Georgia – J. Parker Nature Stories

2017/10/15 – Darnell Creek and Glen Falls

I was nervous. Scared. We were in our distinctly non-four wheel drive Toyota Corolla (though I scarcely think I would have felt comfortable in any vehicle). We were on a narrow, gravel, one-lane road heading up a mountainside to God know’s where. And we were in completely over our heads.
The young man on the four-wheeler had passed us and we asked him if there was a turnaround point. He said something along the lines of not really. I said something along the lines of shit.

2017/10/15 – Trial at Tallulah Gorge

Jello leg. That’s what you call it when your legs are so tired the soft tissue has lost all strength and has simply become a gelatinous mass, and you rely on the structure of your bones, any assisting devices such as railings, and sheer willpower to ply your way up the remains of whatever inclineContinue reading “2017/10/15 – Trial at Tallulah Gorge”

2017/10/14 – High Falls State Park

I felt a pop in my hip as my right leg hit the ground with a lot of force. Clumsy me, I had tried to get out of my chair quickly and tripped over the mobile home sized box of Gold Fish I had left sitting on the floor. With my cat-like reflexes, I kept my balance and managed to avoid tripping. Unfortunately, I didn’t have cat-like joints, and I placed far more force on my hip joint than it was designed for according to the owner’s manual. I didn’t feel any pain, but I knew from the pop and knowing how hard I had landed that I might have an issue on my hands…er well..hip. But as I stated before, I’m clumsy, and I combine that superpower with what doctors have told me is a high pain tolerance. At any given time I generally have between 2-5 potential injuries, none of which ever really hurt that acutely, and I can usually only tell the bumps and bruises from the tears and fractures after 4-6 weeks of things kind of hurting for a bit. I logged that pop and new weakness in my hip in my mental inventory of potential injuries and moved on with my life, knowing that a genuine injury was bound to find a way to distinguish itself and make its mother proud.

2019/11/05 – Minnehaha Falls, Angel Falls, and Wildcat Creek

Waiting for the right conditions and then taking 30 second exposures gave me plenty of time to enjoy the ambience of this my final mountain scene. The sound of the water, the gently falling leaves, the myriad of colors from vibrant green to red, brown and gold, and the lush woods that filled the gorge where this little creek flowed, I immersed myself in every last detail. I love the mountains, with their vistas, creeks, waterfalls, balds, and mystical forests. For me, Appalachia is the nearest faraway place, one so distinctly different from home, yet oddly enough sometimes the only place I feel truly at home in. I know not when I will be able to visit again, for I have big plans for 2020, but none bringing me here at present. If I do not find myself here again soon, it is not for lack of love, but opportunity.

2019/11/04 Raven Cliff Falls and Duke Creek Falls

As humans we are biologically conditioned to judge things based on endings. We place an unbalanced weight on finales. It doesn’t matter how good things were leading up to it. A TV show can deliver deliver eight seasons of captivating, acclaimed programming, and then become subject of derision and ridicule over a lackluster final episode. The New England Patriots can go 18-0 leading up to the Super Bowl and everyone will still think its hilarious when they lose the last game of the year. To Eli freaking Manning. We expect endings and signature moments to help make sense of this cold, cruel world.

“Huh” was all I had to say as I reached the namesake and terminus of the Raven Cliff Falls Trail. That is not exactly a ringing endorsement.

2019/11/04 – Experiencing Anna Ruby Falls

Fall is special, there is no doubt about it. There is something in humanity that makes us flock to it so we can revel in its myriad of colors. How is it that the colors of death provide such a breath of life? Maybe it’s because the death of the leaves occur but the tree still lives on, ready to endure the cold and then emerge in a burst of green as spring and summer warmth returns. The air itself paradoxically provides a feeling of warmth with its chill, much welcome after the assault of summer heat waves. All in all, there is a romantic quality to the season, and when you find a special place illuminated in fall color, it feels like you’re walking in a dream. I can remember the select few times I’ve been in an area that was really and truly fully overtaken with fall color, with cloudy weather to bring out every varied shade of the woods. One was visiting Jones Gap State Park in South Carolina, where a small pocket of impressive fall color held out till very late into November of last year. The other was at Anna Ruby Falls.

2019/11/04 Hiking at High Shoals Falls

I stepped onto the wooden observation platform, taking care not to slip on the smooth and wet wooden planks, and I came across a familiar sight. The bottom tier of the falls plunging into an aqua pool below is an iconic image for the trail and the area at large. Only on this day the usually placid-looking fall was somewhat of a raging torrent, which did even seem to be possible to have been birthed by the same shallow creek I had crossed just moments before. A solitary vibrant-colored sweatshirt was draped over the railing on the platform. With no other person in sight, I can only presume the owner drowned in the creek and the body was never found.

2019/11/02 – Ascending Brasstown Bald

I eased off my break and attempted to get to my gas pedal as quick as possible. I was on an incline and had to be sure I didn’t roll back too far, lest I roll into the vehicle behind me. I hoped that they noted the Florida license plate on my vehicle and allocated me a little extra space than they would usually provide. I needed it. I wasn’t sure how people managed this in the mountains. Do they keep one foot on the break and hit the gas with the other foot? I wasn’t sure. But I would have ample time to try out any method I could conceive of, for I was stuck in traffic roughly half a mile long leading up to Brasstown Bald, Georgia’s highest point. (I guess that would mean I was also stuck in Georgia’s highest traffic jam, for whatever that’s worth).

2019/11/02 – Hike Up Blood Mountain

I looked up, but I didn’t like what my eyes saw. The hill stretched as far as I could see. Hundreds of feet in the air the trail weaved a serpentine path up the hill, and dozens of tired people littered its path (unfortunately sometimes literally), bestowed in bright colors of neon green and pink, ostensibly to try and ward off hunters. Or maybe to make it easier to find the body in the woods, I’m not sure. One might have called it a stairway to heaven, except it was going to feel like hell. Gravity pulled me downwards while my insatiable curiosity for spectacles lied at the top of that hill pulled me upward. Such is hiking; moments of physical discomfort, boredom, terror, all endured so one can satisfy curiosity and enjoy the natural rewards of a trail in an organic way that driving to a scenic spot could never provide.