Wadakoe Mountain's secret coves

Dennis Chastain at the amphibolite rock face he discovered in 2000. Pale yellow trillium (T. discolor) is found only in the Savannah River basin. Blue Cohosh (Caulophyllum thalictroides) is common on Wadakoe and rare elsewhere in the state; Sweet White Trillium (Trillium simile) thrives in the secret coves as does Yellow Mandrake (Disporum lanuginosum).

Charles Henry Sowell photos

The secret coves of Wadakoe Mountain hide in plain sight; in the spring they are home to an explosion of rare plant species that live in a series of ecological hotspots scattered over the north face of the mountain.

These secret coves are anything but easy to get to, but they hold part of one of the greatest concentrations of rare plant species in South Carolina. Their discovery, like so many things in the world of science, was purely a matter of happenstance.

Many of these plants are found nowhere else in the state. Some of them, like the Plantain Sedge, are supremely unimpressive to look upon. Others, like Foam Flower, or Nodding Trillium are gems.

Patrick McMillan, naturalist at Clemson University and host of ETV’s “Expeditions” program, has been cataloging rare species on Wadakoe since shortly after the discovery of the mountain’s uniqueness at the turn of the century. He’s found more than 40 rare or endangered species on the slopes of the mountain.

The roots of this profusion of rarity are sunk into the singular geology of Wadakoe. The discovery of the mountain’s uniqueness happened one day while Dennis Chastain was out hunting.

“I happened across this deer trail that had been worn hip deep into the side of the mountain back in 2000,” he said while leading a recent tour of the secret coves.

“Being a hunter (he is also a talented amateur botanist with books on mountain wildflowers to his credit), I followed the trail to see why so many deer were using it.”

What he found was an exposed rock face made up of amphibolite – a metamorphosed rock rich in calcium and magnesium, a poor man’s marble. The deer had, quite literally, licked the face of the rock smooth and were eating the dirt at the base of the rocks. Later he and friend Wes Cooler started finding plants that were unfamiliar and they sought help identifying them.

On the day Chastain lead the tour of the secret coves, a herd of nine deer were trooping up the trail leading to the rock face.

Wadakoe alone in the region is built on foundation of amphibolite; deer crave the minerals for their nutrient value. So do the plants.

However, for plants there is the additional benefit of calcium and magnesium making the mountain’s dirt basic versus the normally acidic soil of the surrounding mountains.

On Wadakoe there is almost no mountain laurel, or rhododendron – both acid loving species. The soil is “sweet” and many species of plant, like Sweet White Trillium (Trillium Simile) and nine other species of trillium thrive on it. Some species are not common anywhere else along the Blue Ridge Escarpment. On Wadakoe one can stand hip deep in rare Blue Cohosh (Caulophyllum thalictroides), while surrounded by troops of white trillium, under a canopy of titanic hickory and poplar spiced with rare Butternut trees (Juglans cinerea), a variety of walnut.

Butternut trees, by the way, are best known in Southern parlance for their use in dying Confederate uniforms a yellowish-brown in the later days of the war.

The coves on Wadakoe’s north-facing slope are part of an intricate system of “nutrient sinks” that funnel food and water down slope until they hit an obstacle and concentrate there.

Standing on the broad plain of Eastatoe Valley in Pickens, Chastain points out the salient features of a low range of spur mountains that run from near Sassafras Mountain (the state’s highest peak) to Dug Mountain near the shores of Lake Keowee. Wadakoe is the last mountain before Dug.

“If you look closely, you can see the drainage basins,” he said tracing one in the distance with his finger on the north slope of Wadakoe. “Where those basins hit an obstacle they form what is called a cove. Nutrients are concentrated in those coves (which range in size from about an acre to a few square feet on Wadakoe) and form an ecological hotspot.”

Later in the day, climbing up the basin Chastain had distantly traced, the dirt was richly black in color beneath the forest floor litter and colonies of dozens of rare plants battling for a spot in the weak early spring sun.

In one spot, in about a square yard, one could find rare mountain Ginseng rubbing shoulders with Foam Flower, Canada Waterleaf, Blue Cohosh, Sweet White Trillium and Plantain Sedge.

Climb out of the drainage onto the dry slopes of the mountain where nutrients are not concentrated and the forest floor is typical of the region, albeit without laurel or rhododendron.

Holiday hiking lessons

People have always been drawn to the high places – the mountains and the hills.

They still are today. Even in this holiest, craziest, most frenzied of holiday seasons some people still find themselves turning to the heights along the South Carolina-North Carolina border. They seem to move of volition other than their own and are not dismayed by that in the least.

In earliest times, this attraction between man and the heights has been called an inchoate response to majesty. Later that metamorphosed into worship (often of the mountain itself); today it has become a need to feed one’s city-starved soul and, perhaps, relearn some things we’ve forgotten.

Go to the mountain early, before dawn if you can, and watch the glory of a new day’s birth far from the hum of tires and the stench of exhaust fumes.

On a recent Saturday, Caesar’s Head at dawn was wrapped in a hush so deep it seemed a sin to breathe. No traffic noise. No wind; just the sky reaching out, ever eastward, and darkness.

Until, at last, there is a glimmer of rose and hint of cerulean to defy the photographer’s best efforts. As there is light, you know why the temple in Jerusalem was sited to face eastward; why our bright, light-polluted, modern world so often fails to satisfy. And, at such a moment, of course one must take a picture.

Even while the sound of the Nikon’s motor-driven shutter was busy defiling the temple, silence was rising, like a trout, and swallowed the technological intrusion.

Then, nearby came a faint rustle and plop; the sound of dew condensing and falling from countless leaves and branches. It’s a sound hovering between joy and sadness at the cusp of a new day. As quickly as comes that thought, dawn becomes full-blown and the nattering concern fades to black.

Lesson one: There are things of great importance in this world and my foolish worries need not apply.

Later, and deeper into the woods on the Raven Cliff Falls overlook trail, the day becomes defined by a wind shifting to the south; flowing over The Dismal (gorge) comes the smell of water in a parched land; and hints of a coming year’s life in the pine-cone like buds of mountain laurel and tightly curled rhododendron.

As the day winds on toward 9 a.m., the sounds of human joy intrude.

At first I’m angry. The mountain’s been mine now for a couple of hours, more than one should hope for at any time of year, and I’m busy trying to decide whether to photograph Raven Cliff Falls from the overlook or down in The Dismal.

It’s the voices themselves that dispel my disquiet. There’s something special about those voices. Joy, of course – but there’s something else, too.

Just what that special something might be becomes apparent as tall Al Artis and stumpy Clarence Wirt step out of the trail’s shadows.

Lesson two: Joy is meant to be shared.

Artis, 49, of Boiling Springs and Wirt, 50 of Woodbridge, Va., have been friends for decades.

“We get together a couple of times a year,” Artis said, “And when we do it’s time for a hike.”

The pair goes on to the overlook, quietly discussing past hikes and laughing about good times. Trailing behind, there’s an almost voyeuristic thrill in reliving those times with these two old friends. It’s the friendship and it’s the place that makes this so special, so I quietly leave them to talk overlooking the falls.

Lesson three: The mountain’s call can come long-distance and no one who answers it leaves unchanged.

There’s Jonathan Oliver, 21, a student at Clemson from Atlanta with time on his hands and a need to fulfill in his soul. “All my friends were studying, so I thought I’d check Raven Cliff Falls out.

“Man, this is gorgeous.”

Chris Fausnight, 23, Gilliam Housman, 23, and Deanna Grice, 30 answered the call from Augusta, Ga.

Chris, carrying a full-grown frame pack as practice for the Appalachian Trail, said “This is just a day trip. I’m not sure what made us actually come.”

But they made the drive and the look on Gilliam and Deanna’s faces spoke volumes to the effects a mountain can have on first-timers.

Mark Grant, 22, and Anne-Marie Martin, 21, came from Anderson with Grant’s 2-year-old Weimaraner, Sherman Lee. The look on the two young people’s face said they might well be traveling that way again one day soon as more than just a couple.

Sherman Lee didn’t seem to mind, so long as he could come, too.

Finally, Justin Stutler, 35, of Cayce was camping at Table Rock State Park when the tug of Caesar’s Head out-pulled Table Rock Mountain. “I want to see the footbridge over the falls,” Stutler said as he signed in to hike the trial. “Man, this (weather and place) is wonderful. I can tell I want to come back already.”