And have you traveled very far?
Far as the eye can see.
How often have you been there?
Often enough to know.
What did you see when you were there?
Nothing that doesn’t show.
From an old Beatles song
Ever had your pillow stolen from beneath your head by a sneaky black bear? Well, if you don’t think you can weather such an experience without a prolonged case of the shakes, don’t try finding your way through the little-traveled wilderness north of Fontana Lake in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park (North Carolina side).
Almost losing a pillow, actually the food sack, was exactly what happened to our group, to me in fact, back in August of 1960. It was our fifth day out on the trail. Our scout group was camped on Hazel Creek. Instead of hanging my rucksack containing most of the remaining group grub safe in a nearby tree that evening, I decided to use the pack as a pillow. Big mistake.
The night was so beautiful that none of us even bothered to pitch a tarp, although one scout was zipped into a military jungle hammock slung between two trees. Somewhere around 1:00 a.m. my head suddenly hit the ground. A hungry bear had reached through the bushes, pilfered my pack, and was dragging it away with him.
Fortunately for our group, in all the noise, darkness, and confusion that followed, including calls for help from the scout unable to find his way out of the jungle hammock, the big bruin released the heavy rucksack and retired to the edge of the woods, licking his chops in disappointment over losing a good meal. For many years afterward I kept as a souvenir the tin drinking cup that had been in the top of my pack which now had a hole punched in it by one of the bear’s teeth.
Our seven-day adventure carried us through the southwestern section of the Great Smokies, a wilderness area unmatched anywhere on the eastern seaboard in its beauty and isolation. It was a region of verdant, haze-covered peaks and ridges cut by deep valleys. Down these valleys tumbled swift, clear fishing streams, known far and wide as some of the finest native trout waters in the South.
Back in secluded coves deer browsed in the overgrown fields and orchards of long-abandoned mountain farms. Other forest wildlife, all protected from hunters by law, included bobcats, black bear, foxes, ruffed grouse, wild turkeys, wild boar (originally imported from Great Britain about 1900), and all too many yellow jackets, copperheads and rattlesnakes.
In 1960 there were no roads leading into the Fontana wilderness area, although efforts had been underway for years by developers to talk the federal government into building one through the wilderness on the north side of the lake. Hikers and fishermen, however, could already access this section of the park in several ways: by dropping off the Appalachian Trail, taking a boat across Fontana Lake, bushwhacking down from Shuckstack fire tower, or hiking in from U.S. 441 on the east side as our party did.
Our group of backpackers included in addition to me four older members of Explorer Scout Post 17 based in Charlotte, North Carolina at Christ Episcopal Church: John Alexander, Bob Botsford, Walter Graham, and Ken Oppenheim. At that time I was serving as the post’s Advisor (leader) and was 26 years old. The boys were all entering their senior year of high school that fall and were about 16 or 17. This was a physically tough bunch of young guys with extensive scouting and outdoor experience. Given the difficulty of the trip it was a good thing we were all so fit.
As the crow flies, the distance we covered in seven days was only about 35 miles, but we were not birds. Because of the meanderings of both maintained and abandoned trails the actual mileage was closer to 70. Often it was necessary to hack our way through overgrown sections of the forest with machetes and navigate by map and compass. The maps that we carried were based on work done by the U. S. Geological Survey between 1927 and 1931. In 1960 many of the trails shown on these charts no longer existed, but we usually managed to follow the old routes without too much trouble.
In order to have access to water we made camp on streams whenever possible but never bothered to purify the water. In those days it just wasn’t necessary. Giardia would become a problem only in later years. Due to the heat and humidity in this part of the park during August all of us required large amounts of water in order to prevent dehydration. And since drinks like Gatorade had not yet been developed, we put lots of salt on our food. Once popular salt tablets were no longer used by most people.
All cooking was done over wood fires. I don’t think we even carried a stove. But we did have with us in addition to 2 machetes what was known as a half-axe which was light enough to backpack with but big enough to cut down trees if necessary. Almost everyone in the group could build a one-match fire without using any paper, even in the rain.
Unfortunately, most of the woodcraft skills Americans once had have pretty much been lost over the intervening years. Many so-called outdoorsmen and outdoorswomen today don’t even know how to build a fire, and GPS units make navigating by map and compass usually unnecessary, another lost skill.
On the first evening of our trip into the wilderness we halted with aching muscles and sore feet at a trail junction on Indian Creek after a back-breaking 12 mile hike that began at the Oconaluftee Ranger Station north of the town of Cherokee. Our packs were old World War Two surplus, and each weighed at least 50 lbs when we first set off.
The second day was equally difficult and included the crossing of two high ridges before we finally reached our Solola Valley camp site on Noland Creek. Solola Valley was a pleasant place to camp, and a large, open-sided lean-to unexpectedly found there provided us with shelter from a hard rain that evening.
After cooking dinner over a fire in the lean-to, everyone retired to waterproof polyethylene tarps and spent a comfortable night in spite of the weather. 4-mil polyethylene, by the way, is ideal for summer backpacking, and cheap. However, I haven’t seen it used as tarps for many years. Most campers today have been taught that they can’t get along without a $300.00 high-tech tent, even in warm weather. Granted there are mosquitoes to deal with when sleeping under a tarp, but that’s what insect repellant is for. And, of course, you can see bears and other critters approaching when you are inside the almost clear plastic shelter.
On our third day we reached an old abandoned CCC (Civilian Conservation Corp) camp on the banks of Forney Creek after climbing over the 4000 ft. crest of Forney Ridge. It was an interesting and scenic trail, but continuous rain showers and skirmishes with yellow jackets nesting in the ground along the way forced us to set a mean pace. At one point while running pell-mell down the trail to escape an aroused swarm of bees Bob Botsford, pack and all, fell and rolled down the side of the mountain. Fortunately he was uninjured and we managed to drag him back up from the rhododendron thicket in which he had landed.
There is an old adage I learned at least 50 years ago that warns: “The first person in line wakes the snake (or yellow jackets). The second person gets ‘em riled up. And the third person gets bit.” I always try not to be that third person in a line.
Between Forney Creek and Fontana Dam trails were generally abandoned or non-existent. High Rocks with its fire tower, site of our fourth camp, lay at 5190 feet and commanded one of the most magnificent views in the Smokies. From the summit we were able to trace our previous days’ travels and look through the haze to the west at the rugged country through which we must now find our way.
I couldn’t help but be a little awed by what I saw ahead of us and wondered what would happen if anyone were to be seriously injured in that remote area. None of us had adequate first aid training. All of us were very aware that we were completely on our own. Modern-day emergency gear such as GPS units, cell phones, two-way radios and emergency locator beacons were not available in 1960.
During the night we watched the passage of a satellite overhead in the brilliant star-lit sky, a reminder that civilization could no longer be left behind completely, even in the uninhabited wilderness through which we were passing. That same night bears, raiding our camp for the first time, made off with dehydrated food that was soaking in pots for breakfast. Luckily, the bears left behind both of the aluminum cook pots. These days most hikers us stainless steel cooking gear.
On the fifth day our party bushwhacked cross-country down from High Rocks to the Bone Valley campsite on Hazel Creek. There is an interesting story behind the name, Bone Valley, but I can’t remember it. At one point along the way we came across a “bear tree” where fresh claw marks were visible in the deeply scarred bark for some eight feet above the ground. Having two machetes, an axe, and a Smith & Wesson .38 special revolver with us made everyone feel a little more confident after viewing proof that black bears grew pretty large in this area of the forest.
Our last campsite, located at mouth of Eagle Creek where it emptied into Fontana Lake, was reached after a difficult cross-country trek. Our trail had disappeared shortly after crossing Jenkins Ridge, but we finally made our way out after several hours of very rough going to the junction of Pinnacle and Eagle Creeks, just a mile or so above where we planned to spend the night.
Everyone was beat and welcomed the opportunity to clean up, swim, and fish in Eagle’s deep pools. A family from Alabama, the first people we had seen since leaving the Oconaluftee Ranger Station six days before, had crossed Fontana Lake by boat and was camping near us at the edge of the lake. They told me fishermen were pulling 14 to 16 inch trout from these same waters. Unfortunately, the fish avoided all our efforts to catch them, so our own group had to get by on a final skimpy dinner of more dehydrated rations, some of which had been previously sampled by campsite mice.
Our seventh and last day in the Fontana backcountry was spent bushwhacking up some 2300 feet from the lake to Shuckstack fire tower where there was a very nice view, then following the Appalachian Trail down a steep ridge to Fontana Dam. In the beginning, after breaking camp, it was possible to follow a faint path along lower Lost Cove Creek, but after we climbed to its headwaters, the path disappeared. We then had to use a compass in order to head due west to the Appalachian Trail and Shuckstack tower, all the while forcing our way up through dense thickets of briars and fallen trees.
In the lead with a machete at the time, I expected any minute to be bitten by a copperhead, especially since all of us had walked right over a big one in the brush the previous day. It must have been asleep. Overall we came across at least four or five poisonous snakes during the seven day trip. I seem to remember our eating a couple of them. Rattlesnake tastes almost like chicken and is especially good when cooked over an open fire. Copperhead meat is best avoided. About 4:30 that afternoon our dirty, bedraggled group hiked into Fontana Village, happy at being once again among the comforts of civilization, but also a little sad at the thought of leaving behind our free and easy life on the trail. The entire trip, including all food and gas for our vehicle had cost each of us a grand total of $14.00.
It has now been forty-six years since the trip described above took place. I would like to believe that the majestic wilderness we crossed so long ago might remain as it is forever: a refuge for our nation’s vanishing wildlife and a challenge to future generations of adventurous Americans.
Unfortunately, it appears the federal government may soon be forced finally to construct a road through the very heart of this region because of the terms of an old 1943 contract between the Tennessee Valley Authority, Department of the Interior, National Park Service, and Swain County, NC regarding the creation of Fontana Lake and the transfer of lands north of the lake to the National Park Service. As compensation to Swain County for lands taken, the Department of the Interior agreed to build a new road on the north side of the lake.
This intrusion of civilization, should it take place, will destroy forever the wilderness character of the terrain we crossed and open up the last three native trout streams in North Carolina to unlimited fishing. Those of us who value wilderness can only hope something can be done to prevent the highway planned for the north side of Fontana Lake from ever being built.
After the passage of 46 years I am now 71. The four scouts would be in their early sixties. Our lives have taken us in different directions. Walter Graham has retired from a career as a dermatologist and lives with his wife in Jacksonville, Florida. We stay in touch. Bob Botsford is a commercial pilot and flies for a South Carolina corporation. Recently we reconnected. After 30 years of selling mountaineering gear and teaching outdoor skills in Santa Fe I am now retired and still living there. Sadly, John Alexander died in 1995 after a long bout with cancer. Ken Oppenheim has disappeared into the mists of time.
NOTE: On February 3, 2010 an agreement was signed by Swain County and several government agencies which brought to a close the decades-old battle to prevent the building of a road on the north side of Fontana Lake. The settlement obligates the National Park Service to pay Swain County fifty-two million dollars over a ten year period. The county agrees not to continue its legal action against the federal government to have the proposed road constructed.
It appears that one of the wildest and most beautiful parts of the Great Smoky Mountains therefore will be preserved for future generations of Americans to enjoy as our own group did.