In addition to deteriorating parking lots, archaic accommodations and proprietors who have a cumbersome grip on the English language, another downside to $35 motel rooms is having to keep a wary eye out for peace-disturbing circumstances brought about by the troubled folk who populate the areas where these motels are located. If the Royal Inn at Fort Oglethorpe wasn't conveniently next to the Chickamauga Battlefield, I'd have sought lodging elsewhere.
While unloading my gear yesterday, just outside my room, I was approached by a heavily tattooed, agitated young man wearing a Christian-logo tank top, wanting to know something about weekly or monthly rates at the motel. For some reason he believed me to be a permanent resident. I told him I was only here for two nights and suggested the obvious, inquiry at the office across the lot where stood the Middle Eastern proprietor within earshot. Using vulgarity-laced adjectives he apparently assumed I was okay with, the beefy young man cussed the proprietor's inability to enunciate clearly, meaning he'd already tried but failed to understand an answer to his question, which is why he was asking me. Sorry, I said, looking over his shoulder at his packed van and baby-holding-cigarette-smoking female companion (dare I say "wife"?). I don't have that information. They left. The proprietor shook his head in relief.
About midnight voices outside my window prompted a curtain-slit peek of the parking lot. Two police officers were questioning a carload of white and black young people who looked more like party enthusiasts than lodging seekers. Nothing came of the detainment other than a citation being issued to the driver. Though I saw one of the passengers inside the office talking to the proprietor, they didn't stay.
None of this has anything to do with my 12-mile ride to Lookout Mountain this morning, other than lost sleep and my trek across the south side of Chattanooga, to the base of the mountain, being a continuation of drab and deteriorated neighborhoods. The GPS didn't mind, so why should I? (We would talk later about her attempt to traverse every side street we came to.)
While my focus on Lookout Mountain would be the Civil War battle fought there, pre-trip planning had alerted me to the "must see" Ruby Falls on the north side, half way up the mountain. Having read the basic information online, I knew Ruby Falls was a 145-foot waterfall inside the mountain; i.e. a cave. I also knew big crowds are common, hence my strategy to visit soon after the place opened for business at 8 a.m. I was there by 8:30, conveniently parked and bought my 17.95 ticket for $19 plus change as the first tour was forming at the nearby elevator. But another would leave in 20 minutes, a wait that would still be crowd free and allow me time for my first and only cup of coffee today. I sat alone in a snack nook, sipping my overpriced coffee and having breakfast, a large peanut butter cookie that I think, actually, was a pancake-shaped chunk of brown sugar.
Responding to the "all aboard" cry for tour two of the day, I gathered up my cameras and joined about a dozen other folks rallying around an elderly gentleman (probably younger than me) who identified himself as our tour guide and proclaimed the fortunate fact that ours was a "small group," even though it was a tight fit during our elevator descent of 200 or so feet.
Our cheerful guide gathered us for an orientation video in the cave, laid out some ground rules, and inquired as to where each of us was from. He was pleased and amazed I'd come all the way from Oregon, saying he rarely has any folks from Oregon. (I never told him I didn't come specifically to Ruby Falls, it was merely close to other reasons for being there.) We learned Leo Lambert accidentally discovered the waterfall in 1928 when drilling for a new entrance to the cave where he'd played as a child. That entrance had long before been sealed off by a railroad tunnel. In honor of his wife, Leo Lambert named his discovery RUBY FALLS and began giving tours in 1930.
Our 90-minute tour meandered through the well lit cave while our guide entertained us with humorous anecdotes and paused now and then to allow pictures to be taken of the various rock formations he pointed out, some requiring more imagination than others to match with names given them; candles, fish and a donkey to name a few. Our guide told us the first tour group had the right of way on their way out, meaning when we encountered them, courtesy demands we put our backsides against the cave wall and remain still until they pass. Then it would be our turn to have the right of way on our way out.
Finally to our destination, our guide gathered us in a wide area of the cave for a verbal buildup of the wondrous sight we were about to behold, telling us to get our cameras ready. Not until the lights came on would we see the waterfall. Apologetically, he told us the view would be limited to seven minutes because a computer controls the lights. So, said our guide, when the lights go out it's not his fault.
I'd already resigned myself to the fact I wouldn't get good pictures of the falls because I'd left my tripod behind, figuring it would be prohibited in the tight confines of the tour and rightfully so. Soon, our group was clicking and posing in the blending of colored lighting while music played, muting the "ooooohs and awes" and certainly muting the natural wonder that Leo Lambert witnessed in 1928. Then again, how did Leo even see the waterfall in the dark cave?
The crescendo of colored lights and music brought a smile of success to our guide's face as the limited viewing came to an end and he led us back. Soon, we met the next group coming toward us; a very large group and one I was glad not to be a part of. Walking back we saw stuff that escaped our attention on the way in, such as a tunnel entrance the guide said was a 1,000-foot escape route in the event the elevator malfunctioned. It is also used during the Halloween season as a "ghost walk", undoubtedly a monetary boost marketed by increased hype and hoopla to the already glitzy tourist attraction.
I don't remember if our entire group fit in the elevator during our initial descent but, clearly, we didn't all fit going back. As he shepherded all but the last two into the elevator, our guide said he'd be back for them. "See you in the morning," he chuckled, still on his whimsical toes as he closed the door. As we neared the top, he told us it was a Tennessee state law that all tours exit through the gift shop, which is why he was letting us out on the third floor as opposed to the main floor where we started. To his credit, our guide didn't pan-handle for tips like the boys in the glades but we were met by a large sign upon exiting proclaiming the virtues of "tipping". Is it just me or does this subtle coercion negate the whole meaning of tipping? I figure $19 is plenty good enough. Do I think think the approximate 7 minute view of the waterfall is worth it? Yes, but only once and only if you have an entertaining tour guide and only if you're already in the area and get in ahead of the crowd, which was in full swing when I waded through the parking lot in search of my iron steed.
 |
| Lookout Mountain Entrance To Ruby Falls |
 |
| Small Cafeteria, Gift Shop and Elevator Access Inside |
 | ||
Observation Tower Overlooks Chattanooga
|
 |
| Pathway To The Falls |
 |
| Our Guide Points Out Candle Formation |
 |
| Ruby Falls |
 |
| Changing Color |
 |
| Leo Lambert |
9-Minute Video of Cave Walk To Ruby Falls
2 comments:
Thank you Glen for taking us through another location in this great country of our, that I will probably never get too. But it is nice to know that it exists and where it is located, just in case we pass though this part of the country.
Your photo's and video's were terrific. It makes you feel like we are there with you.
Thanks again,
LA in Tustin
Cool, trip log, enjoyed all of it,
awesome about the newspaper article. The rest is cool also.
Thanks for sending it,
Carla
Post a Comment