Lillies, Waterfalls, and a Banjammer

More than one friendly park visitor complimented me on my cleaning abilities as I leaned over the informational sign with a Windex bottle and a dirty toothbrush at Clingmans Dome, the highest point in the park. Some passed with mock pity, apologizing that such a task was given to me. At those comments, I generally looked down at the sign, scrubbing moss and dirt away from the historical photos and storytelling words, and smiled. A reason to spend an entire workday at one of my favorite places in the park? I’d take it any day.

Clingmans Dome is named after a man who was irreplaceable in the measurements of mountain elevations within the park. Though it is the tallest peak in the park, the mountain is indeed a “dome”; its rounded mountaintop was adorned with a large cement observation tower for visitors to climb, giving us the ability to see for miles on a clear, haze-free day. The walk to the tower is steep, however: for a half mile, there is a surprisingly large amount of elevation gain.

There’s no place I feel more at home in the mountains than when I’m either nestled within them or sitting above them. Halfway through the day I found myself a small rock overhang to sit by, and I simply stared at the mountains below me, trying to commit them to memory.

Later, as I was wandering along the parking lot in search of the blooming Turk’s Cap Lilies, I met a kind couple from Florida settled into camp chairs facing the mountains as I had been, two dogs nestled at their feet. I sat down on a rock next to them as I began talking to the woman. The man was holding an instrument in his lap, a long, slender wooden instrument that resembled what I thought was a dulcimer, with four strings, and a strange drum-like circle at the end resembling a banjo. He was strumming it to familiar Appalachian songs, his fingers skimming up and down the fingerboard.

“It’s a banjammer!” his wife exclaimed after I inquired. So it was some kind of banjo hybrid. I laughed with them and told them about the mandolin I had bought on a whim before moving out here. Realizing I must be musically inclined, the man jumped on this opportunity.

Turk's Cap Lily

“Would you like to play it?” he asked me. I first declined, then realized how foolish it would be to pass up a perfectly good opportunity to learn to play such a unique instrument. He taught me a simple tune, using three of the strings as a drone, and the melody on the final string. If I learned one thing that day, it was that I was not born to play the banjammer. I listened in awe as he began to strum it again.

The memory of the friendly couple from Florida stayed with me through the rest of the evening. I realized that meeting new people from all over the country and world was one of my favorite parts about being in this new and frequently-visited place. And it also made me sad, that I could learn so much about people in these brief encounters, and then part ways knowing I would probably never see them again. I have learned so much from the people that I have met here—including visitors to the park, as well as park volunteers and employees—and I am thankful to have met all of them.

Rainbow Falls

Fellow intern and hiking buddy, Qiuandra!

Our hike for the weekend was Rainbow Falls, a hike that I felt should have been easier than it was, but it is incredible how much the heat and humidity can drain your energy in the lower elevations of these mountains. The trail crossed the stream several times, eventually opening up to a large opening in the forest, with an 80 foot waterfall at the back. Its mist reached us over one hundred yards away, and we scrambled onto one of the closer rocks to eat lunch. It was one of the most beautiful destinations I have reached on a hike, even if we were only treated to sparse views of the mountains between trees on the way up. Worth the climb.

Another update to come soon!

Lindsey