From the managing editor, August 2019

I often drive across the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, and I always feel the presence of nature around me.

U.S. 441 is my preferred route going from Waynesville, North Carolina, to Sevierville, Tennessee, and back.

Driving an old American sedan, I don’t have all the bells and whistles you find in modern vehicles, such as bluetooth, digital music, or even a CD player. I have an AM-FM radio in the dash, but it drops the signal quickly as I climb the mountain after leaving Cherokee.

I am almost always happy to lose radio and cell phone service in the park because it forces me to A) pay attention while driving, and B) note the many wonders of nature.

I’ve slowed to watch elk grazing or standing guard, and the number of wild turkey is inspiring.

Like children of the mid-20th century who always look skyward when hearing an airplane or helicopter, I always slow to see the wildlife that may have wandered close to the road.

I love to make the drive in the off-season, and once when the region was threatened with snow I came across the pass from Gatlinburg to Cherokee to find I was to be one of the last cars crossing the mountains that night, as park rangers had the lane closed for drivers going in the opposite direction. It hadn’t seemed there was anything to worry about when I was at the pinnacle of the gap, but the Park Service pays close attention, so ice might have been threatening as I drove. 

The last time I came over the mountain back towards Waynesville I saw and stopped to pick up a hiker near the Sugarlands Visitors Center.

Turns out he was walking the Appalachian Trail north, heading home, on foot, to Canada. 

He was carrying a backpack that held everything he needed, he said, but it had been nice to visit Gatlinburg for a hot meal.

As we followed the road up under the shadow of Chimney Tops he told me of how he spends much of his life walking. He said he had recently completed The Pacific Crest Trail through California, Oregon and Washington, walking from the border of Mexico to the border with Canada.

Before that he said he had walked across New Zealand.

This current jaunt had begun near Springer Mountain in Georgia, and he was looking forward to a stop in Hot Springs, North Carolina, where the AT goes down the main street in town.

It had been raining a lot, so he was expecting to sleep that night beneath his shelter half somewhere along the trail.

I cannot recall how far he intended to walk that day; there were maybe four more hours of daylight when he got out of the car in the parking lot at Newfound Gap.

I suggested he stay in Hot Springs for at least a few hours to enjoy a refreshing soak in the nature-heated, jetted tubs at Hot Springs Resort and Spa, which has drawn travelers for centuries.

He said that sounded really nice.

I bade him goodbye and headed home. As I drove I contemplated his journeys.

Perhaps his New Zealand hike had been on Te Araroa, which stretches 1,865 miles from Cape Reinga in the north of New Zealand to Bluff in the south.

The Pacific Crest Trail is 2,650 miles from one end to the other, while the AT is about 2,190 miles, not counting the additional distance from Mount Katahdin in Maine to his home in Canada.

I walked a lot in the Army Reserve, but the excursions my rider had accomplished seem monumental. Walking is fine, but I just do not think I am of a mind to take off on a 1,000 or 2,000 mile-plus “walk in the woods.”

The hot tub is more my style, with a great dinner afterwards, and an inviting bed.

—Jonathan Austin