Photo by Glynn Wilson

We pulled into the Smoky Mountain campground just in time to catch the moon - with a long exposure on the tripod - through the trees at old number 84 by the creek...

by Glynn Wilson

GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS, Tenn., Sept. 24 - Imagine waking up every morning with a view of a different creek, lake, river or ocean. The picture window of life on the roads of America can be far better than any suburb, although the campgrounds on the East Coast can have similar annoyances.

There are so many people escaping the cities in RVs that the campgrounds stay busy. And some people bring along their loud kids and barking dogs and leave behind their trash.

But hey, that's America.

Then, here just a stone's throw from the entrance to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, construction workers are using a band saw and a nail gun to build a deck on the cabin across the creek in front of me, while a KOA park worker blows leaves by the swimming pool behind me.

Where do you have to go to escape the noise of modern life?

There is one man working out his fly rod in a deep hole down stream while his wife takes pictures.

I am on my fourth cup of coffee and contemplating where to go next.

It is only about a four hour drive to Birmingham from here, but I'm not feeling quite ready to go home just yet. I left the Magic City on a Wednesday almost two weeks ago and headed north of Knoxville, then made my way into Virginia for the assault on Washington, D.C.

I caught up with Jill Simpson there and the House Judiciary Committee, then followed the anti-Iraq war protest from the White House to the Capitol.

I camped out with high speed Wi-Fi in Maryland, then hauled ass to Brooklyn, New York, where I spent three whirlwind days there meeting with editors and seeing everything we could get to on time.

The view going into Manhattan was bigger than it looks on TV. The view leaving over the Staten Island bridge was such a powerful sight that it must have been almost overwhelming to the first visitors from Europe, there where the big East River heads for the Atlantic. I wish now I had thought to take out the camera and get a shot of it. But the traffic required total concentration.

There has been little time for bird chasing on this trip, but perhaps I will remedy that today. I think I'll drive through the Smokies headed south and pass through the Cherokee National Forest and pay homage to my ancesters amongst the tall, old trees.

Maybe I'll stop in on Lookout Mountain and catch the sunset near Rock City. If I feel like another night out on the road, there's always Lake Guntersville State Park, near Scottsboro and Rainsville.

Maybe I'll pop in on Jill Simpson on Tuesday and stop off by the Swann-Joy Bridge on the way home down Highway 79.

But for now I think I'll head up into the mountains in search of the legendary blue mist, which hovers in the nation's most visited national park like a wispy, smoke-like fog. It is created from rain and evaporation from the trees, although it can be obscured by the ozone haze, especially in the summer, from the nearby TVA coal-fired power plants.

Native Americans called this "the land of the blue mist."

But now the sun is rising through the trees over the canoe on the van, so it's time to hit the showers, find breakfast, and roll on up the road.

Great Smoky Mountains National Park