"I am certainly not an exhibitionist, nor is Weave, really. It's just that Weave gets a bit carried away, she gets caught up in the expectation of her annual cathartic rite of cleansing and renewal. As a snake must shed its skin, as a bird must fly south for the winter, as a lemming must march to the sea, so must Weave plunge into the cold mountain water, to emerge reborn, standing naked to the world, arms raised in embrace of the sun and sky and wind, proclaiming: I am Alive! She must…"

"Ok, whatever!" The ranger interrupted my impromptu soliloquy, "Just tell her to put her clothes on and then you two should move on."

"Thanks officer. Will do," I said. Weave reluctantly got dressed, obviously upset that she had been interrupted before plunging into the pool at the bottom of Hemlock Falls. I waved goodbye to the ranger as we headed up Moccasin Creek. While Weave and I both agree that a skinny dipping spot should afford a reasonable expectation of privacy, we don't always agree on what constitutes a 'reasonable expectation'.

"I told you to wait until we got to the upper falls," I said, not one to let an I-told-you-so lie around, festering.

"If you can find it. Are you sure we're going in the right direction?" she responded, conjuring up the 'Long Creek Falls' debacle in an effort to abate the sting of my 'I-told-you-so'.

I said nothing. I had learned the lesson of 'Long Creek' and was armed with directions (verified from two sources), a compass, and a topographic map. I knew exactly where I was going. I hiked on; Weave followed. Before long, we stood high above Moccasin Creek, gazing at one of the most beautiful falls in north Georgia, a spot that afforded a 'reasonable expectation of privacy' by both our standards.

Later, as we emerged from the water, Weave spoke, "Bob, this is a great spot, a really great spot, but it is not the perfect spot."

I knew that she was right. Although beautiful and fairly secluded, the waterfall lacks a deep plunge pool and is not the perfect swimming hole. But as I basked in the warm Georgia sun, gazing at the waterfall, the blue sky, the hemlock and mountain laurel, and at my beloved Weave as she stood naked to the world, arms raised to embraced the sun and sky and wind, I realized it will do for now.

"I guess our quest continues," I said. And it does, albeit with less urgency.

***********************

For Parts 1 and 2 of Bob and Weave's Quest and more info on the sites mentioned in this story, consult the Journal Archives.