"Is this winter?" Nico asked at 7 a.m. on our first morning at Vogel State Park, with his sleeping bag pulled up to his nose and only his eyes showing. It was 61 degrees. For a six-year-old from Miami, that's close enough.
We'd pulled in the night before at 9:40, three hours late after a blown camper tire near Tifton, and set up by headlamp. So Monday morning was the first time any of us really saw where we were: a campground under tall hardwoods in the North Georgia mountains, a creek talking somewhere below us, and the smell of damp leaves and somebody else's bacon. We stayed four nights, June 14 to 18, and it was the coolest stretch of the whole summer loop.
About that hill
The hill comes first, because it's the one thing I'd warn myself about. The campground sits on a slope, and the road up to our loop climbs steeply with a tight bend near the top. I drove it for the first time in the dark after 13 hours on the road, with Dana walking ahead in her headlamp to show me where the pavement ended. The Pilot made it, but it complained the whole way, and on the way out Thursday morning, creeping down in low gear, the brakes still had a hot smell by the bottom that I didn't love.
Our site was sloped side to side more than anything we've had in Florida. It took three leveling blocks under the low wheel and some patience from Maya, who read the bubble level and called out "almost" six times. If we go back, I'll ask for a flatter site lower down, even if the view is worse.
Cool nights and a lake loop
Lows ran from 60 to 64, and highs topped out around 80 with an afternoon storm or two. We never turned on the roof AC. Windows open, canvas cool to the touch at night, and everyone actually zipped into a sleeping bag, which hasn't happened since winter. I slept like I hadn't since spring.
Lake Trahlyta sits in the middle of the park, with a trail of about a mile around it, and we walked it every morning before breakfast. By the second day the kids were racing ahead to the dam to look at the spillway. Below the dam, a short path leads to Trahlyta Falls, which slides down a rock face in a white sheet. Nico threw about 40 sticks into the creek below it, one at a time, to see where they'd go. All of them went downstream. He was satisfied.
Dinners came out of the RTIC in order. The chili we'd planned for that first night got pushed to Monday, since Linda's sandwiches had covered Sunday, but the freezer bags held up and the cooler stayed cold with almost no extra ice. On the second night, at dusk, fireflies came up along the edge of the woods by the lake trail. Not the big Smokies show, just a few dozen blinking in the grass. Nico, who stuck a sticky note that said "fireflies" on our road atlas back in May, considered his trip complete.
Two waterfalls and the top of Georgia
Tuesday we drove about 15 minutes to Helton Creek Falls, a short trail down through rhododendron to two waterfalls, the lower one with a cold, clear pool at the bottom. Maya waded in to her knees, gasped, walked straight out, then did it three more times. Nico found a dark, speckled salamander under a rock, and after a short talk about how salamanders breathe through their skin, he watched it without touching it, which for Nico is real growth. That afternoon was laundry: two loads at a laundromat in Blairsville, and ice cream while the dryers ran.
Wednesday was Brasstown Bald, the highest point in Georgia at 4,784 feet. There's a small per-person fee to park, and from the lot a paved trail climbs about six-tenths of a mile to the observation deck. It's steep enough that there's a shuttle for anyone who wants one. We walked. Nico narrated his own heartbeat. At the top it was 66 degrees and windy, and on a clear day you're supposed to see four states. We saw some of maybe three, through haze, plus a storm building to the west. Maya bought a sticker at the visitor center.
We reached the car as the first drops hit. It poured for an hour, and back at camp the canvas over the bed ends went dark and dripping and the whole camper smelled like wet canvas, which I'm starting to find comforting. The kids played cards at the dinette while rain drummed on the roof.
Shade, bugs, bathroom, and the bill
Shade was total, oaks and poplars all the way over the site, and the camper never got warm. Bugs were a few gnats at dusk, nothing like Florida in June. The bathhouse was clean and, of course, uphill. Four nights cost $214, about $54 a night.
On Thursday morning we hitched up, crept down the hill and drove an hour and a half to Tallulah Gorge. Somewhere around the second switchback, Nico asked if Tallulah would also be winter. It was not.
