It’s taken me a long time to post about Mount Pisgah Trail. Too long. So the explosions of azaleas, rhododendrons and mountain laurel I remember, along with all the other flowers we saw there and elsewhere will be long gone and you might even be seeing the leaves turning other colors by the time you read this.
I recommend this route. It’s a way to take a forested walk to the top of a mountain and view the surrounding hills, while still not walking for too long and leaving time for even more walks, Which is what I did, enjoying quality time with my Dad as we hiked on other surrounding trails along the area. Dad had many different plants to point out in all of the different habitats we passed, which ranged from lichen covered trees, to thick mountain laurel “hells” to roadside meadows. These images are just a sample. Go and experience it for yourself.
As summer is refusing to surrender to autumn here in East Tennessee, the Cumberlands are exploding with flowers.
My Dad Larry Pounds and the co-author “Wildly Strolling Along” along with me recently led a group of wildflower lovers to two unique habitats near each other. Both were part of Catoosa Wildlife Management area.
First was a meadow area with a short access road on which we walked. We would stop every few minutes and Dad would get down, examine, give Latin names, sometimes certain, sometimes speculating, surrounded by others who seem drawn like bees to them.
Next we drove down to a “cobblebar,” along Daddy’s Creek, a which is not a place for booze and homemade desserts but rather a rocky area along the banks of a stream. It too had flowers, some growing out of big outcrops.
A pool not too far from the trail entrance is also good for swimming. I was the only one of our party who jumped in, possibly because everyone else was identifying more ferns and flowers. Which far too often, I can’t do.
But I am me. My Dad is himself. Not everyone can name every flower. But maybe you can at least enjoy them.
Hiking with my Dad on a mountain really shows me the difference between the two of us.
Dad’s can walk all the way to the rocky summit of a mountain able too see for miles and miles but instead he narrows in on a tiny flower, examining it to get its precise name in English and Latin. I love hearing him give the name but instantly forget. It’s rock harlequin, by the way (Corydalis sempervivrens).
Afraid of heights but curious about growing things, his bald head full of their names from falling apart books, he looks at a whole world of life others ignore, while Mom and I stare off into the distance, looking out at what everyone else comes for. But I do know, thanks to Dad, how to look for tiny blueberries on which I can snack.
I joined Mom and Dad on the hike up Rattlesnake Mountain in New Hampshire.
Rattlesnake Mountain is not tall or difficult to climb by the standards of New Hampshire peaks, but it is steep. The view from the top is typical Appalachian rolling hills covered in green trees rather than the more cliffy mountains at Franconia Notch. For some people the wind turbines visible on a nearby mountain may ruin the view, but for me they just make it distinctive. I consider it a good mountain if you’re in the area and want a short trip.