Dirtroad Stories

Everyone has their own Thanksgiving traditions.  For many years, my Thanksgiving tradition was duck hunting.  Duck season historically opened on Thanksgiving day in Kentucky and for many of us duck hunters, we had only seen each other in passing while fishing during the summer.  No one hunted a full day on Thanksgiving and most years the ducks weren’t in yet, but we went anyways.  It wasn’t a serious morning.  We would take a dozen or two decoys, arrive early enough to set-up, and get in the blind.  Unlike late season, there was no jockeying for the best spots or hunters arriving at odd hours to set-up.  These were friendly hunts and time to prepare for the upcoming season while reflecting on the previous seasons.  Most of the hunts were quiet with the few ducks that did fly by being local birds that knew where they were going.  It gave everyone an opportunity to see which decoys leaked, the necessary repairs to the blind, and how your calls sounded.  The stories began to fire back up and the new fishing stories from the summer began to grow.  Somewhere around 10 am, everyone began to think about the delicious turkeys roasting at home.  Decoys were put back into bins in the boat and small Johnson motors fired back up to head to the ramp.  Everyone would meet back on the boat ramp and give their personal forecast for the season which were as accurate as our meteorologists.  By noon, the parking lot was empty and the duck hunters were back home with family and friends.  Many of them would watch football with their eyes closed on the couch, as they recovered from their turkey comas and morning hunts.  Seasons of the past, the upcoming season, the forgiving parents and spouses that looked away as the truck and trailer left the driveway in the morning and still welcomed you home in the afternoon were just a few of the things to be thankful on Thanksgiving.  Try starting your own outdoor Thanksgiving family tradition.  It may be as simple as practice shooting your bows, while trying not to burn down the house using the turkey fryer or taking on a new hiking trail as a family.  Think about the outdoor experience that Washington and his troops had at Valley Forge and yet in the midst of the miserable winter, they were still thankful.  Be thankful for the great world that we live in, the beauty of the outdoors and celebrate it with family and friends!!!  Happy Thanksgiving from your friends at dirtroaddispatch.

On the eve of my daughter’s birth, I am sitting here thinking about all the plans I have for our family.  Of course, I want us to raise a good daughter with values and respect.  Everyone wants that, but aside from that, I want to instill the values of the outdoors.  I hope that I can raise my daughter to appreciate the greatness of what we have in our world.  I was raised in the outdoors and as I said before, I was fishing well before I was a year old.  My friends continue to laugh at me (I’m not sure if it’s out of fear or they think I am joking) when I tell them that Maddie will be hiking with me before Christmas.  I hope to teach my daughter how to camp, hike, hunt, fish, and in doing them all, appreciate the outdoors.  I hope to teach her how to bounce a spinner bait off a log and split the pines shooting at a passing grouse.  I hope to teach her the creative ways that campers can start a fire (well not all of them Casey) and how to hike around or up a mountain.  I think the values that you learn from outdoors carry over for the rest of your life in the world.  I hope that she enjoys the outdoors and the time spent with friends and family the same way that I do.  I will never forget some of the great hunt and fishing trips that I grew up taking.  It wasn’t ever because we shot the biggest deer or caught the biggest fish, it was because of the memories of the day and who I spent it with.  I have seen things that God intends us to see, but too many people miss out sitting on their couches at home.  I want to share those experiences with my daughter.  So years from now when Madison Elizabeth reads this, she can know that everything that we have done or are planning to do, were all thought of before she was even born.  Also, she can know that it was friends and family of her dad’s that made him raise her this way.  Hurry up Maddie…the fun is about to start.

The wife had worked out-of-town for weeks and the golf course had decided to close on Mondays due to the summer heat.  This worked out perfect for us!  It had been hot for weeks.  The fish were active at night and we had a plan.  All week we looked forward to Sunday night much like most of the working people look forward to Fridays.  Once it again it was a busy weekend and we ended up having to stay until almost dark.  This in itself is a consistent story in the golf business.  Finally Casey and I were done for the day and we headed to the truck.  We pulled out of the parking lot and headed north to Lake Lanier.  I called the wife on the way.  She had been busy with work all weekend and had to return to the office at 7 am.  I told her that we were going fishing and not to wait up for me to call.  We said our good nights and I pulled into the KFC parking lot.  A bucket of chicken and a cooler of Pepsi was going to cover the necessities for the night of fishing.

We arrived at the lake around 9:30.  We pulled into the parking lot of one of the boat ramp/park areas along the lake.  The sign said that the park closed at midnight.  That would be over two hours of fishing before the police showed up during there rounds and asked us to leave.  No problem we thought.  We grabbed everything from the truck and headed over to the water.  The far west side of the park was a cove.  As you moved to the east, you passed the boat ramp, a small inlet, main lake, and then back to another cove.  The plan was to work our way around the park until it was time to leave.  We had to use the bug spray almost instantly.  I baited up a rod for catfish and cast it out into the back of the cove.  I then set up Casey and I for bass on our other rods.  We made a few casts and dug into the bucket of chicken.  Whether it was because we were fishing or we were that hungry after a long day, it tasted great!  About 30 minutes in we started to catch fish.  Mostly small bass and the catfish rod was starting to produce.  The channel cats in Lake Lanier are more on the smaller side.  Two pounds is a good fish here and we didn’t get to good.  We continued to leap-frog our way around the park.  One of us would grab the tackle box and pass the other one with the bucket of chicken.  We would fish each area for about 10-15 minutes before moving over to the next spot.  Time wasn’t a factor because I figured that the police would come around closing time.

As we moved to the dark side of the park, some green-eared sunfish decided to pick on us.  We caught several over the next few minutes.  They tend to strike hard, twist the line, and be small.  Green-eared sunfish are still caught fish, but they aren’t bass and they can get annoying.  We moved further back into the cove and caught several more catfish.  The bass started to strike again.  Still small fish though.  A few of the bass would go about 12 inches, but we weren’t trying to keep any fish anyways.  There would be other days to catch fish for a fish fry.  Tonight was just a catch and release night.  Casey hooked what I grew up calling a sunfish.  For some reason, he really liked that fish.  I think that he thought catching different types of fish would up his “outdoor points.”  We started to realize it was getting late.  The moon was high over head, although it was still quite warm.  Maybe the police weren’t going to come through tonight…

We picked up our stuff and headed back to the truck.  We loaded everything up and got in.  When we looked at our cell phones, we realized we were in trouble.  Both of us had over 30 missed calls on our phone, multiple text messages, and my phone had a GPS tracking request.  Apparently the wife had woken up around 2:00 am and realized I hadn’t sent her a message that I was home.  We looked at the truck clock and it was 4:15 am.  Uh oh!  I swallowed my pride and called her.  Wow! That was one upset wife!!!  She was worried something had happened to us.  I apologized several times and she finally calmed down after about 10 minutes and asked the important question…”Well, did you at least catch some fish?”

We learned our lesson that night.  Now we wear a watch and tell her what time we plan on being done by.  We like to fish too much to risk losing that privilege!

Children can’t sleep on Christmas Eve…for deer hunters…it’s tonight.  We count down the days.  We behave so that our spouses let us go scouting, check our trail cams, and practice at the range.  The excitement builds for months and weeks until we get to tonight.  Hunters all across America head to their camps on Gun Deer Season Eve.  They arrive with the hope and excitement of a new season.  They sit around the campfire telling the tales of missed shots, ghostly legends of big bucks, and brag about who will have the best day tomorrow.  Its time for great meals and cold nights sleeping on the ground.  If they fall asleep at all, it requires sleeping fast for the alarm goes off at 4:00 am.  With the excitement of a 6-year-old running to the Christmas tree, the hunters head to their tree stand in the old oak tree.  Shivering not only from the chill of the morning air, but the adrenalin flowing through their veins as they sit waiting for light to break over the hills.  You don’t need a watch to tell you when legal shooting time arrives, the multitude of gunshots ringing through the hills lets you know.  Every year you hope that you are the first shot of the morning, but most years time continues to pass.  You may have a few deer go by, but you wait for that one you spotted once either on a trail cam or in the distance during bow season.  When you arrive back at camp that night, the tales from the day’s adventures continue with everyone.  If you are fortunate, you are the one bragging of the success.  If not, you are the one doing dishes hoping tomorrow will bring more luck.  Either way, you know you have a few days at deer camp to enjoy the outdoors, the camaraderie, and the magic of deer season.  Good luck to everyone this season!

Casey was ready to earn a few “Outdoor Points” after hearing all of my stories for years.  I had told him about how many fish I used to catch at night.  The wife was working out of town and we decided that this was a good time to go.  I brought the fishing poles and tackle box to work.  We had to work late.  Being golf professionals, summers are long hours and few days off.  We wrapped up work just after dark and headed over to a local pond that we had permission to fish.  I set up a pole for catfish and dropped it in the water.  I gave Casey another pole with a small spinner on it.  We talked about how the fishing reel worked.  It was hard to show in the dark, but he caught on quick.  A few misdirected casts, but otherwise no unusual problems.  It took about 20 minutes, but finally Casey got his first bite.  He hooked the fish and brought it in.  It was about a 9 inch bass which for this pond was standard and a good first catch.  I took it off the hook and tossed it back in the water.  I sat back down and a few minutes later, he had caught another.  This continued over the course of an hour and he ended up catching six fish.  A great start for a beginner and the pond was starting to get active as it got close to midnight.  Casey began to tease me that he was catching SO many more fish than me.  Well, I am normal competitive outdoor guy so that wasn’t going to fly.  I reeled in the catfish line and cut off the hook and tied on a different small spinner.  30 minutes later I had caught up with Casey at 8 fish a piece.  We both continued to fish and the fish were getting more and more active.  After another hour, I was up to twenty fish and Casey was at a very respectable fifteen.  He laughed and said, “Well maybe I am not winning anymore.”  We fished for a few minutes longer and decided it was a great first night for him.

Casey had caught the bug.  The next few days were miserable for him until we went again.  Now he goes even when I can’t and we are getting him into hunting as well.  Those “Outdoor Points” continue to add up…

The temperatures had hit record lows.  The snow was deep and school had been canceled for over a week.  It was the worst snow the state had ever experienced, but that wasn’t keeping the hunters down.  Anyone with 4 wheel drive and more than a foot clearance was starting to get out.  I was 13 and itching to do the same.  Even during school days I was anxious to go, but being out for over a week and not hunting was killing me.  Dad had driven out to the lake and hiked in to find our blind completely iced in.  Before the beginning of the season, the lake management had done a blind site drawing for the 20+ sites on the lake.  We had drawn one of the more interesting sites located to the back of a wide creek, but also one of the few sites you could reach with a reasonable hike.  We weren’t going to be able to hunt here for the rest of the season.  When he got home, he explained the situation.  After some begging and pleading, I convinced him that we had to go the next day even given the situation.  I promised we would find a spot and be able to hunt.

The alarm went off at 4 am.  We got dressed in many layers and hooked up the trailer.  The thermometer on the garage showed zero and we were thankful it was that “warm” after the past few days.  The roads were finally clearing or else the boat would have never made it.  When we arrived at the road leading to the ramp, we found it completely iced.  The smart thing was to turn around and go home.  Fortunately, we weren’t smart enough to do that.  We headed down the hill and at one point of sliding sideways we were regretting our decision.  The trailer pulled even with us about half way down the hill.  This was not our best idea, but once we hit the bottom of the hill and were able to breathe again, we got excited.  We got out of the truck and walked over to the ramp.  It was icy, but not like the hill.  We put down some sand and got everything ready.  Opting for the safe launch, neither one of us got in the boat until after it was off the trailer.  We parked and got in the boat which fired up amazingly quickly for the cold.  More amazing was the fact that we weren’t the only ones in the parking lot.  As we motored out towards the end of the no wake zone, more headlights were reaching the parking lot.  The lights of the parking lot began to fade and we put the boat up on plane.  With in seconds, we both noticed a shimmer coming of the water from the moon.  This wasn’t good.  A boat doesn’t stop that fast even when hitting ice.  We immediately shut it down and looked for holes in the boat.  Somehow we got lucky, even though we were using a fiberglass bass boat in an area that an aluminum boat would have been better.  There weren’t a lot of options.  Going backwards was as bad as going forward since the ice was refreezing behind us.  We decided to push through forward.  After 300 yards we reached the end of the ice and took off down the lake again.  Once again we didn’t make it far before we hit ice.  This continued until we found an area of open water for about 100 yards near the south bank.  We decided to go ahead and set up here to attempt to be ready before legal shooting time.  I got out of the boat to set up the blind, while dad went to setting decoys.  I found a nice area between some pine trees and covered the front with camo cloth.  I set up the heater although in the openness, it would only work semi well and placed the guns on each side with the shells in order.  The blind looked good and was going to hide us well.  I carefully walked back down to the bank and jumped back in the boat to help finish setting decoys.  We got the decoys set and I jumped back out while dad went to stash the boat.  It was about 10 minutes into legal shooting time, so I loaded my shotgun.  Ducks had been in the air since before first light.  A hen mallard came cruising over the decoys.  I hit my call twice and she did a figure eight about 80 yards away and returned over the decoys.  I stood up and shot twice with the second shot folding her.  This was my first big water duck.  I had killed a few over ponds, but nothing like this.  It was a 40 yard shot on a passing duck.  Dad had to pull the boat immediately back out and retrieve my duck.  A few minutes later, him and my duck were back to the blind.  I looked her over carefully and was thrilled by the shot and that the work paid off.

Ducks were flying by the decoys by the dozens.  Some were headed on, but many would work.  We would call and watch them make pass over pass over our head.  Finally they would commit and we would stand and shoot to watch them all fly away.  This happened time after time.  Around 10 am, the geese started to move.  They must have stayed locked up longer due to the temps.  Geese were cutting across the hill behind us and flying back the creek of our permanent blind and out into the fields.  Not much we can do about that.  Everything was frozen that direction.  We continued to shoot and miss at ducks.  Shell count was becoming an issue.  Around lunch time, things slowed down a little.  We hadn’t seen a duck in twenty minutes when we heard a noise amongst the decoys.  We looked down to see the water swirling.  Looking at each other, dad and I were confused up until this furry head popped out of the water.  River otters had been introduced to the area two years before that.  How could anything stand to swim in water that cold?  They were having a great time.  Three of them were chasing one another and playing with decoys.  Every few minutes, one would come floating by on his back eating something that he had caught.  This scene lasted for about 45 minutes before they moved down the lake.

Dad went to pick up Ron around 1 pm…hopefully he had a lot of shells.  I worked a few ducks while he was gone, but no shots were offered.  About 45 minutes later they returned and dad informed me that he had to break ice both directions.  According to Ron, the temps had gotten all the way up to 18*.  The lake continuing to freeze was a concern.

Ron had hunted with dad for years before I started going and I had been hunting with him since I was 5.  He was an experienced quail and grouse hunter, but like the rest of us were new to ducks.  He climbed into the blind and saw what the hype was about, a pile of empty shells and one duck.  He questioned are shooting ability, but then again, so were we.  Ducks started to move again around 2 pm.  The one area by the dam was getting all kinds of shots.  Many of the ducks were passing over the trees and flying out of sight, but a lot were getting worked and missed by us.  Ron’s shooting percentage matched ours.  Fortunately, I had one duck to show off.  Around 4 pm, the geese decided it was time to return and we were ready.  We headed up the hill and cut them off.  This wasn’t successful either, but we did get a good opportunity and just missed again.  Coming back down the bank, more ducks were skirting the lake.  We continued to work birds and get shooting opportunities on about a third of the groups and we continued to miss.  It was a legendary lack of shooting display.  As dark approached, we began to pick up.  Three people made the process quicker.  Heading back down the lake was easier.  With five or six groups on the water a path was continuing to be cut through the ice.  We made it safely back to the dock and got the boat on the trailer.  Everyone waited for all the boats to be off the water.  Many of the hunters had their propane cookers heating up a can of soup in the parking lot, while watching hundreds of ducks pour into the bay and telling stories of the day.  Everyone had seen thousands of ducks and by far the most ducks ever on this lake.  Once the last boat was off the water, a parade of trucks and trailers headed up the hill.  Up hill lacked the fear of downhill,  but no one left the road until the last vehicle made it to the top.  On the way home, we heard on the radio that it should drop below zero that night, but we didn’t care.  We had battled the elements and won.  It was a wonderful day that we learned more about ducks and geese than we had all season.  Although the season ended a few days later, we stole a great day on the water and memories to last a lifetime.

It had been a year or so since I had spent a night on the water.  We were bored.  Working third shift had its advantages, but when everyone else is sleeping and you are wide awake its time to find something to do.  It was a Sunday night which was always the worst.  No place was open late and the “regular” working world had to be at work in a few hours.  Seth and I decided it was time to go fishing.  Seth hadn’t done much fishing and it showed when he arrived at the house.  He had a bucket cap and beer…I apparently was responsible for the rest.  I had the trailer hooked up to the truck and everything else loaded when he arrived.  We jumped in the truck and took off for Taylorsville Lake.

I had grown up on that lake.  I fished it from the time I was probably 2 years old and spent countless nights fishing it with Dad.  His second shift job allowed us to fish often at night.  As I got a little older, we hunted the lake and the surrounding areas.  It was one of the hidden gems in Kentucky if you were willing to put in the work.  I knew the lake well and had some great fishing nights on it.  Tonight we were targeting catfish.  This was the lazy fishing.

We got there just before midnight and launched the boat.  I didn’t trust Seth to handle either the truck or the boat, so I launched it like I was alone.  It took a few extra minutes, but beat having to ask someone for a ride out to the boat floating away.  I parked the truck and we got into the boat.  It fired up right away and I idled us out past the no wake zone.  Once we arrived at the buoys, I turned the boat to the left and put it up on plane.  We ran back a half mile into the shallows of Big Beach Creek.  Tonight we would be doing some pole fishing, but I was going to show Seth about jug fishing.  The basic idea is to tie a short string to a milk jug or something similar and put a baited hook on the end of the string and then throw the jug into the water.  As the jugs float through the creek, the catfish will find it and pull it under with the jug setting the hook.  I had 20 jugs with us that we baited and dumped into the water.  We trolled out to the front of the creek and kicked back.  I tossed a line into the water to kill some time and dug a Pepsi out of the cooler while Seth was content on watching and drinking a beer.  It wasn’t long before we heard the popping noise of milk jug handle hitting the water.  I pulled out the spotlight to see one of the jugs skimming across the surface.  We immediately trolled over and I grabbed the jug.  When you have a milk jug with three feet of rope and no telling what on the other end, you tend to pull with some authority just in case.  This one was a smaller cat, maybe two pounds.  I took him off the hook and put him in the second cooler…not the one with the drinks.  We rebaited it and tossed it back into the water.  The action began to heat up.  It wasn’t long before we were chasing down our second jug of the night.  This was going to be Seth’s first try.  He missed grabbing it on the first pass so we circled back around and this time he snagged it.  It was about the same size as the first cat and he got added to the cooler.  We continued to catch fish over the next two hours.  I was barely able to get my line back into the water before we were chasing another jug.  Most of the cats were between one and five pounds although we had one pull of the hook as we lifted it into the boat that was pushing 10 pounds.  After two am the action began to slow down.  I pulled over to the bank and started to bass fish.  That’s how I learned to fish and always enjoyed it.  Seth was pushing the limits of his drinking abilities and decided to lay down in the bottom of the boat, while I continued to fish.  After another hour, I had stopped catching fish and decided that I would go collect the jugs.  I turned around to find us completely fogged in.  Staring at the bank from 20 feet all night, I hadn’t even noticed.  I tried to drift around the creek and find the jugs and I managed to find a dozen of them, but no more.  Now I was going to try to find my way back.  I fired up the engine and Seth didn’t even budge.  He was completely knocked out.  I slowly headed in the direction of the dock or so I thought.  Moving just past idle speed, I was getting no where fast.  Not really sure of the time, I knew that it would be difficult to find the dock before sunrise.  I headed towards what I hoped was a bank.  I eventually found it and decided to fish my way back towards the dock.  I managed to catch a few more bass and find two more of the jugs.  Feeling confident I was headed the right direction, I continued moving down the bank.  With Seth asleep, I knew I was in no rush.  I got to a bend in the bank just before first light and knew exactly where I was.  The fog was still so thick that you couldn’t see more than about 25 yards, but I decided to head across to the dock.  I got there right at sunrise.  Tying up the boat, I went to get the truck.  Seth finally woke up when the boat hit the trailer.  He asked the time and I informed him it was time to go home.  He climbed into the truck never the wiser to the fact we were borderline lost for most of the night.  I ended up going home and cleaning catfish and he left and avoided fishing again.  I think that he found fishing to difficult on his drinking, but I found that even in the fog and lost until sunrise, I could continue to put fish in the boat.  This wasn’t the last time that I would find myself lost in the outdoors, but it never lasted for long and was always semi-intentional.

Being at the start of the second week of October, it makes me remember all the great grouse and woodcock hunts this time of year in Wisconsin.  I remember a hunt with our two bird dogs, Sally and Lily.  Sally was towards the end of her mediocre career.  She had turned out to be a great pet and a loving dog, but wasn’t too keen on pointing birds.  Lily was a young dog coming into her own.  She was bored with quail but did a nice job on them anyways.  On the other hand, she was a terror on grouse.  They had to hate her!  She was developing a nice pattern and was one of the few dogs that we had seen actually point and hold on grouse.  This day turned out to be a special day for both dogs.

We were parked in an area that we had hunted the prior year and knew was great for both grouse and woodcock.  From the parking location, to our left was an area of low briars and tall pines.  Beyond the end of the pines, was a slight hill covered in poplar trees.  That went all the way around to the right and eventually lead to the creek.  A nice trail split the two areas.  We headed directly up the trail.  The dogs split to both sides.  Within minutes a grouse flushed from our right, crossed the trail and cruised unscathed into the briars.  We opted to head off the left to pursue this grouse through the pines.  We headed through the briars and got another flush.  This one hit the ground at the first shot from the over and under.  Dad made a great shot.  Sally ran over and proudly brought the bird back to him.  We continued down through the briars.  Lily was working beautifully.  She was crossing between us at about 25 – 40 yards.  Lily found three more birds in a short time, but our shooting percentages were dropping quickly.  We quartered our way towards the hill of poplars.  Right at the edge of the pines, Lily pointed and this time my 12 gauge was successful.  Within seconds, Sally retrieved the bird and brought to me.  She was proving to be highly effective on dead and crippled birds.  We turned to the right and walked down the split of poplars and pines.  It wasn’t easy walking, but the area was perfect for grouse.  Lily went on point again.  This time the bird headed towards the poplar but dad’s 20 gauge knocked him down.  Unfortunately, this bird went down very alive.  Both Lily and Sally went in looking for it, but after 20 minutes of no luck and disappointed we moved on through the poplars.  About 300 yards down, we encountered our first woodcock of the day.  We fired simultaneously and the bird fell to the ground.  We continued down to the creek and Lily found two more birds and Sally found one.  Only one of the three found the bag.  I have to say that if you have never hunted grouse or woodcock, you have no idea how tough of shooting this is.  Often you are slipping, falling, bouncing the gun off a tree as you try to make a shot.  I think the birds wait until you are in the most contorted position to flush and then laugh at you all the way to the next county.

We took about two hours to circle back to the truck.  Sally was tired and trotted quickly to the truck.  She was definitely showing her age, but we couldn’t ever stand to leave her behind.  She looked shocked as we passed the truck, but she followed anyways.  We headed back to where we earlier lost the grouse.  Along the way, we flushed another grouse that escaped the wrath of the four shots.  Arriving back in the general area of the lost bird, the dogs seemed to sense what we were up to.  They dove into the brush and started searching.  Lily moved fairly quickly across the hillside.  She had already lost interest.  Somehow we had lost track of Sally trying to keep up with Lily.  We turned around to look for her, when all of a sudden we heard this crashing noise coming across the hillside.  Sally came jumping over a downed tree in hot pursuit of a running grouse.  Running with the energy of a pup, she finally caught up with the crippled bird after about 50 yards.  She carried the bird down to us.  She was carrying it so softly, it was still alive when she made the transfer to us.  Completely amazed with her new-found skill, we headed back to the truck to give her and us a much-needed break.  The senior dog needed a boost to get into the Bronco, which we gladly gave her.  We enjoyed lunch on the tailgate and then headed to our next spot.

The memory of Sally in her later years in life racing across that hillside on the tail feathers of a grouse is one that I hope never escapes me.  She had limited moments in the field, but when she did it was always special and this one topped them all!

Driving home this afternoon, I noticed that the fall colors are starting to show.  The weather finally feels like fall; glad to see that the colors match.  Last year for our anniversary, we drove up to Cherokee, North Carolina and enjoyed a little cheap gambling and a great meal at Paula Deen’s.  On the way up and back, we knew that we had to come back in October to see the colors.  Once the cooler weather hit, we drove up to the mountains and decided to turn it into an adventure, which isn’t uncommon for a road trip with me.  We stopped at the Georgia start to the Appalachian Trail.  We picked up some new maps and looked at the signs of locations of the area.  The one that caught our eye this day was Brasstown Bald.  Along with several other areas, Brasstown Bald claims to be the highest point in Georgia.  The drive to Brasstown Bald was beautiful along a two lane highway filled with twisty turns through the mountains.  The first stop was an old grist mill.  It was a short, flat hike back to the mill.  The building was very old, but very fascinating.  We went through all three stories and then walked along the creek back towards the truck.  We continued down the road and eventually found the road heading back towards Brasstown Bald.  It was an extremely difficult drive.  We arrived at the parking lot to find the shuttle closed for the day.  Okay by me, but not so much for the wife.  She has been on my adventures enough to know to question me before we start.  I told her that we hadn’t come that far to drive home without checking it out.  She knew what that meant, but she loves me and followed me anyway.  We headed up the trail and almost immediately passed a gift shop.  She asked if we could just get the t-shirt and go back to the truck.  She knew better and continued to follow me.  This path was paved, but it was extremely steep.  We moved slowly up the trail.  Everyone passing us on their way down the hill said it was worth it, but then again, they were walking downhill.  We continued up the trail.  It was slow going but the views from the trail were amazing.  Every 1/10th of a mile there was a bench.  We stopped at a few of them, but I really wanted to keep us moving as much as possible.  We were almost to the top when we stopped and talked with two park rangers.  They informed me that all around the trail were grouse, but most of the bears were further down the mountain.  After a short conversation, we continued to the top.  At the top was a concrete 360* viewing platform.  We walked to the top of the platform and were disappointed to see how cloudy the day was at this elevation.  We could still see for miles and the colors were as amazing as expected.  We took our time at the top to look at the lakes and houses that we could see in the distance.  Apparently we were looking at North Carolina, South Carolina, and Tennessee.  We could only see a few small cities but millions of tree tops.  We came down the platform and walked the circle around the bald.  No grouse were seen, but you could tell that this was an area that they would like.  Thick cover, steep elevations, berries and fruit trees along the mountaintop.  We headed back down the trail.  This was a quick, but more difficult walk than one would expect.  It is a weird angle to be walking on for your knees and ankles.  No complaints though; down was much easier than up.  After the two and half hour round trip, we arrived back at the gift shop.  We stopped by and made our quick purchases…always need a t-shirt and two much needed bottles of water.  We got back into the truck and enjoyed the drive back to civilization always wishing that we could stay where we just came from.