Those Beautiful
Lights Are Viewed
Col. Fred A. Olds of Raleigh, who tramped through the
mountains last summer, has written an entertaining article for the Orphan’s
Friend on the Linville section and the wonderful lights that are seen there at
night. The article will be of peculiar interest to readers of the Record:
Many people think the beautiful Linville river breaks through
the Blue Ridge. Really it doesn’t It is all on the southeast side, in a funny
kind of a pocket and twists about so it fools event he mountains which hedge it
in. Now you see it and now you don’t, for it dodges about like a scared rabbit.
Finally it executes the biggest stunt, goes over the falls and then races away,
running like a mill-sluice in time of flood all the way down to the lowlands
and passing between two enormous mountains which form a gateway, their
foreheads rising on either side to the clouds. Then the river goes into the
Catawba to be of use in generating power in many a town and factory. It is in
the gorge that the finest fish, rainbow trout, are taken. This summer one was
brought to Mr. Stokes Penland to be weighed, and it stood at 5 ½ pounds. It had
swallowed, evidently a few minutes before it was caught, a brook trout seven
inches long, so there was a double feast. It will be interesting to fishermen
to know that only seven miles north of Linville Falls is the Toe river, which
runs into the Gulf of Mexico, and in this there is splendid bass fishing with
high records for weight and gameness.
In recent years, beginning say 10 years ago, there has been
a great lot of talk of what some people call the “mysterious lights” a few
miles from Linville Falls, these being also visible from a place known as Cold
Spring, or Lowen’s, on the road on which teams go to Morganton from Blue Ridge.
A party was made up to see these lights and after an early supper we left
Linville Falls and hiked first along the road, then on a trail through lonely
woods and finally struck the real thing, the world set up on edge and as we
went up no doubt looked to the big mountains like flies climbing up the sloping
side of a wall. In the party was a bride of a few days, weighing something more
than 100 pounds, which you know is a rare thing for a bride to do. UP we went,
then down and then up higher and steeper places until finally the dear bride,
nearly at her last gasp and yet determined to see sights, called for help. So guide
Stewart and the writer took hold of a stout stick and pulled her up the most
staggering climb of all. Five minutes later she was sitting on the top of the
mountain a mile high, looking at what seemed half the world, and eating
chocolate caramels she wasn’t tired at all. That atmosphere is as refreshing as
any shower bath.
There came to us from the neighborhood Postmaster Franklin
and a lot of folks, including ladies and children. The mountain top on which we
were has long been known as the Bald Field and is on Jonas ridge, a spur of the
Blue Ridge. It is as bare of vegetation as the palm of your hand and has always
been so. It is a fine place from which to see the lights.
Punctually at 9 o’clock, just as it became dark, the light
flamed out, almost due east, apparently 10 or 15 miles distant, and on one of
five rather lower mountains. It was precisely like a bonfire and lasted perhaps
three seconds. The bottom was of the apparent diameter of a large hogshead and
the upper part rose in a pyramid above it at an apparent height of say 10 feet;
all of this of course being comparative. The light was bright but not of
electrical brightness and was clearly due to fire.
Some minutes passed before more lights appeared, though the
writer led a regular volley of applause and cried out for more. Presently a
little fellow off to the northeast gave a flash. Altogether there were about 25
appearances and these were in about 70 degrees of a great circle. It was
learned that they do not appear outside of this area. Mr. Franklin said
sometimes that as many as four lights are seen at once but we saw only one at a
time. Some of these were mere flashes, looking for the world as though they
were made by some giant of a firefly, which the darkies call “lightning-bugs.”
At 10:30 the show was over, running about the same length of
time as a high class movie picture, and very correct and punctual as to
beginning and ending. Sometimes there is a double performance, lasting hours
later. Mr. Franklin like the rest of us knew that Mrs. Nature was putting on a
show and that in these mountains so full of caves as already stated, she has
her chemists at work making gas. This escapes and when it gets enough oxygen
outside to bring it to the combustion point it flashes; a big flash or a little
flash according to the amount of gas evolved.
Mr. Franklin told a most interesting story, saying that some
years ago one of his sons ran into the house and said, “Papa, the sun has
fallen into our wheat field and exploded.” Mr. Franklin ran out and saw a light
so vivid that he had to shield his eyes with his hands. In a few seconds it was
gone and when he went to the spot he found the oats had been lightly scorched.
They showed it and there was also an odor of scorching vegetation. He remarked
that for a hundred years these lights have been seen but that only lately has
there been so much talk about them. Of course they appear all day but are
rarely visible in daylight. There are thousands of caves and crevices in those mountains
and it is no wonder that this peculiar phenomenon develops there. Some people
actually thought the lights are due to engine headlights. But the natives laughed
at this. They know what causes them.
In all the hike from Blowing Rock to Linville Falls not a single
negro was seen nor did any of them appear until Marion was reached. In perhaps
half of Mitchell county there has never been a negro. If you don’t believe it
ask the folks who live on Rock Creek there. No tobacco was seen except two tiny
little patches many mile apart. It is hardly worth while to try to raise
tobacco there, as the frost generally catches it. There used to be leaf
warehouses in the mountains but now these are only a memory. How great is the
snowy beauty of the fields of buckwheat in bloom, most numerous in Watauga,
Ashe, Alleghany and Avery, where two crops can be grown in a season, for it
matures in about 60 days.
The gay and festive moonshiner was not seen but little heard
of. Sheriff Pritchard of Mitchell, whose father was the late noted Sheriff
George D. Pritchard, assured the writer that there is not an illicit still in
Yancy county but that he got one now and then in Mitchell. A few of these were
seen in the jail at Bakersfield.
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