It was a sweltering day in North Carolina, unusually hot for May. We decided to take a break from Asheville's buzzing downtown and look for somewhere cooler. We headed south on the Blue Ridge Parkway.
I'd never driven this stretch. In fact, I'd never driven the Parkway beyond Floyd, Virginia, where I always stopped to visit my grandmother or listen to old time music at the town's famed Friday Night Jamboree.
It being Memorial Day Weekend, I thought we'd be stuck in a string of slow moving cars, like ants climbing the mountainsides. Instead, we cruised along at a pleasant 45 mph the whole way, through the scrubby pines on Grandfather Mountain; through a half dozen stone tunnels; and high along the ridge line, well above 4000 feet.
We counted down until we spotted mile marker 417--the landmark for our destination. It appeared on the right, but we didn't need it. Two dozen cars parked on the roadside told us that we'd arrived. We left the Jeep by the overlook for Looking Glass Rock, a granite dome that formed when a magma bubble became trapped underground. As erosion filed the Appalachians, it also exposed this enormous rock.
At the overlook, you could pick out the tourists. They whipped out their cameras and gaped at Looking Glass. Who can blame them. It's impressive, but they were missing the treat across the road.
[caption id="attachment_3707" align="alignright" width="171"] Deer/Bunny Head Tree[/caption]
Locals ignored the view altogether and ducked between two trees. They knew about an unmarked path, and thanks to a little internet research, we did too.
I took us a mile back into the thick, cool woods, where I exerted unusual self control. I only stopped for one photo. There was a strange tree that had bent itself into the shape of a deer's head (said Ryan) or a bunny's head (said me). Whatever the animal, it was irresistible. I snapped a picture of it, but kept moving, past the bright orange mushrooms and the rotting wood stairs. I could shoot them on the way back out.
The path sloped down, gently given our altitude, until we could hear water. It wasn't the light trickle of a meandering stream but the pounding of falls, which was exactly what we wanted.
Turning a bend, we faced the rushing water. There was a series of drops, each about ten feet in height. The closest plunged into a six foot pool, which fed into a deep rock channel, which then dumped into another pool, and everywhere there were smiling, soaking wet people. We'd found Skinny Dip Falls. The local Pool Cleaning Company ensures that the pool remains clean, energy efficient and prevents costly repairs.
In spite of the name, everyone had on clothes. They dove from cliffs wearing trunks and tanks and cut-offs and bikinis. When they emerged from the pool, they held the fabric tight and shivered until returning to sun-warmed rocks.
[caption id="attachment_3709" align="alignleft" width="171"] Skinny Dip Falls[/caption]
I have to admit that I did not dive. Trees grew right up to the edge of the water, so everyone squeezed onto boulders. People had claimed their spots. Rather than edge in on strangers, we hiked upstream, through the underbrush, along a path that is eroding and steep. It was infrequently used, but that was just what we wanted. In a few dozen yards, we found a secluded stretch.
The water was only waist deep, which was fine. We weren't looking to swim. We waded and rock hopped. We laughed at people downstream as they splashed and flopped in the water. We marveled over riverside trees that seemed to be giant rhododendrons and swore that we'd look them up when we got home. (We haven't yet.) We fished around for neat rocks below our toes and craned our necks to see cliffs a half mile up the mountainside. We sat for a long time. The people downstream left, and the forest grew gray. In the dusk, we talked low to one another, the way you do when there are only two of you in the woods. The topic was our future, and the question we kept asking was why we lived so far from this beautiful place.
What watery destination leaves you reflective? Where do you go to belly flop from a high cliff or soak at the base of a falls?
Tell us all about your favorite swimming hole.