The Mountain at the End of the Trail

The late biologist Robert Zahner (click on his picture at right for more about him) wrote, in his elegant, elegiac book The Mountain at the End of the Trail: A History of Whiteside Mountain, of a Southern Appalachian mountain that loomed large in his life.

Like so many things in Nature, Whiteside Mountain has been despoiled and reclaimed. But when it was made into a National Forest in the mid-1970s (as part of the Nantahala National Forest) bureaucrats insisted on installing handrails, to preclude lawsuits. Zahner wrote (pp. 99-100):

I have never been able to accept all those handrails. True, some are necessary at dangerous cliff edges, with the visitor load at over 1,000 per day and many of them children. Even I now feel comfortable at the tip of Fool's Rock, surrounded by handrails. Of course, the railings do no protect the foolhardy. In 1976, one year after they were installed, a young man climbed over the rails at a precipitous spot, lost his balance, and fell to his death.

I admit that I too have climbed over the railings. In several of my favorite places these steel and wood rails are constructed in such a manner as to obstruct completely the magnificent view where one sits down to rest and perhaps enjoy a picnic lunch. In my opinion, which is probably contrary to that of the average visitor, these are not all dangerous places. So I simply climb over the fence and enjoy the view from the other side, much to the consternation of passersby, to judge from their whispered remarks.

One particular nook, located on the south side of the rock at the summit, adjacent to the chiseled elevation ["alt. 4930 ft."], is a very special place for a quiet meditation. During the years before the railings, especially on clear winter days, a person could snuggle into this south-facing nook, soak up the warm sunshine at high noon, gaze at the distant blue hills, and receive strength and comfort from this highest point on the mountain. How many had enjoyed the solace of this spot? How many dreams had been visualized here? How much distress had been healed here? The presence of many who came before could be felt in this spot. The railing has now rendered this special place unsuitable, indeed has destroyed completely its magic.

Therefore, in 1979 we requested that the Forest Service remove the railing surrounding the summit rock. We felt that there was no serious safety hazard here, as anyone slipping would slide only a few feet down onto the shrub covered rocks below. The request was denied, of course, because, as the agency replied, "We have had experiences in costly settlements as a result of safety precautions we failed to make. It is clear in law that where we invite the public to come and recreate we assume an obligation for their safety." Next time you visit the summit of Whiteside Mountain, find the little nook, sit in it, and judge for yourself whether the safety issue outweighs the values of the view (now obstructed) and of the special energy of the very summit of the mountain.

That, writ small — if Whiteside Mountain can be called small — encapsulates what ails us today. We spare no effort to defang the sublime, and then wonder why citizens treat Nature as something to be "done" in the same way a theme park is to be done.

(What, by the bye, is Fool's Rock, you may ask? To find out, you'll have to find a used copy of this out-of-print gem. Or, try for an inter-library loan if your library, as is probable, doesn't have the book.)