I'm insanely busy and far behind on blogging. So I'll catch up a little with Easter Sunday afternoon, when my boyfriend and I headed down to the Smoky Mountains for a hike. Picnic first by the Little Pigeon River.
It was about 70 degrees at home that day and sunny, maybe just a bit cooler in the Smokies and perfect weather for a hike.
The trail started crossing Rhododendron Creek. Repeatedly. One of us had on a pair of sandals while the other had to stop and take her hiking boots off, wade across the creek and put them back on over and over. Yeah, that one was me.
I eventually decided to hike barefooted for a while until we'd left that creek behind and again on the way back. Fortunately much of the trail was carpeted in leaves and moss.
There were some early wildflowers in bloom. Trillium, one of my favorites.
And Turk's Cap Lily.
A few of the creek crossings had either stones that could be stepped on or convenient tree trunks to walk across. But mostly it was straight through the icy water.
This area was occupied by European settlers in 1800, but little remains of the homesites except for stone walls and piles of rock that once made chimneys.
On one former chimney there was a shard of old pottery resting on top of the rocks.
Over the gap and down to Injun Creek, a cartographer goof. It was actually named for the engine that toppled into the creek rather than the Native American/Indians in the area.
Apparently this self-propelled steam engine was use to go up the mountain to bring back wood for the school house in the 1920's.
The driver missed the switchback and the engine landed upside down in the creek and the wheels came off. Oops.
About 6 miles round trip. Every time I go for a hike, I wonder why I don't go more often.