Which Way to the Land of the Sky?

 

Reading old stories on the mountains roundabout here, I’m reminded how Earth can change. Rivers bend. Mountains move. Forests disappear and rise again.

Obscure travel accounts from the 19^th century, painting word pictures, provide clues about how the landscape was different then. But I’m fascinated by something more, which is HOW those travelers saw the land. Did they relate to the landscape in a different way than we do now?

I recall Silas McDowell, perched on a cliff of the Hickory Nut Gorge, who said he would need at least an hour to take in the view from that spot.

Then there are the unnamed writers quoted by Henry Colton in Mountain Scenery (1859). One had devoted much thought to the relatives merits of ascending to the Land of the Sky via either Hickory Nut Gap or Swannanoa Gap. Great stuff!

We close this chapter with an article from the same paper, in which the editor draws a comparison between the two Gaps of which we have been speaking:--

I did not reach the foot of the mountains until dark, therefore I can say nothing of my present experience as to the mountain scenery, but, having passed over the Swannanoa Gap before, I well remember its loveliness and sublimity. It has been a disputed point with me which has the finest scenery, the Hickory-Nut, or the Swannanoa Gap. The last I go over always seems to attract me most. Yet a distinction may be drawn. The Swannanoa Gap, and its attendant scenery, is all loveliness and beauty. There is a soft, sweet delicacy about it, which reminds one of the goodness, mercy, and love of the Creator, and makes one feel that he is drawing near to the throne where all is peace, happiness, and supernal loveliness. As one gazes from the mountain height upon the green fields of the Catawba valley, rich in the soft delicacy of budding nature, and sees, too, around him, not barren rocks, but the tall oaks, rising their lofty heads, tinged a yellowish-green with the incipient buds of spring, while the gentle breeze wafts to his gratified senses the sweet perfume of the laurel, the ivy, and the multitudes of other mountain flowers, and treads under his feet a soil as fertile, even in its alpine height, as much of the lowlands which are stretched before his vision in the far-reaching distance, a feeling which seems to partake of other than the earthly, that breathes of the celestial, steals over his senses, unconscious of aught but the panorama of loveliness before him; there rests over the whole mental and physical system a delicious repose and tranquillity unknown but to those who highly appreciate the beautiful in art and in nature. Such is the scenery of the Swannanoa Gap.

On the other hand, when we view the grand, towering, bare rocks, of the Hickory-Nut Gap, displayed in all the majesty and, greatness of Jehovah, one feels his insignificance, and trembles with awe at the typification of the grandeur and terror which is thrown around the ideal we have of the Creator in his wrath. He has no true appreciation of the grand and the sublime who will not, as he looks on those great high rocks, feel the intensity of his insignificance, and shrink within himself, gazing upon these marvellous works of sublime and terrible power, as displaying the supreme majesty of the All-wise, All-powerful Creator. Here the savage himself would pause, wonder, fear, and tremble; and not even the vilest of sinners, in his, wild, profanity and reckless infidelity, can pass such a scene, and not feel for a moment a dread of that awful unknown future. When in such a scene as this, I like to pause and lose myself in thought, not a word uttered, not a sound to be heard, except the wild dashing of the turbulent water of the crystal streams, which seem, even in their boisterousness, to sing a song of repose in the soft cadences of nature's own music. To be in such a place, to witness such a scene, is worth a lifetime of toil and care.

But, to leave the dreamland in which I have been dwelling, it comes, then, to this: Lovers of the beautiful, combined with softly delicate sublimity, will find their tastes most gratified in a home on the Upper Catawba, and a trip through the Swannanoa Gap. Others, however, who prefer the sternly grand, will find themselves most pleased by a view of the Hickory-Nut Gap, the falls, and their surroundings. I would, however, advise all tourists to visit both, and decide for themselves."

The cost of these two routes is about the same. The only difference being the railroad fare from Salisbury to Charlotte. On the Swannanoa route, the traveller will have the cars to Newton or beyond, which enables him, by resting a night in Morganton, to go through to Asheville in daylight.

Fare from Charlotte to Asheville, $10. Meals, $2 50. Time about 36 hours.

Fare from Salisbury to Asheville about $8 to $10. Meals and lodging about $2 50. Time on the way 36 hours, but does not travel at night.

The Chimney Rock Files - Bottomless Pools

The [Bottomless] Pools, just above the old Logan hotel or tavern in the same picturesque locality [Chimney Rock] are three circular holes from eight to fifteen feet in diameter, in the rock bed of the creek, all of which are said to be bottomless. It is evident that they were made by the revolution of small stones on the softer surface of the creek bed, kept in constant motion by the continual flow of the creek; but they are not bottomless, nor is there any danger of suction, as swimmers disport themselves in their cool depths every summer.

-John P. Arthur, Western North Carolina, A History, 1914.

 Just one mile from the road, to the left (leaving it at the house of Mr. Washington Harris, at the foot of the mountain), are 'The Pools.' A small stream flows down a deep ravine, and at length, with a perpendicular fall of ten or twelve feet, plunges into a natural well, or pool, formed in the solid rock. This pool is perfectly round, perhaps fifteen feet in diameter, and about thirty in depth. The stream flows on for a few steps farther, and again falls into another pool, similar to the first, and about the same size and depth. A little farther on is the third pool, about twenty feet in diameter, and of unknown depth. The water in this has a rotary motion, but there seems to be no subterraneous outlet, as the volume of water below is equal to that above. When a stick, or branch of a tree is thrown into it, it will disappear for some time, and again rise on the upper side of the pool, then disappear again, as before, and so continue appearing and disappearing. The whole surface around the Pools is a solid and smooth rock.

- Account from unnamed traveler, ca. 1858

The Swannanoa Files - Finding Point Lookout, Part Three

 [From March 17, 2010]

“Old US 70” heading west from the Old Fort Picnic Grounds is a quiet stretch of road these days. You wouldn’t guess that it was once the main highway up the mountain. This route came into use in the early 1800s as a connection between Old Fort and Ridgecrest. Long before the age of automobiles it was known as the Western Turnpike.



In the years after the Civil War, passengers would disembark from the train at Old Fort, the end of the line, and take the stagecoach to Swannanoa Gap and beyond. In those days, Jack Pence handled the reins on a team of six white horses drawing the stage up and down the mountain daily. I did see some horses along the “Western Turnpike” but these plugs weren’t exactly chomping at the bit to pull a stagecoach anywhere.

When I reached Piney Grove Baptist Church I encountered the barricade across the road. I had been here several years ago and didn’t have time to get out and explore. Things have changed since my earlier visit. A narrow strip of asphalt has been installed over the original concrete road surface.

Despite my hope that an uphill climb might ease the pressure on my injured toes, the Timberlands continued to mistreat my piggies. After considering the smooth blacktop, I freed my feet from boots and bloodied socks. Going barefoot was a great relief.

This section of the road twists and turns through the Pisgah National Forest and provides some of the prettiest scenery on the entire hike.

Almost three miles from the barricade, I reached Point Lookout (elevation 2146) and a long-anticipated view of the Royal Gorge.

The steep banks above and below the overlook are covered with kudzu. And another tell tale sign of abandonment, the invasive paulownia tree, is also thriving. Fragments of rock walls are all that remain of the buildings where you could buy hamburgers, hot dogs, popcorn and soft drinks while enjoying the view in the 1930s.

On the bank across the road from the overlook, a steep rock stairway leads to a flat spot offering an even better view of the gorge.

A flagpole and benches are recent additions to the Point Lookout and a sign on the benches identifies them as an Eagle Scout project by Tyler Smith. Thank you, Tyler, for a job well done!

Clearly, this old stretch of road has attracted recent attention. Volunteers and community groups have worked with the NC Department of Transportation to enhance the route for hiking and biking. In October 2008, what they’re calling the “Point Lookout Trail” was officially dedicated. For a detailed NC DOT report on this project, click on http://www.ncdot.gov/bikeped/download/bikeped_funding_offroad_point_lookout.pdf

Nevertheless, the place has retained its ghostly charm.

Above Point Lookout, the road starts intersecting with the rail line that snakes up the mountain. When the railroad was built in the 1870s, it was the most ambitious feat of engineering ever undertaken in Western North Carolina. Seven hand-dug tunnels accommodate the track.

Double Tunnels, Then and Now

The longest of these is the Swannanoa Tunnel built at a cost of $600,000 and 120 lives. (That is another story for another day.)

I recognized one more bend in the road from an old postcard I carried along with me:

Royal Gorge, then and now

After crossing the barricade at the upper end of Point Lookout Trail, I followed the state road back toward Swannanoa Gap and took one last detour to inspect a marker on the Civil War Trail. This one commemorated an engagement at the Gap in April 1865 when Confederate forces effectively blocked Stoneman’s raiders who had come up from Old Fort.

There’s not much more I can say about this trip. I’m glad I took the ten-mile loop…love those endorphins.

One guide to Point Lookout Trail is available here: http://mcdowelltrails.com/PointLookoutBrochure.pdf

Finally, here’s something really special, a beautiful performance of "Swannanoa Tunnel" from the great Bascom Lamar Lunsford:

The Swannanoa Files - Finding Point Lookout, Part Two

 [From March 16, 2010]

River Birch (?) by Swannanoa Creek

I could tell you the easiest way to get to Point Lookout, but since I opted for the much longer scenic route, that’s what you get.

I began literally astride the Blue Ridge at Swannanoa Gap. By the time I reached the Kitsuma trailhead, though, I was on the Atlantic side of the Divide.

The first several hundred feet of Kitsuma Trail skirt Interstate 40 West, and you experience the relentless, hellish noise of traffic in a way you avoid while driving in it. Soon, you climb a series of switchbacks overlooking the highway and reach the summit of Kitsuma Peak (elevation 3,159).

Kitsuma Trail, I have learned, is achieving legendary status among mountain bikers - “gnarly” - to quote one fan. They love it…and hate it. The half-mile climb up Kitsuma Peak is the dreaded “calf-popping lung buster.” But the reward for that effort is a long and treacherous descent down Youngs Ridge to the Old Fort Picnic Area.

I’ll spare you the cycling jargon describing the highlights of this single-track trail. To those who can successfully negotiate it (as opposed to a biker like me, who would end up wrapped around a tree), I tip my hat. Even this video made by Al Garcia on June 28, 2009 is enough to give you a mild adrenaline rush:

Kitsuma 6-28-2009 from Al Garcia on Vimeo.

As someone eager to see wildflowers, I don’t anticipate spending precious spring afternoons dodging high-speed mountain bikes on the Kitsuma Trail. Other locations hold greater botanical interest. Most of the trail is on south-facing slopes, reflected in the plant communities along the way. However, with the foliage at a minimum now, the route offers nice views of many surrounding mountain ranges.

Three miles into the hike, I sensed trouble. Expecting rain showers before the end of the day, I had laced up my Timberland boots instead of the lighter weight, but less waterproof, Merrell hikers I usually wear on the trail. On the long decline, my feet got into a disagreement with my boots. The boots were winning decisively, and so my pace slowed on what otherwise would have been an easy downhill cruise.

After the trail turned from the east to the north, I heard running water for the first time and noted a change in vegetation, with lots of rhododendron, dog hobble and lush moss.

I knew I was nearing the Old Fort Picnic Area when I saw the stonework of an old fountain. It was constructed, no doubt, by the CCC boys who had built the picnic area long ago.

Much to my chagrin, I was the only picnicker in the vast dining area along Swannanoa Creek (elevation 1610). I had my choice of tables, and fine tables they were.

After polishing off a can of tuna and a PB&J, I explored the banks of the creek. I really wasn’t expecting to see any flowering plants on the hike, but at the very lowest elevation of the day, I did see some flashy early bloomers.



I’m guessing the delicate blossoms were river birch (Betula nigra) but it is quite possible that I got this wrong (and welcome correction on this point). The pendulous tassels are the male catkins, and if you look closely, you’ll see cone-like structures that contain the female flowers. When I bumped the catkins while taking pictures, they dispersed small clouds of greenish-yellow pollen.

Swannanoa Creek should not be confused with the Swannanoa River. The former flows east to join the Catawba, while the latter flows west into the French Broad. Their watersheds do adjoin at Swannanoa Gap, so when I crossed the divide I passed from The Swannanoa River drainage to the Swannanoa Creek drainage in one step.

According to anthropologist James Mooney, the name “Swannanoa” is derived from the Cherokee “Suwali-Nunna” meaning “trail of the Suwali tribe.” The “Suwali” or “Sara” people lived to the east of the mountains, and their ancient trail followed the Cartawba River (south of the present-day interstate) before crossing the Blue Ridge at Swannanoa Gap.

A century ago, Buncombe historian Foster Sondley cited Mooney’s explanation along with other theories on the origin of “Swannanoa:”

Sometimes it is said to be a Cherokee word meaning "beautiful"; sometimes a Cherokee word meaning "nymph of beauty"; sometimes a Cherokee attempt to imitate the sound made by the wings of ravens or vultures flying down the valley; sometimes a Cherokee attempt to imitate the call of the owls seated upon trees on the banks of the stream…

Sondley dismissed all of these:

[Swannanoa] is merely a form of the word "Shawano," itself a common form of "Shawnee," the name of a well-known tribe of Indians. These Shawanoes were great wanderers and their villages were scattered from Florida to Pennsylvania and Ohio, each village usually standing alone in the country of some other Indian tribe. They had a village in Florida or Southern Georgia on the Swanee or Suanee River, which gets its name from them.

Another of their towns was in South Carolina, a few miles below Augusta, on the Savannah River which separates South Carolina from Georgia. This was "Savannah Town," or, as it was afterwards called, "Savanna Old Town." The name of "Savannah," given to that river and town, is a form of the word "Shawano," and those Indians were known to the early white settlers of South Carolina as "Savannas." The Shawanoes had a settlement on Cumberland River near the site of the present city of Nashville, Tennessee, when the French first visited that region…

These Shawano Indians had a town on the Swannanoa River about one-half mile above its mouth and on its southern bank, when the white hunters began to make excursions into those mountain lands.

Between 1700 and 1750 all the Shawanoes in the South removed to new homes north of the Ohio River where they soon became very troublesome to the white people and were answerable for most of the massacres in that region perpetrated in that day by Indians, especially in Kentucky, it being their boast that they had killed more white men than had any other tribe of Indians.

Their town at the mouth of the Swannanoa River had been abandoned before 1776, but its site was then well known as "Swannano." At that time the river seems not to have been named; but very soon afterwards it was called, for the town and its former inhabitants, Swannano, or later Swannanoa River. One of the earliest grants for land on its banks and covering both sides and including the site of the present Biltmore, calls the stream the "Savanna River."

A little lunch, a little rest, a little botany, a little toponymy, and the picnic was over. I shouldered my pack, crossed Swannanoa Creek and reached Old Highway 70 for the second part of my hike, back up the mountain via Point Lookout and the Royal Gorge.
.

[to be continued]

The Swannanoa Files - Finding Point Lookout, Part One

Long, long ago the trails began to appear, so faint at first.  Paths reached toward the Land of the Sky through gaps in the long mountain ridges. As a landmark for travel two gaps were of the greatest historical significance - Hickory Nut Gap and Swannanoa Gap.  There's much more to say about the respective journeys, and more to say about my own travels across those gaps.  

Some say that Interstate 40, from Old Fort up to Ridgecrest, takes you through the Swannanoa Gap, but that's not entirely correct.  No, look a little farther north, where the Old Central Highway climbed Royal Gorge.

My search for a postcard view of Royal Gorge turned into an adventure - retracing the ancient trail that actually crosses the Swannanoa Gap.

[From March 14, 2010]

Seventy-five years from now, what will people think as they amble through the ruins of our pride…



This story begins with a vintage postcard I acquired several years ago. It shows a roadside stand at Point Lookout on NC 10 in Western North Carolina.

I had never heard of Point Lookout. Where could that be? Another old postcard identifies the same Point Lookout as being on US 70 and overlooking the Royal Gorge.

As someone moderately familiar with Western North Carolina geography, I was stymied. Why had I never heard of a place with the majestic name of “Royal Gorge”?

Upon further reflection I guessed the tourist stop at Point Lookout had been wiped out by the construction of Interstate 40 snaking up the mountain from Old Fort to Ridgecrest. That premise made good sense until I studied a map showing Royal Gorge a full mile north of I-40 and separated from that road by Kitsuma Peak and Youngs Ridge.

After more sleuthing, I learned that NC 10, a.k.a. “The Old Central Highway,” a.k.a. US 70, DID follow a route about a mile north of the present I-40 and was the primary highway leading up to the Swannanoa Gap, until the 1940s. I discovered the road was still there although barricaded at the top and the bottom of the mountain.



A pilgrimage to Point Lookout was not only a possibility but, for me, a necessity.

Finally, I made the much-anticipated sojourn this past Saturday. And it more or less lived up to my expectations. I mean, we have seen forests wiped out to build highways. But how often have we seen old thoroughfares overtaken by the forest? This was a “man bites dog” story, for sure.

A trip like this makes you think about the past, the future and the delusions of permanence. I pictured some pensive anchorite trudging up Old Fort Mountain in the year 2085 - ruminating on the crumbling remains of an abandoned and long silent Interstate 40.



When I finally reached Point Lookout, I lingered for a while and exchanged pleasantries with the people in those old postcards.

One man admiring the view of Royal Gorge had driven all the way from Raleigh. I noticed the camping gear in his car and he explained that he was on his way to explore the Great Smokies. He had been reading about the new park and wanted to see it for himself.


Point Lookout, then and now

Nearby, a boy and a girl were watching the black bear, Prohibition Sally, take a long swig from a bottle of pop. Mom and Dad told them, “c'mon kids, we need to go.” The family had been to Barnardsville visiting grandparents and cousins and were on their way back down the mountain to a mill village in Marion.

Several young fellows were examining their old jalopy with dismay. The radiator was boiling over. One of the guys went to fetch of can of water to cool it.

My reverie was interrupted by a train whistle up the mountain a ways. With metallic squeaks and squeals and a steady “clickety-clickety-clickety-clickety” the train began its slow and winding descent toward Old Fort.

I could feel drops of rain and still had a two-mile walk from Point Lookout to my car at the crest of the mountain.

It was time to go.

[to be continued]

The Chimney Rock Files - A Cliffhanger for Silas

 

Silas McDowell (1795-1879) was the Renaissance Man of the Cullasaja. I’ve seen him identified as “tailor, farmer, court clerk, scientific observer, and writer” but that hardly seems adequate to describe the gentleman who has been my main mentor, of sorts, for the past 40 years.

From what I know he was a tad quirky and eccentric, but in a way that brought smiles from the people around him. Wry humor emerges from his recounting of a trip to Chimney Rock, where he intended to debunk the tradition of a spectral cavalry.

The earliest published accounts of such a sighting came in 1806. McDowell described a similar episode as occurring in 1811. His visit to Chimney Rock was in 1831 and he was recollecting the events in 1878.

McDowell claimed that the 1811 sightings was reported in Niles’ Weekly Register in October 1811. However, I perused every page of Niles’ for all of 1811 and found no mention. McDowell also obliquely referred to contemporary newspaper accounts, but the only ones I found related to the 1806 sighting.

A 1903 photograph of the cliff (in the distance) where Silas McDowell almost met his demise

Regardless, during his 1831 visit to the gorge, Silas McDowell was intemperate with his derision of the old woman who “concocted” a story of spectral visions. He discovered, quite abruptly, that he had insulted the Grandmother of his very guide.

And at that point, the story becomes a literal cliffhanger...

A Spectre Cavalry Fight At Chimney Rock Pass, Blue Ridge N. C.

Old Bald Mountain of North Carolina, may, shake, crack, and yawn into chasms, attracting News paper Reporters, Yet will never get up a sensational story to equal that, of, the Spectre Cavalry fight, of the Chimney Rock Pass, in Rutherford County N. Carolina Nearly seventy years ago. The year 1811 was, the most sensational period, that our country has ever known, and, from these causes:

Early in that year, our continent was shaken by the earthquake, that sank New Madrid, a town on the bank of the Mississippi river. And, it was also in that year the Heavens were swept, by the luminous tail of a comet, reaching from the horizon to the top of the, ethereal vault. And to give, intensity to the excitement of superstitious minds, a fanatic, named Nimrod Hughes circulated a pamphlet; announcing, that the comet would strike the Earth, set it on fire, then the drama, of Time would end, amid a great noise. We must not forget, that seventy years ago the Press had done but little toward, enlightening the public mind, and that, Superstition run rampant, over the land. It was, under these circumstances that the Story of the Spectre Cavalry fight, at the Chimney Rock Pass, took its start, and was published in all the newspapers of the States.

At that time I was, in my sixteenth year, and lived in the town of Rutherfordton, only twenty miles from, the locality of this great excitement, —But, as the tale to be narrated is located at, Chimney Rock, Pass, I had better tell what that place was, and is. It is a deep ravine, four miles in length, and an half mile wide, that Time has scooped out of the east side of the Blue Ridge, around which, we fancy in the "Long ago," the Titans built a wall of, rock, varying in height from one thousand to fifteen hundred feet, with an open space at its, east entrance. And at that opening, stands a rough column shaped rock, three hundred feet high, crowned with a coronet of pine trees. This is "Chimney Rock," and its name attached, to the Ravine, and at the date referred to, was named, "Chimney Rock Pass." The ravine, was used as Summer pasture for cattle, salted and herded by an old man and his wife, the only residents of the ravine.

Chimney Rock Pass is one of Nature's sublimest poems, where the objects are so weird, beautiful, and grand, that words cannot translate them, and they can only be seen, and felt, when we look, wonder, and admire, in dumb amazement.

I am through with this digression, which the reader can skip, if he is impatient for the story, of the Spectre Battle, which is this—Early in the month of Sept, 1811 several Mountaineers from the Blue Ridge, came to town, and narrated the exciting story of the Spectre battle of Chimney Rock Pass, and the tale spread in all directions as if borne by the winds.

Farmers quit their fields, and rushed to town to hear the wonderful Story. A public meeting was called and a delegation selected, headed by Gen'ls Miller and Walton, with a Magistrate and Clerk to repair to the place of the reported battle, examine Witnesses, and record testimony.

They went, and returned, with the Spectre phenomenon, of which this is the substance to wit—The old man and his wife, who lived in the deepest part of the ravine, opposite the "High-falls," were seated in their yard, after the sun had sunk behind the Blue Ridge, noticing how fast the shadow of the cliffs darkened the ravine below, while the Sun's rays still lingered on the tops of the cliffs, when their attention was arrested by the astounding spectacle, to wit—two opposing armies of horse-men, high up in the air all mounted on winged horses, and preparing for combat.

At length (the old man was deaf) the old woman heard, the word "Charge!!" when the two armies, dashed into each-other, cutting thrusting and hacking, and she distinctly heard the ring of their swords, and saw the glitter of their blades, flashing in the Sun's rays. Thus they fought for about ten minutes, when one army was routed, and left the field, and then, she plainly heard the shouts of the victors, and wails of the defeated.

Soon after which; darkness, hid both armies from their view. On subsequent evenings they had seen these Spectre troopers, but not in battle, and the latter statement was confirmed, by three, respectable men who had been at their house, and witnessed the same phenomenon.

In less than a month, subsequent to this, the Story of the Spectre Cavalry fight, at Chimney Rock Pass was circulated in all the journals of the United States, and may be found, in Nile's Weekly Register of that date, (Oct 1811.).

For the next ensuing twenty years I rated the story, as the very best sensational story I had ever read, and its concoctors, (particularly the old woman) as shrewd, but perjured, and without motive, save notoriety. But in the year 1831, I spent near a week in the ravine, and then was satisfied, that, at times, there is an illusive phenomenon, seen there that would lead astray the judgement of any one who was not a philosopher, and its explanation, shall be the subject of another chapter.

Against the year 1831, a Road company had knocked all poetry out of the name, "Chimney Rock Pass," by constructing a public road through the ravine, and calling it "Hickory Nut Gap." Yet its scores of wild and weird objects were untouched. Chimney Rock was unchanged, and still stood sentinel at the entrance, of the ravine, towering in its crown of pines. The limpid pool more than fifty feet in depth, in a solid rock basin, still remained, while above it down the smooth clear face of the cliff ran a crystal brook, which at regular intervals of fifty paces was broken into three cascades, of snowy spray, each lightly plashing into its rock basin, all three rising one above the other on the rock, they constitute a picture undescribably lovely. Each cascade is on the same height, fifteen feet. A mile away, up the ravine is, seen pitching from the top of a cliff, the snow white waters of "Falling creek," as it makes its single leap of, seven-hundred (700) feet. Moreover the ravine is still drained by the lovely little river, fed by a thousand mountain springs, and dancing merrily as it brawls over pebbles, or sleeps in shadowy pools. What's in a name? That of Hickory Nut Gap, even, has not faded out the wild romantic beauty of this ravine.

I will now dash into my story. In September 1831 I engaged lodging for a week with Washington Harris, who kept a small Hotel in the ravine, and employed a strong muscular youth who knew every nook in the glen to accompany me, and at tight places help me up the cliffs.

The recesses of the ravine were as familiar to him as a book, and he showed me every thing and informed me of all the secret nooks of the mountains, for miles around. And I was surprised at the intelligent way in which he traced effect up to its cause in accounting for, the deep pools in solid rock. No Geologist could have spoken more learnedly on that subject. Rocks, their Strata, dip and Strike, he was perfectly, familiar with the entire subject. If I have ever, seen another youth of as much native, mental force I am not aware of it—But, in temper he was a tiger, and I had one small evidence of it before we parted.

The incident transpired during our last days ramble, in the ravine. We had climbed to the top of the South cliff and walked upon its lofty crest, until we reached the point, where Fall creek makes its clear leap down the rock for seven hundred feet. By holding on to the shrubs, and leaning our bodies over the cliff, we could see the white sheet of water in its entire descent, until it struck the rock below, then for six hundred feet further it dashed among loose boulder-rocks to the river. From this point of view, the entire ravine is seen as a grand panoramic picture, and, I think, the world cannot show a better. It occupied an entire hour, to examine it in all its details.

At length, below us in the ravine I espied the house; where, twenty years before lived the old couple, who had fabricated the Story of the "Spectre Cavalry fight at Chimney Rock Pass." Pointing down to the old building I observed to the youth, "In yonder old house just twenty years, ago, lived an old couple, man and wife, and they had the strong brain to fabricate, and wicked heart, to swear to, the most sensational falsehood, I ever read, but in my opinion, it was the old woman who concocted and managed the whole affair. She must have been an old hag!—A devil in petticoats."

The youth at this suddenly became transformed; his keen grey eyes glowed like coals of fire, while his breast heaved with the fury of a tiger, he sprang at me. I was as powerless as a child in his powerful arms, and holding me at arms length, over the yawning abyss of one thousand four hundred feet, he exclaimed "Villain! You shall take back or qualify your utterances against my Grand-Mother, or I'll hurl you to the bottom of this cliff"

"Hold on young man for Heaven's sake" I cried, "and I will qualify, take back, or do any thing you wish."

He at once grew composed, and bore me in his arms, from the brink of the cliff, and seated me on a rock. I thought the youth crazed, and that it would best, to conciliate him, in regard to what I had said against his Grand-Mother but he bade me not proceed with the subject, that if, an apology was due, it was from him to me, as he, had acted like a fool, in suffering his anger to overcome his judgement, That from my point of view, my estimation of this Grand Mother, was a natural result, and that my conclusions were what his would have been in like circumstances.

"But, —he continued—I have made the phenomenon of the Spectre troopers, seen in this ravine, the grand study of my life, and have, for years, accounted for the phenomenon on philosophic principles, and in this way. Some years, in Autumn, when the atmosphere is clear, before a change in weather, the lower atmosphere, in the ravine is surcharged, with vapor, and to all objects in the upper atmosphere, seen through this medium, this vapor acts with telescopic effect, and swells in size a bunch of gnats when at play in the sun's rays to the appearance of a squadron of winged-horse."

"What about the riders?" I questioned.

"Each gnat has a hunch on its back that does look like a rider" he replied.

"But, I continued, "Your Grand Mother saw their swords flashing?"

"That was the glitter of their wings" he answered.

"Your Grand-Mother's hearing must have been extraordinary. She heard the command of officers, and when, one army was routed, the shout of victory and wail of defeat, What about that?"

The young man made no reply but looked, perplexed and impatient and I again saw the glint of devil, in his luminous grey eyes, but he controlled his passion, and at length observed. "Sir I am aware that a long cherished opinion requires, plain demonstration to remove it."

"But could you have been at the old cabin, down yonder, on some still evening, about sunset, with a score of cattle-bells sounding in the ravine, and of different tone, and then heard the echoes, return from these tall cliffs, you would not have thought it strange that my Grand Mother had interpreted, these sounds as words, shouts, and wails.

I grasped the young madman's hand (he was nothing else) and exclaimed, "Young man you have made out a plain and beautiful case, and I heartily take back, all my unkind utterances against your good old Grand-Mother."

Since that day it is now forty seven years, and from then 'till now I have been, occasionally, haunted with "night mare" dreams, in which this crazed youth is hurling me from the top of some tall cliff.

July 1878
Silas McDowell

The Swannanoa Files - Poetic Inspiration

 

Millions upon millions had never heard of Swannanoa until this week. But images of catastrophe don’t tell the whole story. That river in the Land of the Sky has captivated many a soul. Given my curiosity about toponymy AND obscure 19th century Southern writers, I’ve gathered a trove of poems about place, and a handful inspired by the Swannanoa.

I.

The first of today’s selections is the best known of the five. The identity of the poet has been an ongoing source of confusion, if not mystery, which I will explain by the end of this page. The poem was anthologized starting in the 1850s and was a textbook staple for generations of Tar Heel school children.

SWANNANOA.

[This beautiful stream rises in the Black Mountains and after a rollicking rapid, laughing course of about 20 miles, buries its beautiful form in the French Broad, two miles south of Asheville.]

Swannanoa, nymph of beauty,

I would woo thee in my rhyme ;

Wildest, brightest, loveliest river,

Of our sunny, Southern clime!

Swannanoa, well they named thee

In the mellow Indian tongue

Beautiful - thou art most truly,

And right worthy to be sung.

Through the laurels and the beeches,

Bright thy silvery current shines,

Sleeping now in granite basins,

Overhung by trailing vines;

And, anon, careering onward,

In the maddest, frolic mood,

Waking, with its sea-like voices,

Fairy echoes in the wood.

Peaceful sleep thy narrow valleys,

In the shadow of the hills;

And thy flower-enameled border

All the air with fragrance fills.

Wild luxuriance-generous tillage

Here alternate meet the view;

Every turn throughout the windings

Still revealing something new.

\Vhere, oh! graceful Swannanoa,

Are the warriors who of old

Sought thee at thy mountain sources,

Where the springs are icy cold-

\Vhere the dark-browed Indian maidens,

Who their limbs were wont to lave,

(Worthy bath for fairer beauty)

In thy cool and limpid wave?

Gone forever from thy borders,

But immortal in thy name

Are the red men of the forest !

Be thou keeper of their fame !

Paler faces dwell beside thee Celt and Saxon till thy lands,

Wedding use into thy beauty Linking over thee their hands.



II.

A Sardonic Parody

One local paper acknowledged receipt of a barbed re-working of the popular poem:

March 31, 1887

"Nymph of Beauty"

A letter writer, evidently more used to mud than rocks, better trained to wade through sands than climb the mountains, worn out, hungry, and ill humored, thus slanders the Swannanoa in the following parody. The letter is addressed to the Wilmington Review, and the maid of the mountain is thus travestied;

Swannanoa, Swannanoa, flush and ugly,

I would curse thee in my rhyme;

Nastiest, muddiest little river

In our sunny, southern clime.

Swannanoa, well they named thee,

In the cursed Indian tongue;

Treacherous thou art, most truly,

And unworthy to be sung.

[The editor of the newspaper added:] But we have seen the beauty in unamiable moods, as it is the right of beauty to be.

III

Around the turn of the 20th century, a gentler versification came from the pen of Marie Batterham Lindesay, English born Asheville resident and prolific writer.

--

By the placid Swanannoa

Lived the red man years gone by,

Fished and hunted, smoked and slumbered,

Sheltered by the mountains high.

In his wigwam, by the streamlet,

Dwelt his squaw of dusky face,

Reared his young ones, lithe and active,

For the field and for the chase.

Little reck'd he of the rumors

Of another day to be,

Of a strange and wondrous pale-face

Coming o'er the mighty sea. 

Fished and hunted, smoked and slumbered,

While the river murmured on,

Careless as its peaceful waters,

Till his fleeting day was gone.

By the placid Swanannoa

Lives another race to-day:

Red man, wigwam, squaw, and papoose

Into silence passed away.


IV.

The next poet, Mary Finch (1907- 2002) grew up in the historic Chinquapin Lodge, Montreat, NC, not far from the Swannanoa.

Photo of Mary Martin cottage, “Chinquapin”, c. 1916– Presbyterian Heritage Center at Montreat, PO Box 207, Montreat, NC 28757. Caption by Dale Slusser.

The Swannanoa

I've seen the Hudson River

And the Schulkill wandering by

So turgidly, forever

Beneath a northern sky.

I've seen the Mississippi

That rolls with gathering might.

The fount of Aganippi

Is not a fairer sight.

And yet my thoughts are turning

To one clear lovely stream

That through the vales is churning

Its silver falls to cream.

It is the Swannanoa

That winsome water nymph.

It flows where the Rhodora

Flames from the mountain's rift.

O crystal spring of water,

O maiden in full bloom

O lovely mountain daughter

Sprung from the mountain's womb

O, give back Swannanoa

The joys of yesterday

That wrought a mystic aura

About your winding way.

And not the Mississippi

In all its wild career

Nor fount of Aganippi

Can ever be your peer.

© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes


And for a splendid article on the architecture of the rustic Montreat cottages:

https://psabc.org/renewal-respite-and-the-rustic-style-the-early-cottages-and-cottagers-of-montreat/

V.


The authorship of today's first selection, Swannanoa (Nymph of Beauty) is a point of confusion, often ascribed to the respective editors of various poetry collections and textbooks. But that’s incorrect. I did follow one lead where the poet was described as a “gentleman from Charleston.” William Gilmore Simms  (1806-1870) seemed a likely candidate.  Simms was a novelist, poet and editor, famed for his role with the Southern Literary Messenger. I was almost on target with that guess.  The poet was actually Daniel Harrison Jacques (1825-1877) an aide and associate to Simms.  Jacques wrote numerous works that could be described as homesteading how-to  and self-help books, but his best known creation was that poem about the Swannanoa.  

Simms made his own contribution to the Swannanoa canon, albeit with a different spelling:

By the Swanannoa

by William Gilmore Simms

Is it not lovely, while the day flows on

Like some unnoticed water through the vale,

Sun-sprinkled, — and, across the fields, a gale,

Ausonian, murmurs out an idle tale,

Of groves deserted late, but lately won?

How calm the silent mountains, that, around,

Bend their blue summits, as if group'd to hear

Some high ambassador from foreign ground, —

To hearken, and, most probably, confound!

While, leaping onward, with a voice of cheer,

Glad as some schoolboy ever on the bound,

The lively Swanannoa sparkles near; —

A flash and murmur mark him as he roves,

Now foaming white o'er rocks, now glimpsing soft through groves.

The Chimney Rock Files - Spectres on the Cliffs

 

For centuries, the Chimney Rock region has been the site of strange apparitions. To my knowledge, no other part of the Southern Appalachians has been the locate for as many unexplained phenomena. One of the earliest documented accounts, in the summer of 1806, told of a multitude of ghostly figures appearing on the cliffs overlooking the gorge.

An 1808 issue of The Wonderful Magazine* reprinted the story of Patsy Reaves and corroboration from other observers. Her description of the spectral forms is remarkably detailed. And in the second section of the reprint, a respondent provides a thorough compendium of similar phenomena seen around the world.

[I]

EXTRAORDINARY PHENOMENON.

THE following account of an extraordinary phenomenon, that appeared to a number of people in the county of Rutherford, state of North Carolina, was made, the 7th of August 1806, in presence of David Dickle, Esq, of county and state aforesaid, Jesse Anderson, and the Rev. George Newton, of the county of Buncombe, and Miss Betsey Newton of the state of Georgia, who unanimously agreed, with the relators, that Mr. Newton, should communicate it to Mr. J. Gales, Editor of the Raleigh Register and State Gazette.

Patsey Reaves, a widow woman, who lives near the Apalachian mountain, declares, that on the 31st of July last about, 6 o'clock P. M. her daughter Elizabeth, about eight years old, was, in the cotton-field, about ten poles from the dwelling house, which stands by computation, six furlongs, from the Chimney mountain, and that Elizabeth told her brother Morgan, aged eleven years that there was a man on the mountain. Morgan was incredulous at first; but the little girl affirmed it, and said she saw him rolling rocks or picking up sticks, adding that she saw a heap of people. Morgan then went to the place where she was, and calling out, said that he saw a thousand or ten thousand things flying in the air. On which Polly, daughter of Mrs. Reaves aged fourteen years, and a negro woman, ran to the children, and called to Mrs. Reaves to come and see what a sight yonder was:-

Mrs. Reaves says, she went about three poles towards them, and, without any sensible alarm or fright, she turned towards the Chimney mountain, and discovered a very numerous crowd of beings resembling the human species; but could not discern any particular members of the human body, nor distinction of sex: that they were every size, from the tallest men down to the least infants; that there were more of the small than of the full grown, that they were all clad with brilliant white raiment, but could not describe any form of their raiment; that they appeared to rise off the side of the mountain, south of said rock, and about as high; that a considerable part of the mountain's top was visible above this shining host, that they moved in a northern direction, and collected about the Chimney rock.

When all but a few had reached said rock, two seemed to rise together, and behind them about two feet a third rose. three moved with great agility towards the crowd, and had the nearest resemblance to men of any before seen. While beholding these three, her eyes were attracted by three more rising nearly from the same place, and moving swiftly in the same order and direction. After these, several others rose and went towards the rock.

During this view, which all the spectators thought lasted upwards of an hour, she sent for Mr. Robert Siercy, who did not come at first; on a second message, sent about fifteen minutes after the first, Mr. Siercy came, and being now before us, he gives the following relation to the substance of which Mrs. Reaves agrees.

Mr. Siercy said, when he was coming, he expected to see nothing extraordinary, and when come, being asked if he saw those people on the mountain, he answered, no; but on looking a second time, he saw more glittering white appearances of human kind than ever he had seen of men at any general review; that they were of all sizes from that of men to infants; that they moved in the Chimney rock; they were about the height of the Chimney rock and moved in a semicircular course, between him and the rock, and so passed along in a southern course between him and the mountain, to the place where Mrs. Reaves said they rose; and that two of a full size went before the general crowd about the space of twenty yards; and as they respectively came to this place, they vanished out of sight, leaving a solemn and pleasing impression, on the mind, accompanied with a diminution of bodily strength.

Whether the above be accountable on philosophical principles, or whether it be a prelude to the descent of the Holy City, I leave to the impartially curious to judge. GEORGE NEWTON.

P. S. The above subscriber has been informed, that on the same evening, and about the same time in which the above phenomenon appeared, there was seen, by a gentleman of character, who was several miles distant from the place, a bright rain-bow, apparently near the then in the west, where there was no appearance of either clouds or rain; but a haze in the atmosphere. The public are therefore at liberty to judge, whether the phenomenon had any thing supernatural in it, or whether it was some unusual exhalation or moist vapor from the side of the mountain, which exhibited such an unusual rain-bow.

G. N.

[II]

Remarks on an extraordinary Phenomenon seen in the County of Rutherford, State of North Carolina, on the 7th of August, 1806.

MR. EDITOR,

Having observed in your paper of September 23d, an account of a phenomenon seen in North Carolina in July last, and which has no doubt, excited the attention of many persons as an extraordinary circumstance, I have taken the liberty of making some remarks upon it. Mankind in general are fond of whatever appears to be of the marvellous, and many good people who are unacquainted with the various phenomena of nature are apt to ascribe, whatever they cannot account for, to supernatural causes. The writer of the account alluded to, seems to entertain an idea that it may be something more than the simple operation of the laws of Nature, where he says, "whether the above be accountable on "philosophical principles, or whether it be a prelude "to the descent of the Holy City, I leave to the impartially curious to judge."

Some will not give credit to the truth of the relation at all: some will ascribe it to a supernatural cause, and some to a cause purely natural. For my part I do not hesitate to give full credit to the account, and at the same time to ascribe it to the refraction, or reflection of light from the vapour arising out of the side of the mountain. In this opinion I am the more confirmed from well authenticated accounts, heretofore published, of such kinds of optical illusion, seen in divers places at different periods. See Tilloch's Philosophical Magazine.

Though these curious and elegant phenomena are not peculiar to any age or country, they are now frequently seen on sea-coasts; and though in some respects common in such situations, they have hitherto been so little noticed by the intelligent part of mankind as to be scarce known to exist. Those which seem lately, to have more particularly attracted the attention of the curious, are those frequently seen during the summer season, on the southern coasts of Italy, near the ancient city of Rhegieum, which the peasants, in their native tongue, call Fata-Morgana; an account of which may be seen in Swinburn's Travels.

They are, however, frequently noticed by the English, Erse, and Irish peasants, and denominated Sea-Faries, and FairyCastles. The Erse fishermen among the western isles of Scotland, frequently see represented in barren heaths and on naked rocks, beautiful fields, woods and castles, with numerous flocks and herds grazing, and multitudes of people of both sexes, in various attitudes and Occupations. These, as they know no such objects really exist, they constantly attribute to enchantment and fairies.

They are also frequently seen on the coasts of Norway, Iceland and Greenland; on the eastern and western coast of South America, and even on the highest summit of the Andes. Some of these phenomena were seen near the town of Youghal in the county of Cork in Ireland, in the years 1796, 1797, and 1801. The first was seen on the 21st of October 1796, about four o'clock in the afternoon, the sun clear: it appeared on a hill on the county of Waterford side of the river, to a number of spectators; and seemed a walled town with a round tower, and a church with a spire, the houses perfect and the windows distinct.

Behind the houses appeared the mast of a ship, and in front a single tree, near which was a cow grazing; whilst the Waterford hills appeared distinctly behind. In the space of about half an hour the spire and round tower, became a broken turret. Soon after this change, all the houses became ruins, and their fragments seemed scattered in the fields near the walls: the whole in about an hour disappeared, and the hill on which it stood sunk to the level of a real field. The hill and the trees appeared of a bright green; the houses and towers of a clear brown, with their roofs blue.

That the phenomenon seen in North Carolina, on the Chimney Mountain, was one of those Fata-Morgana, and occasioned by reflection in a dense vapour strongly illuminated by the sun, I have no doubt. This seems to be confirmed, by the circumstance of a rainbow having appeared in the same place to another person at a distance, their being a haze in the atmosphere.

We may conclude, from the whole, that the little girl who first imagined she saw a man on the mountain, saw her own image indistinctly reflected, and when her brother came, they not only saw both their images, but probably, the vapor forming different angles, upon the principle of the Polyhedion, exhibited their images so multiplied as to appear like an army, which was proportionably increased by each accession of new spectators.

That the images should appear of different sizes, might arise from the surfaces of certain portions of the reflecting vapour assuming a convex form, more or less and the confused indistinct appearances from some irregularity in the same. Their shining appearance might arise from the quality of the reflecting medium, and the strong illuminating rays of the sun falling on it in a particular manner: and the apparent motion of the images, for a change of position in those natural specula.

Whether my hypothesis is just or not, I will not positively affirm; but think it much more rational than to ascribe it to a supernatural agency. Although the author of our existence and creator of all worlds, can work, should it seem meet to him, by supernatural means, and even render visible the celestial vehicle of spiritual existences to our natural organs of vision, yet it is safest never to recur to miracles where phenomena can be accounted for upon natural principles. Whilst, therefore, I would devoutly wish that the enlightened citizens may embrace; without one sceptical doubt, the sublime mysteries of the Gospel; I would desire them to be free from those superstitious notions which influence the ignorant and illiterate of the old world, to ascribe all uncommon or apparently mysterious occurrence to miracle, magic or witchcraft.

B. A.

*[For the record, here is the complete title page for the magazine that published these stories; a wonderful magazine indeed!]

THE WONDERFUL MAGAZINE, AND Extraordinary Museum, BEING A COMPLETE REPOSITORY OF THE WONDERS, CURIOSITIES, AND RARITIES OF NATURE AND ART, COMPREHENDING A VALUABLE COLLECTION, (ALL WELL ATTESTED, AND FROM RESPECTABLE AUTHORITIES) Of Authentic and Entertaining Descriptions of the most Wonderful, Remarkable, and Surprising Volcanos, Cataracts, Caverns, Waterfalls, Whirlpools, and other Stupendous Phenomena of the Earth, resulting from Earthquakes and the general Deluge; strange Customs, peculiar Manners of remote countries, wonderful occurrences, singular Events, heroic Adventures, absurd Characters, remarkable for eating, drinking, fasting, walking &c. memorable exploits, amazing Deliverances from Death, and various other Dangers, strange Accidents, extraordinary Memoirs, astonishing Revolutions, &c. MEMOIRS OF THE MOST SINGULAR AND REMARKABLE PERSONS OF BOTH SEXES, IN EVERY WALK OF HUMAN LIFE. Consisting of a great Variety of very eccentric Characters famous for long Life, Courage, Cowardice, extraordinary Strength, Avarice, astonishing Fortitude, as well as genuine Narrations of Giants, Dwarfs, Misers, Impostors; singular Vices and Virtues; uncommon Eclipses, Storms, remarkable Providences, heroic Atchievements, supernatural Occurrences, strange Discoveries of long-concealed Murders, &c. &c. FORMING ALTOGETHER A NEW AND MOST COMPLETE HISTORY OF THE EXTRAORDINARIES AND WONDERS OF THE WORLD. The whole selected from the most approved and celebrated Historians, Voyagers, Travellers, Philosophers, Physicians and other eminent and distinguished Persons of every Age and Country, and from the most expensive Works and Manuscripts….