A Long-due Confluence of Generations Deep in the Smokies

JDBrown

Senior Member
Thanks for sharing the story of ya'lls trip, makes me want to take off back up into those mountains for another adventure like I used to when I was younger and not encumbered by so many responsibilities. I need to get back to tracing my roots, my family came into Northeast Georgia from those mountains before making their way over to the northwestern side of the state. I've always felt connected to those mountains myself. Thanks again.
 

NCHillbilly

Administrator
Staff member
Thanks for sharing the story of ya'lls trip, makes me want to take off back up into those mountains for another adventure like I used to when I was younger and not encumbered by so many responsibilities. I need to get back to tracing my roots, my family came into Northeast Georgia from those mountains before making their way over to the northwestern side of the state. I've always felt connected to those mountains myself. Thanks again.
My great-grandpa had a farm on the head of Tallulah River just below Tate City. My grandpa was born there. We might be branch kin. :)
 

NCHillbilly

Administrator
Staff member

Tight Lines

Senior Member
With trips like this, you don't need to go out West or up North! That's what it's all about anyway...

The scenery is nice for sure, and the lack of humidity is a big draw for me...it's nice camping at elevation with no humidity...

Great write-up and pics!
 

NCHillbilly

Administrator
Staff member
With trips like this, you don't need to go out West or up North! That's what it's all about anyway...

The scenery is nice for sure, and the lack of humidity is a big draw for me...it's nice camping at elevation with no humidity...

Great write-up and pics!
Oh, the humidity stays at nearly 100% here 24/7 except mid-winter. Literally. The Smokies are one of the soggiest places in North America. You can about wring water out of the air with your hands.
 

SRQRusty

Member
We arrived within a quarter-mile of the pickup point about 45 minutes ahead of schedule, so we rested ourselves on the porch of an old house that dates to pre-park days, and devoured a pile of Little Debbies, peanut butter crackers, and pound cake. I washed mine down with the last of my magic springwater from our campsite, while Kris drank his last carefully hoarded Mountain Dew. In front of this house is a beautiful long run of trout water. As we ate and rested, we speculated on what it would have been like to have lived here a hundred years ago in this idyllic setting, all the while dreading our inevitable extraction back to reality.

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Soon, it was time to leave, and we were headed back across the lake of piled-up dead water, back to reality and responsibility, already missing what we had briefly enjoyed so much, but had to leave behind.

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We met no one else all weekend, except for three people on the trail way below where we camped. Kris was a great guy to camp and fish with. I feel like I've known him my whole life. He knows this valley like the back of his hand, both the physical topography, and the human and natural history. This valley lives inside him, and flows through his blood. I can't think of anyone better to take my first trip into this secluded paradise with. As the soreness in my legs fades, I am already itching to go back. It is a truly magical place of beauty, history, and peace. I have made memories that will last a lifetime, and stories of this weekend will be passed on down the line. Maybe someday in the future after we are gone, our descendants will make a trip like this, and see and experience what we did in this valley of magic and memories. And now, as the legendary Uncle Mark Cathey said after catching the final trout of his career on this same stream a couple of months before he passed,
"Gentlemen, I'm done."

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Fin.
Thanks for sharing!!! Amazing looking trip.
 
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