Wednesday, October 22, 2014

"In Search of the Soquee" - Story

Submitted by: E. Lane Gresham


Part One
I fell head over heels on Valentine’s Day ­- right over the edge of Tray Mountain and into the wilderness. It all started innocently enough with a simple query:  “where does the Soquee River begin?” Researching an article about The Soquee River for the Hello Habersham magazine, I wondered if there was a photo of the source of the river that streams through Habersham County.

After several exchanges with Duncan Hughes at the Soquee River Watershed Association, I realized there were conflicting opinions as to the definitive source of the beloved waterway. There are two forks of the upper Soquee - a right and a left. Several prongs feed into those forks and several theories exist about the specific location. That didn’t satisfy me - my journalistic integrity was on the line. I couldn’t take a photo of just any spot - it had to be the spot.

Duncan kindly offered to check with friends at the Georgia Dept. of Natural Resources and Lee Keefer, fisheries biologist at the Lake Burton Hatchery agreed to help us pinpoint the source. A flurry of e-mails ensued, consensus was reached and an expedition was mounted. The plan was to seek out the middle prong of the left fork as this was determined to be the highest elevation source of water. The topographical maps show the middle prong emerging from the side of Tray Mountain deep in the Chattahoochee National Forest.

Duncan extended an invitation to SRWA’s board members to join the quest and a diverse group of eight would-be explorers gathered early on Valentine’s Day 2008. The most direct route was not necessarily going to be the easiest hike - we had to hike up Tray Mountain to get to the closest jumping off point. The temperature was a frigid 25 degrees but the day dawned clear and sunny. Mother Nature put on her winter finery for us - a light snow fell the night before and the trees glittered with frozen dew and ice. After bumping up six miles on a rough gravel road, we reached the end of the line as far as vehicles go. Tumbling out of the car and slipping on a backpack filled with the all-important camera, tripod and a water bottle, I was eager to attack the just over one half-mile journey to the top of the world.

Our friend from the DNR, Lee and his colleague, Leon Brotherton came prepared. As we stood shivering in the early morning sunlight, Leon asked: “Are there any medical conditions we should know about?” He then pulled a first aid pack out of the truck; I suddenly realized this trek was not going to be a simple hike. I took a big mental gulp and started off.

Duncan brought along his nimble 8-year-old daughter, Elizabeth and she led the charge up the zigzagging trail heading to the top of peak. The higher elevation made the hike an unexpected challenge. At 4,400 feet, Tray Mountain is the seventh highest mountain in the state. Chugging through the thin air quickly reminded me that my winter hiatus from exercise was going to hinder my efforts to get anywhere in a hurry. I slowed my pace and looked around in wonder - the stark beauty of the winter forest surrounded me. Pondering the parallels of the journey that day with the journey we call life, I felt the stress slip away and I was able to breathe - not deeply, mind you but in a figurative sense. Mental breaths, deep, cleansing mental breaths. The path continued ever upward until the trees opened up at the summit and the blue sky beckoned us to cast our eyes to the 360 degree view of Northeast Georgia.

The satisfaction of reaching the top was short-lived as our energetic DNR experts said it was time to take the next step and this time we would be flying blind. A short trail protected by a canopy of twisted mountain laurel summoned us down the aisle of nature’s cathedral. The flattened evergreen leaves were like hands folded in prayer = a reminder that prayer would be a prudent idea before taking the leap into the uncharted dense forest heading straight down.

Lee and Leon didn’t seem apprehensive at all - they had done this all before. However, I don’t think they counted on dealing with an unprepared and naive reporter doggedly pursuing a photo opportunity. They were good sports about it all and were determined to keep us safe. I cautiously peered over the edge of the cliff and looked down.

Would this intrepid group of river lovers find the water? Would they make it back in time for parent pick-up? Watch for Part Two in an upcoming edition.

In search of the Soquee-Part Two


When we last met, our river seekers were perched atop Tray Mountain looking down. The treasure was still hidden from view as we stepped off the precipice and into the unknown. There was no trail just a tangled web of Mountain Laurel rooted deep in the thick carpet of layered forest debris.

Forging down the steep incline with the help of GPS instruments and map consultation, expedition leaders Lee Keefer, Leon Brotherton and Duncan Hughes fanned out in three directions to maximize our chances of success. The rest of us just tried our best to keep up. There was breathless conversation about how far down we would travel to find water ; the drought was an unknown factor in planning the quest.

Suddenly a garbled yell from Leon spurred us on. “Water,” he shouted. Or at least that’s what I think he said. At this point, I was committed no matter what he said - the momentum of my body hurdling through space didn’t hamper the rapid descent towards the final reward. Reaching the forest floor, I again took a deep breath to fully absorb the experience. Time stood crystallized in that extraordinary moment.

Where the water emerges is not marked unless you count the fallen branch leaning against the tiny waterfall bubbling out of the ground. The Y-shaped stick reminded me of the divining rods used to locate water - perhaps it was carelessly discarded by a woods sprite after he found a spot to slake his thirst. In the peaceful hush of the wild woods there is no hint of the gurgling shoals downstream, just a few trickles of clear, pure liquid appearing as if by magic. The earth produces this moisture as an offering to us all – isn’t water the source of abundant life?

Thinking again about life’s challenges, I glanced back at the path we traveled to get here and was stunned at the steep face of the mountain. We often press forward one step or one day at a time to reach our goals and it isn’t until we have time to reflect that we realize just how far we’ve come.
Pushing anxiety about the return journey out of my head, I set up the tripod and snapped away to memorialize the headwaters of the Soquee. As I stomped around in the damp forest seeking the perfect shot, several of the others took a break and nibbled on energy producing snacks. Remember, I packed only equipment and water - no snacks.

I lost myself in the task at hand and all too quickly the call came to start back. Packing away the camera, I reluctantly joined the procession heading back up the mountain. The exertion of the trip caused me to shed most of the layers I donned in the chilly morning - I was down to a t-shirt and jeans and drenched in sweat. The steep ascent appeared quite formidable as I tried to shake off fatigue to catch up with the group - I was going to be left behind if I didn’t get in gear. My legs quivering and my heart racing, I yelled out a desperate plea for some of those snacks I naively neglected to pack. Veteran hiker Patty Lowe saved my life that day with an energy bar.

Mustering up the strength and courage to take on the mountain, I tried to follow the path I took heading down but foliage and underbrush hid that route from view. Setting off on what seemed to be a more direct approach to the top, the path led seemingly straight up. We struggled up the final leg of the journey - Lee wedged himself behind a tree to haul the last three of us up using a walking stick. Clamoring back over the edge of the cliff and into the welcoming sunlight, I said another prayer. This time the prayer was offered up in thanksgiving for the gift of water - I heard a whispered reminder to be a good steward of the earth. I hope you heard it, too.

~This column ran in two editions of The Northeast Georgian in 2008.