Where the hell was this rock? I muttered that to myself several times as I continued to slog my way over the rocky path, a path which hadn’t offered much of interest since we left the parking area. Thankfully, the worst of the hiking seemed to be behind me, and it wasn’t physical exhaustion that led to my exasperation. It was that, frankly, I was a little bored, and I felt like I was overdue on reaching the one thing to make this not negligible journey tolerable. And then, after what seemed like many eternities, my question was finally answered, and as I looked out upon the dramatic sloping rockface that dominated my vision, providing a panoramic, elevated, and unobstructed view of the surrounding area, one emotion dominated my brain.
Fear.
That’s right, I had just undertaken what I considered my first “real mountain hike”, ever, a challenging (for me at the time) journey of over 3 miles while climbing around 1700 feet, and upon reaching the main attraction I was so overcome with anxiety I couldn’t properly enjoy it. The trail had a narrow opening to the rock, which conversely was mostly open, save for a set of shrubs several feet down and to my left. There was no safe, flat ground to provide comfort to Florida flat landers like me. There was only abrupt slope, starting out steep and only getting steeper as it arched towards the valley floor over 850 feet below. One misstep here could prove fatal, and that’s not just paranoia setting in; people have literally died falling off the side of this rock (to my knowledge nobody has lived falling off the side of this rock). I figured that problem could likely be solved by simply not taking any steps. This in itself was only a temporary solution, as others were likely to appear at the trail opening soon and be pretty pissed off if their path was blocked by a Florida flatlander with vertigo, having made the same uninspiring journey I had to get here. I had difficulty fathoming how the small collection of people and dogs picnicking on lower slopes of the rock had gotten comfortable walking around here. The only logical explanation is that they were immortal. While they enjoyed a panoramic picnic with all the benefits of a great view and alliteration, I was holding on to a shrub for dear life, finally convinced that Walmart running shoes were insufficient to grip mountain rock. This was my experience upon first reaching Looking Glass Rock.
Looking Glass Rock is, second to the Linn Cove Viaduct near Grandfather Mountain, probably the most identifiable feature along America’s most popular scenic drive, the Blue Ridge Parkway. A pluton, it’s reverse shaft and balls look, with a rounded, prominent peak connected to a long stem that gradually dissipates into the valley below, is easily viewed from multiple overlooks along a signature section of the Parkway west of Asheville. People who have no idea of its name would easily recognize a picture of it, kind of like people would recognize Clint Howard from many movies despite not knowing his name (google searches of Clint Howard immediately go up). I was flat out tickled to find out that there was a hike which lead to the top of this distinctive peak. A relative novice to mountain hiking, I didn’t realize that nearly every distinct mountain and peak in southern Appalachia has some sort of trail leading to it, if you’re capable of reaching it. Many are outside my capabilities (even today, after I’ve gained a lot more experience mountain hiking), but Looking Glass Rock seemed like something I could aspire to. It was going to be by far the biggest challenge I had yet undertaken, for while 1700 feet elevation game is a mere speed bump to normal mountain hikers, that’s about 5 times taller than the highest hill to be found in mountain-less Florida. Since I couldn’t conceive that the whole of North Carolina wasn’t centered around the Blue Ridge Parkway, I envisioned a trail descending from the roadway to work out to, and then up, this famed peak. I later found that the trailhead was some distance from the Parkway in the depths of the Pisgah National Forest outside Brevard, so plans were made to stay in Brevard to be close to this hike.
While I hadn’t envisioned myself clinging fearfully to plants at the top of the rock, just a few hours earlier I couldn’t envision myself doing much of anything. I was hunched over a pizza at a Pizza Hut, trying to contemplate whether I had the strength to do anything from my magic notebook of stops. I had felt really sick after hiking at Dupont State Forest that morning, not because of anything related to that hike or any difficulty associated with it, but because antibiotics were wrecking my stomach and giving me strong bouts of nausea, especially when combined with the Ibu Profen I had to take to keep my hip from getting inflamed. While I’ve always been a fan of pepperoni pizza, asking it to be the solution to my current dilemma seemed to be a bridge too far. Yet somehow, inexplicably I slowly began to feel rejuvenated. My spark re-ignited and growing more with every delicious bite of pizza I took, I got my notebook of fun out and began to start planning our afternoon.
It was an easy decision to pick out Moore Cove Falls to start our afternoon at. A short hike, Moore Cove was one of the stops I planned my trip around. Pictures of its narrow cascade spilling over a rockface strewn with interesting growth evoked the type of mystery one would expect of, well, a “cove”. It just seemed to have an exotic feel that made it stand out from the multitude of options in the area. It teased of the promise of another world within that cove I was interested in seeing. It wasn’t just pictures that few me in; the trail was pretty consistently listed among the best in the area by the multitude of outlets detailing the region. It’s brief length, just over a mile, made it a great option to test my energy. We had always known we were going to visit Moore Cove, we just weren’t sure if it would fall on our first or second day staying in Brevard.
Northward we plunged, bellies full of pizza and anti-inflammatories, into the Pisgah National Forest, a forest which covers so much of North Carolina its harder to find places not part of it. US 276 climbed steadily into a world of deep canopy, creeks, and waterfalls. There was an immense flurry of activity. cars were pulled into sometimes informal pulloffs along the road. Fishermen dipped their poles into waterways along the road. I knew not (and still don’t) know whether the waterway was the Davidson River (the name of the ranger district we were in) or Looking Glass Creek. It seemed people everywhere were having the time of their lives. Maybe they had all endured a year as hard as mine, and were finally getting their much due payoff for their hard work on this early fall weekend.
On we went past the immense Looking Glass Falls to the right; there would be time to visit this one later, hopefully in good photography light. A bit further up the road we found the parking for Moore Cove. At least we found where you were supposed to park, but every space along the narrow shoulder of US 276 was filled. We had to wait, thankfully not long, for a vehicle to exit before we could occupy their space. We piled out of the vehicle, grabbed the camera equipment, and crossed the bridge over the creek to start the trail in earnest, hoping to find another world on this bright sunny day.
Right away I began to get the feeling that my expectations were perhaps a bit unrealistic. Far from being an exotic treat, somehow everything on the way to Moore Cove Falls just seemed exceedingly normal. In the past three days we had seen High Falls and Tallulah Gorge in Georgia, Glen Falls and then the Dupont State Forest. Everything we had seen had met or exceeded expectations and were far from what you could call commonplace. On the way to Moore Cove, there really wasn’t anything of the type that I hadn’t already seen countless times on my previous visits to mountains, which is ironic, considering that Moore Cove was the one I imagined being different.
There were a few moments that stood out a bit from the otherwise average journey. A large boulder stood just aside the trail. This boulder is probably larger than all the boulders in Florida combined. There was a nice boardwalk section. I don’t know what it is about a boardwalk, but its mere presence makes that part of trail more exciting. I wasn’t quite sure why the section of boardwalk we were walking on through seemingly dry woods was needed, but I enjoyed it being there. Yet my perception of anything this trail and its final destination could offer was already irrevocably skewed by the time I reached the namesake fall.
Normally the sound of the fall alerts you to its proximity as you get closer. With Moore Cove, a very thing waterfall, it was the sound of people that greeted us as we neared our destination. Soon the arch-shaped rock face, split in the middle by the namesake fall, dominated our field of vision, with sheer throngs of people strewn about the wide cave behind the fall. There was an observation area to the right, but with the ability to walk right up to the thin fall, or claim a picnic spot on a tailor made flat rock behind the fall, that area was pretty much ignored. It’s nothing personal, but I don’t much like people when I’m trying to enjoy a waterfall, which is unfortunate since people and waterfalls usually go hand in hand.
By this point there was a lot going against me liking Moore Cove Falls. That’s unfortunate because, in hindsight, the fall is actually pretty darn cool. That distinctive rock face, arising from the woods as it does, is not necessarily another world, but it’s at least a worthwhile stop. The wide area around the back of the fall makes for a perfect relaxation spot, with a nice spectacle to enjoy accompanied by a gentle flow of water. My wife, who is more inclined to relax and reflect than I am, was really liking Moore Cove. I wasn’t, and it’s only in hindsight that I realized its virtues. I also realized that my views were tainted by what we had seen before, and also by visiting at the height of midday sun, which rarely allows small waterfalls to look their best. Despite the crowd I and adverse lighting I gave a tripod shot the good old college try, and much to my surprise came up with something that worked, with good fortune shining on me as bright as the sunlight to allow me a good frame without people in it.
Disappointed as I was, I didn’t want to linger around Moore Cove Falls too long, and we began to retrace our steps towards the busy parking area. Only after returning home did I find out about another waterfall just upstream of Moore Cove that is preferred by those in the know. I had learned from experience spring hunting in Florida that where there is a spring, there is usually a smaller spring or sink connected to the aquifer that’s more pristine and picturesque. Apparently its the same with waterfalls – there’s a usually a smaller one upstream of the bigger, popularly known fall. My mind was little interested in seeing another part of Moore Cove. I had bigger things in mind.
Looking Glass Rock. Which I’m sure you already knew since I spoiled it at the beginning, but I’ll act like that previous revelation actually carried some dramatic weight. This was the hike that was in another tier of difficulty from what I had done before. I had looked forward to its challenge with both excitement and worry. Now, spur of the moment, after having already done two (albeit shorter) hikes that day, and just a mere two hours or so after I had been slumped over the table at Pizza Hut, I wanted to confront that challenge head on. Jess was a little less enthused than I was, but just months after wondering if my maligned hip would ever let me hike again, I wasn’t going to be deterred. We were going to do it, the toughest by the numbers hike we had attempted to that point. Would it meet my lofty expectations, or would suffer much the same fate as Moore Cove Falls?
We were eager to find out as we made the relatively short drive from Moore Cove to the Looking Glass Trailhead, again passing Looking Glass Falls on the way. Out we climbed from the vehicle again, with me this time having a cord dangling from my camera bag to my pocket below, allowing my cell phone to connect to a portable charging cell. I wanted it to navigate, and we weren’t going to take any chances. Beginning the trail, we were greeted by the same nondescript woods that had dominated the way to Moore Cove Falls. I was less dissuaded this time though; I knew that it was a long out to Looking Glass Rock, with a significant climb. I imagined things were bound to change at some point.
The Looking Glass Trail wasted little time before entering its switchback, a necessary evil for mountain trails that serves the dual purpose of allowing the scaling of large elevation changes without too steep of a grade as well as testing the sanity of hikers. Then the trail hit another. And another. And another. There were so many switchbacks! One can usually count the number of switchbacks that one endures in the course of a larger hike, for usually the come in short spurts, but this trail was nothing but a sustained series of switchbacks for at least the first mile and a half. I had been expecting the woods to change as we climbed. Climb we did, for we liked scaled the height of a mountain just in those series of switchbacks. But the trees were never changing, always present and encumbering, preventing any view of the outside world even as you ventured further and further up. It was a disappointing feeling to have scaled so much height and not be treated to a single fleeting view to give you perspective to what you had accomplished so far. Instead, the fatigue in your legs, as well as the mental trauma induced by the torture of endless enclosed switchbacks, would be your only barometer for what you had accomplished. At the same time it was disorienting to have no idea where you were in relation to the trailhead, or to the namesake rock, or to anything in the surrounding area.
The switchbacks eventually ended, which my research indicated they would, still some distance from the rock itself. My research also indicated that the ascent up the actual rock was supposed to be pretty intense. With that in mind, I enjoyed the relative flatness of the upcoming trail section, but I didn’t much enjoy the lack of anything worth looking at. We slogged our way through more featureless woods before reaching a very large open rock slab to the left of the trail. Known as the helipad, this is named so not just because it resembles such, but because it actually is somewhat frequently used to evacuate endangered hikers. Knowing that beforehand added a cool element of danger feeling to this hike, but unfortunately there wasn’t much element of coolness at the actual rock. It was just bare rock, surrounded on all sides with the same featureless woods and still no views to be found. The helipad brought me some excitement in that at least I knew we would be starting the real ascent soon.
We had asked passing hikers about when the “real stuff” was going to start, anticipating that infamous climb up the rock itself. Not having had a single view to give us an idea of just where the hell we were, in my head I was imagining we were climbing the entire damn rock as seen from the Blue Ridge Parkway. In actuality, through the series of endless switchbacks, and then a gradual ascent, we were already much further up that rock than I could have imagined. Still, there was a bit of a climb to endure, and it announced its presence by footing along the trail suddenly becoming rather scattershot. The difficulty wasn’t necessarily in the altitude gain, which wasn’t insignificant, but in it being a nearly constant scramble from one small rock to another. Up to that point, even on mountain trails, I had been coddled. Even the trails I had climbed had either stable footing or stairs to ease the burden for fragile Florida flat-landers like myself. Looking Glass Rock didn’t give a shit. You want the view from the big rock? Well you’re gonna have to navigate about 8,000 little ones first. That’s actually the norm for mountain trails, I just hadn’t experienced many normal mountain trails yet.
I advanced rock by rock, irked that the concentration required to advance along the trail just delayed my reaching the namesake of the trail, which it had become apparent would be pretty much the only thing worth seeing on this trail. Where the hell was this rock? I was sick of the bullshit. The trail began to level off. I thought for sure this was a sign that the overlook was close. Not as I close as I would have liked. I advanced for several more minutes, with tunnel vision and eyes of the prize. Where the hell was this rock? Each minute just seemed like an eternity.
It almost caught me by surprise when I reached the overlook with little hint that it was just ahead. Indeed, I was taken aback when I reached it, but not for the reasons I had anticipated. Before I had given little thought to how steep the overlook might be once we reached it, now I could scarcely think of anything but. There was such a sharp, immediate decline that there was no stretch of flat, open rock to provide safe purchase for someone from Florida. I’m not prone to any undue vertigo, but I had no great trust in my feet to not trip either. Adding insult, when I did get the nerve to glance out, my view was marred by the sun which had parked itself directly in my line of sight. This was unexpected; I had thought the view would be facing north, free from any unhelpful sun. All in all, saying that I was disappointed was like saying the Titanic had a pretty bad maiden voyage; that doesn’t really convey the depth of it. How much I had built up and anticipated this hike, how boring it had been getting to the rock, and then having the overlook be too steep to be enjoyable and with the view being marred by direct sunlight was a far greater disappointment than Moore Cove Falls.
Let’s give some credit where credit is due though; it is a damn good view. In terms of sheer visuals its quite impressive. You tower very high above the valley below. On the opposite side of the valley lies towering peaks, some of which the Blue Ridge Parkway rides as its works its way through one of its most impressive segments. Being on Looking Glass helps you appreciate the Parkway more, for you know you’re pretty high up just from the sheer elevation you covered in this hike, as well as the valley below, yet the ridge ridden by the Parkway absolutely towers over you. One thing is conspicuously absent from the view from Looking Glass; the rock itself. Looking Glass easily provides the most striking and distinctive peak in the area. It’s shape can be easily identified from the rest even at a great distance. Every view which includes it is better because of it. You get no benefit from that when you’re on the actual rock. That made it doubly frustrating that the hike never once offered any view of anything except the woods. Just once it would have been nice to get a glimpse of what you were ascending. Though I had seen Looking Glass Rock in person before while cruising the Parkway during our actual honeymoon in 2011, I hadn’t once caught a view of this rock during our current trip before we actually ascended it, and I wouldn’t get to see its distinctive shape in its entirety until the next day.
I learned an important concept that day; how cool the rock you are on looks from afar doesn’t necessarily make it a great hike. Sometimes the better hike is one that provides a good view of that distinctive peak. In this case, there was a hike nearby in John Rock that fit that bill, and it also offered access to waterfalls and creeks on the way up that would add some excitement besides just the main view. In my fixation upon Looking Glass from early on, I completely overlooked John Rock. On the flip side, hiking a cool peak gives you the satisfaction of saying “I tapped that” every time you see it. Every time I see Looking Glass, which I hope is many more times, I’ll know that I made it to the top of that beast. That’s worth something, but I’d prefer just to do a great hike instead.
Another thing that I learned is that the quality of a view is not just about the visuals, but also how enjoyable it is to be where you’re getting that view. Although I know that there was a sense of spectacular to it, it just wasn’t that “fun” being on the top of Looking Glass Rock. I eventually got over my eventual shock and felt a bit more freedom to move around, though I took measured steps and tried to keep hold of shrubs when moving around, just in case my feet failed me. Enjoyment of an experience like that has its limitations. I’ve had far more entertaining experiences at places like Dupont State Forest and Panthertown Valley even though the views weren’t quite to the same scale just because of the freedom of movement you had over wide, relatively flat rock faces that allowed you to explore every angle and relax in a favorite spot with little worry that a misstep would be fatal. And those other views came on hikes that offered far more than a 3+ mile trek through featureless woods to get there. And that’s not to mention places that can combine dramatic views with freedom of movement, like Max Patch or Roan Mountain. I can’t fault people who really love the view from Looking Glass and really like this hike – it’s a great view. I just can’t rate a one trick pony whose one trick has its limitations to be among the best in the spectacular area it was in.
We began to work our way down, with myself reeling from a second consecutive disappointment. It’s rumored that there are side trails which lead to other views from the rock. That’s eminently possible, but after the harrowing experience at the main overlook, I wasn’t that enthused about taking a rustic goat path that might just lead to another difficult to enjoy overlook, especially as it was getting late. I had mission to finish and hopefully get one more stop done before the fall of night. Unfortunately, it took almost as long to navigate the rocky section as it had to ascend, as going down requires even more concentration on where you’re placing your feet, offering a great chance to sprain an ankle for those who get lax. On the way down, maybe two miles from the rock, we ran into a group of people who had far less concern for the hour of day than we did. On their way up, they asked us how far the rock was. We let them know it was far, and strongly discouraged them from continuing. They thanked us and continued. I don’t recall seeing any reports of people being lost or rescued, so I presume they made it out safely. At least Looking Glass and its endless array of soul crushing switchbacks provided easy footing on the way down. Despite some concern that we would finish the hike before dark, after having started the long (to us) hike in the afternoon, we reached the car well before nightfall, which meant we had time to squeeze in one more brief stop: Looking Glass Falls.
One of the most popular falls in North Carolina, and maybe the most photographed due to its combination of easy access and stunning visuals, we had twice passed this roadside fall that afternoon. I had played my cards nicely, for now I’d be able to get a shot in the even expiring light, and enjoy the beauty of the falls without feeling the need to move on to a time consuming hike needing to be completed before dark. Other than knowing of its existence and location, I actually knew very little about Looking Glass Falls before we pulled into the parking along US 276. I was eager to learn, so I grabbed the tripod and hurriedly made my way down the stairs.
Looking Glass Falls was a truly impressive sight. It possessed immense power and wasn’t a slouch in the sheer size department either. Framing the fall was a large set of mossy rocks to its left and on the right, the far more dramatic large, sculpted rock that truly defines Looking Glass Falls. This fall could scarcely be confused with any other, and its instantly recognizable in the multitude of artful photographs taken, as photographers hone their craft on this easy to access wonder. I tried to hone my craft as well, but the sheer majesty of the fall overwhelmed me a bit.
After the two disappointing hikes prior, Looking Glass Falls was a nice way to end the day. Despite the day’s letdowns, I wasn’t disappointed. I still really enjoyed just being in the Pisgah National Forest. It felt like a special place to be in early fall, even when the hikes didn’t pan out like I intended. Sometimes the thrill in exploring is in the addition of knowledge of new experiences, even when those experiences aren’t as good as you hoped. We still had one more day to enjoy beauty in he Brevard area before advancing to locations east of Asheville (still largely part of the Pisgah National Forest, because apparently everything is), and I was really looking forward to it.
J. Parker Nature Stories 