I guess they have been paying attention to this fearsome mass produced Awful Warning. We saw almost no trash at all so the signs must work. A cyclist came by after we parked and told us we had the nicest camp spot in the national forest. Nicely nice for us nice people.
We were about an hour southeast of Asheville not far from the Blue Ridge parkway so it certainly wasn’t as remote a spot as some we’ve enjoyed but the space was level and there were trails in several directions so Rusty was happy. Moses was shown the promised land from pisgah, the summit in Hebrew. Pisgah also means a distant, unobtainable objective. Yes I know it sounds like a Native American word and easily mispronounced but it comes from the story of Moses in the Bible. When I told Webb Chiles, the inveterate traveler where I was he challenged me to dig deeper, so I did and discovered the meaning behind the oddly named mountain forests. I hope you are impressed.
The forest service allows fourteen camping days at any marked spot totally free and with no facilities aside from a fire ring and a grill. Our Promaster is designed for wild camping with lots of water and a big battery bank so we like these kinds of laid back forest spots. They make a change from moochdocking with family and friends which I find quite tiring as I attempt to be on my best behavior.
It took some hunting to find this spot. iOverlander, the traveling app showed several dispersed camping sites here in the National Forest and we wondered how it was going to be on a Sunday in changing leaf season. “This looks like grand central station” Layne said as we crossed paths with our second Sprinter van. Just enough room and we got past each other on the narrow gravel track. Van life is hip in Asheville a cosmic center of all things fashionable. My nephew a cycling fanatic rides a $15,000 electric mountain bike. You can imagine the gasps of admiration that elicits among the cognoscenti. I was stunned by the cost even though he has also ridden competitively.
The first forest road was packed with parked trucks and SUVs, some day hiking and some parked next to their tents. We stopped to take a stroll and ponder our options. Hanging out here seemed either impossible or undesirable even if we found a legal spot. Time to move on.
We drove past the vehicles parked in ditches and wide spots along the narrow gravel road until we found a wide spot and made a u-turn. Back to the highway to look elsewhere.
Once on US Highway 276 we drove a couple of miles until I spotted an inconspicuous brown numbered road sign indicating a national forest dirt side road. That’s where the camp sites are so without much hope we drove up the pretty wooded road enjoying the forest not expecting to find an empty spot. We met a Sprinter van and stopped to talk to the solo driver (and his dog). He told us there were spaces to camp but the road just loops around till it gets back to the highway so keep trying.
Compared to the national forests in the west there are far fewer dispersed camping possibilities here. You can only sleep at a spot marked with a tent symbol and they aren’t too generous with those. A few minutes after the Sprinter encounter we saw an unoccupied tent pad with room for our van alongside… We stopped and that was that. Soon thereafter a cyclist came by and asked if we were staying the night. Sure are! We settled in and I pulled out my camp chair and my book finally able to finish Stephen Ambrose’s biography of Meriwether Lewis, the huge paperback I bought at Pompey’s Pillar, the Lewis and Clark national monument in Montana. This is a different world from that open western prairie:
The Lewis and Clarke story ended in Tennessee woodland much like this oddly enough. Lewis is buried near Nashville and I plan to go there later this week to see the monument. I closed the 484th page of the biography as Lewis the manic depressive alcoholic ends his brief life by shooting himself twice, once in the face and once in the body but refusing to die immediately. After a night of agony he finally staggered out of his room and lay down to wait for the dawn and die outside an inn on the Natchez Trace. I had no idea the great explorer ended miserably like that. Clark on the other hand lived on with a government job in St Louis as head of Indian affairs supported by a loving wife. That’s the explorer story I prefer.
We had had our few days being sociable with my wife’s family in Asheville; eating too much and tasting craft beers and enjoying the crisp Fall sunshine. We left with a full 30 gallon tank of water and empty trash cans and the memory of hot showers. It was good to get out into the woods. More friends to meet in Tennessee, a truck stop shower I hope and then another zag south toward Key West. Meanwhile some time to read and reflect and watch rusty enjoy the forest. Layne cooked up a storm with half a duck on the menu with mashed potatoes and salad, a brilliant coconut cream sauce and a growler of brown ale. Life aboard GANNET2 is not slumming.
We have to be in Miami October 28th with lots to do and see in the next three weeks. For now some silence among the trees. Lovely.
