Standing Indian, A Goodbye

Standing Indian in the Southern Nantahala Wilderness of North Carolina was the obvious choice for my last backpacking trip for a while in the southeast. (News flash: I’m moving back to Utah next week!)

A focused, clear path from here to there.

I've been yearning for views since moving back east. Not partial views through the trees, but 360 views of open sky.  And hoped to find a particular wildflower that grow in this botanically rich area.

Mostly though, Standing Indian holds many memories. I've been told I have a lousy memory for certain things. I call it being good at forgetting unnecessary stuff. But being in a place can help me to recall and reflect. Something that helps in a time of transition.

On the way up to North Carolina, I stop at a friend's cabin in the mountains for the night. A relaxing evening listening to the chorus of cicadas, talking about the joys and challenges of being a seasonal park ranger, and saying goodbye-for-nows.

I wake up to pancakes with blueberries from the garden! Life doesn't get much better!

Before I know it, I'm up at the Standing Indian Campground/ Backcountry Information trailhead. The Kimsey Creek Trail, the blue-blazed trail leading to the Appalachian Trail, never fails to delight. Sounds of the cascades filling the coves in stereo. A profusion of summer wildflowers-- the hot pinks of beebalm, joe-pye weed, and whispy delicate cranefly orchids, among other treasures. Maybe this is my favorite trail in the southeast. (Ya'all know I say that about whatever trail I'm on though...)

A sunbeam illuminates a rattlesnake plantain orchid.

When I pass a particular swimming hole, a memory of a trip with dear friends many (edit: 7!) years ago comes to me. I've only reconnected with a few of my friends from back then in these few months I've been here. Did I make enough of an effort or are diverging paths just a natural part of life?

The refreshingly cool waters of Kimsey Creek.

Up on the Appalachian Trail, wildfires that swept through in 2016 opened up the canopy completely changing the scenery from what I remember before I left in 2014. So much change! Blackened tree trunks and glimmering white rocks sparkling in the sunlight. (The rocks so white because the lichen got burned off, the sunlight so bright because the canopy is no more). The understory is now a riot of blooming wildflowers teeming with butterflies.

At first I am shocked by how much has changed, but then I meet some locals who say that fire is a natural part of this ecosystem. Native plants are thriving after the fire came through. It is good to be able to see all the change as a positive, necessary force for ecosystem health.

Seeing things with a new perspective.

The Appalachian Trail circles along the ridge for many miles, gentle and rolling and I glide along. Grades that were kind to me when I was first starting out backpacking. Now perfect for simply being present. Watching butterflies and delighting in the wildflowers. The joy that comes when you realize that you are exactly where you most need to be in the world.

If you stop chasing them and be still, they will just come to you.

Dancing along with joe-pie weed nodding to the beat.

A mother and daughter team are already set up under the Albert Mountain firetower when I arrive.  I feel bad about invading their space... and I really want to watch sunset from the tower.  So I go over to chat. They are new to backpacking, are surprised I'm solo, find out I've hiked in one day what they have covered in two, and start asking about gear and for advice.

I am flooded with memories of my early backpacking trips right here. All the things I didn't know and all the things I used to think were scary and thought were important that turned out not to be.

"You are doing it exactly right," I say, "in simply being out here. You picked a great place. The most important thing is to get out as much as you can!"

Finally, I get around to asking would they mind if I set up out of sight and returned for sunset?

Of course not!

By the time I tucked my hammock into a little spot and return, they are already in their tent for the night. I am relieved that I won't be invading their space as I tiptoe up the firetower and for the 360-degree evening show.

Watching the clouds do their swirling thing as the light changes and thunderclouds build.

Gazing in wonder.

As the colors deepen and get pinker, the lightning gets closer and I decided the fire tower may not be the best place to be.

 Owls hoot back and forth. A gentle wind blows but the storm passes somewhere else. My hammock provides me with deepest, most satisfying sleep.

Sunrise at the tower.

The next morning, a side trip to see the Wasilik Poplar. Which used to be the largest tree east of the Mississippi. Though now it is dead, the towering trunk is still breathtaking.

What remains

In the 1930's there used to be two huge poplars here but the other one got cut down by loggers. Legend has it that the only reason this one wasn’t cut down is because the team of oxen was too exhausted to come back for it after hauling the other one up the hill. The rich cove where it is found is still home to diverse wildflowers and makes a peaceful spot for contemplaing change.

water

I don't know when I'll be back. But I'm overwhelmed with gratitude for this place and to the people that taught me so much here.

More Information

Go see the Wasilik Poplar

Protect the Southern Nantahala Wilderness