344 THE CAROLINA MOUNTAINS 
you like follow along the edge of the cliff, as far as 
your nerve lasts, for the path is over rhododendron 
roots that have fastened themselves into the face of 
the rock. How they got footing here is a mystery ; 
but here they are, and in behind their contorted 
limbs you creep along like an ant, hoping with every 
step that the roots will not give way. 
This path, that grows less as it goes on, is followed 
by ardent fishermen, who either go back if it gets too 
lonesome for them, or else keep on. For if you keep 
on long enough you can get down to the bottom of 
the gorge, — not so hastily as the descripton may 
seem to imply, though that too is possible, — and 
when you get down, it must be almost worth the 
effort, for you will find yourself in the famous Lin- 
ville Gorge that for the next ten miles is seldom 
traveled by a human being, although it is the finest 
trout stream in the mountains. The river runs be- 
tween walls that rise many hundreds of feet high, 
and in some places the gorge is so narrow that there 
is room only for the river, and he who ventures in 
must wade as best he can through the swift water as 
it dashes about and over the rocks and boulders. 
Those who have been in the gorge speak enthusias- 
tically of its grandeur and beauty. 
Ordinary humanity, however, views the fall from 
a point down the ravine, on top instead of at 
the bottom of the mountain wall. To get to this 
point you follow a path partly through a scrubby 
undergrowth, partly through dark pine reaches 
that make soft walking, and where the edge of 
