Trip Journal:  June 9-11, 2022

With the exception of those rare peak color moments in October when everything is damp and the colors are unbelievably saturated, my favorite time to visit the Southern Appalachian Mountains is June.  Newly minted greens cover a forest floor just finishing with ephemeral wildflower blooms.  June’s too early for the gnats and mosquitoes of the coming summer months; temperatures are perfectly middle, neither too cold in the morning, nor too warm in the afternoons.  Catawba Rhododendron, Mountain Laurel, and Flame Azalea decorate the Parkway with vibrant color.  A wave of wildflowers wash the roadside and meadow with bloom.  And the deep valleys below build the type of heat that gives potential for the atmospherics up top that can bring it all together behind the lens.

Unlike the fragility of autumn, where color comes fast and one good storm can sweep away an entire seasonal opportunity, June has a playful, easy development.  The opportunities are durable and they unfold with less urgency.  June invites me to walk the trails and to study the plants; to sit outside in the evening and wonder at the blinking light of fireflies.  June’s not in a rush.  The days are long, and getting longer.  Summer will come.  For now, though, it’s all just growth.  And as a photographer of the Southern Appalachians, I feel in June as if I can find a photograph anywhere and at all times if I put in the work.

Here I am again, in the seat of my car at three o’clock in the morning rolling south towards the Southern Appalachian Mountains.  A Brother’s Osborne song comes over the radio:  “On the road again, like a band of gypsies we roll down the highway…”  Right on.  Last month, I failed on my first attempt to work the Blue Ridge Parkway as the seasonal campgrounds were still shuttered.  Now, all Parkway facilities are showing open.  I’ve got camping and camera gear stuffing the trunk and additional food supplies, books, and lots of water sagging the rear shocks.

After five plus hours of mindless highway driving, I exit Interstate 77 onto the Blue Ridge Parkway near milepost 200.  By 8:00am I’m windows down and crusing forty-five.  Around milepost 216 I cross the state line into North Carolina. My attention gets sharper as I shake off the zombie-like trance of the interstate.  The road curves gently underneath a shading canopy of green trees.  The pace is as slow or aggressive as I desire.  Traffic is nonexistent.

I stop at Little Glade Millpond (mp 230) to stretch my legs.  A patch of ground on the far side of the pond is showing the club-like fruiting bodies of Pink Earth Lichen.  I’m here–in the Blue Ridge Mountains–to feed a desire for discovery and learning.  This is exactly the sort of find that puts me into the moment.  I’m excited about the time I’ll spend in this landscape.

Near Grandmother Mountain I stop again, eager to check in on a Pad-Leaf Orchid that I’ve photographed in the past.  These orchids are very rare in the mountains of North Carolina.  Despite searching several reported sites, this is the only flowering orchid I’ve been able to find.  Unfortunately, though I am able to find the off-trail location, the orchid does not appear to be blooming this year.  The two large basal leaves look beautiful but no flowering stem is present.  I’m not sure why?

Back in the car I head south on the Parkway.  Arriving at Crabtree Falls Campground (MP 340), I luck onto the site I was hoping for (always a bonus!).  With basecamp squared way, I hop sleep deprived and road-drunk back into the car and head over to Mount Mitchell State Park.  Having been away from the camera for some time, I’m hungry for discovery; it drives me forward.  I hook the Mountains to Sea Trail (white blaze) and hike around the southern end of the Black Mountain Range.  The new plant life monopolizes my attention!

I oversleep my alarm by nearly forty-five minutes.  Not the smoothest start!  The skies are clear with a heavy breeze.  I drive south to Craggy Gardens, primarily to scout the Catawba Rhododendron bloom.  No matter how much experience I have in place, the first few days of any trip are for taking inventory: what’s blooming and where?; what viewpoints have the greatest potential?; what story do I want to tell this year/season?

And so, I hike.  There’s only one way for me to “see” the landscape.  And it takes old fashioned work, one foot in front of the other.  I walk the Mountains to Sea Trail north from Greybeard Overlook.  Bluebead Lilies, lush ferns, Solomon’s Seal. Tons of macro.  The winds gradually calm throughout the hike; clouds increase.

I hike Bald Knob Ridge Trail, the story of the nearby “Red Max” laurel hot on my mind.  I cross the Parkway and hike up to a rocky pinnacle.  It’s a day of effort and attention, not so much productivity.  These are the days–the activity–that will set me up for the shots when–and if–conditions do align.

Back at camp in the evening, I walk the roadsides.  Poke Milkweed is beginning to flower, it’s strong fragrance unmistakable and very welcome to me.  Unlike other milkweeds that grow in meadows and full sun, Poke Milkweed seems to seek the shade and moisture of the forest.  Their weeping flowers bloom like a fourth of July firework, white and lavendar and fresher than any laundry detergent could ever mimic.  I’m surprised to find several plants already hosting Monarch caterpillars!  They barely have leaves.  However, the caterpillars are simply munching away on the flower blooms themeselves.  It’s fascinating to witness the many relationships within the natural world!

I do much better with wake-up call this morning!  I’m in the car driving south on the Blue Ridge Parkway well before sunrise.  There’s no destination in particular; I’m watching the skies develop and making in-the-moment decisions based on what I’m seeing.  My belief is that outdoor photography, when practiced at a high level, is a dance between the photographer and the landscape.  It cannot be forced or planned.  Instead, it’s a game of move, countermove.  Smooth and fluid.  I put myself in a general area of interest.  From there, I wait for Mother Nature to lead.  Then, I follow.  When I find the rhythm, it feels natural.  Easy.

On this morning, the eastern horizon is clear.  No clouds or obstructions should block predawn and sunrise.  I notice, however, that heavy clouds hang around the high peaks of the Black Mountain Range.  The big ones often create their own weather; microclimates they call it.  My mind begins to click into gear.  I arrive at my trailhead at 6:00 am.  Sunrise is imminent.  I know I must scoot if I want to be in position when the show begins.  There’s no reason to hurry, however.  The trail I’m travelling, though not particularly long in distance, is nearly vertical in elevation gain.  I’m under full pack weight for the first time during this trip.  About a quarter of the way into the climb I lose my jacket.  The effort is obvious.

It occurs to me that I’m nearly forty years old this year.  I was twenty when I first ascended this trail.  I wonder if the end is closer than the start.  I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able–or will want to–make this sort of pre-dawn assault on the mountains.  I’ve always been hopeful that, maybe, in the future, I’ll make the kind of work behind the camera that I’ll be proud of.  Perhaps the best of my work has already been made?  I continue to climb.

Up top, the winds are unbracketed.  They cool my body quickly.  I unpack my jacket.  It’s a strange phenomena to move from ninety degree heat in the flatlands to forty-five degree mountain mornings in a short span of time.  To be cold in June is always a treat!

The sun breaks the horizon and the low-angled warm light of morning begins to interact with the clouds above Mt. Mitchell.  Catawba Rhododendron flower proudly at the base of prominent evergreens.  With the exception of the wind, its a nearly perfect scene and setup.

As I debrief my own morning performance behind the lens, I realize that plans in photography–like plans in any field of endeavor–are just that.  Plans.  They largely fall apart when the metaphorical (or in this case, physical) boots hit the ground.  Reality begins to exert counter forces on the plan.  As a photographer, there’s a series of settings and compositions that I know will be ideal for capture.  Instead, however, I must compromise.  I push the ISO, widen the aperture, move the camera higher or further from the action.  Photos in the field are always compromise.  I cannot help but wonder if I captured this beautiful sunrise with any skill and competence.

While descending the trail, I come across a sticker that was placed on a watershed sign.  I won’t give legs to the group that was represented, but it put me in a sour state of mind.  The graphic was an assault rifle and an accompanying website.  It wasn’t the first time I’ve seen this sticker.

I saw graffitti yesterday at the Crabtree Falls Picnic Area.  Some vulger words in bright pink spray paint on signs and fences.  While defacing property is certainly short-sighted and lazy, it struck me as something a couple high-school kids might have done. Yes, some good folks would have to waste unneccessary time and resources cleaning things up.  But, overall, it wasn’t all that offensive to me.

This sticker, however, really pissed me off.  Without getting political, here was a group of grown people with considerable resources who feel disenfranchised.  They’re victims of someone, something, everything.  And instead of solutions and positive actions, they seek to spread chaos and disruption.  They seek fellow victims.  They’ve become a cancer.  It’s laziness of the mind.  And it’s out here in the middle of the woods, where I’m supposed to be escaping this bullshit.

I hop in the car and continue south on the Blue Ridge Parkway.  Craggy Gardens sits beneath a mostly cloudy, gray sky.  I work some macros:  the flowering highbush blueberries in this area are very beautiful.  My mouth waters for the sun-ripened berries that are sure to follow.

As I lose the light of morning, Saturday traffic on the Blue Ridge Parkway begins to intensify.  Craggy Gardens is not far from the city of Asheville.  Bicyclists, runners, motorcyclists.  The pace slows.  My attention becomes scattered.  The Blue Ridge Parkway, at times, loses its magic for me and becomes just another loud and busy roadway.  I turn back north and head towards camp.  My mind moves towards lunch, rest, and reading.

I notice a patch of forest near Big Laurel Gap that appears to have been recently burned (controlled).  Fly Poison is blooming in quantity, it’s tall, white flowers waving proudly against the otherwise empty forest floor.  I cannot resist.  While creeping about, I find a nice patch of fungi on a fallen and burned tree:  Chicken of the Woods.

Back at camp, I stretch my legs and consider a walk after spending some time relaxing and reading.  I’m drawn back to the Poke Milkweeds where I found Monarch Caterpillars yesterday evening.  I pass through a meadow between the campground and the parking area where Meadow Rue grows by the thousands. It’s delicate tassles so small and insignificant that I wonder if any of the many folks who walk this way to see the waterfall even notice their brilliance. I wonder why my fellow landscape photographers don’t care to notice either.  Does a scene have to be grand to be worthy of attention?

Tomorrow’s moving day!  I’m heading back north to Julian Price Memorial Park and campground for another three days of adventure behind the lens.  Stay tuned!