This Week on the 5: Cliff Cash’s Five Favorite National Parks
Cliff Cash is quick to point out the dumb things that people say. Andy Griffith died because they needed a sheriff in heaven? OK. Whitney Houston is now the lead singer of the angels in the sky? Uh huh. Barack Obama was so sly that he tricked the CIA, the FBI, and just about every other government entity? And on Cliff’s new album “Half Way There,” the Southern comedian goes there, whether he’s joking about his new Christian boy band or ragging on Market Street in Wilmington, North Carolina, or simply highlighting all the absurdities of life. Recorded at Dead Crow Comedy in Wilmington, NC, the album is called “Half Way There”. The Gastonia, NC native, who Kevin Nealon called a mix between Rory Scovel and Bill Hicks, gave up most of his material possessions and started touring the country, performing comedy in 47 states, visiting 45 of the 62 national parks, and sleeping in the back of his station wagon. This is his first release with Stand Up! Records.
To celebrate the album release, this week’s edition of The 5 comes from Cash. Grab up his new album everywhere you consume albums and check out his picks for the 5 best national parks below.
All photos by Cliff Cash.
Home has become a relative term for me. Maybe even an abstract one. I haven’t paid rent or a mortgage anywhere in almost four years. In that time I’ve driven about 240,000 miles, seen 47 states and 45 national parks and done more standup shows than I could recount if I tried.
Some nights I slept in my tent under the stars and often beside any body of water I could find. Once in a while, I’d be in the guest room of an old friend from college or the couch of an old friend from grade school, maybe a hotel room provided by whatever comedy club had lured me there with the promise of free jalapeño poppers and a crowd that may or may not remember me.
Many of those nights were spent sleeping in my old station wagon I’d built to be livable with screens over the windows that I’d cut to fit. Now that wagon is sitting still under a tarp replaced by a sprinter van that feels like a mansion in comparison. Each night, each week, each year; the word home became more and more vague. Less a physical place and more of a feeling.
Every year I spend $80 for a little piece of plastic that gets me into any national park in the country for free. Once there I drive around until I find a forestry road leading to a free campsite where I sometimes spend as much as a week or two. I’m usually alone. I read at night, hike during the day, and bathe in lakes, rivers or waterfalls if they’re around and it’s warm enough. I’m more likely to fall asleep early and rise with the sun, less likely to be pulled into screens or bad news which seems to be the only kind these days, there’s little or no traffic. In fact, there is very little noise other than the ones that existed long before any of us.
On those nights when I turn off the reading light, pull my sleeping bag up to my chin and close my eyes listening to the white noise of a nearby creek, I think that this is home. I own this land. We all do. And if this country is great it’s because of the beauty it contains, the diversity of its ecosystems, and of the people who keep running.
Mt Rainier National Park, Washington
Occasionally I’d see a picture on Instagram of a field of brilliant wildflowers set against a backdrop of a glacial mountain. I’d follow the hashtags to find out where this almost mythical place is. Over and over I’d see #mtrainiernationalpark and every time it made me want to see it even more. I planned an entire comedy tour around that daydream. I tried to make sure I would be in Washington State in time to see the wildflowers peak at Rainier. It turned out I missed the apex by maybe a week or 10 days but I was still handsomely rewarded. Much like the other popular parks (Yosemite, Zion etc) Rainier is crowded. Honestly, it’s too crowded. A lot of people who travel like I do and live how I live have taken this stance to stop telling people about these beautiful places in an attempt to keep them secret and protect them. While I respect that sentiment, I’m not telling anyone anything they can’t find on Google.
The U.S. national parks are some of the most well-known natural landmarks on earth. What I will say is this: if you’re going to go to these parks (especially the crowded ones), try being part of the solution and not the problem. Don’t further crowd the already overly busy trails. Find a lesser trafficked area and hike there. Trust me waiting in line to see the biggest waterfall isn’t nearly as magical as seeing a small one alone. Mt Rainier has plenty of them and they’re majestic. I stopped counting after 15. There are so many that most don’t even have names.
Between the otherworldly wildflower displays of everything from Indian paintbrush to foxgloves, the rushing waters, and the glacial peaks, Mt Rainier is mindblowing and to say so isn’t an exaggeration.
I drove around for an hour or so in the forests outside the park until I found a free campsite. I parked between two massive trees, pitched my tent and chained up my mountain bike. Not only could I hear the creek rush by, I also had perfect cell service; something that is incredibly rare in the middle of nowhere. I stayed there for six nights. The last night I was there was July 4th. I left my campsite and drove down into this tiny town I can’t remember the name of. I found a local tavern where I had a Rainier beer and the best cheeseburger of my life. As I was taking the last bite, I heard the popping of fireworks. I threw my debit card down and ran out to see them. I stood in the middle of the road and watched the bombs bursting in air. I’ve never considered myself overly patriotic and I believe all human beings share one place called earth. But I have to say on that night, my legs tired from miles of hiking one of the most beautiful places I’d ever seen, mustard, onion and beer on my breath, my last five baths being in a creek and standing in the middle of a silent town where every single person was looking up at the same thing, I felt deeply connected to our country. It was the best 4th of July I’ve ever had.
Dry Tortugas National Park, Florida
It’s a 70 mile boat trip from Key West to Dry Tortugas. Plenty of time for my expectations to build. From all four sides of the boat, all I could see was water. Million mile views as they say. When the ferry finally pulled up to the tiny island, all of my expectations were trumped. The place is hard to even wrap your head around. The main island of the seven is covered almost completely by Fort Jefferson, a 19th century military fort. It’s fascinating that something built as a literal manifestation of human insanity (war) can also be so beautiful as it crumbles back into the earth from which it came. The waters would be completely clear if they weren’t so turquoise. It’s hard to put on a finger on the hue. It’s just insanely gorgeous.
Me and my beautiful friend climbed around every inch of the fort, we snorkeled all around the clear water and walked most of the beaches. We collected the tiniest sea shells I’ve ever seen mixed with small pieces of coral and see glass. We wanted to camp but were running out of days before she had to fly back to Kansas. As we boarded the ferry to make the 70 mile trip back to Key West, dark storm clouds rolled in and contrasted the bright white sand. It rained most of the way back on the ferry but we decided to just sit out in it and embrace a dramatic ending to an incredible day. As I looked back at the main island, I thought about how wild it is that 50,000 people a year make this journey. Sounds like a lot until you consider that 2.2 million visit Mt Rainier annually.
A couple of days later I was in Key West headlining the Key West Room. I met the booker Tom at Comedy Central’s UpNext. We got to perform for 1400 people and I had what was at the time the best set of my life. I walked off stage and Tom was waiting to go on. As I walked by him, he slapped me on the back and said “you’ll get ’em next time”. I laughed so hard I literally choked. Now I play his room every fall and we continue the tradition of roasting each other over glasses of bourbon.
Great Smoky Mountains National Park, NC/TN
My favorite song is “I’ve Been Everywhere” by Johnny Cash. It’s upbeat and happy and it reminds me of all my adventures. I tell people a lot “I’ve been all over and there is a beauty to the Smoky Mountains that is hard to compete with.” I grew up in NC and spent many Saturdays hiking Crowders Mountain and many childhood trips west to the bigger peaks. I lived for six years in Asheville, NC and it still feels like a second home full of people I love.
On my most recent trip through, those people made me feel overwhelmed with gratitude when they sold out the venue on a Tuesday night in fall. I spent several months in those mountains this spring during covid. I re-familiarized myself with my favorite hikes and explored so many new places and waterfalls I’d never been to before. I camped for free in the national forests and bathed in waterfalls and creeks. I hiked stretches of the Appalachian trail and got lost for hours on mountain backroads.
But one place I return to more than all the others is the backside of Great Smoky Mountains National Park. It’s a relatively little known entrance to the park. If you want to access the main sections of the park from there, you’d have to hike to them as it would be impassable by car. There are a series of trails that all ultimately connect to the Appalachian Trail and thus to each other. Each one is different and each one is astoundingly beautiful. The area is peppered with little creeks and waterfalls, massive boulders and swimming holes. The trees and rocks are bright green with moss and the forest floor is covered in ferns. If you were dropped off there with a blindfold on, you may think you were in the Pacific Northwest once it was removed. Both places are magical but to me, only one is home.
There’s a swimming hole 2.5 miles up the main trail that is one of the coolest swimming spots I’ve seen in all my travels. A couple of years ago in late September, my girlfriend at the time was touring with me and we had 24 hours between a Charlotte NC show and a Nashville TN show. We drove that night the three-ish hours from Charlotte to Smoky Mountain National Park and slept in the car by the river, the sound of drowning out any other noise that may have kept us awake. The next morning we hiked the five mile round trip with a little sliver of organic soap and a couple towels. It was chilly. Late September in the NC Mountains is a lot different than late September on the NC coast. The water was freezing.
We jumped in and screamed and laughed and got as clean as we could as quickly as we could. Then we drove another four hours or so to Nashville and went straight to the show. Those are the moments I’ve missed more than any others in 2020. The amazing nights on stage and the days in between in the parks of this already great nation. The whole country is beautiful but the Smoky Mountains got a little extra dose.
Kings Canyon National Park, California
The biggest trees in the world are here. Technically they’re sprinkled across this small region from Yosemite to Kings to Sequoia. Until you see them in person, it’s tough to imagine them. Really, it’s even tough to grasp the enormity when you’re looking up at them. I love all these parks. Really every park in California is insanely beautiful. It’s a massive state of course and it takes up much of the west coast. Its ecological diversity is pretty incredible. Death Valley is the lowest and hottest place on earth while Mt Whitney is the highest peak in the lower 48. It has everything from deserts and massive condors to rock cliffs jutting out into the pacific, the biggest trees (by mass) on earth and the third tallest waterfall on earth (Yosemite).
I’m always amused by people who try to generalize California into being one thing or some homogenous civilization where everyone shares the same ideals. It’s not. Every aspect of it is as diverse as its ecology and that too is fascinating. Kings Canyon blew me away. Driving down into it made me feel like I was about to see Wylie Coyote and the Road Runner. My car was hugging the curves and I looked down sheer rock cliffs and passed waterfalls that I could almost reach out and touch. Massive wildflowers growing atop plants that looked like yuccas spotted the steep sides of the canyon.
Once I was in the bottom, I stopped at the only gas station for miles and miles and the guy filled my tank with an old timey manual gas pump from maybe the 1950s. The river running through the canyon was unlike any white water I’ve ever seen and I go out of my way to see as much of it as I can. I’ve never seen a river rage with such ferocity. I would have had to yell to communicate with anyone but there was no one there to yell to. I saw every waterfall I could find and found an amazing, free campsite right beside that rushing river. I met a guy named Teal who I followed on Instagram and since then have been able to see his travels to and through Patagonia and many other places. I stood inside of massive trees that are taller than 20 story buildings and I felt small. I like feeling small. I like being reminded how tiny I am in the grand scheme of things. We could all use that reminder more often.
Yellowstone National Park Wyoming/Montana
I left Seattle around 5pm that day. I intended to drive until maybe midnight then find a place to pull over and sleep in the back of my old wagon which was held together with duct tape and dreams. I did this a lot. Still do. Just drive in the general direction of whatever is next and hope a quiet place to sleep presents itself. It doesn’t always and sometimes you just have to make yourself keep going.
This particular night I wasn’t sleepy. I’d had some caffeine that day and was wide awake. May as well cover some ground. The later it got or the earlier I’m the morning it got, I realized I wasn’t far from Yellowstone or from sunrise. Could I catch it just right? I didn’t manage to get all the way to the park for sunrise but I did manage to capture one of the better reflection photos I’ve scored in all of my travels.
By the time the sun started to light the sky, I was fading fast but the scenes it created around me woke me back up like a strong cup of coffee. The little roadies pond was lit up in pinks and purples, the clouds reflecting in the water. I stopped and stared at horses in endless fields with beautiful mountains behind them. I drove my old wagon down a long dirt road beside a river and watched the fog rise up from the water and float over fields of wildflowers on its way to being burned off by the warming sun. I drove through the little town and into the park just as the day was coming to life. I spent a few hours and drove the entire park.
People mainly think of Old Faithful when they think of this massive park spread across a slice of Wyoming and Montana. Old Faithful is pretty amazing to say the least but the whole park is covered in these geothermal phenomena. When you traverse the walkways that protect you from the boiling sulfuric waters, you feel like you’re standing in the middle of a massive abstract painting. The colors are more vibrant and brilliant than what our minds are used to seeing on the ground. It’s a truly fascinating place where the geysers are balanced out by subalpine forests and massive waterfalls. Like so many others, it’s a crowded park but it’s also a massive park. So if you go, find a quiet corner and explore or if you’re going to hit a famous hike, do it early in the morning or late in the afternoon. I wouldn’t know how to give you directions if I tried but if there’s any way you can find this little roadside pond, it’s a hell of a place to catch a sunrise.
