©2000-2002 by Carole Moore It's winter in North Carolina's high country and it's cold. The air is almost too cold to
breathe, turning into a fine mist when exhaled. And the mountains, the Great Smoky Mountains that give the high country its name and attitude, wear the mantle of new snow with nonchalance. The white crown is only part of the
mountain range's changing wardrobe. In the spring, summer and fall, the Smokies offer their visitors trees in seasonal dress, a profusion of flowers and wildlife. Winter is different. Visitors find no beauty in the bare-branched
trees, no flowers, no woodland creatures, except the occasional possum that never quite made it across the road. No, most winter visitors come for the snow sports and not the views. They look for places like Beech and Sugar
mountains where snow, even when it's made by man and not nature, can be had for the right price. But there's more here than sailing down a mountainside on fiberglass, much more. It just takes some flexibility and ingenuity to find
it. North Carolina's westernmost corner in winter contains a rough kind of beauty and adventure for those willing to experiment. Unlike other seasons when the entertainment is obvious, there's plenty to occupy even those who
aren't in the market for winter sports. But it's not an easy option. Parks open year-round suddenly pull in their welcome mats when snow and ice strike. Even the infamous Blue Ridge Parkway, with its incredible beauty and views
suitable for a Vanderbilt, closes some of its doors. After all, bridges ice before roads and the parkway is dotted with bridges. But parkway officials only close the road in sections. If the roads are passable and the bridges
ice-free, they remain open. A heavy snowfall will result in closing the entire road, which stretches through the state and on up into Virginia. Not driving the parkway can be both a curse and a blessing. The mountainous highway
has many advantages, not the least being the complete absence of advertising. No where along the 470-mile stretch does the local television news team smile from a 20-foot high billboard. And it costs nothing to travel on it, since
it's toll-free. But drivers who choose the parkway -- when the weather permits them to -- also miss the flavor of the mountain communities, with homes perched precariously high on impossible cliffs and country roads with a country
twang, like "Turkey Perch". Driving those roads can lead the visitor to contemplate the logic of several places all named alike: Linville, Linville Community, Linville Falls, for example. Three different places, same
name. And then there's the cluster of things mountain: Mount Mitchell, Grandfather Mountain and all the trendy ski mountains. But even though they share the "m" word, they are of very different character and temperament,
especially in winter. For one thing, mountains close. It's an improvement Mother Nature would certainly advocate if she had a vote. To be sure, she's tired of tourists with more sand on their feet than sense trying to
circumnavigate narrow, twisting two-lane roads with nothing between the valley below and the passengers hurtling through space but air -- frozen, cold air. Sometimes that air is full of fog, too, just in case driving over icy
mountain roads isn't enough challenge. So winter in the mountains is not the place to teach Junior to drive. It is, however, a place to carefully cruise and catch one's breath at the incredible views, the blazing sunsets and row
after row of trees growing impossibly on the side of a mountain that slants to the sky. Trips from Point A to Point B are an adventure in the high country. Instead of a flat line of asphalt snaking into the horizon, there are
moments when it looks as if the family sedan might well be plummeting off the end of the earth. It's not, of course. No one would come back if vacations turned into one-way tickets. But it makes for some interesting driving. One
drive that can be made either from the parkway, which seems to bisect every point of interest in the moutains, or by common highway, is the one that takes the visitor to Biltmore Estate in Ashville, a vast complex once occupied by
the Vanderbilt family. Built before the turn of the century, the home was a marvel of engineering and luxurious excess. Now many of the rooms, preserved as originally decorated, are open for public view. But a tour of the
complex isn't cheap: two adults can expect to pay nearly $75 to see how the other half lived. From the indoor swmming pool to the tiny rooms occupied by the household staff, to the guest quarters on the top floor, Biltmore is
brimming with treasures. Edith Vanderbilt, the lady of the house, leaned toward engravings and decorated a number of rooms with the spare artwork of one period artist or another. Massive furniture, brocade wallpaper, a three-story
chandelier and the early indoor plumbing are only part of the story. Outside, there's a garden that yields little in winter but is covered in blossoms in the warm months. There's a greenhouse and several shops where the stables
used to be and a winery, created from the old Vanderbilt dairy. The winery tour isn't really much to write home about: a short film followed by a glance through some windows at vats and barrels, all mysteriously brewing up
something alcoholic. Then on to the wine-tasting, where children receive grape juice and adults are allowed to try sips of the various fermented offerings to be had in the shop adjacent to the winery. If one likes wine, the
offerings are very good, and the prices quite reasonable. But it's probably a good idea to discourage the driver from sampling the merchandise if planning a return trip through the mountains. Biltmore, of course, is man-made
beauty, with no expense spared. The Linville Falls, on the other hand, are produced by nature with an aestheticism money cannot buy. Located just outside of the Linville Community, the falls are exactly what they sound like: a
series of waterfalls and rapids cut into rock. The water, incredibly clear and clean by appearance, can be viewed from a series of rock platforms that hang over the water. It rushes and foams and is simply so beautiful the observer
quite forgets how incredibly cold it can be on a rock platform hanging over a waterfall in the dead of winter. The platforms, it must be noted, come in various degrees of difficulty. The first one is a short, frigid hike from
the parking area. Each one from that point on is a bit more difficult, but they're ultimately worth the trouble. Where else can one stand above a roaring stream and feel equal to the hawk that, on warmer days, would wing through
the blue high country skies? The falls are an easy jaunt from the road and can also be accessed by the parkway. They are located in a park that also houses magnificent woods, Lake James, the Linville Gorge, Table Rock, many
camping sites and hiking trails and, on some occasions, hunters. About two dozen or so were recently there, hanging around the camping trails in their orange hats and camoflague jackets and trucks with dog cages. Although it may
seem odd for hunters to be toting rifles on trails where families hike for exercise and fun, one local explained it this way: "They just do whatever they want to." One hunter, a friendly enough fellow, was asked what
they were after and he paused his hunting technique long enough to share that he was "listening for a bear". Although the local chambers of commerce in the area didn't offer any statistics as to the number of tourists
mistaken for bears, it's probably a good idea not to pause in areas where hunters appear to be listening for wildlife. A quick drive through the hunters's midst over the rough dirt road that runs through the park leads to some
spectactular views and, before long, a profound feeling of being lost. There are no signs to tell where the road goes, but if the driver stays the course, eventually the family sedan will emerge on the opposite side of the Linville
Gorge, which is quite deep, by the way, into a community that has no apparent name. But not to fear, all the high country roads eventually converge into one thin strand of curving asphalt on the mountainside. Or so it seems.
That same strand of road can carry the driver to the town of Blowing Rock with its spectacular rock formation of the same name or Mt. Mitchell, which is the highest peak in the state and is located in a state park. If it snows,
however, the park is closed. The same goes for Grandfather Mountain, which also boasts a suspension bridge that can withstand winds of 200 miles per hour. It should be noted that the highest wind recorded at Grandfather Mountain
was about 195 miles per hour. No one is allowed on the bridge in the case of excessive wind and it too is closed in inclement weather. Open in all types of weather are the Linville Caverns, but they only keep weekend hours
during the winter months. And, of course, those same months also offer places like Sugar Mountain, which has skiing and, for those who don't ski but also don't fancy sitting around a ski lodge with hot-buttered beverages clutched
in their fists, tubing. Tubing, which costs from $10 up for a two-hour session, involves descending slopes that are more typical of sledding than skiing while seated in an innertube. The tubing sessions are usually slated from
10 to 12, from 12 to 2, and so on. So it pays to find out when the sessions are being held and whether or not there's been a recent heatwave before making one of the ski resorts a destination. And, for those who don't
care for sightseeing, who just want to marvel at the majesty of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, there are plenty of cabins to be rented. Opt for one with a fireplace, throw a log on and watch the sun dip behind the
mountains. It might also be nice to have a few samples of Biltmore's finest efforts on hand. But it's not necessary. This is one place where the scenery alone can intoxicate, even on those days when it's so cold, everything else
has closed.
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