Whiteside Mountain

There may not be many clear and relatively warm days left this year, perfect for hiking.  It had warmed up to 50 degrees this afternoon and Whiteside Mountain was calling to me.  There were hordes of people in Town, here for the Highlands Food and Wine festival; someone was flagging cars into the parking lot on the old Deville property across from the Post Office, and there were shuttle buses on the move between there and the huge tent set up on Pine Street.  Slender young women were crossing Main Street oblivious of the traffic, most of them wearing expensive-looking knee-length boots.

Some of the same hordes were at the Whiteside Mountain parking lot where I was fortunate to squeeze into a parking place.  A small group of young people was just behind me on the trail, laughing and chattering away, obviously climbing the mountain for the first time.  So I played the part of the experienced local and told them a little about the trails and what they would be looking at from the summit.  "Here for the Food and Wine Festival?" I asked.  "You got it!"  They were suitably impressed by the views of Whiteside Cove at the top, and one of them even climbed down to take a look at Fool's Rock, site of the daring 1911 rescue by Charles Wright.

The faraway lakes of South Carolina were gleaming on the horizon; I started to point them out to my accidental companions, but decided against it since they did not even notice the peregrine falcon floating blissfully on the thermals.

They were chattering so much that I let them go on.  But there were others who were as impressed by the silence as I.  One woman was perched on a little rock, arms clasped around her knees, gazing out in the distance savoring the quiet.  This young man was painting the magnificent view spread out before him, and he permitted me to take a picture of his work in progress.

After any time at all hiking out on a mountain, that indescribable peace begins to well up inside a person, not unlike what we runners experience on those long, leisurely runs far from Main Street.  Other hikers greet us readily, commenting on the gorgeous day, the glorious views.  Children seem especially excited; perhaps they have never climbed to such an altitude before in their lives.

On the way back down the trail, I stopped to take photos of the small, unusual things I spotted along the way, seeds and leaves and empty November stalks, noticing with satisfaction the fallen leaves thick on the watery parts of the trail, a little pile of rocks placed one atop another by some whimsical hiker.  And one especially endearing little dog with tiny, spindly legs who was absolutely in heaven, sniffing the ground almost continuously, suddenly stopping before me to gaze up in fascination at this solitary hiker.  I hope his owner will be carrying him around tonight in a big tent on Pine Street, sipping wine while the little fellow sleeps in her arms.