Of Snow and Saint Bernards in the Smokies

Written and photographed by Jon Reynolds, an award-winning photographer based in the Northern Kentucky/Greater Cincinnati area. Jon is the author of “Illuminating Nature: Chasing Light Across the Landscape,” published by Countryman Press, a division of W.W.Norton.  More information can be found at jonreynoldsphoto.com.

“Hello,” I said to the park ranger as he placed the final orange cone. He had just closed the gate to the Laurel Creek entrance on the Townsend side of Great Smoky Mountain National Park due to the impending winter storm. 

“Good morning,” he responded warily. 

“Would it be possible to hike in?” I asked, with as much guileless innocence as I could muster.  

“All the way to Cades Cove?” he responded with a hint of incredulity. It’s seven miles from the Townsend entrance to the beginning of the Cades Cove loop. 

“No, just to Tremont,” I protested, hoping to reassure without undermining my pretense. 

“Sure. The roads are closed to vehicle traffic. You’re welcome to head in on foot,” he replied. 

He flashed a little smile. Translation: ‘Go right ahead, buddy, knock yourself out. Just don’t fall in the river.’

Thirty minutes later I was walking on Tremont Road as the first flakes began to swirl, full of anticipation. My dream of seeing the Smokies in the snow was about to come true!

In the beginning, the Middle Prong Branch of the Little River was my only aural accompaniment, later to be joined by the crunch of snow beneath my feet.  An hour later I had reached the Tremont Institute as the storm intensified.  The rocks and fallen tree branches were already laden with castings of ice, and with the dusting of white they began to appear as tiny angelic handbells intricately laced.  I set to work to find my favorite bends along the West Prong Branch of the Little River, fully aware that I had only a few precious hours of dim January light available.  

As late afternoon approached, I began to grow fatigued thanks to the weight of my heavy snow gear and camera bag.  It was now 3:30 and my tired brain attempted some important time calculations.   It would take me roughly an hour and half to return to my car back at the public parking in Townsend, but I still had my ultimate destination ahead of me: Spruce Flat Falls.  I could either attempt the climb tomorrow (guessing–correctly as it turned out–that GSMNP would not be opening the road to Cades Cove the following day), or I could do it now despite my dead legs and numb feet, knowing that I would return in the total darkness of the early winter sunset.  

Crossing the West Prong Branch to reach the bottom of the falls proved impossible (my wet shoes were a testament to my futile efforts), so the only way up was going to be to return to the Tremont Institute and hike the mile or so to the top. My lone set of footprints had nearly been erased from the road by the heavy snow, but as I trudged back, I noticed something else: the gentle sounds of the river had been joined by a brittle tap-tapping.  I had been so focused on crossing my little Rubicon I hadn’t noticed that the heavy snow had begun to turn to icy pellets!  In the fog of my weary brain, I began to hear the faint voices of internal struggle: 

ANGEL ON MY SHOULDER: “Don’t do it, Jon!  You’re too tired.”

ME: “I am that.”

A: “Maybe call it a day and try tomorrow after a good night of sleep in your car.”

SCRATCH ON MY CHEEK: “Don’t listen to him!  Do it!  Make the climb! Besides, sleeping in your car got you this far, didn’t it?”

ME: “You make a good point, Scratch, though the sleep wasn’t that great…”

S: “Yes! Now is the time to do it!  Do it!  You won’t regret it…”

A: “Please!  You can hike in tomorrow!  Look how much you’re drooping now!”

S: “Drooping, schmooping!”

A: “Excuse me, but it’s obvious, isn’t it?  I mean, he is fifty–”

ME: “Hey!”

A: “I was going to say ‘fifty-something,’ he’s not as young as he used to be.”

S: “Wait, you’re in your fifties? Hmm. I don’t know.  Maybe ‘Goody Two-Boots’ is right.  They’d have to send in the Saint Bernard with the cask to come rescue you.”  

ME: “You mean like in the old Warner Brothers’ cartoons?”

A: “Oh, I like that one.  It’s so funny when the dog arrives for the rescue and then proceeds to pull out the martini from its cask and drink it.  Then it runs away.  That. is. hilarious.”

(S & A embrace with a laugh.  SCENE)

Cut to 4:00 p.m. and in my delirium I begin the icy ascent, the only idiot all day to attempt the climb. Exhausted and covered in ice, I returned to my car at 7:15, bleary-eyed yet ready for another fitful night of sleep at the KOA and wondering when that Saint Bernard was going to arrive.