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….

The Chimney Rock Files - Lanman's 1848 Visit

Chimney Rock and Lake Lure had been on my mind, even prior to Helene. Now, with so much gone, I'm contemplating how it used to be. But that's a given anytime and anywhere I take a jaunt through these mountains. I've observed a few of the big changes myself and gathered eyewitness accounts for many more. Revisiting my files this week, I’m reminded of the fabulous narratives from the vicinity of Hickory Nut Gap Bat Cave, Chimney Rock Village and other locations along the Rocky Broad River. So I will be sharing those in the days ahead.

Let’s open with a passage from one of my favorite books, “Letters from the Alleghany Mountains.” The author and artist Charles Lanman visited the area in May 1848. While en route from the Oconaluftee River and Cherokee, Lanman stopped off in Asheville, where he crossed paths with a disgruntled horse trader and watched a duel narrowly averted:

The distance from Qualla Town to this place is sixty miles. The first half of the route is exceedingly mountainous and almost entirely uncultivated, but the valley of Pigeon river, down which you have to travel for a considerable distance, is very fertile and well cultivated. A pastoral charm seems to rest upon the scenery, and in this particular forcibly reminded me of the upper valley of the Mohawk.

I occupied the most of two days in performing this trip, and the only incident that I met with which was at all unique, was upon this wise. I had stopped at a farm-house to take my dinner. It so happened that my host was about to erect a new barn, and some twenty of his neighbors were assembled for the purpose of raising the framework to its proper position.

An abundance of whiskey had already been imbibed by a few of this rustic company, and among these was one individual who had recently been grossly cheated in purchasing a horse from a Tennessee horse-dealer. He had given a mule and twenty dollars for the stranger’s gelding, and, though the animal was quite respectable in appearance, it had turned out to be old, unsound, and almost without a redeeming quality. The individual in question was noted for making a fool of himself when intoxicated, and on this occasion he was determined to prove true to himself.

At this time his horse speculation seemed to weigh heavily upon his mind, and in his vehement remarks he took particular pains to curse the entire State of Tennessee, including President Polk. The poor man finally became so completely excited that he swore he would whip the first man he met on the road who happened to be from Tennessee; and so the matter rested.

In about thirty minutes thereafter, as fortune would have it, a man made his appearance on the road, apparently from the West; and in jeering their noisy companion, the farmers remarked that “now he would have a chance to revenge himself.” The excitement of the horse-bitten speculator was consequently greatly increased, and when the stranger reached the hilltop he was accosted as follows:

“May I ask you, sir, if you come from Tennessee?”

“I do. What will you have?” replied the stranger.

The Carolinian then related his trading story, which he concluded by carefully reiterating the determination he had made. The stranger laughed at the idea, and was about to resume his journey, when the reins of his horse were seized, and he found that it was indeed necessary for him to fight his way out of the queer scrape.

All remonstrance on his part was in vain; but at the very moment the fight was to commence, another horseman rode up, who was also interrogated as to his native State. His presence had a tendency to suspend hostilities; but when it was ascertained that he was only a Kentuckian, the Carolinian insisted upon going on with his business. The feelings of the Kentuckian were now enlisted, and he declared his intention of regulating the fight; whereupon he made a large ring, and taking out of his pocket a couple of pistols, he told the combatants “to go ahead,” and at the same time warned the bystanders that he would shoot the first man that interfered. The conclusion of the whole matter was, that the intoxicated man received a cruel thrashing for his ridiculous conduct, and the two gentlemen from the West quietly resumed their several journeys.

On my way to this place, I stopped for a few hours at Deaver’s Sulphur Springs, which are about four miles from the French Broad river, on the road to Clarksville, Georgia. This is one of the most popular watering-places in the South, not only on account of the medicinal qualities of the water, but on account of the surrounding scenery, which is remarkably interesting, and also for the additional reason that the style in which people are entertained is well worthy of even such places as Saratoga.

The several buildings connected with the establishment usually accommodate about two hundred families during the summer months, and they are chiefly from the cities of Charleston and Savannah. The people of Eastern North Carolina do not seem to know that they have such a delightful retreat within their borders which, to a man of genuine taste, is as far ahead of Saratoga as a mountain stream is ahead of a canal.

With regard to Ashville, I can only say that it is a very busy and pleasant village, filled with intelligent and hospitable inhabitants, and is the centre of a mountain land, where Nature has been extremely liberal and tasteful in piling up her mighty bulwarks for the admiration of man. Indeed, from the summit of a hill immediately in the vicinity of the village, I had a southwestern view which struck me as eminently superb. It was near the sunset hour, and the sky was flooded with a golden glow, which gave a living beauty to at least a hundred mountain peaks, from the centre of which loomed high towards the zenith Mount Pisgah and the Cold Mountain, richly clothed in purple, which are from twenty to thirty miles distant, and not far from six thousand feet in height.

The middle distance, though in reality composed of wood-crowned hills, presented the appearance of a level plain or valley, where columns of blue smoke were gracefully floating into the upper air, and whence came the occasional tinkle of a bell, as the cattle wended their way homeward, after roaming among the unfenced hills. Directly at my feet lay the little town of Ashville, like an oddly-shaped figure on a green carpet; and over the whole scene dwelt a spirit of repose, which seemed to quiet even the common throbbings of the heart.

My first expedition on arriving here was to a gorge in the Blue Ridge called the Hickory Nut Gap. How it came by that name I cannot imagine, since the forests in this particular region, so far as I could ascertain, are almost entirely destitute of the hickory tree. It is true that for a distance of four miles the gorge is watered by a brook called after the hickory nut, but I take it that this name is a borrowed one.

The entire length of the gap is about nine miles, and the last five miles are watered by the Rocky Broad River. The upper part of this stream runs between the Blue Ridge proper and a spur of the Blue Ridge, and at the point where it forces a channel through the spur its bed is exceedingly rocky, and on either hand, until it reaches the middle country of the State, it is protected by a series of mountain bluffs. That portion of the gorge which might be called the gateway is at the eastern extremity. From any point of view this particular spot is remarkably imposing, the gap being not more than half a mile wide, though appearing to narrow down to a few hundred yards.

The highest bluff is on the south side, and, though rising to the height of full twenty-five hundred feet, it is nearly perpendicular, and midway up its front stands an isolated rock, looming against the sky, which is of a circular form, and resembles the principal turret of a stupendous castle. The entire mountain is composed of granite, and a large proportion of the bluff in question positively hangs over the abyss beneath, and is as smooth as it could possibly be made by the rains of uncounted centuries. Over one portion of this superb cliff, falling far down into some undiscovered and apparently unattainable pool, is a stream of water, which seems to be the offspring of the clouds; and in a neighboring brook near the base of this precipice are three shooting waterfalls, at the foot of which, formed out of the solid stone, are three holes, which are about ten feet in diameter and measure from forty to fifty feet in depth. But, leaving these remarkable features entirely out of the question, the mountain scenery in this vicinity is as beautiful and fantastic as any I have yet witnessed among the Alleghanies.

At a farm-house near the gap, where I spent a night, I had the pleasure of meeting an English gentleman and tourist, and he informed me that, though he had crossed the Alps in a number of places, yet he had never seen any mountain scenery which he thought as beautiful as that of the Hickory Nut Gap. My best view of the gorge was from the eastward, and just as the sun, with a magnificent retinue of clouds, was sinking directly in the hollow of the hills, and as I gazed upon the prospect, it seemed to me, as was in reality the case, that I stood at the very threshold of an almost boundless wilderness of mountains….

[ Note: An earlier story regarding Hickory Nut Gorge included a continuation of this report from Lanman: https://heartofthecowees.blogspot.com/2024/03/little-people-guarded-hickory-nut-gorge.html ]

Silenus and the Silenes

 [From May 10, 2010]

Drunken Silenus, by Peter Paul Rubens, c. 1618

Scarlet blooms of the Fire Pink (Silene virginica) have brightened the landscape the past several weeks. But I’ve been thinking about one particular patch of Fire Pinks that I saw on the Blue Ridge Parkway last June.

In the midst of the red flowers, a few white ones stood out conspicuously. I could recollect some range of color in Fire Pinks, but never anything approaching pure white!

I turned to my guidebooks for a white-flowered equivalent to Silene virginica. At first glance, Silene stellata seemed a likely candidate, but the Starry Campion (native to this area) has lacy petals very different from the ones on the white Fire Pink wannabes.

After reading that uncharacteristic white flowers can develop on occasion, I decided to take a two-minute crash course on albinism in flowers.

There are albinos and then there are albinos.

Technically speaking, an albino plant is one lacking pigments. This is a losing proposition, since chlorophyll is essential for the production of carbohydrates in most plants. Indian Pipes (Monotropa uniflora) derive their sustenance from complex relationships with other plants and fungi, and so they survive their lack of pigmentation.
(Tom Pelletier explains the Indian Pipes /mycorrhizal connections and life cycle http://www.curiousnature.info/A1-Indian%20Pipe.htm )


Indian Pipes, Monotropa uniflora

But back to Silenus...

Those odd white Fire Pinks had green stem and leaves, and thus were not “albino plants” in the strictest sense of the term. Through the expression of recessive genes, however, white flowers can appear on plants that don’t generally bear white flowers.

One more possibility is the “sport” which can result from a traumatic disturbance to plant tissue and leads to a deviation in only part of the affected plant.

Somewhere in the preceding, I might have touched upon the reason for a white Fire Pink.

Who knows!

By the way, "Fire Pink" (or at least the “Pink” part of its name) is not a reference to the flower’s color. Instead, imaginative flower-namers thought the shape of the petal suggested it had been trimmed with pinking shears.



Hence, this decidedly red flower is a pink.

And while on the subject of botanical etymology, Gray’s Manual of Botany explains:

[The genus name, Silenus] was adopted by Linnaeus from earlier authors, said to have come from mythological Silenus, referring to viscid excretions of many species, the intoxicated foster-father of Bacchus being described as covered with foam.

In another month, I’ll track down that patch of Fire Pinks once again, just to see if those mysterious white blooms return this year...with or without "viscid excretions."

Drunken Silenus Supported by Satyrs, ca. 1620, attributed to Anthony Van Dyck

A Perfect Day

 [From May 4, 2010]

The day had arrived to set out on a search for the Yellow Lady Slipper. I knew that if I waited much longer it might be another year before I would get a chance to see this spectacular flower growing in the wild.


Chau-Ram Falls, aka "the falls on Ramsey Creek” just above its confluence with the Chauga. Until this very moment I had been wondering why they named it “Chau-Ram Park.” NOW, I get it.

As best as I can tell, two slightly different species are referred to as Yellow Lady Slipper. In this case, turning to the Latin name only muddies the waters. My guide books apply these names to the Yellow Lady Slipper:

Cypripedium pubescens
Cypripedium calceolus
Cypripedium calceolus var. parviflorum
Cypripedium parviflorum var. pubescens
Cypripedium parviflorum var. parviflorum

Despite the confusing nomenclature, and the fact I’d never seen one in the wild, I was confident that I’d recognize one when I saw it, regardless of the precise name.

After a bit of research into where they grow I decided to head south. Last year, I found very detailed directions that led me to the Pink Lady Slippers on the Rabun side of the Chattooga River. This time, I was only able to obtain generalized reports of the habitat for this flower.

Playing hopscotch with the rain all day, I managed to avoid getting caught in any downpours. I spent some quality time at one possible site, the Chauga River. I’ve crossed this river many times on the US 76 bridge between Long Creek and Westminster, SC, but had never explored it. The stretch of the Chauga flowing through Chau Ram Park was rich with spring wildflowers including some that were new to me and some I have yet to identify.

No cypripedia, however.

A couple of more stops at supposedly likely locations yielded similar results.


Pink Lady Slipper, Cypripedium acaule

Returning to one of my favorite spots on the Oconee side of the Chattooga, I revisited a patch of Pink Lady Slippers I had seen on May 8, 2009. On that date, the wild gingers were also in flower, with their peculiar blooms that hide in the leaf litter at the base of the plants. But on May 2, 2010, I couldn’t find any gingers in bloom.


Wild ginger, Asarum canadense

The final stop on my agenda was another trail near the Chattooga, one that I had never hiked before. You couldn’t ask for a better trail. The area is dominated by rhododendrons and centuries-old hemlocks, which are now just gray ghosts.

I did see some flowers along the trail, but no lady slippers.

Although I had devoted a whole day to finding the Yellow Lady Slipper I couldn’t claim disappointment at coming up empty. It had been a lovely day. The time had come, though, for me to turn back and head for home. But not before seeing what I might see around one more bend in the trail. After crossing a dry creek bed, I looked up the hillside from the trail and noticed a subtle interruption in the rhododendron-hemlock vegetation. This area must have been a clearing some years ago. Grass grew thinly here and there. A few pines and other small trees were well on their way to closing the canopy.

Bushwhacking up the hillside, I did see various lilies with shiny, broad leaves, but no blooms.

I did not see any lady slippers.

The place was so nice I sat down for a few minutes of rest before my return trip.

When I stood up to take one last look around, I detected two yellow dots of color about fifty feet up the hill. The light bouncing off them suggested blooms with a spherical shape.

Could it be?



Yes, indeed!

A Burning Issue

 

Trip report from Foothills Trail Hike, 4/13/24

Split Mountain Ramble

[From April 10, 2008]

 

Claude Monet, Impression, Sunrise, 1872

Paris – April 1874 - a group of artists rejected by the juries of the Salon offered their avant-garde paintings for public view. Renoir, Monet, Cezanne and Degas rocked the art world in what became known as the first exhibition of Impressionism.

Meanwhile that same month, on this side of the Atlantic, there was another kind of explosion. The Hickory Nut Gorge gained notoriety as rumors spread of a volcano on Rumbling Bald Mountain, near Chimney Rock. Buncombe County’s Thomas Clingman (1812-1897), a one-time US Senator and a long-time explorer of the mountains, promptly weighed with his observations of seismic phenomena throughout Western North Carolina. In several articles he described "a certain mountain in the northern part of Haywood County, N.C. [which] was, at intervals of two or three years, agitated and broken into fragments along a portion of its surface."

Clingman first visited the site in 1848, and learned that the jolts to this unnamed mountain in northern Haywood County had been witnessed as early as 1812. Amidst his descriptions of the mountain’s behavior, he provided detailed clues to its location, so I compared his notes to my Haywood County topo map. Tracing the lines that indicated a mountain rising from Ledford Cove to Pug Knob, I saw the letters that spelled out "Split Mountain."

I was on the trail, with a map, a compass, a camera, and the words of T. L. Clingman:



The top of the ridge, where evidences of violence are seen, is perhaps three or four hundred feet higher than the ground below. There are cracks in the solid granite of which the ridge appears to be composed, but the chief evidences of violence were observable a little south of the crest. From thence along the side of the mountain as one descends, there were chasms, none of them above four feet in width, generally extending north and south, but also occasionally seen in all directions. All the large trees had been thrown down.

There were a number of little hillocks. the largest eight or ten feet high and fifty or sixty feet in diameter. They were usually surrounded by what appeared to have been a narrow crevice. On their sides the saplings grew perpendicularly to the surface of the ground, but obliquely to the horizon, making it manifest that they had attained some size before the hillocks had been elevated. I observed a large poplar or tulip tree, which had been split through its centre, so as to leave one-half of it standing thirty or forty feet high. The crack or opening under it, was not an inch wide, but could be traced for a hundred yards, making it evident that there had been an opening of sufficient width to split the tree, and that then the sides of the chasm had returned to their original position without having slipped so as to prevent the contact of the broken roots.

As indicating the sudden violence with which the force acted, a large mass of detached granite afforded a striking illustration. From its size I estimated that it might have weighed two thousands tons. It seemed from its shape to have originally been broken out of the side of the mountain above, and to have rolled in mass a hundred yards downward. It lay directly across one of the chasms two or three feet in width, and had been broken into three large fragments, which, however, were not separated a foot from each other.

I figured I could find Split Mountain. I wondered if it would resemble anything that Clingman had described.

The more I tried to imagine it, the more I hoped to locate that mountain. And the more I hoped to meet someone to tell me about it.

It was a gorgeous April drive. Beyond the big fields and rolling pastures of Crabtree, the farms were hemmed in by steeper and stonier mountains. Rock piles, hundreds of yards long, lined the ancient pastures on the slopes.

At last, my map and my compass told me I had found Split Mountain.

I couldn’t see any two thousand ton boulder broken into three large fragments.

I couldn’t see any hillocks, eight or ten feet high, fifty or sixty feet in diameter.

I couldn’t see any large trees thrown down, or saplings growing perpendicular to the ground.

But I’d found the place, and still hoped to find the person.



Then I saw him standing next to his porch.

I slowed to a stop and I said "hello".

He greeted me with a smile, and we proceeded to talking about rain and drought, developers with too much money, big tax bills, the price of gas, the prospect of raising laying hens and growing the corn to feed them.

This gentleman was exactly the person I’d hoped to meet. He must have been almost eighty, and he'd been born on the same homeplace where he lived today.

I showed him the Clingman article and asked what he knew about it.

"Not much," he said. "That’s Split Mountain, alright. But I’ve only been on it one time, hunting ginseng with my daddy."

He continued, "You see how those rocks run down the side of the mountain. I always heard you could go to the top, and find holes in the ground, where you could drop [fence] rails in and never hear them hit bottom."

I climbed out of the car, "I’d better take another picture of this mountain."

He pointed down the road. "There was a post office there one time. Split Mountain, North Carolina. And Riley Greene ran his mill down there. He ground corn into meal, and he had a sawmill, too. The sluice came all the way down the creek, ten or fifteen feet off the ground. In the winter, the water would overflow and freeze solid, all the way down to the ground. Winters were a lot colder then."

I enjoyed my visit, meeting this new friend, and seeing this place through his eyes.



On another day I might actually climb to the top of Split Mountain. I might even find that hole in the ground. And when I drop a fence-rail (or a walking stick) into that hole, I’ll let you know what I hear…or what I don’t hear.

For the time being I'll ponder over Clingman’s theories in regards to Split Mountain:

The extent and configuration of the ground acted on, the long intervals between the shocks, for a period of nearly a century past, and of the absence of heat and of the continuous escape of gasses, rendered it evident that these disturbances were not due to such a merely local cause as the combustion at a short distance below the surface of a bed of inflammable mineral substances. Though in the opinion of Mr. Fox and others, there are electric currents in certain mineral veins, yet no observations heretofore made would justify us in attributing such phenomena to electricity.

And I’ll continue to follow Clingman’s treasure maps to some other curious places in these mountains.

By the way, that First Impressionist Exhibition from April 1874 is depicted online at http://www.artchive.com/74nadar.htm It's worth a visit, too.


Camille Pissaro, Gelee blanche (Hoarfrost), 1873

The Grooms Tune on the Road to Mount Sterling

Spring is a good time to visit the area of Waterville/Big Creek/Mount Sterling and the northeastern corner of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park at the border of North Carolina and Tennessee.  The wildflowers are spectacular.  And the history of that area is notable, as well.

[From April 1, 2007] 

Under the heading "SOMEBODY OUGHT TO DO THIS–"

The next time I roll through the crossroads at Mount Sterling, I should be listening to an old fiddle tune, Grooms Tune… or Bonaparte’s Retreat. Not the jazzed-up western swing version of Bonaparte’s Retreat, but a doleful rendition played slow and sad. The real Grooms tune. Somebody ought to do this next week. Because April 10, 1865 (the day after Lee’s surrender at Appomattox Courthouse) was the day that three men were executed near Mount Sterling by Teague’s Home Guard.

The area had been ravaged by scalawags and bushwhackers, and the populace had suffered numerous raids of family farms by Union troops hunting provisions. The village of Waynesville had been burned two months earlier, and the citizenry was beleaguered and anxious.



For whatever reason, Henry Grooms, his brother George and his brother-in-law Mitchell Caldwell, all of north Haywood County, North Carolina, were taken prisoner by the Home Guard. The group traveled toward Cataloochee Valley and Henry Grooms, clutching his fiddle and bow, was asked by his captors to play a tune. Realizing he was performing for his own firing squad Grooms struck up Bonaparte's Retreat. When he finished the three men were lined up against an oak tree and shot, the bodies left where they fell. Henry's wife gathered the bodies and buried them in a single grove in Sutton Cemetery No. 1 in the Mount Sterling community, the plain headstone reading only "Murdered."

Now this account of the story was attributed to a Geoff Cantrell article in the Asheville Citizen-Times (February 23, 2000). Grooms family member Bettie Tanana, however, tells the story differently:

George was forced to play Bonaparte’s Retreat (later called Groom's Tune which can be found on the internet). Mitchell, according to Archives records, was an idiot and was told to put his hat over his face before he was shot. All three men were buried in a common grave. George was my great great great grandfather. My great great grandmother signed an affidavit stating that when she found her father's body his fiddle was found at his feet.

Some of Teague's men were also deposed verifying how the murders occurred. (I have copies of these records.) Most of the men in Teague's Homeguard were older men and neighbors of the men they shot. They even continued to live as neighbors after the war. Incidentally, another great great great grandfather, Henry Barnes was also found several miles away killed by Teagues Homeguard. His daughter, Amanda, married George Groom's son.

I had no idea that this scene was going to be in the movie Cold Mountain. I wanted to stand up and cry through my tears that that was my family being killed.

Myself, I’d like to think that come April 10, some fiddler will stand by the side of the little dirt road leading into Mount Sterling, and that fiddler will play Grooms tune one more time…really slow and sad.

Fire on the Mountain

 [From April 4, 2008]

Rumbling Bald Mountain, ca. 1940, Hans Curt Pfalzgraf Collection, D.H. Ramsey Library, Special Collections, University of North Carolina at Asheville 28804

Had you picked up the edition of the New York Times published on this date in 1874, you could have read of a "third-rate hoax" in Western North Carolina, the Bald Mountain Volcano. 

Starting in February 1874, stories spread concerning earthquakes in the Hickory Nut Gorge near Chimney Rock. By calling it a hoax, the Times was contradicting a story it had reported just a couple of weeks earlier:

RALEIGH, NC, March 17 – Passengers from the west on this morning’s train confirm the reports of the rumbling noises and the general upheaving of the Bald Mountain in Western Carolina. People living on and near the mountain are moving out, and a volcanic eruption is momentarily expected.

Despite the eyewitness accounts, the subsequent New York Times story that appeared on April 4, 1874 dismissed it as an old legend:

From Our Own Correspondent.
RICHMOND, VA., Friday, March 27, 1874.

The Bald Mountain Volcano, of North Carolina, has been regarded as a third-rate hoax here from the publication of the first sensational rumors in regard to it. The truth is, doubtless, that this new sensation is but the revival of an old tradition, derived from the Indians, that Bald Mountain was once, in very remote times, a volcano, and hence that absence of vegetation which has given it its name.

The Indian legend is to the effect that a certain tribe living at the foot of Bald Mountain was annually afflicted by the visit of a huge bird of prey, that made his eyrie on the summit of the mountain, and that on every visit seized and carried away with him a child of the tribe. The annual affliction had been undergone for a long series of years, when a great chief and medicine-man arose, and, just before the time for the next annual visit of the bird, began to preach a crusade against the common enemy. He adjured the warriors, as they were brave men and loving fathers, no longer to submit to the depredations of the bird, but to march against him and destroy him or be destroyed.

Thus aroused, the men of the tribe swore to follow the chief in the desperate venture, and, placing their squaws and children in a place of safety, they encircled the base of the mountain and began the ascent, resolved to kill the bird at all hazards and at every cost. The mountain was then clothed in rank vegetation – mighty forest-trees thickly undergrown by a tangled wilderness, that made the progress upward very painful and difficult. But the determined tribe persevered until, nearing the top of the mountain, what was their horror to perceive that it was not merely one tremendous bird they had to encounter and destroy, but a countless number of the fierce creatures, clustering in ferocious masses all over the higher portions of the mountain.

At this despair overcame them, for they at once recognized how impossible it would be for them to overcome and exterminate so many of the winged monsters, and they threw themselves down upon their faces, expecting the birds to rush down upon them and destroy them. At this moment their leader raised high his voice to the Great Spirit for their deliverance, and in answer to his prayer vivid lightnings sprang from every quarter of the cloudless sky, without a sound of thunder, slaying the birds to the last one, riving the forest-trees, and wrapping the whole mountain-top in flames, that soon swept from it every trace of vegetation. Thus were the monstrous birds of prey destroyed, the mountain made bald, and the tribe delivered. The anniversary of the deliverance was perpetually celebrated by the tribe, and the tradition I have just related handed down from one generation to another.

In this tradition lurks the true story, doubtless, of either the original formation of the ridge known as the Bald Mountains, or of an eruption which occurred many years ago.

So concludes the New York Times report from this date in 1874. But that does not conclude the mystery of the Bald Mountain Volcano. In May 1874, the Honorable Thomas Lanier Clingman weighed in before the Washington Philosophical Society to discuss Rumbling Bald Mountain and other seismic phenomena of Western North Carolina.

But that’s another story for another day...

Possum Hair Hat

 [From April 3, 2007]

I’d call it an astonishing mystery - on April 3, 1730 in the Cherokee village Nequassee (present Franklin, NC), Sir Alexander Cuming (a Scottish adventurer) orchestrated a ceremony to install Chief Moytoy as the "Emperor of the Cherokees," and won the allegiance of the Cherokees to the King of England. A member of Cuming's party related the event:

April 3. They proceeded this Morning to Nequassee, being. five Miles Distance from Joree, their Company always increasing. Here the Indians met from all Parts of the Settlements, (having received Intelligence of the General Meeting intended) by the Expresses sent from Keeowee. This was a Day of Solemnity the greatest that ever was seen in the Country; there was Singing, Dancing, Feasting, making of Speeches, the Creation of Moytoy Emperor, with the unanimous Consent of all the head Men assembled from the different Towns of the Nation, a Declaration of their resigning their Crown, Eagles Tails, Scalps of their Enemies, as an Emblem of their all owning his Majesty King George’s Sovereignty over them, at the Desire of Sir Alexander Cuming, in whom an absolute unlimited Power was placed, without which he could not be able to answer to his Majesty for their Conduct. The Declaration of Obedience was made on their Knees, in Order to intimate, that a Violation of their Promise then made in so solemn a Manner, would be sufficient to make them no People. Sir Alexander made the Witnesses sign to the Substance of what they saw and heard, in order to preserve the Memory thereof, after Words are forgot. The Witnesses were Sir Alexander Cuming, Eleazar Wiggan, Ludovick Grant, Samuel Brown, William Cooper, Agnus Mackferson, David Dowie, Francis Beaver, Lachlan Mackbain, George Hunter, George Chicken, and Joseph Cooper, Interpreter, besides the Indians.

Cuming anticipated some details of the ceremony, as indicated by one contemporary account:

Sir Alexander had been informed of all the Ceremonies that were used in making a head beloved man, of which there are a great many in this nation. They are called Ouka and as we translate that word King, so we call the Cap he wears upon that occasion his Crown, it resembles a wig and is made of Possum’s hair Dyed Red or Yellow, Sir Alexander was very desirous to see one of them, and there being none at that Town One was sent for to some other Town, He Expressed Great Satisfaction at Seeing of it, and he told the Indians that he would carry it to England and give it to the Great King George.

During the ceremony, Moytoy insisted that Cuming share in the glory of the moment. The Cherokees present lifted Cuming up onto the seat reserved for Moytoy and performed the Eagle Tail Dance that involved stroking him with the tail feathers of 13 golden eagles.

We’re told that Cuming made the trip to the colonies because of his wife’s dream that he would accomplish great things among the Cherokees. Drawn to a place he’d never seen, Cuming left England on September 13, 1729 and arrived in Charleston on December 5.

He was a persuasive confidence man, who wasted no time in swindling Charleston investors and planning an escape on the next ship heading back across the Atlantic. But not before his trip to the Cherokee territory as a self-appointed emissary of the crown.

For guides, Cuming enlisted white traders and Indian fighters familiar with the Cherokee land and people. On March 11, 1730, they set off from Charleston toward the southern mountains. Along the way, the party shot a wild bison in South Carolina, and were warned to avoid Cherokee territory because of the natives' toward the English.

Cuming never hesitated, but sped forward. At that time, there were about 64 Cherokee villages in parts of four present-day states, 30 to 60 houses per town. In an incredibly short time, Sir Alexander visited many of those villages, was greeted with exceptional generosity wherever he went, and forged extensive alliances with Cherokee leaders, culminating with the April 3 ceremony. He must have impressed the Cherokee people, because very soon after his arrival they hailed him as a 'lawgiver, commander, leader and chief' and presented him with the scalps of their enemies.

His whirlwind tour among the Cherokees began in the Lower Villages along the headwaters of the Savannah River, like Keowee, and then proceeded to Nequassee and the other Middle Settlements along the upper part of the Little Tennessee. He crossed the Unicoi Range past Murphy and visited the Overhills Settlements, including Tellico, before starting back to Nequassee.

He somehow convinced seven Cherokees (depicted in the illustration above) to return with him to the royal court as evidence of the agreement he had negotiated with the Cherokees. Cuming and his entourage arrived back in Charleston on April 13, just a month and two days after starting their expedition to the mountains. They boarded a ship on May 4 and landed in Dover, England on June 5, 1730. He was promptly thrown in jail for debt. The Cherokees thought it a counterproductive punishment in that it rendered the debtor unable to repay his debts.

What a day it must have been, 277 years ago today, when Sir Alexander went to Franklin and was crowned with a possum’s hair cap.

One "embellished" book on this episode is William O. Steele’s "The Cherokee Crown of Tannassy" which expands on the contemporary accounts of the expedition.

[The illustration: Seven Cherokee men show off English costumes given to them by King George II on a walk in St. James Gardens, London, summer 1730. Engraving, British Museum.]

Showy Orchis

 [From April 1, 2007]

For me, Showy Orchis is a harbinger. It has a quiet, self-assured way of announcing the arrival of spring. 

Orchis spectabilis is one of 29 different orchids found in the Great Smokies. It's considered rather rare, though what patches of showy orchis there are can be fairly extensive. Prefers moist, wooded areas with loamy soil at elevations of 1,500 to 3,000 feet.

Plants will speak volumes when we reclaim our ability to listen. It's amazing to consider the various impoverishments of the modern world and just how much we've lost from what we were once a part of. In "The Self-Organizing Mind of Plants," (1989) Kevin Kelly writes:

The unparalleled richness of knowledge about plants kept by aboriginal peoples is the most valuable green wealth of undeveloped countries. Destroying a rainforest not only destroys a gene bank, it also destroys a meme bank - all the future solutions, models, discoveries, and deep, replicating ideas that were held in the genes and partially extracted over centuries by careful shamans. That native scholarship with plants is a vanishing resource.

Biology, particularly botany, has always flourished with the amateur scientist's admirable skills - a reliance on empirical knowledge, and a capacity to engulf the subject in its entirety by means of unbridled passion. The whole-systems approach of an amateur is so suited for the green cybernetics of plant life, and the plant cortex is so uncharted, that an amateur could pick a green spot on the world map by throwing a dart, and quickly become the world's expert on what those plants know.

Transported

CLICK HERE FOR THE AUDIO VERSION OF THIS STORY.

 [From April 1, 2007]

It’s a funny thing, dancing with technology.

We load up the car, take off and and cruise along the interstate. A brief stop at a rest area opens the door on a microcosm of modern transport:

Weary, but relieved, truckers amble back to their rigs. 

Vacationing families look harried, as they must. 

A young couple unloads two sets of dumbbells and an enormous black and white cat who climbs up the hillside. The cat watches their exercise routine as they face each other squatting and stretching with the weights. 

In a few minutes, we’ll all be hurtling along on the pavement again…bound for every destination imaginable.

Our destination was to "almost Tennessee", the northeast corner of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, skirting the Appalachian Trail, across the Pigeon River, up from Waterville. 

Speed and gasoline can take you lots of places fast, some places not at all. Simply walking along the right trail brings a conflation of space and time. While you cross over the next ridge to view an unexpected bend in the river, you transport to another realm of time, approaching the ancient as well as the remote.

How long since this boulder field was a streambed, a riverbed no less? And these rocks, the size of houses! How and when did they tumble into place? And do they really defy gravity with their balancing acts? Or are they continuing their free-fall, be it ever, ever so slowly? Pulled back to and into the earth while plants spring forth from the ground, expressions of color escaping and exploding from the cold darkness.

Linger by the mossy horseshoe of a cascade on the creek and the secrets of Egyptian pyramids will start to reveal themselves. It’s all right there.

Phenology is just one way of understanding these plants and their place in time. We start at 2000’ elevation and over the next four miles gradually climb another 800’…progressing from shades of green to brown to gray, with multiple strata of colors along the way.

First is a lily field of sorts, full of yellow trillium, its foliage rich and variegated, its blooms a loose bundle of pale yellow.

Higher up a spectrum of violets from deep purple to lavender to white and yellow. Yellow? Yellow violets? That’s almost as priceless as finding blue oranges…and I’m still looking for those.

Higher still, the purple phacelia flows from the rocky crags above…and down the hill toward the creek.

And so it goes the whole way on the trail upstream. Beyond the bridge, we continue along the old rail bed to Walnut Bottoms. In this valley, the black walnut trees could have been six or eight feet in diameter. But as soon as a train could reach them they were gone. We don’t get as far as Walnut Bottoms, but do pass Brakeshoe Spring. Brakeshoe Spring? Aaaahhaa, I get it. This must be where trains, loaded with monumental walnut timber, would stop to cool their brakes, overheated on the long downhill run.

I’m not sure, but things seem to be blooming unusually early, from another abnormally warm winter. It’s March 31, and we see the blooms of Sweet Shrub (Calycanthus floridus), Fire Pink (Silene virginica), Great Chickweed (Stellaria pubera), Dwarf Iris (Iris verna). I wonder what will be blooming along here a month from today, and what will be blooming a year from today. [See "Bloom Times for Wildflowers of the Southern Appalachians."]

Late in the day, our feet are aching. We retrace our steps and return to the car and return to the highway and return to the city and return to what we think of as our lives.