Black Mountain's Past
A reflection on the timelessness of rivers
Wendell Begley
Guest contributor
The Valley Echo
June 6, 2024
A memorable water's edge of the Swannanoa River (south of town), land once owned by my family. This piece of gentle moving water is directly behind what was the old Black Mountain BI-LO store and the Town’s dog park. For several years during the 1960s, Wesley Melton (one of my best friends) and I maintained a successful “mink trap-line” along this section of the riverbank. When I speak of Wesley (May 10, 1950 – June 18, 1970), I never fail to remind readers that Wesley was a casualty of the Vietnam War at the young age of 20. Wesley, a native of Black Mountain, was a role model to many from my generation. That said, I would contend Wesley’s successes along this portion of riverbank were much better than mine! We sent our carefully prepared pelts to Herter’s Inc. (then, a national fur buying company). Working those trap-lines in the birthing light of spring mornings gave the two of us an unforgettable fellowship and valuable “pocket” money for summertime activities. Photo courtesy of the Wendell Begley Collection
“A River, though, has so many things to say that it is hard to know what it says to each of us.” - Norman Maclean
Springtime has always been one of my favorite seasons of the year. Everything living is bursting with life. Having recently returned from a bank meeting down east, remembered by its skyscrapers and concrete, I could not think of a better contrast than coming home to the scenic beauty of our Valley floor and its nearby river banks and waterways dressed in green. This time of year, sitting on a creek bank and watching the diffusion of green creep up the nearby mountainsides is “good medicine.” And, in the Swannanoa Valley springtime, a secluded stream bank, and, if you are lucky, a nearby waterfall make for a truly powerful combination.
Having been raised within a “rocks throw” of the Swannanoa River, at the foot of Sunset Mountain, many of my childhood experiences and lessons of life were played out in the presence of that old river bank. I recall the springtime in my youth and the many “garden plantings” and blissful opportunities “to wet a fishhook.” My Mother easily knew which I enjoyed best! As time ebbed by, I eventually ventured beyond the safe familiar bends and trails along that old, slow-moving river and became a wiser and successful fisherman.
It is against that backdrop that I have chosen to share a few of my favorite springtime landscapes for this week’s story. Places where quiet waters, rapids and majestic plumes of white falling water serve as an hour glass, one that measures both the passage of time and paths we take in life.
Oh, recalling the solitary wilderness treks (via way of Chestnut Mountain) and quiet reflections I have witnessed at the “tail-of-the-hole” of Catawba Falls. On occasions the “four-count rhythm” actually landed a few brookies (trout). As-the-crow-flies, the Falls are 4.3 miles southeast of the Town’s Square. In my opinion, Catawba Falls is one of the area’s most breathtaking deep wilderness waterfalls. Photo courtesy of the Wendell Begley Collection
As a personal reflection, not long after I built my log cabin in the deep forests of the Blacks, in the spring of 1975, not far from the springs that bubbled life into the Swannanoa, I read a novel by Norman Maclean (1902-1990). Norman wrote the story when he was 73. Many times, I have gone back to the ending of that old book, reading the last paragraphs over and over again, pondering the eloquent meaning of living waters and life.
In the autumn of his life, Norman was writing about the metamorphosis of his own life and that of his family. Oh, I should tell you that Norman was a master fly fisherman. As the book ended, Norman and his father were talking and it would be one of the last times they would ever speak, both were reflecting on their own lives and the ebb and flow of it all.
This is a treasured photograph of Black Mountain native, Bob Brown (1927-2013). I took this picture of Bob in early May 1993. At the time, several of us, with Bob as our leader, were scouting the deep backcountry of the Asheville Watershed for the “highly anticipated” 1993 Centennial Watershed Tours. The event was a major feature during the Town’s centennial birthday (1993). Bob, a well-known master fly fisherman, was eating lunch on the Big Right Hand Fork of the NF of the Swannanoa River. Bob, among other titles, retired as a past Superintendent of the Asheville Watershed. Bob was a great mentor to many of us and his friendship and dry humor are solely missed. Photo courtesy of the Wendell Begley Collection
“Once ... my father asked me a series of questions that suddenly made me wonder whether I understood even my father whom I felt closer to than any man I have ever known.
‘You like to tell true stories, don’t you?’ my father asked, and I answered, ‘Yes, I like to tell stories that are true.’
Then he asked, ‘After you have finished your true stories sometime, why don’t you make up a story and the people to go with it?
‘Only then will you understand what happens in life and why. It is those we live with and love and should know who elude us.’
Now, nearly all those I loved and did not understand when I was young are dead, but I still reach out to them.
Of course, now I am too old to be much of a fisherman, and now of course I usually fish the big waters alone, although some friends think I should not. Like many fly fishermen in western Montana (where Norman lived) where the summer days are almost Arctic in length. I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the river and the four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.
Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs..
I am haunted by waters.”
As many readers realize by now, the book was the eventual movie, A River Runs Through It. Norman Maclean started writing fiction at the age of 70 - tales which express, in Maclean’s own words, “a little of the love I have for the earth as it goes by.”
In looking back, I have wonderful memories of my times back dropped against the great wilderness boundaries and virgin rivers of the West. The times we hunted, fished, camped, and attested to good fellowship around a nighty campfire. Memories of life’s best moments recited in the cool setting sun of evening along the mighty rivers of the Yellowstone, Madison, Gibbon, and Flathead. Photo courtesy of the Wendell Begley Collection
As a master fly fisherman knows, the three parts of a river: the rapids, the deep bend, and the tail-of-the-hole, are comprehended not only as separate parts but as an entirety. So it is that the flow of time and the parts of a river can be seen as the stages of life. Cheers!
Wendell Begley is the President and CEO of Black Mountain Savings Bank. Email Wendell at wendell@blackmountainsavings.com.
Black Mountain Savings Bank
P.O. Box 729 • 200 East State Street • Black Mountain, NC 28711 • 1.828.669.7991
“Established in 1908, We are One of the 47 Oldest FDIC Insured Banks in America” (that’s Out of 4,620 FDIC Insured Banks) …Too, We are the Town’s Oldest Continuing Business and the Only “Community Owned Bank.” We Have Been Taking Savings Deposits and Making “Local Home Loans” for 116 Years”
Copyright: M. Wendell Begley, series 877, VE16, June 7, 2024
