Monday, August 8, 2016

DeSoto Falls

More of the backlog...

When was this, the 17th of last month? Not quite a month ago, but close.

The family and I took a little trip to DeSoto Falls:

DeSoto Falls Sign

Actually, it was just me, Kathryn and Sophie. Iz was home sick or something. I forget exactly why she didn't join us.

We did the standard out-and-back to both falls.

First the lower falls...

Lower DeSoto Falls

...where some of the graffiti was apparently left by an English teacher.

English Teacher Graffiti

Danger"ous" Area.

Get it right, students.

Second, the upper falls.

A bit more breathtaking.

Upper DeSoto Falls

The ladies approved, at least.

Sophie and Kathryn at Upper DeSoto Falls

But, sadly, the people leaving graffiti there were a bit less educated, it would seem.

Stay in School

That's DeSot"o" Falls, you guys. With an "o".

An "o".

There's a side trail that leads out to some even more spectacular falls, and then way up the mountain. It goes and goes, and the girls and I tried to follow it one day, only to be forced back by snow before we reached the end of the trail. We tried it again that day, but it was too overgrown for Kathryn's taste, so we turned back even earlier.

Part of the trail leading to the lower falls, and part of the trail leading between the falls really had that I'm-an-old-railbed feel to it. And we found some evidence that it may indeed have been.

Locomotive Nut

That's a cast-iron nut, two inches across. I'd found a similar nut on the old Dover Creek railbed a few weeks prior. I can't confidently say it was from a locomotive, but I know that area was logged by train, and it looks suspiciously like the kind of nut that would have held the equipment that was used in those days together. Given it's location, it seems likely that it had its origins in such activities.

On the way out I found a snapped cable in the campground too but I've seen so many of those I failed to take a photo of it.

The hike was short overall, but we had a pretty good time of it. I don't remember where we ate, but I remember that I wanted to eat at the relatively new Roadkill BBQ that took the place of whatever that old store was at the bottom of the mountain, but Sophie refused to eat anywhere with the word "roadkill" in the name. Fool! It's barbecue, from North Georgia! It's almost guaranteed to be good. I couldn't talk her into it though.

Dangit. Maybe next time.

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