THE STORM ON GODFATHER MOUNTAIN

 A TRUE STORY

This story is about what happened one midsummer day when two very best friends tried to hike to the top of Grandfather Mountain, near the little town of Linville in western North Carolina.  Notice I said Grandfather, not Godfather, but I'll explain that later.  This story is about courage, and about the importance of common sense, and about decision-making, and even about the wrong decisions an adult can make.  And it’s about luck, and most certainly about love.  You see, these two friends, a man and a boy, never reached their destination!  Instead, they were stopped in their tracks by a fierce thunder and lightning storm which very nearly washed them off the mountain, and taught them some very valuable lessons in the process.

I should mention that they loved each other so much because they were actually related.  At the time of their adventure, Mick, the boy,  was a small ten-year-old.  The man was his fifty-five-year-old Godfather, whom Mick still calls his “Uncle Paul.” A Godfather or Godmother, you know, is sort of a third parent, an adult who has pledged, to God and to the world, to help a child grow up in the best way possible.  But back to the story.

The month was July, when Mick always flew from Texas to North Carolina to visit Paul in the city of Asheville.  The two had already spent time in the North Carolina mountains, exploring Linville Cavern and Linville Falls, and had spent two days dressed up in their Clan Scott kilts while attending the Scottish Highland Games at the foot of Grandfather Mountain. (The mountain is called that because on the top, its ridgeline kind of looks like the face of an old man).  So they decided that their next outdoors activity would be to drive up as close to the top of Grandfather Mountain as possible, in order to see what its summit was like and to hike at least one of its trails.

On the day they had selected for this latest trip, our two heroes left Asheville and began the usual hour-and-a-half journey by car to the northeast, back into the beautiful Northern Blue Ridges.  The weather was perfect, a day bathed in bright sunshine, with only a few wispy clouds drifting in front of them, but far, far off in the brilliant blue sky.  When they arrived in the town of Linville, they began a leisurely drive up Grandfather Mountain on a scenic, winding, two-lane road.  About halfway to the top they stopped at the Grandfather Mountain Nature Center to check out the black bear, bald eagles, deer, otters and other native North Carolina wildlife.  They eventually arrived around noon at the crowded Grandfather Mountain Visitors' Center parking lot, where the road came to an end.  There the temperature had already dropped fifteen or so degrees, because they now were well over a mile high in the air!  But what sunny, beautiful views of the distant mountains and valleys to the east and north greeted them!

Once parked, Mick and Uncle Paul first walked carefully onto the narrow catwalk of the famous Mile High Swinging Bridge (and it was scary because the bridge actually swayed and creaked when you walked on it), passed over an eighty-foot gorge, and then carefully explored the steep cliffs on what is called Linville Peak.  I might add that since Uncle Paul is a bit afraid of heights, but also because he is an experienced mountaineer, he insisted that Mick not run, and that he stay close to him, and not get too near to the edges where the rock ledges often dropped off one hundred feet or so.  Of course, Mick thought that Paul worried too much about him.  But Godfathers must protect their Godsons at any cost--and it's a tribute to the boy that he most usually listened, and stayed pretty close to his Godfather's side.  Thank goodness, because when you're standing on the top of a cliff, it's all too easy to slip, or trip, and plunge over the side.

Anyway, Mick and Uncle Paul had come there to hike, not to sightsee.  Thus they returned to the parking lot in order to make their plans.  You see, they'd noticed when they'd arrived that the parking lot also marked the beginning of one particular footpath, almost a mile long, that wound its way up to MacRae Peak, one of the mountain's highest.  They knew this because of a large wooden Grandfather Trail sign, complete with its own map, which showed just where this path led.  The sign indicated that the trail would eventually split into two routes, an easier and a tougher one, although both would end up at the same place.  It also warned all hikers to return to the parking lot no later than 5 P.M. That's when Uncle Paul made an important decision.  Because the mountain was new to him and because of Mick's age, not to mention that they had only about four hours of climbing time remaining, he decided that they'd take the easier trail.  To Mick, that didn't seem to be as much fun, but as always he realized that his Godfather probably knew best.  Let's hope so.

The scenery was beautiful as they began their hike through sparse woods and scrub brush, around red spruce and fraser fir trees--they make the best Christmas trees, you know--and once in awhile even over gigantic granite rocks.  Sometimes the trail was pretty level; sometimes it even went downhill.  But mostly it wound uphill, as the two best friends climbed higher and higher in the thinner and now even cooler air.  When the going was easy, Mick occasionally asked Uncle Paul to carry him, not so much because he was tired, but because he loved feeling safe and riding up high where he could see better.  But when the going was tougher, he managed quite well on his own, and always cheerfully led the way.

Every so often they would round a bend in the path and see a breathtaking view of the valleys way off in the distance, thousands of feet below them.  And the sky was still brilliantly blue.  But wait!  Those wispy clouds to the northeast that had once seemed so far away now were much closer, and more dense, and kind of gray and gloomy looking.  Paul remembered that the weather forecast on the car's radio had called for thundershowers that afternoon, but then again, that's what they forecasted every day. "We don't have to worry," he assured Mick.  "Even if there is a storm we'll be above it."  So he thought.  And so he decided that they would keep going.

One half hour later they had made their way to the eastern side of the mountain, still protected by trees and the well-marked path, but also far closer to those clouds, which had clearly moved even closer toward them.  They looked so much darker and gloomier than they once had, and were almost at eye level.  It was then that they heard the first distant grumbling of thunder.  A storm, for sure, they now knew.  But still Uncle Paul thought that it would certainly pass them by.  Moreover, since they had been climbing for close to two hours, he felt that surely they were nearing the top of the peak.  So turning back never even entered his mind, and definitely not Mick's.  He wanted so bad to reach the summit of MacRae Peak!

That is, bad weather didn't enter their minds until they noticed a bolt of lightning off to their left.  Shortly thereafter they saw another one, this one much closer, followed by the thunder's louder and now nearer rumbling.  And then came the first pattering of raindrops, and Uncle Paul realized that he had been wrong about the storm completely missing them, and he worried that he might have made a bad decision not to turn back earlier.  But Mick begged him not to turn back, and anyway, it was now too late to avoid getting soaked.  At that point Paul decided to hike just a bit farther.

And that's where the luck came in.  The two best friends had just climbed up a gulley, over a wide expanse of tree-covered ledge, when some remarkable things happened almost all at once! First, they suddenly found themselves crossing underneath a huge overhanging rock, its top some fifty feet above them, which could serve, if needed, as a natural refuge from the storm.  Some fifty feet beyond it, the trail abruptly ended at the foot of a cliff, which they would have had to ascend with the help of an almost vertical wire cable. But before Uncle Paul had time to even decide what to do, lo and behold two other climbers, a man and a woman, magically appeared at the top of that cliff, carefully descended it to where Mick and Paul were standing, and warned them not to proceed any farther because the ground up above was already muddy and treacherous.  Then, just as the two strangers disappeared down the trail, the rain truly began to fall in buckets!  Well, it took our two heroes only seconds to regain the safety of that huge rock overhang.  Now Nature was making the decisions; obviously they would have to wait out the storm right where they were.  Uncle Paul thought, "No problem; this will be over soon."

Boy, was he ever wrong again!  Instead of letting up, the rain increased in force, pounding the top of the rock ledge high above them, rainwater cascading off into space in rivulets created by natural grooves in the rock's surface.  And now the thunder and lightning loomed even closer, and louder, and now the temperature had dropped again, which Paul estimated into the low 50’s, and now the wind started to shift, and now the rain was blowing in at them.  Mick was at first just angry and frustrated that this stupid storm was ruining their climb, and ruining their day, and ruining their fun.  But soon he began to get cold and scared.

It was time for the Godfather to take charge again, as Godfathers are supposed to do.  Moving to the driest recess of their rock refuge, he sat down on a small boulder, took his Godson into his lap, wrapped his arms around him, and pumped warmth and courage into his little body and into his very large heart.  While the thunder bammed and the lightning blazed all about them, Paul assured Mick that they were as safe as they could be, and that though the storm had prevented them from reaching the top of MacRae Peak, it was also proving to be one of the neatest experiences of their lives. I mean, how many kids, or even adults, can ever claim to have watched and listened to such a storm from almost inside it, over a mile above sea level, high up in the clouds?

Well, Mick's own courage was restored, all right.  But don't think for a second that Paul wasn't scared too.  Truth be told, Mick helped his Godfather be courageous as much as the other way around.

Oh, and I clear forgot to explain that "luck" thing I talked about.  See, had Uncle Paul made a decision to turn around even as much as an hour earlier, they would have been caught in the lightning while out in the open, or worse, still amidst the trees! Plus, that rock overhang seemed to have been placed in just the right spot to protect them.  Plus those strangers showed up at just the right time.  I mean, can you beat that?

But then again, maybe decision-making is often a matter of luck.  Or maybe it wasn't luck after all.  Maybe Paul and Mick's love made that all possible.  Or Maybe God was watching after them! Or probably both!

Anyway, Paul had sure underestimated the length of this downpour!  Because fifteen minutes turned into a half hour, and a half hour turned into three quarters of an hour.  By now thoroughly frustrated himself, he decided that rain or not, they would wait only fifteen more minutes, because it was now close to 4:00 P.M., and they still had an hour's descent ahead of them.  And you know what?  Right about on the sixty-minute nose, the rain slackened, and Paul and Mick made their break!

Nevertheless, they weren't out of the woods yet, if you know what I mean.  As a matter of fact, the climb down proved more difficult than the climb up!  Yes, the rain did finally stop altogether and the sun did finally break out.  But what these two buddies hadn't figured on was that 1), the trees and bushes were so drenched that by just passing under them or brushing against them the two became as soaked as if they had been rained on in the first place; and 2), the storm had turned their once-dry footpath into a little rushing stream, meaning they had to hop from slippery rock to muddy bank to slippery rock the entire way down. Only once did Mick's courage start to falter again, and that was when he tripped and fell to his knees, and he started to cry, just a little.  But with magnificent effort, and with Uncle Paul's  encouragement, he quickly regained his self-composure.  Never once, of course, did they stop.  And would you believe it, they made their return trip in just under an hour, beating that 5 o'clock deadline by five or so minutes?!

When they stumbled their way down the last rocky slope to the parking lot pavement, they noticed that it was practically empty because most of the tourists had already left.  They quickly stripped off their waterlogged T-shirts, dumped them in the back seat of the car, and returned to the Grandfather Trail sign so that Paul could snap some color pictures of Mick pointing to the peak which they had tried so hard to reach.  Then Mick, his fear having disappeared with the rain, resorted to a fitting gesture of defiance.  Silly as it may sound, what he did was to turn towards the now-distant rain clouds, thrust out his  bare chest, shake his right fist in the air, and yell "TWIT!" at the departing storm. The point of the whole thing, of course, was to tell that storm where to get off.  Uncle Paul loved it!

Now, here is all that Mick and his Godfather learned that afternoon.  Because, you see, this storm was wonderful and beautiful.  I don't mean wonderful and beautiful in the way it looked and sounded--and thunderstorms are beautiful in an awesome sort of way, you know--but wonderful and beautiful in the many lessons it taught our heroes.  Here's what.

It taught Mick, and reminded his Godfather, that while Nature was usually wondrous, it could also be fearsome and frightening and dangerous, and could have people terribly at Her mercy if She chose to get mean or ugly, or if people were careless.  But the storm also taught them that if you respected Nature, and didn't take Her power for granted, you could escape harm by using common sense.

Moreover, the storm taught them how they could master fear with courage.  In fact, it proved to Paul just how brave his Godson was, and at only ten years old!  And it taught them that effort counted more than success--for maybe they hadn't reached MacRae Peak, but they had tried their best, and had weathered the danger, and had kept each other safe.  In this way they had turned defeat into victory, and in so doing had shared one of the best experiences of their lives.

And finally, it taught them how happy they were because they loved each other, and protected each other, and watched out for each other when danger threatened.

By the way, did I explain to you how I know all this stuff? I'm Uncle Paul himself, in case you hadn't guessed.

Oh, and one more thing: on that one day in July, both of us realized how much we loved this mountain named Grandfather, and how much fun and adventure we had experienced on it, all things considered.  So as we were leaving, Mick turned to me and said, "From now on, let's call this 'Godfather Mountain.'"  And that's what we've called it ever since.

©2009 Paul Knoke