#32: Westward Bound

On Wednesday, July 1st, we packed up and set off for a month-long trip to Tennessee. We have some affairs to get in order there and both wanted a break from the stresses of work so we could have some time together as a family. We get few family days to enjoy together as Chris has been working so much and I usually have volunteer obligations at the park, so this was a good way to kill two birds with one stone.

We got packed up on Tuesday night for the most part. By 10am on Wednesday we were loaded up and ready to head down the mountain. This part of the drive turned into a bit of a skiing adventure momentarily and we skied down the gravel service road from the maintenance complex. Thankfully, Chris managed to maintain enough control to get us safely to the bottom and away we went. Junior spent the drive either napping or watching Home Alone on his new DVD player – a kind gift from his Tronny (my mother) and now our most treasured possession. We owe our peaceful drive entirely to her.

Though storms were forecast for the day we actually got remarkably lucky with the weather.  As we drew closer to Alabama the moving day jitters melted away and we arrived at our destination at around 2pm CST having gained an hour when we crossed the Alabama line.

Cheaha State Park was our home for the night and it was a fine choice, if I may say so myself.  The park is the highest point in Alabama.  Though the elevation is only 2,407 ft, it was a good transition point for us and still boasted the cooler mountain breezes we’ve grown so accustomed to, and some pretty stunning vistas.

Our reservation was for the lower campground which was toward the bottom of the mountain nestled in a valley next to Cheaha Lake. Arriving and setting up in the heat of the day put us in the mood for a dip so we promptly changed into our swimming gear and headed back out.

The lake was beautiful and the water was perfectly tepid.  The rocky peak of the mountain towered above us and we had the whole lake to ourselves.  We splashed around for an hour or so and Junior had a blast throwing big rocks into the lake and watching them sink to the sandy bottom.  It felt like our first real little family getaway – just us, no stress or worry, surrounded by wild nature.  I sat on the sand and listened to Junior cackling with delight as he splashed around with his Papa.  I think we all felt in that moment that we could have stayed there for an eternity.

But alas, dinnertime beckoned us back to the camper for some roasted veggies and smoked sausage.  After dinner we headed to the top of the mountain to Bald Rock for a walk.  The drive was stunning and we weaved through magnificent boulder fields and passed a few deer on our way to the top.

The short 1 mile trail consisted of a boardwalk elevated a few feet above the forest floor. It wound through the rugged ridge-top forest surrounded by lichen-covered boulders and twisted, gnarled trees. Chris and I remarked how we’d never seen so much lichen and that the landscape had a sort of eerie and ominous sense to it that was strikingly beautiful. “Cheaha” is derived from the Creek Indians who named the mountain “Cheaha” meaning high place. Roaming the landscape here and taking in its mysterious vibe, I was struck by what the Native American People must have seen in this land.

Of course, Junior had no time to notice this and he spent the entire walk charging up and down the boardwalk at full speed, only stopping momentarily here and there to gawp upwards at the towering tree tops. 

The trail ended at Bald Rock which provided a sweeping view to the West across the lower, flatter 400,000 acres of Talladega National Forest. We soaked in that breeze for a short while before heading back down the trail to the truck and we vowed to come back on our way home.

Chris and I indulged in a glass of wine for me and a beer for him that evening. We sat outside talking into the night and critically analyzing a Sturgill Simpson album. Though it’s the sort of thing we do regularly, the absence of the stresses and frustrations of everyday life as well as the change of scenery made it feel special. It was the perfect end to our mini family vacation.

The next morning we got packed up and, once again, managed to get on the road by 10am. Junior never made a peep for the whole 6 hour drive and was content with Home Alone and snacks. We got so lucky with the weather again, in fact we got lucky in just about every way with our trip. Every traffic light seemed to be green and every stop sign seemed to be clear.

That is, except for one heart-stopping moment. Coming out of the park there was a large dump truck in the middle of the road which forced us over and into the steep verge. This left the camper sliding down the bank off the road. Chris stepped on the accelerator and pulled us out in the nick of time. It was otherwise a very pleasant trip.

Around 2pm we stopped in Tupelo, MS at Veterans Memorial Park to stretch our legs. We thought it was a good, open space to let the boys run around and get some fresh air before the final stretch of our journey. But as we opened the doors and stepped out, the thick, heavy heat belted me in the face and about took me off my feet. I immediately began reconsidering my decision.

Junior had fun giggling at the ducks on the lake and Devon rolled happily in the grass as Chris and I tried our best not to collapse from the heat exhaustion. It wasn’t long before we were retreating back to the cramped quarters of the truck for the solace of the air conditioning.

Another 2 hours later and we finally made it to Chris’ parents’ house. As I stepped out of the truck the heat just about made me pass out. My head was immediately pounding and the sweat dripped from every inch of my body. 94 degrees (35 Celsius), 90% humidity, no trees for shade and not a lick of a breeze. Welcome to Tennessee. You’re not in the mountains now.

As Chris stepped out of the truck we looked at each other and said, with a shake of the head and a defeated grin, “shit, it’s gonna be a long month.”

We began setting the camper and getting things set up as quickly as possible, but ran into a snag. The outlet Chris’ Dad had gotten installed in the garage was the wrong one – we couldn’t plug our camper in. No power means no air conditioning. This was devastating news to me.

I was born in Canada and raised in England – I am biologically not cut out for these temperatures.  Chris laughs at me for my inability to handle the heat here.  I’m truly in awe of how anyone can actually function in these conditions.  It’s crippling to me, both physically and mentally.  In the last few years in the south I have found that summers often bring on dizzy spells and light headedness that has left me very close to passing out.  I get dehydrated quickly and I struggle to think straight.  No amount of water seems to help and I spend the height of the summer mostly inside – at least in the middle of the day.

So the lack of air conditioning was a deal breaker and I was close to suggesting we just find a nearby park to go to. Chris jumped in the truck and went out looking for a replacement receptacle to fix the problem. Meanwhile, I waited for his return outside. Devon doesn’t get along with other dogs at all so he couldn’t be in the house with my in-laws’ 2 dogs. He couldn’t go in the camper as it was close to 100 degrees (38 Celsius) in there even with the windows open. So I had to hang out with him in the front yard and wait for my husband to come to the rescue.

As Chris always does, he fixed it up and just before I completely melted in the heat, we finally had the a/c back on. Of course, by this point, I looked like I had just stepped out of a shower fully clothed.

I had hoped that the evening would bring cooler temperatures but alas it was not to be. The evening air was only mildly less stifling. As Chris and I laid down in bed that night with the a/c set as low as possible, we realized that we were in for a long, uncomfortable month with minimal outdoor activity. It was certainly a big shock to the system – one that we logically knew would occur but still knocked me sideways when we arrived. I’m hoping we get lucky with the weather and that there’ll be some rainy and overcast days so we can get out and go for some walks by the Mississippi river. But until this weather changes I’ll be in the camper hiding from the sun. Come hang out, but bring me something cold ✌️❤️

#19: A 21st Century Redneck Fairytale

It was a beautiful weekend when Chris and I met, much like it is today here at Vogel.  Though it’s colder here today, the sun is warm and has a way of making everything look so much prettier.  This time of year makes me think of how Chris and I got our start 3 years ago, though it was a few months earlier than that when we first met.

As I said, it was a beautiful weekend – or at least in my mind it was.  Meeting my future husband was, most definitely the last thing on my mind that Friday when I opened the door to Chris.  

In 2016 I was living with my roommate in Athens.  We had a large house with 2 spare rooms and a spare bathroom.  We decided to capitalize on this and rent the spare rooms out through AirBnB.  This proved to be a very lucrative venture for, in case you’re unfamiliar with Athens, GA, it’s the home of the Georgia Bulldogs (American college football).  On game weekends the population of Athens almost doubles from ~125,000 to ~200,000.  Their stadium holds about 93,000 but many come just for the spectacle of the tailgating events where fans spill onto the streets to grill out from the back of their trucks and play various drinking games on any square inch of outdoor space they can find.  The place becomes a circus.

Hotels hike their prices way up and still sell out for these events forcing fans to find alternative places to stay.  By renting our 2 spare rooms, and eventually our large sun room at the back of the house, we would make enough money in one weekend to cover the rent for the month.  We had up to 13 people staying in the house at any one time before.

So when Georgia played their long-time rival, Tennessee, on the last weekend of September in 2016, it was no surprise when we were booked up months in advance.  One such booking was from two young men from Memphis, TN; Bo and Chris.

They arrived on the Friday and we immediately clicked.  I had two friends, Sharryn and James, visiting from the UK, so we all hung out together for the weekend.  After Chris and Bo arrived I showed them to their room to get settled and then they came downstairs to the den for some drinks with us.  We had a lot in common – including the same twisted sense of humor, and we all became old friends instantly.  The Memphians found it hysterical to hear us Brits cuss so we gave them a lesson in British swearing – in my opinion one is not a true Brit unless they can swear and drink like one.  They asked where the good bars were in Athens so I invited them out with us that night and they gladly accepted.

Bo on the left, me in the middle, and Chris scowling in the foreground. 2016

We ended up hanging out all weekend, tailgating together before the game and then meeting up afterwards to go home, get refreshed, and then head back out to the bars for commiserations (Georgia narrowly lost thanks to a hail mary from Tennessee in the final seconds of the game).  

Chris told me that weekend that he was going to marry me.  I laughed and rolled my eyes.  Yeah right, I thought, I’ll never see this guy again.

On Sunday it came time for them to go home.  We all exchanged numbers and social media info and said we’d stay in touch.  I remember thinking that I would love to see them again and hang out, but figured that it just probably wouldn’t happen given that they lived an 8 hour drive away.

Chris has told me numerous times that as he and Bo drove away that day that he reiterated his vow to marry me.  He’s not right often, but on this occasion he actually was.

A couple months went by and we had sent the odd message to each other and loosely stayed in touch but never mentioned any plans to hang out.

Then right after Christmas I took a trip to Memphis, TN with my Canadian parents.  

Making our way from Georgia to Tennessee through Alabama…

…and Mississippi…
… and finally to Tennessee.

I am fortunate enough to have many loving parents across the world.  My Mom, Tron, and Step Dad, Rob, live in England.  My Step Mom, Morgan, and Step Dad, Ara, divide their time (when they are not gallivanting around the world) between Washington State and Victoria, BC.  My in-laws, Ric and Cindy live in Tennessee.  And our Mountain Mama, Carol, lives in Cornelia, GA.

I spent a few days over New Years with Morgan and Ara staying at Bo’s in Memphis.  Being that we were all in our twenties we had planned to hit the bars again for drinks and maybe some pool.  That first evening of our trip on December 30th 2016, at a bar called Arcade on a chilly night in Memphis, Chris finally kissed me and started something that neither of us had any idea would change our lives forever.

The next few days we were inseparable.  We took a freezing cold motorcycle ride from Chris’ house in Titpton County to downtown Memphis and, though my legs were numb within minutes into the ride, I’d never felt so content as I was on the back of that bike with my arms around the man that I already knew I was quickly falling in love with.

By the end of the short trip my heart ached at the idea of saying goodbye.  There was one question lingering at the back of my mind that whole trip but I didn’t dare ask it for fear of the answer; am I ever going to see him again?  

We kissed goodbye and I tried to be happy for the time we had together and told myself that it was unforgettable few days, if nothing else.  But as we drove away I felt sick and couldn’t get that pesky Memphian out of my head.

In the weeks that followed we spent every waking (and sometimes sleeping) moment on the phone to each other, texting and snap chatting throughout the day, then talking for hours into the night.  We visited each other a few times in the following months, every couple of weeks.  He’d drive 8 hours after work on a Friday to visit me in Georgia, returning on Sunday.  Then a couple of weeks later I’d take a Friday off, leave on the Thursday night, and stay until Sunday.  We’d spend the ENTIRE drive there and back on the phone to each other.  

Then in February Chris came to visit me.  The weather was still pretty cold, but it was dry which made for good camping weather.  So we packed up on the Saturday and headed out to the mountains and hiked in to my favorite spot on the Chattooga River.  We sat by the fire talking, went exploring, took some pictures, and laughed a lot.  That night we told each other that we loved each other.  The next day Chris was supposed to leave to go home, but we both called in to our jobs and got the Monday off so we could stay another day.

Exploring the mountains around North Georgia and North Carolina
Chris enjoying the camp at the Chattooga River.
I don’t think I stopped smiling that whole weekend.

Over the next couple of weeks Chris kept reminding me of his vow to marry me.  I’d still laugh and brush it off.  But as we thought about our future together we realized we had a lot of figuring out to do as to whether he would move to Georgia or I would move to Tennessee.  But one thing was certain and never required a conversation: one of us would be moving, because the worst part, and only bad part about our relationship was having to say goodbye to each other for a couple of weeks each time we were together. 

So one Monday in March, after 3 months of long distance dating, we were one the phone late at night and we were making plans for my visit to Chris that coming weekend.  

“We could just go to the courthouse and get married.”  He said, not joking at all.  I had never cared for a lavish wedding.  Neither of us had the money for it and there was the logistical nightmare of having family in 2 different countries; which family will be subjected to the expense of flying over?  Then if we do it that way we’l have to wait a year or two for everyone to save up.  The more I thought about it, the more it became about planning a wedding for everyone else, not for us.  

“Ok, let’s do it.”  I said, not quite believing the words coming out of my mouth.

So on Thursday, March 16th 2017 I drove to Tipton County.  The next afternoon, on St. Patrick’s Day, we hopped on Chris’ motorcycle after he finished work and we rode to the house of a very nice woman named Patricia, whom we had never met, but whom had agreed to marry us for $100.  After a quick ceremony in our best jeans and helmet hair, we were officially married.

Marriage license in hand, off to Patricia’s house.
Newlyweds.

It may not be everybody’s cup of tea – but it suited us just fine.  We knew from the get go that we were committed to each other and had the same ideas for what we wanted in life.  It was actually a very easy decision to make, and one that neither of us regret in the slightest.  

While it was difficult to break the news to our families – our mothers, in particular, who were understandably rather hurt that they hadn’t even been told of the wedding – we still don’t regret doing it our way.  I think (and hope) that with some time they now understand why we did it the way we did it, and most importantly that we are happy.  Which is all that should matter.

We are risk takers.  It is who we are.  Sometimes those risks pay off and we have been very fortunate with the way some things turn out.  Sometimes those risks don’t pay off and we have certainly had more than our fair share of that.  But perhaps the biggest risk of all, and one that many people seriously doubted us for, is the best risk I’ve ever taken.  

I trusted my heart and, as cliche as it may sound, it steered me right.  That leap of faith has brought me to a man that I never thought I would be worthy of.  He is, in every way, my best friend and the love of my life.  3 years on and I still can’t ever spend too much time talking to him.  

So if there’s one thing that I wish for the people that I love going forward into this new year, it’s that they have the faith in themselves and their own hearts to take a risk this year.  Don’t put too much stock in playing it safe, life is boring that way.  Thinking of moving to a new place?  Do it.  New career ideas?  Do it.  Thinking of buying an RV and moving into it full time?  Do it.  Thinking of eloping with the person you love on a motorcycle?  Do it.  Make 2020 a year where you don’t overthink, you just do what makes you happy.

#7: At the Bottom of the Waterfall

Yesterday we packed up Patsy and left Tugaloo.  The packing up part went smoother than our previous attempts and we were ready to roll out by 12.  Unfortunately a large storm system was also ready to roll in and 30 minutes after we left the park we hit rain.  

Because we need 2 vehicles – one for Chris for work and one for Junior and me to run errands etc while Chris is at work – it means we have to drive separately when moving the camper.  Chris drove our Ram 1500 with Junior and Devon pulling our camper while I drove my old Chevy that Chris now uses as a work truck with his utility trailer in tow.  We use 2 way radios to communicate back and forth while we are on the road; it allows us to communicate easily even when there is no cell service.  As I am riding in front, it also allows me to call in any sharp turns, low limbs, or treacherous road ahead.  

This turned out to be a good system as, about 15 minutes before we hit rain, I noticed that one of the skylights on the camper was open.  We had just pulled out on the highway so we were able to pull over before any damage was done by the wind and the rain.

The route to Vogel from Tugaloo was mostly an easy route.  It took us along mostly highways that were easy to navigate with a big rig.  Looking at the route, however, we could see that after Cleveland it became winding mountain roads with steep inclines that would prove tricky under good weather conditions, let alone what we were facing.  The trip was forecast to take about 1.5hrs but we decided to stop at a Walmart (now our trusty road friend when traveling with the camper) for a breather and to check the weather.  

As we got out the rain was really picking up and the peaks around us disappeared into dark clouds.  We looked at the forecast and found that there was a window in the storm for the next hour.  The forecast showed wind gusts of up to 60mph.  This is not good when you have a large rig in tow that catches the strong cross winds on the high mountain roads.  

It was time for a judgement call.  Do we press on in the hopes of beating the next wave of the storm that would bring heavier rain and stronger winds, or do we hold tight for a couple of hours with a boisterous 1 year old in a Walmart parking lot and hope that the storm blows through quickly.  Chris deferred to my judgement – a move I’m never usually fond of.  But the GPS was saying that we had 35 minutes left to go and the weather forecast said we had an hour to do it.  So I decided that we should push on.  

So we jumped into our trucks, turned our radios on and headed out.  From Cleveland onwards we knew we were leaving the highways behind and traveling only on byways and mountain roads from there out.  It was pretty smooth going until we turned a corner and found blue flashing lights and the road was blocked off.  Detour.

Detours are dangerous on byways because they are not necessarily safe for big rigs.  There could be tunnels, narrow roads, or sharp corners.  But there was no way of turning around now so we pushed on ready to face whatever might lay ahead.  

Thankfully it was an easy detour that lasted a few minutes and took us back onto our intended route quickly  Having looked at the route ahead though, I knew that the worst was yet to come.  The closer we got to Vogel the steeper the climb and sharper the bends got around the mountains.

Sure enough we began our ascent within 5 minutes of getting back on the byway.  Gradually the road began to curve and snake through the foothills.  Though the weather was dreary the landscape was breathtaking.  Thankfully there were only a few other cars on the road as it was hard to take my eyes off the rusty red, copper oranges, and golden yellows of the leaves dancing in the wind on the mountainside.  As Chris and I talked back and forth on the radio the running theme was “WOW, look how BEAUTIFUL this place is!”  I could hear in his voice that the excitement and anticipation was bubbling up in him too and the storm’s threat seemed less and less significant as we drove on.

The last few miles were filled with steep climbs, sharp hair pin bends and winding S-curves.  I knew that Chris couldn’t wait to get his motorcycle out and ride these roads and I had to remind him a couple of times to just focus on the road ahead for now.  Things, surprisingly, went pretty smoothly with me calling out sharp curves ahead on the radio and counting down the miles until we got there.

Then we arrived.  

The park itself is nestled in a valley on the edge of a lake high up in the mountains, 2500 ft to be exact.  As you enter the park on the narrow lane that winds through a tunnel of trees you reach a curve and small wooden bridge over wolf creek which spills into the lake on your right.  The clouds cleared for a moment and the trees gave way to the towering peaks surrounding us and the vibrant fall colors caught the sun and exploded with life and beauty.  It’s the kind of moment where forces converge and everything comes together perfectly to create an unforgettable moment that makes it impossible not to smile ear to ear and say “woah” out loud, even when no one is around to hear you.

We stopped in at the visitors center and checked in with the ranger to let them know that we made it and get directions to the site that would be our home for the next two months.  Driving to our site we followed the road around to the left of the visitor’s center, away from the lake and up the creek.  The campsite was heavily wooded and signs posted everywhere reminded us that this was “bear country”.  The giddiness in Chris’ voice spilled through the radio.  

We passed a couple of children’s play parks at the very base of the narrow valley, a mini golf course, and some cottages for visitors to rent.  As we pulled into the campsite itself we found our site which was one of the first on the right.  I pulled up ahead out of the way and served as Chris’ backup camera to help him navigate the tricky turn into the site.  Setting up went surprisingly smoothly and we set the camper level just as the rain began to set in again.  Junior and I danced around in the camper as Chris, our hero, braved the weather to finish setting up.  

I had left Tugaloo in short leggings and a T-shirt but another glance at the weather forecast suggested I should change.  As is common in the mountains, we were expecting a 30 degree temperature drop by sundown and a further 20 degrees by dawn.  This is a concept that, especially after months of 100 degree heat, is very difficult to fathom.  So I changed into jeans and a long sleeved shirt while I went about setting up inside the camper.  The next time I stepped out of the camper a couple of hours later I was met with a bitter whip of the icy wind and quickly retreated back inside to find several more layers.

After setting up we decided to head out to Walmart (yes, again) to stock up on a few supplies for the cooler weather.  The Walmart was in Blairsville, a short 15 minute drive through utterly breathtaking landscapes.  Looking out the window on the drive I watched as picturesque farms nestled into the hills passed by with luscious green rolling hills and perfect white fences holding the rugged forest back.  

Blairsville itself is a town I’ve visited a few times before and loved.  The square downtown is reminiscent of an old spaghetti western with its square-fronted buildings and a quaint red brick courthouse in the middle.  We passed through downtown to the Walmart on the main highway.  We both remarked how it was the most beautiful view from a Walmart parking lot we had ever seen with tall peaks rising all around us.

We loaded up on supplies and some $5 movies and headed back to camp.  We continued getting settled, made ourselves some dinner and put Junior to bed.  After trying to tune the TV we realized that we were too high in the mountains to get any service.  This was not a problem for me – I can happily go without TV for a couple of months – but Chris had a moment of sadness to himself as he realized that this was going to present problems for him for the rest of the football season.

We put a movie on and I sat down to do some writing.  The wind was now raging outside and the crisp cold made my teeth chatter when I went for a cigarette.  About halfway through the movie the TV suddenly went black.  Because our DVD player is also our radio it is hard wired into our rig so the movie kept playing through the surround sound.  Chris looked at me and said “what happened?”  As if I knew?  We played around with the remote and the buttons on the TV.  Nothing.

Then I had that, by now, very familiar sinking feeling as I looked up.  The lights to the microwave were off and the fridge “check” light was flashing.  Great.

The ceiling lights were all still on in the camper and the fan was still blowing.  Chis checked the TV in the bedroom; dead.

“It must be a power surge” I said, clueless as to what else could have caused 4 major appliances to die at once.  We checked the breaker and the fuses – all fine.  Well that’s it, we thought.  We officially CANNOT catch a break.

We can live without a TV, I thought, and we can make do fairly easily without a microwave, but no fridge leaves us severely up the proverbial creek.  We stepped out for a cigarette together to cuss and gather our thoughts.  As we stood there we noticed that the lights to the bath house were out.  

Now I should point out that at this conjuncture it’s rather sad that it still didn’t click as to what was going on.  But just remember that we are still new to this so it took us a minute.

“Well that’s weird, I guess the power surge blew the lights to the bath house too then”.

“We should have plugged in that damn surge protector” I said unhelpfully.  “Do it now before it happens again and ALL the appliances get fried.”

So Chris went behind the camper, flipped the breaker, unplugged our rig, plugged the surge protector in, and plugged the rig into the surge protector.  He came back and said “damn thing won’t work, the lights aren’t lighting up or anything”.

Wait a minute.  Ok.  Now I see what’s happened. 

There was no power surge.  Our appliances were not fried.  The power to the entire campsite was down.  The lights in the camper and the DVD player stayed on because we have a backup battery on our RV that automatically takes over when you lose power and continues to power the low-voltage appliances and outlets, hence the TV, fridge and microwave (higher powered appliances) were all off.

DUH.

So I messaged the park ranger and the power came back on within 30 minutes.  Luckily we had a taster of how easily storms can interfere with the power here and we won’t make the mistake of not using a surge protector again.  We had a good laugh about it and thanked our lucky stars that it wasn’t worse.

The next morning was beautiful and sunny, although still very brisk.  We decided to warm ourselves up with a walk around Lake Trahlyta trail, the trailhead of which was a short 5 minute walk away through the campsite.  So we bundled ourselves and Junior up, put a leash on Devon, and headed out.

Chris at Lake Trahlyta.  Pictures just don't do it justice (or at least mine don't).

The lake itself is small but glorious.  There are several trailheads near the lake edge, a boat dock with pedal boats and kayaks for rent, and a small beach area for the warmer months.  The lake trail is about 3-4km around and very gentle, flat terrain.  

The water was largely still and glassy with a fine mist that seemed to slip across it like ice.  It drifted upwards to look like smoke rising from the reds and oranges of the forest which glinted in the sunlight.  The rising mist from the lake rose above the fiery hillside to make the whole scene look like a silently blazing wildfire.  The vibrant colors of the mountainside bounced off the water and danced in the occasional ripples from the feeding fish.  We passed a couple of other hikers on our way round and we stopped frequently to take pictures.

About halfway around is the spillway which creates an extraordinary waterfall beneath it.  We parked Junior’s stroller at the top and took the winding path and steep steps down to the base of the falls.

Trahlyta falls as seen from the road above.

Trahlyta falls is approximately 75-100 feet tall from base to source and 10-15 feet wide.  It’s surrounded by thick woodland with a narrow break in the tree canopy above.  It’s a paradoxical setting; the water violently crashes and tumbles down the rocky mountainside with a roar while a thick mist rises at the base and drifts silently through the mossy trees and up through the canopy into the glimpses of daylight between the leaves.  It was a stunning sight that we took a few minutes to drench ourselves in before getting back on the trail and back home.

The falls from the viewing platform near the base.
The mist creeping through the trees at the base of the falls.

We’re breathing a sigh of relief tonight as it seems that things may be calming down for us and that we have made it to the bottom of our waterfall safely.  The trepidation I previously felt for leaving our paradise in Tugaloo and coming to Vogel has fallen away with the autumn leaves and I can feel myself relaxing into our new life already.

In a way this adventure is like getting to live new lives every few months.  We get to change the landscape and the people when we decide it’s time and it’s not a terrible upheaval.  Junior still has a safe place that he knows as home in our RV and Devon (who is an incredibly anxious dog who does not like change) still gets his familiar spot next to my side of the bed to retreat to when it all gets a bit much.  

The key, it seems, to sticking with it is the acknowledgment that the next life will not be the same.  The rangers, hosts, and guests will be different.  There will be a different routine to the park; some require hosts to be on duty pretty much 24/7, whereas others will have a rotation schedule where you work a few days on and then have a few off.  The landscape, the recreational opportunities, the weather, the whole vibe – they will all be different.  This adventure lies somewhere between a traveling job and an extended vacation.  It seems to marry the benefits of both and create it’s own genre of existence.  It’s easier to appreciate what each life has to offer if your greet it with the knowledge that it is finite and should be savored while it’s here.  And we intend to savor every drop of it.