It begins with a climb. That’s the trade for the sky. You can catch a sunset anywhere, but to see it stretch across the mountains as orange melting into purple over ridgelines, you must hike.
Western North Carolina rewards the effort. Campers here don’t chase sunsets with folding chairs. They wear boots, carry packs, and know the best views come with effort. What they gain is a kind of quiet only found on bald summits and narrow ledges, after the last light leaves the peaks.
The Open Summits
Black Balsam Knob is a favorite. You reach it by hiking just over a mile on the Art Loeb Trail. The trail climbs quickly, cutting through spruce before opening onto a grassy summit. No trees block the view—just rock and a full horizon.
Campers visit year-round, though winds pick up in winter. In June, wildflowers line the trail. In October, the sky turns gold behind a wall of fall color. The sun sets in the west, but from Black Balsam, it seems to fall through every ridge in sight.
Nearby, Sam Knob is quieter. The 2.2-mile round-trip hike climbs through meadows and rock steps before opening up. The twin peaks sit side by side, both offering wide western views. It’s less traveled and better for those who want space.
Short Climbs, Big Payoffs
Craggy Pinnacle holds its view until the end. The trail climbs under a tunnel of rhododendrons, then emerges onto a stone platform above the treeline. From here, the sun sets over Asheville and the Smokies behind it.
Devil’s Courthouse, farther south, offers a short but steep path to a rocky cliff. The 0.9-mile trail ends with a wide view across three states. On a clear night, the light lingers long over the layered hills.
Both are accessed from the Blue Ridge Parkway, which often closes in winter. Spring and fall offer the best visibility, but always check conditions before heading up.
Longer Treks and Backcountry Views
The Roan Highlands straddle the border with Tennessee. The Appalachian Trail crosses a series of grassy balds with wide views the whole way. A 4-mile loop covers the main ridges. At sunset, the colors stretch across a 6,000-foot skyline.
In the Smokies, Mount LeConte rises above the rest. You reach it by hiking six miles up the Alum Cave Trail. There’s a rustic shelter at the top. From there, campers can watch the sun sink into a haze of ridgelines. It’s a long climb, but the view is clean and high.
In Linville Gorge, Hawksbill Mountain delivers one of the boldest views in the state. The 2.2-mile round-trip trail climbs 700 feet. At the top, the gorge falls away, and the sun lights up the rock walls. It’s a wild place. Bring a headlamp for the way down.
Simpler Spots
You don’t have to hike far to find a good view. Bearwallow Mountain, near Hendersonville, offers a one-mile gravel trail to a grassy summit. Cows graze here. The air is open. From the top, you can see all the way to Mount Pisgah. It’s quiet, easy, and open every season.
For a full sky without any climb, try Lake Lure or Lake Junaluska. Both face west. At Lake Lure, you can sit on the dock or rent a boat and drift while the sun drops behind the peaks. Junaluska has a flat walking path around the lake, perfect for watching the day end.
In Asheville, rooftop bars like Capella on 9 or the Grove Park Inn’s terrace offer a city take on mountain sunsets. You’ll share the space, but the view still belongs to the hills.
Along the Parkway, Waterrock Knob and Cowee Mountains Overlook are top picks. You park, walk a short distance, and the sky opens wide. On clear nights, the ridges stack like waves.
Year-Round Views
Bearwallow Mountain is open all year and sees little snow. Its open meadow makes it a rare winter option with real range. On cold evenings, the setting sun catches ice on the grass and makes it glow.
In winter, the Parkway often closes, but lower spots like Lake Junaluska stay open. With flat trails and west-facing views, it’s one of the few places to catch a clear winter sunset without snow gear.
Sunsets in western North Carolina come in layers. Ridge after ridge. Light after light. Some demand steep hikes. Others need only a drive and a good jacket. But all of them end the day in the same way quiet, slow, and full of color.
By midday, the air in the cove had settled into a dry hush. My boots lay beside the creek, and the trees were spaced just wide enough to hang the hammock. I clipped the carabiners to the Atlas straps and leaned back. The fabric stretched, then held firm. Whether you sleep under the stars or sway between two oaks in the backyard, ENO has become a familiar brand to people who spend time outside. Their hammocks are simple tools with outsized appeal: small enough to carry, quick to deploy, and always ready for rest.
Over several weeks, I rotated through the three most popular ENO models: the DoubleNest, SingleNest, and TravelNest. I tested them in western North Carolina, where the forests are filled with long switchbacks, black bears, and clear creeks. The terrain changes fast, and so do the reasons for stopping. Some days, I picked a spot just to rest. Other times, I wandered until I found wild blueberry trails worth the detour, the kind with fruit low enough to grab without standing.
The DoubleNest
The DoubleNest was the first one I strung up. It’s roomy—9 feet 6 inches long and over 6 feet wide. It holds up to 400 pounds, though I never shared it with another person overnight. What it offers is stretch and space. You can sprawl sideways or diagonally, with more material wrapping around your shoulders than the others. The weight penalty is mild: 19 ounces. It fits into a built-in stuff sack about the size of a grapefruit.
Setup is fast. I used Atlas straps, which are sold separately. The carabiners are strong, and the stitching along the nylon is tight and triple-reinforced. One night, it rained, and the hammock dried by mid-morning. Another night, I pitched it beneath a tarp to watch the fog settle. Compared to a tent, it takes up no ground space and leaves little trace.
The only drawback is its size. For backpackers counting ounces, the DoubleNest feels like a luxury item. It’s best used near your car or on short hikes with big payoff campsites. But if comfort matters, and it often does, this is the hammock to bring. I found it especially good for watching dusk settle in—perfect when the fireflies come out by the hundreds and you want a front-row seat without getting bitten.
The SingleNest
The SingleNest strips it down. Same length as the DoubleNest, but only 4 feet 10 inches wide. It weighs 16 ounces and packs even smaller. You still get the same high-denier nylon, strong carabiners, and quality construction. But you lose the stretch and space.
I took this one on a solo backpacking trip through Pisgah, where the trails narrow and the campsites are quiet. It fit easily in my bag and worked well under a minimalist tarp setup. Once tied between two maples, it held steady through a night of shifting winds. I noticed less cocooning, which some prefer. It feels more open. But for side-sleepers or people who like to wiggle, the reduced width might pinch.
It doesn’t include straps, so I packed the Atlas system again. That adds to the cost and weight, but the trade-off is simplicity. I woke up rested. No sore shoulders. No damp back. For a light, compact, one-person sling, the SingleNest does exactly what it promises.
The TravelNest
The TravelNest is marketed as a combo. It comes with tree straps included, packs into a soft bundle, and weighs about 28 ounces. It’s the heaviest of the three but has the cleanest setup. Everything fits together. No guessing. No knots.
This model surprised me. The hammock itself is shorter ( 9 feet by 5 feet ) but the straps are simple and forgiving. Each one has ten loops for length adjustment. I hung it beside a campsite on the edge of Panthertown Valley. I cooked noodles and lay in the sling with my dog curled under my knees.
The packed weight makes this less ideal for long hikes, but for backyard use or music festivals, it’s a great fit. Everything you need comes in the bag, and setup takes less than two minutes once you’ve done it a couple of times. It’s the kind of gear that works well when you’re posted up at camp for the weekend or hanging near a stage with friends. Also worth mentioning: at big events like Bonnaroo or Mountain Dance, where cell service often fails, a Meshtastic device makes it easier to keep track of your group without relying on bars.
Where They Work Best
All three models use the same fabric and similar hardware. What sets them apart is use case.
The DoubleNest is the most comfortable and best for lounging. It’s great for reading, long naps, or evenings spent watching fireflies along the trail.
The TravelNest is easiest for beginners. It’s ideal for car camping, festivals, or lazy afternoons in the yard—especially when you want an all-in-one kit.
If you plan to sleep in any of them, bring an underquilt or insulated pad. Hammocks are notorious for cold backs. That’s not a design flaw, just basic physics. With the right add-ons, though, these can replace a tent for most fair-weather trips.
Final Thoughts
In a culture crowded with gear and hype, hammocks offer a plain kind of relief. You don’t need much: two points, a few straps, and some time. The ENO lineup gets the basics right. These aren’t complicated systems. They’re tools that make waiting more pleasant and rest more likely.
I finished my testing on a warm morning in July. Blueberries hung low along the trail. I packed up the hammock, brushed pine needles off the straps, and watched the light shift across the ridgeline. Hiking and camping bring many rewards—from a good night’s sleep to the mental clarity that time outdoors often sparks.
Rest matters. A hammock gives you that: a place to stop, swing, and breathe. Sometimes that’s all you need.
In a country that holds 60 percent of its land in private hands, a quiet shift is underway. Fields once left to thistle and woodlots long overlooked are opening their gates to campers, hikers, and travelers. It’s not a grand movement. There are no ribbon cuttings or declarations. Instead, there’s a website: Hipcamp, the peer-to-peer platform turning unused land into informal campgrounds and homeowners into accidental innkeepers.
Becoming a Hipcamp host isn’t hard. But doing it well, earning consistent income, getting strong reviews, and avoiding legal missteps requires more than just marking a flat patch of grass with a tent icon. It asks for intention and some grasp of what people now look for when they seek the outdoors.
Opening Your Land to Strangers (and Income)
To start, creating a Hipcamp listing is free. The platform takes a 10 percent cut from each booking, and you keep the rest. The sign-up process is as straightforward as any short-term rental platform. You give your property a name, describe it, and then build out individual “sites.” Bookable camping spots or structures, like a tent pad, yurt, or a tucked-away RV pad.
Each site gets its own profile. You select the type of lodging, write a description, set a nightly price, and specify guest rules. You can offer fire pits, picnic tables, composting toilets, solar showers, water hookups, or nothing at all. You set your calendar and decide whether to allow instant bookings or approve them manually.
But that’s the easy part. What separates a passive listing from a successful one is how clearly it answers this question: “What will a camper experience here?”
The Art of the Listing
Good listings begin with clarity. There’s a tendency to over-romanticize, to describe the property in vague mood-setting tones. That’s a mistake. Visitors want specifics. Is it wooded or open? Is the drive gravel or paved? Will they hear frogs or freight trains at night?
The Hipcamp photo guide is instructive here. The cover photo, or “hero” shot, should show the actual site on a clear day. Wide-angle landscape shots are helpful, but close-ups matter too: the fire ring, the outhouse, the trailhead. Photos should answer unspoken questions: Where will I pitch my tent? Where do I park? What does the toilet look like?
Descriptions should do the same. If your land is an hour outside Asheville and offers a shaded tent site next to a spring-fed creek, say so plainly. Mention the wildlife. Note if there’s no cell reception. If the only amenity is solitude, own it.
One example from Spokane reads like this: “Willow Creek Retreat is a private country retreat… on a 20-acre farmstead… 5 minutes from the Spokane airport.” That’s all a traveler needs to picture it: private, country, convenient.
A listing’s tone should match the stay. If it’s remote and rustic, the listing should feel sparse but thoughtful. If it’s close to town with glamping comforts, more polish is welcome. The point isn’t salesmanship. It’s clarity.
Rules, Risks, and the Things No One Mentions
Then come the harder questions. Can you legally host campers on your land? Will your insurance cover you if something goes wrong?
The answer depends on where you live. Some counties regulate short-term stays. Others don’t. Hipcamp offers general guidance, but it’s on you to check with zoning boards, planning departments, or homeowner associations. Rural properties often have more leeway, but city parcels like Portland’s “Farm in the City.” Sometimes operate within unique zoning allowances for urban agriculture or education.
Liability, too, is not a minor point. Hipcamp provides up to $1 million in host insurance, covering bodily injury and property damage in many cases. But it doesn’t protect against everything. Fires started by guests, dangerous animals on site, or disputes over access roads may fall into gray areas. If you’re relying on that coverage, read the terms carefully.
There’s also the matter of guests overstaying. Though rare, hosts sometimes worry about campers who linger or cause damage. Hipcamp’s official stance is simple: bookings must go through the platform to be covered. Don’t accept cash under the table. Don’t allow indefinite stays. Doing so risks not only payment but legal ambiguity.
Hosting sounds casual, but it brings legal obligations. Campers aren’t just visitors, they’re paying guests. And that makes you, functionally, a business.
What It Pays
The appeal is clear: land that once sat empty now earns income. According to Hipcamp’s internal data, the average active host brings in over $10,000 a year. Those who list multiple sites or offer glamping accommodations report much higher earnings.
Tent sites generally rent for $25 to $50 per night. Add a canvas bell tent or platform and you can charge double. A simple cabin might bring in $150 to $250 per night, especially in high-demand areas or holiday weekends.
One host, writing in a Hipcamp blog feature, reported earning $21,000 in her first eight months by offering a mix of RV sites, walk-in tent spots, and firewood bundles. Another estimated $50,000 over a summer by renting out glamping tents with electricity and solar showers on a forested parcel in California.
Income isn’t guaranteed, but nor is it trivial. If you have privacy, scenery, and a little infrastructure, you can likely earn a few hundred dollars per weekend.
And Hipcamp doesn’t charge to list your property. That changes the math. With traditional vacation rentals, owners often lose 15–20 percent in fees. Here, it’s 10 percent. The rest goes to you.
What Guests Want
Most campers aren’t looking for luxury. They want quiet, a clean spot to sleep, and maybe a place to build a fire.
Still, expectations vary. A family with kids and a rooftop tent might want a picnic table and a clean bathroom. A solo hiker might be fine with a trail and a water jug. Others look for novelty, a place to watch the stars, spot deer, or pick berries.
Some of the most popular listings are simple places with charm: an A-frame shelter in a meadow, a raised platform under the trees, or a level tent site beside a creek. Others offer extras: paddleboards, hammocks, alpacas.
What matters most, according to Hipcamp’s data on guest satisfaction, is not glamour but clarity. Do photos match the site? Are directions clear? Is there a toilet? If not, say so.
Communication matters too. Respond quickly. Answer questions. If a fire ban is in place, post it. If access requires 4WD, note it.
One reason Angeles Crest Creamery does well isn’t just its goats. It’s that the host writes clearly, explains the property, and educates guests before they arrive. Expectations are managed, and reviews are good.
Rural and Urban Both Work
If you think Hipcamp is only for 40-acre farms off a dirt road, you’re missing the trend. Some of the best-performing hosts operate within city limits.
A suburban couple near Atlanta turned their large backyard into a Hipcamp by fencing off a corner, adding a picnic table and solar lights. They now make $800 to $1,200 per month, mostly from weekend bookings.
A property in Madison, Wisconsin, offers bike-in-only tent sites along a stream, walking distance to downtown. Another outside Austin provides walkable access to live music venues.
Urban listings like “Your Farm in the City” thrive because they solve a particular problem: nature-access for people without cars. A 20-minute train ride plus a short walk, and you’re sleeping beside chickens instead of traffic.
On the rural end, you’ll find Hipcamps in the Ozarks, the Adirondacks, and the Carolina highlands. The common trait isn’t location. It’s that someone took the time to create a space where campers feel welcome and safe.
The Work You Don’t See
Hosting isn’t passive. You’ll answer questions. You’ll mow grass. You’ll unclog a composting toilet. You’ll break up a party or calm a skittish dog. If you’re lucky, you’ll also meet interesting travelers who write good reviews.
You’ll need a way to communicate with guests (the Hipcamp app works well). You’ll check the weather. You’ll restock firewood, refill jugs, clean up after the careless few.
The best hosts do all this without letting it feel transactional. They keep the property tidy, add small comforts (a jar of matches, a printed map), and update the listing when things change.
Good reviews follow not from perfection, but from honesty and effort.
End Thought
In a time when so much land sits locked behind “No Trespassing” signs, Hipcamp offers a quiet alternative. It doesn’t require a lodge, a loan, or a business plan. It just asks for a patch of earth, a little time, and a willingness to share it.
And for many landowners, whether perched above a mountain town or surrounded by warehouses. It’s a way to open the gate, meet a stranger, and make a little money while doing it.
Walking on a rainy day can be a unique and rewarding experience. The mist and drizzle add a fresh dimension to familiar trails. With the right preparation, rain doesn’t have to spoil a hike; it can make the forest even more alive. This article explains the benefits of hiking in wet weather, suggests some rain-friendly spots in Western North Carolina, and gives practical gear and safety tips for hikers of all levels. We’ll also touch on how being outdoors in the rain can boost your mood and health.
Why Rainy Hikes Are Rewarding
Hiking when it’s raining offers several clear benefits. First, crowds thin out and most hikers avoid wet trails. This means you often get peace and quiet on a rainy day. One guide notes that “the air is cleaner and the solitude more profound” on a rainy hike.
Fewer hikers: Since rain keeps many people home, the trails are usually much emptier. You can enjoy nature without crowds. This extra space adds to the feeling of calm and privacy in the woods.
Cooler temperatures: Rain cools the air, which can make it comfortable to hike even in warm seasons. You won’t overheat as quickly without direct sun. The mist can feel gentle instead of harsh sun, making a brisk walk feel refreshing.
Lush scenery: Plants and waterfalls often look greener and more vibrant after rain. Drops of water on leaves and ferns can highlight their color. Many waterfalls and creeks surge with water in wet weather. For example, Roaring Fork Falls in Pisgah National Forest is even more spectacular in a heavy rain.
Clean air: Rain helps clear dust and pollen from the air. You may notice the smell of wet earth or pine. According to outdoor experts, hiking after rain means enjoying fresh, purified air.
Wildlife and nature: Some animals and birds are more active in drizzly conditions because human traffic is low. Frogs, salamanders, and even birds might come closer when the forest is quiet.
Mindful break: Rain forces you to slow down. You focus on the moment—feeling the cool drops, listening to the soft sound of water on leaves. This can be good for your mind. Being in nature is a form of forest bathing, known to reduce stress. Studies show that time in the forest can lower stress hormones and even reduce blood pressure.
Rain-Friendly Trails and Parks in Western North Carolina
Western North Carolina is rich in forests and mountains that can be just as beautiful in the rain. Trails with good footing or boardwalks handle wet weather better, and waterfall hikes become especially impressive.
Roaring Fork Falls (Pisgah National Forest): Easy, flat trail with a 50-foot waterfall that surges in heavy rain.
Tom’s Creek Falls (Pisgah): Near Old Fort. Wooden viaducts keep the trail dry. Ends at a footbridge over the falls.
DuPont State Forest: Triple Falls, Hooker Falls, and Bridal Veil Falls become powerful after rain. Trails have gravel or boardwalks.
Looking Glass Falls (Pisgah): Roadside waterfall with a paved viewing area. More dramatic during a downpour.
Craggy Gardens (Blue Ridge Parkway): High-elevation trail with foggy forests and bright green foliage. Good rain choice.
Big Ivy area: Forest roads and trails like Trace Ridge drain well and lead through creek-filled terrain.
Linville Falls: Multi-tiered waterfall with accessible overlooks. Use care on slick paths.
Rainy hikes offer all the physical rewards of dry ones: exercise, fresh air, and time away from screens. But they also offer a bonus. You learn to enjoy discomfort. You grow your patience. And you might notice more frogs, more mushrooms, and fewer people. Want more ways nature can help you feel better? Read The Camping Effect.
In the hills of western North Carolina, lion’s mane mushrooms hang from trees like strange fruit. With the right timing and a sharp eye, you can spot them, cook them, and taste something wild.
By mid-August, the southern Appalachians start to shift. Morning air sharpens. Ridges hold fog a little longer. The woods soak up each burst of late-summer rain. It’s in this pause; this brief wet warmth between fire and frost, that lion’s mane mushrooms begin to show themselves.
Lion’s mane, or Hericium erinaceus, does not hide in plain sight. It hangs, bulbous and white, from dead oak or beech trunks like some natural absurdity. Where other mushrooms flatten into caps or sprout into stems, this one erupts into a mop of shaggy spines. To those unfamiliar, it looks like a marine creature stranded in a forest. To those who know it, it means dinner.
In western North Carolina, the fruiting window stretches from August into November. If the rain is generous and the air stays cool, say in the range of 55 to 70 degrees, lion’s mane will continue into early December. Above 3,000 feet, the mushrooms often last longer than they do in the foothills, though they vanish as soon as nights dip below the twenties.
Foragers find them growing on wounded trunks, broken limbs, or long-dead stumps. The host tree matters. You’re most likely to spot lion’s mane on hardwoods like oak, beech, and maple. You rarely find it on the ground.
The legal part matters too. On national forest land, specifically Pisgah and Nantahala; mushroom foraging is allowed for personal use. There are no permits for small-scale gathering, only informal rules: don’t collect commercially, don’t damage live trees, and don’t leave a mess. On the Blue Ridge Parkway, you’re allowed up to one gallon of mushrooms per person per day. The rule is stated plainly by the Park Service. You can pick, but don’t uproot, and don’t go off trail to get them.
It’s not so easy in state parks. Places like Mount Mitchell and Grandfather Mountain prohibit foraging outright. Great Smoky Mountains National Park does too. So do most official wilderness areas. The reasoning is simple: preservation before harvest. If you want to find lion’s mane legally, stay in the national forests or check the policy of less-regulated game lands and public woodlots.
Identifying lion’s mane is not difficult. It grows in a single white cluster of dangling spines and what field guides call “teeth.” These spines usually range from half an inch to two inches long. They are soft, stringy, and dense. The whole thing often resembles a cauliflower or mop head, depending on its age. A fresh lion’s mane is firm, white, and slightly damp. An old one is yellowed, bug-ridden, or soggy.
Importantly, there are no toxic lookalikes. Other members of the Hericium genus; like bear’s head tooth and coral tooth, are edible and share the same stringy texture and seafood-like flavor. The spines on those varieties branch from a more segmented base, but they’re safe. That said, no mushroom should be eaten unless its identity is confirmed by multiple sources. Books, guides, and apps help, but if there’s doubt, leave it.
Once harvested, the mushroom can be cleaned with a brush or quick rinse. Avoid soaking it. Store it in a paper bag in the refrigerator, and use it within five days. For long-term storage, slice it thin and dry it at 125 degrees, or lightly sauté the pieces and freeze them in an airtight bag. Dried lion’s mane becomes brittle and rehydrates easily in broth.
Its texture is what wins people over. When pan-fried in butter or oil, lion’s mane browns well and pulls apart like cooked crab. Some people shred it for mock crab cakes. Others sear it like steak. A common recipe calls for mixing the shredded mushroom with egg, breadcrumbs, mustard, and lemon juice. Form patties, then pan-fry until crisp. Others skip the binding step and go straight to the pan. Sliced thick and cooked hot, lion’s mane holds its shape better than most cultivated mushrooms.
A good variation comes from chef Julia Simon of Charlotte. She browns thick rounds, seasons them with chili and cumin, and serves them in corn tortillas as tacos. In other kitchens, you’ll find lion’s mane folded into risotto, stirred into ramen, or stacked onto sourdough with melted cheese.
Each version relies on the same fact: lion’s mane absorbs flavor and keeps its bite. Unlike soft button mushrooms, it does not wilt into mush.
Many foragers in western North Carolina enjoy coupling mushroom hunts with seasonal berry picking. After a successful morning of gathering lion’s mane, you can head to high country trails for wild blueberries. Visit our guide to the top trails for wild blueberry picking in Western NC to find recommended locations, timing tips, and expert advice on when and where to pick.
You’ll rarely find lion’s mane in grocery stores. It does not travel well. It bruises easily. Its value lies in the act of finding it. It is a mushroom that must be looked for, not bought. It appears in its season, when the forest is damp, the days are short, and the trees have begun to rot in the right way.
To hunt it is to pay attention to weather, to habitat, to time. It teaches patience. And if you’re lucky, it feeds you.
Summer in the North Carolina mountains brings two things: heat and crowds. If you want a place to cool off without the chlorine, head for a deep, cold swimming hole. Skinny Dip Falls was once the local favorite, but storm damage changed that. Now it’s time to find a new spot.
Where to Find Deep, Cold Swimming Holes in the NC Mountains
The good news is there are plenty of waterfalls and pools within one to two hours of Asheville that offer clear water, quiet woods, and deep places to swim. Some are easy to reach. Others take a short hike. All are worth the trip.
Sliding Rock (Pisgah National Forest)
Sliding Rock is one of the most popular swimming holes near Asheville. A 60-foot rock slide sends you straight into an eight-foot-deep pool of cold mountain water. The stream flows down from Looking Glass Creek, which stays chilly even on the hottest days.
It’s about 40 miles southwest of Asheville, just past Brevard. The drive takes under an hour. There’s a $5 fee during summer, and lifeguards are on duty when it’s busy. The area also has restrooms and changing rooms.
Come early or pick a weekday if you want space to swim. Crowds build fast, especially after noon. If you go during blueberry season, you can pair your visit with a short drive to one of the top trails for wild blueberry picking in Western NC.
Looking Glass Falls
Looking Glass Falls is a true roadside waterfall. You can see it from the car, but it’s worth walking down the short set of steps to reach the base. The water drops nearly 60 feet into a deep, rocky pool that stays cold year-round.
This spot is just off Highway 276, about six miles north of Brevard and 36 miles from Asheville. The drive takes roughly an hour. There’s no fee, but parking is limited and fills quickly on summer weekends.
Swimming is allowed when water levels are safe. The current can get strong after rain, so check before you wade in. It’s a good stop for families or anyone who wants a quick dip without a hike.
Courthouse Falls
Courthouse Falls is tucked deep in the forest, where a narrow stream plunges 45 feet into a deep, round pool. The water is cold and clean, and the surrounding rock walls keep the area shady and quiet.
It’s about 50 miles from Asheville, near the Blue Ridge Parkway and NC-215. The last part of the drive is on a gravel forest road. From the parking area, it’s a short and easy walk. The round trip is just under a mile.
The falls feel remote but aren’t hard to reach. You’ll hear the rush of water before you see the drop. This is one of the best places to swim in the area if you want a peaceful setting without a long hike.
Stairway Falls (Horsepasture River, Near Gorges State Park)
Stairway Falls gets its name from a series of rocky steps that lead down to a wide, deep pool. Water flows over smooth boulders into a clear basin that’s great for swimming or cooling off your feet.
The trail starts from Gorges State Park and follows the Rainbow Falls path for about half a mile. A short side trail brings you down to the falls. It’s around 55 miles from Asheville, and the drive takes about 90 minutes.
This spot is less crowded than nearby Rainbow Falls or Turtleback Falls. The trail is steeper near the end, but the reward is a quiet pool with plenty of space to spread out on the rocks. Bring water shoes as the stones can be slick.
Silver Run Falls (Near Cashiers, NC)
Silver Run Falls is a short waterfall that drops about 25 feet into a wide, calm pool. The water is deep enough to swim, and a small sandy area at the edge makes it easy to wade in.
It’s located just off NC-107, about four miles south of Cashiers and roughly 85 miles from Asheville. The drive takes about 1 hour and 45 minutes. From the road, it’s only a quarter-mile walk to the falls on a well-worn trail.
This is a good option for families or anyone looking for a quiet swim in a scenic spot. It can get busy in summer, but early mornings and weekdays are usually peaceful. The shaded forest and cool water make it one of the best swimming holes in the region.
Whaleback Swimming Hole (Davidson River, Pisgah National Forest)
Whaleback is a quiet stretch of the Davidson River with a deep, clear pool and a smooth boulder that juts out in the middle. Locals call it the “whaleback” rock, and it’s perfect for sunning or jumping into the cold mountain water.
The spot is near the Cove Creek trailhead off US-276, just north of Sliding Rock. It’s about an hour from Asheville by car. There’s no sign, but a short walk from the forest road leads straight to the water.
Unlike other nearby swimming holes, Whaleback often has no crowd. It’s a great place to cool off after a hike or spend a slow afternoon by the river. Bring a towel and something to sit on because the rocks are flat but hard.
Hooker Falls (DuPont State Forest)
Hooker Falls is a wide, gentle waterfall that flows into a broad pool with a sandy bottom. The water isn’t as deep as some other spots, but it’s clear, cool, and deep enough for a proper swim near the base of the falls.
The falls are located in DuPont State Forest, about 40 miles southwest of Asheville. The drive takes around 45 minutes. From the parking area, it’s a flat, 0.25-mile walk to the water.
This is one of the easiest swimming holes to reach, which makes it popular on weekends. The area has picnic tables, bathrooms, and space to spread out. If you’re visiting in early summer, it’s also a good spot to look for Blue Ghost fireflies in Western North Carolina.
Bonus Tips for Visiting WNC Swimming Holes
Western North Carolina’s swimming holes can be cold, fast-moving, or crowded. Sometimes all three. Here are a few tips to make your trip better:
Go early. Most spots are busiest from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m.
Check the flow. Heavy rain can make pools dangerous. Look up stream conditions before you go.
Pack for rocks. Bring water shoes or sandals with grip. Many pools have slick stones or sharp gravel.
Leave no trace. Pack out your trash, stay on the trail, and avoid damaging plants near the water.
Bring layers. Mountain weather changes fast, and the water is always cold. Even in August.
Whether you’re hiking to a remote fall or pulling over for a quick dip, treat the land with care. These places only stay special if we keep them that way.
Find Your New Favorite Swimming Hole
Skinny Dip Falls may be gone, but Western North Carolina still has plenty of deep, cold places to swim. From roadside drops to hidden forest trails, these seven spots offer the best mix of cool water, mountain views, and room to breathe.
Pick one close to Asheville, or try a new one each weekend. Just pack a towel, hit the road early, and let the river take care of the rest.
The Fight to Stop the “One Big Beautiful” Land Sell-Off
Say you’re heading out for that weekend camping trip to your favorite spot, maybe it’s where you first taught your kid to fish, or that trail where you go to clear your head after a rough week. You pull up to find a chain-link fence and a “PRIVATE PROPERTY” sign where the trailhead used to be.
Sound far-fetched? It’s not. Right now, buried in a massive budget bill that squeaked through the House by just one vote, there’s a plan to sell off millions of acres of the public lands we all grew up thinking would always be there.
Antelope or pronghorn herd
At dawn, pronghorn antelope stand alert on the sagebrush flats—part of the great migrations that now hang in the balance. In Minnesota’s Boundary Waters, loons call across morning mist as canoes glide through glassy lakes. Early sun gilds the pines around Lake Tahoe, where hikers lace their boots and anglers cast lines. Out West, elk and pronghorn thread ancient paths from Grand Teton into surrounding forests.
These are America’s public lands, the wild places woven into our identity, playgrounds and sanctuaries that feed our spirit. Now imagine a “For Sale” sign staked in that dawn-lit soil.
The Bill Nobody’s Talking About
They’re calling it the “One Big Beautiful Bill” and honestly, the name should have been our first red flag. This 300-page monster passed the House on May 22nd by a single vote, packed with everything from tax cuts to spending slashes. But tucked away in there, almost like an afterthought, is something that should have everyone who’s ever pitched a tent or cast a line absolutely furious.
The bill forces the Forest Service and Bureau of Land Management to sell up to 3.3 million acres by 2030. That’s just the appetizer. The way they’ve written the rules, over 250 million acres which is an area bigger than Texas that would eventually hit the auction block.
Think about that for a second. All those places where you’ve made memories, where your parents took you, where you’re planning to take your kids and they could be gone. Sold to whoever writes the biggest check.
In California alone, roughly 16 million acres could go on the auction block within five years and that includes public lands adjacent to Yosemite National Park, Lake Tahoe, Mount Shasta, and Big Sur. “They capped it at 3 million acres, but 258 million acres is on the menu,” warns Michael Carroll of The Wilderness Society.
It’s like I’m taking crazy pills: any public lands that aren’t protected by wilderness boundaries, national monuments, or national parks are on the auction block. Even places with special conservation status like Wilderness Study Areas, roadless forests, wildlife corridors are going to be fair game.
And here’s the really infuriating part—nobody asked us. There were no town halls, no public comment periods, no “Hey, what do you think about selling the places your family has been camping for generations?” This got slipped in at the last minute, in the dark, with about as much public input as you’d expect from a midnight infomercial.
House leaders actually removed an earlier land-sale provision after public outcry, but Utah Senator Mike Lee brought it back on steroids in the Senate. Even senators from affected states got blindsided. “I was shocked. That’s not the way government’s supposed to work,” said Sen. John Hickenlooper of Colorado.
A forest hiking trail
What We’re About to Lose
We’re talking about places that matter. Real places where real people go to remember what it feels like to be human.
The Boundary Waters in Minnesota might not be directly for sale, but the bill originally tried to reinstate copper mining leases on its doorstep which would be a nightmare scenario for America’s most-visited wilderness. Those sulfide-ore mines would threaten the pristine watershed that feeds Lake Superior and supports countless outdoor jobs.
Lake Tahoe and the Sierra Nevada: The alpine jewels of California are ringed by national forest marked for disposal. We’re not just talking pretty scenery here. These lands underpin entire economies. In Mammoth Lakes, outdoor recreation tourism contributes over 70% of the town’s general fund revenue. Selling off trails, trout streams, and campgrounds isn’t a theoretical threat but an existential one for mountain communities.
Grand Teton’s Wildlife Corridors: Grand Teton and Yellowstone aren’t themselves for sale, but they can’t survive in isolation. Wildlife doesn’t know park boundaries. The bill targets vast portions of Bridger-Teton National Forest that cradle Grand Teton’s borders which is a vital corridors for elk, pronghorn, bison, and grizzlies.
“Protected areas like national parks can’t function alone,” explains Jenny Fitzgerald of the Jackson Hole Conservation Alliance. Selling and subdividing this habitat would “fragment habitat and migration corridors…hurt pronghorn, bison, elk and other large mammals.” She’s blunt about the stakes: “I fear there would be no recovery from this.”
Cow Mountain in Northern California: This 50,000-acre BLM playground has been a haven for generations of off-roaders, hunters, hikers, and ranchers. It’s also part of the ancestral homelands of the Pomo Indians. Nearly a century ago Congress set it aside “for recreation, hunting and fishing.”
Now it’s on the Senate’s map of lands eligible for sale. The thought has ignited anger even in Trump country. “I’m not blindly following Mr. Trump on this,” says Allan Schrange, a lifelong off-roader and Republican voter who leads the Mendocino 4×4 Club. “If he does something that’s not right…I’m going to be the first to raise a stink about it.”
For the local community, Cow Mountain isn’t just dirt and trees, it’s a shared heritage of freedom that “belongs to everyone.”
The list goes on: Oregon’s Owyhee Canyonlands, New Mexico’s vast Otero Mesa, Colorado’s 14 million acres of potentially sellable land, Washington’s Snoqualmie Forest outside Seattle, and an eye-popping 82 million acres in Alaska.
Silencing the People Who Actually Use These Lands
One of the most infuriating aspects of this land grab is how deliberately it sidesteps everyone’s voice. Normally, major decisions about public lands would involve extensive environmental review, public comment, input from local officials, and consultation with Indigenous tribes.
OBBB throws that out the window.
The bill explicitly includes “rollbacks to public input and environmental safeguards” and even ways for industry to “pay to expedite environmental reviews, bypass judicial review, or avoid public input.” In plainer terms: we the people might wake up to find our local mountains and forests sold without ever having a say and our ability to challenge the sale in court could be stripped away.
Perhaps nowhere is the lack of voice more painful than for Indigenous tribes. Many of these lands are ancestral territories with deep cultural significance. Yet tribal consultation has been glaringly absent.
“We’ve always had to literally fight with this government,” says Jesse Gonzalez, vice-chair of the Scotts Valley Band of Pomo Indians. “We’re not of the mindset that ‘they would never do that.’ We’re of the mindset: ‘Get ready, because they might.’” If Cow Mountain were sold, he warns, “it would be another page in a long history of dispossession.”
Even Republicans are balking at this secretive approach. Rep. Kevin Kiley (R-CA) broke ranks to oppose the land sales, insisting “The communities most affected by our decisions must be willing partners.” Rep. Jared Huffman (D-CA) called the Senate scheme a “vulture capitalist’s playbook” that would “shut people out, threaten wildlife and ecosystems, and hand over decisions about land use to private developers with zero accountability to the public.”
More Than Just Pretty Views
This isn’t just about losing nice places for Instagram photos. These lands are working parts of our world—where our water comes from, where wildlife lives and moves, where a $1.2 trillion outdoor economy keeps small towns alive from coast to coast.
When you break up these big chunks of connected land, you don’t just lose hiking trails. You lose the whole system that keeps the West’s water flowing, that lets animals migrate with the seasons, that gives places like Moab and Mammoth Lakes a reason to exist.
Biologist Gregg Servheen puts it starkly: “Grizzly bears, wolverines, mountain lions, migrating pronghorn, vast herds of elk—all depend on these habitats.” If chunks are sold and developed, “there’s no migrating back. Species will be squeezed into ever smaller islands of protection.”
Think about water too. Public lands often protect headwaters and watersheds. The forests above Lake Tahoe filter and regulate the water that flows into that famously clear lake. Pave those slopes with vacation homes or let mining companies in, and you get erosion, pollution, and disrupted water supply.
Selling off public lands could also worsen wildfire risks. Federal agencies manage forests for fire prevention through coordinated treatments across large landscapes. If lands get chopped up into private parcels, that coordination becomes impossible. And here’s the cruel irony: a recent study found only a tiny fraction of public lands near towns are actually suitable for housing—and those that are often carry high wildfire risk.
The Housing Lie
Supporters want you to believe this is about affordable housing. They argue that fast-growing Western communities are hemmed in by federal lands, limiting space for new homes and driving up prices.
It’s a nice story. Too bad it’s mostly bull.
Much of the targeted land is nowhere near existing towns or lacks the water, roads, and utilities needed for development. That independent study? It found less than 2% of Western public lands near communities are truly suitable for housing projects.
Even in places with severe housing shortages like Jackson, Wyoming, near Grand Teton. The local leaders aren’t buying what D.C. is selling. They know the issue isn’t lack of land; it’s the astronomical cost of building in resort regions and the flood of wealthy second-home buyers.
Teton County officials bluntly stated that the Senate’s land sell-off would likely produce “luxury homes, not affordable housing,” and worsen the shortage for workers. You can’t build affordable communities by destroying the very lands that make those communities special.
The “housing only” constraint is also temporary and porous. After 10 years, if land hasn’t been developed for housing, all bets are off and the new owner can do anything they want. A corporation could buy land under the pretense of building affordable homes, sit on it for a decade, then flip it for a shopping mall, casino, or drilling operation.
The affordable housing pitch is a fig leaf; a convenient talking point to mask what’s fundamentally a politically motivated liquidation of public assets. OBBB isn’t primarily a housing bill; it’s a budget reconciliation bill aimed at funding tax cuts. The land sale is there to raise an estimated $5-10 billion. Really a drop in the federal budget bucket, but enough to dangle as a carrot.
A Dangerous Precedent
Maybe the scariest part isn’t what this bill would do immediately, but what it signals for the future. It sets a precedent that Congress can view America’s public lands as a mere commodity and a stockpile to be liquidated whenever money is needed for unrelated political goals.
For over a century, leaders of both parties largely agreed that national forests, parks, and refuges should remain in public hands. OBBB threatens to upend that consensus and open the floodgates.
Today it might be “only” 2-3 million acres to pay for tax cuts. But tomorrow? Whenever Congress faces a budget crunch, will they just auction off another few million acres?
“It sets an extremely dangerous precedent that members of Congress can simply liquidate our public lands to fund their pet projects,” warns Nik Kohomban of The Wilderness Society.
This transforms public lands from multi-value assets into a simplistic line item: X acres = Y dollars. That’s how a CEO views land but it’s never been how Americans collectively view our shared inheritance.
There’s a practical reason Teddy Roosevelt championed public ownership: it ensures local control and public benefit. If you dislike how federal agencies manage a forest, you can lobby for change because it’s your land. If that forest is sold to Saudi Arabia or a Wall Street trust, local input is gone forever.
We’re also talking about this at the worst possible moment. When scientists plead for more intact landscapes to absorb carbon and give species room to adapt, this bill swings a wrecking ball at land conservation. It reflects what Outdoor Alliance calls an “impoverished vision,” seeing forests and mountains “as little more than coal pits and commodity stockpiles.”
Fighting Back
The good news? People are fighting back, and we’re already winning battles.
The House originally stripped out land-sale provisions after public pressure and proved that when people know what’s happening and get angry, lawmakers listen. From conservation groups and tribal nations to rural conservatives and outdoor businesses, an unlikely coalition is rising up.
Here’s what you can do:
Spread the word. This proposal was designed to fly under the radar. Don’t let it. Share with your fellow hikers, hunters, anglers, neighbors. Many still have no idea Congress is considering selling 3 million acres of our land. Make “Public Lands Are Not for Sale” a rallying cry.
Call your senators. Demand they remove the land-sale provision. One of the easiest ways to do this is through the 5 Calls app, which helps you contact your elected officials quickly with call scripts and local phone numbers.
Make it clear this isn’t partisan. If you’re a conservative hunter or angler, let your Republican representatives know you consider this a betrayal of America’s heritage. Republican Congressman Blake Moore said he “will not support using public lands as a pay-for and our lands are not a piggy bank.” That message needs to echo from voices of all stripes.
Local businesses, speak up. If you run a rafting company, ski lodge, gear shop, or brewery in a gateway town that you’re the economic stakeholder here. The outdoor recreation industry generates more jobs than oil, gas, and mining combined, and it relies on intact public lands.
Be prepared to show up. Attend your representatives’ meetings. Rally at state capitols. A few years back, when a previous land-sale proposal surfaced, hundreds of sportsmen in hunting camo and hikers in Patagonia jackets protested side by side and Congress swiftly backed down.
As Todd Tanner, a lifelong hunter and outdoor writer, puts it: “No hunter or angler worthy of the name should ever support a politician who is trying to steal our public lands from us.”
The clock is ticking, but hope isn’t lost. As one outraged public lands user said, “When someone turns on you, or attacks you, you fight back.” This bill is an attack on the very idea of America’s public commons.
These lands are our inheritance, our backbone, our birthright and they are not for sale.
Pigeon River in the mountains of Western North Carolina.
Tucked in the smoky folds of Western North Carolina, the Pigeon River watershed offers a trout fisherman’s paradise. Trout fishing in North Carolina is especially good here: clear mountain streams, shaded by rhododendron and hemlock, teem with brook, rainbow, and brown trout. If you’re a fly fisher stalking wild trout in an isolated tributary or a family camper casting from a riverside site, the Pigeon River area provides a rich experience. This post will cover where to go, what to expect, and how to make the most of a fishing trip on the Pigeon River and its forks.
Where to Find Trout on the Pigeon River
Headwaters and Forks: The main Pigeon River itself runs warm through the lowlands, but its headwaters and high-elevation forks stay cold and trout-friendly. In fact, the East Fork and West Fork of the Pigeon are famed among anglers. The East Fork begins high in the Shining Rock Wilderness and offers ~8 miles of picturesque, gin-clear plunge pools and pocket water brimming with wild trout. Reaching these remote stretches requires a hike, but the reward is solitude and native brook trout in crystalline streams. The West Fork, accessible near Highway 215, is a larger stream that receives hatchery stocking in season. In its delayed-harvest section (catch-and-release in fall), anglers often enjoy days of non-stop action with rainbows and brookies and occasionally a trophy-size wild brown trout over 20 inches lurking in a deep hole.
Tributaries: Don’t overlook the smaller tributaries. Feeder creeks like the Middle Prong and Little East Fork of the Pigeon River offer wild trout habitat as well. These little streams can be steep and challenging to fish (you might be boulder-hopping and crouching under laurel thickets), but they hold vibrantly colored brook trout in their shaded runs. In spring and summer, these brookies eagerly rise to dry flies. Just be prepared for a backcountry adventure, some spots are so secluded and rugged that fishing them can be “grueling” even for those in good shape.
Lower River: By the time the Pigeon River leaves the mountains and flows toward Tennessee, it grows wider and warmer, which is less ideal for trout. (Historically, a paper mill on the lower Pigeon also impacted water quality.) Today, most trout anglers focus on the upper river and its tributaries in Haywood County. However, the lower Pigeon does offer other fishing opportunities and popular whitewater rafting, even if trout are scarce downstream.
When and How to Fish the Pigeon River
Seasons: Trout can be caught year-round in these waters, but spring and fall are prime. Spring (April–May) brings hatches of mayflies and caddisflies that get trout feeding on the surface. Fall (October–early November) is delayed-harvest season on the West Fork Pigeon and other designated waters – agencies stock extra fish and require catch-and-release until winter, creating phenomenal fishing conditions. The fall foliage in the mountains is an added bonus for anglers. Summer can still be productive on higher elevation creeks (and is a great time to seek native brook trout), but by mid-day the trout often retreat to deep, cool holes. In winter, only the most rugged (or lucky) anglers will brave the cold; trout are sluggish but can still bite subsurface flies or lures during warmer afternoons.
Techniques – Fly Fishing: This area is a fly-fishing haven, and a 3-weight or 4-weight fly rod around 7½ to 9 feet long is ideal for these streams. In spring and summer, dry fly fishing is excellent – small elk hair caddis, Parachute Adams, and yellow stimulators float well in choppy currents and entice hungry trout. Try a dry-dropper setup (a bushy dry fly with a tiny nymph tied below) to cover both surface and sub-surface feeding. The clear pools demand stealth; often you’ll need to make longer casts or approach from downstream on your knees to avoid spooking fish. In the East Fork’s plunge pools, anglers report that a high-riding dry fly with a bright indicator is useful for tracking in turbulent water, and beneath it a bead-head nymph can tempt bigger trout hugging the bottom.
Fall and winter call for nymphing and streamer fishing. Trout in the West Fork’s deeper runs will take Woolly Buggers, stonefly nymphs, and egg patterns eagerly during the late fall stocking season.
Techniques – Spin Fishing: If you prefer spinning tackle, you can absolutely enjoy the Pigeon’s trout as well (just check regulations, as some stretches are fly-only). A lightweight (ultralight) spinning rod with 4–6 lb test line works great. Small inline spinners (size 0–1), tiny spoons, or even live bait (where allowed) can be very effective. Cast upstream into riffles and let the lure swing down through pools. Delayed-harvest sections (like West Fork in fall) often have eager, stocked trout that will hit flashy spinners readily. In wild trout waters, a more subtle approach is key – try natural-colored soft plastic trout worms or single hook spinners, and approach each pool quietly.
Local Regulations: The Pigeon River area streams fall under various NC Wildlife Commission regulations. Pay attention to posted signs and the NC trout maps. The West Fork Pigeon River from Lake Logan up to Sunburst Campground is Delayed Harvest in fall (Oct–early June) – no harvest, single hook artificial only during that season, then it reverts to hatchery-supported (you can keep some fish) in summer. The upper West Fork and side streams like Middle Prong or Little East Fork are often wild trout waters (use of natural bait is sometimes allowed on certain streams, but many wild areas are artificial-only and catch-and-release). The East Fork Pigeon River inside Shining Rock Wilderness is wild trout water with special regulations (no stocking, often minimum size limits if you do keep fish). Always check the latest NC regulations or the signage at stream access points so you know if it’s catch-and-release, if only flies can be used, etc. A valid NC fishing license with a trout privilege is required for anglers aged 16 and up.
Gear Up for Mountain Stream Fishing
Tackle and Gear: In addition to your rod and reel, a few gear essentials will make your Pigeon River fishing safer and more enjoyable:
Waders or Wet-Wading Gear: In spring and fall, chest waders (with felt or rubber-grip boots) help you reach the best positions in chilly water. In summer, many anglers wet-wade with quick-dry pants or shorts and grippy wading sandals or shoes. The rocks can be slick and stream currents strong, so a wading staff is helpful in bigger water.
Flies and Lures: Carry a selection of trout flies in sizes 12–18 for dries (e.g. Adams, Blue Wing Olive, stimulators), nymphs like Pheasant Tails and Hare’s Ears (size 14–20), and a few streamers (like size 8–10 Woolly Buggers or Muddler Minnows). Spin fishermen will want a small box of 1/16 oz spinners in silver, gold, and brown trout patterns, plus a few 1/12 oz spoons.
Trout Net: A lightweight rubber-bag landing net is ideal for safely handling fish in catch-and-release waters. Rubber nets protect the fish’s slime coat and delicate fins, reducing injury compared to traditional mesh. Choose a medium hoop—around 34–36 in circumference (12×9 in)—and you’ll be ready for average 6–12 in trout and even land a monster 20 + in brown trout with ease.
Polarized Sunglasses: Essential for spotting fish and reading the water in these clear streams. Polarized lenses cut the glare and let you literally see trout holding in pools or under logs.
Other Items: Don’t forget insect repellent (gnats can be bothersome by the water), a rain jacket (mountain weather can change fast), and a small headlamp if you’ll hike out at dusk. A basic first aid kit is wise too, as some fishing spots are remote. And always pack out your trash and old fishing line to keep these streams pristine.
Camping Near Trout Streams
One of the joys of fishing the Pigeon River area is that you can combine camping with your fishing adventure, truly immersing yourself in nature. There are several campgrounds and backcountry campsites that put you right next to quality trout water:
Sunburst Campground: This small Pisgah National Forest campground near Lake Logan is a favorite for fish-and-camp trips. Sunburst has 14 sites perched along the West Fork Pigeon River and is typically open late spring through fall. It’s primitive (no showers, vault toilets) but waking up steps from the stream is worth it. From here, you can roll out of your sleeping bag, brew coffee, then immediately cast into delayed-harvest trout waters on the West Fork. Nearby are the Middle Prong and Little East Fork, both designated wild trout streams.
Harmon Den / Cold Springs: For a more rugged option, consider the Harmon Den area (Hurricane Creek) in the Pigeon River’s northeast reaches. There are dispersed campsites along Cold Springs Creek (off Cold Springs Road) where wild trout swim in the creek nearby. This is closer to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park boundary. No facilities here – just creek, rhododendrons, and dark starry skies. It’s perfect if you value solitude; you can fish small pools by day and enjoy a quiet campfire by night.
Cataloochee Valley (Great Smoky Mountains NP): A bit south of the Pigeon watershed, Cataloochee Creek and Caldwell Fork in this remote corner of the Smokies hold wild trout, and Cataloochee Campground offers developed sites just a short walk from the water. Anglers have reported that the valley’s waters “fished very well” after reopening following hurricane damage post-Hurricane Helene, and it remains a less-crowded gem. If you want to mix trout fishing with elk-watching—the valley is famous for its elk herds—you’re in the right spot.
Davidson River Campground: Not in the Pigeon drainage, but only about a 45-minute drive over the Blue Ridge from Waynesville – this large campground in Pisgah Forest sits on the Davidson River, another of NC’s premier trout streams. With over 160 campsites and river access, Davidson River’s campground is a solid fallback when Pigeon-area spots fill up (160+ well-shaded sites). You could even day-trip to the West Fork Pigeon via Hwy 276/215. Plus, the hatchery-supported section below Avery Creek offers easy fishing for rainbows and browns (wild and stocked trout).
Camping Tips: If you’re fishing and camping, remember to store your food securely (trout streams in these mountains mean bears are around, even if you don’t see them). Use bear-proof storage or hang a food bag; this includes the fish you’ve caught or any bait. The region’s black bears generally avoid humans, but the smell of fresh trout dinner could tempt them into camp if you’re not careful! Also, practice Leave No Trace – camp at established sites, pack out all waste (yes, even that tangle of monofilament line), and don’t dam up streams or move rocks around unnecessarily in these delicate habitats.
Local Tips and Ethics
Learn from Locals: If you stop by a local fly shop in Waynesville, Canton, or Maggie Valley, you’ll find a community of passionate anglers. They might not give away their secret honey holes; after all, as one local saying goes, “Flies, and sprinting to the next honey-hole, wrecks our chances.” Still, most are happy to point you toward the right area or fly selection. Hiring a guide for a day on the Pigeon’s forks can also accelerate your learning (and they’ll handle tasks like navigating private property boundaries and gauging stream conditions).
Stream Etiquette: The Pigeon River area, especially spots like the East Fork and Sam’s Knob Trail crossings, can see both hikers and fishermen. Be courteous: give fellow anglers plenty of space and ask which direction they’re fishing (upstream or downstream) and either leap-frog past several pools or wait your turn. If you encounter hikers or swimmers, yield the right-of-way on trails and be friendly – we’re all out here to enjoy the outdoors. In busy seasons, “the best spots are for locals only” might ring true, but with a spirit of respect and patience, you’ll find your own piece of water to enjoy. As one guide explains, “the right-of-way on the river goes to those who were there first.”
Conservation: This region’s fisheries thrive thanks to good stewardship. Consider practicing catch-and-release, especially for wild trout and larger browns. Keep only what you might eat on-site. Report any issues (like poaching or pollution) to wildlife authorities. After heavy rains or storms, exercise caution – not just for safety, but to avoid trampling banks or redds (trout spawning beds) in unstable conditions. Remember, a lot of these streams are in protected lands (national forest or even designated wilderness), so treat them with reverence. By following regulations and respecting limits, you help ensure that future generations can also experience the magic of trout fishing in the Pigeon River country.
Embrace the Whole Experience
Trout fishing on the Pigeon River and its mountain streams is about so much more than just catching fish. It’s stepping into an immersive wilderness experience – the morning mist steaming off the water, the sudden blaze of fall leaves reflecting in a pool, the sound of that first trout rising to sip a mayfly. It’s the challenge of figuring out where the fish are hiding and what flies they’ll take, and the satisfaction when you get it right. It’s also the joy of having a lively tale to tell by the campfire: perhaps of the one that got away, or the giant brown that didn’t.
As you plan your Pigeon River trip, take time to enjoy the area’s other offerings. Hike a bit of the Art Loeb Trail up to Black Balsam for panoramic views, or take a scenic drive on the Blue Ridge Parkway which crisscrosses the very headwaters you’ll be fishing. You might even schedule your trip around other local highlights like visiting during the Blue Ghost firefly display in June or after the rivers are freshly stocked in October. A well-rounded adventure will leave you with a deeper appreciation of these mountains.
Now that you’re ready to cast your line in these trout-rich waters. Get out there and explore other outdoor guides and gear that will make your trip a success. Check out our other articles for more tips on camping in the Smokies, gear reviews for the best fishing and camping equipment, and insider knowledge on Western NC’s outdoor treasures. Grab your rod (or fly rod), pack your tent, and head to the Pigeon River – a true haven for camping, trout fishing, and reconnecting with nature.
From Max Patch to Panthertown Valley: Everything You Need for Your First Night Alone on the Trail
Solo backpacking is a rite of passage for many outdoor lovers. There’s a unique magic in carrying everything you need on your back and wandering into the woods alone. It’s a challenge, but also a deeply personal and empowering experience. If you’re thinking about your first solo trip in Western North Carolina, here’s everything you need to get started.
Is Solo Backpacking Right for You?
Solo backpacking isn’t for everyone. It helps to enjoy solitude, be reasonably fit, and stay calm when plans change. Time alone on the trail can be peaceful and inspiring, but it can also get lonely. The good news? With preparation and the right mindset, it can be one of the most rewarding things you ever do.
Being alone in the wilderness allows for reflection, creativity, and connection to nature. Many people report feeling more confident and capable after their first solo trip. If you enjoy problem-solving, want to escape the noise of daily life, or just need space to think, this might be for you.
Ask yourself: Do I feel energized by solitude? Am I confident following a trail and using a map? If yes, you’re likely ready to start small.
Picking the Right Trail
Start small. Aim for a 1-2 night trip on a well-marked trail with reliable water sources and some cell service. Western NC has plenty of options:
Max Patch (about 1.5 hours from Asheville, easy to moderate): A 1.5-mile loop on the Appalachian Trail with panoramic views. There are dispersed camping areas nearby and plenty of other hikers—yes, it can get crowded on weekends.
Graveyard Fields (1 hour from Asheville, easy): A 3.1-mile loop with waterfalls, good signage, and designated campsites. It’s accessible right off the Blue Ridge Parkway.
Sam Knob (1.5 hours from Asheville, moderate): An 8-mile out-and-back trip starting from the Black Balsam area. This route includes open balds, forest trails, and beautiful mountain views.
Black Balsam Knob (1.5 hours from Asheville, easy to moderate): A short, high-reward hike for a one-night getaway. It’s part of the Art Loeb Trail and features grassy balds with 360° views.
Panthertown Valley (2 hours from Asheville, moderate): Known as the “Yosemite of the East,” this area has a mix of loop and out-and-back trails with waterfalls and plenty of campsites. It’s a bit more remote, so bring a good map and GPS.
Stick with trails that offer easy navigation and decent foot traffic. You want to be solo, not completely isolated.
What Gear Do You Need?
Focus on the essentials. A good solo setup doesn’t have to be expensive, but it does need to be reliable. Expect to invest $300–600 to get started with basic gear, though rentals are available through local outfitters like Diamond Brand and REI Asheville.
Here’s a solid beginner list:
A well-fitting backpack (30–50 liters for a short trip)
3-season tent or lightweight shelter
Sleeping bag rated for expected temps (typically 20–40°F for NC nights)
Sleeping pad for insulation and comfort
Water filter or purification tablets
Cook system: small stove, fuel, pot, spork
Food: high-calorie, lightweight meals and snacks
Headlamp or flashlight (with extra batteries)
Map, compass, and GPS-enabled phone app like AllTrails or Gaia GPS
First aid kit and repair tape
Rain jacket and pack cover
Extra socks, wool layers, sun hat, and warm hat
Emergency whistle and multi-tool
Buy quality where it counts: your pack, sleep system, and footwear. Try gear in your backyard or a local park before your trip.
Packing Smart
Overpacking is the most common beginner mistake. Don’t bring an outfit for every day. Don’t bring canned food. Don’t bring luxuries you won’t use.
Use the Ten Essentials as your foundation:
Navigation (map, compass, GPS)
Sun protection (sunglasses, sunscreen)
Insulation (extra clothing)
Illumination (headlamp)
First aid kit
Fire (lighter, waterproof matches)
Repair kit and knife
Shelter (even if not planning to use it)
Food (enough for 1 extra day)
Water (plus treatment method)
For food, go with dehydrated meals, oatmeal, nut butters, tortillas, cheese, and energy bars. You’ll want about 2,500–3,000 calories per day. Freeze-dried meals like those from Mountain House or Backpacker’s Pantry are easy and lightweight.
Staying Safe
Safety is crucial, especially when you’re on your own. Here’s how to stay smart:
Leave a trip plan with a friend or family member. Include your route, expected return, and emergency contact time.
Check the weather. Mountain weather changes fast. Afternoon storms are common—hike early and be off ridgelines by midday.
Know how to navigate. Don’t rely solely on your phone. If GPS fails, a physical map and compass could be lifesavers.
Wildlife: Black bears are common in WNC. Store food in a bear canister or hang your food at least 200 feet away from your sleeping area. Don’t eat where you sleep. Use odor-proof bags if possible.
Water safety: Filter all water from streams, even if it looks clean. Giardia and other pathogens are a risk.
Ticks and insects: Wear long sleeves or bug-repellent clothing, use DEET or picaridin, and check yourself daily. Lyme disease and other tick-borne illnesses exist in the region.
Night hiking: Avoid unless necessary. Carry a reliable headlamp and set up camp before dark.
Cell service: Don’t count on it. Service can be spotty or non-existent in many WNC backcountry areas.
Injury prevention: Watch your step, especially with a heavy pack. Trekking poles can help with balance and reduce strain on your knees.
Mental Prep
Solo trips are mentally challenging. You might feel anxious, especially when the woods get quiet at night. That’s normal. Here’s how to manage it:
Bring a comfort item (a book, a journal, or your favorite trail snack)
Remind yourself why you’re out here
Practice mindfulness or breathing exercises
Remember: being uncomfortable isn’t the same as being unsafe
Expect highs and lows—each moment will pass
If you encounter other hikers, say hello and trust your instincts. Most people are friendly, but always prioritize your safety.
Solitude can be healing. You’ll find a rhythm as you walk, and the forest will start to feel like a friend. Silence becomes music. The trees, your companions.
First-Time Tips
Start with a one-night trip
Keep mileage under 10 miles/day
Camp near water but at least 200 feet away
Test your gear at home first
Pack your backpack, then remove 10% of it
Drink water regularly—don’t wait until you’re thirsty
Greet others on the trail—friendly contact helps boost morale
Aim to arrive at your campsite 2–3 hours before sunset
Learn and practice backcountry bathroom etiquette: dig a cathole 6–8 inches deep at least 200 feet from water and trails
Common Mistakes to Avoid
Too much weight. A heavy pack will make your trip miserable. Aim for 25–35 lbs total.
New boots. Break them in first with a few day hikes.
Skipping rain gear. Even if it looks sunny, always pack a rain jacket.
Not checking weather or trail conditions. Trail closures, flooded creeks, and fire bans can impact your plans.
Failing to hydrate or eat enough. You’ll burn 2,000+ calories per day just walking with a pack.
Camping illegally. Learn about rules for backcountry permits, campfire restrictions, and designated sites.
Forgetting a backup plan. Sometimes things go wrong. Build in margin for errors and changes.
Underestimating elevation. Trails in WNC often involve steep climbs—short distances can still be tough.
Improper food storage. Research bear safety protocols for Pisgah, Nantahala, and Great Smoky Mountains National Parks.
Local Outfitters: Black Dome (Asheville), Diamond Brand, REI Asheville
Guidebook: Backpacking North Carolina by Joe Miller
Community: Facebook Group “WNC Hiking and Backpacking”
Before Heading Off
Your first solo backpacking trip doesn’t need to be epic. In fact, shorter and simpler is better. Think of it as training for your confidence, not just your legs. The goal is to feel empowered, not exhausted. Learn the basics. Test your limits. Get a little dirty. Sleep under the stars. And most importantly, come home safe and proud of what you accomplished.
So pack your bag, choose your trail, and take that first step. The mountains of Western North Carolina await your discovery.
Ever been to the spot called Skinny Dip Falls? If you’ve spent time in Western North Carolina or driven along the Blue Ridge Parkway before 2021, chances are you might have pulled off at milepost 417, parked near the Looking Glass Rock overlook, and made the short hike to this hidden gem. For years, Skinny Dip Falls was a favorite swimming hole for families, hikers, and photographers. A scenic little paradise tucked away in the heart of Pisgah National Forest.
A Place That Felt Like Magic
What made it special? It wasn’t just the cool water or the short hike. It was the profound energy that enveloped the place. The moment you left the road behind and hit the trail, the world got quieter. You followed a shaded half-mile path, crossed a charming wooden bridge, and rounded a corner to discover a cascading, three-tiered waterfall. A 30-foot cascade of clear mountain water tumbled into a series of emerald-green plunge pools surrounded by moss-covered rocks and dense rhododendron.
Some described it as “a tropical paradise hidden in the Appalachians.” Others came back year after year with kids in tow, revisiting their own childhood memories. The name “Skinny Dip Falls” wasn’t necessarily a reference to any clothing-optional activity, but rather to the narrow channel below the second pool where the water took “a very skinny dip in the rocks,” as one local put it (Blue Ridge Mountain Life).
Hurricane Fred Changes Everything
But nature doesn’t make promises. And in August 2021, the remnants of Tropical Storm Fred slammed into Western North Carolina with a fury that few expected. What had started as a tropical depression in the Gulf morphed into a flash flood disaster when it collided with the Blue Ridge Mountains.
Fred dumped over 10 inches of rain across parts of Haywood and Transylvania Counties. The Davidson River and its tributaries, including the creek that fed Skinny Dip Falls which rose fast and violently. By the time the storm passed, roads were washed out, homes were destroyed, and the landscape was dramatically altered.
Skinny Dip Falls was unrecognizable.
The wooden bridge was gone, swept away by the surge. Trees were uprooted, rocks displaced, and the cascade itself was reduced to a trickle in places. Where once water poured into tranquil pools, now there was a gouged, debris-filled gully. Landslides and erosion carved up the trail. For many regulars, returning to the site was heartbreaking.
More Than a Casualty
Fred didn’t just alter the trail. It symbolized something larger. The transformation of Skinny Dip Falls became a kind of metaphor for how quickly and powerfully nature can change a beloved space. It reminded us that the Blue Ridge Parkway and its treasures aren’t guaranteed. They’re dynamic, alive, and sometimes devastatingly fragile.
In a statement following the storm, the U.S. Forest Service acknowledged the widespread damage to trails, access points, and recreation areas in Pisgah and Nantahala National Forests. While many trails reopened in the months that followed, the path to Skinny Dip Falls remained closed for an extended period.
Ghost of a Landmark
So what happens when a beloved destination disappears? Does it fade from memory? Or does it become something even more mythic in its absence?
Photos from before the storm still circulate on Instagram and in travel blogs. People share their memories of first dates, family outings, or solo dips into the cool water on a scorching July day. Hikers who return to the area today can still find the remnants if they look hard enough, but it’s no longer the experience it once was.
There have been discussions about restoring access or rebuilding the trail. But even if that happens, Skinny Dip Falls as it was is gone.
What It Meant to WNC
Skinny Dip Falls wasn’t just a swimming hole. It was a symbol of the region’s casual beauty and natural intimacy. Unlike major waterfalls like Looking Glass Falls or Sliding Rock, it didn’t require an entry fee, a long hike, or a crowd. It was, in a sense, a local secret hiding in plain sight.
Its rise to fame coincided with the rise of social media. Photos of its emerald pools and wooden bridges circulated widely in the late 2010s, making it one of the more photogenic spots on the Parkway. But even before the internet, locals knew it as a spot to unwind and cool off in the midst of summer’s heat.
And now, in its damaged state, it serves a new role: a quiet cautionary tale about impermanence. The Appalachian landscape is millions of years old, but even it can be reshaped in a single storm. Trails erode. Bridges collapse. Pools vanish.
Moving Forward
The Forest Service and local trail groups have shifted attention to other areas needing maintenance. Nearby spots like Graveyard Fields and Black Balsam Knob still draw hikers. But for those who knew Skinny Dip Falls, the loss still stings.
Perhaps someday a new trail will be cut, and a safe overlook rebuilt. Maybe the creek will settle into a new rhythm, and visitors will find beauty again in its altered flow. But it will never quite be the same and that’s okay.
The story of Skinny Dip Falls isn’t just about a place. It’s about what it means to love a landscape that doesn’t stay still. It’s about memory, loss, and the way wild spaces leave a mark on us long after we’ve left them behind.
