Avery County

Perhaps you saw my image here www.flickr.com/photos/snapdraggin/30494945821/in/datepost... of Grandfather Mountain. It points out many things, not least of which is the Linn Cove Viaduct… it’s one of the most famous stretches of road anywhere, which is quite a feat, as it is found along another famous road, the Blue Ridge Parkway. Until the viaduct was completed in 1987, the Blue Ridge Parkway was effectively unfinished. Hugh Morton, who owned the mountain at that time, would not allow cutting into the side of the mountain to complete the road… you had a rather long detour to reconnect going either north or south along the parkway. The Linn Cove Viaduct was the answer to that problem, as it was minimally invasive to the mountain causing no damage whatsoever to the ecosystem of the mountain wilderness. The complex span of nearly a quarter-mile across involves two turns of tight radius, so tight in fact, that it took a powerful computer and 1,500 pages of specifications to get it right. At his death, Hugh Morton willed the mountain to North Carolina. It is now a state park.

This was taken from the ideal spot for the most iconic view of the viaduct, a rise of rocks on the north end of the viaduct. It’s a steep, though short climb to a precarious perch on those rocks, but it’s well worth the effort. I’ve worked my way up there for years (even at night, as seen here: www.flickr.com/photos/snapdraggin/21874790584/in/datepost...), but for one reason or another, I never quite got the shot I was after… until now. I’m so happy about that, as I don’t have to climb up there anymore… yeah, right.

Grandfather Mountain is quite a rise over its surroundings, as you can see here. Much of what you see in the distance, is the escarpment that surges up to the highlands. The two sharp rises that can be seen above the end of the viaduct here are quite iconic, too… Table Rock is on the left, and Hawksbill Mountain is to the right. Just the other side of them is Linville Gorge. There’s a lot to be explored here… but you still might find me sitting on these very rocks next year. There must be a way to top this shot, after all.

What are you thankful for? Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day here in the United States, and despite the turmoil here and throughout the world over the last few months, there’s still much to be thankful for. Allow me to explain it through this image: I spent two weeks in the mountains of North Carolina this October specifically to try to define autumn in astonishing ways with the camera… as that area has been in a drought since June, that effort was a difficult one. Clouds are the canvas that sunrises and sunsets project their palettes of color to, but they often refused to cooperate this year.

I was disappointed with weather predictions that entire trip and this morning was no different… hoping for clouds the evening before and on the drive up to Rough Ridge, I got exactly what I was looking for… clouds! The only problem was that they weren’t where I expected them to be. It was still dark when I set up here, and you could see stars down on the horizon… not a good sign. As the sun rose, it was blue skies for sure… yet, with this inversion layer of clouds giving their best impression of a turbulent ocean crashing on an island shore, and the brilliant sun breaking through this colorful autumnal screen, I am no less than thankful for what it gave me.

Did you ever stop to think that it’s quite impossible to be discontented and thankful at the same time? Thankful people see blessings amidst burdens. As does the sun, indifferent of clouds, blessings shine on and eventually break through.

I am thankful to call you all friends this Thanksgiving. “Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus” (1 Thessalonians 5:18).

The Catawba rhododendron didn’t do well in terms of showy flowers this year and put out more growth in the foliage, likely due to an extended and awfully cold winter this year… the flame azalea, however, apparently didn’t get that message. Here at Engine Gap in the Roan Highlands, flame azalea of several types and colors were blooming like gangbusters.

I got a late start heading up here on this Friday with friend Paul McKenna, intending a sunset shot from Jane Bald, but that thunderstorm some 20 miles away held my interest until the sun had set well behind Roan Mountain. Much of the background, apart from the very top of high Grassy Ridge Bald to the far left, is in shade, which makes that storm stand out. It’s reaching up as thunderstorms are prone to do and is probably 20,000-25,000 feet up at the top at this moment and still going up.

It was pitch dark when we got back to the car at Carver’s Gap… as we exited the last of the switchbacks down through the balsam woods near the parking lot, we encountered a couple of fathers leading some reluctant boys up into the spooky dark woods… they were apparently going to camp up there. I came within a breath of saying “Look out for the flying monkeys!” Two things kept me from doing it: first, I’m not sure they would have understood the reference (do you?). Second, the dads had their hands full just trying to keep the group putting one foot in front of the other… and you’ve got to appreciate a dad going through such hoops to open the world of wonder to their kids. The last thing they needed was somebody scaring the bejeebers out of them... even so, there must be flying monkeys in there somewhere.

At a quarter of 10:00 pm, we were back to Newland and laughing, as they roll the sidewalks up in that area at that time, even at McDonald’s. We found sandwiches at the local Ingle’s Grocery, so we didn’t go to bed hungry that night at the Parkview Lodge in Linville Falls.

This image is a composite of five vertical images stitched seamlessly together using Photoshop CC 2018. The original is greatly detailed with an output size of 60”x24”.

If you were to ask me what my favorite meal of the day is, my answer would be breakfast... followed closely by lunch and supper. Might as well throw “elevensies” in there as well... with size 13 feet, I’m obviously part Hobbit. I feel much the same way about seasons. I’m not so sure that I could fully appreciate living in a place where there are no seasons. I would miss the sultry greens of summer, the ephemeral vividness of autumn, the sleepiness of winter, and the hope of spring... there’s something to look forward to in each coming season, even in so brief a moment as this one from Rough Ridge here in the mountains of North Carolina.

There’s always something to expect in the season we’re now in... Christmas. The crisp, dry air makes the stars shine a little brighter... and makes me realize Christmas wouldn’t be the same on the beaches of Australia or New Zealand! I wouldn’t pass up the opportunity, though Christmas in winter just seems right. Why else would Bob Cratchit need an extra lump of coal?

My expectations for the season changed some years back when I was part of a music team that visited a particular nursing home... I played carols and hymns on the guitar, along with my friend, Clyde, as others sang along. The women in the group decided to buy presents for everyone in the home... men got a comb and a pair of socks, women got a hairbrush and Chapstick, and everyone (that could have one) got a big candy cane. My first thought concerning this was “We could do better.” My second thought wasn’t much better... but then I noticed something. Most everyone there were crying tears of joy, because someone remembered them. The presents were small tokens... but they came with a powerful added gift of touch as a hug or a hand held, or a word spoken, or a willing ear... expressions of love for those who feel left out or forgotten. It truly is the little things in life that make lasting differences. Remember that this season!

This has been a year of challenges and firsts for me... this will be my first Christmas as a married man, and I’m loving it. I’d better be, as I just read the loving inscription in my ring, “If you can read this, you’re in trouble!” That’s one expectation I didn’t expect... don’t tell Joyce!

Check out this song by Matthew West, My Own Little World... it touches on issues that would do well for us to know, especially in this season. Seven little words in that song greatly impact how I see this world... “Break my heart for what breaks yours.” Listen: www.youtube.com/watch?v=M9Yasgzjc0w

What do you call an overcast when it's below your feet? This is a situation that occurs quite often here in the Blue Ridge. The drive up was not just foggy, but also dark... quite foreboding in terms of my expectations, and yet, beauty was there to be revealed from my perch at Rough Ridge. To the left far below, you can see the bridge from which I took this image: www.flickr.com/photos/snapdraggin/30494945821/in/datepost....

Clouds like these seem so much like ocean billows where the mountain tops poke through like islands... it reminded of the hymn It is Well with My Soul, which seems timely given the upset of late with our nation and with others around the world. A little lesson concerning this encouraging song for those who do not know: Horatio Spafford was a successful Chicago lawyer who had invested in property throughout the city... already devastated by the death of his two-year-old son, the Great Chicago Fire of 1871 left him in financial ruin. While the economic downturn of 1873 made matters worse for him, he decided to go through with plans he and his family made to travel Europe. At the last minute, he sent his family ahead of him, as he was delayed with concerns of zoning problems after the fire. While crossing the Atlantic aboard the SS Ville du Havre, the ship sank rapidly after a collision with another vessel, the Loch Earn, and all four of Spafford's daughters died. His wife Anna survived and sent him the now famous telegram, "Saved alone …". Shortly afterward, as Spafford traveled to meet his grieving wife, he was inspired to write these astounding words as his ship passed near where his daughters had died:

When peace like a river, attendeth my way, When sorrows like sea billows roll; Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say It is well, it is well, with my soul.

It is well, (it is well), With my soul, (with my soul) It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, Let this blest assurance control, That Christ has regarded my helpless estate, And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought! My sin, not in part but the whole, Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more, Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live: If Jordan above me shall roll, No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life, Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.

But Lord, 'tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait, The sky, not the grave, is our goal; Oh, trump of the angel! Oh, voice of the Lord! Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul.

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight, The clouds be rolled back as a scroll; The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend, Even so, it is well with my soul.

"Undercast" seems descriptive of a general mood of late... perhaps understanding that though times may be seemingly perilous, even so, it is well with my soul. Just so you know, Horatio Stafford and his wife went on to forge extraordinary lives in trying times... so should we all.

A stunning version of this song by 4 Him: www.youtube.com/watch?v=_jc0a1CwaeM

I’m still working on older images I’ve not posted until now… it keeps me busy until my next foray with the camera. As likely is the frame of mind of my photographer friends, I’d rather be out shooting, but it is satisfying to see the results. I have many things that will keep me close to home for the most part over the coming month, though we are going to attend my family reunion in the first week of April. That will be in Vidalia, Georgia, a spot in this world made famous by, of all things, onions. The first time Joyce attended, we arrived the night before. I opened the window as we drove along the outskirts of town through huge agricultural fields, fragrant with nearly ripe onions… “Smell that”, I asked Joyce. “Yeah, and it’s making me hungry”, she answered. The soil in this place is freakishly low in sulphur, which makes the Vidalia onion among the sweetest in the world. By the way, that’s pronounced Vie-day-lee-a, not Vid-a-lee-a. Pronounce it wrong there and you will be assailed with the likes of “You ain’t from around here, are you, honey? Well, bless your heart.” That “bless your heart” part of that statement does not mean what many folks not from around those parts think. It is southern vernacular for “you likely don’t have it altogether”… that’s the nice way of putting it.

I would like to find a good place to grab a decent shot of the onion fields there, but the next planned shoot will be at the Wings Over Wayne air show at Seymour Johnson Air Force Base on April 27th. I love landscape photography, but the challenge of a good air show is as much fun to me as anything. We’re also bringing some Chinese friends who are excited to go, as they’ve never seen anything like it before.

The next trip after that brings me back here to Linville in early May, likely to set up on Hawksbill Mountain and Table Rock in Linville Gorge. I Can’t wait… hope to see you there.

Whose head’s in the clouds? Grandfather’s is… literally! At over a mile up, the prominences of Grandfather Mountain often reach into the clouds. This mountain was named “Grandfather” by pioneers who imagined the face of an old man among its cliffs. The original Cherokee name for the mountain was “Tanawha,” meaning “a fabulous hawk or eagle.” The Tanawha Trail, which follows along the slopes of the mountain, and connects portions of the Mountains-To-Sea Trail, is marked by a feather. Here, Grandfather is all decked out in his finery… there are few places in this world that show autumn off as well.

This image also highlights one of the most famous stretches of road anywhere, the Linn Cove Viaduct. Until the viaduct was completed in 1987, the Blue Ridge Parkway was effectively unfinished. Hugh Morton, who owned the mountain at that time, would not allow cutting into the side of the mountain to complete the road… you had a rather long detour to reconnect going either north or south along the parkway. The Linn Cove Viaduct was the answer to that problem, as it was minimally invasive to the mountain causing no damage whatsoever to the ecosystem of the mountain wilderness. At his death, Hugh Morton willed the mountain to North Carolina. It is now a state park.

That colorful crest just below the viaduct is Yonahlossee Ridge. Starting at the topmost rock outcropping near the Blue Ridge Parkway and working its way down the ridge, this is the area of the first fall color to show up anywhere within this region… that’s why it’s so lit up now. The trees along there are mostly maples, though a close view reveals a stand of scarlet sourwood as well. I used to climb out over those rocks years ago, but they’re closed off now due to “endangered” plants. “Yonahlossee” is another Cherokee word meaning “trail of the black bear”… must have been something to that, as I saw one in that area this year.

No one is certain of an “official” profile of the mountain, as witnessed by those who first saw the prone image of an old bearded man among the crags of the mountain. However, the most popular profile can be seen from the community of Foscoe, seven miles north of Linville and 10 miles south of Boone on N.C. 105.

This is a composite image from 5 vertical images stitched in Photoshop ACR, yielding an output image of 72"x36". Sunlight, finding its way through the clouds, lights up the steep ridges, highlighting the ruggedness of Grandfather's wilderness.

It’s a rough and rocky trail that leads to such a beautiful place… the hike up is a little steep to begin with through what seems more trough than trail. You have to hoist yourself over larger rocks through a tunnel of rhododendron for a good way, but then the trail opens up to a large rock shelf… and to this view of aptly named Rough Ridge and Grandfather Mountain beyond.

This is a very popular overlook along the Blue Ridge Parkway. You can find it at Milepost 302.8, in North Carolina. It’s an access for the Tanawha Trail that originates at Beacon Heights and ends at Price Lake. To me, it also provides one of the better views of the Linn Cove Viaduct, which can be seen in the distance on the left side of Grandfather. While all you may notice is a bridge, the viaduct is no less than an engineering marvel… its span connects two ends of the Blue Ridge Parkway with minimal impact on the mountain.

Autumn foliage is a huge draw here throughout North Carolina, and no less in this spot… like many others who find this the perfect place to set up a tripod, I know of ways to beat the crowd. One way is to be prepared for any kind of weather, such as you see here… rough, which seems fitting. This is also toward sunset… you can see light pouring through clouds in the distance, which was as good as sunset was going to be on this evening. Yet, I don’t really see how it could have been better, as this light made the colors pop... in this place, rough is no doubt redefined.

A zoom view of the blue ridge mountains at dawn from Beacon Heights off the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina. It was a blustery cold fall day and...