A pier stretching out into the Gulf in Bay St. Louis.
I was trying to pronounce the strange and enigmatic names of the towns and rivers listed on the signs along I-10: Pascagoula, Escatawpa, Gautier, Tchoutacabouffa, D’Iberville, Biloxi, when I began to wonder if I had managed to take a wrong turn and cross into some previously unknown foreign country at the Alabama/Mississippi state line. But we hadn’t. We were still in the good ol’ U.S. of A., driving through the Mississippi Gulf Coast, where such names are par for the course. During our several day stay here, we would come to realize that it is more than just place names that make this a unique corner of the country. Quite a lot more.
Fishing boats moored to the docks in Pass Christian.
I’ve been told that Louisiana is the only foreign country that American citizens do not need a passport to visit, but this adage falls short. The same could be said for the state of Mississippi, and for all the same reasons, especially the three county region that makes up the state’s stretch of the Gulf Coast. The area has known a multitude of claimants ranging from Native Indians, the French, the Spanish and both the United and Confederate States of America. Each successive culture has left traces of its uniqueness on the region, leaving behind a potpourri of influences that have managed to congeal into an identity unlike any other.
Spanish moss in Beauvoir, the last home of Confederate President Jefferson Davis, in Biloxi.
Although the far more popular tourist locale on Mississippi’s Gulf Coast is Biloxi, we opted to skip the casinos and air-brushed t-shirt vendors for a quieter stay in a little seaside hamlet called Old Towne Bay St. Louis. It is a town that has received numerous accolades in recent years: it was named one of the top ten small beach towns in the country by Coastal Living Magazine in 2014 and one of the “Coolest Small Towns in America” by Budget Travel Magazine in 2013. And all of this represents a massive achievement when you consider the fact that Bay St. Louis is where Hurricane Katrina made landfall just a few short years ago in 2005. The storm actually came ashore right here, threatening to wipe the town clean off the map. Locals say the entire county was completely underwater.
The Carroll House Bed & Breakfast at 304 Carroll Ave., Bay St. Louis.
Today, its waters are calm and sailed by crabbers and fishermen. In times past, they have been sailed by everyone from conquistadors to pirates to German U-boats. In an area so profoundly tied to the water, a place where rivers and bayous meet the ocean, generations of locals can be seen fishing from the piers or climbing into boats at dawn to see what their traps have caught. And its restaurants serve up regional delicacies like fresh crawfish etouffee, catfish po’boys and seafood gumbo. Needless to say, an iodine allergy can limit your options in a place like this.
Two crabbers pose with the day’s catch in Bay St. Louis.
The beach itself is a man-made marvel and a string of barrier islands out on the horizon block the waves that most beach-goers are accustomed to. The beaches are very quiet and don’t really get too crowded. This isn’t the kind of place you come for your college Spring Break. There are no high-rise hotels and no malls to shop, just a handful of restaurants, bars and artisanal shops. This is the kind of place you come to get away from the hustle and bustle of everything, the kind of place where you come to relax. Sit back and enjoy it.
Me standing out on a rock pier on the Gulf in Bay St. Louis.
A view of the mountain ranges to the south from Wears Valley Road, halfway between Pigeon Forge and Townsend, Tennessee.Late fall leaves floating on the Little River, just inside the Great Smoky Mountain National Park.Water moving over stones in the Little River in Blount County, Tennessee.Horses grazing near the mouth of Cades Cove Loop Road with the mountains that make up the Tennessee/North Carolina border beyond.An old Methodist Church in Cades Cove, Tennessee.A view of the mountains to the east from deep inside Cades Cove.A doe steps through the grass in Cades Cove.
Situated between Nashville, Tennessee and Natchez, Mississippi lies a 444 mile long National Park that affords its visitors a break from the modern world. But you don’t have to travel the entire length of it to enjoy what it has to offer. Pick any spot along the Trace and you can easily make a one day road trip out of any section. And for Nashvillians, what is arguably the most scenic section of the Trace, the Highland Rim Section, is right down the road.
The bridge over Birdsong Hollow as seen from the north end.
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Nashville may not be the most urban atmosphere in the southeast, but life in any city can tend toward the monotonous. It isn’t long before I begin to feel cooked-up by the city, stricken by a weird sort of cabin fever. Sometimes I just need to get out in the country for a little fresh air and some wide-open spaces. Middle Tennessee is filled right up with places to satisfy this need, including the northern terminus of one of America’s most unique roads and National Parks: The Natchez Trace Parkway.
Even before this part of the country was settled by humans, the Trace is thought to have been pioneered by prehistoric mastodons and bison. And while the modern Trace does not exactly follow the original route, among the many that have gone before you on this fabled highway are prehistoric hunters, Chickasaw and Choctaw Indians, legendary Spanish conquistador Hernando de Soto, American frontiersmen such as Meriwether Lewis, Andrew Jackson, Davy Crockett an perhaps even Abraham Lincoln. The modern route through Tennessee’s Highland Rim Section, like the Old Trace before it, keeps to the ridges as much as possible. Originally, this was so early travelers could keep from the continuous ups-and-downs of the hills, as well as keep an eye out for and easily defend against any danger. And while of course travel in this region has gotten much safer, this high route produced an unforeseen advantage to the modern traveler: it affords great views of the surrounding countryside.
On the Trace, the hand of man is in as little evidence as possible and still be a paved road. There are no gas stations, no street lights, no billboards, no stores or restaurants and no eighteen wheelers. Throughout the entire Highland Rim Section of the Trace, you do not pass directly through a single town. Mostly the road winds through miles of wooded hills and river bridges, interspersed here and there with historical sites and nature trails. By the light of early morning or near sundown, you are liable to see turkey, deer and coyotes. By day you’ll see Harley-Davidsons roaring up the trace from Alabama and Mississippi or riders on horseback out on the trails.
What follows is by no means a comprehensive list of things to do and see on the Trace, but a handful of highlights to hit while traveling the comparatively short Highland Rim Section. The route outlined here amounts to a mere 120 miles round trip, which would take just over two and a half hours straight through. But you should take your time on the Trace, make stops and talk to everyone you meet. This road isn’t about the destination. That’s what the interstate is for. The Natchez Trace Parkway is the destination. Anywhere on it and you have already arrived.
What to bring: First, you should have a full tank of gas and bring a picnic lunch or some snacks before you get on the Trace. You will have to exit the Trace to fill up your tank and belly, and in some spans, exits to towns are tens of miles apart. Second, leave the boat shoes, flip-flips and stilettos at home in favor of something sturdier that you don’t mind getting a little dirty. The trails aren’t particularly strenuous hikes, but it’s no shopping mall either. Third, bring a camera and binoculars. There are plenty of scenic vistas and great photo opportunities lining the route. You won’t regret the extra weight. Fourth, bring a little drinking water along with you, especially in the summer. You’ll notice a lack of vending machines in a hurry if you don’t.
The Loveless Café along Highway 100 (photo credit: Justin Saucier).
The Loveless Café, Highway 100: If you get going early in the morning, be sure to start your day at the famous Loveless Café on Highway 100, just east of the northern terminus of the Trace. But get there right when they open (7am, daily) or expect to wait for a table. They get busy in a hurry and you don’t want to cut into your Trace time. The Loveless Café is known for its fried chicken and biscuits and many of its recipes date back to its 1950s origins. After breakfast, just hop back on Highway 100 and head west. You’ll see the northern terminus of the Trace almost immediately.
The bridge over Birdsong Hollow as seen from Highway 96.
Birdsong Hollow, milepost 438: Just a few miles after starting out, you’ll arrive at Birdsong Hollow and the double-arched bridge that spans it. Stop at the north end before crossing over and take a look at the bridge from there. After crossing, it will be well worth your time to get off the Trace by taking the exit for Historic Franklin so that you can take in the bridge from underneath. The bridge stands 155 feet above Highway 96 and spans 1,648 feet across the hollow. You’ll easily see why it was given the 1995 Presidential Award for Design Excellence.
Along the Garrison Creek trails.
Garrison Creek, milepost 427.6: Garrison Creek is the Trace’s first great hiking trail for those headed south. Winding up and along a wooded ridge, various parts of the trail offer views of the farmland and barns surrounding the Trace. This trail, along with several others on the Trace, are horse-friendly, so keep an eye out for patties as you plod along. The hike is almost completely under the canopy, so take your time and enjoy the shaded valleys falling away on either side.
Tennessee Valley Divide, milepost 423.9: The Tennessee Valley Divide has a deceivingly grand name. Looking around, it may not seem all that impressive, but the fact that every drop of water that falls to the north of where you are standing, every stream and creek, eventually deposits into the Cumberland River, while every drop to the south eventually drains into the Tennessee River, will give you an appreciation of how this landscape was formed. You will come away with a different perspective of your surroundings if you take the time to appreciate it.
Fall color in the canopy.
Gordon House & Duck River Ferry Site, milepost 407.7: This is a pull off spot where you can take a look at one of the few remaining original buildings associated with the Old Natchez Trace, the Gordon House. With the permission of a Chickasaw chief, the man who lived here ran a ferry service at a site down on the Duck River, which you can walk to via a quick trail leading down past the house. Take a stroll down and sit by the river. It is one of the many excellent locations along the trace to have a snack or a picnic lunch, especially if you are fresh off a good hike at Garrison Creek.
Baker Bluff Overlook.
Baker Bluff and Jackson Falls, mileposts 405.1 and 404.7, respectively: Just a few quick miles up the Duck River on the Trace from the Gordon House, you’ll come to the Baker Bluff Overlook, where you can see the farm along the river below. From here, you can either make the quick hike along the ridge or drive down to Jackson Falls, depending on how much exercise you want to get. However you get there, it’s a steep, 900 foot decent to the falls. But don’t worry – there are stairs and hand rails. Dropping down toward the falls on a hot day, it will feel like you’ve just stepped into an air-conditioned room. The falls are long like a playground slide and you can climb up and get wet if you’d like. The mist will waft off the rock, making this a great spot to stop and cool off.
Fall Hallow Trail, milepost 391.9: Now, if you aren’t tired of waterfalls after Jackson Falls, pull over at Fall Hallow Trail and take the short hike down to the smaller, yet still worthwhile, waterfall below. Unlike Jackson Falls, this one falls over a shelf in the rock in such a way that you can walk around underneath and stand behind the water.
Fall color along the Trace.
Meriwether Lewis Memorial and Gravesite, milepost 385.9: The southernmost stop on my list is the Meriwether Lewis site. Lewis, most famously known as the first half of the duo Lewis and Clark, found a mysterious end to an illustrious career at this location. In other words, he died here, and the monument over his grave is worth seeing, as is the small cabin that was the scene of his unsolved death. History buffs and the genuinely curious can find more information regarding the nature of Lewis’ death from other sources. But it is fitting that your journey down the Trace should end at the same place that Lewis’ journey up the Trace did.
Leiper’s Fork, milepost 428: Okay, maybe there is one more stop I always recommend. On your way back north to Nashville, take TN-46 to the little gem of a town called Leiper’s Fork, a miniature Gatlinburg right here in Middle Tennessee. Grab a draft beer and a meat and three at the Puckett’s Grocery Store and eat out front with all the yuppies, bikers, musicians and other eclectic locals that congregate here. It’ll be a perfect way to end the trip. And, as with the rest of the Trace, talk to everyone you meet. You never know who you might meet or what story you’ll hear.
It is claimed that from the top of Lookout Mountain, you can see seven states. While this fact remains disputed, the vistas from the top are no less impressive for it. Various points along the ridge command a still-impressive (and confirmable) four state view that includes Tennessee, Georgia, Alabama and North Carolina. On a clear day, the mountains around Knoxville are apparently visible nearly one-hundred miles away, somewhere to the northeast where the earth meets the sky. And just below you lies the Tennessee River, the city of Chattanooga and all the country that surrounds them. Looking out over all of this, the blueness of the mountain ridges in the distance, the sun glistening on the face of the river and the yellows and the reds and the browns of the changing leaves, you can’t help but to feel like you are being afforded a once-a-year sort of view, a rare kind of view that you have to take vacation time to see. But then you remember that the best part of this view is that it doesn’t have to be rare, because where you are standing is anything but remote.
View from the Incline Railway Station observation deck.
Chattanooga is nestled in the folds of the Appalachian Mountains of southeastern Tennessee, and is a quick two hour (or less) drive for the millions of people living in Atlanta, Georgia, Birmingham and Huntsville, Alabama and Nashville and Knoxville, Tennessee. Once a deteriorating post-industrialized river town, urban renewal and revitalization projects have resuscitated Chattanooga and turned it into the ideal place for a weekend day trip. It’s a place that couples cosmopolitan shopping, dining and museums with outdoor recreation in such a way that you can satisfy the fashionista and the sportsman in just a few short hours.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. For many of us, the prospect of a weekend day trip in the fall involves a difficult decision: do you go on Saturday and miss college football or go on Sunday and miss pro? Luckily for me, I had a break in the NFL schedule last weekend. Even my second and third string teams either had a bye week or had already played, so the decision was made for me and Sunday it was.
We left our place in Decatur, Georgia by about 8:30am and made it to Chattanooga in time for the trendiest of all meals: brunch. One in our group had suggested Rembrandt’s Coffee House in the Bluff View Art District, an urbane European style café where the only intolerances that can be accommodated are to gluten and lactose. Now, I’m always a little timid about the food selection at self-styled coffee houses because, let’s be honest, a bagel or muffin just doesn’t cut it. But to my satisfaction I found that Rembrandt’s Coffee House is almost a misnomer. The menu is quite extensive, with several sandwiches and soups to choose from, so we had no problem finding something that satisfied. We placed our orders and sat outside on the patio in the sun and ate and made our plans for the day while steam wafted pleasantly from our coffee mugs.
First, we agreed to stroll through the Bluff View Art District – a pleasant neighborhood of plazas, gardens, artisanal shops, museums and sculptures – in the direction of the bluffs and the Tennessee River. Just a few blocks down and over a walking bridge made of glass (yes, I said a bridge made of glass) we came to the Walnut Street Bridge, a truss bridge built in 1891 that spans 2,000+ feet across the river, connecting downtown with the north shore. Once a motor vehicle bridge, it has been converted into a pedestrian and cycling bridge and is old enough to have been placed on the National Register of Historic Places.
It was a chilly fall day but the full midday sun was warming and seemed to have invited a large crowd out onto the bridge. People ran, walked, pedaled or walked their dogs across the wooden plank deck. Along the rail on either side seemed an exceptional amount of people watching and cheering into the water, so I joined them at the edge and looked over.
Gliding across the blue-green face of the river beneath the bluffs were long racing shell boats, also called sculls, participating in what seemed to be some kind of regatta. Just as I began to watch, one contestant went headlong into a floating obstacle and everyone around me winced and went “Ooooooohhhhhh.”
“The Head of the Hooch” race on the Tennessee River.
“Is this some kind of race?” I asked the spectator to my left.
“It’s the Head of the Hooch,” he said. He explained that people from all over the country come to race on the first full weekend of November. He was from St. Louis and had gone earlier that morning. “It’ a time-trial head race. They put out a new boat every fifteen seconds. They had to cancel yesterday because of the wind.”
We nodded and watched. It was windy up on the bridge that day, too, but not enough to cancel. Everyone was bundled up, sniffling their noses with their ears turned red. Boats passed under the bridge. “There’s John!” a woman shouted, pointing down at the water. She waved frantically. “ROLL TIDE! ROLL RIDE!”
In a few minutes, we walked back up the bridge through the Art District to where we had parked.
Our car climbed easily up Scenic Highway 148, a switch-backing two lane road that traverses the slope of Lookout Mountain from base to summit. Although not located exclusively in Tennessee (the ridge extends down into Georgia and Alabama) Lookout Mountain, along with Ruby Falls and Rock City, are the area’s most popular and iconic tourist attractions. Anyone who has driven along a southeastern byway has seen the ubiquitous barns emblazoned with the words SEE ROCK CITY.
And although we did not have time to see Rock City on this trip, we did stand for some time on the observation deck atop the Incline Railway Lookout Mountain Station on East Brow Road. From this vantage, we could see the grid of the city below and the curvature of the river at Moccasin Bend and the nuclear reactors at Soddy Daisy to the north. The distant mountain ranges fading blue to grey across the imperceptible distance. Cameras and cell phones were pulled out. Poses made. Group and couples shots taken. The incredible enormity of it cannot be captured by a lens but we, like everyone else, tried.
Moccasin Bend in the Tennessee River as seen from Lookout Mountain.
Back on the road, I put the car in neutral and coasted halfway down the mountain until a park ranger with a long Santa Claus beard directed me into the parking lot for Ruby Falls. Originally dreamed up as a roadside attraction when the tourism industry was in its infancy, Ruby Falls has been open for business since 1930 and been a staple in the area since.
Walking across the deck to the door, a harried-looking woman stopped us. “Anyone wanna buy my ticket?” she asked. “I took one look at that elevator and said nuh-uh. I’m claustrophobic.”
Like millions of people before us, we bought our tickets at the desk and crowded into the elevator. The guide shut the door and the elevator lurched downward, plunging into the belly of the mountain. We joined a group already waiting down in the cave and began the subterranean cavern tour. While it’s not exactly spelunking, it’s not exactly a walk in the park either. We threaded single-file through tight crevices, ducking beneath low shelves of limestone, carefully placing our feet along the slippery path, the whole place lit up and dripping. All along the way, stalactites and stalagmites reared in a multitude of shapes, some completely amorphous, amongst strange formations resembling fish and donkeys and angel’s wings.
After a while underground, we entered into a vaulted chamber for the main event. Even before the lights came on, the sound of water falling into a pool was audible. Then, 1,120 feet below the surface of the mountain, epic classical music leapt from speakers hidden in the rock as a light display came on to reveal the 145 foot waterfall plunging from the dome ceiling into a shallow pool before us. Cell phones came flying out of pockets. Flashes flashed. A cool mist drifted over us onlookers. And just as quickly as it had begun, the music drifted off and the lights dimmed and we began the trek back to the elevator and the world above.
Light show at Ruby Falls.
I-75 southbound and back in the light of day, we were tired but buzzing. The day had blown by as days tend to do when experiencing something completely new. We had done in one day what many people only get to do once a year, if at all. We had climbed up and down into a mountain and hardly even dirtied our shoes. Worth every minute of the drive, we left Chattanooga behind us. And hey, we were even back in time to catch the late game.
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Addresses of places visited, in order:
Rembrandt’s Coffee House – 204 High Street, Chattanooga, TN 37403
Walnut Street Bridge – 200 Frazier Avenue, Chattanooga, TN 37405
Incline Railway Station – 827 East Brow Road, Lookout Mountain, TN 37350
Ruby Falls – 1720 South Scenic Highway, Chattanooga, TN 37409
Between the Highway and Home. 