The Adventures of Bubba Jones Time Traveling Through the Great Smoky Mountains

by Jeff Alt

  After a short while, we made it through the last of the steep switchbacks, and we pulled off of Newfound Gap Road onto the Blue Ridge Parkway, a separate national park entity that skirted the southeastern perimeter of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. We continued on through the Cherokee Indian Reservation and onto several other rural two-lane roads before re-entering the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. We drove slowly up a steep gravel road until we reached the top of a mountain, and then coasted down into a beautiful cove with grassy meadows, older frame buildings, and lush mountain views. We saw a sign announcing Cataloochee campground, and pulled in.

  “Are we going off the grid or what?” I asked.

  Papa Lewis smiled and answered, “There is something very special in this area of the park that you have to see.”

  We walked through the campground and I immediately recognized our bright orange tent standing out from the shaded green woods. After our hike with Papa Lewis, it was nice to be back at camp with a cooler full of food. Even though we had had a big lunch, I was hungry again and looking forward to digging in. As we parked the Jeep, we saw familiar faces in the campsite next to us—Uncle Boone, Aunt Walks-a-Lot, and Crockett had arrived and were busy setting up camp. They had set up their tent and they were filling it with bedrolls and sleeping bags.

  We jumped out of the Jeep, excited to see our long-distance relatives. For the next half hour, there was hugging, smooching, and happy words—all the celebrating that goes with a reunion.

  It was a little strange seeing Crockett after all these years. Heck, Hug-a-Bug had still been in diapers when he moved away, and although Crockett had been three years old at the time, he hadn’t yet learned to walk. We noticed, now, however, that he was sporting a metal brace on his left leg, from the knee down. And while he walked with a limp and a bit of a stiff gait, he was getting around quite well. I hoped he would be able to hike with us.

  As one of Papa Lewis’ sons, Uncle Boone knew all about the family time-travel secret, as did the rest of his clan, so we shared how I inherited the time-travel skills from Papa Lewis. I told our extended family about how we traveled back in time to the beginning of the national park, how we camped with the Cherokee hiding up in the mountains during the Trail of Tears, how we heard Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s park dedication speech, and how we met the two legendary Appalachian Trail hikers, Earl Schafer and Grandma Gatewood. Then I took the family journal out of my cargo pocket and showed Crockett the torn paper bearing half of the cipher code.

  “Wow! We need to figure that message out,” Crocket said.

  “I know, right? We also need to help Papa Lewis find his cousin,” I said. “Papa Lewis took Hug-a-Bug and me to the same spot where he inherited his time-travel skills from his grandfather, our great-grandfather. Papa Lewis was with his cousin Will when he camped there forty years ago. He hasn’t seen his cousin since that adventure. When Papa told us about them, we could actually see them sitting with us around the fire! They were like holograms. That’s where Papa Lewis handed over the family journal and time-travel skills to me,” I explained.

  “Wow! That’s so cool, Bubba Jones,” Crockett said.

  “Yeah, I didn’t see that coming. And it’s been an amazing ride, to actually see history as it becomes history!”

  Our growling stomachs reminded us that it was time for dinner. Everyone worked together to assemble a big feast. Crockett, Hug-a-Bug, and I gathered firewood and placed it in the fire pit. Uncle Boone and Dad burned some tinder beneath the logs and stoked up a nice fire. Papa Lewis set up a spit over the fire and began to slow-cook some chicken. Meanwhile, Mom, Aunt Walks-a- Lot, and Grandma whipped up a salad, baked beans, coleslaw, and lemonade. It was a perfect evening to eat outside, and we all gathered around the picnic table. Per Hug-a-Bug’s request, we capped off our meal with s’mores. Hug-a-Bug assembled rows of graham crackers and pieces of chocolate along the edge of the picnic table, while Crockett and I toasted marshmallows on skewers. We kept the assembly line of s’more sandwiches going until everyone got their fill.

  CHAPTER 9

  A BIG SURPRISE

  Our usual tradition after a family meal is for Papa Lewis to recount an adventure and bring it back to life. But now, we were actually on an adventure with him.

  As the sun dropped behind distant mountains and reminded us that dusk was upon us, Papa Lewis insisted that we take an evening stroll with him to see something special. We all followed him out of the campground and onto a gravel lane with a view of a lush green meadow. The far reaches of the meadow were encased by a thick forest wall that continued over mountains for as far as the eye could see.

  “This is Cataloochee Valley,” Papa Lewis said.

  Scattered throughout the field, grazing in the grass, were dozens of animals that looked kind of like deer, but bigger. Their fur was short like a deer’s but the color was more of a marbled brown and tan. Some of them were wearing collars.

  “These are elk. Elk are the second largest of the deer family—moose are the largest. The ones with large antlers are the males, or bulls. They can weigh over half a ton! The males grow large antlers in the spring and lose them in the winter. The smaller elk are females, or cows, and the little ones are calves,” Papa Lewis explained

  “They seem so at peace here,” Uncle Boone said. We stood along the road, snapping pictures and filming video.

  “Why are the elk only in this part of the Smokies?” Hug a Bug asked.

  “Elk were once abundant throughout the Great Smoky Mountains and surrounding region, but over-hunting killed them all off hundreds of years ago. This is a small herd that was brought here by the national park to reintroduce them to the area. The park is tracking them with radio collars. The herd has grown, and it’s been a huge success. It will take time for the elk to populate the rest of the park,” Papa Lewis said.

  “Hey Bubba Jones, let’s go back to when the elk were thriving in the park,” Crocket said, excited to time-travel with us.

  “We can do that.”

  Papa Lewis suggested we go back three hundred years in time to get a good feel for these animals which once roamed the park in huge numbers. I led everyone into the tree line, out of view of some other visitors watching the elk. We huddled together, forming a circle.

  I placed my hand on the family journal and said, “Take us back three hundred years.”

  We all stepped out of the tree line and were surprised at what we saw. The elk were grazing in the field in larger numbers, but so was a small herd of buffalo. Before anyone spoke up to ask Papa Lewis what was going on, a black bear charged out of the trees towards a small elk calf. The rest of the herd bounded away from the approaching bear. The baby elk didn’t have a chance against the bear; the bear brought it down and set to devouring it in a matter of minutes. The whole scene made me uneasy. Everyone else must have felt the same way because not a word was said as all of us started walking back to the tree line, anxious to return to the present. Just before I placed my hand on the journal, the air was pierced by the high-pitched scream of a distant mountain lion. The sound sent a chill up my spine.

  I placed my hand on the family journal and said, “Take us back to the present.”

  We stepped out of the tree line and cautiously looked around for any signs of mountain lions or buffalo. The buffalo were gone and we didn’t hear any mountain lion screams, which assured us that we were back in the present.

  “That was awesome,” Crocket said.

  “You wouldn’t think it was awesome if you were that poor baby elk,” Hug-a-Bug said.

  “That was hard to watch, but that’s the way things work in the wild,” Papa Lewis said.

  “Papa Lewis, where did the buffalo come from?” I queried.

  “Was that a mountain lion we heard?” Hug-a-Bug asked.

  “Buffalo, mountain lions, and red wolves all once called the Great Smoky Mountains home, along with the elk. Even though the elk are back in the park, this area isn’t quite as wild as it
once was. The elk reintroduction is a huge step towards that. The mountain lions were natural predators of the elk and buffalo. For now, the elk in the Smokies don’t have that threat. But, as you witnessed, the black bear prey on the younger elk. The park has plenty of other carnivorous hunters like the bobcat and coyote, but those are smaller animals and don’t pose a threat to the elk,” Papa Lewis informed us.

  We all walked back to our camp, and Uncle Boone put a few logs on the fire. We sat up talking about the elk, buffalo, bear, and mountain lions until the logs burned down to embers and we all decided to call it a night. I think I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. I was so exhausted from the action-packed last few days.

  At some point in the night, a high-pitched, screeching bugle sound followed by a series of grunts woke me up. I sat straight up and looked around, but it was still dark out, and I couldn’t see anything. I lay back down, tense and listening. Then, I heard it again. It was definitely an animal, and it sounded big.

  “What is that?” Hug-a-Bug whispered, sitting up in her sleeping bag.

  “That’s an elk call. The bulls make that sound frequently in the fall during rutting, but it’s not uncommon for the younger elk to bugle throughout the year,” Papa Lewis said.

  After hearing Papa Lewis’ explanation, Hug-a-Bug and I relaxed and faded back to sleep.

  I woke up to the damp earthy smell of morning as I lay in my sleeping bag, watching the sun’s bold, red-orange glow slowly rise over a distant mountain. It must have rained during the night. Grandma and Papa Lewis were already up, sitting by the fire pit. I crept quietly out of the tent so as not to wake the others.

  Papa Lewis whispered, “Good morning, Bubba Jones,” and Grandma gave me a bear hug before handing me a mug of hot cocoa.

  “Ah, hot chocolate and family, what more could you ask for?” I sighed.

  Papa Lewis motioned for me to follow him, and we quietly walked out of camp and back over to the Cataloochee Valley where we were once again treated to the sight of several beautiful elk grazing in the grassy field. After a short while we walked back to camp.

  As we entered back into our campsite, I noticed there was a lot more movement. Mom, Dad, Hug-a-Bug, Uncle Boone, Aunt Walks-a-Lot, and Crocket had all emerged from the tent, dressed and ready for adventure. This would be the first full day with our extended family in the Smokies. It had rained overnight, but the sun and blue sky were all we could see now. Dad and Mom had said the night before that they would make breakfast for everyone, and they were now busy opening coolers and setting up cooking equipment.

  “Hey Clark, I’ll take my eggs over easy,” Uncle Boone said to Dad, who was standing at the end of the picnic table, manning two skillets filled with eggs and bacon, over the burners of our propane stove. Everyone around the table put in their egg orders to Dad, while Mom brewed up some coffee and cut up some fresh fruit.

  “Papa Lewis, who lives in the houses we saw out there near the elk?” Hug-a-Bug asked.

  “I wondered the same thing—it’s so peaceful here, I figured others besides the Cherokees must have lived here at some point, before the Great Smoky Mountains became a national park,” I said.

  “We haven’t really talked much about the settlers that called the Smokies home, have we? No one but park personnel live in this valley now,” Papa Lewis answered. “You probably thought those homes were still occupied because they are frame houses similar to what you see in the present day. This valley and several other areas of the Great Smoky Mountains were home to many white settlers even when the Cherokee Indians still lived in the area. The Smokies had entire communities that thrived before the park was created. Even then, some settlers continued living within the national park boundary under various agreements with the park service. In 1910, there were around 1,200 people living in the Cataloochee Valley. Some of the homes, barns, and churches that you saw have been preserved. We’re going to travel to Cades Cove today, and you will get a good sense of what life was like back then in the Great Smoky Mountains.”

  “On the way, do you mind if we stop at the Cherokee Indian Village?” Dad asked as he scraped the remaining eggs and bacon onto his own plate and sat down to eat.

  “That sounds good,” Uncle Boone responded.

  “I would like to hike Mt. Le Conte before the end of the trip,” Aunt Walks-a-Lot said.

  “Can we stop at the Oconaluftee Park Visitor Center? There are a few things in my Junior Ranger book that I need to do,” Hug-a-Bug asked. Hug-a-Bug had picked up a Junior Ranger booklet at Sugarlands Visitor Center when we entered the park.

  “We will have plenty of time to do all that before we leave the Smokies,” Dad responded.

  “Hey Bubba Jones, can you show me that torn coded letter again?” Crockett asked.

  “Sure. Why?” I responded.

  “I’d really like to help solve the mystery,” Crocket replied.

  “Let’s ride together and look at it on the way to the Cherokee Indian Village,” I answered.

  After breakfast, everyone worked together as a team, and it took less than an hour to take down our tents, break camp, and get on the road headed back towards Cherokee. Crocket and I rode with Uncle Boone and Aunt Walks-a-Lot. Our convoy crept out of the Cataloochee Valley, over a tall mountain. For the next thirty-nine miles, we backtracked along the same roads we had taken to get to Cataloochee. As I sat in the backseat, swaying with the switchback turns, I couldn’t help but think about our adventure so far and my new time-travel ability. To be able to go back to any point in history and then snap back to the present was pretty cool!

  CHAPTER 10

  AS REAL AS IT GETS

  I pulled out the coded piece of paper from the family journal and handed it to Crockett.

  “You know what the code looks like to me? A cipher code, like what Thomas Jefferson used with Lewis and Clark,” I said. Crocket held the torn paper in his hands and slowly examined it.

  “I think you’re right, Bubba Jones, but why would our family send secret codes?”

  I explained to Crockett what Papa Lewis had said about how some of our early ancestors were masters of coded messages during the Revolutionary War and the War of 1812.

  “But what’s so secret that they had to write a coded message?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Before we can even try to decipher the message, we need to find the missing half.”

  “Yep, you’re right. I think if we locate Papa Lewis’s cousin, Will, he might know something about the missing piece.”

  “Do you think it’s possible Will has the missing half?”

  “Let’s hope so. If Will still lives in the area, it would be worth checking into. But, Papa Lewis said he checked and couldn’t find a phone number for him in any of the counties around the park. “

  “Can I see the coded letter?” Aunt Walks-a-Lot asked.

  Crockett handed it up to her from the backseat. After a few minutes she handed it back to me and said, “I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to read that, let alone finding the missing half. Good luck!”

  We passed a sign announcing “Cherokee” and another sign directing traffic to “Oconaluftee Village.” We followed Mom, Dad, Papa Lewis, Grandma, and Hug-a-Bug’s vehicle into a parking lot for the Oconaluftee Village.

  We all emerged from our vehicles and Papa Lewis shouted, “Hey Clark, bring back memories?”

  “It sure does.”

  Mom and Dad had stopped for a night in Cherokee on their honeymoon and toured the village, and were excited to be back for another visit. We stood in line for tickets among hundreds of others, eager to learn about the Cherokee Indian culture. The village is a re-creation of a Cherokee Village in the late 1760s, a time before the Cherokee were forced to leave the Great Smoky Mountains on the Trail of Tears. As soon as we stepped into the village, I felt like I had entered another time period even though my hand had never touched the family journal. At first I thought Papa Lewis was playing some sort of trick on
me. We were immersed in an actual village. Real Cherokee Indians wearing traditional clothing busied themselves in the tree-shaded village, going about everyday life in the 1760s . But, they were actually present-day re-enactors demonstrating how their tribe once lived. There were small, one-room log cabin homes. We watched two Indians burning out a large tulip poplar log, to make it into a canoe. Some teenage boys were playing the Cherokee version of stick ball. The village had a sweat lodge, a log-lined cavern that people used to clean themselves of impurities. Several Cherokee women were making pottery. A young man dressed in authentic buckskin, like what we had seen up in the mountains when we time-traveled to the Cherokee hideout, was busy making arrows and spears. The entire village was animated. It was amazing!

  I learned that the Cherokee were one of the most civilized Indian tribes. They had their own written language and they even published a newspaper. Hug-a-Bug, Crocket, and I lost track of our parents and grandparents as we strolled through the village. I didn’t feel the need to time-travel with all the re-enactors bringing the past to life for us. We walked past the council meeting building, a large, round-roofed hut where tribal meetings and ceremonies were held. The three of us ducked in to have a look. The log structure had a high ceiling with a hole in the center for smoke from the fire to escape. The walls were lined with rows of wood benches arranged like bleachers to hold large numbers of the tribe. No one was in the council building when we stepped in. We sat down on one of the benches.

  “Let’s have our own council meeting. We need to come up with a plan to find Papa’s cousin, Will,” I said. “Papa already checked the local phone books and came up with nothing.”

  “What about checking with the park rangers?” Hug-a- Bug suggested.

  “How would they know about Papa’s cousin?”

  “Maybe Papa’s cousin worked for the park.”

  “We could also check the courthouse records in the surrounding towns for property deeds and marriage license records,” Crockett said.