears. The area then was settled by whites, and today you can still see remnants of their early life there: a gristmill, log cabins and churches, part of what led to the park’s designation as a World Heritage Site in 1983.

Along the drive, I realized I didn’t have a trail map, so I had to return to the mouth of the loop, where I found a map and was directed to the Anthony Creek Trail head. My route would take me about five miles up to one of the ridgelines bursting with autumn color. Parking the truck at the camp store and weighted down with gear, food and two one-gallon jugs of spring water, I started the backpacking part of my 12.5-mile weekend adventure.

Sparkling cataracts poured over large moss-covered rocks, and sassafras and pine scented the air. Chipmunks played tag while the birds sang merrily, set against a backdrop of spectacular autumn color. The mystery was beginning to unfold.

Anthony Creek Trail connected with Russell Field Trail, where I turned right. Many of the more spectacular views in the park have to be earned, I discovered farther up the trail as I relaxed in Russell Field. This grassy bald spot on the ridgeline offered excellent views of colorful distant peaks.

A little farther up the trail was the Russell Field Shelter, designed with three walls, a slanted roof and a chain-link fence across the front. Inside there was a wooden platform that could comfortably fit eight sleeping bags. (There was also a bevy of mice that chewed through my food bag and ate my trail mix in the wee hours.) Like all of the shelters in the park, this one has a water source nearby (if you bring a filter pump for purifying), but it was no more than a mud puddle at this time of year. Many shelters have outhouses, but this one doesn’t.

I collected wood for a fire and wondered who would join me that evening.

I didn’t have to wait long for an answer: The first visitor was an angry black bear. Unlike the bruin’s oblivious brethren in Cades Cove, this one looked aggressive. Suddenly I longed for all the tourists who earlier had seemed so annoying.

The beast wasted no time with pleasantries. It saw me, growled, reared its head and charged. I had encountered black bears in the wild before, so I knew they tended to bluff-charge. I held my ground, but my life still flashed before my eyes. (In May, a 50-year-old Tennessee woman was killed by a bear in the park.) The bear stopped about 10 yards away, growled, then charged again. Scared now, I ran into the shelter, locking the gate behind me and thanking God for the fence. In my cage, I yelled and banged the fence with a metal pole until the bear lumbered back into the woods.

As I kept a watchful eye for my large interloper and ate my dinner of just-add-water bag-o’-noodles, a lone hiker, called a Ridge Runner, and an older Canadian couple joined me.

The Ridge Runner had been hired by the Appalachian Trail Club to hike the 70-mile section that cuts through the park, helping maintain it and taking notes. I told him about the bear and he chuckled, saying that same bear had been a menace for the past week. Soon the rangers would need to relocate it. The Canadian couple chatted amiably with us.

Early the next morning, I started a fire for warmth and for coffee while eating a breakfast of Pop-Tarts, bagels, oranges and chocolate bars. I had a rugged hike in front of me that would take me across part of the Appalachian Trail and loop me back to Anthony Creek Trail.

The six-hour trek, a collage of autumn colors, led past horseback riders and over thin ridges that offered beautiful vistas. Eventually I made my way out of the colorful woods, down to the green valley and back to my truck.

I was hot and tired, but finally I understood: In the heart of the Smokies, the carrot that draws millions each year is tamed, accessible wilderness of amazing variety. This is a park for people who love America’s outdoors but, like me, aren’t exactly Daniel Boone.

The mystery now solved--satisfyingly so--I knew I’d be back next year.

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GUIDEBOOK

Making an Autumn Sojourn to Smoky Mountains Park

Getting there: Major cities near Gatlinburg include Knoxville, Tenn., about 35 miles north of the park, and Asheville, N.C., 55 miles east of the park. From LAX, connecting service is available to Knoxville on Delta, American, TWA, United, US Airways, Northwest and Continental; restricted round-trip fares begin at $404. To Asheville, connecting service is available on US Airways; restricted round-trip fares begin at $358.

Where to stay: In Gatlinburg, I stayed at the River House at the Park, 205 Ski Mountain Road; telephone (865) 436-2070, fax (865) 436-9232, Internet https://www.riverhousemotels.com. Doubles begin at $100.

For location--it’s just blocks from the park entrance--there is the Clarion Inn & Suites, 1100 Parkway; tel. (800) 933-0777, fax (865) 436-0695, Internet https://www.clariongatlinburg.com. Doubles begin at $120.

A popular choice for cabin rentals is Alpine Chalet Rentals, 205 Parkway; tel. (800) 235-2661 or (865) 430-4336, fax (865) 436-6558, Internet https://www.alpinechaletrentals.com. It has cabins in various part of Gatlinburg; rates begin at $100.

Camping in the park: There are 103 campsites. All require permits, available at park visitor centers. Contact Backcountry Camping Reservations Office, (865) 436-1231.

Where to eat: There are numerous fast-food places and vendors in the area, so no one will go hungry. I tried the Smoky Mountain Brewery, 1004 Parkway, local tel. 436-4200, for casual dining; entrees run $7 to $17.

For trout, I heard good things about the Park Grill, 1110 Parkway, tel. 436-2300. It’s open only for dinner but doesn’t take reservations; entrees run $11 to $22. Locals say the Best Italian Cafe & Pizzeria, 968 Parkway, tel. 430-4090, is aptly named; they rave about the pizza and garlic rolls. Entrees $9 to $20.

Avoiding bear trouble: Rangers work to educate visitors on the 1,800 black bears in the park and explain what to do if one is spotted: Never approach any bear; slowly back away, making noise; never “play dead” with a black bear; and if the bear attacks, fight back aggressively. For more information on bears and the dangers they pose, call the park, (865) 436-1200.

For more information: Contact Great Smoky Mountains National Park, 107 Park Headquarters Road, Gatlinburg, TN 37738; tel. (865) 436-1200, fax (865) 436-1220, Internet https://www.nps.gov/grsm.

Tennessee Department of Tourist Development, Rachel Jackson Building, 5th Floor, 320 6th Ave. N., Nashville, TN 37243; tel. (800) GO2TENN (462-8366) or (615) 741-2159, fax (615) 741-7225, Internet https://www.tnvacation.com.

North Carolina Division of Tourism, Film and Sports Development, 301 N. Wilmington St., 4324 Mail Service Center, Raleigh, NC 27699-4324; tel. (800) VISIT-NC (847-4862) or (919) 733-4171, fax (919) 733-8582, Internet https://www.visitnc.com.