Published: March 16, 2008 12:34 am            

Preserving the natural beauty of Cades Cove

Recently, I received a call from a gentleman who was concerned about the future of Cades Cove, the beautiful, scenic valley in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. He proceeded to tell me that “they” were trying to close Cades Cove so that no one would be able to enjoy the park anymore.

For those Cades Cove frequent visitors, don’t panic. From the research I have done in the last few days, I haven’t read anything stating that this area of the park would be closed. Still, the thought of a place as beautiful as Cades Cove being closed to the public was very disconcerting to me.

Cades Cove is located about a 35-mile drive southwest of Gatlinburg, Tenn. The National Park Service is trying to figure out the best way to preserve the natural beauty and history of the area while enhancing the experience of the area’s visitors.

Each year, more than 2 million people visit the Cades Cove area. With that many people driving through the area, it becomes a constant chore to protect the integrity of this natural resource. From what I have seen, though, The National Park Service is determined to maximize the visitors’ experience while minimizing the impact to the environment.



Memories of Cades Cove



As I was gathering information on Cades Cove, I began remembering some past trips to the mountains of Tennessee. I first visited Cades Cove when I was about eight years old. I remember the abundance of wildlife throughout the grounds. My first up-close encounter with a wild animal was with a fawn, which casually strolled near us. Even though I chased that deer every time he got near, he would walk back time and time again to see what we were up to.

I grew up in a household that did not take a structured vacation very often. My father, mother, sister and I would load up the car and start driving. I remember asking my father, “Where are we going and when will we get there?” He typically did not answer, because he typically did not know. Oh, he had a general direction in mind, but there would always be “side” trips involved.

As an impatient child, it was sometimes irritating not knowing where we were going. Looking back now, though, I wouldn’t change much. You see, my father’s sometimes warped theory on vacations brought us to some of the most interesting places and created some great memories.

When my family traveled, we typically brought the majority of our food with us. Now I am not implying that my father is cheap, but we sure didn’t eat out much. Instead, we set up a small grill and camp stove and cooked most meals. Nothing tastes better than bacon, eggs, and grits in the middle of the woods or next to a clear brook.

On one particular trip, we stopped at a secluded site on the grounds of Little River Canyon in Fort Payne, Alabama, to cook breakfast. While my mother and father began preparing the food, my sister, Phyllis, future husband, Ken, and I decided to climb down the rocks to the river below.

To set the scene, the steep river bank was made up of several large rocks and spanned about 70 yards from the top to the river below. The three of us began climbing down, helping the others when we encountered a tricky section.

Approximately halfway down the mountain, I turned to see something with mean, beady eyes staring at us. Completely shocked, all I could get out of my mouth was, “It’s a…It’s a...It’s a…” Ken turned and said, “mountain goat.” Twenty yards from us stood a full-grown mountain goat with big horns -- and he did not appear happy to see us.

All I could think was, “Great, what do we do now? He can maneuver around these rocks a lot easier than we can. What if he attacks?” Once the initial panic subsided, we decided to each pick up a hand full of rocks and try to scare him away. Thank goodness he decided that we were too stupid to bother with and went on his merry way.

I guarantee that I will never climb rocks again without thinking about my friendly goat.

This was also the same trip that Phyllis challenged Ken to float down a river and drop over a 12-foot waterfall. She made the dumb statement, “I’ll do it, if you do it first.” Ken, being quite the competitor, eased down in the icy cold water and went over the edge. We all three eventually went over the edge for no other reason than to say, “we did it.”

Thanks, Dad, for the adventures and great memories.



Crystal Dupré is publisher of The Meridian Star. E-mail her at

cdupre@themeridianstar.com

        

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