It seemed the rain would never end. All the way up the Blue Ridge Parkway from Cherokee to Balsam Mountain, clouds and mist crowded right down to the ridges. Pretty? Sure, what we could see of it. Which wasn’t much. This stretch of the parkway holds some of the best views into the Smoky Mountains, but you wouldn’t know it through the drizzle and fog.

Approaching Big Witch Tunnel, the rain tapered off, though visibility was still pretty much nil. From the overlook we could just make out the Cherokee village nestled in Big Witch Gap—named for a nineteenth century medicine man, Tskil-e-gwa. (Geek note: the creators of the computer game World of Warcraft paid tribute by naming a hunter character after him.) We headed through the tunnel, now hopeful that the skies would clear.

Just past Black Camp Gap we turned north on Heintooga Ridge Road, which swiftly turns from pavement to gravel—then dirt—as it heads deeper into the Smokies. Very well graded, but slick from the rain. Not far from the turnoff we were surprised by a turkey wandering along the roadside. He didn’t appear to be in much of a hurry, but disappeared into the jungle-like canopy too quickly for us to get a portrait. I guess the part of the National Park Service budget that trains wildlife to pose must have been cut by sequestration.

Heintooga Ridge is known for its wildflowers. While we may have been a bit disappointed by the sun’s failure to burn off the gray stuff, we were treated to a wondrous diversity of flowers. This region of the Smokies has nearly a dozen distinct woodland zones due to the extreme variations in altitude within very short distances. To me it’s just hardwoods versus conifers. Apparently botanists make finer distinctions between specific types of hardwoods that grow in specific climates, and specific mixes of nuts and cones. After living in Arizona for a couple decades, this climate is all of a piece: humid.

Call it what you will, the Smokies are one primo example of God’s handiwork at its finest. I’ve been truly blessed to have skied the Alps and the Rockies, fished for Northern pike and walleye in Minnesota, backpacked the Black Canyon in Apache territory, and traversed the country on a motorcycle or two, but make no mistake—this here is God’s country. Come visit. I’ll take you on a trip you won’t soon forget.