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Carrick-a-Rede Bridge
By Julie Terry Cartner
Out of the many must-sees that populated our Ireland plans, going across the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge was near the top of my list. Everything about it fascinated me, from its inception in 1755, to its initial purpose, and, to be honest, the thrill of crossing a 66 foot rope bridge spanning across the Atlantic ocean 100 feet below to an island with breathtaking views of the turquoise water, the nearby Rathlin and Sheep Islands, Scotland in the distance, and the basalt topped limestone cliffs that identify Northern Ireland’s Causeway Coast.
The bridge was first built to enable fishermen to cross from the mainland to the Carrick-a-Rede Island. The name which translates from Scots Gaelic, Carraig a Rade, to “the rock in the road,” or from the Irish, Carraig an Raid meaning “the rock of the throwing” probably comes from the salmons’ migratory path which passed by the island, a “rock in their road,” as the fish traveled to and from river spawning grounds. As early as 1620, fishermen climbed into boats to harvest the salmon-filled water, crossing the treacherous swath of water to get to the prime fishing areas. They would string large, strong nets into the water and haul in the Atlantic salmon. In 1755, men erected the first bridge, a single rope handrail with widely spaced steps, to enable them to cross the water without boats, tricky enough in itself, but more so when they returned to the mainland with their nets overflowing with the day’s catch.
Sadly, overfishing and pollution have decimated the salmon population, and now Carrick-a-Rede Bridge is much more an adventure for the bold than a fishing destination. The money in fees collected for this experience helps maintain the bridge and grounds.
Though the history is fascinating, it is difficult to find the words to describe the absolute thrill of going across this bridge. After about a mile walk along the basalt covered limestone cliffs, the ocean on one side, sheep and pastures on the other, around the last curve was a red, metal staircase going down to the bridge. Filled with exhilaration, I descended the thirty steps and stepped onto the bridge. Then, with no hesitation, I crossed above the foaming waters hurtling against the rocky bluffs, churning in powerful swirls in and out of the weathered chasms in the cliffs. I stopped in the middle, mesmerized by the water – the sheer power in the never-ending cycle of foam-tipped waves roaring against the rocks.
After pausing, I finished crossing and followed the path that wound its way to the top of the island. My heart exulted in the beauty of this untamed wilderness, the wind, the ocean, the waves. As far as I could see, the waves smashed against the limestone walls of Northern Ireland, a relentless buffeting crashing against the rocks. Farther out, the waves roared into a cove on Rathlin Island, hitting so hard that the force of the water shot high in the air above the island, then showered back down to the surface. Sea birds of all types rode the currents of air and water, soaring high above the waves, then diving down to catch their next meal. Enthralled, I sat on a rocky outcropping and exulted in the untouched beauty created by centuries of wind, waves and unyielding rock.
Finally, feeling it was time to leave so others could enjoy the raw exuberance of Carrick-a-Rede, I reluctantly walked back to the bridge. This time I took my time crossing, marveling at the energy displayed below and the beauty all around. I climbed those bold red steps and meandered my way back across the cliffs, back to people and car parks and a coffee shop, the markings of civilization, the same person who left the car several hours before, and yet not. Absorbing that raw energy, experiencing the crashing waves and screaming birds, buffeted by the same winds that have been buffeting people for centuries, knowing I am the present, but wouldn’t be here if not for the past, I was overwhelmed. I left the Wild Atlantic Way exhilarated, yet humbled by the power, the sheer force of nature, and the majesty, an intensity beyond what words can convey.
 
Fish Tales
By Gaye Hoots
I recently met with four of my first cousins, who range in age from seventy-seven to eighty-six. It had been at least two years since we had been together. These were from my mom’s family. Her father was Robey Fulk, and her mother was Bessie Spainhour. There is a log cabin in Veterans Central Park in King, NC, that was the home of the first Spainhour to arrive here from Muttenzen, Switzerland. He married the daughter of the first Fulk (Volck) to come here from Germany. Both grandparents descended from this original family, although they were unaware that they were distant cousins.
We were blessed to have them, and all the cousins spent every major holiday in their home until we were grown and long after. This story is about Grandpa Fulk, who always brought a small bag of candy when visiting. He was an avid fisherman, and after he retired, he took advantage of every opportunity to fish with Grandma or a friend.
He and his friend competed for bragging rights on who caught the most fish. Grandpa’s eyesight began to fail, and he had to depend on his friend to drive. One day, after his friend had caught three fish and he had caught none, Grandpa remarked on this. His friend replied. “It’s probably because your hook ended up on that log instead of in the water.” He knew this from the start, but only mentioned it after catching three fish.
Grandpa lived near Pinnacle, about an hour’s drive from Advance. When he could no longer drive due to his failing vision, he would rely on friends. On one trip to Advance, he talked a neighbor boy, who was only fifteen and had no driver’s license, into driving him to Advance to fish. When they left Advance, they were stopped by a deputy while still in Davie County. The deputy was old school, and when Grandpa asked him to write the ticket in his name, so they could go to Mocksville to pay it off, the deputy did. To prevent a further violation, he drove them to Mocksville, where Grandpa paid the ticket, drove them back to Grandpa’s car, and waved them goodbye as they drove away with the minor at the wheel of Grandpa’s car, headed back to Pinnacle.
The third story was earlier, when he still drove, and he and Grandma were fishing at a large lake where one side of the lake was in another county. Grandma had wandered to the opposite side of the lake when a game warden stopped by and checked Grandpa’s fishing license. He pointed to Grandma and told the game warden he did not believe she had a license for that side of the lake, believing the game warden would play along and tease Grandma. Instead, he wrote her a ticket, as he was not old school. Grandpa still thought it was funny and told the story often. Grandma found no humor in it and stated. “I don’t know why the old fool thinks it is so funny, as he had to pay the ticket.”
These were just a few of the stories we shared from our childhood; those memories and bonds formed in childhood last a lifetime. We were blessed.

The Pearson Family
By Marie Craig
In 1800, there was no Davie County and no town of Cooleemee. Our area was called the Forks of the Yadkin and was included in the very large Rowan County. But in the area that we now know as Cooleemee, Davie County, a large family with the surname of Pearson lived, farmed, and prospered 200 years ago. Richmond Pearson was born in Virginia in 1751 and married Sarah Haden in 1772. They had four children: Elizabeth “Betsey” Pearson who married Col. John Stokes, General Jesse A. Pearson who married Ann Steele and later Elizabeth Causey, Honorable Joseph Pearson who married three times, Nancy Anna Maria McLin, Eleanor Brent, and Catherine Worthington, and Richmond Pearson, Jr. who married Elizabeth McLin, sister of Joseph’s first wife. They possibly had a fifth child, George, who is mentioned in Richmond’s will but in no other document.
After Sarah died, Richmond came to North Carolina and married Elizabeth Coit Mumford in 1791. They had six children: Sallie Pearson who married Isaac Croom, Margaret Eliza Pearson who married William Henry Gibbs, Charles R. Pearson who never married and went to Georgia, Richmond Mumford Pearson who married Margaret McClung Williams and later Mary Louise McDowell, Giles William Pearson who married Elizabeth Ellis, and John Stokes Pearson who married Annabella Beattie.
Researching families of long ago can be very confusing because of given names being used over and over. There are at least six Richmond Pearsons and many Elizabeths. Records are scarce for families long ago. This Pearson family had some heroes and prominent members, so there was some documentation for this family.
The patriarch was active in the Revolutionary War in the militia and gained his title of Colonel. He also served as a representative in state government. He owned thousands of acres in what is now Cooleemee and the adjoining areas. He had a grist mill on the South Yadkin River. This spot of land next to the river which descended on rocky shoals was the main attraction for buying this land. A dam was built which is north of the current dam. Falling water was harnessed to create energy. His large home was along the river north of the dam.
All ten of his children (possibly eleven) lived in this area and some were prominent in political and military service. Betsey’s husband served in the Revolutionary War. Jesse served many terms in state government and was a Regimental Commander in the War of 1812. Joseph was a representative in the federal government. Sallie and her husband moved to Alabama and established a plantation that is now on the National Historic Registry. Richmond Mumford became an attorney, had a law school in Mocksville for about ten years and moved it to Yadkin County, and was Chief Justice in Raleigh. He had a son Richmond Mumford Pearson, Jr. who was an attorney in Asheville and served in state and federal congresses and was appointed consul to several foreign countries.
The patriarch, Colonel Pearson, his son Richmond Mumford Pearson, and a grandson, Richmond Mumford Pearson, Jr., all named their homes Richmond Hill. The only structure remaining is the one in Yadkin County, which is a museum in a park.
There is a family cemetery near Cooleemee where only nine graves have tombstones. This graveyard was overgrown but in 1999, the owner of the Asheville Richmond Hill paid local men to clear vegetation and debris. A massive rock wall was improved. In 2000, the same benefactor paid Wake Forest University Archaeological Department to make a study of the cemetery and to reposition the broken and scattered tombstones. There is a report of their findings. Their ground penetrating radar determined that there are approximately 30 more graves without markers. In 2009, the Sons of the American Revolution placed a commemorative marker at the grave of Col. Pearson.
The Pearson family gives us an insight into the history of our county hundreds of years ago.