The author on top of a mountain proving to his employer he is at work.
“Travel writing is something you do for the money, not a lot of money, but the working conditions can be pleasant,” wrote James Salter. He’s right. It’s not about money. It’s about adventure. You travel to wonderful places and meet interesting people. Along the way you pick up a little pay and often some expenses are covered as well.
I consider a travel assignment a subsidized vacation but it’s far more than that. It’s a chance to see how other people live and a chance to see natural beauty and man’s efforts to tame this ultimately untamable land.
The attached photo of me reveals a beautiful alpine panorama. Where is it? I’ll give you some hints as you read. Here’s one now. Folks say you can see four states from this mountain’s summit, which standing 5,127 feet high is almost a mile high. I came to this mountain by way of a magazine assignment. Before this leg of the assignment was over, I’d get the feeling that I had traveled to another country, so different and beautiful is the upcountry.
I set out of Columbia last Thursday afternoon headed for Walhalla, a cozy city nestled in the Appalachian Mountains. With strong influence from German immigrants, the town is aptly named “Walhalla,” German for “paradise.”
Walhalla makes for a good location to explore the nearby mountains. You can strike out to Clayton, Georgia, and make your way to Dillard, Georgia. Within easy reach are two states: North Carolina and Georgia. (Here’s another hint: the mountain’s not in Georgia.)
You can head north on Highway 28 and visit beautiful waterfalls such as the nearby Issaqueena Falls. While there, a short walk uphill will take you to Stumphouse Mountain, where a 1,600-foot tunnel fell short of creating a railway passage from Charleston to Cincinnati. Irishmen chipped and drilled through though solid granite, hoping to link Charleston to the Midwest. Hard to imagine what difficulties they encountered.
After six years, the Civil War and a lack of money brought the backbreaking work to a halt. Some 100 years later, Clemson University used the tunnel to age blue cheese but relocated the operation when they were able to duplicate the conditions indoors, chiefly the 85 percent humidity and constant 56 degrees Fahrenheit.
Walhalla has a beautiful bed and breakfast inn, Oconee Bell Bed and Breakfast, a circa 1885 Victorian home beautifully appointed by innkeepers Vanessa and Dan Penton. I stayed there two nights and it took about five minutes to feel I had known Vanessa and Danny all my life. (A good friend of theirs is Wayne Smalley, whose family came from Lincolnton to Walhalla, where Wayne served as mayor.) Oconee Bell B&B, named for the rare Appalachian wildflower, Oconee Bell, is itself a rare jewel.
Thursday evening I stumbled across one of the best restaurants I’ve been to anywhere, Paesano’s Italian Restaurant in nearby Seneca. The food was prepared and served to perfection. It’s worth a trip all the way back just to dine again at Paesano’s. My time in Walhalla was wonderful. Tim Todd, executive director of Discover Upcountry Carolina Association was a great host, pointing out the history and sights to see in Upstate South Carolina. Whitewater, peaches, ziplining, hiking, wilderness, waterfalls, cycling, a historic covered bridge: that and a lot more are waiting for you in the hills.
No way you can miss out on good food up in the hills. A short hop across the Georgia line is the Dillard House, a great place to dine on Southern food so good you’ll eat until you can’t hold another bite.
I got a good night’s rest at Oconee Bell and that was a good thing. The next morning, Friday morning, I hit the nearby Chattooga for a raft experience down Section Four. We took a hard spill right away at Seven Foot Falls. I ended up under the raft and it took me four tries to get to the surface. The thought of drowning crossed my mind. Nothing like real danger to make you feel alive. We made it through several class four and class five rapids.
The Chattooga, by the way, has beautiful waterfalls. Long Creek Falls is inaccessible but worth the view if you want to brave the Chattooga. After six hours of whitewater, I ziplined through Appalachian canopies and got another item off the infamous bucket list.
I detoured briefly into Georgia Saturday to see Tallulah Gorge, one of Georgia’s Seven Natural Wonders. My family always stopped there for a grand view as we made our way up Highway 441 to the North Carolina Mountains. It’s pretty much the same place: cheap trinkets, food, and drink, and on this day a troubadour out front.
I crossed into North Carolina and made my way toward Highlands and Cashiers (locals pronounce it “cashers” with a slow drawl “cash ers”). It was between Highlands and Cashiers that my old football teammate and friend Eddie Drinkard and I met. Eddie gave me a tour of the area’s beautiful communities. Think resort in the sky. Think autumn. One great thing about living in the mountains is you can make a short two-hour drive into the highlands and leave the heat and humidity behind. It felt like early October up in the hills.
Eddie and I had a great time recalling old friends from high school. We recalled riding the bus together with Mr. Am Cliatt and my dad. “I’d get up and go to the front of the bus at my place,” said Eddie, “so Mr. Am wouldn’t forget and drive by my house.”
As well we remembered those who are no longer with us. Later that evening we bumped into each other at The Ugly Dog pub where we recalled more days from high school. It was a good reunion between two homeboys in an unlikely place, Highlands, North Carolina, a quaint hamlet deep in the Nantahala Forest.
In the 1930s, Highlands became a golfing mecca when Bobby Jones and some of his well-heeled golfing buddies founded the Highlands Country Club. Highlands is a resort today. Today, you’ll see a lot of Floridians up there.
So, the photo of me and the Lincoln Journal? Eddie took the photo. We went up on one of the higher mountains around with a historic fire tower atop it. The Civilian Conservation Corps built the tower in 1934. Today it is a designated National Historic Lookout. I am standing on top of Yellow Mountain, which towers over the land between Highlands and Cashiers. Directly behind me and out of view is Whiteside Mountain, the mountain whose rivulets help form the headwaters of the Chattooga.
We drove part of the way up the mountain, then hiked uphill a short distance that nonetheless lets you feel the mile-high thin oxygen’s effects. I liked best this thin October-like air. A few drops of rain fell and suddenly in the grip of August I got cold. No wonder so many people want to live up here I thought. I looked out across the panorama before me. Haze from humidity obscured the view. I’ll go back when fall air is cool and crisp and you can see for miles and miles as the song goes.
People debate what’s better: the coast or the mountains. To me, it’s a bit like debating which season you like most: summer or fall. I’ll take the mountains over the coast. And the mountains in the autumn are the best of both worlds. You just feel more alive up in the hills. I like the fact that one second sheer rock walls cut off the world and the next minute an overlook reveals a stunning panorama.
The upcountry flexes its hard granite muscles, which as hard as they are they cannot resist water. The mountains after all supply sands for coastal beaches given enough time and erosion.
So there is a real connection between the mountains and the coast.
As we shot down the whitewater raging between hard brown rocks, I caught a glimpse of something strange. Embedded in a river boulder was what looked like a fossil, a small fish or perhaps the leaf of an ancient plant. It has been there forever. Me and the raft of tourists? We are just passing through these hills but what a passage it makes.
Email me about most anything. tompol@earthlink.net
By TOM POLAND. Article originally appeard in The Lincoln Journal. Reprinted with permission.
Back
News Home
