Aug. i 7, 1912 
FOREST AND STREAM 
201 
gorge, and that we did not begin to see any 
roughness till we got down below “this easy 
part.” Three days we explored, fished and 
photographed this section of the river and were 
able to climb out each night to our comfort¬ 
able camp. Wading, climbing rocks and cliflfs 
to avoid deep holes, passing many beautiful 
little cascades, we found the trout below. We 
soon learned that he who has been successful 
with brook trout has to learn his art all over 
again when he matches it against the rainbow, 
but with Charley’s help we tuned our song to 
the undoing of all the fish we could eat. 
A day’s rest and we were ready for the 
really big undertaking, the camp in the lower 
gorge, the farewell to all but stern necessities, 
for the load must be packed four miles out on 
the mountain and thence a mile and a half 
down a steep trail to the river. Here a head¬ 
quarters camp was made, a bed of leaves and 
hemlock boughs, with great hemlocks overhead. 
We might have had a small army of men carry 
tents and beds and other comforts in, but we 
were out to rough it, so held ourselves down 
to the lightest load we dared. With camera 
and plates this gave three men all they could 
“tote.” Near by was a “rock house,” that is 
a cave, for shelter if we needed it, but we did 
not. Now we began to see the real wild beauty 
that had been promised 11s, where we were as¬ 
sured no woman had ever traveled before. For 
the sake of the “squaws” Charley built bridges 
of driftwood over some of the worst crossings. 
Starting at six or seven in the morning, in 
the shade of the cliffs, we explored the river 
up and down for four days. The fish were 
larger than they were above, and light tackle 
went away with some of them. Here we en¬ 
joyed to the full that choicest of piscatorial 
delicacies, a perfectly fresh fish roasted on a 
forked stick over hardwood coals. No restau¬ 
rant can equal it, nor does the high-salaried 
chef have the compliment of such appetites as 
surrounded the camp-fire. Over, under and 
around gigantic rocks hurled down from cliffs 
above, often scaling a cliff to get around an 
unsounded pool with perpendicular sides, taking 
long detours to portage a cascade, often the 
water, cool and refreshing, was the easiest place 
to travel. Choked in narrow chasms, swift and 
terrible to cross, the river invited us to match 
our strength against its force, for occasionally 
it was either that or a long, hot climb. Above 
us on both sides rose the great ragged walls 
of the gorge, sometimes 800 feet without a foot¬ 
hold, thence by easy stages a mile, perhaps a 
mile and a half, to the rim of the canon. Every¬ 
where cascades and rapids, now and then a still, 
long pool, inviting the swimmer and the angler. 
Charley knew the best of these, and after we 
recognized the strength of the gamey, flashing 
beauties we were dealing with, we brought a 
few to net. In one such hole, small but very 
deep, and sheltered, the very rare treat of 
catching a cold-water eel was ours. Now if you 
have never eaten an eel taken from cold, swift 
water you do not know much about eels, for to 
my notion the meat is better than anything 
short of bass or speckled trout. It is no more 
like the eel from warm, sluggish water than 
a sucker is like a bass. 
Now we cut loose from our base, took what 
we could carry and started up the river to camp 
one night and be ready for the most daring of 
all our adventures, going through the Babel 
Tower gorge. This is a loop of Linville River 
something over half a mile long. Deep pools, 
bounded by smooth walls, occasionally a shelf 
or foot- or hand-hold for the person who knows 
just where they are, avoided by even the 
hardiest mountain fishermen, this dark and 
dangerous passage tempted us more than any¬ 
thing else, after we had been told all about its 
terrors. For the “squaws” to earn the honor of 
being the first women through it meant that 
they must discard the short skirts they had so 
far been able to wear and do this day’s work 
in stout duck trousers. Wading to the waist, 
climbing straight up and down and crawling 
along a shelf a foot wide is not business for 
skirts. Beginning in a pretty cascade with a 
wide, deep pool below it, this seldom visited 
wonder ends below in a long, narrow, still pool 
“an easy bit of the canyon.” 
between perpendicular walls of such height that 
they seem to meet above and form a cave, so 
dark is the place, except at midday. The easy 
way is to swim it, but it can be penetrated by 
wading and climbing if one knows where to 
take each step at the critical points. Most of 
its length this gorge contributes its full share 
to the river’s fall of 1.800 feet in the first ten 
miles below the falls. With careful guide, rope 
for emergencies, fresh hob-nails and stout pole 
for water travel, this day was one of pure de¬ 
light, surpassing in interest, for it was wholly 
unlike anything we had experienced in Rockies, 
Andes and Appalachians. Whoever is fit to 
camp in the mountains may be guaranteed new 
thrills by following our trail. Back to our com ¬ 
fortable Linville Falls camp that night, hot 
water and dry clothes restored us for further 
expeditions. 
Meaning to spend only two weeks with 
Linville River and mountain, we stretched it 
to nearly three with horseback rides and 
tramps to not-far views that were constantly 
being suggested and found worth while. With 
a last day and night on the river, sleeping on 
a great flat rock on cucumber tree leaves to 
the tune of broiled trout and the gentle lullaby 
of the passing stream and with a luxurious 
camp-fire all night before us, we bade a reluc¬ 
tant an revoir to Linville Falls. We might have 
lingered on there for weeks without seeing half 
its attractions, but we decided to come again 
in June, when the rhododendron, kalmia, azalea, 
tulip tree and other blooms are at their best. 
Past the pretty resort colony of Linville, 
at the foot of Grandfather Mountain, fourteen 
miles north of Linville Falls, we pushed on to 
a camping place near the summit, for we wanted 
the solitude of this rugged old gray-head and 
the sunrise from his 5,964 feet of altitude. In 
passing the gay summer hotel, with its dressy 
spenders adorning its porches, we all agreed 
that we would not exchange our real vacation 
for one that requires frequent change of cos¬ 
tume, course dinners and golf to make it com¬ 
plete. The summit of the Grandfather offers 
one of those bewildering, sea-like views, where 
countless ranges and ridges roll away in the 
blue-hazy distance like the waves of the ocean. 
In every direction, but toward the northwest 
this misty multiplicity of mountains is spread 
before us, but the sunset absorbed all the color, 
it seemed, for there was little left for the morn¬ 
ing. The mountain itself, its great bare top 
suggesting the Rockies, is more interesting than 
the view it affords, though a good glass and a 
knowledge of the geography of the region give 
it high claims as a lookout. 
Winding around the Grandfather is the 
famous Yonahlossee road, twenty miles from 
Linville to Blowing Rock. This first-class 
turnpike, wide and well kept clay-gravel surface, 
is one of the most delightful and picturesque 
drives in America. Bordered by rich flora, 
commanding many fine views, crossing several 
crystal streams, it will form an important link 
in the crest of the Blue Ridge Highway, now 
building from Altapass, on the railway via Lin¬ 
ville Falls to Linville. This highway will ulti¬ 
mately run along the crest of the Blue Ridge 
from Asheville, N. C., to Roanoke, Va. It is 
being built on a maximum of per cent, 
grade, twenty-four feet wide, thoroughly first- 
class for automobile travel. 
At Blowing Rock is one view, but it is “a 
whale of a view,” as the lawyer remarked. 
From an overhanging cliff one looks out over 
a great horseshoe of mountains 250 miles to 
the southwest, and just below lies the beautiful 
valley of the Johns River. Blowing Rock is 
4,000 feet above the sea and is a popular resort. 
“For those that like that sort of thing, that is 
the sort of thing they would like.” It was too 
noisy for us, so we did not linger long and 
took to the road and in twenty-three miles were 
at the railway at Lenoir, fit for battle with the 
world again. 
Shore Birds on Long Island. 
The season opened on Long Island on Aug. 
1 on shore birds, snipe, plover, surf birds, sand¬ 
pipers, tatlers and curlew. 
The weekly outdoor magazine is the most 
current. Forest and Stream is a weekly. 
