MOUNT MITCHELL 305 
One can easily get to the Black Mountain country 
by way of the railroad that now crosses the Blue 
Ridge a few miles to the north of there; or one can 
follow the old route from the Black Mountain Sta- 
tion in the Swannanoa Valley, taking a long ride to 
the summit of Mount Mitchell and spending the 
night in a cave ; or there is that two days' drive from 
Ashevllle to the foot of the mountain, over roads 
which, speaking after the fashion of the Italians, 
are carriageable — though barely so. The road, 
good enough for some miles out of Asheville, runs 
northward to the Ivy River up which it follows 
through the "Ivy Country," so named because of 
the luxuriance with which the mountain laurel or 
"ivy" densely covered this region. 
At the forks of the river the road goes up the 
North Ivy, where the Craggy Mountains loom into 
view at the gaps, and where the valley, squeezed 
tightly in between the steep sides of the mountains, is 
as wild as a valley can be that contains picturesque 
little houses and has its slopes all tawny with chest- 
nut bloom. It Is a wild valley where sourwood loads 
the air with dainty perfume, morning-glories twine 
smilingly about the bushes, and deep-red or lavender 
bee-balm makes flower-gardens of the damp places. 
The road, zigzagging endlessly about, finally gets 
up out of this valley, crosses a wide gap, and de- 
scends Into the Cane River Valley near the house 
of Big Tom Wilson, the most famous bear-hunter of 
this region. Continuing up Cane River for a few 
miles you cross a picturesque ford and soon reach 
