Strange Happenings in the Land Between the Lakes

I spent the past few days in the Land Between the Lakes National Recreation Area (LBL). It made for some of the most interesting people-watching and rather odd occurrences.

Even now, miles away from LBL, the strangeness continues. As I write this, I’m sitting in a laundromat in the town of Ashland City, just west of Nashville. The front door is propped wide open, but no one is in sight. The walls are covered with all sorts of instructions and cautions. Ironically, as the entire store is unattended, the most prominent signs read “Do Not Leave Clothes Unattended.” Oddness aside, the only reason the emptiness concerns me is because the bathroom door is locked. I’d welcome someone coming along to open it.

My favorite laundromat sign posted under security camera footage.
I guess someone was watching?

Anyway, back to LBL.

As to be expected, the general personality and manor of the folks I met along the Kentucky-Tennessee border was different than those I encountered out west. In addition to the Southern Hospitality friendliness, I also encountered the greatest level of surprise and/or concern when people realized I was traveling on my own. For example, upon purchasing my permit, the lady asked how many people were in my party. When I told her it was just me, she stopped, and with a great deal of earnestness asked, “Oh, Honey, are you sure?!”

Sunset over Kentucky Lake
There were several herons and a few beaver swimming around. 

Then the next day, as I return to my car after a short hike around a lake, I was greeted with relief by a couple from Atlanta. We’d crossed paths a few times that day, and they’d seen me go off and take a section of trail marked with caution signs due to some storm damage. The wife in particular had been worried about me running into trouble. They’d evidently been debating whether or not to wait for my return. I appreciated the gesture and apologized for causing distress.

(It is worth noting that the trail wasn’t particularly hazardous. I understand why they had caution signs up – the boardwalk was washed out in places - but it was far from the most treacherous bit of trail I’ve done lately).

I also kept having unusual experiences in and around restrooms. One morning, while brushing my teeth at one of the Visitor’s Centers, a sturdy looking older woman came out of one of the stalls and made a beeline for the door. She didn’t even glance at the 2^nd empty sink next to me. I laughed to myself, reminded of that old “didn’t wash hands” Far Side cartoon.

About a half hour later, as I was sitting on a picnic table reading, I heard someone ask, “Ma-am, are you okay?” Surprised at the concern, I looked up to see the non-handwasher. She was an LBL employee! I assured her I was fine and squelched the urge to ask, “But are you okay, with your dirty hands and all?”

Another time, I was bathroom blocked by a southern grandma and her spacey granddaughter, who looked to be about 10 years old. I walked into the restroom to find them standing as if they were in line. However, the door to the 3^rd stall was clearly open, so I asked if they were waiting. I got no response.

At this point, the 2^nd stall became available. The granddaughter, after checking for her grandma’s approval, made her way to it. The 3^rd still open, I asked again if the grandma was in line. Speaking tersely, she said, “they are all taken.”

“Are you sure?” I replied. “The door of the 3^rd stall is open.” To my astonishment, the lady not only ignored my question, but she turned away from me and positioned her body so as to physically prevent me from investigating the status of the 3^rd stall.

A woman with an infant and a toddler had queued up behind me. We exchanged a glance and shrugged our shoulders.

Eventually, the 4^th and last stall emptied, and the grandma made her way towards it. At the same time, the spacey granddaughter came out of the 2^nd stall. Seemingly at a loss as to where to go, she started to follow her grandma, causing an awkward congestion as she was reprimanded. Eventually things cleared up enough that I finally made it to the 3^rd stall. It was perfectly clean and pristine! I told the mom with the infant that both stalls were good to go. She looked as relieved and puzzled as I felt.

As an epilogue to this whole debacle, while I was washing my hands, another woman came in. The granddaughter, still waiting for her grandma, was standing there just as awkward and oblivious as before. As the girl was ignoring the new lady’s question about the wait, I turned my head and said, “I believe the 3^rd stall is open.”

Another sunset. No beavers this time.

There are other stories of funny people encounters, but LBL was also unusual in the encounters I didn't have. 

On my last day, Sunday, I decided to make my way around the Fort Henry trails, one of those nice trail networks where a hiker can easily do only a couple of miles or meander along for much further. Since these trails are situated between the southern entrance of the LBL and one of the busiest campgrounds, I anticipated seeing other people throughout the day. 

However, I didn't see anyone. At all. 

I could hear signs of humans when I approached the campground or when the trail came close to a road, but no one was hiking. I found myself wishing some other folks would come along. Not because I was tired of being alone (the solitude was actually quite pleasant), but because I wanted somebody else to clear out the spiderwebs. The trail was covered! I was brushing spiders aside for the entire nine hours of my hike with almost no reprieve. I became covered in broken webs. At one point, a mosquito got caught in a strand hanging off the front of my visor. It flew around a bit, harnessed to my hat. I wondered how many mosquitoes would be needed for them to fly away with my hat in tow.

If other folks had been taking advantage of the lovely Sunday afternoon, the mosquito and I could have avoided this trauma. Some people are so selfish.

In all seriousness, the Land Between the Lakes was a good place to visit. The area has a really interesting history and over 240 cemeteries if you want to seek them out. And if you have a boat, there is even more to do.

Sunrise over Lake Barkley

Maybe I should get a boat. A kayak perhaps...