Cracking the Shell: How to Enjoy Great Smoky Mountains National Park

***This piece was published on Spongefish.com last January, but it seems the site has tanked. So here it is again!***

The second you exit I-40 and head south, doubt sets in: Is this really the destination for me? Exhaust-fume stench from the throngs of traffic hits you like chemical warfare. The temperature jumps 15 degrees, simmering above the naked pavement. While it’s true there are few places in the world with such a high concentration of hokey dinner theaters brandishing 80-foot-high neon signs, garish amusement park rides, mega churches fronted by faux-marble columns, sprawling chain hotels, and grimy diners advertising the “world’s best pancake,” no one would argue that that's a bad thing.

As you approach the park, it only gets worse, until you’re positive you’ve been duped. This attraction, Great Smoky Mountains National Park, the most visited park in the country, is surely a fake. The scraggly humps rising in the distance are papier mache, the trees and their orangeing leaves cheap plastic, the majestic, smoky, enveloping mist the product of thousands of well concealed fog machines. Nothing authentic could exist so near to the monuments to thoughtless excess that are Sevierville, Pigeon Forge, and Gatlinburg.

But wait. Don’t cancel your hotel bookings and rental car reservations just yet. There’s a happy ending to this story.

Despite the artificial shell surrounding it, the park is real. Honest. Get away from the main road, the parking lots with bus-size spaces, the jam-packed scenic overlooks, and you’ll find it. With 800 square miles of mountainous terrain blanketed with deciduous forest, wildflowers, and waterfalls, and more than 800 miles of trails, it’s possible to get lost here.

Head to the secluded Cosby area for an overnight backcountry hike along a segment of the Appalachian Trail. Cycle along quiet roads in the rugged Cataloochee Valley, keeping an eye out for black bear, elk, and wild turkey. Or, in the early morning, ascend to the lonely, windblown summit of one of the park’s several peaks. Up here, there’s no trace of the scars cut into the land below, and you can catch a glimpse of what this natural wonderland was like before someone decided people needed a gondola to reach it.

And on top of everything else, as if to provide a deliberate rebuttal to the incessant mantra of consumerism along its northern border, there is no entrance fee for the park.

There’s also a way to avoid entirely the mess that Tennessee built: Come in through North Carolina’s back door. You’re guaranteed to appreciate the Native American culture on display in Cherokee more than the strip-mall approach on the other side. The atmosphere is more down-to-earth, with hilly little neighborhoods that run right up to the trailhead signs. Vegetation is lush, streams trickle, and traffic is more manageable.

Whatever your experience in getting here, rest assured: Great Smoky Mountains National Park is a sweet nut. You just need to crack the shell.

From Wales to the West...

...the hike continues. Yes, I've returned to the homeland, but I'm still on the road and in the mountains. After attending a wedding in Denver, my wife and I headed west to stay with an old friend in Breckenridge, CO. A soft snowfall greeted our arrival but temperatures subsided the next day--thankfully, because we were woefully unprepared for winter weather.

With the glorious outdoors at our doorstep, a hike was irresistible. Just west of Breckenridge, the Tenmile Range stretches from north to south like a rocky spine, its vertebrae of east-west-oriented ridges growing ever larger, culminating in the 14,265-foot Quandary Peak. This was our target.

A short drive brought us to the trail head on the east side of the mountain, and despite a most unprofessional start time of 11:30, Carey, Peter, and I struck out in high spirits. The bright blue sky spread uninterrupted in all directions; visibility was crisp.

Before we knew it, we had reached the treeline. The views opened up, and the trail transformed from dirt path to rock pile. This Class-1 hike had us panting and straining, but after braving an encounter with a pair of mountain goats and gasping up the final ascent, we reached the narrow, snow-covered peak.

I've been hiking Colorado my entire life, but for some reason this was my first 14-er, as it was for both my companions. With plenty of daylight remaining, we took time to revel in the unrivaled panorama you only get by standing on top of the tallest mountain around. The wind was chilled but not fierce, the sun shining warmth, and in the hollow of a small rock cubby we ate the avocado and garlic-mayo bagel sandwiches we'd been looking forward to the whole way up.

Finally, it was time to retrace our 3,375 feet of vertical. All that downhill took its toll on our already-fatigued legs, but we made it back to the car just five hours after we'd started. One down, 50 to go.

Misty Mountain Hop

What a difference a few miles can make. London's density thins, parks become fields, apartment blocks barns, and clogged traffic arteries anemic, winding country lanes. Green replaces gray, rounded hills form, and ideally rustic stone walls crisscross towards the horizon.

I took in as much of this bucolic bounty as I could from behind the wheel of my first left-hand drive (with a left-hand stick, to boot). Whipping the tiny sedan around blind curves, wincing at each narrow miss of an oncoming vehicle, holding my breath at each roundabout.

Wales. The roads grew even narrower, and the scenery even more breathtaking. Bypassing Cardiff, my route took me through the heart of the Brecon Beacons, its broad, towering hills perfectly backdropping the stone huts and mossy, forgotten castle ruins. But by the time I crossed the high pass into North Wales, the sun had set. I navigated the comically thin and twisty "highways" in darkness. Each tiny village along the way was but a candle flame in the vast night.

Perhaps this was the perfect entrance to Snowdonia. Because when I walked out of the shabby bunkhouse early the next morning, the sheer fantasy of the place hit me all at once. Massively rugged, brilliantly green peaks surrounded the valley. Sheep clustered in the early morning chill, and mist hung over the lake.

And it only got better during the hike up to the highest point in England and Wales, Mt. Snowdon. The peak itself was blanketed in damp clouds and buffeted by a bitter wind, but the rest of the trail was held in a quiet stillness.

A million miles from London.

City of Parks

Like any well-planned city, London has its fair share of green spaces. Whether originated as royal hunting grounds or created as a result of the eighteenth-century revelation of their healthful benefits, today these parks offer a respite from the frenzied city traffic and a chance to find the natural within the urban.

Battersea Park, Kensington Gardens, Hyde Park, Green Park, St. James's Park, Hampstead Heath--in the past two days, my mother and I have walked to and through each of these. I have the blister on my pinky toe to prove it. In addition to getting some exercise and soaking up the greens of the towering trees and expansive lawns, we found a few geocaches--a great way to add a little diversity and entertainment to any outing.

Each park showcases different sights. There's the huge Peace Pagoda in Battersea and the even larger Albert Memorial in Kensington Gardens. From the footbridge over St. James's tranquil pond, you can see Buckingham Palace in one direction and the London Eye in the other.

But our favorite by far was Hampstead Heath. Situated a good four miles northwest of Central London, it took a 30-minute bus ride past Trafalgar Square, along the edge of Soho, and through funky Camden to access this monumental park, one of the city's largest. Here, the carefully arranged gardens and neatly manicured lawns we had grown accustomed to were replaced by rolling woodlands and wild, heather-covered meadows. Up and down the hills we strolled, stopping at the top of each to admire the views back towards the city. An excellent finale to our tour of London's parks.

Off to the Center of the World...

...well, meridian-wise, anyhow. I fly out of Boston tomorrow evening at 7:00. Ironically, my carrier is Air Canada, and I'll be laying over in Halifax for a couple hours. It was a month ago exactly, I think, that I passed by the Halifax airport on a bus on my way to Cape Breton Island.

While technically my second visit to London and the UK, my exploration of the center of the "civilized" world will be much more thorough this time around. Here's what I'm looking forward to:

1. Seeing where all those New England town names came from

Portsmouth, Chichester, Gloucester, St. Albans, Bristol, Bath, Colchester, Worcester, Camden, Reading, Essex, Hampshire, Rochester, etc., etc. A mere 30-second perusal of the Southeast England map brings to the eye a host of familiar names. It really calls into question the creativity of those early Americans. I'm anxious to discover whether the original locales warrant all the homage.

2. Filling my belly with "abominable" British food

Ask anyone what they think of England and this stereotype is sure to top the list. But according to various sources, vast improvements have been made in recent years. I'm particularly eager to sniff out some hole-in-the-wall joints serving up Indian and other South Asian cuisine. Fish 'n' chips wrapped in newspaper is another must, and both of these options should be bugdet. In addition, Eva Holland pinpoints quite a few open-air markets in her article "How to Enjoy London on $100 a Day." Oh yeah, can't wait to sample some real English ales, as well.

3. Visiting the Celtic realms

Besides England, the two countries that make up the island of Great Britain are Scotland and Wales. I plan to travel to the capitals of both (Edinburgh and Cardiff, respectively) by car. The histories of all three nations, and how they relate to one another, are very intriguing, and I'm excited to learn more.

4. Exploring the big city on foot

The world's largest metropolises can seem quite intimidating, but I've found a great way to shrink them down to a comprehensible size: strike out on foot. Without fail, the primary areas of interest lie in the older districts, and by nature these are never very expansive. It's one thing to digest an urban landscape through its map, or to traverse its entirety by public transportation. But there's something about connecting individual locations with your own footsteps that really ties it all together in your mind. London, feel my boots!

Cheers to Me Mum!

I'd like to give a quick shout-out to my mother, who just last week arrived in London, where she'll be living for the next few months. She's teaching two classes to students from San Antonio's St. Mary's University, who are participating in a study-abroad program.

Mom seems to be settling in quite well and has already accumulated a wealth of local knowledge to pass on to me in preparation for my trip to visit her next week. In addition, she's keeping a well-updated blog about her experiences, Bridges to London.

I've been to London before but didn't get to take in much more than Heathrow. Needless to say, I'm very excited to see both her and her temporary home!

Here's to you, mum!