Transformations at Keowee-Toxaway State Park

Table Rock left us sweaty, stinky and gross.  Ice Cream was in order.  The rangers recommended a roadside stop and after we had indulged we went off to conquer our second trail and our second park.

We went on to Keowee- Toxaway State Park named for the Native American words describing this land as one of blueberries (Keowee) and no tomahawks (Toxaway).  We should have gone for a peaceful blueberry pie picnic. Unfortunately, we were not that smart.  Instead, we sought out their trail.

Our first stop was the ranger station to get our stamp and to make inquiries about the trail.  I have since learned not to rely on the opinions of young rangers regarding the ease of trails.  This ranger was thrilled to meet us and to see that we were well on our way to becoming Ultimate Outsiders.  We were the first he had met in pursuit of the title.  He excitedly shared a plethora of information regarding the park and the trail.  While we were comparing notes, Thoreau’s eyes fell upon a hiking stick.  He drew to it like most boys draw towards a football.  He began at the top and let his gaze linger over every inch of the tool that separated a childish activity from the call of the wild pursued by men since the dawn of time.  This hiking stick- a simple wood thing with leather hand strap was the badge of manly sport.  His eyes fixed on a particular hiking stick.  Those eyes lit up when he was told that he could have it as a pre birthday present.  The hiking stick was an honor that was to be bestowed upon one who had attained the maturity of his ten years.

 

Hiking stick in hand, Thoreau strode beside his father leading our party down Keowee’s trail. 

I do actually mean down the trail.  The path led worrisomely downhill- steeply downhill for a long long way.  The children were of course enjoying the downward trek as the hike was made easy by gravity’s pull.  It was a welcome respite after our ascent to Millcreek Falls at Table Rock.  My eye caught my husband’s glance.  We exchanged worried looks.  We knew the secret that everything that goes down must at some point go up.

The Keowee trail was gorgeous.  Rhododendron flanked the small stream that crossed under the natural stone bridge formation.  The stream wound around and we saw it trickling in small rapids and then on to a secret set of hidden water falls.  We followed the trail around and across the stream itself.

 

A scream!  Shouts of panic!  Thoreau had dropped his hiking stick into the water.  The greedy stream giggled cruelly as it swiped the stick away from the boy.

 

Then, a miracle.  Our family had drawn so close throughout our park journey.  Without thinking, Thoreau’s teen age sister who by society’s standards should have jeered at her younger brother’s misfortune sprang into action.  She leaped from the trail and into the stream to retrieve the hiking stick for her brother.  Never has a sister so aptly and sweetly earned her trail name of Wet Foot.  She loved her brother, cared about him and had saved what was important to him because of that love.  If the parks had given no other reward, this moment would have been enough.

 

Our legs were tired souvenirs from Table Rock but we forced them to trudge onward and upward to the end of the loop.  The children were surprised by the steep ascent that followed the easy downward hike.  They felt the trail had betrayed them.  My husband and I coaxed, encouraged and bribed until we finally emerged to the end of the loop, out of the wood and into the parking area.  We gratefully sought rest and refreshment as we stumbled to the van.  Thoreau still held his hiking stick tight and Wet Foot looked at him and smiled.