These three pictures were taken about half-way up Springer Mountain, upon which is the Southern terminus of the Appalachian Trail. What a day today we had getting there.
It started as a day's plan to head to Springer to see the start of the AT, then down the other side of the mountain and down to Dahlonega to the North Georgia Premium outlet mall to visit Restoration Hardware to try to find a medicine cabinet for our guest bathroom...we headed out via Aska road to the South, relying on a map we bought Monday that depicted the N GA mtns and the various roads that traversed them...we figured we'd follow the roads as they were displayed on the map, adding maybe 8 or 10 miles to the trip. Well worth it, we thought, as we really wanted to see the beginning of the trail.
We turned off the main, asphalt road at a sign that said Springer Mountain 6.5 miles, and found ourselves on a gravel road...not badly kept, but a gravel road nonetheless. But what the hell, we are in the mountains, and it lent a somewhat "adventurous" flavor to our trip. The ride was bumpy, but beautiful as we could look down from the mountain (elevation of around 4,300' or so) on the slopes and see valleys, mountains in the distance, and blue sky. It was beautiful scenery all the way up to the top...or to where we thought we would end up at the top.
I was expecting a parking lot with a car or two from which a few day-hikers had gotten out to spend the day on the trail. But as we crested near the top of the mountain, we found an empty, well nearly so, parking lot on our left that had a map depicting the last .9 mile hike up to the peak of the mountain and the beginning of the AT. We were about to get out and hike it, but noticed behind us a '70s old Ford LTD with a license plate out of date for more than a year, and wondered what the car was doing there. Both of us were feeling uneasy about that, in that you have to understand two things about the moment...(1) it was as quiet as a funeral parlor at midnight, and (2) we were in the mountains where the Burt Reynolds movie, "Deliverance" was filmed. For those of you who have seen the movie it will be easy to picture this behind-a row-of-trees parking area, an old, rusted Ford, with, we soon discovered, all the windows broken out...the remnants were still in the weather stripping guides of the windows. I swear I began to hear a banjo playing, and could only think of Ned Beatty and his misfortune, felt this wasn't a good place to start a short hike, and decided we were close enough to the terminus to say we were there...so we left.
Our plan was to then drive on over the mountain as depicted on the map, and on into Dahlonega and on to the outlet mall. So off we go, on this one-lane gravel road. We went about a mile or two (remember, gravel road, narrow, ruts and rocks and traveling about 8 or 10 mph tops), and came to a fork in the road...a fork not depicted on this map which had immediately become suspect as to either it's age or the intelligence level of it's creator. We had two choices...go left and back on U.S. Forest Road #58, which was not on the map and which quickly disappeared behind a switchback of trees, or somewhat left onto U.S. Forest Road #42...which led to who knew where. Being the logical thinking and rational folks we are, we neither knew which road to take, and after several minutes of "where do you think this one goes?" and "shall we go back?" and "do you hear banjo music?" we took #42...and we drove, and we drove and we drove. When we left home we had about 3/4 of a tank of gas, but we were now down to about a 1/4 of a tank, and I had that little thought in the back of my mind of running out of gas...which momentarily displaced the flashes of scenes from "Deliverance" and replaced them with "Chainsaw Massacre" as I was forced to walk out of the Chattahoochee National Forest for gas and never making it...which would be worse...a chainsaw or toothless rapist...neither of which appealed to me, but at that moment a truck came up behind me.
Not one to panic, I at first thought, super...people. But then thought, what if they are related to the toothless rapist and out here to find folks running out of gas? So onward we went, with a little more bounce to the ride than before. After a little while, and after rounding a bend, I looked back and the white pickup was gone. I felt a little better, and then coming at us was a red pickup full of what looked like hunters...deer hunters...in overalls I suspected...the bouncing became a little more pronounced.
A mile or two on down this endless ribbon of gravel, believe it or not we came upon an Army 6-by heading up the mountain with soldiers inside in hard helmets...and before I could wonder outloud why they were wearing headgear inside the truck up ahead on the left was 2 or 3 Army trucks with soldiers camped alongside a creek, folding chairs out and them standing around...I could think only of the Copperhill Gun and Rifle club out there on maneuvers, the Copperhill Gun and Rifle club being a somewhat tunnel-visioned group of gun lovers who espoused their particular type of supremacy and belief they could use any and all of any Federal wilderness area or national forest for "maneuvers" to keep sharp. I therefore didn't stop to say hello to the soldiers waving to us, and kept right on going down the road. It wasn't but another 5 or 6 minutes when the next surreal event took place.
Walking towards us was this guy...he was wearing a high school letter type jacket, long sleeved and wool, walking with a cane it appeared, one long enough to beat off a critter that bothered him if necessary. As we neared him, he looked to be in his late 50's or 60's, weathered like he had been hiking in the sun for years, and he sauntered towards the truck. Since I figured I should at least make sure he was not injured and needing help (and with the thought I could make a run for it in the truck if his brothers came running out of the woods), listening all the while for a distant banjo pluck, I slowed and he came towards the truck. I kept moving slowly as he asked "Hey, Brothter. Do you have cell service here?" I answered truthfully that we tried a little while back and couldn't get a signal, at which he said "Sorry" and moved on...as did we. Now, bear in mind there was no vehicle, house, campground anywhere near this guy...we were still quite a ways up the mountain, and all of a sudden, out of nowhere, this guy appears...like an alien dropped on the mountain...maybe aliens who liked banjo music.
On down a little further we came upon a U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service Fish Hatchery out in the middle of nowhere, then, even more out in the middle of nowhere, the "Shady Grove Baptist Church" which was at least 3 or 4 miles of gravel road away from any habitable household as far as we could tell. I don't know from where any folks would come on a Sunday to meet and worship, but then again I have no idea where that guy came from...
Anyway, a little further along we hit a paved road, and learned we were about 5 miles only from where we had started 2 hours earlier. What a trip. And, to add insult to injury, we did the same thing trying to take a "short cut" home later in the afternoon...another story for another time...

This is the cabin we are staying in that is located in the Aska wilderness area in the Blue Ridge mountains in north Georgia. A very cozy, 2-br log built cabin, just 3.2 iles from some wonderful hiking that leads to a beautiful waterfall. The living/kitchen area is pretty much an open area, and you can see the upstairs bedroom door in the 3rd picture.

The 4th picture was taken yesterday at Vogel State Park, a beautiful little lake with a picturesque lake and over-hanging trees. We drove by it yesterday while heading to Dahlonega to do a little shopping...found several things we wanted for the house, a pair of Merrells for me, and a T-shirt for BD that says "Hike faster...I think I hear banjo music."

I must compliment "Bubba" in that he immediately recognized the literary genius in the post, at once grasped the intent and depth of the insight laid bare for all to see. His instant realization that he was reading excellence in prose infers the level of intelligence and perception of which he is in possesssion...