By J. Trace Kirkwood
I find the last day of a trip to be painful, especially if I like the place or places I've been. I don't like writing about the last day. If I were to examine my real feelings about ending a vacation, I'd come across as moaning and groaning, and nobody wants to read that from a soul who can afford to take vacations.
I've divided the world into two types of people. There are those who live to work. I've worked with some of these people and am great friends with several. There are those who work to live. I fall into the latter category. I've never put much stock into career or position or title or climbing any kind of ladder. I work for a paycheck so that I can provide for my family and to do the things I love to do. I enjoy my job, which sort of soothes and avocation (travel), but I'd much rather travel beyond the limits of my employer's leash. When I pass an interesting place or event I'd like to stop and find out more about it.
A county official with whom I work has promised to take me to Mantle Rock in his section of Kentucky. Mantle Rock is where the Cherokees wintered in 1836 prior to crossing the Ohio River. Many of them died there. The acquaintance of mine and I can't seem to find a suitable day to link up and hike back to the place. Most of it is my fault because of my busy schedule.
So, on the last day of a vacation I feel like time is running out on me.
I had promised my daughter all week that we would hike part of the Appalachian Trail. Last summer, she and I hike across Clingman's Dome on the AT and she did fine at that altitude. My daughter is nine years old and almost five feet tall. She's as big around as a twig, but tougher than a catcher's mitt when she chooses to be.
We started hiking the AT at a spot near Fontana Dam, and we headed north up Shuckstack Mountain. When we started Dana and my little boy, Parkman, were with us. When he realized that every step of the trail was uphill, he decided he wanted to head back to our truck. My wife took him back, which left Sylvia and me on the trail. We were alone. I knew that a hiker was behind us, but no one was heading south on the trail that morning.
We went further and further up the trail.
I've learned something about hiking in the mountains. In west Kentucky I like to hike in the early mornings because it is cool. Humidity is a problem but not enough to counterbalance the cool air. Late mornings and afternoons in Kentucky are too hot for hiking. Then, early evenings are great times to hike but still quite hot.
In North Carolina, the mountain coves are filled with clouds and moisture, and I've discovered that it can rain along a ridge top but not at lower elevations. That was the case on our hike.
I kept an eye on my daughter to see how she handled the trail and the steep climb. She was careful and seemed not to fatigue too much. We stopped often and I bewildered at how she can walk so far on her skinny legs. I'd ask her if she wanted to go on up the mountain, and she always answered with a firm "yes." That was my same experience with her as we traversed Clingman's last summer.
We made it almost to the top of Shuckstack Mountain, which is near Fontana Dam. As we started up the last stretch of the mountain, I noticed that Syl's steps were sloppy and her feet appeared to be heavy. I asked her about continuing, and her "yes" had no enthusiasm, so we turned around and headed for Fontana Dam.
As we got closer to the point where the AT intersects with a road leading to Fontana, I could hear the squeaky breaks of our truck through the woods. We timed it perfect. My wife and little boy had been wheeling around in our old Ford and had come back to get us. I whistled (I can do an incredibly loud taxi hailing whistle) through the forest so they knew we were near. Sure enough, when we got there, they had heard me whistle and knew to wait.
We drank some lemonade they had in a cooler and ate a hearty snack. I decided I was hiking all the way back to the dam, and Sylvia and Parkman joined me. It's not much of a hike because the AT follows the road down to and across the dam. Still, how many chances does a person get to hike the world's most famous trail across the tallest dam in the eastern U.S.?
On the dam we discovered a puddle on the road that was full of tadpoles. I must point out that Warren County, Kentucky, is largely devoid of creeks. We live in a karst topography, and our water flows down and through rather than over and around. Our part of Kentucky is also known as "the barrens." I guess it's the first patch of prairie as one travels from east to west in this nation.
My kids are mostly unfamiliar with tadpoles. The puddle provided great amusement for them, and it fascinated me. There's not a patch of grass or dirt within a thousand feet of that spot on the dam. The water is 468 feet down on one side and about 30 feet down on the other. How the heck did a frog or frogs find that spot to lay its eggs? Why? Sylvia and Parkman delighted in catching the squirmy little ink spots. I tried snatching them, but my hands aren't as quick as they were when my friends and I caught tadpoles when we were kids.
Thankfully, there's no traffic on the dam.
We spent the afternoon at the swimming pool as the time ran out on this year's vacation.
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