rbaileydav
04-15-2009, 02:33 AM
Time Passages – Hazel Creek 2009
I walked onto an airplane a few months ago and found myself sitting next to a man who was reading Horace Kephart’s “Our Southern Highlanders”. It turned out the gentleman was from England and had never visited the United States before, much less the Great Smoky Mountain National Park, so I spent the next few hours trying to explain the sensations of seeing the Calhoun house, or the Hall cabin or camping at the old town site of Medlin. I tried to help him visualize the beauty of the valley and more importantly the beauty of Hazel creek, to feel the history yet reveal in the rebirth of nature and how she had pulled the valley back to the wild. I knew in my heart that I could never capture the feeling and the majesty of the real thing but maybe I helped him have a greater appreciation of one of the most spectacular places on earth. But the real accomplishment of that conversation was stirring the embers of my desire to once again stroll the banks of Bone Valley and to sit once more on the porch of the Hall cabin…. So I reread Kephart’s book, which never fails to stir thoughts and images of long gone personalities and cultures ……… gone but never forgotten… and waited for my chance to return
So a few weeks later when a friend since college called and wanted me to go with him on a camping and fishing trip, Hazel creek jumped in my mind and plans were made. To make it even more fun on Saturday before the trip my oldest son Ricky who is a freshman at Georgia Southern strolled into the house on his spring break completely surprising both his mother and I … … so much for father-son communication. But surprisingly for the second year in a row he was willing to spend his spring break in the woods fishing with his father as long as I let a few of his closest and oldest friends tag along. I would love to tell you that spending time with his old man was more important to him than running after “girls gone wild” on the beaches of Florida ……. But the truth is limited summer job finances are a factor that even a college kid must face up to … so fishing with dad would have to do.
The Tuesday morning of St. Patrick’s Day found five of us, three young bucks and two aged warriors, standing at the turnoff overlooking Lake Fontana and the arm that leads to Hazel creek. It was a new sight for three of the five of us, and the last time Ricky had seen it last was about ten years previously when he was 9 or 10. So the group was in awe of the beauty of the view, and even though I had seen it many times before, the beauty never ceases to amaze me. So we stood there in the morning chill silently enjoying the panorama that lay before us and let our thoughts and imaginations dream of the trip to come.
http://inlinethumb45.webshots.com/41644/2866447730038253715S500x500Q85.jpg
Fifteen minutes later we were squashing the last of the “stuff” into our backpacks and having a last toast of Guinness to bring us a little luck of the Irish…..it is St Patty’s Day after all and we did want some fishing luck…….. The fishing luck alone would make the Guinness a fishing requirement wouldn’t it? And as we strolled down the walk way to the marina
http://inlinethumb22.webshots.com/23573/2628534360038253715S500x500Q85.jpg
I found myself reminiscing about Saint Patrick’s Day of MY freshman year in college and how I spent it in the lap of luxury in the cheap Chateau Motel with ten of my best friends in Panama City Beach Florida …. And trust me there were a few pretty special “firsts” about that old spring break trip but I still found myself being thankful that I was on this trip instead of that one some 28 years earlier. Time does pass … and quickly too.
Way too much money later we were all licensed and transportation was paid for ….. and yes I did double check everyone’s license this year for those of you who remember last year’s spring break citation fiasco….. and we found ourselves in the boat streaming across the water toward Hazel. The shuttle guy told us he couldn’t take us to the bridge like normal and that we would have to go over the mountain at Ollie cove. That didn’t register with me and I nonchalantly passed that off as idle chatter and forgot about it………… that is until I had my pack strapped on and stepped off onto the lake shore and realized that there was a really ugly vertical climb just to get to the beginning of the trail with took off straight up the mountain…….. oh well it just wouldn’t be an “rbaileydav” backpacking story if there wasn’t a nasty hill for me to whine and cry about would it…… The group made great time up the hill and I purposely staid in the back moving slowly up the hill … … of course that was to make sure everyone else made it up the hill safely… Hey it is my story so I get to tell it the way I want to … …
By the time I descended the hill and reached the Calhoun House at the bridge I was starting to feel better … but I stopped at the Calhoun house anyway just because I love it. This house brings to life the images and history of the people that called this valley home for me and Kephart’s tales about Granville Calhoun ring in my head as I walk through the house. Somewhere in my heart and mind, I hear the sounds of a family living and dying in this house. The ghosts of times past and the memories still living in this house dance through my imagination
http://inlinethumb23.webshots.com/25046/2066062850038253715S500x500Q85.jpg
By the time I hit the bridge again I am feeling better and settle in to the easy stroll that this hike should have been from the beginning … … and with a view like this how could I be anything but peaceful.
http://inlinethumb58.webshots.com/44985/2267740460038253715S500x500Q85.jpg
The rest of the hike passed in a nice easy rhythm and was actually very enjoyable until I stumbled on the boys waiting beside the trail… … they had gotten worried about my old *** as I normally never fall behind and they were actually concerned about my well being… I calmed their fears politely… … thanked them for their concern politely… … all the while growing frustrated at the passage of time that had caused a role reversal where the kids were checking on me to make sure I was okay. Times they are a changing. I thought back to hundreds of hiking trips when I had carried the boys or stopped to check how they were doing and slowed my pace to a crawl to make sure they were okay … … and now here they were waiting and worrying about me. That makes a man want to start working on getting in better shape doesn’t it? But I guess I should be glad they cared enough to worry. In the end we all scooted up the trail together and in no time found ourselves setting up camp near the old town site of Medlin or campsite 84 to those in the know and were delighted at what I consider to be one the prettiest campsites in all of the GSMNP.
http://inlinethumb27.webshots.com/10138/2790594890038253715S500x500Q85.jpg
http://inlinethumb63.webshots.com/41790/2438443040038253715S500x500Q85.jpg
I walked onto an airplane a few months ago and found myself sitting next to a man who was reading Horace Kephart’s “Our Southern Highlanders”. It turned out the gentleman was from England and had never visited the United States before, much less the Great Smoky Mountain National Park, so I spent the next few hours trying to explain the sensations of seeing the Calhoun house, or the Hall cabin or camping at the old town site of Medlin. I tried to help him visualize the beauty of the valley and more importantly the beauty of Hazel creek, to feel the history yet reveal in the rebirth of nature and how she had pulled the valley back to the wild. I knew in my heart that I could never capture the feeling and the majesty of the real thing but maybe I helped him have a greater appreciation of one of the most spectacular places on earth. But the real accomplishment of that conversation was stirring the embers of my desire to once again stroll the banks of Bone Valley and to sit once more on the porch of the Hall cabin…. So I reread Kephart’s book, which never fails to stir thoughts and images of long gone personalities and cultures ……… gone but never forgotten… and waited for my chance to return
So a few weeks later when a friend since college called and wanted me to go with him on a camping and fishing trip, Hazel creek jumped in my mind and plans were made. To make it even more fun on Saturday before the trip my oldest son Ricky who is a freshman at Georgia Southern strolled into the house on his spring break completely surprising both his mother and I … … so much for father-son communication. But surprisingly for the second year in a row he was willing to spend his spring break in the woods fishing with his father as long as I let a few of his closest and oldest friends tag along. I would love to tell you that spending time with his old man was more important to him than running after “girls gone wild” on the beaches of Florida ……. But the truth is limited summer job finances are a factor that even a college kid must face up to … so fishing with dad would have to do.
The Tuesday morning of St. Patrick’s Day found five of us, three young bucks and two aged warriors, standing at the turnoff overlooking Lake Fontana and the arm that leads to Hazel creek. It was a new sight for three of the five of us, and the last time Ricky had seen it last was about ten years previously when he was 9 or 10. So the group was in awe of the beauty of the view, and even though I had seen it many times before, the beauty never ceases to amaze me. So we stood there in the morning chill silently enjoying the panorama that lay before us and let our thoughts and imaginations dream of the trip to come.
http://inlinethumb45.webshots.com/41644/2866447730038253715S500x500Q85.jpg
Fifteen minutes later we were squashing the last of the “stuff” into our backpacks and having a last toast of Guinness to bring us a little luck of the Irish…..it is St Patty’s Day after all and we did want some fishing luck…….. The fishing luck alone would make the Guinness a fishing requirement wouldn’t it? And as we strolled down the walk way to the marina
http://inlinethumb22.webshots.com/23573/2628534360038253715S500x500Q85.jpg
I found myself reminiscing about Saint Patrick’s Day of MY freshman year in college and how I spent it in the lap of luxury in the cheap Chateau Motel with ten of my best friends in Panama City Beach Florida …. And trust me there were a few pretty special “firsts” about that old spring break trip but I still found myself being thankful that I was on this trip instead of that one some 28 years earlier. Time does pass … and quickly too.
Way too much money later we were all licensed and transportation was paid for ….. and yes I did double check everyone’s license this year for those of you who remember last year’s spring break citation fiasco….. and we found ourselves in the boat streaming across the water toward Hazel. The shuttle guy told us he couldn’t take us to the bridge like normal and that we would have to go over the mountain at Ollie cove. That didn’t register with me and I nonchalantly passed that off as idle chatter and forgot about it………… that is until I had my pack strapped on and stepped off onto the lake shore and realized that there was a really ugly vertical climb just to get to the beginning of the trail with took off straight up the mountain…….. oh well it just wouldn’t be an “rbaileydav” backpacking story if there wasn’t a nasty hill for me to whine and cry about would it…… The group made great time up the hill and I purposely staid in the back moving slowly up the hill … … of course that was to make sure everyone else made it up the hill safely… Hey it is my story so I get to tell it the way I want to … …
By the time I descended the hill and reached the Calhoun House at the bridge I was starting to feel better … but I stopped at the Calhoun house anyway just because I love it. This house brings to life the images and history of the people that called this valley home for me and Kephart’s tales about Granville Calhoun ring in my head as I walk through the house. Somewhere in my heart and mind, I hear the sounds of a family living and dying in this house. The ghosts of times past and the memories still living in this house dance through my imagination
http://inlinethumb23.webshots.com/25046/2066062850038253715S500x500Q85.jpg
By the time I hit the bridge again I am feeling better and settle in to the easy stroll that this hike should have been from the beginning … … and with a view like this how could I be anything but peaceful.
http://inlinethumb58.webshots.com/44985/2267740460038253715S500x500Q85.jpg
The rest of the hike passed in a nice easy rhythm and was actually very enjoyable until I stumbled on the boys waiting beside the trail… … they had gotten worried about my old *** as I normally never fall behind and they were actually concerned about my well being… I calmed their fears politely… … thanked them for their concern politely… … all the while growing frustrated at the passage of time that had caused a role reversal where the kids were checking on me to make sure I was okay. Times they are a changing. I thought back to hundreds of hiking trips when I had carried the boys or stopped to check how they were doing and slowed my pace to a crawl to make sure they were okay … … and now here they were waiting and worrying about me. That makes a man want to start working on getting in better shape doesn’t it? But I guess I should be glad they cared enough to worry. In the end we all scooted up the trail together and in no time found ourselves setting up camp near the old town site of Medlin or campsite 84 to those in the know and were delighted at what I consider to be one the prettiest campsites in all of the GSMNP.
http://inlinethumb27.webshots.com/10138/2790594890038253715S500x500Q85.jpg
http://inlinethumb63.webshots.com/41790/2438443040038253715S500x500Q85.jpg