Pick A Peak

The Old Man is going to spend a little time with some follow-up to the trout fishing posting. The streams mentioned in that article are in the Jefferson National Forest, part of the Blue Ridge Mountain chain. Located there as well, are the Peaks of Otter. At some point, otters were very special to the area. Even the Bedford High School athletic teams were all called the Otters. In Bedford there is Little Otter creek and Big Otter creek. Otter River School is there as well. Interestingly, no one I've ever known has seen an otter around Bedford. Could be worse, I guess. They could be called the Peaks of Wombat.

These twin peaks are among the highest in the range, and are closely interwoven with life in the town of Bedford.

Only about 10 miles out from town, the Peaks impacted our lives on a daily basis. The peak on the left is known as Sharp Top. It appears to be higher than its sister Flat Top, but that is optically illusional. Flat Top is actually the taller of the two.

Visible from the head of Park Street, they served as our weather forecaster. If rime ice or snow nestled there in the mornings when we headed off to school, we knew that soon the winter chill would be upon us. Much like the "woolly worm" technique of prediction, "snow on the Peaks" was thought to portend a cold winter. A cry of "snow on the mountain" created excitement in the Park Street Battalion. In the little valley between the two peaks, there was a hospitality center of sorts. There you could catch a bus ride up most of the way to the top of Sharp Top. A thrill-a-minute ride as the old bus grunted and strained like the fifth day of an intestinal back-up. The little road was full of switchbacks and s-curves. In winter, that whole operation closed up.

Snow brought out the daredevils. A caravan of cars would make it's way up to the area, full of little snot-noses and sleds. We'd hike about one third of the way up the mountain, and then down the road we sailed. Our own private luge run. To a 10 year old kid, it seemed we were "balling the jack" at at least 347 miles per hour. If you want a real treat....try this at night.

The Peaks served as our summer air conditioner. When summer's heat and humidity became more than we could take, Mom, Dad, and I would head up to the Peaks. There was a spring there in the picnic area. For centuries, the Cherokee knew the area well and used the spring as a fresh water source. In typical Native American no-nonsense fashion, they named it Big Springs. To this day, it still bubbles. We drank freely from its coolness while we unpacked our picnic basket. Just to sit under the trees and enjoy the delightful freshness of the mountain air brought comfort from the oppressive August heat.

On those trout fishing trips I mentioned, we could count on seeing the elk. Sometimes a lone buck would bolt across the road in front of us, and several times I saw the herd of about 20 grazing in an open meadow. In the cemetery across from my house, a section is dedicated to those members of the Elk's Club who wish to be buried there. A life size statue of an elk sits at one end. I remember seeing that and wondering if any animal could be that big. Then I saw for myself. They could. "Progress" caused the herd to vanish through the years, and a sadness came to Bedford. But, all is not lost.....thanks to some diligent conservation efforts, the elk herd is beginning to rebuild. I hope we humans have learned something.

I've been to the top many times. Those who make the trip are rewarded with one of the most magnificent vistas possible. Of course, for a kid to spend time up there with his dad.....well as the saying goes, "It just doesn't get any better than this".

Stay tuned, for the next post will uncover tragedy and heartbreak on Sharp Top Mountain.