Waterfalls. Every thousand yards gushed a waterfall; brooks, falls, rapids, steep mountain sides sliding clear water towards the Mississippi. Water rushed over and around rocks---stones to gigantic boulders (smooth and round the old rocks, rigid and square the young). Tiered stone steps climbed up under and beside each falls, making it easy for novice hikers to get close. The cool mist must have been refreshing to the Cherokee or hiker before me who breathed hard up to see these falls.
The Laurel Falls is one of the Great Smoky Mountains’ most popular attractions. About a mile of well-travelled, slope-sided dirt path winds to the falls. Its condition reminded me of many high-traffic trails found in urban metro parks. Tree trunks and rocks were graffitied with initials, hearts, dates, and scratches of claiming rights to experiences--- articulations of unsophisticated and extroverted behavior, or some insecurity. Nevertheless, the falls rushed loud and fast when we reached a small wood bridge that crossed the fallen water. The temperature dropped when we walked up and we were hit again by mist. The falls fell at least a hundred tiered feet at twenty-five feet wide. You can climb some rocks down a ways to get a better shot. There were several hikers there one week before the high season began in May. Get there the earlier, the better.
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