Meandering Down the French Broad River

Generally, most of my adventures and writings relate to Hickory Nut Gorge, but occasionally I like to get out of my comfort zone and go somewhere I've never been but always wanted to go.  Recently, I was talking to my brother Sidney who lives in Brevard, North Carolina and preaches at Morningside Baptist Church.  We were discussing his recent purchase of two kayaks (one for him and one for my sister-in-law) and how much outdoor activity there is in and around Brevard.  I told him that I needed to take a day off and head his way and go kayaking down the French Broad River.  We talked about some dates and got a general plan together and finally settled on a date that would work for both of us.

On Thursday, June 30, 2016, I headed up to Brevard with my kayak strapped to the roof of my truck.  I was looking forward to the trip as I have been interested in this ancient river for a long time.  The French Broad is one of the oldest rivers in the United States and drains a large portion of western North Carolina (most of what's west of the Eastern Continental Divide).  Once neglected, polluted, and more or less considered unimportant, the French Broad, thanks to concerned citizens, has made a proper comeback and is now something that people who live in its basin are very proud of.  The French Broad offers everything from swimming holes to fishing holes.  Now considered a "blue trail" or river trail, an adventurous soul can float for 132 miles through everything from flat water to Class IV rapids.

When Sidney and I talked about taking this adventure, we discussed two options: the first was to put in at Hap Simpson Riverfront Park and float down to Pisgah Forest Road Access, a roughly two-hour paddle; the second and more interesting option was to put in at the Headwaters and float down to Hap Simpson Park.  Sidney thought it would only take us about 4 hours to complete this trip and somehow came up with a distance of 11 miles from Point A to Point B.  Now understand, Sidney had not paddled this second option and this little tidbit of information will play a major part in this story as we go along, so stay tuned.

I am a prepper by nature.  I typically research everything and usually before I begin any adventure I try to find out as much as I can about the places I'm going.  I usually have a mental itinerary and keep notes and lists of things, including maps (I love maps and yes, I can read them).  This time, for some crazy reason, I did absolutely zero research.  I don't know if I just didn't have time, was on mental overload, or just got a wild hair to be spontaneous.  Whatever the reason, I was clueless about this trip and was placing my trust in my younger brother as the "local expert" who would vehemently argue that he is not an expert nor ever claimed to be regarding this adventure.

I arrived at Sidney's house around 9:45 and we began sorting gear and loading the kayaks onto Cynthia's (my sister-in-law) vehicle.  We had decided that Cynthia could take us to the put-in and then just pick us up when we reached our destination, keeping us from having to take two vehicles.  As we discussed the options, I came to find out that Sidney had not actually done Option 2 but he seemed to believe it was doable and that we could see what the river conditions were like at the Headwaters Outfitter and decide for sure once we knew what we were up against.  So we loaded up and headed up the road to Rosman, stopping in at the Headwaters Outfitter where we asked about the river conditions and level of difficulty (again, if I had done my homework, I would have already known the answer), but I failed to ask about the distance and time it would take to reach our planned destination.  By now you can probably see where this is going.  They told us that the best place for us to put in would be at Champion Park, where there was a pretty easy path to walk down and put the boats in the water.  Champion Park is at mile marker one on the river trail.

There was a nice kiosk at the river access, but what I was seeing on the map gave me an awful uneasy feeling.  There was a whole lot of blue between Champion Park and Hap Simpson Riverfront Park that looked a whole lot longer than 11 miles.  We looked at the scale on the map which was totally wrong and contemplated what we were getting into.  Sidney confidently said we could do this so I said, "Let's do it!"  There are two favorite last phrases that all rednecks in this world know:  "Hey y'all watch this!" and "Let's do it!"  I am guilty of saying both and every time I live to regret it (but it makes for great tales around the campfire).

With confidence and a positive attitude we put our boats in the water.  It was a little shallow and our boats were already scrubbing the bottom, but the outfitter folks said that we shouldn't have a whole lot of trouble.  After a few scrubs and bumps, we were off.  The river was as calm as a lake.  The current was barely noticeable, forcing us to paddle some distance before we came to our first little riffle that could give us a little speed.

The beginning of our adventure.  This is what the river looked like most of the way.

As we paddled along we chatted about various things.  We saw a broad-winged hawk fly out of a tree.  All around we could hear the sounds of kingfishers and redwing blackbirds.  A huge osprey launched itself from a tall tree and flew down the river.  We moved slowly along, occasionally seeing fish jump as they snatched bugs off the surface.  Sometimes we would see a rather large trout cruising by and we hoped to get a glimpse of a mighty muskellunge (or muskie as most anglers refer to them).  The water was clear and cold, with lots of nice stony sections in the upper reaches of the stream.  We saw several downed trees in the water and talked about how wonderful the smallmouth fishing probably was but we didn't bring anything to catch them with.  Clearly, we were men on a mission and fishing was not part of that mission, although if I go back, it will be. 

As we floated along at a leisurely pace, I commented to Sidney that our other brothers, Cameron and Richard, and our nephew Austin would have enjoyed this trip, except we can't get Richard in a kayak.  We've got to work on that boy!  Austin is a really good fisherman and I'm getting closer to getting him convinced that he needs a kayak.  Such river trips are always more fun with several people, and when we all get together, we have a grand time, swapping stories, memories, and flat-out lies (mostly lies that others have told).

The rocky bottom was perfect for trout fishing.

 We crept up on a great blue heron that immediately flew downriver like a big pteradactyl once it realized that we were not a natural part of the river.  The French Broad supposedly has one of the largest blue heron populations in the whole state.  In fact, we got a good laugh at one particular heron that always seemed to stay ahead of us.  We would get close and he would fly about 100 yards downstream.  This went on for several minutes.  Our friend met another heron and the two flew a little farther down the river together before disappearing entirely around a bend.

The current was steady, but not swift.  Western North Carolina has been experiencing drought for a couple of years now so the volume of water that was in the river was a little lower than normal.  The farther we went, the more slack the current became.  As I said, the French Broad is an ancient river, with big wide floodplains that are the result of eons of erosion and sedimentation.  Those floodplains are the water storage areas when the French Broad tends to get a little rowdy, which happens every now and then.  According to Wikipedia, the river begins at an elevation of 3,440 feet and over its entire course drops a total of 2,375 feet as it makes its way 218 miles through western North Carolina into Tennessee to join the Holston River and become the Tennessee.  Most of the elevation loss is northwest of Asheville in Madison County where the river is swift, voluminous and choked with whitewater.  It then slacks off again before entering Douglas Reservoir in Tennessee.  The entire basin is 5,124 square miles.  As we paddled along we saw debris from past floods all around us.  The most recent flood, which occurred last spring, left debris in the trees as high as 12 feet above the current water level.  That's pretty amazing.

By hour two, my back was starting to hurt a little (actually a lot) and I needed a stretch break so we found a nice little point bar in a slight bend in the river that we pulled up on and grabbed a quick snack.  We walked around to get the kinks out of our backs and get the blood flowing in our hind-ends again.

We pushed off and got headed back downstream.  The river was beginning to change.  The number of gravel bars was decreasing and the river bottom was becoming more sandy.  We would see occasional rocks and submerged boulders, but not like what we saw farther up river.  We were surrounded on either side by farmland.  For years farming practices in the French Broad Basin have contributed significantly to sedimentation in the river, covering many of the gravel beds.  Those same practices have increased bank erosion and stormwater volumes, causing significant morphological changes in the river bed which results in more damage when big floods occur.

Sidney taking the lead for a stretch.

We passed three ladies who were tubing, but they were the only humans on the river with us and they pulled out way upstream from our final destination.  The river is an important resource for the people who live on it, particularly farmers who depend on it for agricultural uses, but recreation and quality of life are important too.  Occasionally we would see chairs or picnic tables at the top of the banks.  A lot of "No Trespassing" signs were posted on trees lining the river.  We paddled by three local fellows who were watching on the bank who seemed nice enough.  We exchanged pleasantries and kept on moving.  Sidney pointed out after we were well past the gentlemen that they were smoking marijuana.  I had to laugh as images of Deliverance popped into my head and I said as much to Sidney.  The French Broad is certainly a juncture of two different cultures: one that is local, redneck, and truly Southern Appalachian; another that is yuppie, non-local, sophisticated, and sometimes disdainful of Appalachian culture.  The interesting thing is, this cross-cultural mixture works together pretty well.  The river brings people with lifestyle differences to a place of agreement: that the river is an important resource.  They may not agree on the best way to protect it and what the best use is, but they will all agree that the river is better than it used to be because people care about it.

The river was moving pretty well here as we approached a bridge.

By hour three, we had gone about 8 miles, and I was beginning to have some doubts about the true length of this trip.  The river had almost totally slacked up and we were having to work.  It was like paddling across Lake Lure on a day with no boats.  That's how flat the water was.  Boulders had been replaced by significant numbers of fallen trees and driftwood that created interesting obstacles and were kind of fun to paddle around.  We also saw several places where the river was undergoing rehabilitation and bio-engineering practices such as j-hooks and rock vanes had been installed in the river bed.  The banks had been planted with native grasses and shrubs such as silky dogwood and elderberry.

By hour four and river mile marker 11, Sidney said that we probably ought to see where we were in relation to our destination.  I pulled out my phone and was shocked at the long blue line that we still had to cover if we wanted to reach Hap Simpson Park.  The funny thing was, we had just missed a takeout (that was not marked as a public takeout by the way), the Island Ford River Access.  That would have ended our trip at a good stopping place but we didn't realize it until we were already a mile or so down river.

We were paddling like mad to get down the river.  Sidney was supposed to be conducting a class that evening and we were already past the time frame that we had given ourselves to be on the river.  We pulled out on a sandbar to stretch and Sidney called Cynthia to let her know our progress.  He told her to meet us at Hap Simpson in 30 minutes.  I looked at the map on my phone and I told him we still had a ways to go.  Ever the optimist, Sidney kept saying, "We're almost there!" and "Oh, we'll make it."  We had no choice but to grit our teeth and keep paddling.  We had moved beyond the level of doing this for fun.  We were now working to get off the river as soon as possible because storm clouds were starting to build.

A place to stretch the aching back.

Looking upstream from our rest stop.  A small creek flows into the river here.

Sidney is a bi-vocational pastor, like a lot of pastors who preach at smaller churches.  I told him he probably ought to call his earthly boss and tell him he wasn't going to make his appointment.  He agreed and made the call.  In the meantime, I called Cynthia, who had already been waiting about an hour since we called her, to give her an update and tell her just to go back to the house and we would call her when we got off the river.  I could tell she was worried.  She said the sky was getting really black and that we needed to hurry.  About that time, I heard a cracking sound.  About 100 yards downstream, I saw a huge maple tree falling into the river.  I didn't do anything for Cynthia's anxiety as I gave her the play-by-play.  I told her I was going to have to get off the phone because it looked like we were going to have to portage around the tree.  I quit paddling and let Sidney catch up and we assessed the situation.  As we got closer to the fallen tree, we found that it hadn't entirely blocked the river, so we were able to get around the end of it without having to get out of our boats.  The path was only about four feet wide, but still better than what it could have been.  In all my times in the outdoors I have never witnessed anything like that, and I am quite thankful that we weren't under that tree when it decided to let go.

Onward we went, passing through an occasional riffle to break up the monotony and agony of continuous stroking.  We ran into a herd of cows cooling off in the river.  Once they spotted us, they beat a hasty retreat to get out, apparently not too used to seeing blue kayaks floating down the river.  We were beat, and at this point were just paddling to get off the river.  I nearly tipped my boat over laughing at Sidney when he said, "If I heard banjo music, I don't think I could paddle any faster.  I'd just have to give them what they wanted."  He was right of course.  My arms and shoulders were so tired, I knew that if I stopped I would not be able to continue.  I had quit taking photos by this time.

Sidney asked me if I needed a break and I said I did.  We got out on a quicksand-like sandbar that smelled like cow excrement to stretch our backs and shake our arms out a little.  All of a sudden there was a pop of lightning, immediately followed by a deafening crash of thunder.  There is no greater motivation to paddle faster than the knowledge that you are about to get electrocuted.  We jumped in our boats and took off.  Call it a second wind if you will.  My arms were a well-oiled machine.  I settled into a rhythm of long strong strokes that easily pushed me through the slow-moving water.  We hit a couple of faster spots to give us some relief and noticed that we had finally come parallel to Highway 276.  We were getting closer.

We knew that we had roughly about two miles left to paddle to reach Hap Simpson, but before we committed to that last haul, opportunity showed up.  Call it divine intervention or sheer luck.  Call it whatever you want.  Up ahead we saw some canoes that were tied up to a dock.  Sidney suggested that we see if there was anyone around and get off the river as the sky continued to darken.  We pulled up to the rocky shore and a nice lady came walking down an access trail.  I asked her if she would mind if we pulled our boats out and have someone pick us up.  She said she didn't mind.  Her group was camping at the site and offered to help us get our boats and gear up to the road.  How nice!  We had pulled out at a site owned by Down to Earth Outfitters at river mile 18.  Sidney called Cynthia to tell her where we were and how to get there.

We were completely and utterly exhausted.  We waited about ten minutes for Cynthia to get there and I made the comment to Sidney that just in that period of time, my arms and shoulders had already stiffened to the point that if we had to have paddled the remaining distance, I don't know if I could have done it.  He agreed and said that he would sleep well that night.  Cynthia arrived and we loaded our gear, thus ending our adventure (or misadventure as it were).  We headed back to Sidney's house where we re-sorted our gear and loaded my kayak back onto my truck as it began to rain.  At least it waited until we got off the river.  As I headed back down the road towards home, I passed through frequent downpours, a reminder of how fortunate we were to not be on the river during a storm.

What a fantastic day!  Granted, it didn't go exactly as planned and we didn't quite make it all the way to our planned destination, and certainly the last few miles of river would have surely been more exciting if we hadn't been so tired, but it was time well spent with my brother.  We had a good time, had great conversation and we knocked out 17 miles of slow-moving river in one day.  Pretty good for a couple of amateurs.  Would I do it again?  Maybe.  I would probably start earlier, knowing what I know now, and I would certainly familiarize myself with the takeouts before I go again, but would that be as adventurous?  One lesson I learned on this little trip is that sometimes being spontaneous creates the best opportunity for a true adventure.

Until Next Time!

My New Favorite Trail: The Bearwallow Mountain Trail

I run into a lot of people who know about my history and work in Hickory Nut Gorge and often I hear the comment, "Well, I guess you've seen about all there is to see up there."  Truly I have been to a lot of places in Hickory Nut Gorge, either by road or on foot, but I can certainly not claim to have seen it all.  In fact any opportunity to visit a place I have not yet seen in Hickory Nut Gorge is certainly not worth passing up, especially when there are still species out there that need to be documented and photographed.

On June 1,2016, I had spent my entire morning doing a botanical inventory for a property owner in Buncombe County.  Having worked part of the Memorial Day weekend and with a busy work schedule facing me towards the end of the week at my real job, my day off was spent fulfilling an obligation to conduct this botanical survey.  After a half day of climbing and crawling through rhododendron thicket, I was certainly ready for a break, so I drove down Highway 9 back down to Chimney Rock and grabbed a quick bite at the Old Rock Cafe and contemplated how I would spend the rest of the afternoon.

There were several species that I had managed to photo-document earlier in the day, but there were still a few that I wanted to try to find.  Initially I decided to go to the Bat Cave Preserve because I knew I would find what I was looking for there, but then I thought, "Well, you know, I have never been to the top of Bearwallow Mountain.  I should go up there."

I am almost ashamed to say that in the twenty-four years I've worked in Hickory Nut Gorge, I have never visited its second highest peak.  Only recently has Bearwallow Mountain really fallen under my radar as "legally" accessible after Carolina Mountain Land Conservancy recently acquired a public right-of-way and constructed a trail up the mountain.  I had always heard that there was some cool stuff up there and the view was really spectacular, so on this particular day I decided that I needed to put a new destination under my belt.

I hit the road hydrated and with a full belly, headed up Highway 74A to Gerton, took the left onto Bearwallow Road and drove to the Eastern Continental Divide, where I parked my car at the small parking lot on the side of the road.  As an aside, this is also the location for the trailhead of the Trombatore Trail, another recently built trail that I have on my to-do list.

I crossed the road and squeezed through the narrow space between the gate and the fence post and made my way over to the trailhead.  I saw the trailhead kiosk but didn't read it because my eye was immediately drawn to purple on the forest floor.  I was happy to discover Virginia waterleaf (Hydrophyllum virginianum) in flower. 

Eastern Waterleaf (Hydrophyllum virginianum)

This was the first time I had seen this species in flower so I was pretty excited.  Another one to add to my ever growing list of Hickory Nut Gorge wildflower photos.  Without a backward glance I began my hike along a well maintained path, occasionally broken up by rock steps and a couple of switchbacks.  As I made my way through the first set of switchbacks, I saw some huge eastern columbine (Aquilegia canadensis) with the largest flowers that I have ever seen on that species.  There were also several nice spiderwort plants (Tradescantia sp.) that were a deep lavender.  I also saw (for the first time in flower) waxyleaf meadow rue (Thalictrum revolutum), common throughout the Gorge, but seemingly never in bloom when I find it.  As I moved up the trail, it was clear that elevation makes quite a difference in determining species and bloom time.  Many things that were blooming above 3,000 feet were already finished at the lower elevations in the lower Gorge. 

Eastern Columbine (Aquilegia canadensis)

Spiderwort (Tradescantia sp.)

Waxyleaf Meadow Rue (Thalictrum revolutum)

I moved into a long, fairly flat section of trail where the forest began to open up with several large but weather-stunted oak and hickory trees, occasional patches of shrubs such as flame azalea (Rhododendron calendulaceum) and mountain laurel (Kalmia latifolia), and an herb layer that consisted mostly of ferns and other acid soil-loving plants.  As I moved along, the forest seemed almost ethereal in some ways, as clouds began to move in and the distant rumbles of thunder could be heard.  I began to realize I needed to pick up my pace.

Nice, flat trail.

A forest floor covered with ferns and low shrubs.

Flame Azalea (Rhododendron calendulaceum)

One rather disturbing thing I saw was that almost all the flame azaleas that I encountered were severely impacted by azalea gall.  The galls are caused by a fungus (Exobasidium vacinii) which can cause severe damage to affected plants and spread to other azaleas if not controlled.  There were some though that were unaffected and were still in flower.

Azalea gall (Exobasidium vacinii)

 At a slight bend in the trail I came to a place where I was treated with my first sighting of Catawba rhododendron (Rhododendron catawbiense).  Catawba rhododendron, while generally common in the higher elevations of North Carolina, is occasionally found on north-facing slopes at lower elevations.  I've seen it on the north side of Little Pisgah Mountain where I guess it would be considered out of the Gorge (That side of the mountain drains into the French Broad Basin as opposed to the Broad Basin), and I've seen a very small population on the north side of Rumbling Bald along the spine of the mountain.  I found that the farther I moved up the mountain, the more there was as I crossed the 4,000 feet elevation mark.

Catawba Rhododendron (Rhododendron catawbiense)

Northwest view framed by Catawba rhododendron.

I continued working my way up the path which had begun to steepen, increasing in difficulty with the addition of a series of log and rock steps that worked their way up the last leg of the trail.  Passing by a couple of large boulder formations, the trail came out into a flower-filled meadow.  I could see the summit ahead with its numerous radio towers and the historic fire tower that has stood atop the mountain for several generations, the trail intersecting with the dirt road that allows vehicle access to the top of the mountain.

The trail near the summit, surrounded by Catawba rhododendron.

Approaching the summit of Bearwallow Mountain.

Looking northwest across the ragwort-covered meadow.

 As I came to the road to finish my trip to the summit, angry clouds began to surround the mountain.  Off to the south, a rain squall was visible.  The wind began to pick up and a sudden chill went through me as the sweat evaporated from my skin.  As thunder rolled, I began to realize that I was probably not in a very good place.  The whole top of the mountain is pretty much devoid of trees.  The tallest structures are all made of steel and probably get hit by lightning pretty often during storms.  Not wanting to become a human lightning rod, but at the same time not wanting to miss any photographic opportunities, I quickly crossed the summit over to the forested east-facing side of the mountain for a view of Hickory Nut Gorge.  From my vantage point, I could only make out a few prominent features due to a rain squall that was pushing through the lower Gorge.

Storm clouds and a rain squall to the south.

Rain in the lower Hickory Nut Gorge.  Lake Lure can barely be seen.

Another Catawba rhododendron bush.

 I snapped off several photos of the angry clouds and some Catawba rhododendron and quickly made my way back over the summit to the dirt road to begin my descent.  By this time, the rain squall I had seen to the south had moved east, but another much closer squall had begun to form just off the south side of the mountain.  I could see the rain bands just over the trees.  Some grazing cattle at the west end of the meadow had begun to move from the high point down to a lower part of the meadow, both interested in me as well as probably understanding that a storm was coming, and they weren't exactly in a safe place either.  

Looking across the grassy expanse of the summit ridge as the wind picks up.

Rain coming down just beyond the trees.

As the clouds thickened and the thunder boomed , I snapped off a few parting shots and began to quickly descend the mountain, with drops of rain beginning to patter around me.  About a third of the way down the trail, I met a nice family on their way up the mountain.  Not wanting to sound too worrisome, I felt obliged to at the very least caution these "greenhorns" from Florida that things were getting a little gnarly up on the top and they might want to wait a little while before continuing their ascent and see what the weather was going to do.  Whether they followed my advice or not, I don't know.  My guess is they kept going, taking the gamble that they would be okay.  I didn't hear about any lightning strike tragedies in the news so I'm guessing they made it out alright.

Heading back down the trail as raindrops begin to fall.

Anyway, I continued on down the mountain, stopping only to get a sip of water and pack my camera for the inevitable rain shower that was closing in.  As I walked, I continued to kick myself for waiting so long to visit such a wonderful and unique place.  The Bearwallow Mountain Trail in so many ways reminds me of the Craggy Gardens trails on the Blue Ridge Parkway, passing through weathered woods with grasses and ferns covering the forest floor, with the occasional lily or trillium peeking out; lichens hanging off gnarled trees; and then the payoff with scattered rhododendron and exquisite views.  

The unusual Lungwort Lichen (Lobaria pulmonaria)

A field of ferns along the trail.

Patches of Catawba rhododendron.

I am so glad I took the opportunity to visit this wonderful place.  Hickory Nut Gorge still holds many secrets for me, and I relish the challenge of finding new species that I have either not seen or have not been documented for the Hickory Nut Gorge area.  Not only did I add species to my photographic list, I climbed the second highest peak in Hickory Nut Gorge, and I now have a new favorite trail.

Until Next Time!

Flower of the Month: May

Hickory Nut Gorge is one of the most amazing places in the spring as wildflowers come alive at the different elevations and within all the little nooks and crannies.  I always go back down memory lane to my time at Chimney Rock Park when I spent days chasing down certain plants (not that they run very fast) to photograph them before their short bloom time expired.  When I worked at the Park, we had a wildflower brochure that was written by a good friend of mine and my chief mentor, Elizabeth Feil, who was the Park's botanist back when I first started working at CRP.  My goal was to photograph every plant in that brochure, and I pretty much did that, but it was all done with print and slide film, as the digital era had not yet begun.  When I left the Park, I didn't leave my wildflower passion behind me, but rather embarked on a new photographic journey in the digital age with expanded goals.  Among those goals is to photograph as many flowering plants in Hickory Nut Gorge as I can.  That goal will help me to embark on some other projects that will one day see the light of day, but that's a story for another time.  I am obviously still chasing flowers.  The reason you stopped by the blog (hopefully) is to see what the Flower of the Month pick is for the month of May.

This month's pick was hard for me, as May has so many wonderful flowering species.  A recent adventure was what actually led me to my decision.  One plant that I have been trying to get new photos of is bluestar (Amsonia tabernaemontana).  I have several slides of it that have been digitized but none of the images are as clean as I would like.  I pulled out my old CRP Wildflowers brochure (yes, I keep one handy) to see if I had missed the dates and unfortunately I was too late.  However that search brought me to the realization that there was another plant that I needed new photos of that was just beginning to flower, but would also require some quick action on my part to catch before the bloom time was over.  The plant I'm talking about is Indian paintbrush (Castilleja coccinea).

Indian Paintbrush (Castilleja coccinea)

Indian paintbrush (as a genus) is perhaps better known as a prairie species of the American west, where it puts on a stunning display in conjunction with other grassland species.  In Hickory Nut Gorge it's a little less well known and a whole lot harder to find, but no less stunning.  One place to look for it is above the bridge between the Sky Lounge and the Chimney, inside Chimney Rock State Park.  It sporadically grows among the Biltmore sedge (Carex biltmoreana) clumps on the usually damp rock faces and ledges that surround the steep ravine that the bridge spans.  Another place I have seen it is actually on private property adjoining CRSP, growing in a seep at the top of a granite dome along with divided-leaf ragwort (Packera millefolium).  The third location, and perhaps the easiest to get to if you are looking for a nice drive, is on the upper south-facing slope of Sugarloaf Mountain where it grows in the boggy, grassy soils that border the road.

Indian paintbrush growing along with divided-leaf ragwort (Packera millefolium).

Indian paintbrush is named for the scarlet-colored bracts that surround the nondescript greenish-yellow flowers.  The plants literally look like they have been dipped in a red-orange paint bucket.  Individual plants are usually no more than a couple of feet tall.  The stems are deep purple.  Plants are very pubescent with hairs along the stem, leaves, bracts, and flowers.  In Hickory Nut Gorge it will be found growing on open sites, in thin, moist soils along margins of rock slabs or granite domes, and will usually be associated with grasses and sedges. 

For a long time Indian paintbrush was classified in the Figwort Family (Scrophulariaceae) due to many characteristics it shares with other members of that family, but more recently it has been moved into the Broomrape Family (Orobanchaceae), along with some other genera such as Aureolaria and Agalinis.  The move of these genera is due to the hemi-parasitic nature of these plants.  All members of the Broomrape Family are root parasites.  Several members of this family of plants lack chlorophyll and are incapable of photosynthesis, making it necessary for them to parasitize other plants. Indian paintbrush has chlorophyll and is actually capable of surviving on its own without a host, but it really thrives when it can attach itself to a host plant, particularly grasses which is what it is most often associated with.  On the Chimney Rock Mountain sites, it is likely parasitizing Biltmore sedge, as that seems to be the most numerous plant in the areas where Indian paintbrush is growing.  On the Sugarloaf Mountain site, the plants are surrounded by grasses and many other species, so there are a plethora of possible host plants.

The flowers are the greenish-yellow parts above the showy bracts.

I was so excited that I was able to catch so many plants in flower, and I'm quite certain that if I had waited for another opportunity, I would not have been so well rewarded.  Timing is everything and sometimes a little luck doesn't hurt either.  

I'm sure people get tired of me saying it, but Hickory Nut Gorge is truly a botanical wonder.  I never tire of exploring it and seeing those wonderful things that make it so special.  I have no idea what next month's flower will be, but I can tell you that it will be every bit as awesome as Indian paintbrush is for May.

Until Next Time!

Flower of the Month: April

When I lead wildflower hikes in Hickory Nut Gorge, one of the plants that I always have the most fun with is a plant that many people know but almost never know it by the same name.  Calycanthus floridus is the Latin name for a plant that has multiple common names, most of which are determined by the humans who live in the various places that this interesting shrub is found.  Because this plant has such a long bloom time and is often the subject of conversation among wildflower enthusiasts, I thought I would highlight it as my flower of the month for April.

The most common name for Calycanthus floridus used among the North Carolina botanists that I hang around with is “sweetshrub”.  Others call it “Carolina allspice”.  I have also heard it referred to as “spicebush”, although this can cause further confusion as there is another shrub called "spicebush" (Lindera benzoin) that is related to sassafras, but is not related to Calycanthus floridus.  I have heard this shrub called “strawberry bush” and “sweet bubby” or “bubby bush” by old-timers and long-time natives of the mountains.  Perhaps my favorite common name for this plant is “sweet booby” which comes from the old Appalachian tradition of using the sweet-smelling flowers as perfume.  Oral tradition speaks of young ladies who were being “courted” taking the flowers and placing them down in the tops of their dresses so they would have sweet…..well you get the picture.

 

The maroon flowers of sweetshrub (Calycanthus floridus)

Sweetshrub, as I’m going to call it for the purpose of this post, is a favorite spring and early summer flowering plant.  It is native to most of North Carolina where it most often grows in rich soils on slopes, cove forests, and in floodplains and bottomlands.  It is most easily identified by its almost woody, attractive, maroon flowers that give off a fragrance that can absolutely fill the woods if there’s enough of it in one place.  The scent smells like spicy apples to me but I have heard it described as a cross between pineapple, banana, and citrus.  Either way, it is delightful.  The aromatic oils that are found within the flowers, as well as the bark of the shrub are extracted commercially and used in the perfume industry so there is come credibility to the old-fashioned tales.  The bark of sweetshrub is gray and the shrub spreads rhizomatously as well as through seed dispersion by rodents.  The elliptical, shiny green leaves will turn a bright yellow in fall, making it a choice plant for native plant gardens.  Sweetshrub will produce little fig-shaped seed pods that turn brown with age.  Inside are found several pea-sized brown seeds.  Mice and chipmunks will climb the branches and out onto the seed pods and will gnaw the bottoms out so that the seeds fall onto the ground.  They will then climb down and harvest what they can find, thereby dispersing the seed.  Any seeds not recovered will sprout where they fell.

To further expound on the rodent dispersal aspect, here is an interesting tale that I have heard, but have been unable to find further information about to confirm its veracity.  Sweetshrub contains a powerful alkaloid called calycanthine which is similar to strychnine (fact).  This alkaloid is poisonous to humans and livestock, however it may be harmful to rodents too (hence its similarity to strychnine).  As the story goes, when the rodents gather the seeds, they will store them in caches, along with nuts, berries, and other food items.  Naturally, mice and chipmunks don’t remember where they hide all their stuff, so many of those uneaten seeds will sprout where they are hidden, but that’s not the interesting part.  Some of those seeds will be consumed by its collector.  Supposedly, the rodent eats the seed which is poisonous and goes through an agonizing death (convulsions and heart failure).  The seed, which survives in the gut of the rodent, will germinate once the the dead consumer has decayed and been returned to the earth (so to speak).  As I said, I don’t know if this is true or not, but it certainly sounds plausible, and if true, I think it’s pretty darn cool and really speaks to how nature manages itself.

Sweetshrub is such a neat plant and so popular with gardeners and wildflower enthusiasts; its long bloom time, and attractive qualities make it worthy of the "flower of the month" designation. There are so many cool plants that are part of our Southern Appalachian ecosystem as well as our southern heritage (for those readers who are from the South).  The more we know about the natural things around us, the more we appreciate them and the more value they have to us.  Get outside and learn something!

Until Next Time!

Meandering on Blue Rock Mountain

Recently, I had the great pleasure of visiting a location in Hickory Nut Gorge that had been on my to-do list for some time, but the right opportunity had not presented itself to make the trip.  A few weeks ago, Ranger Stephen Tillotson contacted me along with several other folks abut participating in Earth Day festivities at Chimney Rock State Park.  I participated last year with a booth on water quality in the Gorge and Lake Lure and had a blast.  I set up a couple of microscopes with some slides of aquatic organisms; someone caught a hellgramite and we put that on display.  It was a great day.  Unfortunately, this year I am leading a wildflower hike for the Nature Conservancy on Earth Day, so I'm unable to participate in the CRSP event.  Not one who is easily deterred, Ranger Stephen posed an alternative option of assisting him with a hike to Blue Rock Mountain.  Not one to pass up such a great opportunity, I immediately said yes.

Looking west at Blue Rock from the valley floor.

Blue Rock is the next big granite dome west of Chimney Rock Mountain.  The giant rock face looms high above the Rocky Broad River over the Bat Cave Preserve on the south side of Hickory Nut Gorge and is the last big face of the Rutherford County portion of the Gorge if you are travelling west.  I always wanted to visit Blue Rock and was aware that there was a trail to the top, though I had never walked it, even during my many years as a Bat Cave Preserve monitor.  The giant rock face has always intrigued me, particularly after Chimney Rock's peregrine falcons took up residence there for a few years before moving back to The Chimney Rock site.  I always felt that, like so many other places in Hickory Nut Gorge, there was probably some cool things growing on those rock faces.

The north-facing cliffs of Blue Rock.

I got up on Saturday morning, eager to get going.  My son, Cayden, told me that he wanted to go, so of course I said yes.  Cayden really likes hiking and he especially likes spending time with me when he gets me to himself (no little brother around).  I enjoy it as well and it gives me chance to impart some of my outdoor knowledge to him and just enjoy being a dad.  I got all our stuff together, including some light rain gear, given the unpredictable weather being forecasted.  We grabbed a couple of bottles of water and made our way up to Chimney Rock State Park.

I don't like being late for anything if I can help it and this time was no different.  I got to the Park about an hour early.  My intention was to see what spring ephemerals were blooming in preparation for the hike.  Cayden and I drove up the mountain to a large boulder field that sits beside the road near the Hickory Nut Falls trail.  Because of its eastern exposure, this spot has always been a good place for wildflowers.  I pointed out trilliums and unopened bloodroot to Cayden and told him to remember them because we would likely see them again at some point in our hike.

We drove back down the mountain and met Ranger Stephen and the rest of our group at the Ticket Plaza.  After some brief introductions, we carpooled over to the backside of Blue Rock Mountain which lies in Henderson County and is accessed from Edney Inn Road.  The county line actually bisects the top of Blue Rock so most of our hike was on the Henderson County side of the mountain.  Several years ago, the Nature Conservancy acquired several acres of Blue Rock that adjoined the Bat Cave Preserve, knowing that one day there would be a state park in Hickory Nut Gorge.  The state park recently acquired that same parcel from TNC, adding to the size of the Park and connecting the Chimney Rock portion of the park to the Bat Cave Preserve which will continue to be owned by TNC.  This connection is critical for creating an eventual trail corridor that will hopefully, someday, allow experienced hikers to traverse the entire rim of Hickory Nut Gorge, but I digress.

Our group of seven, and our gear, found the logging road which would be our route for the journey. The old road, like most logging roads in the Gorge was pretty eroded in places, but overall not too bad.  We crossed over a nice little stream that may require some further exploring at some point.  The elevation change leads me to believe that there could be some waterfalls, so that in itself makes it worth checking out.

My role on this trip was to provide commentary on any wildflowers that we might encounter along the way.  Of course, being that we were technically a few days short of spring, the spring ephemerals were not yet at their peak.  The first of the wildflowers we encountered was bloodroot (Sanguinaria canadensis).  Bloodroot is a member of the Poppy Family and gets its name from the root which exudes a reddish sap that looks like blood.  Bloodroot contains an alkaloid called sanguinarine that has been studied as a potential treatment for certain types of cancer.  It's white flowers are always a welcome sign that spring has finally arrived.  Bloodroot has flowers that close up at night and will remain that way until the air warms sufficiently in the morning to cause the flowers to re-open.  Because it was still fairly early in the day and the sunlight had not quite reached the deep ravines on that side of the mountain, the bloodroot flowers had not yet opened for the day. 

Bloodroot (Sanguinaria canadensis)

In addition to bloodroot, we saw little-sweet-Betsy trillium (Trillium cuneatum), the first to flower and most abundant of our trillium species.  Little-sweet -Betsy is generally pretty widespread throughout Hickory Nut Gorge, typically occurring in cove forests.  It's mottled leaves and apple-scented, maroon flowers easily draw the eye, making this wildflower another spring favorite.

Little-sweet-Betsy (Trillium cuneatum)

As we walked, the road meandered through steep sloped acid cove forest, dominated by Rhododendron maximum and then into gently sloped rich cove forest which slowly graded into montane oak-hickory forest.  As the the forest community changed, so too did the number of species that were in flower.  Along the road on the steeper banks we encountered robin's plantain (Erigeron pulchellus) and some Carolina vetch (Vicia caroliniana) in flower, but in general most things had not quite awakened from their winter slumber.

Robin's Plantain (Erigeron pulchellus)

Carolina Vetch (Vicia caroliniana)

We came to a fork in the road, so it was decision time.  Ranger Stephen had given me a map so I knew which way to go, but it gave us a chance to catch our breath and discuss the property a little bit and talk about where each trail eventually leads.  The fork to the left will take you back down the west side of the mountain and around to the north side to the Bat Cave Preserve.  It's a long sinuous trail back down into the Gorge.  The right fork (the one we were taking), takes you to the Blue Rock summit and the exposed granite dome for which the mountain is named.

We passed by the site of an old homesite, formerly a cabin until it burned sometime last year.  The history of the cabin is unknown, but apparently was someone's home until fairly recently.  The cause of the fire is not known, but it is suspected that perhaps some hikers were using it for shelter and may have accidentally let a fire get out of control.  It also could have been arson...who knows?  Either way, nobody's talking.

We made our way up the final push along a ridge that was once home to majestic eastern hemlocks that have succumbed to the invasive and destructive hemlock woolly adelgid.  A few table mountain pines and white pines have also claimed the top as their own.  The trail led to a small clearing which appears to have a history as a campsite (the well-used fire ring sort of gave it away).  From there it was just a short walk through the rhododendron to the top of the rock face that overlooks Hickory Nut Gorge, towering above the Bat Cave Preserve property.

Granite domes such as Blue Rock are ecological treasure troves.  Many of the plants found on granite domes are specialists that thrive in thin soils and extreme conditions that vary from very hot and dry, to very wet and cold.  I did a little exploration of the dome which is fairly steep and narrow.  There were various lichens and mosses growing on the surface of the rock, succeeded by several other plants that were not yet flowering such as marginal shield fern (Dryopteris marginalis), twisted hair spikemoss (Selaginella tortipila), several unidentified grasses, smooth sumac (Rhus glabra), and mock orange (Philadelphus sp.).  There were also several clumps of granite-dome goldenrod (Solidago simulans), a rare species found in similar locations in Hickory Nut Gorge.  There were also several clumps of pale corydalis (Corydalis sempervirens) which I had not seen in quite a long time (since my years working at Chimney Rock Park).  Given the short amount of time and the earliness of the year, I did not get to explore Blue Rock as thoroughly as I would have liked, but that's why you make more trips, right?

We took in the view, ate some lunch, and snapped rare photographic views of the Gorge that are by and large unseen by the general public.  The forecasted rain never showed up and the temperature was perfect for the kind of hiking we had done.  Our group re-packed our various things and set out on the return trip, which was a rewarding, sometimes painful, downhill-all-the-way hike.

Panoramic view from Blue Rock

A different view of Lake Lure.

View to the northwest from Blue Rock.

Cayden graciously offered to carry my pack back down the mountain.  He either felt sorry for me or he was seeking to impress the young lady who was also on the hike.  Either way, I was more than happy to let him carry the heavy pack if he was that eager.  I figured it would help build his leg and back muscles for baseball.

We stopped occasionally on the way back down to discuss flowers that we hadn't talked about on the way up such as spicebush (Lindera benzoin) and some of the orchids that would bloom later on in the spring and summer such as puttyroot (Aplectrum hyemale), cranefly orchid (Tipularia discolor), and downy rattlesnake plantain (Goodyera pubescens).  We looked once again at the bloodroot that we had passed on the way up, the flowers of which had fully opened.

We came to the end of our 3.8 mile round-trip hike where we exchanged handshakes and goodbyes.  Ranger Stephen drove Cayden and me back to my truck that we left at the Ticket Plaza.  Cayden and I ended our exciting adventure with some wildflower pictures near the Park entrance and a hearty meal at the Old Rock Cafe, where we ravenously devoured a philly cheese steak sandwich (me) and some chicken tenders (Cayden).  We headed home feeling tired but happy, knowing that we had shared an adventure that we will both remember for the rest of our lives.

Until Next Time!

Flower of the Month: March

Spring is at the door as I write this latest post.  Winter has been very busy and I have not had adequate time to just sit and write, nor have ideas been very forthcoming.  I am finding that maintaining a blog only works if you have something to talk about.  It's a good thing spring is practically here because now...I have something I can talk about:  WILDFLOWERS!

I thought it might be kind of cool to pick a flower for each month and write a little bit about it.  Hickory Nut Gorge is so rich in its diversity that finding a candidate for each month is not very difficult.  What is difficult is deciding which one to highlight because they are all so wonderful.  For March I am picking a particular genus because it only has two species that occur here and they bloom at the same time.  My choice is Hepatica.

Hepatica, also known by its other common names liverleaf and liverwort (common names which actually reflect the Latin name), is one of our less conspicuous spring ephemerals.  Spring ephemerals are plants that have very short "air time."  In other words, they produce their leaves, stems, flowers, and fruit over a very short period of time, usually a few days to two or three weeks.  Once they flower and reproduce many of the external structures quickly die back and the remainder of plant (usually leaves and what's underground) will continue to thrive, surviving on accumulated starch found within the tuber, corm, or similar structure.  Hepatica is an example of a spring ephemeral.

Flowers of Round-lobed Hepatica (Hepatica nobilis-obtusa)

 A member of the Buttercup Family (Ranunculaceae), Hepatica receives its name from its basal leaves which are three-lobed and loosely resemble our own three-lobed organ, the liver.  Hepatica's fuzzy flowering stems emerge first, surrounded by last year's mostly brown, sometimes green, often mottled leaves.  Shortly after flowering, the leaves, which are also covered in fuzz, come out to replace the leaves from the previous year.  The flowers have a very short bloom time, generally no more than a few days and will vary in color from lavender to pink to white, depending on the species.  After reproduction occurs, the plant will quickly go to seed, leaving only the fleshy leaves which will continue to photosynthesize as long as they remain green.

Last year's leaves of Round-lobed Hepatica.

Hepatica has been the subject of some taxonomic debate.  One consensus has been to lump the genus Hepatica into the genus Anemone which has some other physiologically similar species associated with it. However, unlike Anemones, hepatica does not have petals.  The "petals" are actually sepals and what appears to be sepals are actually bracts that cover the flower buds.  Prior to its latest taxonomic re-classification, the genus Hepatica was represented by two distinct species in North Carolina:  Hepatica acutiloba and Hepatica americana.  More recently, the consensus among most taxonomist is that the two species are actually two subspecies of Hepatica nobilis, a species that also exists in Europe.  The two subspecies are appropriately named round-lobed hepatica (Hepatica nobilis var. obtusa) and sharp-lobed hepatica (Hepatica nobilis var. acuta), with one having rounded lobes on the leaves and the other having sharp.

Hepatica has an interesting history in herbal lore that goes back to the historical Doctrine of Signatures, a concept that was developed by Paracelsus.  The Doctrine of Signatures basically states that things in nature are marked with a sign that signifies their purpose.  In the plant world that might mean that if a leaf is shaped like a kidney, then the plant would be good for kidney ailments.  A plant with heart-shaped leaves would be used to treat cardiac ailments.  You get the idea.

Flowers of Sharp-lobed Hepatica (Hepatica nobilis-acuta)

 Naturally, because hepatica leaves are shaped like the human liver, it was assigned the Latin name, Hepatica which means "liverwort" or "liver leaf" and for many, many years it was (and probably still is) used by practitioners of folk medicine in the treatment of liver and blood ailments.  Of course, there is no scientific evidence to support such treatment, as none of the chemicals associated with hepatica are relevant for treating liver ailments, but hepatica is reputed to have astringent and diuretic qualities, owing to the mild alkaloids that are found within the plants.  Hepatica, like many of the Buttercup Family members, is considered poisonous in large doses.

Last year's leaves of Sharp-lobed Hepatica.

Hepatica will only be around for about another week before the flowers are gone for the season.  It generally occurs in rich woods, often on steep slopes and near streams.  Sharp-lobed hepatica tends to prefer the soils of the mountains and is mostly confined to mountain counties, but manages to creep into rich sites in the mountains of Rutherford County (not generally considered a mountain county).  Round-lobed hepatica is the more common of the two species and is generally found in the Piedmont and coastal plain of North Carolina.  Two great places to find hepatica are Buffalo Creek Park in Lake Lure where round-leaf hepatica can be found, and Bat Cave Preserve where sharp-lobed hepatica can be seen growing among the spring beauties (Claytonia caroliniana).  Get out in the woods and check them out.  Until next time!