One of only four towers that remain in the Smoky Mountains, and the highest elevation fire tower in the eastern U.S.

I hear tell Mount Sterling is a haunted mountain..

“One of the more riveting stories to come out of Great Smoky Mountain folklore involves a cold-blooded killing of Union sympathizers by Confederate Captain Albert Teague during the waning days of the Civil War. On a raid into Big Creek, Teague captured three outliers of draft age. The three were tied and marched seven miles over Mount Sterling Gap near Indian Grave Branch where the men were executed by shooting. For many years a bullet-scarred tree remained as a gristly monument to these bewildered men. Before the men were killed, Henry Grooms, a noted Smoky Mountain fiddler, was forced by his captors to play a last tune on his fiddle, which, he’d clutched as he stumbled along. Grooms chose the famous “Bonaparte’s Retreat,” which throughout the mountains was forever recalled as “The Grooms Tune.”

“You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here and whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.”

~Max Ehrmann

How could you not want a Westy after riding in one. Obviously there's no front end on these things, cause the engines in the back, so it's like sitting on a couch cruising through the mountains.

 I love getting these places all to myself. You get to pretend you’re living in another age, if only for a little while.

Three little girls plopped down next to my girlfriend and me as we were sitting on a dock in Playas del Coco, Costa Rica. They gave us a quick smile, and then bounded off into the ocean to play with the rest of their friends.

“Before there were roads, there were only trails. Before there were wheels, there were only feet. Before the Norsemen and Columbus stumbled upon North America, the continent was crisscrossed by a trail system chiseled into the earth by animals large and small and the silent moccasins that followed them.”
~Lamar Marshall

“But there is a boundary to their realm –the boundary of the dark, horrible, lofty forest. There, like the waves about the Hebrides, the low underwood is agitated continually. But there is no wind throughout the heaven. And the tall primeval trees rock eternally hither and thither with a crashing and mighty sound. And from their high summits, one by one, drop everlasting dews. And at the roots strange poisonous flowers lie writhing in perturbed slumber. And overhead, with a rustling and loud noise, the grey clouds rush westwardly forever, until they roll, a cataract, over the fiery wall of the horizon.”
~Edgar Allan Poe