Epic Grandfather Mountain Hike

What is up fam? It’s Alex here talking with ya, and I’m here to tell you about the boys' adventures climbing a mountain that actually turned out to be 4 mountains (Tato tricked us). So we arrived Friday afternoon and hiked about a mile to our campsite, where we would be staying the night. We brought all of our camping gear with us, but left much of the stuff that we’d be using for the hike at the car. We spent the rest of the day setting up camp, lighting fires with marshmallows, exploring the river, going back to the river again cause mark wanted to, going back a third time because we needed water, and then had a dinner of hot dogs and s’mores. Then we watched "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs” in the tent, because we were feeling adventurous.

The next morning, we woke up, packed up camp, and headed back to the car to drop off our gear and prepare for the hike. Little did we know what was ahead of us....

The first part of the hike was relatively easy, it was a typical mountain trail for the first 3 or so miles. The views were gorgeous, and we could see Tennessee and Mt. Mitchell from where we were standing. But it soon became a very strenuous hike, with many many ladders and rocks and ropes to hold onto. Oftentimes, we were gripping rocks and shuffling along the edge of a cliff (I am not exaggerating in the slightest) with only yellow spray-paint to guide our steps. One wrong move, and we’d end up in the wrong kind of vehicle on the way home (an ambulance, for those who can’t take a joke).

Funny rocks, funny people

And this was our halfway point! We stopped at the mile high bridge for the views and to say that we made it. Kind of a letdown, to be honest, since the actual bridge was only about 60 feet above the ground surface, but it was a mile above sea level. Tourist trap right there.

Ok, time for a really eerie and strange story. So in the 1970s, a single person plane was flying from Florida to New York and crashed on the mountain, killing the pilot. The wreckage hasn’t been recovered, and so the fuselage is just lying on the mountainside right near the trail. On the way back down the mountain we decided to visit the solemn site, and while we were walking around, a man and his wife and kid show up and say that the pilot was the guy's FATHER. He said that the crash happened when he was 12, and he told us that bad weather had caused the crash and that his dad was flying the plane to check if the instruments were operating correctly. Like...what are the odds. It was mind-blowing that we were at the sight of a plane crash, in the middle of nowhere on the side of a mountain with no one around, and THE SON OF THE PILOT OF THE PLANE IS THE PERSON WHO SHOWS UP WITH US. Spooky stuff.

During the last 4 miles, our legs were on autopilot, and no matter what we did, we couldn’t stop moving down the trail. Every time we stopped, our brains would scream at us to keep going. So we did. We were so tired and drained from the hike that we were hardly talking anymore, we just wanted to get to the car and eat food (By the way, I was peeling from a terrible sunburn this entire time. I hope your respect for me greatly increases now). But at around 5pm, we finally arrived at our van. Exhausted and famished, we rested for about 20 minutes, and then drove to the nearest Olive Garden to gorge on pasta, breadsticks, and salad. 

We have to do this again! 

Alex.