Common Courtesy
No hiking destination in these parts is better than the Cohutta Wilderness. Tucked up against Tennessee in northwest Georgia, the place is 60 square miles of spectacular mountain scenery. Winding through it are the Jacks River, the Conasauga River, numerous creeks, and over 90 miles of trail.
The Cohutta is remote and roadless. Some trails have 20 to 40 river crossings. Even the names are invigorating — Tearbritches, Panther Creek, Rough Ridge, Sugar Cove, Beech Bottom.
My first trip to the Cohutta was on a summer day in the early 1990s. My friend Richard and I drove up one Saturday to walk the Beech Bottom Trail, which starts at the northern edge of the wilderness and leads south to the Jacks River and Jacks River Falls.
We chose the Beech Bottom because it’s the easiest trail in the Cohutta — relatively flat and just four miles to the river. It’s also one of the busiest trails up there, but we met few others along the way.
Richard and I were dressed light and moving along quickly. We reached the river, turned upstream on the Jacks River Trail, and arrived at Jacks River Falls in time to eat lunch. After a couple of hours of swimming below the falls and exploring, we set out for the return trip.
Before long, two men appeared around a bend in the trail, coming toward us. They were dressed in hunting clothes and cradling shotguns. This was not a good thing anytime, but especially in a protected wilderness.
The men, who said they were down from Tennessee for the day, clearly had been drinking. That fact had left them not mellow, but belligerent.
Used to be peaceful up here. Now them DAMN Atlanta people are everywhere.
Richard and I earnestly agreed, adding that we weren’t from Atlanta or anywhere near the place.
People ain’t got common courtesy no more. Wouldn’t give you the time of day.
We earnestly agreed that common courtesy seems to be on the wane.
The way I was raised, if a man offered you a drink, you’d take it out of common courtesy.
We said, yes, you would indeed feel the obligation.
Ain’t no point offerin’ a drink to them DAMN Atlanta people.
Probably not, probably not.
Say, boys, it’s a hot day, and you must be thirsty. We just happen to have a supply of alcoholic beverage with us. Would you join us for a drink?
Richard said we were flattered, but we preferred to have drinks after a hike, not during. I cringed.
Y’all don’t want to have a drink with us? That ain’t very neighborly, friend.
I spoke up quickly and said Richard was just being modest. We would be delighted, honored, proud, to have a drink with them.
One of the men produced a pint bottle, plain glass with no label, full to the top with a clear fluid, and unscrewed the cap. He took a healthy swig and handed the bottle to Richard.
Richard hoisted the bottle without hesitation and took a long pull. He handed the bottle to the second man, who did the same and passed the bottle to me.
I expected the taste and smell of diesel fuel. Instead, the liquor was smooth and pleasant, with a delightful, elusive taste and fragrance I haven’t experienced before or since. It was good stuff.
Good seein’ you boys! Y’all take care now!
By the time Richard and I arrived back at the car, the moonshine buzz had worn off, but the laughing and joking about the encounter went on for a long time.
I never did check, but surely, hooch and shotguns are illegal in the Cohutta. Surely.
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