A Purdy Road Trip - Search For The Moon Bow

Dupont Lodge, built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s

SEARCH FOR THE MOON BOW
A Travel Narrative from a Shunpiker's Journal

By Steve Purdy
TheAutoChannel.com Detroit Bureau

My accomplice Joe and I are out doing an extensive road test of the new GMC Yukon and en route we’re visiting the only place in the Western Hemisphere where one can witness a moon bow.

As a freeway cruiser the new GMC Yukon feels comfortable and competent. Interior features are pleasant to look at and to live with. The new dash design has a distinctly world-class look and feel with just the right touch of wood and chrome details. Visibility is excellent, power is more than adequate to move with, or lead, fast traffic. The cruise control works easily and maintains the pace with precision even up and down the steep grades. So far I’m not enamored with the navigation system but we’ll give it some time before making judgments.

We eased off I-75 at Kentucky exit 25 (that’s 25 miles north of the Tennessee/Kentucky line), followed the signs west on Highway 90 about 15 miles to find a little-known state park called Cumberland Falls. Joe and I think of it as our little secret and have been there many times. We love it there partly because of the wonderful old DuPont Lodge, on a cliff high above the Cumberland River, built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s out of native stone and logs. The CCC also developed and built a network of hiking trails on both sides of this big bend in the river. We copped a small but recently remodeled room in the lodge and dined on catfish, frog legs and barbequed ribs at the DuPont’s famous buffet.

Most important for this visit was the timing of the full moon. You see, Cumberland Falls’ claim to fame is being the only place in the Western Hemisphere where one can witness a “moon bow,” a low arch of white light in the mist of the falls, essentially a rainbow cast by the light of the moon. It can only be seen during the few days surrounding the full moon and only when one is positioned right, with the moon behind and the mist of the falls in front. This is our first visit when the moon phase was right and we were fortunate to get a room as a result of a cancellation. We weren’t so fortunate with the weather, however. Wouldn’t you know, the evening was overcast and rainy. We’re Out of luck again.

While exploring the next morning we followed the path to a viewing platform below the falls. An old fellow was leaning on the rail with his fishing poles and tackle box at his feet. He had the wrinkled, craggy, characterful face of a lifelong smoker. We struck up a conversation finding that he was waiting for the sun to come out a bit so the fish would be more likely to bite. Pete Thompson retired from the railroad after having helped build and maintain a local railroad line and its equipment for many years. We’ll bet that his three-day growth of beard is not a fashion statement, like youngsters today. Old Pete described some rather interesting fishing techniques where they caught a thousand pounds of catfish at one time. He also recommended a great local dinner spot in a small town about 20 miles away, just off the route to our next destination.

After leaving Pete to his fishing, Joe and I took off for what we thought would be a two-hour hike along the inside shore of the river just above the falls. Once we got out about two miles we consulted our map finding that we could really make it challenging by turning left up onto the ridge and looping all the way around, across the highway and back to the other end of the bend below the falls. It made for a challenge to be sure. The map said it was five miles but I think it was more. The trail was rocky and steep but dramatic and colorful. We trudged under massive rock formations bordered with soft-pink mountain laurel in full bloom. We climbed to the top of an abandoned fire tower on the highest point in the area where we could see the entire verdant valley. We clambered around rocks the size of a house with the aroma of honeysuckle and wild rose grabbing our attention. And, after the recent rains, the new green ground covers of spring were vivid. The last mile (or more) was torturous. Every time we thought we had climbed the last slope and it would be all downhill, we were disappointed to look up another slope. It took nearly five hours, but we survived.

We certainly earned a good dinner, did we not? Along with the restaurant recommendation Pete had also recommended County Road 700, a narrow, twisting back road shortcut to US27. Freshly paved it swept through the rolling, heavily wooded hills for about 15 miles. The GMC Yukon felt like a big sports car with its tight rack-and-pinion steering, compliant suspension, and precise handling. The track both front and rear have been widened and the suspension redesigned with a coil-over-shock in front and independent 5-link system in the rear.

A few miles south on US27 then a mile or so west at the sign for the Stearns Scenic Railroad (Pete’s alma mater) brought us to the tiny little burg of Stearns where the railroad depot, the Stearn’s Restaurant and a local museum in a big antebellum house comprised most of the town.

We were nearly alone in the quaint Stearn’s Restaurant even though it was Mother’s Day. By the time we were greeted by our young waitress, Laura, only one other table was occupied. Five old folks were treating their even older mother to dinner out. The matriarch appeared to be nearly 100-years-old but perky and pleased to be out in spite of being barely ambulatory. Three of the younger ones were smoking. One, a large woman with black hair pulled starkly back, dragged on her long, skinny cigarette with obvious pleasure, and a slow elegance grace, that seemed incongruous.

The menu featured sandwiches for $1.50, daily specials for $5.95 and blackberry cobbler for $1.99. I was tempted by the “fish tail” dinner until Laura explained that it was just a thin piece of cod that curled when deep fried, not really the crispy fish tails that I loved as a kid. Joe and I both went for the chicken and dumpling special. When it came time for desert I expressed interest in the cobbler. Laura wrinkled her brow and explained that it started out frozen and wasn’t particularly good. She listed the other pies on the menu and then, a bit hesitantly at first, revealed that there was a special, one-of-a-kind pie in the kitchen that she might be able to share with us.

She explained that she doesn’t like meringue but loves lemon pie. It seems she created a new kind of pie and brought it in with the idea of supplementing her income by making and selling these pies to the restaurant. Laura made a graham cracker crust. Then she made, from scratch, a lemon pie filling and a key lime pie filling (squeezing the lemons and limes by hand since she had no juicer), grated a little lime zest into the latter, then layered the two onto the crust and baked it just right. It was delicious. We applaud both Laura’s entrepreneurial spirit and her wonderful pie. Next week, by the way, Laura is developing her rhubarb-strawberry pie recipe.

The weather was heavily overcast and still cold and dreary as we hit the road south on US27 and west through Lancing, Tennessee on Highway 63 to Genesis Road. Both of these roads entertain the avid driver, twisting and turning through the undulations of the western reaches of the mountains. We are even more impressed with the sophistication, of the Yukon platform. It took barely two hours to finish our drive to Fairfield Glade, Tennessee where five beautiful golf courses awaited us.