The Nantahala National Forest contains many deep, narrow gorges where the sun reaches the ground only when it is directly overhead at noon. Thus the word, Nantahala, Cherokee for “land of the noonday sun”, is appropriate for the river, gorge, and national forest of the same name. This huge forest stretching east to west for 75 miles to the Tennessee border, and north to south from the Great Smoky Mountains National Park to Georgia, is one of the five national forests in the beautiful southern Appalachian Mountains.
Land of the Noonday Sun
The Nantahala River bisects the national forest nearly in half, beginning just north of the Georgia border northwest of Dillard, Georgia, passing the Sanding Indian Recreation Area, then going between the Nantahala Mountains to the east and the Tusquitee Mountains to the west and finally being dammed to form Nantahala Lake. Northwest of Nantahala Lake, the river enters the spectacular 9 mile long Nantahala Gorge on either side of U.S. Highway 19 and finally converges with the Little Tennessee River where the two rivers form Fontana Lake. Standing Indian Mountain, at 5,499 feet is the highest ridge around the basin.
When the first Europeans came to this area, money was scarce and in many settlements, the pioneers depended largely upon each other by “swapping” work. Probably no better illustration of this interdependence can be seen that in the “log rolling”. After the settler had built his cabin, the next step was to clear a piece of ground for crop. The trees were felled, cut or burned into lengths so that they could be handled, and then the neighbors were invited to the rolling.
Almost every pioneer had a “hand-spike” – a stick of hard, tough wood, five or six feet in length, from which the bark had been removed, and the ends slightly tapered with the draw-knife. When all had assembled at the appointed time and place, the men were divided into teams. Two of the strongest men in each team were selected to make “daylight”; that is, to thrust a hand spike under one end of the log and lift it high enough for the others to get their spikes under it. Then, two by two, the others followed the “daylight” makers until ten or twelve could be seen carrying the heaviest logs and piling them in heaps. Smaller logs,, carried by four to six men, were added to the heap, so that the whole could be burned. In some areas enough valuable timber was thus destroyed to pay for the land on which it grew, even at present prices, if it could be replaced. But then a crop was of more importance to the settler than the timber.
While the men were “rolling” the logs, the women folks would get together and prepare dinner, each bringing from her own store some delicacy that she thought the others might not be able to supply. Venison, bear meat, and corn pone were the chief articles of food on the menu. “Log rolling” was a good appetizer, and when the men arose from the table it looked as if a “cyclone had struck it”; but in “swapping” work each man had his turn, and in the end no one was placed at a disadvantage in the amount of provisions consumed.
The term “log rolling” founds its way into the legislative halls, where its meaning is very much the same as in pioneer days. Bills are often passed by members “swapping” votes, just as the early settlers cleared their ground by “swapping” work.
William Gilmore Simms visited the mountains of western North Carolina on many occasions to gather material for his stories. He had a friend up here that would bring in the various characters of the community. Sharp was brought in one day to tell Mr. Simms how he got his wife and capital, and this is how he go it:
“The gal that I was tryin’ to marry had an old daddy who was so stubborn he wouldn’t let her marry unless the man that wanted to marry her could show some capital. I didn’t have no capital, and I was a-wonderin’ how I could git it when I saw a flock of geese on a pond. So I got me a long cane and bored all the center out of it. And I put that in my mouth and I took a rope and got down under the water, used the cane so I could breathe. And I got up under the geese and I pulled the first goose’s foot and tied it with the rope and then I pulled the next one and so on down until I got them all. Then I tied the rope around my waist and jumped up, but the geese all flew and they took me off with them.
“And they’d been flyin’ so long I thought they must be about New York, when they got hitched in a tree. And I tied one end of the rope to a limb in the tree, got myself loose, and started down the tree. But it had a big holler in it and I fell down that holler, and when I got to the bottom of the holler there was a couple of cubs. Wall, after a while the old bar she come. I knowed it was her when I couldn’t see the stars up through the holler of the tree. So I took my knife out of my pocket and when she slid down backwards I caught her by the tail and jammed that knife into her. And up the tree she went and she got to the top, a draggin’ me behind her. When she got thar, I pushed her off and she feel and broke her neck. And I clumb down out of the tree and I looked around and I found I wasn’t more than a mile from home.
“So I went home and got an ax, come back, cut that tree down, killed them geese, killed them two cubs. And I found that it was a bee tree! It was full of honey. Well, I tuck them geese and dressed them, dressed them bears, and sold the hides, and put away a lot of meat to last me through the winter. I took the rest of the meat and the geese and the honey to Greenville, Spartanburg and Asheville – Hendersonville and around there and I sold it and I made a thousand dollars. And I went to the old man and I said: “I’ve got my capital.” “Well,’ he says, ‘you can have Sally.’”
From majestic peaks to rich, fertile valleys, the mountains of North Carolina have drawn travelers since the beginning of time. One of the best paved scenic routes in the Nantahala National Forest that receives relatively little traffic is Wayeh Road (State Route 1310). It is part of the Mountain Waters National Scenic Byway. This curvy, mostly mountain highway stays next to the bubbling Nantahala River as far as Nantahala Lake. It then takes an eastward course along Jarrett Creek and Wayeh Creek. A side road to the north, Forest Road 69, ends at Wayeh Blad, at one time a treeless knob at an elevation of 5,342 feet. Trees have encroached on the bald, with only a small, mowed grassy area left at the turnaround on the summit. Vegetation near the summit is still interesting, with white rhododendron, a white flowering azalea, flame azalea and mountain laurel prominently blooming in June. Other trees at the summit include black oak, northern red oak, white oak, yellow birch and basswood. A very short hike to the stone lookout is worth taking. The square tower dates back to 1937 and the views from the top are incomparable on clear days. Both the Appalachian Trail and the Bartram Trail cross Wayeh Bald, and the shorter Rufus Morgan and Shot Pouch trails are accessed from the road to the summit. On the way to the bald, the now-abandoned Wilson Lick Ranger Station may be observed. Built in 1916, this was the first ranger station in the Nantahala National Forest. The station is surrounded by a forest of oaks, hemlock and white pine.
Between Wayeh Crest and Franklin, along the Wayeh Road, is Arrowwood Glade Picnic Area in a scenic settling along a mountain stream. South of Arrowwod Glade and west of Milksick Knob is 60-foot Rough Fork Falls, reached from the Rufus Morgan Trailhead off of Forest Road 388.
Mountain Waters National Scenic Byway continues on U.S. Highway 64 from Franklin to Highlands. It goes through Callusaja Gorge where several waterfalls are easy to observe. Cullasaja Falls is where the Cullasaja River drops dramatically for 250 feet into a deep, rocky gorge. A little farther south is Dry Falls with an adjacent parking area. Several stone steps lead to this mighty falls that plummets for 40 feet, surrounded by lush vegetation. The trail permits visitors to walk behind the falls to another observation point on the other side. In fact, this great falls is called Dry Falls because you can walk behind it and stay dry, but that is not always the case. Still father south on State Route 28 is Bridal Veil Falls. A spur road lets you drive behind this misty falls.
Several years ago, it is told that a traveler lost his way in the backwoods of Graham County. While wondering which path to take, he heard the breaking of twigs in the underbrush, and presently there emerged an overgrown boy with a rifle on his arm. By way of opening conversation, the traveler remarked, “That’s a good looking gun you have.”
“Yes”, replied the youth, “this was grandpa’s gun. He carried it through the war between the states”.
Surprised by this statement, the traveler looked at the gun more closely. “Why, the barrel,” he said, “seems shorter than those of the Civil War period.”
“Yes,” said the boy, “Pap had a new barrel put on.”
The traveler continued his examination of the gun. “That looks like a new stock,” he observed.
“Yes,” said the boy, “Pap had that put on.”
“The lock can’t be very old either,” observed the traveler.
“Pap had that put on too,” said the boy.
“Then you must have a new gun.”
“No,” said the boy, “it’s the same old gun grandpa carried through the war between the states.”
“As the Governor of North Carolina said to the Governor of South Carolina, it’s a long time between drinks” – a favorite convivial apothegm in America, suggesting that it is time for someone “to set ‘em up again for the boys,” or, in other words, to order a fresh round of drinks. An historical origin has been found for the phrase, but, unfortunately with no apparent historical foundation. The story runs that early in the 19th century a native North Carolinian who had moved across the border into South Carolina was forced to fly back again to escape arrest. The Governor of South Carolina straight away issued a requisition on the Governor of North Carolina for the fugitive criminal. But the latter Governor hesitated. The criminal had many and influential friends. Finally the South Carolina executive, with a large retinue, waited on his official brother at Raleigh, the capital of North Carolina. The visitors were received with all due honors. A banquet was given them; wine and brandy were served. When at last, the decanters and glasses were removed, the Governor of South Carolina rose to state his errand. A long and acrimonious debate followed. The Governor of South Carolina lost his temper. Rising once more to his feet, he said, “Sir, you have refused my just demand and offended the dignity of my office and my State. Unless you at once surrender the prisoner, I will return to my capital, call out the militia of the State, and take the fugitive by force of arms. Governor, what do you say?”
All eyes were turned on the Governor of North Carolina. The latter rose slowly to his feet, and beckoned to a servant who stood some distance away. His beckoning was firm and dignified, as became his position. He was slow about answering, and again the Governor of South Carolina demanded, “What do you say?”
“I say, Governor, that it is a long time between drinks.”
The reply restored good humor. Decanters and glasses were brought out again, and while the visitors remained, if any one attempted to refer to the diplomatic object of the visit he was cut short by the remark that it was a long time between drinks. When the visiting Governor was ready to return home he was escorted to the State line by the Governor of North Carolina, and they parted the best of friends.
