Every other day I read the description of the John's Mountain/Keown Falls hike in the guidebook as if it was an item in a catalog that I desperately wanted to buy but couldn’t afford. In this case, it wasn’t that I lacked money; I lacked the ability to get up early enough to make the hour and a half drive to Northern Georgia. It’s not Autumn here in the south, and hiking at noon isn’t the best of ideas when it’s 90 degrees out.
But finally, on a cloudy day, not getting up as early as I would have liked but deeming an overcast day with temps in the 80’s as safe enough, Tucker and I packed up the truck and headed north.
The beginning of the Keown Falls trail is an eloquently graveled path with stone borders. I don’t imagine it felt great on Tucker’s feet, and I wished for an end of the man-made adornment to get back to Mother Nature’s flooring.
But finally, on a cloudy day, not getting up as early as I would have liked but deeming an overcast day with temps in the 80’s as safe enough, Tucker and I packed up the truck and headed north.
The beginning of the Keown Falls trail is an eloquently graveled path with stone borders. I don’t imagine it felt great on Tucker’s feet, and I wished for an end of the man-made adornment to get back to Mother Nature’s flooring.
We came looking for fall—the season, not the natural formation of water cascading through air, though both at once would have been amazing. Although the view was expansive there was ne’er a colored leaf to be found. All was still a brilliant green, soaking in the molecules of water from the overcast sky and ready for the moment the sun shone down again to capture every ray of light before winter.
We did enjoy a woodsy dirt path most of the way, but as we came closer to the falls (water, not season), humans had intervened to make a steep incline more biped-friendly with stairs.
Keown Falls was unlike any other falls Tucker and I have been too. It was not a waterfall, or a cascading river over rounded rocks. This was a ledge where water drained off, leaving a cave behind it in which to walk in.
Tucker and I took the stairs downwards and stood behind the waterfall—only a dribble, but I imagine in the wet season it would be a spectacular experience.
The view beyond the falls was the woods itself. It had no mountainous vista, but instead showed us the forest we were visiting.
The view beyond the falls was the woods itself. It had no mountainous vista, but instead showed us the forest we were visiting.
Crumbles of rocks littered the area behind the falls. It was the perfect place for Tucker to test out his camouflage abilities.
We continued up above the falls to take a different perspective. There we met two people on horseback. I told them I had planned on going to John’s Overlook, and they warned that it was steep but a good hike. Despite being overcast and cloudy, it was a decent view. The woman noted that there was another overlook about half way up the mile-high trek that also had a view.
I thanked her for the insight and made a decision. I could go left, 2.5 miles to the overlook, which probably wasn’t as steep, or go right one mile, and also catch the second overlook. I opted to go right.
I chose wisely.
The next overlook was indeed not on a map. We saw a little bit of color in the immediate plants surrounding us.
I thanked her for the insight and made a decision. I could go left, 2.5 miles to the overlook, which probably wasn’t as steep, or go right one mile, and also catch the second overlook. I opted to go right.
I chose wisely.
The next overlook was indeed not on a map. We saw a little bit of color in the immediate plants surrounding us.
However the mountains were still blue and green in the distance.
Onward and straight upward we ascended to the main event. One last push and we crested the horizon to...
... a parking lot. Yes, we could have driven here, but that wouldn't have been fun at all. Hiking isn't about arriving at one spot to take in a view; it's about being on the journey and all the things you experience along the way. For us, John's Overlook wasn't the goal endpoint; the journey getting there and back was.
As for the view at this point in the hike, it was indeed still green as far as the eye could see.
As for the view at this point in the hike, it was indeed still green as far as the eye could see.
For some reason, I think Tucker looks like an east coast dog. He blends well with the colors and landscape.
As we finished up our photoshoot, a big white truck pulled into the parking lot. An older gentleman with a white mustache, wearing a baseball cap got out, camera in hand.
We said hello, and then he said, “You hiked here?”
“Yup, sure did.” I can’t see how the level of sweat pouring off me could be excused in any other manner.
“You’re not from here, are you?”
Nope, clearly not.
Two dogs in the pickup truck started baying, and a woman in the front seat yelled at them. As I tried to tug Tucker along to the trailhead where the 2.5 mile trail that would complete the loop back to the Falls began, she stepped out.
“You hiked here?” she asked, exasperated. (I don’t think she had heard my answer over the dogs barking.) “How long of a hike is it?”
I told her it was about 2 miles up, and about 3 miles down.
She shook her head. “Maybe is my younger years.”
I started down the trail and she yelled after me, “You’re not afraid of bears, hiking alone?”
Well, no, not till you just said that. Thanks.
I shrugged. “No.”
Her husband, who was snapping pictures turned around and said, “I don’t imagine she’s afraid of much with him as her hiking partner.”
I smiled and said, “Yeah, but he’d probably try to be friends with the bear, and then I’d have a whole other problem.”
We wished each other well and I started down the trail, thinking of Mt. Mitchell where the same sort of encounter happened. Tucker and I had hiked a few beautiful miles to get there. Those who walked the 500 feet from the parking lot, seeing a disheveled woman and her panting dog, had to wonder how out of shape we were to not even be able to make it from the parking lot without extreme physical difficulty.
As soon as we were out of sight of the truck, the couple and their dogs, we came across this--far creepier than any bear in my opinion:
We said hello, and then he said, “You hiked here?”
“Yup, sure did.” I can’t see how the level of sweat pouring off me could be excused in any other manner.
“You’re not from here, are you?”
Nope, clearly not.
Two dogs in the pickup truck started baying, and a woman in the front seat yelled at them. As I tried to tug Tucker along to the trailhead where the 2.5 mile trail that would complete the loop back to the Falls began, she stepped out.
“You hiked here?” she asked, exasperated. (I don’t think she had heard my answer over the dogs barking.) “How long of a hike is it?”
I told her it was about 2 miles up, and about 3 miles down.
She shook her head. “Maybe is my younger years.”
I started down the trail and she yelled after me, “You’re not afraid of bears, hiking alone?”
Well, no, not till you just said that. Thanks.
I shrugged. “No.”
Her husband, who was snapping pictures turned around and said, “I don’t imagine she’s afraid of much with him as her hiking partner.”
I smiled and said, “Yeah, but he’d probably try to be friends with the bear, and then I’d have a whole other problem.”
We wished each other well and I started down the trail, thinking of Mt. Mitchell where the same sort of encounter happened. Tucker and I had hiked a few beautiful miles to get there. Those who walked the 500 feet from the parking lot, seeing a disheveled woman and her panting dog, had to wonder how out of shape we were to not even be able to make it from the parking lot without extreme physical difficulty.
As soon as we were out of sight of the truck, the couple and their dogs, we came across this--far creepier than any bear in my opinion:
I tip my hat to whoever thought of writing that to freak people out. We continued along the path which stayed on the ridgeline, offering views of the valley below between the trees.
One one of our journeys slightly off the path to catch a glimpse of the pastures below, Tucker proudly announced, "Look! Fall!"
One one of our journeys slightly off the path to catch a glimpse of the pastures below, Tucker proudly announced, "Look! Fall!"
Indeed, those sparse leaves were all we were going to see of the season we sought.
But that didn't detract from our walk in the woods. Instead of experiencing the glorious colors of Autumn, I was reminded of the subtle beauty in all woods year round.
But that didn't detract from our walk in the woods. Instead of experiencing the glorious colors of Autumn, I was reminded of the subtle beauty in all woods year round.
Every rock seems specially placed, the lichen and moss dressing them just so. The trees space themselves appropriately, and leaves of autumns past blanket the ground.
Whoever thinks this earth is here only to be plundered by us because we are humans, has never taken a walk in the woods. Beauty exists here not because people will see it one day and enjoy it; it exists because Mother Nature is innately beautiful. The world isn't here for us to steal its elements, waste its resources, and wreak havoc on its delicate balance. It is a work of art we are to preserve, protect, and enjoy. You would never walk into an art gallery and knock over a sculpture to take a piece with you; you wouldn't dump the drink you don't feel like finishing all over the handmade woven fabric of a quilt; and you wouldn't rip a painting off the wall, stomp on it, and slice through the canvas.
Nature is art, the world her gallery. Around ever bend is a new piece to explore and experience. The way a leaf falls from the tree and lands upon a stone; the clouds caressing the tips of mountaintops as you look into the distance; the way the light plays on the forest floor, dancing with the shadows.
I had been hoping to visit during her spectacular Annual Autumn Exhibition, but we were a little early--or maybe in the wrong wing of her gallery. Tucker and I would continue searching for it, but in the meantime, we pay reverence to the art already on display.
Whoever thinks this earth is here only to be plundered by us because we are humans, has never taken a walk in the woods. Beauty exists here not because people will see it one day and enjoy it; it exists because Mother Nature is innately beautiful. The world isn't here for us to steal its elements, waste its resources, and wreak havoc on its delicate balance. It is a work of art we are to preserve, protect, and enjoy. You would never walk into an art gallery and knock over a sculpture to take a piece with you; you wouldn't dump the drink you don't feel like finishing all over the handmade woven fabric of a quilt; and you wouldn't rip a painting off the wall, stomp on it, and slice through the canvas.
Nature is art, the world her gallery. Around ever bend is a new piece to explore and experience. The way a leaf falls from the tree and lands upon a stone; the clouds caressing the tips of mountaintops as you look into the distance; the way the light plays on the forest floor, dancing with the shadows.
I had been hoping to visit during her spectacular Annual Autumn Exhibition, but we were a little early--or maybe in the wrong wing of her gallery. Tucker and I would continue searching for it, but in the meantime, we pay reverence to the art already on display.
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