My friend Heather paid me a visit this weekend, so Josh and I decided to take her spelunking. Yep, caving. WNC has amazing hiking trails and rock faces for climbing, and lots of caves that are mostly unknown and hard to find. We heard about this cave through someone at Josh's work, so yesterday Josh, his sister Michelle, Heather and I drove out toward Chimney Rock and followed this hand-drawn map to a rutted clay road that led up the mountain a half-mile to a trail head. Armed with cameras, a first aid kit (I told you I like to be prepared), three flashlights and one headlamp, we started up the mountain.
Right after we started we ran into some hippies who were also climbing up the trail, complete with a zampoña and a jaw harp which they were pretty good at. We said hello, and told them we were trying to find a cave someone had told us about, have they ever been there? The hippie with the zampoña replied with obviously feigned ignorance, "Cave? What are you talking about? There aren't any caves in these mountains" and shortly went back to playing his panpipe.
They paused half-way to strip off some of their clothing and we surged ahead, only to have us ladies get winded a quarter-mile up the trail and stop for some water. The hippies passed us and we saw them climb up the mountain on the trail leading left-- and then they disappeared.
I suggested we try going the way that I saw the hippies climb around some boulders, but when we got ourselves up there, there was nothing to be found. No cave entrances and the trail that continued to the left ended up taking us in the wrong direction, or so two climbers told us when we ran into them and asked.
We doubled back around, climbing up crevices that were too small for my hips to pass through the proper way, and still nothing. Not wanting to climb back down to the main trail the way that we had gotten up, we decided to cut through some boulders that had created sort of a tent against the mountains-- cool, secluded, but sadly not a cave.
Heather was the first to go through that way. "What is that smell?" she said. "I know that smell. Rosemary? No, that wouldn't be growing here on the side of a mountain." She disappeared into the crack in the boulders. "I know what it is!" her voice echoed out. "Marijuana!"
I believe our hippie friends made a pit stop on their way to the cave.
Meanwhile, another hippie couple had started up the mountain and I was trailing the guy's flannel shirt through the trees. Then, they too disappeared.
We trekked around the mountain for three hours, climbing up and down boulders, finding cracks in the rock face blowing out freezing cold air, but no main entrance to the cavern.
We left without ever finding it. It didn't really matter, because we had completely tuckered ourselves out searching and had a blast doing it. Especially me coming up with hippie conspiracy theories all the while.
This was my first real experience with hippies since moving to Asheville. It's a big movement in these parts. Thing that I learned: hippies are all natural. Dreads, body odor, the works.
I think I could be a hippie except for the B.O. part. No thank you.
Plans to find the cave in the near-future.
2 comments:
Insert British Accent
It's like, to me, the "million different people" bit just refers to the many faces we all have but at the end of day you can't break away from who you are.
While I remember listening to an interview with Richard Ashcroft, and he says that he has this pain, this burden, like it's the same as being a million people everyday, and to make it worse, he cannot change who he is, because he is who he is.
Then again, truly great writers rarely give away everything in their lyrics.
You write very well.
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