In the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, I Spy a Critter I’ve Never Seen in the Wild Before

Wait for it…

It’s a BABY Elk. Blowing a raspberry. Swoon.

OK, it was an ELK! Many Elkishes! I told you I can’t keep a secret…but it was tres exciting, I’m not gonna lie. So you might as well have a big ol’ pic right outta the gate.

According to interweb experts [meaning, not me]:

“The Great Smoky Mountains National Park’s largest animal, elk can weigh 700 pounds and reach 5 feet at the shoulder. Elk were hunted to extinction in the area by the mid-1800s, but a successful 2001 reintroduction project brought them back to the park. Now, the population numbers as many as 200 elk.”

Remember How I Told You Joe and I Tend to Bumble About?

It’s true, we do. We’re lucky to catch the sights we DO manage to grasp in our tiny clawed hands. Our normal plan of attack is as follows: we hit our next campground, fight about setting up camp, set up camp, forget we’re mad at each other, then grab some grub in a nearby town and scrounge the brochure racks for anything appealing.

I shudder to think how close we came to missing the Elkins.

They weren’t in the brochures!

Joe’s son Garrett saved us from ourselves. Garrett and a few friends were staying in a cabin about 40 miles away, and we said we’d drop by toward evening on Saturday. But Garrett texted his dad that they were going to get pictures of the ELK instead, and I was immediately on alert, one might even say intrigued.

Elk, said the young lad? I must know more, immediately…

Two days later you can bet your patootie we’d parked our butts in that truck by noon and were heading to Cataloochee to hike and await the arrival of the Elkin Kings—and Queens—at the golden hour of dusk.

And Lordy, were those gorgeous beings worth every smidgling of the wait? Damn straight. I’m thankful to dog that I broke out the big camera with the long lens for this little soiree.

We Learned Other Stuff, Too

I’ve been blown away since the beginning of our trip by all that America has to offer. We’ve mostly partaken of larger tourist attractions, due to the aforementioned bumbling, and I’m always thinking, “Wow, dude. Who knew all this stuff was here?” [Besides experts. And locals. They know.]

Even the traps we visited that weren’t my cup of latte proved to be new and different experiences, and each of these experiences serves to enrobe our characters in just a bit more cinnamon and sugar. I hope.

For example, the Great Smoky National Park spans parts of Tennessee and North Carolina, so we spent time in the park while camping in both states. We learned that this particular National Park is unusual in that it has kept many of the homes that existed when the government took over the land in the early 1900s. Most of these houses you could walk right up and into, the doors left hanging wide open.

As such, I’ve been left with burning questions about these houses ever since, so I’ll ask them here and if anyone knows the answer you can enlighten us all: 1. Does a ranger go around and close the doors at night? 2. If not, aren’t they worried about bears, wild boar, raccoons, etc. wandering in and deciding this is as good a place as any to take a little nap, build a little den? 3. Does anyone ensure the open homes are critter-free before people start sauntering through each day? These are perfectly valid and legitimate concerns, one must admit. I mean, I love a critter as much as the next insane animal fiend, but I prefer not to be surprised by one as I stroll around the corner of a 1903 living room.

There was even an old schoolhouse. I couldn’t help but feel myself amongst the ghosts as I tiptoed through these long-empty spaces. And I wonder: Was there once happiness under these rooftops? Was it all hardship and tragedy? Had there been kindness, love?

See? I never even heard of a Madtom, and now I know we’re not supposed to move rocks for their protection. And now you know, too. Ah, look at us learning…

Joe bought a new hitch, and he insisted it must be installed as the remnants of Hurricane Ian were making their way inland. Luckily, we survived both the hitch and the storm, but not without swearing, whining, and bouts of self-pity. Naturally.

Joe spent time with his sons Taylor and Garrett in Tennessee, and we met Taylor’s adorable new kitten, too.

We took a four hour train ride on the Great Smoky Mountains Railroad for around $75.00 each (with military discount.) For me, it was meh. There wasn’t much in the way of narration or scenery, so we pretty much paid to go nowhere.

Our campground, a KOA near Asheville, NC, sported two beautiful lakes, plus a messier one perfect for Howloween Scaries. The nearby town of Black Mountain was stroll-worthy, had a German restaurant for Joe, AND was the birthplace of Roberta Flack. The town hung informational placards discussing how the railroad came to Black Mountain, while outing the abuse of prisoners—often black men—who were used to complete the railroad. Points for honesty, at least.

By four months into our trip, we realized we missed eating at a kitchen table. We also found that we don’t use our outside kitchen the way we thought we would. I guess this is why so many people end up changing campers quickly—it’s difficult to know exactly what suits you best until you’re out there doing it on the daily.

We decided to look into trading, found exactly the layout we wanted, and excitedly began our search for a dealer who had one on the lot.

Then they told us we’d lose $20,000 on the trade-in value for our six-month-old camper. Yikerellas! We couldn’t take a loss that excessive up the proverbial tailpipe, so we bought ourselves bigger tray tables for $40 and resigned ourselves to our current digs for the foreseeable future.

No new hermit crab shell for us…

Cute dog rug, and some idjits want strangers to give them wedding money? I’ve seen it all, now…no, I’m sure I haven’t.