Pepper Box Canyon

Some of the most memorable adventures from my teenage years come from time spent on weekend afternoons in the Pepper Box Canyon.

The canyon was just a few miles from my home and began where the mouth of Clifty Creek entered the Emory River.  Back in those days, this point was a good three miles out of town by way of an old two-lane gravel road.  To get there, we had to cross the river on the old U.S. Highway 27 bridge and start the walk up Riggs Chapel Road along the river to the canyon.  Often times, just four or five guys would go, but other times we encountered some of the boys who lived over on River Street.  On those days there would be a good group of 8 - 10 kids headed to the Pepper Box.  We were all too young to drive, so it was either walk or ride a bike.  Today, when I look at that area on Google Earth satellite imagery, I am amazed at the places and distances we walked on an afternoon and still managed to be home for church on Sunday evening.

We visited the canyon in all seasons of the year because the weather made for different types of adventures.  I don’t know the history of the canyon, but it was obvious that it had been inhabited by folks at some point in the past.  There were ruins from old houses scattered here and there on the canyon floor.  The canyon was about a quarter mile wide at some points and followed the creek a mile of so until it ended.  The canyon was bounded on either side by steep cliffs that rose as high as 100 – 150 feet.  As the Creek flowed down the canyon, it presented challenges in crossing as you worked your way back into the depths of the canyon.  So we often ended up with wet feet or wet clothing.

At the base of the cliff on one side of the canyon were the remains of what we heard were old salt peter mining operations.  Some of this was done during the civil war and perhaps other efforts were made during early mining of coal in the area.  At any rate, the dug out “cave-like” overhangs with adjacent mounds of earth were fun to explore and climb on.

At some points along the canyon, the walls had breaks in them that allowed us to scramble up to a mid-level ledge that ran a good distance along the canyon wall.  If you really worked hard you could actually climb to the very top of the canyon and perch high on a ledge.  From here you could sit and enjoy the breeze and have a good view of the main part of the canyon floor.  I can remember sitting here in the quiet of a spring day, looking out above the tree canopy, looking at the birds, the sky, listening to the creek below and thinking about far away places.  It was a great place for a teenage boy to dream.

I remember one of our trips on a cold winter afternoon with sub freezing temperatures.  Clifty Creek was running full and a frothy coating of ice covered most of the bank and stream bed.  The usual foot log we crossed at the first major crossing was ice covered and impassable.  Hoping rocks was the best bet, but that was not without risk.  The thing I remember most was my dog, Nancy, who had come along with us that day.  Nancy was an overweight “mutt” with short-legs who would normally have just jumped into or waded the creek, but not today.  All of us guys made it across the creek and called for Nancy to come on across.  She just about went crazy trying to figure out how to cross without getting wet.  Her animal instincts told her not to trust the icy froth that looked solid, but was crusty and broke through easily.  She ran up and down the creek looking for a crossing, but she finally gave up and headed back toward town.  When we got home later that afternoon, Nancy was already there; probably warmer and wiser that we had been that day.

How fortunate I was to have grown up in a small town that had such free amusement nearby.  The canyon not only amused us, but we learned a lot from those outings.  We learned that being on your own is sometimes risky, but fun.  We nearly always had a great time and enjoyed telling our families about the adventures.  On some occasions, our family members went with us.  I especially remember going on a warm summer day to swim and  play in the creek.  Another fall afternoon we walked the Pepper Box to pick ripe muscadine grapes for a friend’s Mom.  She made the best muscadine jelly you ever tasted.  Once in the fall of the year I caught a large Bass fish in one of the pot holes in the creek.  The creek flow diminished in the fall during the September & October dry season and left pot holes where fish would become trapped.  That was the biggest fish I ever caught in my life.

We not only had fun, but we learned that if you got into trouble you had to solve your own problem.  We learned that team work is a good way to cross a foot log, climb a steep cliff, and that trusting your buddies is important.  We learned that silence in winter is beautiful, that spring must have fifteen shades of green and that dogs are devoted friends.

Not all the kids in Harriman made it to the Pepper Box Canyon and they are poorer for it.  Some didn’t get to go because their parents felt it was too risky a place to let kids go.  I was fortunate to have a Grandmother and Mother who gave me just enough freedom to take some risk and occasionally “get into trouble and solve my own problem.”

Life is full of risky things.  Being aware of risk and learning to take a calculated risk is an important thing to learn in your formative years.  The paradox of this is that in order to learn how to handle risk, you must first take some risk.  It is interesting to me that although I was given virtually unlimited freedom as a pre-teen and teenager, I became a fairly conservative “risk-taker” as an adult.  I think those early lessons on taking risk helped me develop a “can do” attitude.  I learned that you can attempt most anything you want to try, but do it with forethought and caution.  And if you should fail, so what, failure is not the end of the world, but a lesson learned.

Apparently my Grandmother and Mother thought the risks associated with trips to the canyon were small and they trusted me to be a responsible risk-taker.  I’m grateful for their trust and for those opportunities to experience Pepper Box Canyon.  Because of their trust and those canyon experiences,  I learned a lot about nature, about people and about life. 

Those youthful experiences made an indelible imprint on my mind and they will always be a part of me.  Today, some 60 years later, I can travel to Pepper Box Canyon any time I wish and I don’t even have to leave my recliner.