On the long drive eastward, with too much fast food in the system, and with too many hours spent cramped inside a vehicle, it was good to pause for a walk along the river. I was feeling like the locust or centipede on that stony path in Tennessee. After all the heat and dry conditions of the West, I needed water, figuratively and literally.
We had pulled off of I-40 in Tennessee, intent on visiting Burgess Falls State Park and its featured stream, the Falling Waters River. Cool place, despite the high humidity and a season of more than adequate rain. We took the three-quarter mile walk (one way) along the Falling Waters and its series of plunging falls. At the big curtain falls, dropping 136 feet from rim to pool, I knew we were back in smallmouth country, bass and catfish land, an eastern place, and South. It seems that no matter the region of country, flowing water is the draw.