Lemme tell you a bit about the trip from my point of view. Jimmy is an expert on northern Georgia, southern Tennessee, and SW'ly North Carolina. He is acquainted with all the rocks, trees, streams, cemeteries, roads, side trails, campsites, old settlers, Indians, and doins for the last 400 years. The rocks and trees he calls by their first names. They nod greeting.
Wingo San is the Thoreau of the Appalachians. Aye god, I couldn't have booked a more knowledgeable guide to be with. He even guided me to an old sawmill where, when we knocked on the door of the house, we had to holler, "HELLO THE HOUSE!" to not get a twicet barrel carabine out the door. I bought a rough sawn board to put up for the bats to roost in here.
Jimmy knows about the times that were before, now, and may even foresee times coming in those mountains. For a fella from Greenville Mississippi, he sure got smart about the area quick and thorough.
We each enjoyed a sip of our distilled spirits a couple of times, but Dorazio's Dago Red was the drink of choice most of the time. Just like on the Brazos with Texas Ranger Ron, Dago Red went down easy. (It is, however, a diuretic. Makes ya pee a lot too.)
Streams up there, were corridors of rocks with some water trickling along in between. One of them ate Jimmy's glasses. That's another story.
Cemeteries up there had slabs of native stone for markers. Only two regular sand stone markers, and a couple of wooden ones. 95% were irregular slabs of rock, names and dates all gone, lost.
Jimmy gave me a walking stick formed in a spiral by a vine. A real treasure. He also gave me an appreciation for that territory. I'd driven the length of Georgia on I-75, and the width on I-10. On this trip, I got a glimpse of a real Georgia, and Tennessee and North Carolina too.
Thank you, Jimmy. I hope to return the favor come May ,on the Au Sable River.