Zen and the Art of Wildflower Hunting 1

Field Notes III.XXVI: Backpacking and photographing wildflowers in the Great Smoky Mountains in June, part 1 of 4

Welcome to Field Notes!

* Where images appear in square gallery format, try clicking each photo to see the non-cropped version

The Stoics advocate living in accordance with nature. On the surface this guideline sounds straightforward, but its meaning is actually multifaceted. Still, the pursuits of photography and backpacking have brought me closer to this most basic level of accord by tuning awareness to the rapid changing of the seasons.

Spring unfolds into summer. Trees exploded with tender green leaves. Flowers erupted across suburban yards as they awoke from winter’s dormancy. Yellow clouds of pollen draped across cars and driveways, only to be washed away by storms.

These changes sweep across the land so quickly, fleetingly, as the Earth tilts towards summertime. The Appalachian Mountains hold on to spring a bit longer, though. There is still time.

It’s wildflower season!

The pace of life is quick and time cannot be grasped or even slowed. Working overtime, full schedules, drama in the news; it all blurs together as the world seems to spin faster and faster. The peak blooms came and went at Linville Gorge in May and I missed them.

Elevation above sea level matters. The highest peaks of the Appalachian Mountains are only a 3 hour drive, but they tower 5000 ft higher than my day-to-day experience. That makes a dramatic difference in terms of temperature, weather patterns, and the timing of flower blooms.

I have learned that the native Flame Azalea and Catawba Rhododendron bloom up high in mid to late June. The finer details of what to expect are impossible to know from afar. For now, I hack time from my schedule and plan two short trips, in quick succession.

It is June, and time to return to the Great Smoky Mountains.

Three hours doesn’t sound very long on paper. It is a long time to sit alone in a car, though, rolling over twisted mountain roads. The uncertainties and possibilities ahead swirl like approaching storm clouds.

Even backcountry campsites in the Smokies require a reservation. Several days ahead of my trip I received a critical email regarding my reserved site. There is now a bear warning in place for that campground, but the site is not closed. Hmm. That is a bit concerning. However, the site is fully booked tonight, meaning there should be 14 other campers there. This destination is one I have been to before, by this same route. Those factors work in my favor.

The weather forecast does not look great. Rain is predicted tonight and in the morning, too. There is no telling what that really means in the mountains, though. Brilliant light can come just before or after storms. Those storms can unleash a deluge on one peak while totally missing the next. Acceptance of what nature provides is the only way.

Will the flowers be there? This is the recurrent question in mind as I near the Twentymile Ranger station. Broken clouds overhead reveal brilliant morning light over glimpses of Fontana Lake, and then Cheoah Lake below the dam. My stops are brief. I have miles of climbing ahead.

I secure my car in the parking lot of the ranger station with parking passes visible. Now it is time to walk.

Seven miles of relentless uphill trail stretches ahead. In the Smokies the trails are well maintained and here in the beginning it is a gentle grade following a tumbling creek upstream. The sound of my footsteps is muted by the wet muddy ground and the steady melody of rushing water.

My attention is quickly absorbed by the twists and tumbles of the rocky stream. Then I see something. Its a river otter playfully swerving and diving in a small pool! My camera is at hand on my pack strap, with telephoto lens attached in case of just such a sighting, but I hadn’t yet adjusted my camera’s settings for wildlife. It only takes a moment, but I put my eye to the viewfinder just in time to see the otter dive one last time and he does not re-surface.

Rain has been plentiful this spring and here at the lower elevations the forest is sodden. Water clings to the foliage of rhododendron and fern. Trickling streams seep from the hillsides, forming rivulets down the middle of the rocky trail.

The miles ahead begin to steadily climb elevation and I find my mind wandering. I am still enamored by the woodland sights all around, but conversations play out in my head. Some real, some imagined. Songs play, some that I haven’t heard in years. On past longer backpacking trips I’ve witnessed this activity of my own mind settle and cease after two or three days on trail. Then, I became fully present. For now the activity has returned.

This settled mind seems to be what a meditation practice, possibly Zen, has to offer. Stoicism suggests mediation as well, but that version is more like rational reflection. I know little about Zen, but perhaps it can help me retain this settled mind I eventually achieve in the wild. It may help achieve that state sooner. The path of Stoicism is of living up to the highest potential of human nature- a life of virtue. Eastern meditation is different, but seems highly complimentary. It may be a different route to the same peak.

Takuan Soho was a 17th century Japanese Zen monk, a friend to several exceptional exceptional Samurai, including Yagyu Munenori, Ito Ittosai, and possibly even Miyamoto Musashi. Some letters Takuan wrote to them are collected in the book The Unfettered Mind. He writes of the concept of no-mind; a mind that does not abide or cling to any one thing. Is this mind is ‘settled’ by its freedom and lack of attachment?

Perhaps my mind is abiding in the past or future. Could this no-mind be what I have glimpsed in my own ‘settled’ mind on trail?

The effort not to stop the mind in just one place- this is discipline. Not stopping the mind is object and essence. Put nowhere, it will be everywhere. Even in moving the mind outside the body, if it is sent in one direction, it will be lacking in nine others. If the mind is not restricted to just one direction, it will be in all ten.

- Takuan Soho

Takuan found unmistakable parallels between this mind of Zen meditation and that of the swordsmen. He offered this insight to his friends, men who fought one another with three foot long razor blades. The consequences of his guidance were life or death, not abstract theory. Those are words I listen to attentively.

The forest becomes drier as the elevation builds. Towering oaks dominate the area. It is past noon and the heat of the day is rising. The map indicates a stream up ahead which may be the last water source before reaching the campsite. Birds whistle in the treetops.

Something catches my eye and brings me to a stop. Slightly uphill about 20 yards to the right. It is an odd shape, darker than it ought to be. I watch for a moment, but it doesn’t move. Probably a tree stump, but I look with the telephoto lens of my camera, just in case.

It moved. It’s a bear.

This is the scenario I have mentally rehearsed many times. There is no fear in the moment. I brace my elbows, bate my breath, focus, and…

CLICK!!!!!!!!!!

My camera emits the loudest shutter release in the history of all humankind. I hear it. The bear hears it. The bear sees me. I don’t trust the auto focus in this camera. I re-focus and take another shot. And another. And a fourth. The bear isn’t startled or panicked, but moves out of sight.

I’m tempted to move forward to get another view, but good sense prevails. A moment later his furry butt scoots across the trail ahead as he scampers down the mountainside. Two snaps of breaking branches and he is gone.

Muscles tremble slightly from adrenaline leaving the system. Just a short distance further and I arrive at the stream where I pause to eat lunch and fill up on water.

The path continues. Mountain laurel are frequent this high up, but they are past their blooming. Then, suddenly, the first flame azalea! More and more appear, dotting the forest with brilliant orange.

Though still under trees, the ground levels out and becomes grass covered. This knoll was once a bald, but is now covered by the forest’s succession. Walking here is much easier and I soon reach the backcountry campsite. No one else is here.

I quickly set up my tent and hoist my food bag on the bear cable nearby. A short walk down the other side of the ridge leads me to a water source, where I fill my containers and return to camp.

My destination is another half mile climb up from the campsite, too far to walk back and forth more than once. I pack everything I may need to stay there until after sunset and head out.

Goosebumps raise on my arms as I walk onto that grassy bald overlooking the Great Smoky Mountains unfolding in all directions. The broad green fields are interspersed with bushes covered in radiant blooms ranging from pale orange to deep red. Cades Cove stretches across the valley to the north.

Broken clouds cover the sky above. Their shadows glide across the backdrop of mountains, speckling the land with patches of afternoon light. The only sound is of the gusts of wind as they play through the tall grass and tremble the azaleas’ leaves.

The mental noise has stopped. Time itself may have stopped, or at least lost its relevance, for I am totally absorbed in the simple experience of being here. The views are transcendent, the flowers glorious! Though just a tiny being amidst this vastness, I have a deep feeling of belonging in this land.

Has the effort of arriving here, the acceptance of uncertainty and peril along the way, earned me a place here? Is this what it means to be in accordance with nature? Is this Zen? Probably not. But, I feel like I’m getting a little closer.

I spend the afternoon wandering across the mountain top, making many photographs of the various views and compositions. As evening approaches the clouds build and growing darker to the south. My hope is to see evening light and sunset color, but in June the sun does not set until 9 pm.

I make dinner and eat under the shelter of a bent evergreen. A curtain of rain falls in the distance obscuring the nearby peaks. It’s coming this way. I pack my things and don my poncho. No thunder has sounded yet, so maybe if this storm is short I can wait it out.

The rain arrives, steady but gentle. The water collecting and falling from the evergreen is making me more wet than standing outside of it, but it protects me from the now whipping winds. I huddle and wait.

The rain eventually passes and I emerge to scout the scenery through sopping wet grass. Sunset is still more than an hour away. Again I wait in hopes of clearing skies. Instead, a new weather front approaches. These clouds are ominous and growl, low and menacingly, from the distance. The growl becomes thunder. The thunder comes louder and brings a flash of lightning. There will be no sunset viewing this evening. It’s time to leave the peak.

I throw on my pack and hasten down the wet trail into the dimming, dripping forest. Back at the campsite two other backpackers have set up tents. That’s three of us out of 15 who reserved this site. I can only think that the others were deterred by bear warnings and weather.

I rush to hoist my food up the bear cable once more and then scramble back to the tent. Unzipping the vestibule, I scoot inside just as the storm unleashes its torrent of rain.

I went on two trips to the Smokies in June to see the wildflowers. They were both short overnights, but with a quick turnaround in between. I’m presenting them here day-by-day and this is part 1 of 4. Its already a wild ride, right?

I’ll be trying to weave together themes of being attuned to nature, of mindfulness and meditation, of Stoic elements compared to Zen, and how all of this somehow relates to backpacking and photographing wildflowers. I’m sure some of ya’ll are more knowledgeable that I am on these points, so let me hear your insight in the comments!!

If you’ve made it this far into the post it’s pretty clear that you can read. But isn’t reading a physical book so much better than reading on a computer or a device? Well, if we’re reading physical books we need a bookmark. Luckily, I have one to offer! This bookmark of a sunset on Sam Knob in the Shining Rock Wilderness is $5. That includes tax and postage to mail it to any country in the world. Purchase it via the PayPal link below.

Field Notes is a value-for-value proposition. If you get value from it, please consider contributing back by sharing, subscribing, or upgrading. Also, a one time tip of any amount goes a long way. Your support goes directly towards the food, supplies, or gear necessary for the photography, writing, and adventures that I share-