WILDFLOWER ADVENTURES March 23

First of Four Wonderful Days

Hugh Nourse, my hero, and Carol Nourse wrote a wonderful book, Favorite Wildflower Walks in Georgia.  I am determined, before I croak, to see every one.  When I asked where Hugh and Carol stayed when they were scouting out trails in Northwest Georgia, he suggested Mountain Laurel Inn in Mentone, Alabama.   Sarah Wilcox will welcome us there at 3 PM, Alabama time (4 PM Georgia).

Fortunately I have two friends willing to join in on wildflower adventures: Don and Marguerite.  For those who read my last entry, you will understand why I am thrilled that Don is driving.  A good driver, he has a wonderful new car with classical music and opera Serius stations.  Between that and Marguerite’s conversation, we do not mind getting stuck in traffic near Atlanta.  I am lying on the back seat, resting my back from three straight days of weeding.  Last year I trained myself to weed only two hours each day but I forgot the punishment for not following that rule.

Going to Cloudland Canyon for lunch makes sense.  At the office we get directions for the canyon trail, which we like better than the rim trail.  Walking on the rim has many dramatic views but is fairly rocky and shy of flowers.  The bottom of the canyon is an easier walk and full of beautiful plants and two ripply streams.  But first we have lunch and all three of us take pictures of each other taking pictures of the view.  It’s cool up there, almost 1800 feet, and windy.

Getting to Sitton’s Gulch Trail is strange because after we leave the entrance to Cloudland Canyon State Park, we drive down the mountain and through a housing development.  There are caves in this part of the park but, because the State is trying to help bats with the infectious white nose disease, they have closed them to people.   

 Cloudland Canyon is on the Cumberland Plateau, atop Lookout Mountain.  There is only one Lookout Mountain but it is located in Georgia, Alabama, and Tennessee.   Many of the park amenities were built by the blessed Civilian Conservation Corps.   For more on this beautiful place, check out https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cloudland_Canyon_State_Park

Here are photos of parts of the trail and streams.

Marguerite finding butterflies

Just a few of the very large boulders

When we set out on the trail, Don takes off.  M and I take a slower pace so we can study the butterflies, flowers, ferns, and such.  (Here are photographs which I attempt to label correctly using reference books and questions to experts.  Any mistakes are mine.  These are WILD flowers we saw in about two hours.)

Flowers and ferns:

Giant Chickweed

Dwarf Larkspur

Foamflower

Foamflower Closeup

Bouquet of Fiddleheads

Fiddlehead Getting Shade Under May Apple

Long Spurred Violet Front View

Long Spurred Violet with Obvious Spur

Bouquet of Long Spurred Violets with Spring Beauties

Ragwort with Pollinator

Rue Anemone

Rue Anemone Closeup

Spring Beauty

Slender Toothwort (I hope)

Slender Toothwort (I hope) with Leaves

Decumbent Trillium

Several Trout Lilies

Trout Lily Closeup

Whorled Rosinweed

Wild Blue Phlox

Wild Blue Phlox About to Open Fully

Wild Geranium Flower Closeup

Wild Geranium with Leaves

Closeup of Yellow Violet (below)

Halberdleaf Yellow Violet

Mayapple with Bud (They only flower on "twins")

Masses of Mayapples

Possibly Spring Cress

Buckeye getting ready to open

We do not see fast-moving Don again for about 90 minutes or more although he calls M on the phone to assure us he is alive.  When M is ready to rest on a rock by the stream, I set off to find Don.  I see a two foot long black snake with a yellow stripe along its side.  But I scare it to death when I grab my camera; it hides in the leaves.  No Don.  

Some of the beautiful creatures we saw (not counting the snake):

Three Dreamy Duskywing Butterflies Consorting

Question Mark Butterfly

I must have been too noisy because I scared this beautiful snail who was walking along until...  

Here s/he is hiding inside the shell from me.

I think this is a Cabbagewhite Butterfly Hiding from Me

As I begin to ascend a trail with large boulders on my right and a ravine on my left, I see a thin woman descending rapidly, wearing ear phones.  She takes them off when I ask whether she’s seen a man with a blue jacket on her way down.  “Nope.  I met a young man named Clyde, though, as I came down the whole descent.” 

Well, if Don is not in front of me, maybe he took one of the side cave trails.  I return to Marguerite who reports that Don is returning and will meet us in about 20 minutes. 

We amble back.  While we wait near the parking lot, I chat with an older (than me) gent who is walking behind us on a small trail.  He has a cane and uses it to point to the flowers, which he names with authority.  He comes here several times each year, lucky man.  Here are the flowers we saw only on that trail:

Canadian Violet

Oxalis Leaves

Closeup of the Stone Crop (below)

Sedum Stone Crop with Moss

 When Don arrives we set off for our apartment at the Mountain Laurel Inn.  It’s close by and is ever so much nicer than a chain motel (in Trenton, Georgia) where we stayed last year.  Our host welcomes us with information about where to eat, how to walk (walk!) to DeSoto Falls from our place, when to come for breakfast, and maps.  After we take our bags up, we go to DeSoto State Park Grill.  We’re so hungry we eat everything.  I forget what I have because I see a photograph of pitcher plants on the wall.  My iPhone says the rare green mountain pitcher plant has been reported in this park.  No one in the restaurant knows where they can be found but I finally learn that a park guide named Ken can help tomorrow morning.  I’m on the hunt…

Don, Marguerite, and I Perusing the Menu

 On the menu is information about DeSoto State Park, which was also constructed by the blessed CCC.  President Roosevelt was a genius to hire unemployed people during the depression to build this natural heritage.  I wonder whether another President will be so forward thinking and have a cooperative Senate.

It is supposed to rain Thursday, as early as 10:00 AM, so we decide to stay in this area and get an early start.

 Thanks to Dale Hoyt, Don Hunter, and Hugh Nourse for help with correctly identified plants.  If you see any mistakes, please write me in the Comments section so readers will get the correct information, okay?

WATERFALL ADVENTURES

“‘I want to stare death in the eye’… how Christopher Hitchens, Susan Sontag, John Updike and other great writers confronted their mortality.”  This Guardian headline attracts me the morning before Helen and I leave for the North Georgia mountains.  I view myself as someone who faces death with relative ease.  Hah!

On this three-day, five-waterfall trip I find I don’t want to stare death in the eye or nose or any other part of death.  I don’t want my car to roll down a mountain.  I’m afraid of a flat tire and getting stuck in the mud.  What kind of adventurer am I, anyway?

PLANNING our waterfall adventure:  My Hiking Waterfalls in Georgia and South Carolina guide book has colored slips of paper marking four hikes of half-mile or less.  Helen is only six months away from knee surgery so I’ve selected walks that are labeled “Easy.” 

WEDNESDAY

After we go past the cutoff for Smithgall Woods, I drive toward Falls #1 and 2 on Water Creek. 
At the Chestatee Wildlife Management Area I grab my free fishing/hunting certificate, a benefit of being this old.

After seeing a cute little drip of a falls, we see a sign by the road which disturbs Helen:  “Bears Are Active In This Area.”  
 Having seen a momma bear and two babies from the parking lot of another park a couple of years ago, I do not fear bears.  

  
We go down the hard packed dirt and find a place to park.

 Does it matter which is Falls #1 or 2?

 They are beautiful — both of them.














It’s late afternoon but I think we have time for one more waterfall:  Helton Creek Falls, near Vogel State Park.  We travel down a very bumpy 2.2 miles.  I worry about the strength of my tires; all the soft dirt must have washed away, leaving only rocks.  Helen gets out about halfway to check the depth of a large water puddle with her tall hiking stick.  Since I am traveling about 5 mph to safeguard the car’s tires and suspension, 2.2 miles takes quite a while.

 No other cars in the parking space, but after about five minutes walking on the three foot wide trail two young women come up behind us.  They live in Young Harris and come here often.  That’s nice to hear.  We let them pass because the path is full of rocks and gets even skinnier.

The falls are forceful and noisy, coming down from 30 feet.  We enjoy them fully without having to go to the very top; there is not much to grab ahold of and the sun is getting low on the horizon.  

 As we return to the car, two young men come from their car, followed by a van full of six young people.

 
    I say, “That was quite a road, wasn’t it?” 
    One of the guys says, “I’ll say.  I hope it’s worth all that bumping and jostling.” 

As we drive away we wonder what all those young people are going to do when it gets dark.

THURSDAY

 The next morning we head toward Blue Ridge and Sea Creek Falls.  My book says, “Seclusion!  If it’s seclusion you’re seeking, this is the waterfall for you.  Although it is a short and easy hike, this one doesn’t get much traffic.  Why, I have no idea because the way Sea Creek Falls flows perfectly into its own hidden cove is exceptional.” 

 On the way Helen sees a falling down house surrounded by a field of daffodils. 

 After we find the Cooper Creek Recreation Area and the Sea Creek sign, the unpaved side road is only .1 mile till where we park.  

 
The trail is a half-mile of  moving mud.   Looks like a new creek has formed recently and is heading toward the car.  


Nice ferns, moss, and lichens.

 Helen can’t safely travel up the muddy step-like roots to where the bulk of the falls are.  But she sits on a strangely placed toppled wall and leans out over the creek to see part of the falls. 

 I scrabble up to take pictures for her. 

 Massive boulders create a curve so the water flows in a curve too.   The one foot pathway is full of roots and sloppy with mud so I place my feet carefully.

 then...

 Out on the paved road again I see signs for Deep Hole.  What could that be?  I’m thinking of a sink hole in the ground.  But it’s a 25 foot deep hole in the Toccoa River.

   A fisherman tell us there are bass, catfish, and trout nearby.  He’s using “power bait” which looks like turquoise chewing gum.   It is a nice campground for fisherpeople.

 

then...

 “Ready for another adventure to an unknown place” I ask Helen.  “What about that sign for the Toccoa River Swing Bridge?  Let’s find out what a swing bridge is.”   My first mistake is not asking my smart phone. 

Lots of Running Pine

 Notice the lack of information on the sign?  We head off down a gravel road with no idea how far we’ll need to go. One narrow lane, there are occasional bulges for letting other cars pass. 
 I have to drive so close to the rising hillside on my left that I can take a photo of the running pine from the driver's seat. It is lonely heading out.

 The rocks are about four inches tall.  Frequent potholes are that deep as well.  The curves are so tight, I could be driving the Amalfi coast.  My car, which has over 210,000 miles on it, has never been asked to perform like this.

In my rear view mirror I see a large white SUV.  When I can, I let the young guy with Popeye arms pass.  I guess if my little Toyota Corolla was like his car, I could drive like he does.  And if I had his big muscled arms, I could push my car if the tire blew.

After some unknown amount of miles we come to big mud puddles in the middle of the road with gushy mud (with tire tracks) on the only side not going down the mountain. When I was younger I pushed cars out of snow banks, off ice, and even helped push our bus out of mud in Uganda (except we ultimately had to leave it in the mud).  What has happened to my strength and courage?  Damn, I don’t want to become a little old lady you have to help across the street!

 I just sit there for a minute or two and apologize to Helen because I decide to turn around.  I am afraid to get stuck and do not know whether I could be towed out of there.   I am ever so grateful that I can back up to a wide, non-muddy place.  I set the odometer to see how far we travel on the way back.

Going back, two cars pass us, going where we just left.  What do they know that we don’t?   The odometer reports we traveled 2.9 miles.  In two hours?   

 

As soon as we get to Blue Ridge I google Toccoa River Swing Bridge on my phone.   Supposedly it is the biggest swing bridge in the country.   The drive to it is THREE MILES long.  Missed it by 1/10 of a mile.  Frustrated finding I am the Queen of Wimp, I promise to try it again another time.  

Meantime, Helen and I enjoy our delicious Reuben at a newly opened German restaurant.  German polkas and waltzes the owner plays remind me of the wonderful dances Gene Halski  (Georgia’s best polka dancer) and I enjoyed during many Oktoberfests.  

 We have a few hours left of daylight so Helen and I walk on a trail at Brasstown Valley Resort.   It is fairly challenging because it is slippery and rocky. 

The winter woods glow with American Beech, which still have their golden brown leaves on them.

  Lots of dead hemlocks.  Perhaps some had blazes painted on them to mark the trail, because we travel quite a bit unsure of whether we are still going in the right direction.  We are. 

 Evening is beautiful.

FRIDAY:  Going Home Day

We both sleep very well after that four mile walk and wake up to have a hearty breakfast.  I will be searching for two more waterfalls for us to see on our way home.

We find Sliding Rock on Wildcat Creek because the guide book directions match what we find.  The unpaved road is fairly straight and wide. 

 The water moves over large smooth boulders and into pools that must be fun to cool off in during hot days.  I feel invigorated by this success and drive off to the sixth waterfall of our trip.  
Again, we follow paved country roads to get to the area described in the book.  “The trail to Minnehaha Falls is also known as the Fall Branch Trail.  Surprisingly, this waterfall does not seem to get a lot of traffic or praise…  Teeming with character and uplifting in spirit, I highly recommend the ‘laughing waters’ of Minnehaha.” 

Yes, the directions are complicated, but we follow them so very well until…  “After approximately 0.1 mile, Low Gap Road makes a sharp bend to the right and a dirt road continues straight ahead.  This dirt road is Bear Gap Road.  Follow it along the lakeside for 1.5 miles to a small pullout on the left.”

We see the dirt road.  We both see the sign pointing to “Minnehaha Falls.”  I drive down the very same dirt road.  And keep on driving, further along on the skinniest road we’ve been on, with sharp turns and a rocky surface.  I see no pullout whatsoever and do not take a single photo.   Soon we’re up in a mountain and I have no idea where I am.  Frankly scared, I try to look calm for Helen’s sake.  Some very strange people actually live off of Lake Seed.  They have to drive down at an angle to their home that would give me perpetual nightmares. 

I have no place to turn around until we’ve gone what seems like hours with my nose pressed against the front window, my fingers gripping the wheel so tightly they’ve turned snow white. We’re obviously on the wrong road.  But would it be better to keep going forward?  I can see Lake Seed way down there to the left.  Jeez, I can’t look down there.  I’m singing a gospel chorus to myself, “God is keepin’ me.”  That helps.  I’m so very thankful my 2003 Corolla is up to this. 

The internet says, “Seed Lake is a 240-acre (0.97 km²) reservoir with 13 miles (21 km) of shoreline located in Rabun County.”

After another couple of hours we eventually come to a real road, which goes to Route 441.  I tell Helen, “We’re going to Goats on a Roof for ice cream right now!”

I am so embarrassed by my fear and lack of humor.  I wouldn’t blame Helen if she never went on another trip with me.  But a couple of days later she writes, “Thanks again for all the driving you did. I enjoyed the trip immensely. Hope your car recovers…”

That same day, when I tell my friend, Michael, the story of not finding Minihaha Falls, he says, “You know what that waterfall is?  Ha! Ha!”  I laugh like crazy.