When your companion is a trusting, fearless adventure dog, you end up being the one voice of reason in the relationship. Hiking to Looking Glass Rock should have raised my risk awareness, but for some reason it hadn’t dawned on me that a hike named Looking Glass Rock wasn’t to a place to view the Rock, but rather was the trail to stand atop it.
I had wanted to do it back during our Asheville tour last year, but ended up running out of time. With Georgia in the rearview mirror and a Thanksgiving roadtrip begun, our first stop was our favorite town in North Carolina for a one day stroll up a mountain.
Here’s a stock photo of Looking Glass Rock:
Here’s a stock photo of Looking Glass Rock:
It is named so because in the winter (which is just upon us) hits, the water and snow melt into a sheet of ice on that vertical stretch of rock. Again, I wasn’t really thinking about that fact, and that my faithful companion didn’t see any risk of climbing to a place with a slippery 45 degree angle off a cliff.
The trail itself was a meandering, upward hike of 1700 feet elevation through the woods. Autumn was taking its final breaths, so the even though we were deep in the woods, we could see out to the rolling Blue Mountains beyond.
The trail itself was a meandering, upward hike of 1700 feet elevation through the woods. Autumn was taking its final breaths, so the even though we were deep in the woods, we could see out to the rolling Blue Mountains beyond.
I can only imagine how green and cozy the trail must be in the height of summer. I wouldn’t want to hike it then, with the sweltering east coast heat. Sixty-five degrees is just the right temperature for a straight uphill journey to a mountaintop.
Tucker took a “this is what we’ll look like” moment about half way up the mountain to prepare himself for an even steeper rock.
Tucker took a “this is what we’ll look like” moment about half way up the mountain to prepare himself for an even steeper rock.
The trail should have been called Stairway to Heaven. Although lacking actual stairs (which was a surprise given the strange places I’ve seen stairs—including Kennesaw battlefield), it was quite uphill the whole way. We paused for a moment when we saw the trail go downward. A couple sat on a fallen tree, eating lunch with their dog beneath them. Tucker and I started downhill then stopped. Alltrails said we had reached our destination, but there was no sprawling vista. It didn’t seem like we had reached the end. The last thing I wanted to do with go downhill just to have to come back up with zero payout. Another couple had started down the hill while Tucker and I waited and then they returned.
“Was that the right way?” I asked.
They weren’t sure. They had turned around before reaching anywhere that seemed like a giant vertical rock face.
A couple behind me paused and we both contemplated whether or not to take the extra steps to find out for ourselves. Tucker and I had been walking for over two hours and risen over 1600 feet in three miles. We weren’t going to walk away without at least trying to find the endzone.
Tucker and I descended the trail that looked more like a slightly muddy old riverbed. The center was a deep gash in the earth two feet deep. I walked along the edges and Tucker ducked in and out depending on what terrain he felt like trying. We were walking for about ten minutes when someone came up.
“Is Looking Glass Rock down there?” I asked.
“Oh yeah!” they said, breathless from the upward climb. “Just keep going!”
Tucker and I did, and were rewarded with the ground flattening out. Like Alice emerging from the the woods, Tucker and I came across a small opening in the bushes, and walked through, expecting to come out in Wonderland.
“Was that the right way?” I asked.
They weren’t sure. They had turned around before reaching anywhere that seemed like a giant vertical rock face.
A couple behind me paused and we both contemplated whether or not to take the extra steps to find out for ourselves. Tucker and I had been walking for over two hours and risen over 1600 feet in three miles. We weren’t going to walk away without at least trying to find the endzone.
Tucker and I descended the trail that looked more like a slightly muddy old riverbed. The center was a deep gash in the earth two feet deep. I walked along the edges and Tucker ducked in and out depending on what terrain he felt like trying. We were walking for about ten minutes when someone came up.
“Is Looking Glass Rock down there?” I asked.
“Oh yeah!” they said, breathless from the upward climb. “Just keep going!”
Tucker and I did, and were rewarded with the ground flattening out. Like Alice emerging from the the woods, Tucker and I came across a small opening in the bushes, and walked through, expecting to come out in Wonderland.
At least Wonderland was flat. I have this inexplicable feeling anytime I near the edge of something (like a bridge or cliff) that I’m going to lean forward and fall off. The pictures I took don’t give you the full impressions of the slope as I was utterly terrified to go anywhere near the edge—unlike Tucker, who wanted to race down the slippery granite to the hang this head over the edge. Once again, I wish I had Tucker’s sense of adventure and lack of awareness for mortality.
I sat down and scooched myself across the rock. Trees had been able to take root. Surely that was a sign that my inadequate human feet in manmade footwear could also get a hold on the earth near there. I was envious of the people who walked confidently down to the edge, with no feeling of suddenly pitching forward as I had the moment I stood up, even thirty yards from any actual danger.
The views from the center of the rock were still good, even given that Autumn's peak had passed; the colors muted as the trees prepared for snowfall.
Trickles of water had become ice on the rocks, and I carefully stepped (or sat my butt down) around them. I was ashamed for being the only one truly fearing for her life. And then I turned around and saw a dog experiencing the exact same thing.
Unlike Tucker who stood solid and proud, his elbows turned out, on the granite slope with no fear of falling but only harboring disappointment for not being able to run right up the edge, the coonhound up the rock behind me was quaking from snout to tail, hiding behind her young owner’s leg, trying to get as far up into the bushes as possible.
“Your dog looks like how I feel,” I told him.
He laughed. “She’s a scaredy-cat. That’s why we brought here—to get her to be not so scared.”
He dragged the poor girl down the slope a little (nowhere near the edge) and held her between his legs to brace her. He smiled, looking toward his hiking partner to take a photo of them. I saw the whale eyes… I noted the tail tucked far up underneath her… I smelled the fear… I was astonished that the little girl didn’t just turn to the man, bite him in the nuts, and run up into the hills. Dogs go beyond their own emotions for the sake of their people—and dial it back when we need them to. I felt blessed to have such an understanding companion, unlike the coonhound whose companion wasn’t respecting her limitations.
Other people walked about the rock with ease, took pictures, and stood on the edge. I know Tucker was disappointed and perhaps I was also a little disappointed in myself, but as I’ve gotten older, my aversion to risk as increased. I’m not sure if it’s age or just the fact that I have another being relying on my existence to sustain his life.
Unlike Tucker who stood solid and proud, his elbows turned out, on the granite slope with no fear of falling but only harboring disappointment for not being able to run right up the edge, the coonhound up the rock behind me was quaking from snout to tail, hiding behind her young owner’s leg, trying to get as far up into the bushes as possible.
“Your dog looks like how I feel,” I told him.
He laughed. “She’s a scaredy-cat. That’s why we brought here—to get her to be not so scared.”
He dragged the poor girl down the slope a little (nowhere near the edge) and held her between his legs to brace her. He smiled, looking toward his hiking partner to take a photo of them. I saw the whale eyes… I noted the tail tucked far up underneath her… I smelled the fear… I was astonished that the little girl didn’t just turn to the man, bite him in the nuts, and run up into the hills. Dogs go beyond their own emotions for the sake of their people—and dial it back when we need them to. I felt blessed to have such an understanding companion, unlike the coonhound whose companion wasn’t respecting her limitations.
Other people walked about the rock with ease, took pictures, and stood on the edge. I know Tucker was disappointed and perhaps I was also a little disappointed in myself, but as I’ve gotten older, my aversion to risk as increased. I’m not sure if it’s age or just the fact that I have another being relying on my existence to sustain his life.
Tucker and I enjoyed the view long enough for me to stop slightly trembling from my fear. Then we stepped back through the portal in the bushes to climb back up the muddy riverbed path.
We paused for a moment to explore a trail that went nowhere at the top before heading back down through the woods. I gave thanks for having such an adventurous dog.
We paused for a moment to explore a trail that went nowhere at the top before heading back down through the woods. I gave thanks for having such an adventurous dog.
I’d rather it be me, not him, that holds us back. He takes disappointment far better than I do (although it means I have to look at his sad, pouty face which is plenty of payback for my inadequacy.)
As we drove back through the wooded lanes, the last echoes of Autumn fading from the treetops, I wished upon a falling leaf to return to the Blueridge Mountains soon. Although it’s all one big planet, some places feel more like home than others. For Tucker and me, Asheville holds that title. Although there is a familiarity about it, I think we could spend years here and still find new places to explore. It’s like falling in love with someone: you love them for who they are, but the joy of that love is that no matter how well you think you know them, they can still surprise you.
I hope someday I surprise Tucker (and myself) by being able to fearlessly walk up to the cliff’s edge. I look forward to returning to Asheville to explore, and in the meantime take joy in every new discovery Tucker and I make—not only in the places we visit, but in each other.
As we drove back through the wooded lanes, the last echoes of Autumn fading from the treetops, I wished upon a falling leaf to return to the Blueridge Mountains soon. Although it’s all one big planet, some places feel more like home than others. For Tucker and me, Asheville holds that title. Although there is a familiarity about it, I think we could spend years here and still find new places to explore. It’s like falling in love with someone: you love them for who they are, but the joy of that love is that no matter how well you think you know them, they can still surprise you.
I hope someday I surprise Tucker (and myself) by being able to fearlessly walk up to the cliff’s edge. I look forward to returning to Asheville to explore, and in the meantime take joy in every new discovery Tucker and I make—not only in the places we visit, but in each other.
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