Reaching for the clouds on Clingman’s Dome.

I remember the first time Janet and I hiked up Clingman’s Dome in the Smoky Moutains. We were on our honeymoon. From the parking lot to the observation tower at the top it was only three-quarters of a mile. And paved at that. What could be easier? Then we saw the incline of the path—must have been thirty-eight to forty percent angle. We were just in our early twenties but it winded us.
When we got to the top the only thing we could see were a few pine trees directly below us. Who knew it would be cloudy up there on the highest point of the Smoky Mountains? The trip back down wasn’t so bad. We didn’t care. We were in love.
A few weeks ago on what would have been our forty-sixth anniversary I attacked the trail up Clingman’s Dome with my son. He didn’t mind I had to stop every few yards to catch my breath. I was very proud I even made it up the three-quarter mile. After all, I got a stent in my heart. What more could I expect? The sky was clear so we got to see more than just the pines under the tower. We were descending the spiral ramp when a teen-ager began up the ramp and asked us, “Is there a gift shop up there?”
When we said no, he replied, “Oh,” and he turned and went back down the mountain. I laughed all the way to the parking lot.
I think Janet would have too.