The Dream, The Challenge, The People
by Bob Kranich
(Excerpt 3)
“The Lodge Called Folkestone”. You may wonder why the first half of the book is about my many adventures throughout the USA. Well, this first part explains just why my interests changed from hot rodding cars to backpacking. How the idea of a lodge came about, and just how the lodge came to be in North Carolina and next to the Smoky Mountain National Park, Deep Campground to be exact.
Just before I got to Gatlinburg, I saw the main national park’s Sugarlands Visitor Center on the left side of the road. I decided to go by the visitor center to take a look at Gatlinburg. Even way back then, Gatlinburg was not the quaint mountain town it once was. There were lots of gift shops and modern stores. Today, if you approach the Smokies from the north through Pigeon Forge, you will see a menagerie of establishments, bungee jumping, donut drive-ins, and music lands. Many people never get past these things to enjoy the real Smoky Mountain National Park.
Needless to say, I didn’t spend much time in Gatlinburg. In all of the years I lived in and visited the Smokies, I never came back. I rushed back to the Sugarlands Visitor Center, and got there just in time to take a fast look around the museum. This is also the park headquarters. I then left, and headed towards the Elkmont Campground. It was a little over five miles. This was a very large campground, with over a hundred sites. It was around the same elevation, 2,150 feet as Smokemont. However, it seemed to me a little bit more open. One of the experiences I enjoyed was being able to set up my tent right near the Little River. I was lulled to sleep that evening by the sound of the river. The fact that no bears visited the area also helped.
In the morning, I found out that this campground was the site of the Little River Lumber Company over a century ago. There was some old equipment lying around in a demonstration area, and some structure remains from an Elkmont resort community. I do love history.
I decided that I had to get back over the mountain today, and make a visit to Cherokee. After that, I wanted to see the old mountain town of Bryson City which was ten miles west of Cherokee on Highway 19. I would be able to look around Bryson City, and camp at the National Park’s Deep Creek Campground that evening.
I loaded up the 1936 Ford and headed back to the Little River Road, made a right at 441, and was on my way up to Newfound Gap. It wasn’t very long, and my old Ford hot rod, which only had three gears, was in low. I pulled off to investigate the Chimney Tops. Even though my vehicle wasn't overheating, it would still give it some cooling-off time. I read the park signs, and decided that I didn’t have enough time to hike a mile and one half trail which gained over a thousand feet. Years later, I would make the climb and realize that it was a great experience.
I got back on the road and stayed in first gear. Next came a tunnel and then the loop, where the road goes over itself to gain altitude. After that, the road gets real steep, but I made it. I rolled through Newfound Gap, past the Clingmans Dome road, and was on my way down. For the next nine miles or so it was continuous braking. Halfway, I pulled off at a picnic area to eat a snack, and let the brakes cool down.
I went past the Mingus Mill, the Oconaluftee Visitor Center, and stopped in Cherokee at the demonstration Indian village. It was a great tour. It included the making of pottery, the council meeting house, how to burn out huge logs to make a dugout canoe, and much more.
I continued down 441, and at Highway 19 made a right turn. This road pretty much winds along and follows the Tuckasegee River up stream about ten miles to Bryson City. It goes through two little Indian settlements, Birdtown and Ela. Sometimes, it hangs precariously over the river.
When I arrived in Bryson City, the first landmark I saw on the right side at the intersection of Highway 19, or Main Street and Everett Street, was the old historic courthouse. I turned right on Everett Street following a sign to Deep Creek campground. Next, I crossed the bridge over the Tuckasegee River, crossed the railroad tracks right next to the railroad station, and turned an immediate right. A few blocks along the railroad tracks, a left at the Wesleyan Methodist Church, another right, and a short distance to where Deep Creek enters the Tuckasegee River, and I was there.
You can go up Deep Creek on either side. This time I took the first turn left or the west side of the creek. Ten years later I would drive up the other side when I lived at my friend’s house for five months. The road I took meandered up towards Deep Creek Campground. It followed the edge of the bottom land, and was right up against the ridge. There was a small RC Cola bottling plant on the right within the first quarter mile. A short distance further on the left was the Irving Clark country store. Just behind it was his family’s large old log cabin home. Ten years later I would interview him, take photos of the log cabin, and do two watercolors of it, one for him, and one for me. A little further, and a road that crossed a ridge from Bryson City came in on the left. Then a large church camp, Camp Living Water, was on the right. Immediately on the left was a dirt/gravel road leading back to a nice size house across a fairly large field. In 1976, my former wife and I would buy this house and turn it into Folkestone Lodge.
At the Deep Creek Campground entrance was an old church on the left. I drove into the national park and followed a road to the campsites. Now the first time I went there, you could camp on the left, west side of Deep Creek. The campground was not as organized and large as it has become in later years. I picked out a campsite in the far rear as the road made a 180 degree turn back on itself. I set up my tent, stove, and lantern. There were hardly any people camping on this side, and I could see a few lights on the other side.
As I was just getting ready to turn in, an old pickup truck pulled up and stopped. A couple of high school boys got out. “Hey fella, that’s a nice hot rod you got there. What is it?”
“Oh, hi. It’s a 1936 Ford Five Window Coupe,” I replied.
They came over and looked around my car. “We are just kind of driv’en around the campground. We do it almost every night. I guess we’re looking for some of those city gals.”
“Ever find any?” I asked.
“Sometimes. But it’s lots better in the daytime on the weekend. They’re swimming and tubing then. Well, we had better go. Thanks for showing us your hot rod. It looks fine, real cool!”
As they were getting back in the truck, one of the guys said, “ If you ever want to find us, we will be hanging out on the bridge on Everett Street. We’re there every evening. It’s ‘bout the only thing there is to do around here. Except look for girls. Bye.”
In the morning, as I was getting my breakfast, a ranger pickup truck drove up and stopped at my campsite.
“Hi there, did y-uns have a nice sleep last night?’ asked the ranger who had just gotten out of his truck.
“Yes sir. This is a nice place,” I answered.
You can pay me now for the campsite. Came in last night, did ya?
“Yes, it was dark, and I didn't know what to do to pay or register.”
“That’s ok, no problem, fella.”
I can’t remember what the charge was, but it wasn't much. I paid him and he gave me a receipt.
“Going to do any hiking?” he asked.
From the Author:
This is a new book. It is about the Lodge I built in the Smoky Mountains, near Bryson City, and Deep Creek campground, North Carolina. Having been from Florida, I know that a lot of Floridians love to visit the Smoky Mountains National Park. Therefore hopefully you will enjoy my story of the building of “A Lodge Called Folkestone”.
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