Linville Gorge Not for Me!

This is the time of year that I fondly recall my trip down the Linville Gorge to do some winter trout fishing. We arrived at the trail head early in the morning with the frost still on the grass. As we started down the trail, I soon discovered that I was in "over my head" so to speak. There were ledges that were about five feet high, with no way around them, but straight down. I scraped my middle section (tummy) as I shimmied down the largest ledges. Then, I realized that, as I descended, it was so steep that my toes were constantly jammed against my boots. As a result, my toes were in great pain by the time I began to fish. At that point, I forgot about fishing, and began to concentrate on survival; and I promised the Lord that I would never return if he would graciously allow me to somehow survive.

After I reached the top, I surveyed the damage to my large toes and they were pitch black, darker that a hundred midnights in a cypress swamp. Needless to say, my toe nails did not survive, but later came off as I grew new ones. Now, to this day, whenever I go wear those trout fishing boots my toe nails turn black. What a reason to remember my trip to Linville Gorge! Later, I learned that there is a trail somewhat less severe, however, I do remember my covenant with the Lord as I sit by the fireplace.