October 2021
We still haven’t even received our license tag for our new motor coach. And the electrical issue we’ve been dealing with is still not resolved. But that didn’t stop us from having a great time camping at Linville Falls, North Carolina, spitting distance from the Blue Ridge Parkway. It’s all a matter of focus.
My husband and I had high hopes for this trip. On the four-hour drive, we talked of plans for places we could go and things we could do now that we had an RV. We were looking forward to exploring the mountains with our good friends Deborah and John, who would be camping right beside us.
It was a gorgeous autumn afternoon when we pulled into our campsite at Linville Falls Campground. The air was warm, the sky a deep shade of blue, and the tree canopy above was beginning to take on fall’s palette of yellows, reds, and browns. We easily leveled the camper and set about hooking up to water and electricity. And then we heard the sound that threatened our anticipated pleasures. Beep-beep. Beep-beep.
The Shore Power Fault indicator light on our new camper was flashing, and we had no AC electrical power. My husband Brian used his voltage meter to ensure power was flowing from the campground power to the camper. Yep. The problem was with our motor coach. This was in spite of the fact that our expensive RV had just spent two weeks at John’s RV Sales and Service, where the mechanics could find nothing wrong with it.
The last time this happened, we turned around and drove home rather than spend sleepless nights in a hot and stuffy camper. We were in a better situation this time. The weather was cool so we didn’t need air conditioning, we had flashlights (with batteries), and we were able to use an extension cord to plug into our refrigerator. Still, it was frustrating.
Deborah and John drove their trailer in and got situated without a hitch. (Actually, their hitch did have a hitch in that a pin had scraped off as they turned up onto the road leading to our campground, but that’s another story.) Between our propane stove, our Cuisinart Griddler, and their microwave, I fixed a hamburger dinner for us all. And after a relaxing evening in front of a campfire, we settled in for what we hoped would be a restful night’s sleep. It didn’t occur to us that we were parked under an acorn tree.
Bang. Bang. Rattle. Bang. All night long, we were rained on by what we thought must be golf balls. Turns out, they were only marble-sized acorns, but they still had the effect of scaring our Pip dog to the point that she scrambled up into Brian’s bed for the night. None of us slept much.
After breakfast the next morning, we set off in separate vehicles for nearby Lake James State Park, hoping to participate in a guided Literary Hike I had seen on their web site. Unfortunately, it had been cancelled. Fortunately, there was still plenty to interest us, starting with a tree frog that had hitched a ride on Deborah’s kayak.
At Hidden Cove we went on a short kayak trip around the lake, minus the frog, and then found the easy and educational Holly Discovery Trail (0.75 mile) near Paddy’s Creek. Lunch was easy as well, since we brought our kitchen along with us. Brian and I found another short hike and further explored the state park, while Deborah and John made use of Mickey D’s internet in town to take care of some business.
Back at the campground, we settled in for a nap: me in a hammock and Brian in the camper. Sufficiently rested, I fixed a dinner of pulled pork and rice. Again we gathered around the campfire for quiet conversation before bed.
More banging on our roof; this time we were sure the giants were playing at nine-pins. This would become our norm for the next few days: noisy nights followed by morning activities followed by afternoon naps. We made it work.
The brilliant days made up for the sleepless nights. Blue skies, fall foliage, cool morning air that warmed by afternoon: we couldn’t have asked for better conditions. I was chomping at the bit to do some hiking, so on Thursday we left Brian and his bum knees quite happily in the camper with the dogs while Deborah, John, and I took off on an exploration. First stop: Wiseman’s View, where after a bumpy ride up a rutted dirt road we were rewarded with views of the Linville Gorge and surrounding peaks. This twelve-mile-long gorge, cut by the Linville River, is in Pisgah National Forest and as the deepest gorge in the eastern United States has earned the moniker “Grand Canyon of Eastern America.” The view was indeed, gorge-ous. Ouch.
Across the gorge we could see our next two destinations, Hawksbill and Table Rock Mountains. Our binoculars didn’t show anyone on top of either peak, but we would soon change that.
The drive to the Hawksbill trailhead is always an adventure: three miles on a rutted twisty dirt road. We were able to squeeze into the only parking spot left. With Deborah and her bum knees resting in the truck, John and I started out on this so-called “moderate” hike, moderate in length (2.4 miles round trip) but still a strenuous rocky climb up some 700 feet. But the view at the top made it all worthwhile. At 4009 feet high, we were on top of the world.
On the way downhill, a fellow hiker teased that we should do Table Rock next. We assured him that that was the plan, and he just looked at us like we were crazy. But the day was still young, and the trailhead only five miles away, albeit very bumpy miles, so on we went.
And up we went. This time there was only 544 feet of elevation gain on our 1.4 mile round trip, but it felt much more strenuous.
Again, totally worth it. I didn’t want to come down. There is something so liberating to be standing above, seeing the undulating hills stretching out all around and watching hawks soar far below you.
Although I don’t usually think of mid-October as wildflower season, Deborah pointed out an intriguing roadside flower that I wasn’t familiar with. My Seek app said it was in the gentian family, and later I was able to id it as bottle gentian, a showy wildflower that has value in herbal medicine. Not as pretty but just as intriguing was rock spikemoss clinging to a trailside boulder.
And a layer of quartz wedged between ancient rock caught our eye, as well as that of a grasshopper. So many hidden treasures in these hills!
My legs were sore but my heart was full by the time I climbed into my loft bed that night. In spite of the percussive acorn jam session playing over my head, I fell asleep quickly. That lasted until 2:30 am, when our camper added a persistent beeping to the night noises. With Pip the Scaredy Dog racing back and forth in terror, Brian rolled out of bed making his own unpleasant noises. Apparently, since we didn’t drive the RV for a day, our camper battery had given up the ghost, causing the carbon monoxide monitor to beep incessantly. This in turn had Brian donning his shoes, rummaging in the outside compartment for his tools, and snipping the wires of the CO monitor as the only way to make the beeping stop. Pip again slept with Brian during what was left of the night.
Friday, happily, was an easy day. We unplugged the camper, loaded up friends and dogs, and drove north on the Blue Ridge Parkway for some scenic splendor.
First stop: the short hike up to Beacon Heights overlook, with views of Grandfather Mountain and the surrounding area. We drove on over the Linn Cove Viaduct; I would have liked to stop but too many others had the same idea, so on we went. Our plan was to explore Moses Cone Park’s many trails, but there was no parking for RVs, so we back-tracked to Price Lake for a picnic near a burbling brook.
Heading south past Linville Falls, we made our final stop at Chestoa View Overlook, where unbeknownst to me, a former STELLAR student of mine would be married in all her wedding finery the very next day.
We hopped off the parkway and traveled into Newland for groceries. Surprise! A tub of my favorite Tillamook Coffee Almond Fudge ice cream fell into my bag and demanded that we eat it right there in the Ingles parking lot. We may not be able to park everywhere in our motor home, but it sure is nice to have a mobile kitchen and dining room!
And to add to the pleasure, across the street was Waterfalls Park, with a charming triple waterfall overlooking… well… Dollar General. I guess you can’t have everything.
Saturday was our final full day, and we capped off the week’s adventure with the festival to end all festivals: the Woolly Worm Festival in Banner Elk, NC. A little background might be helpful here. The woolly worm is not a worm at all; it is the larval (caterpillar) stage of the Isabella Tiger Moth. For years, mountain folk have semi-accurately forecast the winter weather by observing this fuzzy critter. Folklore has it that if its middle brown band is narrow, the winter will be severe. Regardless of its prognostication abilities, it does have a super power: it is one of the few insects that overwinters as a larvae, producing a cryoprotectant that allows it to survive being totally frozen solid. Plus they’re cute.
These girls brought their own “worms.”
Exercising their woolies on a bit of string.
On average, some 20,000 people come to Banner Elk to share in this event. We arrived early to ensure we had a parking place. In spite of the 70% chance of rain, not one of the 20,000 were dissuaded from coming. Where else could you have this amount of fun? For one dollar, you can buy a woolly worm and race it up a string (they always crawl up). Woolly worm races are the highlight of this festival, although crafts and food are also in abundance. And when you’re done with your woolly worm, there’s a recycle container for them to be released back into their native habitat. What fun!
The woolies race up the strings
By noon, the scattered showers were gone, but the wind picked up and didn’t stop blowing until later that evening. The wind howled through the trees at the campground, making them sway precipitously but the only effect was to bring down the remaining acorns before bedtime and allow us one night of silent sleep.
But all good things must come to an end. Sunday morning we packed up and headed back to Aiken. By mid-afternoon we were home with clothes in the wash and everything back in place.
How will I remember this trip? I admit I was furious that the electrical issues of our brand-new camper had still not been fixed, and I was exhausted from sleepless nights listening to the cacophony of acorns on our roof, but I will never forget the feeling of standing on top of the world looking down on creation. (And yes, you know I sang that song.) And hearing the rustle of leaves underfoot as I tramped my way on the trail. And dipping my paddle into an unfamiliar lake. And watching woolly worms race up strings. And laughing with our friends around a flickering campfire. For me, it’s all about the focus. I choose to focus on the big picture: the big, bright, crunchy, wet, and woolly picture.
Hocus-pocus, what’s your focus?
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