Magic, Mystique, & Mystery: The Beauty of Balds By Jim Casada
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lthough literary history remembers Izaak Walton primarily as author of The Compleat Angler, my favorite quote from his writings has nothing to do with fishing. Instead, it focuses on those incomparable scarlet jewels of culinary delight, wild strawberries. Walton, quoting a friend, suggested “Doubtless God could have made a better berry, but doubtless God never did.” Anyone who has walked through a ripening patch of these delights growing in one of the mountain-top meadows we call balds can only agree. Their delectable aroma fills the air, and to pause and pick, eating while meandering, is to have such sensory overload that you seem to be placed at the portals of paradise. Some of my fondest boyhood recollections involve such scenarios, with a high mountain bald invariably the setting. These wonderfully welcome moments strolling through “Strawberry Lane” usually came at the end of an arduous climb up steep ridges after a day of trout fishing far below, thereby making the refreshing treats especially welcome. Found in a number of high elevation locations in the southern Appalachians, sprawling grassy areas or heath covered landscapes long known as “balds” form one of the most striking aspects of the mountains. Beautiful to behold, they are adorned with thriving grass or rhododendrons, azaleas, huckleberries, blueberries, strawberries, raspberries, and plants more common to Canada than points a thousand plus miles to the south. Ecologists and serious students of natural history have a variety of theories to explain balds, aptly named because when viewed from a distance they bear a readily discernible resemblance
58 — Autumn 2017 CAROLINA MOUNTAIN LIFE
Photo by Don Casada
to a human pate with few follicles. They are also sometimes called slicks, thanks to the fact that from a distance the uniformity of the vegetative cover has that appearance. In truth, the two types of balds—ones with grass and those with other types of vegetation—vary dramatically. Grassy balds closely resemble an alpine meadow while those with heath can be hellishly thick (laurel “hells” deserve their name). The precise origin of balds continues to be a subject of considerable debate, but in essence they are places where trees should be, yet trees are not present. The activities of man certainly loom large in explaining balds, but fires, insects, climatic factors (winds, insufficient soil moisture, holdovers from the last Ice Age, and the like) can also figure in the equation. Scientists have long argued, and continue to do so, about the precise explanation for their existence. For most of us, such theories and rather arcane arguments hold little more than passing interest. Personally I find Cherokee and Catawba myths of giant footprints, battles that left the landscape bloody red (think flame azaleas), or tracks of a devil, more intriguing though admittedly far less plausible explanations than the ruminations of geologists and natural historians. One of the known factors in the creation of balds involves intentionally set fires. Native Americans realized that open areas with the tender vegetation that sprang up after a burn drew game and thus improved hunting opportunities. They were in effect employing wildlife management techniques today known as “controlled burns” long before the first Europeans arrived. Early settlers
learned from the Indians and pursued similar practices, although their burns created forage for cattle rather than focusing on wildlife habitat. Today a number of balds are kept in an open state through similar human intervention (the official lingo says they are “actively managed,” which means they are seasonally mown or periodically burned to keep trees from intruding on the landscape). No matter what the precise nature of their origins, the balds dotting the landscape along that ancient spine of time, the Appalachians, have long been one of the more interesting and intriguing natural features of the High Country— spread through the Blue Ridge, Unakas, the Great Smokies, Nantahalas and other ranges of mountains. Distinctive in character and deeply immersed in a complex mixture of fact and fiction, legend and lore, balds share one constant which endures now as it has through countless generations. They are changeless yet ever changing—oft shrouded in fog, mist, or cloud; bright emerald in the warmth of late spring; arrayed with a flowery coat of many colors in summertime; golden in the glories of autumn sunsets; and periodically bedecked with a white mantle of snow or rime ice in winter. Whatever the season they draw wanderers and fill them with wonder, sustaining adventurous spirits with their scenic vistas, mystery, and allure. Jim Casada, a native of the North Carolina high country, has written on his highland homeland, outdoor recreation, natural history, and related subjects for some four decades. To learn more, visit www. jimcasadaoutdoors.com.