The brooks, branches, creeks and rivers are a sight to behold as they wind their way through these beautiful Appalachian Mountains. One such place is Helton Creek in Ashe County, NC, not far from my house. As I stood there watching the gentle flow of water passing near grand old rock cliffs images of the past came to mind.
I could imagine a small band or hunting party of Cherokee Indians as they camped there by the creek. Sitting around the fire telling stories of long journeys and great hunts. Maybe chipping away at stones, making new arrowheads or preparing spears for fishing in Helton Creek, as they rested their horses before traveling on. In 1940, while fishing along Helton Creek my Dad found an Indian tool – an axe made of green toned rock. It was laying among the regular brown creek rocks beside the water.
I like to think that early pioneer settlers who came into these mountains may have traveled up the dirt trail along Helton Creek. Their covered wagons, loaded with family and all of their worldly goods, were pulled by a yoke of oxen or mules. Maybe they too camped by the water’s edge and had a much needed rest while deciding which direction to take. And perhaps they were fishing for some fresh trout in Helton Creek.
In the 1970’s I did not have a covered wagon or a yoke of oxen, only an old blue Chevy Impala with a V8 horsepower engine under the hood. Sometimes on warm summer evenings, I loaded my car with youngins, mine and others. (I could have taken more in a covered wagon.) After stopping at the country store for canned corn to fish with, Mountain Dews, Mallow Cups and Baby Ruth Candy Bars we were on our way. Down Helton Creek we went to my favorite spot, a cool place beside the water in the shadow of the rock cliffs. Usually there were six children – ages seven to twelve – fishing, swimming, throwing rocks and wading all at the same time in the same place. It was a circus! No fish were harmed or caught during these excursions.
Those were perfect moments in time. They are fleeting and hard to capture. If you experience them, cherish them always. That has now been 50 years ago and unlike me and my car full of youngins, Helton Creek remains unchanged. It flows past rock cliffs that are as old as time. The creek is a tributary of the New River which is dated to being around 65 million years old and I imagine Helton Creek is just as old.
Written In Memory of My Son, Norman.
