Holiday hiking lessons

People have always been drawn to the high places – the mountains and the hills.

They still are today. Even in this holiest, craziest, most frenzied of holiday seasons some people still find themselves turning to the heights along the South Carolina-North Carolina border. They seem to move of volition other than their own and are not dismayed by that in the least.

In earliest times, this attraction between man and the heights has been called an inchoate response to majesty. Later that metamorphosed into worship (often of the mountain itself); today it has become a need to feed one’s city-starved soul and, perhaps, relearn some things we’ve forgotten.

Go to the mountain early, before dawn if you can, and watch the glory of a new day’s birth far from the hum of tires and the stench of exhaust fumes.

On a recent Saturday, Caesar’s Head at dawn was wrapped in a hush so deep it seemed a sin to breathe. No traffic noise. No wind; just the sky reaching out, ever eastward, and darkness.

Until, at last, there is a glimmer of rose and hint of cerulean to defy the photographer’s best efforts. As there is light, you know why the temple in Jerusalem was sited to face eastward; why our bright, light-polluted, modern world so often fails to satisfy. And, at such a moment, of course one must take a picture.

Even while the sound of the Nikon’s motor-driven shutter was busy defiling the temple, silence was rising, like a trout, and swallowed the technological intrusion.

Then, nearby came a faint rustle and plop; the sound of dew condensing and falling from countless leaves and branches. It’s a sound hovering between joy and sadness at the cusp of a new day. As quickly as comes that thought, dawn becomes full-blown and the nattering concern fades to black.

Lesson one: There are things of great importance in this world and my foolish worries need not apply.

Later, and deeper into the woods on the Raven Cliff Falls overlook trail, the day becomes defined by a wind shifting to the south; flowing over The Dismal (gorge) comes the smell of water in a parched land; and hints of a coming year’s life in the pine-cone like buds of mountain laurel and tightly curled rhododendron.

As the day winds on toward 9 a.m., the sounds of human joy intrude.

At first I’m angry. The mountain’s been mine now for a couple of hours, more than one should hope for at any time of year, and I’m busy trying to decide whether to photograph Raven Cliff Falls from the overlook or down in The Dismal.

It’s the voices themselves that dispel my disquiet. There’s something special about those voices. Joy, of course – but there’s something else, too.

Just what that special something might be becomes apparent as tall Al Artis and stumpy Clarence Wirt step out of the trail’s shadows.

Lesson two: Joy is meant to be shared.

Artis, 49, of Boiling Springs and Wirt, 50 of Woodbridge, Va., have been friends for decades.

“We get together a couple of times a year,” Artis said, “And when we do it’s time for a hike.”

The pair goes on to the overlook, quietly discussing past hikes and laughing about good times. Trailing behind, there’s an almost voyeuristic thrill in reliving those times with these two old friends. It’s the friendship and it’s the place that makes this so special, so I quietly leave them to talk overlooking the falls.

Lesson three: The mountain’s call can come long-distance and no one who answers it leaves unchanged.

There’s Jonathan Oliver, 21, a student at Clemson from Atlanta with time on his hands and a need to fulfill in his soul. “All my friends were studying, so I thought I’d check Raven Cliff Falls out.

“Man, this is gorgeous.”

Chris Fausnight, 23, Gilliam Housman, 23, and Deanna Grice, 30 answered the call from Augusta, Ga.

Chris, carrying a full-grown frame pack as practice for the Appalachian Trail, said “This is just a day trip. I’m not sure what made us actually come.”

But they made the drive and the look on Gilliam and Deanna’s faces spoke volumes to the effects a mountain can have on first-timers.

Mark Grant, 22, and Anne-Marie Martin, 21, came from Anderson with Grant’s 2-year-old Weimaraner, Sherman Lee. The look on the two young people’s face said they might well be traveling that way again one day soon as more than just a couple.

Sherman Lee didn’t seem to mind, so long as he could come, too.

Finally, Justin Stutler, 35, of Cayce was camping at Table Rock State Park when the tug of Caesar’s Head out-pulled Table Rock Mountain. “I want to see the footbridge over the falls,” Stutler said as he signed in to hike the trial. “Man, this (weather and place) is wonderful. I can tell I want to come back already.”