When looking for new hikes, I tend to avoid one marked “strenuous” or “difficult.” I’m not the most in-shape person, and I err on the side of caution when it comes to my physical limitations. If the elevation map shows a ridiculously high peak, I continue turning pages. But I really wanted to hike to Mount Mitchell, the highest peak on the east coast. Perhaps the trick was to simply not start at sea level.
Like many trails and points of interest, Mount Mitchell is along the Blue Ridge Parkway. You could, should you really not want to hike, park near the concession stand in the parking lot, grab a bottle of water and a Snickers Bar, and walk .2 miles up a sloped, paved sidewalk to the top.
That didn’t seem like much fun to me.
Old Mitchell Trail is listed as a strenuous 3 hour hike. However, the elevation gain is only 580 feet. Coming from California, that’s just a small hill. The entire area though sits at over 6000 feet. The description of it being more like the climate of Canada than the Southern Appalachian Mountains seemed accurate even though I’ve never been to Canada.
Upon arrival to the park office, I found only two other vehicles, so I was glad it wouldn’t be tourist-filled. Nor did I think it would be given that it was about twenty degrees cooler here than down below, and it was listed as a "strenuous" hike. There was a beautiful chilly breeze, and the air was filled with a fog that you could see the tiny droplets of mist dancing in the wind.
Tucker and I walked across the parking lot to the entrance of the trail and found this:
Like many trails and points of interest, Mount Mitchell is along the Blue Ridge Parkway. You could, should you really not want to hike, park near the concession stand in the parking lot, grab a bottle of water and a Snickers Bar, and walk .2 miles up a sloped, paved sidewalk to the top.
That didn’t seem like much fun to me.
Old Mitchell Trail is listed as a strenuous 3 hour hike. However, the elevation gain is only 580 feet. Coming from California, that’s just a small hill. The entire area though sits at over 6000 feet. The description of it being more like the climate of Canada than the Southern Appalachian Mountains seemed accurate even though I’ve never been to Canada.
Upon arrival to the park office, I found only two other vehicles, so I was glad it wouldn’t be tourist-filled. Nor did I think it would be given that it was about twenty degrees cooler here than down below, and it was listed as a "strenuous" hike. There was a beautiful chilly breeze, and the air was filled with a fog that you could see the tiny droplets of mist dancing in the wind.
Tucker and I walked across the parking lot to the entrance of the trail and found this:
If I could be in love with a trail, it was with this one. So often “trails” consist of five foot wide dirt pathways, or the opposite—one foot wide dried-up streambed-like paths that are a foot and and a half deep. This, now this, was a trail. Even through the meadow, it kept its character of rocky terrain while not being overwhelming.
Not only was this trail primal nature, but those who cared for the trails made it impossible to get lost. In all my hiking, these are the very best signs at trail crossings that I have ever encountered.
Once beyond the colorful signs—and a cafe in a field (which you could easily drive to via the Parkway, but coming upon it on foot is a little jarring), you were once more back in nature.
The views were stunning. And I hadn’t even reached the top yet.
This trail was the perfect mix of open views and cozy forest trails. Tucker and I had to crawl across boulders, climb over giant roots, and rock-hop across streams. (Pictures were not taken of these moments as I was too busy making sure neither of us plummeted to our death or got wedged between rocks.)
We emerged from the trail about half way up that aforementioned .2 paved pathway to the peak, I with muddy pants, hair askew half-tucked under a dirty hat, and covered in sweat, and both Tucker and me panting from the especially steep grade that was the final quarter mile. As I stood a moment to catch my breath, I heard a woman on the paved path say in an exasperated tone, “They said it was 300 yards, but not 300 yards straight up hill! Geez!” Then she came around the corner and saw me. In her mind, the vision of me probably proved her point, although she couldn’t work out why my pant legs were wet.
Tucker and I continued to the top where our muddy, delightful journey was rewarded with 360 degree views of the Appalachian Mountains.
We emerged from the trail about half way up that aforementioned .2 paved pathway to the peak, I with muddy pants, hair askew half-tucked under a dirty hat, and covered in sweat, and both Tucker and me panting from the especially steep grade that was the final quarter mile. As I stood a moment to catch my breath, I heard a woman on the paved path say in an exasperated tone, “They said it was 300 yards, but not 300 yards straight up hill! Geez!” Then she came around the corner and saw me. In her mind, the vision of me probably proved her point, although she couldn’t work out why my pant legs were wet.
Tucker and I continued to the top where our muddy, delightful journey was rewarded with 360 degree views of the Appalachian Mountains.
I looked across and spied the cafe that we had walked by and was astounded by how far we really had hiked. [Center of picture, follow the winding path--the parkway--to the building and that was our half-way point.]
Tucker enjoyed the view as well.
He sat on North Carolina.
And became king of the mountain.
Sometimes it hits me where we are and how far we’ve come. And I don’t just mean when it’s indicated on a post-it note.
I think about Tucker’s previous life, and how long he sat in that shelter. And how so many like him never make it out. Three thousand miles from where we stood on this peak, Tucker almost lost his life because people thought he was “unwanted” and didn’t deserve to live. When really, all he wanted was to really, truly live.
Tucker, I hope I’m giving you that opportunity to really, truly live. Even if you have to put up with me taking pictures of you in all the super cool places our journey of life together takes us.
Tucker, I hope I’m giving you that opportunity to really, truly live. Even if you have to put up with me taking pictures of you in all the super cool places our journey of life together takes us.
Thank you for reaching the peak with me. Don’t worry: this isn’t the last one; there are many more summits to climb. I promise.
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