To combat the congestion blues, we opted to meander through north Georgia, up Georgia Route 5 into the mountains. Beyond Interstate 75, Nancy and I had no impression of the northern corner of Georgia.
Growing up in southern Georgia left me with an entirely different view of the state’s geography. During our three-year stop in Dublin, Georgia, I knew the state only as a single plain extending to the Atlantic coast broken up by parched rivers and pine stands.
As we curled north from Ball Ground into Georgia’s mountain zone, all false impression melted away in rolling rows of steep mountains. We couldn’t have been farther from the Low Country.
In a few short miles, we entered Apple Country. Barns touting local produce lined Route 5. Our stop at Penland Orchard was obvious – Nancy’s mom was a Penland. After shopping for jams and a jug of Scuppernong cider (much tastier than Scuppernong wine), we motored to Blue Ridge.
A Christmas parade and swarms of pedestrians crowded downtown Blue Ridge, so we picked another north Georgia landmark as our destination – Brasstown Bald, the state’s highest peak. We left SR5 at Blue Ridge and curved toward Blairsville and the looming peaks. Which one was Brasstown Bald? It was hard to tell when following the river valleys that coursed beneath their steep slopes.
After Blairsville, a series of turns essentially guided us around the mountain to a steep, narrow entrance road that eventually reached a U.S. Forest Service guardshack. The road led into a meadow or broad ridge that had been paved for a parking lot. Only shuttle buses could drive to the top.
A series of steep switchbacks allowed visitors to walk to the observation deck that offered 360-views of the Georgia peaks. We hiked the last 0.6 miles to the observation tower. It was cold, steep and grueling for so short a distance. Most people just walked down the peak trail. But it provided a little invigoration before we had to deal with the screaming masses atop the mountain.
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| Looking southeast from Brasstown Bald. |
No noise could dispute the views. The Blue Ridge peaks rolled to the northeastern horizon. Lake Chatuge, formed from a dam on the Hiawassee River, sparkled on the mostly sunny afternoon. The metal and brick of small towns below glinted in the light.
Were the trees green with foliage, we would have had better views, but Brasstown Bald still looked out onto plenty of majesty. After perusing the museum on the observation platform’s first level, we spared our knees and took a shuttle back to the lot.
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| Chatuge Lake, as seen from Brasstown Bald. |
For one last turn, we decided to make it a three-state day and headed north to Murphy, N.C. Nancy had heard plenty about Murphy, the base camp for many adventures in North Carolina and the Smoky Mountains.
We drove through the usual campground, soon to be adjacent to a new Indian casino that like means an end to camping there. Dozens of campers were stored there, and the few people milling around gave us odd looks.
As we moved from Murphy toward Tennessee, a sun dog appeared east of the actual sun. A reflection of sun against ice crystals in high cirrus clouds, the sun dog gives the impression of a second smaller sun trailing the genuine article. The effect stuck with us as we crossed the Tennessee border and entered the Ocoee Gorge in the Cherokee National Forest.
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| Sun dog at North Carolina's western tip. |
Below the two dams on the Ocoee’s whitewater sections, the waters bubbled and swept toward Parksville Lake, the reservoir created by Ocoee Dam No. 1. Losing light, we headed for Cleveland then back to 24.
Clouds turned the sunset into a kaleidoscope of crimson and purple hues, the last fading as we left the Tennessee Valley for the Appalachian foothills.
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| Sunset at Parksville Reservoir. |
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